screwed

I never felt particularly inclined to go to Northampton. So i didn’t. These two simple facts became particularly important a couple of days ago, when i dared to check my bank statement and discover I’ve spent £450 in it’s local Tesco emporium over the past few weeks. Or rather, my friendly bankers thought I had done, and had debited my account accordingly. Goddam bankers. Though I was shocked, I stayed calm, cancelled my cards, made enquiries. The fraud seemed a simple matter, if of rather alarming proportions considering my meagre income. So I left it in the trusty hands of my friendly bankers, whose name I shan’t name, those wishing to identify them would perhaps be able to from their astounding ability to be local and international at once.

Waking up this morning, I realised that in the past couple of days I had missed some calls from my friendly bankers. Better ring em up, I thought. I never expected them to have completely failed to cancel my cards when they said they had, allowing the fraudsters to just carry on defrauding me as if I neither knew nor cared. Having assured me that the matter was now dealt with, the kindly banker offered me a loan at a charming rate of 8.8% to carry me through to the calm waters of post-fraud bliss. Goddam bankers.

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confused?

It is a confusing time to visit the cinema. Conflicting messages are all over the place. Mitchell and Webb parade their adopted personas in the name of computers. They are famous for a fascinating show whose sole delight is the exquisite awfulness of the situations that these morons walk in to. You watch, sympathise with the impulses of the characters, and squeal as they make the worst possible decision. Why would anyone want to watch the characters in the sterile, painless, plastic world of an advert? Perhaps the decision-making abilities of the actors are as bad as their characters’. Next up, swashbuckling. Pirates (of the Carribean III) thrill you with their antics on the high seas. The last film was putrefyingly bad, sure, but this one has crabs! And the voodoo lady is back! Anyway, I’m feeling like I’ll go see it until the next ad throws me off-course.

Love film?
HATE PIRACY!

Ok, but does that include Johnny Depp? Good grief!

I enjoyed every minute of the film.

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Dinosaur Jr. made my ears bleed, but..

They inspire comments like this. Through their new footwear deal with nike.

they tight but i dont see me wearin these but they tight

Comment by anthony24 - January 16, 2007 10:21 am

My stance on musicians who sell themselves (or their work) to large companies is no longer fired by shock. While I still agree with the general Bill Hicks theory on advertising - if someone is paid to tell you something, everything they say must be suspect - I didn’t jump out of my chair when I heard Mr Devendra Banhart raking in the dollars trying to sell me a phone contract (the exact same contract, incidentally, which I already have). Sure, I was pretty comfortable, but I’d like to think the significant factor was a lack of surprise. So having found anthony24’s astute review of the new Nike sneakers designed by Mr J Mascis of Dinosaur Jr., I guess I’m just slightly more disappointed with humanity than I was yesterday. Dumbass is not a word I use frequently, but sometimes I think it.

It must be the volume, I keep telling myself. Attending a Dinosaur Jr. show is one of those deliciously visceral sonic experiences that must surely warp the tympanic membrane in an irreversible manner. If earplugs are not worn the first time, further application is only ever going to be a sealing of vacant stable situation. The only commentary frontman J. Mascis was able to provide on his 24 years of touring in a recent Stool Pigeon interview was yes, they had always been that loud and no, not everybody liked it. Rock on. Just get a new manager to prevent further screw-ups.

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Thieves and liars

I suppose I have always suspected, that as I get older, the tumultous shower of misinformation to which I constantly subject myself to by engaging in mass forms of communication would lead me to slowly come agree with bitter, cynical old liars like Kilroy. Well, that slithy tove is perhaps somewhat of an exaggeration, but I have often felt that if my liberal beliefs were corroded it would be by the politics of fear and bad ties. Confusingly, reading the Guardian sport on saturday, I increasingly agree with Russel Brand.

In (marginally) more specific political commentary, it looks worryingly like the French are about to elect an insanely devious, Napoleon-worshipping dwarf* as their president. Every Parisian voter whose opinions I have consulted had this to say about his opponent:

She’s not the ideal woman for the job, but between a cold and cholera, I’d choose a cold

Fingers crossed that the rest of the country is hiding a similarly pragmatic knowledge of biology.

*No height-specific information available. The guy poses on horses. He’s small inside.

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Baobaaaaaaaaab!

My new site is totally live. It has a tree in it. The tree is suspicious of you. We make websites for people. It affects my social life. Seasons pass.

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