BETAMAXNOMATES
'All she can do is dial and yell...'20060125
NOT THE SHARPEST BULB IN THE SHED
Don't you just love these lazy Sundays? Loafing around in your pyjamas, having your breakfast in the middle of the day, half-watching the not-quite-as-bad-as-you-expected-but-benefits-greatly-from-lowered-expectations DVD of Dune that came free with the paper. What's that? Wednesday, you say? Oh well, since my hiatus began in earnest last week I've ceased to observe any strict demarcations between days or weeks: time, nutrition, and general personal hygiene are more elastic concepts now. Actually most of my time has been spent looking for a car. It's true what they say about used car salesmen, you know. Nicest people in the world. I've made so many new friends this week: Ken, Barry, Des, Terry, even their names resound with a rich baritone of trustworthiness and reliability. They get a rep as being shady sorts - shysters, 'wheeler dealers', and what have you. You just have to be firm with them is all: stride confidently across the yard, assume the alpha stance and let them know who's boss: 'Oi, Ken/Barry/Des/Terry, I'm looking for a motor, yeah? I'm a man of deeds, not words. Don't underestimate me because you will be making a fatal error. I don't like liars. I don't like cheats. I don't like bullshitters. I don't like schmoozers and I don't like arse-lickers. Time is money, my friend, and you are bankrupt'. Then just walk away - WALK AWAY - and ignore anything they may shout after you. Works a treat I've found. Except I forgot to ask them anything about cars.
Anyway, I think I'll spend the remains of the day exploring my new found love for Ableton (not to be confused with Appleton). Blogger apparently has a 'scheduled outage' at 4PM PST, something I initially misread as 'scheduled outrage' (I have no idea what PST is - though I assume it refers to 'women's problems'). Listen to the Okkervil River album and EP today, if you get a chance. It's really rather good and Arcade Fire-ish, merging, as it does, the vaguely hysterical vocal histrionics of Xiu Xiu and CYHSY with the shimmering pop sensibilities (TM the NME) of Wolf Parade and the like. Also, check out K-Fed's MySpace profile and listen to a sample from 'Popo Zao', his laughably bad debut single, an obnoxious combination of faux-Latino vocal inflections and Fisher Price crunk production values. Don't bother with Match Point though: not even the combined gorgeousness factor of Scar-Jo-Meyers is enough to save this turkey, which, at 124mins, is at least two hours too long. Betamax out.
Anyway, I think I'll spend the remains of the day exploring my new found love for Ableton (not to be confused with Appleton). Blogger apparently has a 'scheduled outage' at 4PM PST, something I initially misread as 'scheduled outrage' (I have no idea what PST is - though I assume it refers to 'women's problems'). Listen to the Okkervil River album and EP today, if you get a chance. It's really rather good and Arcade Fire-ish, merging, as it does, the vaguely hysterical vocal histrionics of Xiu Xiu and CYHSY with the shimmering pop sensibilities (TM the NME) of Wolf Parade and the like. Also, check out K-Fed's MySpace profile and listen to a sample from 'Popo Zao', his laughably bad debut single, an obnoxious combination of faux-Latino vocal inflections and Fisher Price crunk production values. Don't bother with Match Point though: not even the combined gorgeousness factor of Scar-Jo-Meyers is enough to save this turkey, which, at 124mins, is at least two hours too long. Betamax out.
20060109
I'LL NEVER BE ANYBODY'S HERO NOW
Googly-eyed French 'foolosopher' and author Jean Paul Sartre once wrote that hell is other people (Source: Seventeen.com) and I'm starting to think he might have been right. Living with people is a bitch. Previous to my moving out I would have never considered myself as being particularly loud or obnoxious; now, apparently, I 'close doors forcefully' and make odd honking noises when I sleep. It doesn't help that one of my housemates - to whom my room is adjacent - appears to be some kind of weird reclusive noise terrorist only leaving his room every other morning to accost me as I get out of the shower and complain about my clamorous cutlery-clinking the night before. 'Blah blah blah, coming home drunk, blah blah, singing Cyndi Lauper, blah blah blah, up early tomorrow for a funeral, blah blah, final year exams, blah'... it almost makes me yearn for custody weekends spent at the fetid crack den I used to call home.
Oh well. Haven't updated in a while as I have been quite busy. That's all going to change next week though when I cash in the assload of annual leave I've earned over the year and bunk off work for a month. I'll be sure to drop you a postcard... from my couch! Ostensibly this sabbatical is to give me a chance to Sort Some Things Out (namely what it is I propose to do with my life and whatnot) though I know in my blackest heart of hearts I'll just waste it (the spectre of this article looms uncomfortably large). So expect lots of pointless updates and pontificating on Celebrity Big Brother over the coming weeks (Preston to win, Pete to walk, and Barrymore to break down horribly before our eager, bloodthirsty eyes. Yay!). I've already got into the swing of doing nothing - the only potentially useful part of today for example was spent in bed eating Terry's All Gold and watching Black Books. Which, actually, reminds of another reason why I hate my housemate: this is a guy who went to a Dylan Moran show and thought the support act - walking artery blockage Karl Spain - was funnier. I mean, I'm someone who's pretty tolerant of other people's taste, no matter how different from my own (NOTE: Anyone who knows me will know that this is patently untrue and that I hold most people's tastes in utter contempt) but that's just wrong. That's like saying Wings were better than The Beatles, that Godfather 3 was the best of the trilogy - there's diversity of opinion and there's plain bad thinking. Ugh, even writing about it is making me angry - maybe there's some of those All Gold's left somewhere. *scrabbles under bed for any remaining morsels of discarded confectionary*
That's quite enough for this evening I reckon. I'm going to get back to watching the rest of this movie which, so far, I've fallen asleep during three times. I'm guessing it could be good - werewolves, Freudian subtext, Angela freakin' Lansbury - but it hasn't grabbed my attention yet, though admittedly putting it on while drunk at three in the morning doesn't help it any. Anyway, I've set up a MySpace page for my posting some of my mixes since SectionZ doesn't allow streaming. I don't get why everyone's so jazzed about MySpace though: it's swarming with pop-ups and, like Friendster, is plagued by Filipino spambots with far too many asterisks, backslashs and exclamation marks in their names begging you to add them to your profile. I hate the internet. Betamax out.
MP3
> Francois's Private Hell
MIX
> Betamix #1 (MySpace appears to be broken. It's on SectionZ now)
Oh well. Haven't updated in a while as I have been quite busy. That's all going to change next week though when I cash in the assload of annual leave I've earned over the year and bunk off work for a month. I'll be sure to drop you a postcard... from my couch! Ostensibly this sabbatical is to give me a chance to Sort Some Things Out (namely what it is I propose to do with my life and whatnot) though I know in my blackest heart of hearts I'll just waste it (the spectre of this article looms uncomfortably large). So expect lots of pointless updates and pontificating on Celebrity Big Brother over the coming weeks (Preston to win, Pete to walk, and Barrymore to break down horribly before our eager, bloodthirsty eyes. Yay!). I've already got into the swing of doing nothing - the only potentially useful part of today for example was spent in bed eating Terry's All Gold and watching Black Books. Which, actually, reminds of another reason why I hate my housemate: this is a guy who went to a Dylan Moran show and thought the support act - walking artery blockage Karl Spain - was funnier. I mean, I'm someone who's pretty tolerant of other people's taste, no matter how different from my own (NOTE: Anyone who knows me will know that this is patently untrue and that I hold most people's tastes in utter contempt) but that's just wrong. That's like saying Wings were better than The Beatles, that Godfather 3 was the best of the trilogy - there's diversity of opinion and there's plain bad thinking. Ugh, even writing about it is making me angry - maybe there's some of those All Gold's left somewhere. *scrabbles under bed for any remaining morsels of discarded confectionary*
That's quite enough for this evening I reckon. I'm going to get back to watching the rest of this movie which, so far, I've fallen asleep during three times. I'm guessing it could be good - werewolves, Freudian subtext, Angela freakin' Lansbury - but it hasn't grabbed my attention yet, though admittedly putting it on while drunk at three in the morning doesn't help it any. Anyway, I've set up a MySpace page for my posting some of my mixes since SectionZ doesn't allow streaming. I don't get why everyone's so jazzed about MySpace though: it's swarming with pop-ups and, like Friendster, is plagued by Filipino spambots with far too many asterisks, backslashs and exclamation marks in their names begging you to add them to your profile. I hate the internet. Betamax out.
MP3
> Francois's Private Hell
MIX
> Betamix #1 (MySpace appears to be broken. It's on SectionZ now)
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