Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Get outta here February.
Hey. I'm feeling a bit batty now. Too much time spent with too much time on my hands. Goddamn digital cable has sucked up most of it. My brain and my mind seem to have dried up. I'm practically void of original thought. But then I go on facebook or twitter or whatever and realize everyone else has too.
I got loads of new music recently. A big mess of stuff. Got some early Sun Ra and Eric Dolphy. Lots of hip hop old and new. The new Charlotte Gainsbourg record. The new Hot Chip record. A bunch of stuff. I'm super excited about the impending triple album release from Joanna Newsom. I think its out in a couple of weeks. I can't even imagine how good that is going to be.
I've watched loads of films. Just rewatched Mean Streets tonight. It never loses its impact. And the soundtrack is superb. Watched the Amelia Earhart (so called)biopic the other night and had to turn it off. It was literally too awful to watch. Watched The Killing of a Chinese Bookie the other week finally. It was fantastic. Now I need to watch everything else Cassavettes made. A Woman Under The Influence is gonna be next. I also recently watched the Pixies documentary loudQUIETloud, and thought it was excellent. Refreshingly honest. I watched loads of other stuff too but right now I'm struggling to remember what. I guess thats probably to do with that whole brain and mind drying up.
I'm really enjoying the Winter Games so far. Though they are doing nothing to help my homesickness. I'm excited about the Mens hockey finally starting Tuesday night. I have really been enjoying the womens hockey too. The Canadian Womens team are incredibly talented.
I don't know what else? I'm reading a great book about the films of Steven Seagal. The center of Barrow now resembles a bombed out area of Baghdad. And it seems that absolutely no one picks up after their dog in this town. You literally have to navigate around the shit.
Keep in mind I'm writing all this nonesense in an increasing sense of uselessness,powered by a dying brain. And it is 1:30am and I am tired.
I was thinking earlier how great it would be to have a Sega Genesis(megadrive) again. And an Atari. And a Nintendo. I'm pretty sure the novelty would wear off fast but the nostalgic feeling thinking about it provokes sure is nice. It would be especially nice to play Castlevania I and II again.
Anyway, keep on keepin on. Come on Team Canada!
I got loads of new music recently. A big mess of stuff. Got some early Sun Ra and Eric Dolphy. Lots of hip hop old and new. The new Charlotte Gainsbourg record. The new Hot Chip record. A bunch of stuff. I'm super excited about the impending triple album release from Joanna Newsom. I think its out in a couple of weeks. I can't even imagine how good that is going to be.
I've watched loads of films. Just rewatched Mean Streets tonight. It never loses its impact. And the soundtrack is superb. Watched the Amelia Earhart (so called)biopic the other night and had to turn it off. It was literally too awful to watch. Watched The Killing of a Chinese Bookie the other week finally. It was fantastic. Now I need to watch everything else Cassavettes made. A Woman Under The Influence is gonna be next. I also recently watched the Pixies documentary loudQUIETloud, and thought it was excellent. Refreshingly honest. I watched loads of other stuff too but right now I'm struggling to remember what. I guess thats probably to do with that whole brain and mind drying up.
I'm really enjoying the Winter Games so far. Though they are doing nothing to help my homesickness. I'm excited about the Mens hockey finally starting Tuesday night. I have really been enjoying the womens hockey too. The Canadian Womens team are incredibly talented.
I don't know what else? I'm reading a great book about the films of Steven Seagal. The center of Barrow now resembles a bombed out area of Baghdad. And it seems that absolutely no one picks up after their dog in this town. You literally have to navigate around the shit.
Keep in mind I'm writing all this nonesense in an increasing sense of uselessness,powered by a dying brain. And it is 1:30am and I am tired.
I was thinking earlier how great it would be to have a Sega Genesis(megadrive) again. And an Atari. And a Nintendo. I'm pretty sure the novelty would wear off fast but the nostalgic feeling thinking about it provokes sure is nice. It would be especially nice to play Castlevania I and II again.
Anyway, keep on keepin on. Come on Team Canada!
Friday, October 16, 2009
Cityscapes and Hellscapes.
Cityscape. Hellscape. Two distinctly powerful words that to me have always seemed related . They are interchangeable, both referring to the samething. In my head, in my imagination, these two words create such images. The burnt husks of buildings, blood red skies,night time,neon. My obsession with these two words grew from three other obsessions.
First, my obsession with a particular group of old futuristic films. Blade Runner. The Warriors. Escape from New York. Tron. Westworld. The Element of Crime. Old films from the seventies and eighties, particularly the eighties, have always fascinated me with their visions of the future. The mix of the futuristic with the retro. Showing us futures that never quite came to exist. Futures that literally paint a vision of the city and a vision of hell as the samething. The Element of Crime especially, portrays a particularly bleak vision of the future, a vision of Europe as a dead world full of garbage,delapidated buildings,never ending rain and perpetual darkness. Sparsely populated with damaged people without hope waiting around to die. Lars Von Trier films all this in saturated orange and yellow tones, creating a true nightmare world, a hellscape somewhere between dreams and reality.
Secondly, my obsession with old films about New York City. I'm talking particularly about Blast of Silence, The Naked City, and Strange Paradise, I also have to throw in The Third Man. Although this film is not set in New York City, I was equally fascinated with the environment of the city that is both this films setting and strongest character, that of post world war 2 Vienna. I love the stark black and white world these films illuminate. A mysterious romantic world. A world that has since ceased to exist, or maybe never really existed at all.
The third obsession of mine that has fueled my love of cityscapes and hellscapes is music. Specifically the music of Brian Eno on records such as On Land and Music for Airports, and Kraftwerk on records such as Computer World and Radioactivity. But also particular film soundtracks from the seventies and eighties. The soundtracks for Bladerunner, and Escape from New York especially, capture the feel I imagine these future worlds to have. All synths and space and sinister undertones. Also certain horror film soundtracks from this time. Dawn of the Dead, Suspiria, and especially Zombi. Almost all of the soundtracks Goblin completed for Dario Argento fit the bill. Terrifying, atmospheric prog-rock freakouts.
I also completely forgot to mention the films of Andrei Tarkovsky. A man whose work epitomises the emotions and images I'm talking about. Films like Solaris, Stalker, Ivan's Childhood and The Mirror. All epic cinematic poems that examine loneliness, grief, war, love, and the human condition in general.
I'm not sure if any of this is making sense or not. I'm simply talking about the world the two words create in my imagination. A world where it is always night time. Burnt out cars line the streets, grafitti sprayed on every space, Japanese billboards towering over everything, eternally raining, men with five oclock shadow wearing brown overcoats and worn fedoras mingle with street gangs in matching leather, platinum white hair and wild looks in their eyes, street punk girls in torn fishnet stockings, neon hair, and elegant women with red lipstick and old vintage dresses. Drug addicts slumped in door ways, some shops boarded up, old and decrepit, others sleek silver with big neon 1950's signs over the front window, overcrowded with people, men driving rickshaws transporting people wherever, food stands on street corners, on some streets parked cars still burn, other streets lie empty, hundred year old building half demolished, or reduced to rubble by bombs dropped long ago. Some scenes are in black and white others bathed in garish oranges and yellows. The gutters overflowing with garbage. Fear and excitement fill the hearts of everyone. The air crackles with sinister energy. And over everything the warm weird emotion of synthesizers and subtle driving drum machines.
I believe if you take all the films I've mentioned: Bladerunner, The Warriors, The Element of Crime, The Naked City, Blast of Silence, Tron, Escape from New York, Stalker,etc., and the music of Brian Eno and Kraftwerk and Goblin and all the other film soundtracks I mentioned and mix them all together you will get what I'm talking about, the images and emotions the words cityscape and hellscape create in my imagination. A strange mix of warmth and fear and dreams and nightmares. A world I'd love to visit.
First, my obsession with a particular group of old futuristic films. Blade Runner. The Warriors. Escape from New York. Tron. Westworld. The Element of Crime. Old films from the seventies and eighties, particularly the eighties, have always fascinated me with their visions of the future. The mix of the futuristic with the retro. Showing us futures that never quite came to exist. Futures that literally paint a vision of the city and a vision of hell as the samething. The Element of Crime especially, portrays a particularly bleak vision of the future, a vision of Europe as a dead world full of garbage,delapidated buildings,never ending rain and perpetual darkness. Sparsely populated with damaged people without hope waiting around to die. Lars Von Trier films all this in saturated orange and yellow tones, creating a true nightmare world, a hellscape somewhere between dreams and reality.
Secondly, my obsession with old films about New York City. I'm talking particularly about Blast of Silence, The Naked City, and Strange Paradise, I also have to throw in The Third Man. Although this film is not set in New York City, I was equally fascinated with the environment of the city that is both this films setting and strongest character, that of post world war 2 Vienna. I love the stark black and white world these films illuminate. A mysterious romantic world. A world that has since ceased to exist, or maybe never really existed at all.
The third obsession of mine that has fueled my love of cityscapes and hellscapes is music. Specifically the music of Brian Eno on records such as On Land and Music for Airports, and Kraftwerk on records such as Computer World and Radioactivity. But also particular film soundtracks from the seventies and eighties. The soundtracks for Bladerunner, and Escape from New York especially, capture the feel I imagine these future worlds to have. All synths and space and sinister undertones. Also certain horror film soundtracks from this time. Dawn of the Dead, Suspiria, and especially Zombi. Almost all of the soundtracks Goblin completed for Dario Argento fit the bill. Terrifying, atmospheric prog-rock freakouts.
I also completely forgot to mention the films of Andrei Tarkovsky. A man whose work epitomises the emotions and images I'm talking about. Films like Solaris, Stalker, Ivan's Childhood and The Mirror. All epic cinematic poems that examine loneliness, grief, war, love, and the human condition in general.
I'm not sure if any of this is making sense or not. I'm simply talking about the world the two words create in my imagination. A world where it is always night time. Burnt out cars line the streets, grafitti sprayed on every space, Japanese billboards towering over everything, eternally raining, men with five oclock shadow wearing brown overcoats and worn fedoras mingle with street gangs in matching leather, platinum white hair and wild looks in their eyes, street punk girls in torn fishnet stockings, neon hair, and elegant women with red lipstick and old vintage dresses. Drug addicts slumped in door ways, some shops boarded up, old and decrepit, others sleek silver with big neon 1950's signs over the front window, overcrowded with people, men driving rickshaws transporting people wherever, food stands on street corners, on some streets parked cars still burn, other streets lie empty, hundred year old building half demolished, or reduced to rubble by bombs dropped long ago. Some scenes are in black and white others bathed in garish oranges and yellows. The gutters overflowing with garbage. Fear and excitement fill the hearts of everyone. The air crackles with sinister energy. And over everything the warm weird emotion of synthesizers and subtle driving drum machines.
I believe if you take all the films I've mentioned: Bladerunner, The Warriors, The Element of Crime, The Naked City, Blast of Silence, Tron, Escape from New York, Stalker,etc., and the music of Brian Eno and Kraftwerk and Goblin and all the other film soundtracks I mentioned and mix them all together you will get what I'm talking about, the images and emotions the words cityscape and hellscape create in my imagination. A strange mix of warmth and fear and dreams and nightmares. A world I'd love to visit.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
The Story of Tiny Norman.
Beneath the carpet, there is a tiny house. The tiny walls are yellow, and the tiny roof is green and in the middle of the tiny roof there is a tiny chimney painted red.
In this house lives a tiny man named Norman. He has a tiny white beard, and always always always wears his tiny purple hat with the tiny brim cocked just to the left side of his tiny head.
Norman is a peaceful man. A solitary man, never more contented than when sat at his tiny brown desk, in front of his tiny blue typewriter, lost deep in his giant imagination, typing away.
Norman has lived here longer than he can remember, writing his giant stories on his tiny typewriter. Stories of the smallness and vastness of things. Stories of lost worlds, and lost tribes. Stories of unfathomable colour and limitless compassion. Stories of the beauty of things.
But now Norman sits at his tiny desk, his tiny head in his tiny hands, weeping. For not two minutes ago, a swirling black grey funnel of dirt and dust reached out of the beige sky and down upon the tiny roof of his tiny house, and all the stories he had written on his tiny typewriter over the uncountable solitary years, all his stories of the beauty of things, were lifted up from their many tiny piles beside his tiny desk, up into the air, where they swirled madly for three tiny seconds, before being sucked up into his tiny red chimney and pulled out the other side high up into the swirling grey black mass.
The grey black funnel of dust and dirt swirled for a further eight tiny seconds before rising high up into the vast beige sky above and disappearing almost as fast as it had appeared.
Leaving Norman, the solitary writer with the tiny white beard, and the tiny purple hat with the tiny brim cocked just to the left side of his tiny head, sat at his tiny brown desk, in front of his tiny blue typewriter, confused and sad.
With his head still in his hands, he wept tiny sparkling tears, and a tiny sob fell from his tiny mouth.
But one solitary sob from this solitary man, was all the grey black funnel would get.
For as soon as the tiny sob was out and gone, Norman the tiny solitary writer, looked over at his tiny red chimney, looked out his tiny window at the vast beige sky above and finally looked down at his tiny blue typewriter that was his favourite thing that he owned, and placed his tiny fingers on the tiny keys.
And Norman smiled.
In this house lives a tiny man named Norman. He has a tiny white beard, and always always always wears his tiny purple hat with the tiny brim cocked just to the left side of his tiny head.
Norman is a peaceful man. A solitary man, never more contented than when sat at his tiny brown desk, in front of his tiny blue typewriter, lost deep in his giant imagination, typing away.
Norman has lived here longer than he can remember, writing his giant stories on his tiny typewriter. Stories of the smallness and vastness of things. Stories of lost worlds, and lost tribes. Stories of unfathomable colour and limitless compassion. Stories of the beauty of things.
But now Norman sits at his tiny desk, his tiny head in his tiny hands, weeping. For not two minutes ago, a swirling black grey funnel of dirt and dust reached out of the beige sky and down upon the tiny roof of his tiny house, and all the stories he had written on his tiny typewriter over the uncountable solitary years, all his stories of the beauty of things, were lifted up from their many tiny piles beside his tiny desk, up into the air, where they swirled madly for three tiny seconds, before being sucked up into his tiny red chimney and pulled out the other side high up into the swirling grey black mass.
The grey black funnel of dust and dirt swirled for a further eight tiny seconds before rising high up into the vast beige sky above and disappearing almost as fast as it had appeared.
Leaving Norman, the solitary writer with the tiny white beard, and the tiny purple hat with the tiny brim cocked just to the left side of his tiny head, sat at his tiny brown desk, in front of his tiny blue typewriter, confused and sad.
With his head still in his hands, he wept tiny sparkling tears, and a tiny sob fell from his tiny mouth.
But one solitary sob from this solitary man, was all the grey black funnel would get.
For as soon as the tiny sob was out and gone, Norman the tiny solitary writer, looked over at his tiny red chimney, looked out his tiny window at the vast beige sky above and finally looked down at his tiny blue typewriter that was his favourite thing that he owned, and placed his tiny fingers on the tiny keys.
And Norman smiled.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Blurg.
If you haven't yet, you should watch the first two seasons of 30rock. Trust me. I also believe you should do yourself a favour and watch Generation Kill as soon as you can. It's by the makers of The Wire and really that's all you should need to know. But just in case it isn't it follows a company of Recon Marines as they head the invasion into Iraq, but it's told in the brutally realistic point of view of the soldiers. Needless to say it paints almost as bad a picture of the war in Iraq as The Wire did the streets of Baltimore, and is uncompromisingly hilarious.
Yesterday I decided for the foreseeable future, to only listen to records on my i-pod that I haven't listened to in a long time. I have a tendency to listen to the same songs when going out into the world with my headphones on, but really you can only listen to Gangstarr and the first Wu Tang Clan album so many times. So yesterday on my way home I decided to listen to McCoy Tyner's 1968 album Expansions, I'm not a sophisticated enough listener of jazz to try and dissect the album or the genre too much, all I can say is Expansions and especially the 12min opening track Vision is a beautiful mix of the early 60's traditional sound and the more experimental sound of the late 60's. So you get this beautiful kind of melancholy sound over this free jazz experimentation and a subtle grooving bassline.
Then I put on a considerably more avant garde jazz record, Eric Dolphy's fantastic album Out There. Like I said earlier I don't know enough about jazz and its various subgenres, so all I can say here is find it, give it a chance and see what you think. Personally I think it would appeal to people who might not normally be into this sort of thing. Listened to at a decent volume on headphones it sucks you into its dark abstract world.
Today I continued my rediscovery of old albums I'd neglected over the past months because of my ever growing hip hop obsession. Today going into town I put on The Grateful Dead's iconic album American Beauty. A fantastic summertime record. This is a complete artifact. 35 min, 10 songs and everyone a gem. And it ends on one of the best album closers ever, Truckin'. When American Beauty ended I put on The Guess Who's record Live at the Paramount, and having listened to my vinyl copy many many many times when I was a teenager, was somehow still completely unprepared for the pure force of this record. On headphones at maximum volume it was almost overwhelming. Recorded in 1972 it sounds so warm. Burton Cummings sounds like he's singing from the top of the Rocky Mountains, his voice the only thing that could be heard from the west coast of British Columbia to the East Coast of Newfoundland. And Randy Bachman's guitar sounds so mean he probably should have been jailed after the show as a threat to mankind. And really, has a saloon piano ever sounded so incredible? Even American Woman, a song I've heard more times than I can remember and have grown to detest, had me dancing around the house. And the live rendition on this album is 16 minutes long. I honestly can't comprehend how these guys have remained relatively unknown in the UK. And the next time your reading an article in some mediocre music magazine, where some asshole critic questions the purpose of a band releasing a live album, and decrees it as nothing more than a money grab, put this album on, set the magazine on fire, smear blood on your face and dance around the flames in a primal trance.
Anyway,I'm gonna try and stay true to this game. Everyday I'm going to listen to records I've been neglecting for too long. I have about 3,000 albums on my i-pod,Clarence the 2nd,right now, so I have no excuse.
Well, I guess I should get back to doing what I was initially supposed to be doing on here, which is trying to book our trip to Barcelona in July.
Oh and can I say that the aftermath of my stag night Saturday, aside from leaving every single muscle in my body (and my thumbs), screaming in agony, has also left me full of nervous excitement with the big day looming ahead. I was playing it pretty cool up to now but after looking forward to my stag for so long now, the big day seems so close.
Can someone explain to me why they let American's other than John McEnroe commentate tennis? Oh and am I the only one hoping Andy Murray crashes out of this years Wimbledon?
Yesterday I decided for the foreseeable future, to only listen to records on my i-pod that I haven't listened to in a long time. I have a tendency to listen to the same songs when going out into the world with my headphones on, but really you can only listen to Gangstarr and the first Wu Tang Clan album so many times. So yesterday on my way home I decided to listen to McCoy Tyner's 1968 album Expansions, I'm not a sophisticated enough listener of jazz to try and dissect the album or the genre too much, all I can say is Expansions and especially the 12min opening track Vision is a beautiful mix of the early 60's traditional sound and the more experimental sound of the late 60's. So you get this beautiful kind of melancholy sound over this free jazz experimentation and a subtle grooving bassline.
Then I put on a considerably more avant garde jazz record, Eric Dolphy's fantastic album Out There. Like I said earlier I don't know enough about jazz and its various subgenres, so all I can say here is find it, give it a chance and see what you think. Personally I think it would appeal to people who might not normally be into this sort of thing. Listened to at a decent volume on headphones it sucks you into its dark abstract world.
Today I continued my rediscovery of old albums I'd neglected over the past months because of my ever growing hip hop obsession. Today going into town I put on The Grateful Dead's iconic album American Beauty. A fantastic summertime record. This is a complete artifact. 35 min, 10 songs and everyone a gem. And it ends on one of the best album closers ever, Truckin'. When American Beauty ended I put on The Guess Who's record Live at the Paramount, and having listened to my vinyl copy many many many times when I was a teenager, was somehow still completely unprepared for the pure force of this record. On headphones at maximum volume it was almost overwhelming. Recorded in 1972 it sounds so warm. Burton Cummings sounds like he's singing from the top of the Rocky Mountains, his voice the only thing that could be heard from the west coast of British Columbia to the East Coast of Newfoundland. And Randy Bachman's guitar sounds so mean he probably should have been jailed after the show as a threat to mankind. And really, has a saloon piano ever sounded so incredible? Even American Woman, a song I've heard more times than I can remember and have grown to detest, had me dancing around the house. And the live rendition on this album is 16 minutes long. I honestly can't comprehend how these guys have remained relatively unknown in the UK. And the next time your reading an article in some mediocre music magazine, where some asshole critic questions the purpose of a band releasing a live album, and decrees it as nothing more than a money grab, put this album on, set the magazine on fire, smear blood on your face and dance around the flames in a primal trance.
Anyway,I'm gonna try and stay true to this game. Everyday I'm going to listen to records I've been neglecting for too long. I have about 3,000 albums on my i-pod,Clarence the 2nd,right now, so I have no excuse.
Well, I guess I should get back to doing what I was initially supposed to be doing on here, which is trying to book our trip to Barcelona in July.
Oh and can I say that the aftermath of my stag night Saturday, aside from leaving every single muscle in my body (and my thumbs), screaming in agony, has also left me full of nervous excitement with the big day looming ahead. I was playing it pretty cool up to now but after looking forward to my stag for so long now, the big day seems so close.
Can someone explain to me why they let American's other than John McEnroe commentate tennis? Oh and am I the only one hoping Andy Murray crashes out of this years Wimbledon?
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Random thoughts in the middle of the night...
I was watching the French Open the other week and all I could think as Roger Federer casually destroyed that bloke, who had somehow managed to defeat Raphael Nadal, was why can't the commentators find a way to describe the action on the court without using the words "one way traffic."?
It's 1:44 am. I was exhausted an hour ago, then started watching Charlie Brooker's Screen Wipe. Now I'm awake and restless and have once again been reassured that Charlie Brooker is the most important man in the printed and television media.
I still can't get over how good Joel Plaskett's latest single Through and through and through is. Really, I can't believe it's not on every radio station in the western world. I missed his show at Massey Hall in Toronto back in May and just recently found out I will miss Sonic Youth at Massey Hall at the end of June. As well as a free Broken Social Scene show at the Harbour Front in a few weeks. And an endless list of other shows. I always forget how much I miss Toronto when I leave it until I leave it again. Especially leaving it at the very first breath of Summer. Toronto is a beautiful, beautiful place in the summertime. Although memories of last summer in my tiny air conditionless apartment trying to sleep in 35-40 degree temperatures and 100% humidity and all my memories of the previous winter ,walking to work in -30 degree temperatures make my home sickness much easier to deal with.
I took a bus up to Ambleside,up in the Lakes District, early Friday morning. I hiked up Wansfell Pike. A walk which by all accounts is one of the easier hikes you can do in the area. The first two hours are up hill, and on this day were utterly utterly humiliating. It was like getting viciously punched in the face, belly and legs simultaneously by the painful realisation of just how out of shape I, apparently, am. It was infuriating. I got there in the end, ate my Sweet Tomatoe and chilli chutney with Vintage Cheese sandwich, drank some water,soaked up the views and enjoyed the last three hours of the walk but man alive. Those first two hours were depressing. Almost as depressing as getting back into Ambleside, finding a pub with a nice patio and then finding out that instead of the delicious Magners Pear cidar, they had Bulmers Pear cidar. People have tried to tell me its the same,but really it's a poor substitute. I drank it anyway, read some of my book and then slept most of the bus ride home. Is this what happens when you reach the tender age of thirty?
I've also joined the gym and am trying to go 4-5 times a week. Which thanks to the wonderful people at the offices of UK Immigration,has been made very easy. Having no recourse to work or to public funds and all. You can call me a man of leisure for the time being.
The big day is coming up and still doesn't feel quite real. That's probably why I don't feel much anxiety. I assume that will hit me soon enough though. Right now I just feel excited. I have my suit and my electric shoes and can't wait to see everybody. It will be kind of surreal to have people from my whole life together in one room, if you know what I mean. Having my family and Canadian friends, and my travelling friends and my Barrow friends and Nic's family and friends all together will be strange and amazing.
The stag is fast approaching. We leave this Saturday at 11am. Possibly never to be seen again. I'm looking forward to it.
On an entirely different subject, has anyone else noticed the people on Come dine with me are now simply a ridiculous group of circus freaks? I swear they were normal a couple of years ago? Weren't they?
Oh and I have been working on the wedding playlist for the last few weeks. The first draft came in at nineteen hours. I figured that would probably have to be cut down. Or maybe the party should just be nineteen hours?! In a perfect world it would be. I have cut out some of the fat. It currently sits at a slim and trim fourteen hours. The really painful part was realising I still have to cut about eight hours off of that. Tears will be shed,oh yes,tears will be shed.
Speaking of music, if I hear Bonkers by Dizzee Rascal one more time I'm gonna do something drastic. I'm very excited about the new Sonic Youth record, and the new Hayden record and the new Bike for three record. I'm seriously digging the new single by Empire of the Sun. Anyone familiar with the first record Lovers by The Sleepy Jackson really shouldn't be surprised by how good this new project is. Luke Steel is some kind of weird Aussie genius. I mean I'm as sick sick sick of the on going eighties love fest as everyone else should be,but Empire of the sun is an exception. Although I really should reserve my verdict until I actually hear the entire album.
Oh and the other day on Ninja Warrior,the most entertaining show on television, they revealed a brand new obstacle course! Miraculously, the brilliant minds who work on Ninja Warrior have managed to make the course harder than ever. If you haven't watched this show yet I highly recommend you give it a shot.It's a Japanese game show kind of like Takashi's Castle only less ridiculous, more fun and without those weird guys in the nightmarish costumes. Ninja Warrior is a legitimate contest. And the exaggerated english commentary is fantastic.
Anyway, I'm gonna go to bed, but before I do I want to reiterate my initial statement regarding Charlie Brooker. He is probably the most important man working in the pop culture media. He definately is the most important man working in the english pop culture media. His only possible north american rivals being Stephen Colbert and Jon Stewart. And that is high praise indeed. If you haven't yet you should check him out. Either in his weekly column in the Guardian or on his late night TV show Charlie Brooker's Screen Wipe.
Oh and the other day I saw a news story about a four year old boy who wanted to give his new born Cockerspanial puppy a wash and ended up flushing it down the toilet. Miraculously they rescued it from inside the plumbing and the dog is fine. And they got some amazing footage of the puppy stuck in the pipe. This world is a weird and ridiculous place.
Good night.
It's 1:44 am. I was exhausted an hour ago, then started watching Charlie Brooker's Screen Wipe. Now I'm awake and restless and have once again been reassured that Charlie Brooker is the most important man in the printed and television media.
I still can't get over how good Joel Plaskett's latest single Through and through and through is. Really, I can't believe it's not on every radio station in the western world. I missed his show at Massey Hall in Toronto back in May and just recently found out I will miss Sonic Youth at Massey Hall at the end of June. As well as a free Broken Social Scene show at the Harbour Front in a few weeks. And an endless list of other shows. I always forget how much I miss Toronto when I leave it until I leave it again. Especially leaving it at the very first breath of Summer. Toronto is a beautiful, beautiful place in the summertime. Although memories of last summer in my tiny air conditionless apartment trying to sleep in 35-40 degree temperatures and 100% humidity and all my memories of the previous winter ,walking to work in -30 degree temperatures make my home sickness much easier to deal with.
I took a bus up to Ambleside,up in the Lakes District, early Friday morning. I hiked up Wansfell Pike. A walk which by all accounts is one of the easier hikes you can do in the area. The first two hours are up hill, and on this day were utterly utterly humiliating. It was like getting viciously punched in the face, belly and legs simultaneously by the painful realisation of just how out of shape I, apparently, am. It was infuriating. I got there in the end, ate my Sweet Tomatoe and chilli chutney with Vintage Cheese sandwich, drank some water,soaked up the views and enjoyed the last three hours of the walk but man alive. Those first two hours were depressing. Almost as depressing as getting back into Ambleside, finding a pub with a nice patio and then finding out that instead of the delicious Magners Pear cidar, they had Bulmers Pear cidar. People have tried to tell me its the same,but really it's a poor substitute. I drank it anyway, read some of my book and then slept most of the bus ride home. Is this what happens when you reach the tender age of thirty?
I've also joined the gym and am trying to go 4-5 times a week. Which thanks to the wonderful people at the offices of UK Immigration,has been made very easy. Having no recourse to work or to public funds and all. You can call me a man of leisure for the time being.
The big day is coming up and still doesn't feel quite real. That's probably why I don't feel much anxiety. I assume that will hit me soon enough though. Right now I just feel excited. I have my suit and my electric shoes and can't wait to see everybody. It will be kind of surreal to have people from my whole life together in one room, if you know what I mean. Having my family and Canadian friends, and my travelling friends and my Barrow friends and Nic's family and friends all together will be strange and amazing.
The stag is fast approaching. We leave this Saturday at 11am. Possibly never to be seen again. I'm looking forward to it.
On an entirely different subject, has anyone else noticed the people on Come dine with me are now simply a ridiculous group of circus freaks? I swear they were normal a couple of years ago? Weren't they?
Oh and I have been working on the wedding playlist for the last few weeks. The first draft came in at nineteen hours. I figured that would probably have to be cut down. Or maybe the party should just be nineteen hours?! In a perfect world it would be. I have cut out some of the fat. It currently sits at a slim and trim fourteen hours. The really painful part was realising I still have to cut about eight hours off of that. Tears will be shed,oh yes,tears will be shed.
Speaking of music, if I hear Bonkers by Dizzee Rascal one more time I'm gonna do something drastic. I'm very excited about the new Sonic Youth record, and the new Hayden record and the new Bike for three record. I'm seriously digging the new single by Empire of the Sun. Anyone familiar with the first record Lovers by The Sleepy Jackson really shouldn't be surprised by how good this new project is. Luke Steel is some kind of weird Aussie genius. I mean I'm as sick sick sick of the on going eighties love fest as everyone else should be,but Empire of the sun is an exception. Although I really should reserve my verdict until I actually hear the entire album.
Oh and the other day on Ninja Warrior,the most entertaining show on television, they revealed a brand new obstacle course! Miraculously, the brilliant minds who work on Ninja Warrior have managed to make the course harder than ever. If you haven't watched this show yet I highly recommend you give it a shot.It's a Japanese game show kind of like Takashi's Castle only less ridiculous, more fun and without those weird guys in the nightmarish costumes. Ninja Warrior is a legitimate contest. And the exaggerated english commentary is fantastic.
Anyway, I'm gonna go to bed, but before I do I want to reiterate my initial statement regarding Charlie Brooker. He is probably the most important man working in the pop culture media. He definately is the most important man working in the english pop culture media. His only possible north american rivals being Stephen Colbert and Jon Stewart. And that is high praise indeed. If you haven't yet you should check him out. Either in his weekly column in the Guardian or on his late night TV show Charlie Brooker's Screen Wipe.
Oh and the other day I saw a news story about a four year old boy who wanted to give his new born Cockerspanial puppy a wash and ended up flushing it down the toilet. Miraculously they rescued it from inside the plumbing and the dog is fine. And they got some amazing footage of the puppy stuck in the pipe. This world is a weird and ridiculous place.
Good night.
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