Viral adverts can be irritating as crabs, but every so often one like this peach from Diesel will come along. Enjoy before you’ve seen it so many times you want punch the smart-arsed little shit who made it in the cock.
Archive for September, 2008
Remember this about the South African trainsurfers? Streetcarnage have done a photozine and movie about them. Read more about it here. It looks really good, but this is really just an excuse to post more videos about people doing stupid and dangerous stuff with trains…
This doesn’t look as impressive as the South African guys, but he is going about 20 times faster. But for real idiotic melon balls…
Today‘s guest post is BY Michael Burka (not his real name, doye!). He is angry.
An anecdote. I used to work with this guy. He was a great guy. Australian. We had absolutely nothing in common except that we both worked for the same insane woman – a vengeful chubby dwarf of an ex police officer with a retarded child and a double mastectomy, who vented her rage on anyone prettier or cleverer than her (clue: almost everybody).
Anyways, me and the Australian bonded over having to suffer this bitch. We lived close to each other, too. And I would often see him on the train where he would take the piss of my reading material. He favoured trashy airport novelists: Wilbur Smith and Tom Clancy were two of his favourites. Where I was into more literary stuff: James Joyce, Donald Barthelme were two I took a lot of shit for. Long story short: we had a book swap. He gave me Tom Clancy’s Rainbow Six and I lent him Ask The Dust, or something. He didn’t even start it and I got about 60 pages into R6 before I gave up. It was like trying to suck a cock: I just couldn’t do it, the whole thing was totally alien. We remained friends until he was forced to return home as punishment for impregnating his wife.
The point is: I liked artsy fartsy crap. He liked trashy stuff. I don’t really care to know why. Maybe it’s because my dad molested me and I never found out about it. So what. But some people really have problem with this. I had a conversation the other week where I happened to mention that I really couldn’t give two shits about The Dark Knight movie and that Heath Ledger was basically being given a prize for acting like a cartoon and being dead, and the rage that gurgled in her throat was vicious. She started going off about how she was sick of all this snobbery in art and that I was pretentious. It was like I’d just admitted to being a war criminal.
I shouldn’t get too bent out of shape, it was just intellectual insecurity, but has it ever occured to these people that some people actually like weird/different stuff? The online Cambridge Dictionary defines pretentious as: “trying to appear or sound more important or clever than you are, especially in matters of art and literature”. They would rather believe that someone was trying to make themselves appear cleverer than them than believe that they simply didn’t like fucking Batman.
Pretentious is a word bandied around waaay too often. Often a simple “boring” or “I didn’t like it” would do. But it is frequently used as a way of rejecting anything radical or different. Middlebrow people hate radical ideas because deep down they are very conservative people. Conservative people dislike radical ideas, but they are usually pretty upfront and honest about it. But middlebrow people see themselves as forward thinking and would hate to be considered conservative, so they call stuff they don’t like or understand pretentious. Btw, I mean conservative in the sticking to the orthodoxy sense rather than a right wing political sense.
Radical ideas move help a culture to evolve. Middlebrow culture seeks to replace truly radical things with its own mediocre ones and make middlebrow people appear smart and clever without having to make too much of an effort (hey isn’t that what pretention is, kind of?). Take a film like Atonement – perfect middlebrow fodder. The plot – boy meets girl, has sex, is separated by injustice, goes to war, dies – could be straight out of a Mills & Boon novel without the happy ending. Except, there is one – it’s just not real, it’s the ending of the protagonist’s book. There’s some flashbacks, too. Meaning the story is non-linear. Middlebrow folk love these metaphysical flourishes because they make them feel safe in the knowledge that they are much cleverer and nothing like the aging housewives who compensate for the tragedy of their neglected vaginas with Quality Street and trashy romance novels.
Then take Mister Lonely, Harmony Korine’s strange and beautiful film about a commune of celebrity impersonators and flying nuns. It was universally panned by middlebrow critics like Peter Bradshaw and Philip French. Bradshaw missed the point totally, calling it “pointless and irritating” and “without plausibility, dramatic interest or insight into celebrity culture”. A film about impersonators living together in a remote Scottish Castle and a nuns on BMXs jumping out of planes without parachutes, implausible? No shit. (NB I called Harmony and told him his film didn’t sound very plausible and he cried). As for it not saying anything about celebrity culture: it’s about IMPERSONATORS, not the actual celebrities. Of course it doesn’t say anything about celebrity culture. As Diego Luna, who plays Michael Jackson says: “I have always wanted to be someone else. I have never felt comfortable the way I am. All I want is to be better than myself; to become less ordinary and to find some prurpose in this world.” You can imagine Bradshaw trying to get his goon mind around it: “There’s Michael Jackson talking to Marilyn Monroe… she’s dead… uuuuunnnhhhh… hang on… [thinks about getting a sandwich from Pret] isn’t that Sammy Davis Jnr? This is ridiculous!” And as for the nuns. Come on. They were awesome.
Fuck this. I can’t believe I’m getting so worked up about it. I’m sounding like I never have sex. That girl wouldn’t have sex with me after I said I dissed Heath Ledger. I stand by what I said, though. And I’m not pretentious.
Like many, many other people I love Joy Division and I bought all the albums, but I never got to see them live. Les Bains Douches is a Paris concert recording made in 1979. Holy shit! They were amazing live. Take the intensity of the records and times it by ten. Ian Curtis’ voice is the sound of a scab being knocked off a day old cut – raw and bruised. I was nearly in tears after the end of the first song, Disorder. (One of the most slept on JD songs, btw. Yeah, I know Transmission, Love Will Tear Us Apart, She’s Lost Control, blah, blah… but Disorder? It’s, like, 50% joy, 50% despair combined to make very powerful melancholy bomb.)
Any way the whole album can be downloaded for FREE here
It’s worth checking out the rest of the site. They have tons of amazing stuff, all free. The last word in obscure black metal, psychedelia, punk, blues gospel, electronic, hip hop, weirdo…
Anyone with a passing interest in animation knows about the Brothers Quay. And they are generally regarded as being geniuses – for want of a better word – in their field. Genius is a shit word that is used far to often, but is does take a certain amount of talent and vision to be able to combine slightly gothic, creepy European aesthetics, Kafka, modern classical music and a whole heap of other influences without coming off as totally pretentious.
I could never find any of their stuff on YouTube until now, when I stumbled across Street Of Crocodiles, which is considered a masterpiece.
Check out more of their stuff here.
This DVD is also highly reccomended.
Bad disco is like bad cocaine: cheap, trashy and made for dumb shits on holiday. Good disco is like good cocaine: slighty trippy, a bit ecstatic and makes you want to dance. Nile Rodgers’ 1984 remix of Sister Sledge’s Lost In Music is grade-A, uncut, can’t-feel-your-face shit.
The minimal, spaced-out ecstatic groove makes me think of glitter balls, dancefloors, coloured lights and women in backless dresses with disco tits. You know the kind? Small and pert enough to fit in a skimpy dress without needing a bra. Sweet B-cup perfection.
Listen via YouTube
The piano playing happens about 2min 30secs in
Being a famous rapper is strange life. Think about it: one minute you’re writing bars in your mum’s house and the next, you’re whisked away to a magical land of diamonds, vaginas, drugs and mansions. Is it any wonder that rappers have started to dress like giant babies with tatoos? As Lil Wayne said in The FADER: “I wake up, smoke weed, fuck bitches, get my dick sucked, a lot… and do this shit.” Chuck in a gold-plated SUV and you’ve got an adolescent Xanadu. So it’s nice to see that at the statesman-like age of 39, the RZA has been dedicating his time to more scholarly pursuits. Namely learning the piano. Ok, so he’s not going to sell out Madison Sqaure Gardens, but he’s pretty accomplished. The video was originally on The Arab Parrot. Check it out, it’s pretty good.
Apparently valium has replaced heroin as a popular street drug because it’s cheaper than heroin. I’d like to take this opportunity to ask everyone to remain calm and not get to hysterical.
First of all, from a public health perspective this is a good thing. A pharmaceutical-grade opiate is much less harmful than street gear. Ok, there’s still a risk of HIV or hepatitis from sharing needles – if it’s being injected – or overdosing. But there needs to be some degree of personal responsibility. It’s never good to live in a victim culture.
But more importantly, for the sad and lonely, a pizza and 20mgs of diazepam washed down with a couple of cold beers and a season of The Wire in the DVD player is one of life’s few pleasures. Also, with codeine-based cough syrup not widely available in the UK, valium is a good substitute, and is great for enhancing the music of Lil Wayne. Eyehategod and Sleep also sound amazing.
Actually, if I’m in a syrup mood, I like to replace the beer with a pint of melon and apple juice and a generous shot of vodka, and the pizza with hotdogs. Salty, fruity and floaty – it’s a perfect combination.