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Weblog | I don't like the word blog, it's ugly. Anyway, new content happens here. (Swedish dito)
About me and the site | Twenty-something male who likes text. Obsessed with things such as books, reality, communication, and one or two tv-shows.
Archives | Things written here since... well, 2001. Some of it is good, some is utter shait.
Books | Books read, not books written. So far I've struggled to maintain unpublished.
Photo | I like my camera and it likes me.
Links | Outwards, away, flee.
e-mail | J. Nicklas Andersson
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2003-02-01
It’s cold. A bit too cold actually, since my fingers get kind off numb. It has been like this for a couple of days now, except that until now the warm air inside had been able to make me blissfully unawares about it. Today was different. My throat was sore, the fingers goes numb at occasions as I said 46 words before this, and oh boy, what a lousy time to shave. No, I didn’t cut myself. It is far simpler than that: a beard tends to keep your face warm. Too bad I had to do something. You see, I was heading to the Harry Knowles territory — and when that happens you shave. Fast and in panic.
I know I said that I like cold better than summer heat, but that’s like saying that I prefer to only be maimed in the leg rather than to be squashed under a 16-ton weight. If I could have a third option, I would choose it in a heartbeat. But with my luck it would probably be a return ticket with the Titanic.
I’m going to hell. There is little I can do about it now. First I did a recording on Star of the County Down, for which I probably recieved the title destroyer of all things sacred from some. Now, I ruined a Aimee Mann song as well. You don’t have to listen to this, you can listen to the original instead. The original is much better, I promise you.
Beside the whole can’t-change-note ordeal, I’ve noticed something else as well. I sound sort of nasal when I sing — which is weird. If it gets more nasal I think there is a law that says I must move to Brooklyn.
