May 2002 Archives
Fellow Dutch weblogger Low's single is out next week. I love that sleeve!
Supporting Cathal Coughlan was an outfit called Florida, who - whenever they managed to ascend their essential twee-ness - were actually quite brilliant. Interesting frontman. Someone who has that 'thing', that thing called charisma, or star quality, but didn't use it in any way that I recognised. Shades of Lou Reed, Arno, McGowan. A big voice that he seemed hesitant to use. All of it an act. Half of it a put on, almost literally (mirror specs... c'mon!), for he seemed quite lucid and gentle off stage, as opposed to bonkers, drunk or awkward on stage. I expected to be dismissive, but I can't shake 'em off, so they must be doing something right.
Luke @ Captain Fez appears to have been fired from his job, because of his website!
Happy 8th year online to Jeffrey Zeldman Presents. Still a daily fixture on my web rounds.
If you're in Dublin this weekend, check out the Fallon & McGee initiated DeathDiscoDublin vibe in Eamonn Doran's as Gavin Friday, Steve Rapid (i.e. Averill, formerly of the Radiators from Space) and B.P. Fallon will be spinning "rock'n'roll, punk-metal-garage-glam-thrash fun" for you. There's bands too. It could be a complete wank-fest. Then again, it could be gold.
I've finally rewritten the 'In London' post. 't Was a bit of a struggle to labour over something that had initially written itself, quite quickly of a Tueday morning in EasyInternet at Victoria station.
Note to self: must check out Iain Sinclair.
Public Lettering, a walk in central London. [ via Zeldman ]
Scriptus: Buffy Scripts & More. This site was on the dreaded Geocities first but has its own domain now, and no ads.
New Mirror Project entry: Tate necessarily so.
Web authors write Manual.
I've been using Dynamic MP3 lister (dMP3lister) on one of my sites. Its author recommends Andromeda to stream mp3s. Might give it a try.
Interesting site to promote a film called donnie darko. Requires Flash and use of brain.
A lot cooler than I thought: Tony Bennett [ .. ] is outrageous. He mythologises himself, namedrops every time he opens his mouth, directs you to his altruism, is self-congratulatory to the point of indecency. He should be intolerable, but he's one of the sweetest, most humble men I've met.
Sinead O'Connor appears to have recorded an album called Sean-nós nua. In case you don't know, Sean-nós is a traditional Irish a cappella singing style. It literally means 'Old Style'. So... Sean-nós nua would mean "Old Style New".
Just read on a forum that UPN have started sending out DVDs of Buffy's "Once More With Feeling" (the musical episode) in an attempt to promote the show for the Emmy's. What I wouldn't give for a copy of that! VHS copies (with custom sleeve) are being sold on E-Bay.
Got John Simpson's autobiography: Strange Places, Questionable People at Gatwick Airport. Read the first 50 or so pages on board, and he got the tearducts working within the first couple of chapters. I like the way he captures 50s and 60s England. Looking forward to the rest of it.
Back. Home. Good. Guy on plane next to me was flossing his teeth, then dumped the soiled floss on the floor. Then he sucked his teeth for the rest of the flight.
"When you're dead and in hell, you'll remember what I said," said the man with the megaphone and the dribble running down his chin on the short tube stretch between Sloane Square and Victoria. "Would you like to hear about Christianity," he'd asked, but that was where he stopped being polite. Our "no" ignored, he latched on and ranted on and on and on about the Lord while we almost double up with laughter.
I've come to love London through the eyes of friends. I denied myself its pleasures in the past, but the keys to the city are simple: a pocket full of money, and someone at your side who knows the place. Suddenly that big sprawl, the frightening maze becomes your best mate.
In three days I try to take it all in. Straight to Oxford from my flight, barely lucid, lunch in the Parsonage Bar chomping down succulent calf's liver on mash, washed down with a bitter ale. Replenished, we find out how to be modern, though we are not allowed to touch Arne Jacobson's sleek, sexy designs.
Later that day, I settle in Chelsea, in a bright room above the Cadogan Arms facing King's Road. The pub itself is a strange hole filled with anyone from paramilitaries to the snotty prematurely ancient 'rah-rah' crowd, served by young, ubiquitous Aussies.
More pubs, more food, a few hours in the Tate Modern, and I end up under the Waterloo Station clock to meet an old friend. It's five and a half years since we last met and we haven't changed a bit on the outside. In the "Queen's Jubilee", under a rainbow flag, I gulp down several John Smith's while we try to catch up on each other's lives and loves and promise to keep in touch this time. Then, running against the clock, I catch a black cab to make it to the gig in time.
Under the roof of the City's Spitalfield Market, the Grand Necropolitan Quartet fill a small stage to bursting. Coughlan having 'just arrived from Ireland, via Essex' quips he's 'mystified' as the people in the Republic don't seem to be celebrating the Jubilee quite so stringently... though he himself would of course be decking himself with bunting...
"Repent you fucking sinners," was the motto when the Fatima Mansions scourged the planet with their rage and their noise, oodles of caustic humour and just the littlest hints of gentle souls beneath the mayhem. Exquisite little moments were always just around the corner, Behind the Moon.
These days Cathal Coughlan's complex compositions are framed by cello and double bass, and the melodies speak beauty even if the mood's firmly on the bitter side of sweet, still interspersed with comic banter.
He slips with ease into a character obsessed with evil, consumerism - What's better than shopping? I know, SEWAGE! - suddenly sidetracked by the sight of that girl, THAT girl, the eyes in her were the colour of obsidian, set in skin the colour of chalk, slim graceful limbs like arrows in precise motion towards an ever unreachable target, THIS is the girl he says and he WON'T GO DOWN THAT GRAVEL ROAD, yet somehow ending up with the Ghost of Limehouse Cut.
Farewell to the city, from the venue we drive along the sweep of the Thames, a hundred million sparkly lights to guide the way. Here is the calm and quiet you wish for when you are rushing around in the bright sunlight, hopping on the tube, grabbing a quick chai latte, munching on a croissant, always trying to get somewhere in time. For what?
For getting there and sitting down, and joy. We're racing between moments of contentment, friends and laughter.
"I get asked a lot of questions because I'm notorious for my wisdom. People come up to me and they say, Cat-hell, what is love? [ ... ] This probably comes as news to you all, but love is impermanent. It doesn't matter if love is the unselfish giving between friends or simply something that three people do after a bottle of Tequila, and they're reenacting something that they saw in a porno film...
I grin, sip my drink. Wise men say. I still believe that some things last forever.
Found telnet access after all - removed tag-board, hey presto, no more pop ups. That was just unbelievably rude, if you ask me. Bye bye, tag-board.
This site has started generating pop up ads all on its lonesome. I have no idea what is causing this. Perhaps it is the tag-board? I can't do anything here from stupid EasyInternet and have no proper access until late tonight when I get back to Amsterdam. Apologies for any inconvenience caused.
I had the best night's sleep I've had in many, many weeks, despite my room facing King's Road, beer deliveries in the morning and a springy bed. All it takes is being away. Tate Modern, Cumberland sausage sambo, smoking on the steps of St Paul, and the knowledge that somebody out there said something sweet about me.
What I'm up to? Check HydraG for today's update. It's been a long year, I said this afternoon. And it's only May. I'm Chelsea girl at the moment and find myself in somebody's flat over a pub, watching somebody's DVD of Human Traffic on a v. large TV screen, while said somebody's away. I'm with a whole bunch of people whose names I don't know. It's all good.
Chris has a spunky new redesign.
Londoners, beware. I'm catching a plane in the morning.
Though there is no lonesome corncrake's cry
Of sorrow and delight
You can hear the cars
And the shouts from bars
And the laughter and the fights.
Oh, excellent, the Saturday Reviews are back - now conveniently (?) renamed 'Chief Seattle Reviews'. In depth Angel (tS) reviews / essays. As an aside... I wish people would fork out a little more and get proper domains without scrolly banners.
I wonder if Ricky Martin's gonna sue.
naar voren » van kladblok tot factuur... Dutch language web development 'zine. Nice.
... had Eurovision on the telly in the background as I watched the Angel finale on the computer. Observation: Entries are all too professional now, the cringe and giggle factor's gone. Loved the schmalzy duet, am a sucker for that kind of thing. As for the Angel finale... so that's where the cringe factor's hiding.
Good old Moby's in Amsterdam today: Why can't more of the world be like the Netherlands (well, barring assasinations, of course)?
Hurrah! My ISP, xs4all, has installed spamfilters, with several settings to choose from. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
Oh fuck... I'm going to miss Angus Deayton's humiliation on Have I got news for you tonight, as I won't be home until later. Perhaps it's better that way. (update: thanks to all who reminded me of the repeat on Saturday)
The Ballad of Buffy: "A continuing saga of death, destruction, doom and doughnuts. Being an epic poem in (thus far) 600 stanzas; these being of five
lines in length, of limerick form, and of widely varying quality."
Cathal Coughlan's new album The Sky's Awful Blue can be pre-ordered now.
Meg's recurring posts on noisy neighbours reminds of the time my flatmates and I WERE noisy neighbours.
We lived in a student flat, small 3.5x3.5m rooms, a shared kitchen and living, two bathrooms, two toilets. Fifteen of us, and the fruit flies.
I had arrived in Utrecht, 22, a rather naive second year student and was placed in a flat the inhabitants of which were all close to graduating... and were mostly postponing the day.
They spent their time drinking beer and playing cards, which I abhorred. But a year into my life in Utrecht, I was fully converted. I put my feet up on the table, watched daytime telly, drank like a fish and I would stay up all night to play cards... go to bed, wake up and rejoin the card players.
Sometimes we'd end up in people's rooms, to listen to music. Loudly. I was introduced to Zappa, Talking Heads, Tom Waits. And sometimes we'd play the Quo's 'Sweet Caroline' till the speakers caved in.
We were a haughty, arrogant bunch of (too-old-to-be) kids, and had absolutely no sympathy for our neighbours. They were students too. Why weren't they more like us?
One night, in J.'s room around 3 a.m. our upstairs neighbours called the cops on us. It wasn't the first time, nor the last, but it's the one night I remember.
We had the speakers blaring, and the windows open. Suddenly, water came pouring in through the window. Our neighbours were aiming the firehose at us. At the same time, the power went. It wasn't too difficult to break into our place, so they had invaded and pulled the plug on us.
Then the cops arrived. We got off with a warning.
When they left, we turned the music back on. It wasn't long before the neighbours showed up on our doorstep and started ringing our bell, but it took a while for us to hear it. Then it was full blown war. A number of them had gathered in the staircase, shouting at us. We thought it was hilarious, and aimed our own firehose at them.
...and you give yourself away, and you give, and you give...
The next few days will probably be spent away from the net. An old friend arrives tonight, dinner (again!) follows to celebrate my birthday (again!), girlie Saturday morning shopping spree, afternoon to pack, Sunday morning flight to Gatwick, jump in the HydraMobile, off to Oxford on a day trip, back to London to room with a friend courtesy of the Cadogan Arms on King's Road, Monday chill then thrill at Spitz, back late Tuesday evening. Phew.
Blogger launches new help system in partnership with Public Mind.
Creative Commons, 'Shining a spotlight on sharing'. Creative Commons wants to make it easier for people both to offer and find works that are available for creative collaboration.
Salon.com (Spoilery for BtVS): The air in the room seems to have been reduced to the little space around them as he looks at her with tenderness and wonder and says, simply, with all the love that only (highlight to read) the English are able to pour into even the most seemingly reserved statements, "You've cut your hair.".
So I read this, this morning, and words tried to form a sentence in my brain, but it didn't really work out. Something about how wanting to be in love is really wanting the opportunity to give. Or something else wanky like that.
U2log.com got a mention on smh.com.au. Not liking what they wrote, but hey, it's press. (We would rather be judged by our posts, not by the comments we get. Sigh. It's a blog, and people can comment. Not a bloody forum.)
Ecritures asks 'Does anybody else watch Eastenders?'. I watched it religiously for a few years, but this year I've been "slacking". I catch about once or twice a week. I caught the tail end of the Ricky and Bianca special by chance, but wouldn't have gone out of my way to watch it anyway, since I couldn't stand their characters. "Rickaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay." Please. I miss Grant.
So I said to myself, working in Flash, 'ok, you know how to do this with timelines, now learn to do it in Actionscript'. Which was a remarkably stupid thought.
"Ubiquitous" (I hear you sigh.) glamourous link: Smoking through bloody gums, I make my way home along coldly gleaming Fifth Avenue, a dot among architectural masterpieces.
B3TA challenge: design a musical.
Bear with me please. One more Buffy post. After last night's spectacular finale, Joss Whedon went on the boards to talk with da fans. Here's what he said about Season 7 in his very own way: (highlight to read)
1) Buffy will become a "vampire slayer". I can't really explain what that means yet, 'cause Doug hasn't explained it to me. But it seems to point towards ADVENTURE!
2) Format change: from now on, the first half hour will be about Buffy FIGURING OUT what the monster is, and the second half hour will be about Sam Waterston PROSECUTING the monster.
3) We're easing back on the goats. There've been complaints.
4) Because of the coincidental movie name issue, we will no longer refer to the kids as the "Scooby" Gang. They will be known as the "Scooby Doo, The Film, Coming This Christmas To Your Local DVD Store" gang. Or possibly the "Sharks".
5) The gay thing is so passe. We're over that. But honestly, that's just the way Clem ACTS. We're having a talk.
6) A lot of people were confused at the end when Spike wanted his fish order changed. SOLE, people. Jeez. We HAVE a vampire with a SOUL, you think we're doing that again?
7) Cardigans, cardigans, cardigans.
Just learned a new word: cathartichortles.
Suede.net have posted a tiny, tiny video collage (windows media) of their recent 'secret' fan gig.
The mob is complaining about too many Buffy posts. OK OK OK. Here's something else. If you want a laugh, read the : TWoP Forum posts as written DURING last night's Angel season finale. Okay can we have a Lorne in Vegas spinoff?
I really, really shouldn't be linking to this. But, um... if you absolutely, desperately want to see the Season Finale double feature right now... well, you can. 20 zipped mpeg files in total. Sssssssh!
I've added some more thoughts to the Shallow, much? piece, in the comments: it's not the storyline, stupid
Just a quick link for myself, ignore. Grave. (spoilers for BtvS)
Do us a favour... TV Guide Online - [You Sexy Thing]... just vote for Tony, will ya?
My friends think I should cook for them on a weekly basis. This appeals to me as a job. In group of friends, appoint best cook to take care of others. Others work and provide cook with decent living, and do dishes. Cook has best job in world.
My life has changed. Impromptu meetings and dinners are rocking my world. Last night, after drinks outside on the Amstel river at the 'IJsbreker' cultural centre we ventured to Beethovenstraat for pizza at Calzone. The food was ok. Melanzane dip with strips of pizza bread. Nice bubbly thin crusty pizza. Service was the worst I've had in years. The cute but excruciatingly dim waiter seemed proud of his own stupidity and failure. He joked too much, just on the verge of rudeness. He had to take our order twice, we had to spell the items for him, had to explain how to make a macchiato. Our food came very late and some of the orders were wrong despite our clear instructions. It was painful. This place has no class at all.
And if you want to completely spoil yourself for the Buffy season finale, here are some screencaps.
I've just read the wildfeed spoilers (scene by scene description) for Buffy's season finale. It KICKS MAJOR ARSE. I only glanced through them cause I want to be able to enjoy it when I see it, but... wow.
Scotsman.com Far Right in Europe - Fortuyn favoured depraved: "His logic is that because he enjoyed sexual experiences with adult men as a child, it should be legal." [ via one.point.zero ]
My Bloody Valentine was a band I had no time for when they were still around and this, as I have now come to realise, was my loss. Here's a site with quite a few My Bloody Valentine mp3s. "Soon" is just mind blowing. [ ... ] Time to listen to their 'Loveless' CD, and to think 'without this no Curve, no Garbage'. Once there was white noise. This is pink noise. You really really need to buy it.
One of my bad traits is a tendency to be unyielding in my convictions and be slightly judgemental. It doesn't take much to understand that this stems from a deep uncertainty. My friend who recently died couldn't stand this trait, although lately I've come to suspect he actually admired me for it. On this blog, I tend to keep my vaguely political thoughts or social commentary to myself, because I never feel I am knowledgeable enough to have the right to speak. (Unlike others who seem to think the right to speak makes them knowledgeable. I think I'll claim the right to be speechless.) Anyway, it's good to see someone agree when I do write something outside of my usual niche.
Whitsuntide or Pentacost (from Greek, pentekoste, 50th day) is a (boring) public holiday in the Netherlands. Starts on Sunday, and we get Monday off. I'd forgotten. When I showed up at the supermarket this morning, I found it closed and resorted to having breakfast at Gary's bagel shop next door, surrounded by screaming kids. Tried to explain the holiday to a Serb colleague over dinner last week. Mentioned 'holy spirit' and 'speaking in tongues' and got blank looks from him and other colleagues. They're probably Catholics... who never seem to have any biblical knowledge. Strangely, they didn't seem to recognise anything on the menu either, so ended up explaining foodstuffs as well. I am the font of knowledge, hear me roar. To be fair, they could probably tell me a lot about politics and football.
From Lia, this great site: AIRLINEMEALS.NET. My best experiences with airline food were Swissair and Air Portugal. KLM snacks are dreadful.
I went into a computer shop today to drool over the new iBook, but looking at them up close, I though they looked weird. The keyboard and area around it looks empty, and the material felt.... cheap to touch. Unlike my lovely iBook SE which feels sexy. Ditto with the Titanium. I'll hold on to my SE until it falls apart... it's not even paid off yet.
Check out the VPRO site for three days of live webcasts from the Pinkpop festival. The line up is dead boring (Bush, Live, Lenny Kravitz, Starsailor, Muse) but perhaps there's something in there you like.
The Guardian keeps churning out astute columns on Dutch politics: He crusaded on behalf of what many would regard as decadence, and was so concerned for its survival that he feared even the power of a few hundred thousand Muslims in Holland to threaten it. Unlike Le Pen or Haider, he was never suspected of anti-semitism. For he regarded the Jews as basically on his side against the great Islamic threat. He was crazy, of course. But he didn't fall into any conventional political category. Another key sentence: In most respects, Fortuyn was liberal in the extreme. This is something I've been thinking about. I'm as liberal and permissive as - alledgedly - the next Dutchman and do not wish to give that up, but to think this makes our country 'better' than others is something that has always bothered me. I've often said we're not prone to flag waving, but dig a little deeper and the Dutch are all closet nationalists who'll mutter 'why can't the Belgians, French and Germans be more like us?' It's a bit presumptious. Trust this country to produce the first Extremist LiberalTM
Owning two out of three singles (and bidding on the 3rd) of a little known British band would make one a fan. I can't say that I am, but I have this urge to own all British Sea Power releases. Currently listening to their latest effort, the double A single 'The Spirit Of St Louis/The Lonely', songs with deep and meaningful subjects in a 'she looked like Eva Marie Saint in On the Waterfront' way. It's all pretentious, but god do I prefer it to the fuckin' 'orrible laddishness of the likes of Oasis.
Not easily available on CD afaik, is Judy Collins' Bread & Roses. My uncle - who started my music collection for me - taped part of this album for me on cassette, in 1976. It was a bitch to find out what album it was, as he forgot to write titles on the tape (quite unlike him). Looking at the date on the album, which I had to mail order, I realise now that he was taping music that had just come out. My uncle fed me a steady stream of Beatles, Carole King, James Taylor, Eagles, Robert Palmer. I still have all his tapes. I have yet to figure out if and how his music shaped me. As Collins sings: Tú que manejas el curso de los ríos, tú que has sembrado el vuelo de tu alma.
A new needle, a new opportunity to listen to the vinyl items I've acquired over the last few years. Currently spinning around at 33rpm is Peggy Lee's Mirrors, a 'rare' item, with slow jazzy Weimarian songs by Leiber and Stoller. More info here: Mirrors was roundly criticized in the rock press. [ ... ] the album had a fairly short shelf life and disappeared. It has, to date, only been reissued in Japan.
Impressive Akira Kurosawa website, info-wise.
Mute's Daniel Miller on the EMI deal: The new arrangement gives us an astonishing amount of autonomy to operate independently; it gives us a level of stability in funding and systems that we've never fully enjoyed in the past, and it provides us with the means to ensure the continuity of our management and culture into the future.
Nice little interview with Tony Head, promoting the USA release of Buffy's Season 2 DVDs: "Passion" is when he killed my girlfriend. "Passion" wasn't actually written by Joss, but it was directed by our director of photography. It was his first directorial effort. It read really, really well. It came off the page but ultimately it was just a very cool idea. My girlfriend had blown it with Buffy and therefore with me...
So... Club Inez. Trendy eatery overlooking Munt square in Amsterdam. Everything painted bright green, orange, red, yellow. Gaudy, kitschy faintly chinese peacock murals on the wall. See through walls into kitchen where young cooks swing their butts while shaking their thing. Service slightly tacky, your next door bra-less neighbour who pretends not to know about the food, the hello-sailor nu-meeja spectacled muscle boy serving the excellent wine, his shaven armpit dangerously close to your face. All that absolutely okay because the food is a notch above anything else you've had in a long time. For starters, "potted ray wing" with purple chips. Interesting, but a little bland. Other people's mackarel terriyaki looks more interesting. Main course, 'dorade' (a lovely meaty fish) with belgian endives (coloured yellow) and tiny crepes (like gnocchi, or dutch poffertjes) and a dab of what I think was turmeric butter (yellow...). A splatter of leaves on the side, interesting, a touch of mint. Rocket, but not too much. - Gorgeous... and yet you're eyeing your table mates dripping rack of lamb and envying the rakish veggie mille feuille on the other side... - Espresso. Dessert... cardamom ice cream bonbons. More espresso. Sambuca. Bliss.
Shadowkat's Essays: "Character studies and General themes in BtVS". Shadowkat posts great stuff with literary insights to the Buffy Stake and Cross boards at voy.com. All her thoughts are collected here.
The Annotated Buffy. Two episodes down... a hellmouth of a lot to go.
Walter takes pictures of Holland: foto.vandenb.com
Tom has tons of pictures of Dublin.
So, the Netherlands swing to right of centre. Amsterdam's still a lefty city. This image will give you the grand picture. Green = Christian Democrats, Red = Labour, Yellow = Pim Fortuyn, Blue = Conservatives. Someone I know once said 'Give it a few years, the Irish will be heathens, and the Dutch will find God.'
I spend too much time on this, but I've been thinking about Buffy and Angel. Consider this a throwaway post.
Mutant Enemy have in one season somehow managed to make me go from adoring ALL the characters on a show (except the main heroine) to despising them all... (except the main heroine... and one or two of the extras... Clem's cool).
Spike was exciting when he was evil with a tinge of warped humanity left, now he's just love's bitch and boring.
Willow was sort of lovely when she was an awkward nerd and got super annoying as an empowered wicca lesbian addict. So tired of dodging anvils. Or shall I say 'Bored now'?
Xander was the human heart of the show, now he's an empty fart. Why the big jackets?
Anya was hilarious when she was the ex demon trying to fit in, now she's just whiny. Get on with the vengeance, already.
I never liked Tara. I don't go in for that wan, awkward girlie afraid of the ball type of girl, kinda glad she bought it. I mean, what IS that with the horrible hills are alive type of blouses?
Dawn... oh please, spare me from shrieking teenagers. And the hips just scare me.
Giles is GONE. Hello? Can I have a moment of quiet mourning here?
Then, herself. Buffy... For five seasons Buffy was a selfish, shallow, stupid, inconsiderate dumb blonde who just happened to kick arse on a weekly basis while abusing her doting Watcher. Now she's more like a real person. Which is kind of of the good. Yay Buffy.
As for Angel? Consider the 'bleah' factor of Groo, Fred, Gunn, Wesley, Angel himself, bland Lilah and Gavin, the incomprehensible storyline, another bloody teenager... They've ruined Cordelia and Lorne's just under used and can we have some more karaoke singing, please?
I don't understand why, but I'm sure it's all to do with different networks and ratings. What have they done to my shows?
Tonight, after some more lovely job-related bonding (i.e. workshop), we'll relax at Club Inez. It sounds like a brothel, but is actually a restaurant run by the late Peter Giele's wife Inez. Giele was the artist who designed the RoXY and Seymour Likely. It's all dead trendy (or it was, anyway) and I'm curious as I've never been. However, after the way they've been fucking us around with their menu (choice between 3, no.. 2, no actually, 1... no, really, you can have the other one after all, etc, etc.) I'm not hopeful.
... and shag tobacco.... *Evil grin*
Last night 7 employees took 3 ex-bosses out for a grand meal in Palladio to thank them for their... generosity. My stuffed artichoke was scrumptious, the scallopini cremolata tasty. We played a kind of employment truth or dare. Some revealed. Some concealed.
"Old cynic" is like Old Spice, luv, old fashioned, annoying, familiar and comforting. She said with a smile.
Happy birthday, Derek.
Everybody has or will link to this eventually. the5k.org : home page. Doesn't it look great?
Sep's simply the best recapper on TWOP: He enters and closes the door behind him. Ye gods, he's looking very gaunt! Between him and Buffy, I don't think there's a rounded corner in the place.
He skips through the copses singing
And his shadow dances along
And I know not which I should follow
Shadow or song!
Wilde - In the Forest
There's a Keith Haring exhibition called 'Heaven and Hell' in the Boymans museum in Rotterdam, but their website doesn't seem too inviting.
Christopher Lee on his work in Star Wars: "It was blue screen, almost all of it, and nothing was coming to me from behind the camera," he says. "Mind you, that's an experience I've had with a lot of my colleagues through the years."
Did you know you can download Cathal Coughlan's entire 'Grand Necropolitan' album in mp3s from his own website? If you only want one... go for 'Unbroken Ones'.
My country votes today. You're supposed to get more right wing, or at least milder as you grow older. Well, fuck that. It's been a long time since I voted as far to the left as I did today.
Metafilter misses Nick 'Holgate' Sweeney'. On kottke.org he talks about the difference between Plastic and MF. Since his departure, I haven't found another single user on MF that I 1. want to read 2. remember. And Plastic is a little... artificial. (groan)
There are reports that Firefly is over budget and may not even premiere. However, Firefly: The Ultimate Resource reports an anonymous source who says the pilot was on budget and on schedule, and the reports incorrect. The source also comments: "I love the story, the world, the cast and the look of the show. I only hope that Fox puts it on the air so that the fans can be the judge. It's so original that it scares the network execs. It's smart, dark, romantic, scary and heartwarming. Sounds pretty Whedonable.
Chinese Salted duck eggs are an acquired taste. I've served them to friends and flatmates over the years, but they never... well, went down well. Duck eggs are denser than chicken eggs. Fattier too. I think the idea is to use them to salt your food, your rice, and I usually do cut them up in pieces and sprinkle them over my rice. But then I end up eating the pieces individually, not wanting to spoil their taste with the rice.
SomeTHING writes about a snake and HydraG talks about a mouse. I have my own snake story.
My parents and I went camping in France almost every year of my life with them, mostly sticking to the least luxurious camping sites we could find. All we needed was water and a flat space of land for our tent. Sometimes that meant there were no toilets.
It was on one of these occasions, camping by the river, that I grabbed a roll of bog paper and made my way into the wide, shallow stream to relieve myself.
There I was, doing my business, when I suddenly spotted a large snake, coiled up not a meter away from me. I froze.
I had NO idea what to do. Whether to move away from the animal slowly, or run like hell (not an easy thing to do with your pants around your ankles). Somehow, I managed to do both.
I moved away a bit, slowly, making no sudden movements as I pulled my jeans back on. When I thought I was out of biting range, I ran away as fast as I could.
I did my business in the bar down the road from then on.
Firefly has its own fansite already: FIREFLYFANS.NET
From David Bowie's journal, May 13, 2002: We didn't know where we were going but it was a joy when we got there. I had a sense of the sonic weight that I was after, a sort of non-professional approach, a kind of British amateur-ness about it. And I mean amateur in that dedicated fashion you find in a man who, only on Sundays, will build a cathedral out of matchsticks, beautiful but only to please himself and his family and friends.
Slow Burn is Bowie's new single, off the 'Heathen' album, of which you can read a (sparse) review here. Let's show them Suede boyos how it's done, he must have thought. It sounds so 'Bowie' it seems dated. Anyway, Bowie, big fan, he can do no wrong. Well, apart from those unfortunate years in the 80s. And Tin Machine.
Buffy-TV.de has pictures of Firefly the upcoming SF series by Buffy's Joss Whedon.
Oh I love it. Listening to RTE 1's Rattlebag, I feel like the stage whisperer, or whatever these people are called, from my mouth, to his brain, to your ears. (and just as I write this, the bloody stream goes down.)
Watched the first episode of Spooks on BBC One. Aggravating story about pro-lifers, an American with an unlikely southern accent, trendy young people as spies... in older spy series British intelligence was run by sad, disappointed men on the darker side of middle age. Which gave the series depth. In Spooks, this moodiness has been replaced by rookie agents' clumsiness. I cannot stand 'clumsy'. Add vaguely hip camera work, slo-mo's and speed ups. Second rate, so far. But I'm sure Tony Head will add some class in epi 4.
I just heard that my ex-colleagues J. and E. produced offspring in January. Scary!
Every moment of existence seems like some dirty trick
Happiness can come suddenly and leave just as quick
Any minute of the day the bubble could burst
Try to make things better for someone, sometimes,
you just end up making it a thousand times worse.
Dylan.
If you listen to this RTE radio 1 stream today at 2.45 or 11.10pm GMT, you should eventually hear some of the info I looked up on Vince Taylor/Ziggy be spoken out loud.
The web's the only place I enjoy seeing flowers. Like on decisions revisions.
Which Metafilter User are You Most Like? Bugger that. I just wanna be me.