Everything dies

A giant in metal music has left this earth. Besides literally being a giant at more than 2 metres tall, Type O Negative's frontman Peter Steele had a huge influence on metal musicians and fans all over the world. He died age 48, april 14th 2010.

Discovering Type O when they released the album 'October Rust', I belong to the second wave of fans - discovering the previous 'Slow, Deep and Hard' and 'Bloody Kisses' only after literally playing October Rust until the tape was literally destroyed.

As a 16-year old with a taste for the macabre, Peter Steele and his comrads provided me with a great soundtrack for evenings spent with my friends or while reading Anne Rice's vampire novels. There was a time I didn't leave the house for a night in the pub without listening to 'My Girlfriends' Girlfriend' first.

Til this day, no one has managed to sound as distinctly sombre as Type O does. Many bands have been audibly influenced by the Drab Four, such as HIM and Lacrimas Profundere, but nevertheless their musical style remains unique.

I got a text message from my friend L. yesterday. "Peter Steele is dead. No joke." My boyfriend called me, too. Since the news hit the internet yesterday, my friends have been posting their memories of Peter and Type O, their favorite songs and generally just reactions of disbelief on Facebook, Twitter and Hyves. As Mistress Juliya put it: it's the end of an era.

Scared to death of dying

A real human skull. That's what one of my classmates brought to show and tell and school when I was about 9 years old. It was the most terrifying day of my life. We had to pass the skull around, so everyone could look at it. I sat there, pale, sweating, and just very very scared. That evening, my teacher called my mother to ask whether I'd had some kind of traumatic experience.

I haven't. For some reason, ever since I found out that humans are not immortal, I think about death and dying almost every day. As a little girl, it used to keep me up for many a night.

Now, I'm able to push the thought of not excisting anymore aside. But it still makes me sit up straight in bed in the middle of the night sometimes.

"Someday. There will be. No more me."

It's not something I discuss with others too often. Not because it's a taboo subject, but because I don't want to scare the rest of you.

Under pressure

There's truth in most clichés, so is the modern day motto that all the freedom we have in this day and age makes the pressure to make the 'right' choices rise and rise.

Most present grandmas never considered themselves university material, because from birth it was clear their purpose was to marry, have children and run a household. Just like grandpa knew that his role in life was to provide for his family.

A well defined, although limited existence.

In the year 2010, being almost thirty gives you plenty of reasons for a harty headache. If you wanted to, you now have a good education. That was your goal for the first 20-odd years of your life. Now that your carreer has more or less taken off, you discover that you're not done with planning your life just yet.

Single, living together or married? Kids or no kids? A carreer or something else as center point of your life? An truly enjoyable job or a crap job that pays more? What about your parents; how to take care of them when they're older?

If you have finally decided you want kids; who's going to work less hours? And who does what around the house? And can you expect parents to chip in when in comes to taking care of the children?

What if you don't want kids? Is a carreer all you need to have a fulfilling life? What about other passions? Are you being selfish?

And 25 to 35 year old from the western world can go on and on like this for hours in his or her head. It has driven many of us a little nutty from time to time.

My advice: pay grandma a visit, ask her if she would have liked to have all the choices we have. I'll bet you will feal a little silly about your worries after that conversation. I know I did.

Naked without my mascara

My friend Isabella and I went to a rockconcert last weekend. We were dressed to kill, feeling good and happy to be in each other's company for this night on the town. In a nutshell, we felt like rockstars ourselves.

That facade totally disappeared when we sat down at the downstairs bar for a drink, and Isabella suddenly asked 'You look great tonight. What's your secret?'. It was my make up. I had taken the time to do it right. Next question 'So who taught you how to use make up in the first place?'.

That was the end of rockstar night. We talked about using mascara for the first time in our early teens, exchanged our secret make up tricks and generally just giggled a lot, delighted to talk about moisturizer, cleanser, eyebrowpencils and red lipstick.

What we didn't discuss is why we use make up. I've been thinking about it for the last couple of days. This is what I finally had to admit to myself:

There is no. way. in. hell. I will stop wearing make up, not until every last other female on this earth does so.

Just the bare essentials (some foundation, mascara and preferably eyeliner for me, just a lot of mascara for Isabella) is what I need to feel like I don't look like I'm Amish, to look well groomed and awake, to look like a woman and - last but not least - to avoid being called a naked butt-face by my lovely boyfriend.