For what it's worth ... I am back

Of course, I can't make head nor tail of this new-fangled Vista, nor can I trusty wireless printer.

But it's nice to have somewhere to run when appalling 'gardening' palls.

PUTER KAPUT

I am bereft.

Drowned my laptop while watering the garden.

Don't no one expect new posts or replies for the foreseeable future.

youtube viewers' habits

 

 

 

russell peters

Funniest comedian I know.

Also the only one that has captured so well the English accent (and faugh) that I've sulked and taken offence at his sheer accuracy.

Life's Bounty

Let me lay this down before I mis-lay it for the 10th time.

Don't you hate it when you read something that you know you'll be referring to later, but it's made such an impression that of course you needn't note the where and when ....

Later you go to the source but it ain't there; not just that, the text doesn't even read in context or character. Then you remember, you were also reading such-and-such a magazine - but of course! - so you track it down to the upstairs loo and pore thru the articles but none of those fit either ... gahd doesnt that drive you crazy with yourself? Ergghh.

In this case, I'm going to need it for a difficult letter I'm dragging my heels on, and it won't be the last time I'll reach for it. I could also tweak it for a more uplifting purpose when the occasion calls.

It's from Stoppard's The Coast of Utopia, Herzen on the death of his son:

'His life was what it was. Because children grow up, we think a child's purpose is to grow up. But a child's purpose is to be a child. Nature doesn't disdain what lives only for a day. It pours the whole of itself into each moment. We don't value the lily less for not being made of flint and built to last. Life's bounty is in its flow, later is too late. Where is the song when it's been sung? The dance when it's been danced?'

twin tower walker

that crazy frenchman who walked a wire between the world trade centre towers, pausing to 'improvise' a few divertissements en route.

gives me the willies just to watch.

Borat - no!

For some reason I can NOT watch the Borat movie.

He is brilliant and funny and I can't see HOW he resisted laughing out loud.

But his poor 'victims'. OMG.

I live in the land of men kissing but every time B rises to smooch those nervous Merkan cheeks, I die.

He doesnt push the envelope (see Howse's excellent cliche attack, "She literally exploded"), he pulps it.

This is the third time of trying and I still can't watch it.

Wanker Ross Jay-Zedded

So good to see that forelock tugging fop out rapped on his own show.

Baddeley Mock

So there I am dishing some awe over Billy Bob Frisell's new offering and just ever-so casually mentioning that you can take the reviewer out of Bainbridge but ya cain't stop the freebies tumbling onto the 'welcome' mat. Tiens! In swoops nemesis mou Dottore Baddeley with precise and hurtful mockery over how I can't resist showing orf.

Well! Talk about feedback.

Many of the folks there that night, grinding away to 'Change Gonna Come', they thought Badders and I must be in cahoots to further my plugs and CD store.

Faugh!

My dears, I have submitted myself to the mercies of producers and 'master' engineers and I know klass when it honks thru the Wharfedales or oozes thru the Sennheiser cans ... and messrs Lee Townsend and Greg Calbi are the 'It' men.

Track 10, the Sam Cooke tribute, is perfection of balance and crescendo of excitement.

How does Bill put it? "I don't fight, I don't dance." Right on: all the aggro pranks *he* gets up to is on the fretboard, and he know loops, tones and electronica tomfoolery enuff to be a nightmare to yer average engineer/production maestri.

Listen this track, preferably with your rider swaying in your arms, and listen to the sneaky Tower of Power build-up as Bill does his Duane Eddy 'Twang's the Thang' meets Hank Marvin chops.

Damn but it reminded me of Bill's rendering 'live' of Shenandoah on the East/West chef d'oeuvre.

And just when you think you've 'got' it, enter Geg Tardy's tenor with a solo that he rides hard and puts up wet. Check that boy out because he's got a tune and tone on him that every time he wails, the ladies press closer and raise their heads the cute puckering way they do .... shudder.

Now that, my lord Baddeley, *that* is showing off.

Skolion ~ rather apt, that. Sounds like Skullion. Remember the porter in Tom Sharpe's 'Porterhouse Blue'?

That verray parfit gentil knyght, my liege Baddeley, always gives good comment and when he includes a link it's worth spelling it out for the rest of you who'll never bother to paste to taste.

I see he also links to Mike's Panorama shot of Ano Korakiana which is an area I know so I sat there as the camera turned, waiting for the money shot. Hmm.

Insignificant Yank

Always like to kick off with a headline likely to offend my Merkan pals, bless 'em.

Have been going thru the library in the attic most of today and damn me if all my old university text books and notes aren't there.

Pretentious little toff, I was back then. Not sure if I was clever or what because I can't actually understand a word, but the tutors' comments read complimentary enough.

And my set reading! My dear, all those brainy books by Granville-Barker and Pound and Stein ... and my favorite, Edmund Wilson's Axel's Castle. My earnest annotations brought tears to my eyes: who was I trying to impress? Tutor, the leggy gal who sat next to me? Me?

Anyway, I broke for 20 mins to skim thru the Wilson and might re-read him in ernest while mama's in Londres.

But here's the coincidental bit: as I went on tidying and poring over old foto albums, I came across a volume of Evelyn Waugh letters and it fell open at a diary entry whose style I *yearn* to mimic for blog entries:

"Hangover. Sent flowers to Angie, chucked appointment to show London to an insignificant Yank named Edmund Wilson, critic; spent afternoon at White's with Connolly; dined there, drank bottle of champagne and felt better, and went to Connolly's where I met E. Wilson mentioned above. It was next day I chucked him. Augustus John, Elizabeth Bowen, Bohemian girls."

Isn't that just divine? Says it all so succinctly.

Girls will no longer be girls

In fact, boys won't be boys and men won't be men in today's eunuch Britain.

That delicate breed, builders, need protecting from wolf-whistling étudiantes. Ever heard owt more daft?

Some idiots at a West Kent College have decided that whistling at the hunky constructors is "totally unacceptable", and any chicks caught 'harassing' the sensitive hod heavers will "face disciplinary action".

"It has come to the attention of the college that some female students have been making comments to, or whistling at, the builders both whilst on site and as they walk around the campus.

Although we are sure no offence is meant, this constitutes harassment ..."

Now get this - no one has actually registered a complaint ... it's just that some politically over-correct twot has decided that it's "inappropriate behaviour".

Makes you weep, yeh?

Meanwhile new laws could see wolf-whistling builders placed on the sex offenders register for "communicating indecently".

High above the Kentish countryside, is this really what those Spitfire pilots dog-fought the Hun for? If I'd been one of The Few, and had known it would come to this, I'd've given Fritz the thumbs-up and told him, "Bomb away, mate, strafe the silly Fokkers for all I care."

Cartoon from the 1980s

Teenage boy dressed in animal skins, staring intently into the dancing flames of a small fire.

Behind him, bearded and leaning on a club, his scowling Neanderthal father, horrifed:

"Back when I were a lad, we had to make our own entertainment."

Renegade Robo Libido

Ack ptui! So that's what's happening to the lovely Libidinous magazin. Such a shame.