Hello. I'm back.
I feel rather ashamed that I've only just learned of the untimely death of Phantom Dan Federici.
Certain people in my small circle of friends find it amusing that I always insist on mentioning the E Street Band at all times when discussing Springsteen, but it's an important fucking distinction. He's only actually ever made one good album without them and they're a lot more than a mere backing band. I've been watching the live DVD (Hammersmith Odeon 1975) that came with the special edition of 'Born to Run' (best album cover ever? Oh yes) and the chemistry between them is unmistakeable. Federici was often overlooked in the plaudits due to his keyboard partner being the supremely talented Roy Bittan but both of them were essential to the E Street sound. Tonight I'm whacking 'Live 75-85' on and having a drink to Danny's memory. God rest him.
In other news, I continue to have major issues with my current medication regime. I recognise that there will always be a trade-off when it comes to benefits and side-effects but at the moment I'm not coming off well in the trade. The good news is that my doctor has said that once we get latest blood test results back we can review the situation. Given that general practitioners in this country often have poor skills when it comes to mental health I feel very blessed to have The Prof as my practitioner. I know a lot of others aren't so lucky.
In the meantime I just carry on. Well what else am i gonna do, commit suicide? I did consider it, but I've still got loads of books I haven't read so I'll have to finish them at least. I hate wasting money y'see. Plus the Manics might record a good album. Haha. See? I still have a sense of humour.
I summed it up quite well last weekend. Over a shake at Mandy Moos my buddy Sarah asked me what my coping mechanisms were - she has a friend recently diagnosed with something similar and wanted my take on things. I said, it's just a problem like any other. We all have them. Your boyfriend is being a cock. Your boss is a twat. You don't get paid enough. The telly's fucked. A huge gas bill has arrived. You have bipolar disorder. See? It doesn't deserve to be put in a box or on a pedestal because then you're defining it as insurmountable. Fuck that. All it is is a problem. It's solvable like all the other problems. End of fucking story.
Of course it's not always that simple but y'get my drift. Positive attitude doesn't come easy when you're a bad-tempered Yorkshireman but it's either that or lay down and die. And the way I see it if I've got a pack of smokes in my shirt pocket and enough change for a cup of coffee, life can't be that bad.
I feel rather ashamed that I've only just learned of the untimely death of Phantom Dan Federici.
Certain people in my small circle of friends find it amusing that I always insist on mentioning the E Street Band at all times when discussing Springsteen, but it's an important fucking distinction. He's only actually ever made one good album without them and they're a lot more than a mere backing band. I've been watching the live DVD (Hammersmith Odeon 1975) that came with the special edition of 'Born to Run' (best album cover ever? Oh yes) and the chemistry between them is unmistakeable. Federici was often overlooked in the plaudits due to his keyboard partner being the supremely talented Roy Bittan but both of them were essential to the E Street sound. Tonight I'm whacking 'Live 75-85' on and having a drink to Danny's memory. God rest him.
In other news, I continue to have major issues with my current medication regime. I recognise that there will always be a trade-off when it comes to benefits and side-effects but at the moment I'm not coming off well in the trade. The good news is that my doctor has said that once we get latest blood test results back we can review the situation. Given that general practitioners in this country often have poor skills when it comes to mental health I feel very blessed to have The Prof as my practitioner. I know a lot of others aren't so lucky.
In the meantime I just carry on. Well what else am i gonna do, commit suicide? I did consider it, but I've still got loads of books I haven't read so I'll have to finish them at least. I hate wasting money y'see. Plus the Manics might record a good album. Haha. See? I still have a sense of humour.
I summed it up quite well last weekend. Over a shake at Mandy Moos my buddy Sarah asked me what my coping mechanisms were - she has a friend recently diagnosed with something similar and wanted my take on things. I said, it's just a problem like any other. We all have them. Your boyfriend is being a cock. Your boss is a twat. You don't get paid enough. The telly's fucked. A huge gas bill has arrived. You have bipolar disorder. See? It doesn't deserve to be put in a box or on a pedestal because then you're defining it as insurmountable. Fuck that. All it is is a problem. It's solvable like all the other problems. End of fucking story.
Of course it's not always that simple but y'get my drift. Positive attitude doesn't come easy when you're a bad-tempered Yorkshireman but it's either that or lay down and die. And the way I see it if I've got a pack of smokes in my shirt pocket and enough change for a cup of coffee, life can't be that bad.
also, why'd you unfriend me?