A flowchart that explains the inexplicable.
A flowchart that explains the inexplicable.
You’ve probably already seen this. I know I have. But I think it’s lovely. For me, it’s the dancing beaver that makes it. If everybody danced like a beaver, why, this world would be… weirder. Like, a lot weirder. But more nicerer too.
Because I hate Oasis. I hate their music, their haircuts, their stupid, meaningless choruses. If they have pets I hate them too. And now they’ve split, which I suppose is a slightly less drastic solution than the one I proposed, but… ah, it’ll do. So hooray, some good news after the melancholic navel-gazing of my last post.
I thought I had the opportunity to put an end to the Gallagher’s witless, leaden, derivative drudge-rock back in the nineties, when Radio 1 ran a competition to win Noel’s guitar. “Fuck me”, I thought, “I’ll enter that!” but then I realised he probably had another one. Foiled again.
Depending on how deep you want to go, Nacho Vigalondo’s Sunday is either a funny film with a simple-yet-clever punchline (the basic idea behind which is similar to one I had once, but hey, you snooze, you lose) or an allegory about what happens when you get so focussed on the petty concerns and trivialities of life that you miss the true magic happening right in front of you. Or behind you. Or behind the camera.
Yeah. Actually, that analysis doesn’t really hold up when you think about it so… don’t think about it. What can I say? I’m no Chris Tookey.
Great film, though.
I met an old teacher of mine, from 30 years ago. I saw him and thought, dammit, I have nothing but good memories of him, I’m going to go up and tell him. So I did.
“Mr Willis?” I said.
“Hi, it’s… James isn’t it?”
From 30 years ago! I was amazed. I told him I didn’t remember much about school, but I remembered that I’d liked being in his class. He seemed pleased.
“So James… What are you doing these days?”
“Oh, squandering my potential, as you’d expect. Your reports were totally accurate!”
So that was nice. I wandered around, read a good book (Hiding the Elephant by Jim Steinmeyer if you’re interested), sat on the beach, pondered. Frankly, I didn’t want to leave. The sooner I get away from the orange-skied delight of Middlesbrough, the better.
OK, enough personal baloney, we want a joke: So I grew up near a town called Redcar, which was famous for an ice-cream called the lemontop – basically a tasty, tangy yellowy citrus topping to the vanilla cone confection.
Mm, we loved it. Trouble is, is taught a generation of kids to not be afraid of yellow snow. So come winter, we’d be out in the snow and:
“Ooh, look, nature’s lemontop…
…nature’s lemontop is tangier than Redcar’s lemontop”
And nature’s 99 was revolting.
I had a mocha by the sea in the rain this afternoon. It’s the only way to drink coffee! Well, it is if you’re by the sea in the rain. Coffee and the sea are 2 of the 5 or so things I can’t live without. I know, theoretically nobody could live without the sea, but it’s a proximity thing for me. Love a rough stormy ocean. Add coffee, we’re close to happy. Don’t mix em too literally: nobody wants a storm in a coffee cup. Zing!
Anyway. What’s my point? Oh yeah, I’m on Bob Fischer, BBC Tees, this Wednesday from 8. Expect blather!
In his book, “Laughter: A Scientific Investigation”, psychologist Robert R Provine discovered that laughter is more often prompted by banal comments than amusing jokes.
– New Scientist 2720
Interesting. So why don’t people find me funnier?
All You Need Is Love. Yeah, but if you’re making lasagne you’re going to need some pasta as well*.
It’s been a musical day. Had a band practice: no stupid lyrics cos we’re well postrock innit. I got totally lost in music and forgot who I was for a bit, which is good. Especially when I forgot I can’t actually play the guitar.
Then later I recorded another song, thinking it was all raw and honest, but listening to it now, it actually sounds like Take That having a ballad. Not good. Still, at least it’s short. And sweet. Like Mark Owen. Aw.
*Seriously. Love is not all you need. God damn hippies. Never take relationship advice from a man with a moustache, I can’t stress this enough, people! Specially if they’re wearing paisley.
Oh and it also prevented Star Wars from being a boring film about oddly-dressed characters getting along with one other. ‘Look out! Darth Vader is hugging an Ewok!’*
I wrote a song earlier. The lyrics weren’t stupid, honestly, they were lovely and personal and poetic and all sensitive about love and pain and that, but I won’t be playing it to anyone in case some ignorant blogger takes the piss.
*actually I’d probably watch that. And weep gently at the humanity of it. “That’s no moon. It’s a basket of kittens”
This is a test blog – seeing if I can do this via phone. Although I would like to add that I have reconsidered my last post. I think a glove box hot dog oven is a realistic and worthwhile goal. Fuck comedy. I want the convenience of tasty hot frankfurters at 70 mph. Brothers and sisters, I have a dream. With onions. That’s all. Bye.