9th December: The totally imaginative title.

I've just sorted out what I'm going to be wearing for pantomine performances. Or at least, what I hope I'm going to be wearing. I'll run it past Tracy (the director) and possibly Ros (or maybe Ross... but I think that it's Ros - who's the music director) and ensure that it's alright. It's that sort of thing. I'm expecting them to give me the go ahead, I mean.. it fits in perfectly. Admittedly, I might light up the stage with green light as a result of the millions of sequins that cover the waistcoat, but hey.. what's life if it isn't illuminated by green light? Other than normal that is. That'd be the boring answer.

You're probably wondering what the hell I'm on about. The answer is simple. I got given about sixty waistcoats and bow ties from my grandma a few weeks back (okay.. not sixty. Call it ten) and on last saturday, after my grandma's birthday party, I got given a black shirt. Black shirts are cool. Well, okay, that isn't quite so true scientifically, but in terms of performing they are cool.

They strike the balance between black and white (white shirt, black trousers) and casual (jeans, tracksuit bottoms, etc.). You can wear them to most things and most people don't glance twice at you. Unless everyone else is in white, at which point you start attracting attention.

The other cool thing about black shirts is that they go well with just about everything. Wheras my white shirt and my red shirt struggled to find anything nice to fit with (I never wore the red shirt with anything but a red tie for example. And I only ever wore the red shirt twice because I didn't really like it) and my blue shirt was worse than that (what goes with faded blue? I could just about manage to pull off a semi-reasonable tidiness with a grey tie, but that's besides the point. It didn't look good.) People tend to forget that the performers on stage wearing their colour-schemed clothes don't just do it by accident. They don't just pick up a set of clothes and hope it looks alright.

Unless they're like the old me, who simply chose a white shirt, picked a tie at random and then threw a jacket on top of it. It worked before. The new me is slightly more self-conscious. Hence the black shirt, hence the waistcoats. I might actually use them for once!

So where does green light and sequins come into it I hear you ask. The answer is even simpler. I got a bright green waistcoat (with matching bowtie, naturally) which has green sequins covering it totally. It's awesome! That's the children's matinee sorted out. Saturday morning performance sorted! Saturday evening is the more serious one (and final one), so I'll probably either wear a jacket or go for no waistcoat and a tie instead of a bowtie. Friday evening is the first performance so I might wear a red waistcoat and my new black shirt.

I tell you.. black shirts own! If you don't have one.. get one.

I must remember, however, to ask my grandma if she has matching clothes for girl/woman. Drummer person is female, although I'm guessing that playing the drums in a dress is impossible. As would be getting the drummer person to wear green sequins, a dress, or anything but jeans and dark top. Each to their own I guess. Someone has to show them up, and that means me. I'm always the smartest person at this sort of thing. I have to be the smartest at something!

Clotheswise that is. I don't particulary care academically. If people can keep up with me then they deserve to be able to understand quantam physics by the age of 18 and then develop a time machine before they hit 30 to allow them to go into early retirement from sheer richness. There's not that many people who can consistently keep up with (or overtake) me academically so I don't worry about it. Like I said. Each to their own.

It always irritates me when other people develop an overly-competitive spirit. I know that I'm probably one of the many competitive people out there (never challenge me to do something. Seriously. You might get me to do it) but you can take a good thing too far. I mean... racing to complete a game, a piece of work, a better game, a series of games, to watch a film, to do 100 metre sprint. It's fine. Serious competitivness is just a drag though. Always competing? Always trying to be the best? Just carry on trying to be the best at everything and for once I won't be the best at becoming the person that everyone hates.

Wait a second! No, you can't do that! That's not allowed! I'll have to do something drastic to get back my position. Do I still have that picture of Charlotte? The one I got last night? That might regain me my position!

Anyway, immaturity aside, I'm a fairly mature person. I cope, I deal, I've grown up. Situations have called for it, and I decided that it might be fun to be mature once in a while. I didn't realise I was signing up to maturity for life! My problem with acting maturely comes when I get bored. There's no worse state for someone to exist in. When there's absolutely nothing with which to occupy your time. When everything is either completed or too boring to complete without falling asleep or becoming suicidal. Everyone has their own way of coping. Mine is probably more drastic than others.

I go from being Mr.Mature to completely-insane-raving-lunatic-in-the-corner-on-drugs-with-serious-mental-problems type person. Or something like that. I occupy myself with really really small things. Used to mucking around with astrophysics in the confines of my own head (as unforntunately I haven't yet worked out how to create two stable black holes and throw them towards each other at light speed in anything but my head. The speed is irrelevant by the way, but I threw it in for the fun of it) I resort to childish behaviour to conquer boredom.

Jumping up and down, randomly shaking parts of my body, talking on and on about nothing (although is perfectly normal for me anyway. See pages 1-300 of this blog for more details and a good example), poking people, pulling hair, opening and closing doors, speculating on the best way to kill yourself and on whether or not it's possible to text someone on the drop from the top of the Empire State Building to the ground (It is. Just don't expect any particulary massive texts and don't reply to it. In the time it takes for the message to leave their phone and bounce itself into your phone through statregically placed radar towers they've hit the ground and are now resembling strawberry jelly) and on other totally random things.

I don't always pull people's hair though. Don't get me wrong. I'm not some vindictive victimising bastard. It's only ponytails, and only when I really can't resist. I swear that it's an OCD of some kind. I really cannot stand ponytails. Not because they look ugly, or because they're particulary nasty, but because they're so inviting to pull. It's like those doorbells which you pull and pull and pull for the hell of it. It's fun and it stays fun and it stays fun until it becomes boring. I resist temptation frequently, but I do get stressed when hairstyles change to anything which ties the hair into strands or bunches or anything that sticks out from their head. Pony tails, pig tails, plaits and lots of other undoubtably wonderful hairstyles. Resisting that temptation requires conscious thought, and all that thought hurts my head.

Now I've got the hard stuff out of the way I guess that I can go back to working out tachyon speeds as expressed as a multiple of the speed of sound in standard form. Not that tachyons are even proved to exist mind, but I guess that's the fun of scientific theorys.

The one situation that always amused me was the idea that all these people in any house searching for a secret passageway. The purpose of a secret passageway is to remain secret. Is it really going to be as simple as to pull a candlestick or to fall onto a cunningly placed chair? Of course not. It'll require standing on a certain point, or being able to press two things at once that are arms length apart. That way the idea of coincidentally finding something becomes even more ridiculous. The other thing that amused me is that in any situation where a secret passageway is not found they immediately claim that it's just that they can't find the entrance.
Does the thought that this aforesaid passageway simply does not exist never occur to these fictional characters? Logic, as a whole, sucks majorly. We should all rely on teenage logic.

You fancy me don't you? You're reading my blog! Argh! You fancy me! You must! You read my blog.

Just nod and agree and realise that this is what a lot of people do to me. Admittedly not about reading blogs, but the same principal applies elsewhere. Giving out sweets for instance. Not that they're wrong mind, but they don't know that. And I'm planning to keep it that way.

The slightly older thing that amused me the other day was a book named 'Coping with Boys' that came back to back with 'Coping with Girls.' It was priceless. If I can find it from wherever I threw it in my tired stupour I'll type up some quotes for your amusement. I might give it out as a christmas present to someone. I haven't decided yet. Don't know if they already have it or not.