Tuesday, June 30, 2009
The revenge of the Belle & Sebastian fans
Ruminating about death and Wikipedia and Swells and the various levels of famousness, at Prospect.
Friday, June 26, 2009
He’s out of my life
You see, I’m in two minds about Michael Jackson. Of course, he was a genius, despite everything. So what I really wanted to do was to find a copy of the NME cover that ran after Elvis died, when they used a pic of him in his ducktailed, knock-kneed, 1956 glory with the legend: “REMEMBER HIM THIS WAY”, acknowledging that he was so much more than the bloated Vegas abomination.
But I couldn’t find the cover, and anyway it would probably have just looked stupid and insulting if I stuck a shot of ‘I Want You Back’ or ‘Wanna Be Starting Something’-era Jacko in the middle of it. And of course there was all the other stuff as well. If we’re really going to look back on his life, we need to include this as well:
But I couldn’t find the cover, and anyway it would probably have just looked stupid and insulting if I stuck a shot of ‘I Want You Back’ or ‘Wanna Be Starting Something’-era Jacko in the middle of it. And of course there was all the other stuff as well. If we’re really going to look back on his life, we need to include this as well:
Thursday, June 25, 2009
That literally makes me want to die.
I have not fallen off the face of the planet, but we're closing on the house tomorrow, yippee!
This has been me lately:
(Thanks Cute Overload...)
And thank you so much, Alex, for these Michael Bay Facts...
But I'll return to normal programming soon.
This has been me lately:
(Thanks Cute Overload...)
And thank you so much, Alex, for these Michael Bay Facts...
But I'll return to normal programming soon.
Deflates
I was going to say something about how sad I am that Slaminsky’s chucked in the towel, but then I thought, hey, it’s her call, it’s not like she’s dead or anything.
Then I found out that Steven Wells (aka Seething Wells/Swells/Susan Williams) had lost his three-year battle with cancer.
I never met Swells. I did occasionally exchange e-mails, and once had a bit of a phone barney with him. (I called him a plagiarist; he called me a whinger; we both agreed that the idea of reviving the musical Hair in the 1990s was an affront to good taste.)
But at the same time, I knew him intimately, first because of my teenage obsession with performance poetry; and later because for several years he was the cleverest, funniest writer in the NME, in that late-80s/early 90s phase when it was past its best but still the best thing going. What was great about him was that even if you disagreed utterly with what he said (he loathed the Smiths, and I’m sure it was he who argued that Sonia had made a greater contribution to pop history than Morrissey ever could), he was still more readable that a dozen hacks who just regurgitated your own prejudices and served them back to you. Which is why, presumably, there was no longer a place for him at the NME, and he plied his trade instead at The Guardian, the Philadelphia Weekly and online spaces such as Quietus (where this gorgeous pisstake of Radiohead comes from).
He died on Tuesday, the same day that the editor of the NME was appointed to take over at Top Gear magazine. Little more needs to be said. (Although Betty says it.)
PS: Everett’s collated some of the many tributes; another from Akira the Don; and here’s the man himself on sport and blogging and stuff.
Then I found out that Steven Wells (aka Seething Wells/Swells/Susan Williams) had lost his three-year battle with cancer.
I never met Swells. I did occasionally exchange e-mails, and once had a bit of a phone barney with him. (I called him a plagiarist; he called me a whinger; we both agreed that the idea of reviving the musical Hair in the 1990s was an affront to good taste.)
But at the same time, I knew him intimately, first because of my teenage obsession with performance poetry; and later because for several years he was the cleverest, funniest writer in the NME, in that late-80s/early 90s phase when it was past its best but still the best thing going. What was great about him was that even if you disagreed utterly with what he said (he loathed the Smiths, and I’m sure it was he who argued that Sonia had made a greater contribution to pop history than Morrissey ever could), he was still more readable that a dozen hacks who just regurgitated your own prejudices and served them back to you. Which is why, presumably, there was no longer a place for him at the NME, and he plied his trade instead at The Guardian, the Philadelphia Weekly and online spaces such as Quietus (where this gorgeous pisstake of Radiohead comes from).
He died on Tuesday, the same day that the editor of the NME was appointed to take over at Top Gear magazine. Little more needs to be said. (Although Betty says it.)
PS: Everett’s collated some of the many tributes; another from Akira the Don; and here’s the man himself on sport and blogging and stuff.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Laid out
Can’t for the life of me remember where I found this, and it was only two days ago. I feel like one of those respectable ladies who enters the menopause and starts nicking evaporated milk from Fortnum & Mason. Anyway, if it belongs to anyone, please yell, and I’ll acknowledge, and get my medication changed. And give the evaporated milk back.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Green graffiti
It seems as if I’m running some kind of anti-Banksy campaign here, and I’m really not; he’s fab, and so are the Art Hate guys. We cannot live on polite watercolours alone. But images from Tehran such as this
and these and these (at the excellent FryingPanFire blog) rather put received notions of rebellion and criminality into some kind of perspective.
PS: That said, here’s more evidence that Banksy’s outlaw brand has eaten itself.
and these and these (at the excellent FryingPanFire blog) rather put received notions of rebellion and criminality into some kind of perspective.
PS: That said, here’s more evidence that Banksy’s outlaw brand has eaten itself.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
Kunst
It probably entirely contradicts everything I was saying last week about the faux subversion of Banksy’s Bristol event, because this is just as hypey and adolescent, but National Art Hate Week does strike me as being a rather amusing wheeze.
PS: The word I was striving for with regard to the Banksy gig: authenticitude.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Gread
Snippet from an encounter with Jonathan Meades. Why eat if you aren’t hungry, asks the interviewer, Hermione Eyre.
“Why did Borges buy books after he was blind?”
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Dead links to dead trees
Some bits and pieces, connected only by their location on the cusp of cyber and meat:
PS: More on the Nightjack case from Paperhouse, Anton Vowl and Girl With A One-Track Mind, who suffered similar indignities at the hands of Rupert’s catamites, and also ties the whole grubby affair up with what's occurring in Tehran.
PPS: And the bloggers, inevitably, strike back.
• The Times wins the right to unmask police blogger Nightjack, a move that seems to serve no purpose than allowing old media to remind the blogosphere who’s boss. The whole thing makes me exceedingly angry; fortunately, Chicken Yogurt is clear-headed enough to point out the essential hypocrisy of The Times’s position.
• On similar lines, tight-collared reactionary Simon Heffer in the Telegraph spews extraordinary quantities of nonsense about the rubbishness of Facebook, never once questioning the privilege that accords him a platform.
• Graphic design student Rob Matthews prints off 437 articles from Wikipedia and turns them into a book. “It makes people laugh,” says Matthews, “which is good.”
• Ann Kirschner tackles the format question that’s got publishing in knots, by consuming Dickens as book, audiobook, Kindle and iPhone.
• Everett True offers a quantitative comparison between blogs now and fanzines then.
• The whole Iranian hoo-ha raises a number of questions about politics and technology, not least the question of whether we perceive the result to be unjust because Twitter users are more likely to be Moussavi supporters. However, Harvard academic Jonathan Zittrain makes a wider point about this most misunderstood medium, and why it is so successful at times of civic upheaval: “The qualities that make Twitter seem inane and half-baked are what make it so powerful.”
PS: More on the Nightjack case from Paperhouse, Anton Vowl and Girl With A One-Track Mind, who suffered similar indignities at the hands of Rupert’s catamites, and also ties the whole grubby affair up with what's occurring in Tehran.
PPS: And the bloggers, inevitably, strike back.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Hey, nice bulbs, Emily. Oh, and I don't mean that metaphorically.
DOG POST!
I used to sleep like this, both hind legs hunched up...
They glare, but they love.
ISIS!
CHAZZ!
I could tell you about Isis' shameful love of a particular man's extended leg, or Chazz's inability to control his lower hindquarters when he witnesses said encounter...but I won't. I mean, after all, they are both spayed/neutered. As a witness, I'm here to say that apparently, you just can't fight that feelin'.
In any case, here they are, looking very reserved, indeed...(well, except how Chazz has his junk situated just above the Lion's head, which he then proceeds to sit directly on, in a really funny and inappropriate shot...)
And btw, I ADORE sleeping with Chazz; he burrows for the whole night, only occasionally waking you with his panting. Pics to come, but SO CUTE.
I used to sleep like this, both hind legs hunched up...
They glare, but they love.
ISIS!
CHAZZ!
I could tell you about Isis' shameful love of a particular man's extended leg, or Chazz's inability to control his lower hindquarters when he witnesses said encounter...but I won't. I mean, after all, they are both spayed/neutered. As a witness, I'm here to say that apparently, you just can't fight that feelin'.
In any case, here they are, looking very reserved, indeed...(well, except how Chazz has his junk situated just above the Lion's head, which he then proceeds to sit directly on, in a really funny and inappropriate shot...)
And btw, I ADORE sleeping with Chazz; he burrows for the whole night, only occasionally waking you with his panting. Pics to come, but SO CUTE.
Monday, June 15, 2009
I like my coffee like I like my news--watered down and stupid.
I can't help it, I have to post this, it's too goddamn funny. This is the beginning and middle of the feud between Jon Stewart and Morning Joe...
And that was great, but the second segment is even better...
Sarcasm? Doesn't even one of them know what sarcasm means? I think they meant they were exaggerating or embellishing, but yeah, sarcasm would imply some pretty hostile pokes at Starbucks on their part. JESUS.
There was a third segment where they called Stewart an angry man and The Daily Show got a pony involved, but I liked the first two best.
| The Daily Show With Jon Stewart | Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c | |||
| Corporate SynerJoe | ||||
| ||||
And that was great, but the second segment is even better...
| The Daily Show With Jon Stewart | Mon - Thurs 11p / 10c | |||
| Morning Joe's Sarcastic Starbucks Sponsorship | ||||
| ||||
Sarcasm? Doesn't even one of them know what sarcasm means? I think they meant they were exaggerating or embellishing, but yeah, sarcasm would imply some pretty hostile pokes at Starbucks on their part. JESUS.
There was a third segment where they called Stewart an angry man and The Daily Show got a pony involved, but I liked the first two best.
Don't look at me, I'm fucked up on corn bread.
So the weekend of June 5th (actually by "weekend" I mean Friday--Tuesday, I like a long weekend) was spent in NYC for my and my two best friends' birthdays. We landed in JFK and took the A train way out to the tip top of Manhattan where Drew lives, in Washington Heights. It was really starting to rain pretty heavily, and even though we found a neglected umbrella on the AirTrain, it just wasn't cutting it. Luckily Drew lives close to the station.
Luis was working late, so Drew and I caught up while D popped out for beer and wine. Drew cooked African peanut soup, a recipe from a vegan friend. We all had two helpings and it was incredible. It would make a great winter dish, and even though it was June, the weather was unseasonably suited.
Luis showed up and he and D were introduced. D had beer, the rest of us wine, and 3 bottles later it was time for bed. I'm really glad we got to squeeze in a night at their place, it's so easy to kill both wine and time there. Any conversation that can range from Slovakia to enema kits is a win in my book.
Saturday we all got a slow start to the day; I walked down to the local bagel shop for everyone's order. Eventually we set off for Christopher St., which is always great for people-watching. There was a street market set up as well, with lots of yummy looking foods and trinkets...
The creepiest book ever written?
On the way, we also passed the usual barrage of (fun, not creepy) sex shops. The people who work there are--seriously--almost too helpful. They are more than happy to open/demonstrate anything in the store. I not only learned the benefits of glass anal toys and dildos (!), but got to touch the inside of a fleshlight. Ew. I don't recommend that one.
We walked out to the pier at the end of the street. Drew said, "I always think of you at this pier! Gay Sex in the 70s!" (Drew and I watched this documentary when he visited me in TX; this one was during our day-long film & margarita bash. The docks featured in the film were the scene of much anonymous sex; they used to be just off the pier--you can kinda see the remains.)
The gorgeous weather meant a ton of half-naked bodies on the "lawn" area, sunbathing and an insane number of dog-walkers. I noticed a huge drop in the number of smokers while out and about in Manhattan, yet I don't recall all these fucking dogs. It's like all the smokers quit (apparently a pack is $9.50) and got a dog instead. I guess I prefer the dogs?
After a long break enjoying sitting and sunshine (and subsequently only a mild burn for me!), we walked through Union Square (I would spend far too much on foodie here every week if I lived near, yikes) and finally arrived at Les Halles a little early.
The service here is consistently shit (though our waitress really did improve from her initial ambivalence-bordering-on-irritation) and the food is always mind-blowingly tender. I had my usual (filet de boeuf, bearnaise), others had ribs, flat iron steak, mussels...I forget. It was OM NOM NOM to put it mildly. Desserts, shared, included bananas flambe (what a show) and the creme brulee, and a dessert wine. Totally satisfying on a transcendental level.
Then we all said goodbye and Drew and Luis left back for Washington Heights and we left with Gene and Emily for Brooklyn. I think Les Halles (the Park Ave location) was a perfect in-the-middle spot considering the two of them live quite far apart.
We took it easy the rest of the night with beers on the stoop (aka "stoopin' it"). They live in a fabulous two-story brownstone, with their apartment on the second story, in Windsor Terrace. Brooklyn is sooooooooo nice, I'm a fan. Bigger streets, more space, more quiet...I guess it's cheaper than Manhattan considering the space, but it's still pricey as hell.
More on the rest of the weekend next! But in addition to Gene and Emily, we also got the company of Chazz (brown) and Isis (white), their two miniature Italian Greyhounds. I'm not a dog person by any stretch of the imagination, but these two are damn sweet, often a little cat-like, and I'll take 'em both anyday.
And yes, that is their lion blanket cushion. LOVE.
Luis was working late, so Drew and I caught up while D popped out for beer and wine. Drew cooked African peanut soup, a recipe from a vegan friend. We all had two helpings and it was incredible. It would make a great winter dish, and even though it was June, the weather was unseasonably suited.
Luis showed up and he and D were introduced. D had beer, the rest of us wine, and 3 bottles later it was time for bed. I'm really glad we got to squeeze in a night at their place, it's so easy to kill both wine and time there. Any conversation that can range from Slovakia to enema kits is a win in my book.
Saturday we all got a slow start to the day; I walked down to the local bagel shop for everyone's order. Eventually we set off for Christopher St., which is always great for people-watching. There was a street market set up as well, with lots of yummy looking foods and trinkets...
The creepiest book ever written?
On the way, we also passed the usual barrage of (fun, not creepy) sex shops. The people who work there are--seriously--almost too helpful. They are more than happy to open/demonstrate anything in the store. I not only learned the benefits of glass anal toys and dildos (!), but got to touch the inside of a fleshlight. Ew. I don't recommend that one.
We walked out to the pier at the end of the street. Drew said, "I always think of you at this pier! Gay Sex in the 70s!" (Drew and I watched this documentary when he visited me in TX; this one was during our day-long film & margarita bash. The docks featured in the film were the scene of much anonymous sex; they used to be just off the pier--you can kinda see the remains.)
The gorgeous weather meant a ton of half-naked bodies on the "lawn" area, sunbathing and an insane number of dog-walkers. I noticed a huge drop in the number of smokers while out and about in Manhattan, yet I don't recall all these fucking dogs. It's like all the smokers quit (apparently a pack is $9.50) and got a dog instead. I guess I prefer the dogs?
After a long break enjoying sitting and sunshine (and subsequently only a mild burn for me!), we walked through Union Square (I would spend far too much on foodie here every week if I lived near, yikes) and finally arrived at Les Halles a little early.
The service here is consistently shit (though our waitress really did improve from her initial ambivalence-bordering-on-irritation) and the food is always mind-blowingly tender. I had my usual (filet de boeuf, bearnaise), others had ribs, flat iron steak, mussels...I forget. It was OM NOM NOM to put it mildly. Desserts, shared, included bananas flambe (what a show) and the creme brulee, and a dessert wine. Totally satisfying on a transcendental level.
Then we all said goodbye and Drew and Luis left back for Washington Heights and we left with Gene and Emily for Brooklyn. I think Les Halles (the Park Ave location) was a perfect in-the-middle spot considering the two of them live quite far apart.
We took it easy the rest of the night with beers on the stoop (aka "stoopin' it"). They live in a fabulous two-story brownstone, with their apartment on the second story, in Windsor Terrace. Brooklyn is sooooooooo nice, I'm a fan. Bigger streets, more space, more quiet...I guess it's cheaper than Manhattan considering the space, but it's still pricey as hell.
More on the rest of the weekend next! But in addition to Gene and Emily, we also got the company of Chazz (brown) and Isis (white), their two miniature Italian Greyhounds. I'm not a dog person by any stretch of the imagination, but these two are damn sweet, often a little cat-like, and I'll take 'em both anyday.
And yes, that is their lion blanket cushion. LOVE.
Let me out there, sir, I have no problem exposing myself.
This can be a post of randomness. First of all, I love Linda in my finaid office at school. Everything is always better after talking to Linda.
Secondly, this past Saturday, with the heat index it was 108 here in DFW. Technically, I think it was 98, but it only matters what it feels like. And in Boston? It was 67. I don't care what the heat index was there because did you just read that part about how it was 67??
Also, after I posted my critique for La Zona on the little website I write for, the editor asked me if I'd like to become a featured writer rather than just a contributing writer. I'd never asked about it because I barely finish my crap by my deadlines as it is, and I didn't know if that was annoying. But neat-o! I don't know yet what category I'll get to cover, and I have to write a little more often (but like once a week instead of doing 7 in one week at the last minute, ha ha), but I'm happy to try. I want to have something to do outside of studying, you know?
I think everything is still going nicely with the house? I have drawn my own impressions about my buyer, but you know, I shall say nothing here. For the moment. And balls, do I need to finish up packing. Good thing I've got a ton of Stewart/Colberts to catch up on...
Random picture time! These are the miscellaneous pics from Boston I never posted; they didn't fit in with the others, really.
This was a shop near the hotel; I believe there was also a music school nearby. In any case, I just like shiny instruments. I also love the red curtains for the secret back room.
Sexy cupcakes at Whole Foods (yet another establishment that does not sell alcohol, wtf). These looked SO YUMMY. Don't know if I could actually eat it. (Yeah, right.)
There was a brief moment after a few beers where I really wanted this Barbie Vespa Scooter thing. It looked fun. Then I remembered I'd be driving it in Boston. Nevermind.
We'd already eaten dinner that night but were trying to buy a few drinks to take back to the hotel. Since this was turning into the stupidest of challenges, we drank at the cutest Asian restaurant near the hotel.
I really wanted to try the food, and now I am completely blanking on the type of food or the name. It will come to me...maybe...
But it looked delish and I think we were the only Caucasians in there, a good sign. I'll be back in a couple months if it doesn't come to me before then!
Secondly, this past Saturday, with the heat index it was 108 here in DFW. Technically, I think it was 98, but it only matters what it feels like. And in Boston? It was 67. I don't care what the heat index was there because did you just read that part about how it was 67??
Also, after I posted my critique for La Zona on the little website I write for, the editor asked me if I'd like to become a featured writer rather than just a contributing writer. I'd never asked about it because I barely finish my crap by my deadlines as it is, and I didn't know if that was annoying. But neat-o! I don't know yet what category I'll get to cover, and I have to write a little more often (but like once a week instead of doing 7 in one week at the last minute, ha ha), but I'm happy to try. I want to have something to do outside of studying, you know?
I think everything is still going nicely with the house? I have drawn my own impressions about my buyer, but you know, I shall say nothing here. For the moment. And balls, do I need to finish up packing. Good thing I've got a ton of Stewart/Colberts to catch up on...
Random picture time! These are the miscellaneous pics from Boston I never posted; they didn't fit in with the others, really.
This was a shop near the hotel; I believe there was also a music school nearby. In any case, I just like shiny instruments. I also love the red curtains for the secret back room.
Sexy cupcakes at Whole Foods (yet another establishment that does not sell alcohol, wtf). These looked SO YUMMY. Don't know if I could actually eat it. (Yeah, right.)
There was a brief moment after a few beers where I really wanted this Barbie Vespa Scooter thing. It looked fun. Then I remembered I'd be driving it in Boston. Nevermind.
We'd already eaten dinner that night but were trying to buy a few drinks to take back to the hotel. Since this was turning into the stupidest of challenges, we drank at the cutest Asian restaurant near the hotel.
I really wanted to try the food, and now I am completely blanking on the type of food or the name. It will come to me...maybe...
But it looked delish and I think we were the only Caucasians in there, a good sign. I'll be back in a couple months if it doesn't come to me before then!
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Are you sure you're a woman? You look more like an artichoke.
I know, I should be finishing up with the packing. But I had all these Netfux to catch up on! I polished off the newest season (4) of Weeds...not only are the episodes short but the seasons tend to be, too! It was enjoyable, if a bit choppy. And while I do really enjoy Weeds, I just need to take a minute to bitch about the marketing.
I mean, really? Of course Mary-Louise Parker is wicked hot, she always has been. And sure, the "tangled web" reference works, but why the fuck is she wearing this? I realize any excuse to show skin is going to be jumped upon, but really? It's just so shamelessly unrelated to the content of the show. And ok, so also, maybe this poster was ALL OVER the NYC subways and maybe I got tired of seeing it...it just started to bug me. (Ha ha.)
/rant off.
Anyhoo. Movie-wise, I can really recommend a film called La Zona.
It's a little hard to follow who's who at first, but it becomes rapidly obvious. It's a great film set in present-day Mexico City, and the story revolves around mob mentality and class divide--and it's not heavy or bleak (but great stark cinematography, I'll grant). I really enjoyed it--really nicely done.
Also re-watched La Strada. I have always loved this film, but somehow I often forget how damn depressing it is!
I mean, it's Fellini, so it's hardly a shocker in that department, but I guess because it's not necessarily something you see coming during the film? Sure, it's a bleak character mix from the get-go, with Zampano being a barbaric opposite to Gelsomina's simple Chaplin-esque character and Richard Basehart's The Fool. I mean, you know it's probably not going to end well, but somehow I forget it really packs it in there towards the end. Sneaks up on you.
But uh, on that note, I really do recommend it if you haven't seen it! What an endorsement, right?
Now I'm watching Recount, which I recall got a bunch of Golden Globes at one time.
It's enjoyable enough, though however much I agree with it, it's completely, unapologetically one-sided in its re-telling. The only people who would watch it probably agree with it to begin with, so what's the point really? It does have a slew of great actors, so what, just sit back and enjoy the performances? I will say that Laura Dern makes a fabulous Katherine Harris...
I'll pack later.
I mean, really? Of course Mary-Louise Parker is wicked hot, she always has been. And sure, the "tangled web" reference works, but why the fuck is she wearing this? I realize any excuse to show skin is going to be jumped upon, but really? It's just so shamelessly unrelated to the content of the show. And ok, so also, maybe this poster was ALL OVER the NYC subways and maybe I got tired of seeing it...it just started to bug me. (Ha ha.)
/rant off.
Anyhoo. Movie-wise, I can really recommend a film called La Zona.
It's a little hard to follow who's who at first, but it becomes rapidly obvious. It's a great film set in present-day Mexico City, and the story revolves around mob mentality and class divide--and it's not heavy or bleak (but great stark cinematography, I'll grant). I really enjoyed it--really nicely done.
Also re-watched La Strada. I have always loved this film, but somehow I often forget how damn depressing it is!
I mean, it's Fellini, so it's hardly a shocker in that department, but I guess because it's not necessarily something you see coming during the film? Sure, it's a bleak character mix from the get-go, with Zampano being a barbaric opposite to Gelsomina's simple Chaplin-esque character and Richard Basehart's The Fool. I mean, you know it's probably not going to end well, but somehow I forget it really packs it in there towards the end. Sneaks up on you.
But uh, on that note, I really do recommend it if you haven't seen it! What an endorsement, right?
Now I'm watching Recount, which I recall got a bunch of Golden Globes at one time.
It's enjoyable enough, though however much I agree with it, it's completely, unapologetically one-sided in its re-telling. The only people who would watch it probably agree with it to begin with, so what's the point really? It does have a slew of great actors, so what, just sit back and enjoy the performances? I will say that Laura Dern makes a fabulous Katherine Harris...
I'll pack later.
Saturday, June 13, 2009
Really spraying something
(I don’t normally do requests, but my dad asked me what I thought about Banksy’s new show. To be more precise, he instructed me to do a blog post about Banksy’s new show.)I think it was Marcel Duchamp (and if it wasn’t, it was surely someone who was thinking along the same lines as Duchamp, or at least someone who had Duchamp’s postcards on the wall) who came up with the two best justifications of conceptual art as A*R*T per se. One was “It’s art because I call it art.” And the other was “It's art because it’s in a gallery.”
This is why I was always a little resistant to the charms of the Young British Artists; it wasn’t that their stuff was bad as such; it was just that Marcel had done most of it before. The only aspect over and above Duchamp that the Sensation generation offered (Did I ever tell you I was at the preview? The wine was frightful, darlings!) was a very 90s focus on celebrity and money; which Warhol had done anyway, 30 years previously.
But Banksy was different. He didn’t justify his art as art, because he didn’t justify anything, because he wasn’t there. And he didn’t put it in a gallery. The whole point of it was that it wasn’t in a gallery. It didn’t just ask “is it art?” It asked questions about public space, about ownership, about offence, about subversion and surveillance, about us and them.
It couldn’t last of course. He had to go into galleries, because that’s what artists do, and the celebrity and the money may have had a part in it as well. Oh well. But there’s something a little desperate about the hype surrounding his current show at the Bristol City Museum; the whole preposterous story that the council wasn’t told about it until the eve of the opening is just silly. The show would have been a huge success anyway; this smacks not of Duchamp, but of that old fraud Dali.
The thing is, Banksy’s been out-Banksy-ed. Conor Casby, the artist who put unauthorised, unflattering portraits of the Irish prime minister into two Dublin art galleries, Just Did It, which is surely closer to the graffitist model that propelled Mr Gunningham to fame. And closer to Duchamp as well, and the questions he raised: it’s art because it’s in an art gallery; but should it be?
Friday, June 12, 2009
Hey babe, I negotiate million dollar deals for breakfast. I think I can handle this Eurotrash.
I'm working on my NYC post with pics, but in the meantime, it's Friday! Two awesome clips.
I was sad to see the hair go, but definitely funny...
And just great stuff all around, Nina Simone's Feelin' Good... (Eventually I start to think Bond video, but in a good way...)
I was sad to see the hair go, but definitely funny...
| The Colbert Report | Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c | |||
| Stephen Gets His Hair Cut | ||||
| ||||
And just great stuff all around, Nina Simone's Feelin' Good... (Eventually I start to think Bond video, but in a good way...)
Sunburn Death Cult
I love teh interwebnets and blonks an’ t’ing, but it’s so hard to keep up. Once I thought Cats That Look Like Hitler was as good as it got. Then I discovered Awkward Family Photographs, and the kitlers seemed like sooooo three months ago. And now, Everett renders awkphos a bit meh, as he directs us to...
Goths in Hot Weather.
Goths in Hot Weather.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
I have tremendous imaginary respect for you.
Now that THE FRAKKING POWER IS BACK ON...I can catch up on my episodes of The Colbert Report, which are taking place in Baghdad this week.
This made me giggle and I really want whatever kind of puppy they have.
This made me giggle and I really want whatever kind of puppy they have.
| The Colbert Report | Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c | |||
| Tom Hanks Care Package | ||||
| ||||
You know, maybe I just don't like you.
Ok, it's coming up on 24 bloody hours without electricity.
We passed "getting pissed" about 18 hours ago. Supposedly 200,000 others are still waiting as well.
We passed "getting pissed" about 18 hours ago. Supposedly 200,000 others are still waiting as well.
We're not only wired to want what we can't have, but we're also wired to want what we really don't want.
So even if our plane was three hours late leaving JFK and we got home around 1 am, I'm still really glad we didn't fly home last night.
We were eating outside at El Arroyo (about five minutes from home) when a wind came through that made the temperature drop at least five degrees. It felt great, but it's also a huge tornado indication! It was kinda funny to watch all the people on the upper exposed part of the patio scatter like ants. It hadn't even started to rain yet. We got home just after seven to no power.
Shoulda stayed at the restaurant, jeez. At least they had cold drinks and power...
And guess what! The frakking power is still out. Eighteen hours +. So much for the fresh feta from Central Market...grrrrrrrr.
We were eating outside at El Arroyo (about five minutes from home) when a wind came through that made the temperature drop at least five degrees. It felt great, but it's also a huge tornado indication! It was kinda funny to watch all the people on the upper exposed part of the patio scatter like ants. It hadn't even started to rain yet. We got home just after seven to no power.
Shoulda stayed at the restaurant, jeez. At least they had cold drinks and power...
And guess what! The frakking power is still out. Eighteen hours +. So much for the fresh feta from Central Market...grrrrrrrr.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
Banksters
If, like me, you’ve been made quite angry by the current financial crisis, without properly understanding it, take a while (it’s rather long, I’m afraid) to read this. It’s mainly about the Royal Bank of Scotland, Fred Goodwin and all that; but also touches on Lehman, AIG, Northern Rock, HBOS and all the other companies that you know sort of arsed up somehow, but you’d get a bit fuzzy if someone asked you for the precise details.
Oddly, it‘s not in the FT or the Economist; it’s in the London Review of Books. And it’s not by a financial journalist, but by John Lanchester, who I know best for some elegantly cruel novels that combine elements of Kazuo Ishiguro and Roald Dahl; the cool misanthropy does ooze through here as well.
Once you’ve read it (and, I reiterate, it’s by no means short - well over 10,000 words, I reckon - maybe make a pot of tea and a plate of ginger nuts first), you should understand the crisis a little better. However, you will also be a hell of a lot angrier.
Oddly, it‘s not in the FT or the Economist; it’s in the London Review of Books. And it’s not by a financial journalist, but by John Lanchester, who I know best for some elegantly cruel novels that combine elements of Kazuo Ishiguro and Roald Dahl; the cool misanthropy does ooze through here as well.
Once you’ve read it (and, I reiterate, it’s by no means short - well over 10,000 words, I reckon - maybe make a pot of tea and a plate of ginger nuts first), you should understand the crisis a little better. However, you will also be a hell of a lot angrier.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Nazi punks fox off
Something to cheer you up on what, for many of us, is a rather glum day. I think it’s a parable about the joys of a multi-racial, pan-cultural, mongrel society, and how silly it is to be scared of difference. Or maybe not. Whatever, it’s bloody *F*O*R*E*I*G*N*, which should be enough to annoy those people who deserve to be annoyed:
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Rivers of blah
A long while back, probably around the time I was writing strongly worded letters to The Independent about their reviewers’ abysmal taste in sturdy footwear, I worked for the PUSH University Guides. One of my bright ideas was to write to hundreds of famous people (this was before celebrities were invented) to ask if they had any anecdotes, advice or sardonic one-liners about their time in higher education.
For some reason, one of the people I contacted was Enoch Powell. Why I thought that yer average A-level student might be interested in the reminiscences of a right-wing politician whose greatest (in)fame had arisen a quarter-century before, I’m not sure. But in due course, a communication was forthcoming from his Eaton Square eyrie, manual typewriter, notepaper not A4, pale blue to match his scary eyes. He let it be known that looking back at his time at Cambridge in the early 1930s, he regretted not having availed himself more of the social life; and he wished me to pass this on to our readers.
I immediately fashioned an image of the young Powell, an awkward, provincial, lower-middle-class youth, thrust into the lush, louche decadence of Cambridge; on a Saturday night, in his room, ploughing through Thucyides and Pliny while beautiful, confident, gilded aristocrats drink and flirt and smoke and cavort in the quads and fountains, their joys filtering through his window. And he wanted to join them, even for half an hour, but he knew he never could. For all the harm he’d done to race relations and social cohesion, from then on, I felt rather sorry for him. Even as I read the text of his notorious Rivers of Blood speech, he seemed less like a wannabe dictator, more like the butler in Ishiguro’s The Remains of the Day, fatally unable to make that crucial human connection; hugely intelligent, but entirely lacking in understanding.
And on vaguely related matters, however cheesed off you are with the gimps and chancers who pretend to run this country, please don’t vote for the BNP today. The reason they can’t make a human connection is that they’re subhuman.
For some reason, one of the people I contacted was Enoch Powell. Why I thought that yer average A-level student might be interested in the reminiscences of a right-wing politician whose greatest (in)fame had arisen a quarter-century before, I’m not sure. But in due course, a communication was forthcoming from his Eaton Square eyrie, manual typewriter, notepaper not A4, pale blue to match his scary eyes. He let it be known that looking back at his time at Cambridge in the early 1930s, he regretted not having availed himself more of the social life; and he wished me to pass this on to our readers. I immediately fashioned an image of the young Powell, an awkward, provincial, lower-middle-class youth, thrust into the lush, louche decadence of Cambridge; on a Saturday night, in his room, ploughing through Thucyides and Pliny while beautiful, confident, gilded aristocrats drink and flirt and smoke and cavort in the quads and fountains, their joys filtering through his window. And he wanted to join them, even for half an hour, but he knew he never could. For all the harm he’d done to race relations and social cohesion, from then on, I felt rather sorry for him. Even as I read the text of his notorious Rivers of Blood speech, he seemed less like a wannabe dictator, more like the butler in Ishiguro’s The Remains of the Day, fatally unable to make that crucial human connection; hugely intelligent, but entirely lacking in understanding.
And on vaguely related matters, however cheesed off you are with the gimps and chancers who pretend to run this country, please don’t vote for the BNP today. The reason they can’t make a human connection is that they’re subhuman.
Hold on! Quiet! Let me ignore you one at a time.
I hesitate to write about it here, but fuck it. We got an offer on the house, we negotiated, and we've accepted an offer. WAHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!
Actually, that itself is jumping the gun. The guy's financing (a single guy is buying our house, which I love) could still fall through, a pigeon could shit on it, who knows. But still, it's a positive move in the right direction and I embrace it wholeheartedly.
I admit my first emotion is sadness--I really love that house and, you know, IT'S MINE!! Some strange dude is going to use my spa and probably neglect my fireplaces. Harsh. I'm working on it.
I have been really stressed lately and feeling run-down, so I'm hoping to quash that in the next two days since Friday brings a SEVEN AM flight to New York City. We're going to stay with Emily and her hubby Gene for most of the duration, since we've not even seen their new digs since the move to Brooklyn! The first night we're crashing with Drew and Luis in Washington Heights, so D can finally meet Luis, who is cute as fuckin' buttons. I am really, really, really looking forward to seeing everyone more than I can say. I'm so glad my two best friends will finally be within driving distance (ok, train distance, who am I kidding) for the first time in seven years.
Someone's gonna MOVE, aren't they?
Plus my dad sent me a great article about these great foodie places in Brooklyn that was in the NYTimes a while back and I am ALL OVER THAT BABY.
Oh, and we're totally hitting Les Halles Saturday night (D's present to me) to celebrate all three of our birthdays since we all turn ** this year (almost exactly one month to the day apart from each other). KILL ME. Everyone tells me their *0s were SO MUCH BETTER than their *0s, so I am throwing in the towel and choosing to believe they aren't just lying to themselves.
Oh, and even though I've known Drew for eight years and Emily for twenty-two (omfg), and even though we all lived in Japan at the same time (VERY different cities), they have never met! I have no doubt it will be a great night, since everyone is really wonderful and enjoys a rockin' good steak as much as I.
Actually, that itself is jumping the gun. The guy's financing (a single guy is buying our house, which I love) could still fall through, a pigeon could shit on it, who knows. But still, it's a positive move in the right direction and I embrace it wholeheartedly.
I admit my first emotion is sadness--I really love that house and, you know, IT'S MINE!! Some strange dude is going to use my spa and probably neglect my fireplaces. Harsh. I'm working on it.
I have been really stressed lately and feeling run-down, so I'm hoping to quash that in the next two days since Friday brings a SEVEN AM flight to New York City. We're going to stay with Emily and her hubby Gene for most of the duration, since we've not even seen their new digs since the move to Brooklyn! The first night we're crashing with Drew and Luis in Washington Heights, so D can finally meet Luis, who is cute as fuckin' buttons. I am really, really, really looking forward to seeing everyone more than I can say. I'm so glad my two best friends will finally be within driving distance (ok, train distance, who am I kidding) for the first time in seven years.
Someone's gonna MOVE, aren't they?
Plus my dad sent me a great article about these great foodie places in Brooklyn that was in the NYTimes a while back and I am ALL OVER THAT BABY.
Oh, and we're totally hitting Les Halles Saturday night (D's present to me) to celebrate all three of our birthdays since we all turn ** this year (almost exactly one month to the day apart from each other). KILL ME. Everyone tells me their *0s were SO MUCH BETTER than their *0s, so I am throwing in the towel and choosing to believe they aren't just lying to themselves.
Oh, and even though I've known Drew for eight years and Emily for twenty-two (omfg), and even though we all lived in Japan at the same time (VERY different cities), they have never met! I have no doubt it will be a great night, since everyone is really wonderful and enjoys a rockin' good steak as much as I.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Cracking
I’m often uneasy about those sites that giggle at Chinglish and Thinglish and Japlish and so on, mainly because a site consisting of hapless Anglo attempts to get to grips with foreign tongues would be just as funny: see here for an example.
So please think of the following not as a laughing-at-comic-foreigner thing; but as an example of how a tangential relationship to language creates something that could be the blurb for a Philip K Dick novel, or an abstract of an address to a symposium on the metaphysics of urban life, or maybe even the writing on the back of a pack of rice crackers:
So please think of the following not as a laughing-at-comic-foreigner thing; but as an example of how a tangential relationship to language creates something that could be the blurb for a Philip K Dick novel, or an abstract of an address to a symposium on the metaphysics of urban life, or maybe even the writing on the back of a pack of rice crackers:
Inheritor of the rice cracker expert and under philosophy of being Tasty Healthy Rice Snack Leader, we want our classic and innovative Japanese rice crackers and chips to enter “borderless world” so we develop our products continuously to appeal to a younger, more casual generation. Though the rice snacks are products of culture yet ours are subtle blend of East and West taste.
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