July 2005 Archives
Trust me to walk into the hospital's big glass revolving door BEFORE I
had my eyes checked at the eye clinic... No harm done to either patient
or door.
Talking about revolving doors... a friend of mine once wrote a book
in Dutch and had it translated into English by a relative. Ten years
after the book came out I read it and had to inform him the translator
had written 'revolting doors' by mistake.
Back to the here and now. I'm writing this purely by touch since the
eye doctor applied some drops to my eyes that makes me see extremely blurry
(putting on my specs makes it worse!) for the next four hours. It's a
small price to pay for the information that my eyes are fine and have
not been affected by my diabetes yet. Hurrah, bring on the Haagen-Dazs.
I've taken a clue from my date with the dietician and have started
eating breakfast. I pick up a wholemeal current bun from the baker on
my way to work, or force feed myself Kellogg's Fruit 'n' Fiber (edible)
or Quaker cruesli (repulsive). So vile is this cruesli gruel in both
texture and taste, that it made me physically ill this morning. I'm
open to breakfast suggestions.
An insistent throat infection has kept me
mostly at home and bed ridden and exhausted for the last two weeks.
Just how many old episodes of Have I Got News For You can a person
watch before cracking?
Meanwhile, Dreamhost is moaning about my CPU usage and they've moved this site to a test server. I cannot figure out which of Pivot's php files is using that much CPU, because Dreamhost run php as cgi (don't ask me what it means, I haven't a clue) which means all php files show up in resource stats as 'php.cgi'. (And when we override the php-as-cgi switch, Pivot stops working because it loses writing rights to various files.) I fucking picked Pivot because it's fast and easy on the server, after my problems with MT's scripts timing out on Pair.com. Christ.
I can't be the only person around with 6 years of posts who keeps running into problems with their CMS, can I?
Then again, why would I want to keep 6 years of s.f.a.?
Hungry before going into the Stade de France in Paris, I stopped at one
of the many, many food stands outside the stadium. They all looked the
same and served the same food, none of it very healthy: French bread
with assorted sausages and chips.
You couldn't just get a bag of chips, it only came as extra with the
sausage. I marvelled at the ludicrous idea of having french bread with
chips ('le chip butty') and tried to decide what sausage I wanted.
The merguez (moroccan, spicy) looked great, but I wanted something
bigger so I pointed at the large ones on the hot plate. Looking at the
menu, I guessed they were 'andouilettes'. That rang a bell. When the
woman scooped one disintegrated sausage into a baguette for me, I
remembered. Andouille... Tripe. Chitterlings. Offal.
I smiled, having made the age old unsuspecting-tourist-in-france
mistake. But I pride myself on a strong stomach and palate. I'm not
squeamish about food (as long as it's not insects) gladly slip live
shell food down my throat and wax poetically about black pudding. A
little pigs' offal wasn't going to put me off.
I tucked into my baguette with great relish. Texturally, it was fine.
That thick white rubbery bit must have been a vein or stomach lining.
The pale grey brownish filling was like minced meat. It was the smell
of it that did me in. It was minging, sickly and sweet, much or exactly
like the food I used to cook for my pet.
Half of my baguette andouillette ended up in a bin. A bottle of Evian
took care of the taste and smell. Once inside the stadium, I stilled my
hunger with a plain old hot dog.
I'm back from an emotional, tiring, infuriating, gezellig, sometimes boring, other times amazing, invigorating and brilliant week seeing U2 three times in my hometown, Amsterdam.
We queued, ran, waited, jumped, ate, drank, were merry, queued, hated, laughed, queued, sang, shouted, clapped, cried, queued, queued, queued and fucking queued some more and finally got our reward on night III, with a fabulous show that will be remembered and go into the books as 'historic'. I know, because I'll be the one writing it.
On Tuesday we (Dutch, Aussie and EnZed) paid our respects to our old friend at Zorgvlied cemetary. (Picture, 'friends/family' only) Typically, having taken a different entrance than usual, we ran around like headless chickens for a while before we found him. In the evening, we had dinner at Moshi Moshi, who serve the most amazing sushi. Tempura shrimp & avocado maki, Rainbow maki... fantastic.
I don't remember much about Wednesday except the heat and a good show.
On Thursday morning, I woke up and found a message from G. on my mobile. His father passed away that night. I felt helpless and a little removed from it -- with my head stuck in U2-land. Hoppy and I we were good kids that day and went shopping while the others got their autographs and stuff at U2's hotel. In the evening, we walked down to De Pijp for some so-so lamb.
Friday was my low point -- I was grumpy and irritable all day and hated everybody and the show and its tedious set list. And I felt so bad for G. and unrealistically wanted B. to at least acknowledge what happened, even if none of the 50,000 present would understand. Selfish, maybe, but selfish on someone else's behalf.
By Saturday, I was hallucinating from exhaustion, having waking dreams and coming out the weirdest stuff. The show that night made up for the night before and then some. Besides the musical moments, B. gave me exactly what I wanted, dedicating 'Sometimes' to G.'s dad and doing a little impression of him. And the 50,000 had no clue what he was on about, but I sang along and grieved and cried. For G. and for those we have lost. I am he and he is she and we are all together.
On Sunday morning, my friend had his mobile robbed at Central Station, on his way to the airport. Back to reality.
I hope to never be in another queue again.
I take it all back. Paris was good fun and I'd like to see more. And with hospitable relatives in the heart of the city, it's quite likely I will. The metro signs are still idiotic and so is the signage at Charles de Gaulle airport, but I didn't let it bother me. Perhaps because I wasn't in a hurry. Men didn't bother me either, though some American friends reported being harrassed similarly.
Spent most of Sunday lazing about with my cousin and his family and caught up on the family gossip, while they struggled with my quaint passtime. 'U2? That's Bow-no, right? I don't know any U2 music,' my cousin said. I didn't know where to start. He plays golf, my cousin.
The little band that roared performed well, the audience were civilised. Circumstances meant I had to watch both shows from the back and the sides rather than the front pit. So I basically saw nothing but the screens. I hated the first show for that reason and but loved the second. It was just one of those nights when the stars align and great, great emotion spills over. At one point I found myself scarily in synch with B. as he walked down the catwalk, took off his specs and I saw the look on his face.
'I bet he's thinking of hanging out with his father in Paris that one time,' I thought. A couple of minutes later, near the end of the song, he starts telling that story. His father drinking him under the table in a bar in Paris and putting him to bed like a child. Then B. sang 'Torna a Surriente' (Return to Sorento), operatic voice and all, just like G. did in Dingle last year. They're one, but not the same.
KLM cancelled my flight back, but not to worry, I got a ride back from a friend, conveniently bunking at the airport Ibis hotel. It felt like the autoroute du soleil. Blue skies and sweltering heat.
All in all, a great weekend and guess what, it doesn't end here - the rest of the week is all mine as well.
The week ahead, the day today. Got word from a very old Kiwi friend coming down for a few days in Amsterdam round about the same time an Aussie friend is staying with me for the U2 shows. Both of 'em sort of came over to Europe to see the band and never left, making Europe a little richer with their presence. Take it from me, we all need an Aussie/EnZed presence in our lives.
That'll be Antipodean week then. Tihrruhfuc! It'll be a good time to reminisce about the old days and the fun we had during the Lovetown tour, Zooropa, PopMart, Elevation... christ, it's growing up with U2.
Feeling iffy about going to Paris tomorrow and completely drained from yesterday's horrific events in London. I text my worries into space and get an instant booster: cliches and kisses from my own... personal... Jesus.
I can't get through to my friends in London via mobile phone and I'm very worried. Much use I am here at work, I basically broke down, shaking and heart pounding, and ran to the ladies room in a panic.
Update: All my friends accounted for, I think. I hope you and your friends and family are safe today.
Top chef Richard Corrigan (in between the ubiquitous swearing):
'C'mon, out some olive oil on it, yeh? They look as dry as a hoor's heart.'
'This is wild (rabbit) meat. It's... happy! Until somebody takes it...'
Dietician: What can I do for you?
Me: I've been diagnosed with diabetes and have been referred to you.
Dietician: Eat regularly, don't eat too fatty, don't skip breakfast, exercise more.
Me: You don't say!
Live8 (14) Still they lead me back
Paul McCartney is kicking just about everybody's arse with a quick run through some Beatles' classics. Helter Skelter, The Long and Winding Road... these are the songs I listened to when I was 11, in 1974, on a summer holiday through Denmark and Sweden with my aunt and uncle. These songs were 'oldies' even then. All the musicians join McCartney on stage. Midge Ure steals up to a mic, being part of it too. Geldof is very hoarse. Mariah Carey has no idea what song they're doing. George, show us the work you had done on your face. I want to see more of Velvet Revolver.
Na, na, na, nanana, na, Hey Jude.
03 Jul 2005 00:54
Live8 (13) Who are you
Never did like The Who much, or Pink Floyd. When I was living in dorms, we'd have 'auditions' whenever we were looking for new flat mates. Our main criterion was music. If those first year students said 'Pink Floyd' and 'Dire Straits' they didn't stand a chance. They were, invariably, maths & science students. We wanted people that took arts and listened to R.E.M. or Joy Division.
That said... they sound solid and even if Roger Waters is bat shit crazy, he looks a fine figure on stage tonight.
00:14
Live8 (12) Let him entertain you
The less said about Sting (another medley man) and Mariah Carey, the better. I don't care if she's half Irish and has a choir of cute African orphans on stage with her and that children inspire her.
Robbie. RABBBIIEEEEEE is introduced by David Beckham who looks different, ordinary tonight. Should stick to kicking balls. Robbie hasn't been on stage in three years, he says. Doesn't matter. 'We will rock you', 'Let me entertain you'... the crowd goes mental. Finally. 'Feel' gives me the chills. 'Angels', Robbie pulls a Bono, communing with the crowd, singing straight into the camera. A big banner says 'Robbie come home'. Methinks he already is.
02 Jul 2005 22:27
Live8 (11) Rock in a hard place
I thought Scott Weiland was dead. But I was mistaking him for Lane Staley. We're watching Velvet Revolver, who are basically most of Guns & Roses, plus Weiland (ex Stone Temple Pilots) and another bloke. And it's loud. And it's rock. It's HARD rock. Metal. Whatever you want to call it. The truth is, it's the best fucking thing we've seen all day in terms of abandon, danger, theater and possibly truth. So fair play to them.
22:24 | Feedback
Live8 (10) Take your old lady out tonight
Why did The Killers only play one song in their fetching white preacher suits? Mr Flowers, he pretty. Like Snow Patrol's guitarist. Black dress shirts always look good on a man.
Joss Stone. Next!
Scissor Sisters get everybody shouting 'Hi mum'. It's time they brought out a new album. We've kind of heard these songs. [...] They read my mind and play a new song: "Everybody wants the same thing."
21:44
Live8 (9) Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow
I've seen Snow Patrol a few times, recently, as they are supporting U2 in some cities around Europe. They blew us away. I'd expected to be bored, but something in their sound really got to us. It was quite emotive and brought me close to tears several times. I'm not feeling it today, so maybe it was all due to The Thrills being crap opening before them.
Talking about The Thrills... all their songs are about Santa Cruz and god knows where in America and they so desperately want to be R.E.M. they've even got American accents. But, as my friend's sister in Dublin said so eloquently: "They're from fucking Blackrock!"
21:01
Live8 (8) Does your pussy do the dog
Snoop, Razorlight, Madonna. I'm trying to solve some problem at work (weekend shift) so I'm distracted. Still, it's not hard noticing these three acts are professional, solid and very, very entertaining. Snoop is as creepy as ever, but he has the catchy rhythms. Razorlight grab their moment in the spotlight - it's clever and a little calculating (it worked for U2 20 years ago, they must have thought), but they still make it seem genuine. Madonna and her crew get the whole place clapping. Awesome. Eat that Britney.
20:29
Live8 (7) Oh retire already
UB40 are doing a medley. I have no words. And Davina? Shut it.
I am embarrassed to say that Greenday are growing on me. But all I ever hear them play is American Idiot.
19:17
Live8 (6) Shoot the whole day down, why dontcha
I have great respect for Geldof. And it's not Live Aid. Or Live8. Or Rat Trap. Or I don't like Mondays. Or any of his music.
In 1996, I heard him read from poetry he had written when Paula Yates left him for Michael Hutchence. And later, when that sad, sad story ended, he took in Hutchence's child. That's when I thought, there's a great man. Begorrah.
18:29
Live8 (5) Will he or won't he...
... be a future POTUS?
Will Smith commands a global audience, clicking his finger and speaking slowly and clearly about poverty, for the masses. This is the most impressive performance I've seen so far. You can take Dido (She must be tonedeaf), Stereophonics (Monosyllabic), Keane (With a face like that, he COULD be the next Bono), Ms Dynamite (Miss Dissapointeeheee), Travis (Oh god, shoot me NOW) and stuff 'em. Forget Philadelphia. Mr Smith goes to Washington.
18:16
Live8 (4) Do the dance
Ricky Gervais, on the verge of DYING on stage doing his meagre stand up routine, saves himself by doing the dance from The Office. Then the BBC disgrace themselves by showing an interview with some nobodies while R.E.M. are on stage. Gah!
R.E.M. are well rehearsed since they've been touring. It shows. Stipe, looking like a twat with his usual stripey make-up, has everything under control. Kew-eeeeel!
17:20
Live8 (3) It was 20 years ago today
McCartney. U2. Underwhelmed. Starts getting better but then I'm too busy blogging it over at U2log.com. Feel like I missed the whole thing. Crowd seemed flacid.
14:48
Live8 (2) It's Christmas time... oh no it's not!
Aaand, we're off. Jonathan Ross in fetching egg-yellow sitting in a pod. Judging from the couches in it, I'm dead fashionable in my new pink and azure shirts.
Meg's somewhere in that crowd.
Ah, the first innuendo of the day. Ross tells Elton John it's lovely to have him in his pod. Ooh-er.
Jo Whiley talks to U2. Bono's feeling sick as usual. Larry mentions going down on Noel Edmunds chopper. There you go now, that's number 2.
Do I need to add this technorati tag to all the posts I make? (live8)
13:59
Live8 (1) World, are you ready to rock...
... the G8 leaders out of their stupor?
While I'm not overly enamoured with Live8's line up and am a little cynical in nature, these big events always manage to get to me somewhat. Who will be the first to mention Luther Vandross (R.I.P.)? Where the fuck is Springsteen? Will U2 be donning the original Sgt Pepper outfits? As Frank Sinatra once said 'they sure don't spend a dime on clothing'... it's bound to look better than their usual drab garb.
13:18
We've got an exclusive look at the Live8 stage in London over at U2log.com.
Or to be more precise: my friend B. jumped a fence and hung around front- and backstage until he got busted and golf carted off the premises. But not until he'd taken a few cool pictures.
So tell me, where were you during Live Aid, 20 years ago? I was 22, doing work practive in Northern Ireland. I was working at Glebe House (kids holiday camp) on the Strangford Lough. I missed most of the television broadcast, because I was working, but we snuck into the tv room whenever we could to catch a glimpse. I was desperate to see U2 because I was a recent fan. I missed it, I think, or may have seen the tail end. What I remember most of the day was seeing a very dark blurry image of a band called INXS come in via satellite and being told by the resident Australian that they were really big in his country.