An entry made of pictures:
September 2003 Archives
Ann Coulter is delivering a talk at UNC on Wednesday. That makes as much sense as Enoch Powell hosting a talk in Harlem, or Bill Clinton being the keynote speaker at the Conservative Party Conference. Still, I'm tempted to go, just to see if she gets out alive.
Spent this afternoon in the Pit. Hurrah! I got my Pit Preacher experience again. I think this was one of the same ones that I saw earlier this year, one of the more reasonable ones. We had some good discussions on the historical accuracy of the Gospels, although I think he was on dicey ground when he tried to convince us that Gandhi was in Hell because he wasn't a Christian. Not wishing to get all Godwin on his ass, I didn't ask about the current location of Hitler. Then somebody brought up evolution. I wish they wouldn't, as it it inevitably leads to a forty-five minute discussion that goes nowhere. The guy has been doing this for years now; he has a veritable truckload of anti-evolution rhetoric and arguments. And. He. Will. Use. Them. All. Meanwhile, most of us don't seem to be Biology majors, so we can't really argue back. I agree that the Theory of Evolution has a few problems, which is probably why it's still a Theory. On the other hand, I can't accept the Creationist line of "God clicked hir fingers, and it was all there. Don't ask questions!", as it makes everything far too simple.
I have to admire the guy, actually. I don't agree with a lot of what he says, but he's been doing this for years, and he seems like quite a nice person (the best part of the afternoon was when he was talking about his children, rather than preaching). Anyway, I left as the evolution debate threatened to stretch out into its second half hour.
After this morning's latest installment of "Ian should really think about things before he opens his mouth, so as to avoid potentially embarrassing situations which he could have easily averted if he had engaged his brain", I went to the Carrboro Music Festival, with it being the right day for it and everything.
I love this place. They close down the main street of Carrboro, set up open-air concerts, open all the music venues, plus they have a big blue train. Do not underestimate the appeal of a big blue train, especially one driven by a crazy madman who likes driving in circles and chasing people down the street.
The music itself was wide and eclectic, varying from bluegrass to avant-garde jazz, African storytellers to Russian folk, white noise to melodic pop. And the whitest band ever performing Sly and The Family Stone's "Thank You (For Letting Me Be Myself)", which was much better than you would have expected. I finally discovered where the Go! concert venue was (funnily enough, there's a big sign on the front that says GO, but I must have missed that when walking past it for an entire year); it was a lot smaller than I expected, but it gets by due to the nice floppy sofas it has in the raised section, and for placing the toilets on either side of the stage, rather than, say, at the back.
Yesterday, random people were shouting my name and waving hello from a car. Today, I bumped into Ryan from the new UNITAS floor (I met him on Friday night during a very drunken game of electric taboo), and we wandered around the festival together for a little while. He pointed out a stall where a man was making stunning drawings by just using spraypaint, and only taking about ten-fifteen minutes to boot. It was pretty amazing.
I decided to leave after they reopened the road at six. The big blue train could no longer run free along the road, and it felt as if the heart of the festival had gone (I really liked the train, ok?). Plus, I wanted to get back before it got dark. Hey ho.
Oh, and from last night: we got bhangra mix CDs to take home. The quick KLF masterclass if you want to repeat the success of Mundian To Bach Ke: 1. find a nice, uptempo bhangra beat. Preferably with vocals. 2. Locate an a cappella section in a fairly popular Western song, e.g. parts of SNAP's "You Got The Power". 3. Apply ProTools. Hurrah! International fame is now within your grasp (offer void where applicable).
Okay, could someone explain why when I get really drunk, I decide that the best thing to do in the circumstance is to start reciting T.S. Eliot poems? It's rather strange…
Yesterday, I decided I'd go and check out the Carrboro Music Festival, a big event with over 200 bands. I walked in to town, all the way to Carrboro, to discover that I had got the date wrong - it's actually today. Felt rather dumb. But! I shall be going along today.
I suppose the big event last night was the bhangra party at some random person's house. Sadly, the police got called fairly early on for noise control, so it was a little subdued, but fun nonetheless. I even bumped into a girl from London (and Laura was convinced that a guy from South Carolina was also English, but she was, how shall we say, a little tipsy at this point). Once again, there was a lot of drink involved. Still hangover-free though.
Today is a new day…let's make it precious.
Okay. There was vodka. Ever-so-slightly stronger than Sona and I imagined. Of course, by the time we discovered this, it was already too late. There then followed a period of dancing. Be grateful that you didn't see the sight of a white boy attempting to dance to bhangra music (not that I did any better with the more traditional songs, either, but anyway)…
It turns out that Hungry Hungry Hippos is an excellent activity to while away the evening. The strategy! the tension! The furious pounding, resulting in the death of a poor hippo's jaw! It is the game of kings. Or is it horse-racing? I can never remember. I think HHH would be a better game for world leaders though. Get Bush, Blair, Schroeder and Chirac around for a few games, I'm sure the world's troubles would be ironed out (although I'll guess that Mr. Bush would object to being the pink one).
Yesterday nicely divided into two halves; the sucky early/day part where my blisters and shoulders finally cried enough, and I had to spend most of the afternoon inside as I simply couldn't walk any further, and a most enjoyable evening involving watching the Friends premiere at a friend of Laura's, followed by the aforementioned Hungry Hippos tournament (I still suck, by the way), and then I went out with Sona, Kavi, and Parthe. A good time was had by all. Even if everybody took it in turns to mock my speech patterns. I can't help talking like a stuffy English person! Sadly, it's what I am 8-). (I protest a little too much here. It's fun to be the "mad foreigner" again)
A question: when you have blisters on your little toes that are almost as big as the toes themselves, is it a bad thing?
One small word. And yet it makes a world of difference.
Ow.
Ow.
Ow.
With their bushy tails and scheming eyes.
In celebration of my first day back at Chapel Hill...I walked to Carrboro. There's nothing quite like settling back into a routine. And, yes, Bonnie, the shop is still has the howitzer on sale.
It hasn't changed too much, although I've only been away five months, so I wouldn't expect it to look vastly different. A few shops have come and gone, half the university appears to be undergoing renovation, and Carmichael is still hidden behind road works.
I've been bumping into a few people around campus. It was quite fun walking through Sitterson Hall, going past people I taught last year, and seeing the slightly confused looks on their faces. I had quick word with Janet Jones, the Graduate Student Services Manager, who gave me a lot of help and advice last year, for which I'm extremely grateful. Then I ran into Sona (almost literally, as I was doing my "off in a little dreamworld all of my own" walk through the campus), and had lunch with him. Haven't managed to meet up with Kavita yet, but I imagine it won't be too long.
****PSA****
This may be protesting a little too much, but I want it on the record: my knowing that Britney Spears has a new record out in the next few months is simply a result of reading the music press. I do not endorse Ms. Spears or her products.
****PSA****
Right, off back to the Pit to see if any scary religious guys will be turning up this afternoon…
Right. Step on the bus to the Triangle Park. I'm immediately asked for directions. I'm cursed. Happily, I do remember where the Sheraton Hotel is in Chapel Hill, but I take the slightly confused Russian girl to the correct bus stop just to make sure she doesn't end up in New York.
Then, things got silly.
You see, the directions I had in my mind weren't the same directions that existed in reality. So I spent two hours wandering around the wrong part of Chapel Hill. Thankfully, my time in the Boy Scouts (okay, six weeks in Cubs, and I didn't get any badges) guided me back to the town centre (read: I doubled back on myself, looking for the tall buildings), and I finally managed to find someone who knew where Raleigh Street was (which took some doing. All I'll say is that if you want to rob the Town Hall, the security guards may have trouble remembering what street your getaway car took), and, two hours later, finally reached my destination. Dripping, no, flooding with sweat. Oh, the hilarity.
Yes, I'm writing this entry 37,000 feet up in the air. Just to say I can. Of course, I won't be able to post it until I reach the ground, so I could have just lied and said that I was writing it at 37,000 feet. But I couldn't do that to you, dear readers. Besides, I've got two hours left to kill; I can't sleep any longer, I've taught the little girl in front to talk like a pirate, I've finished Slaughterhouse Five, today's Guardian, and as much as the Daily Mail as I can stand without setting it on fire (and I don't think the flight attendants would approve of that, somehow).
Anyway, Gatwick. As depressing as ever. It looks shiny, and you can easily be deceived by the brand new, sparkling duty-free section. As you go out to the gates, however, walls are replaced by temporary wooden panels (which have been there for over a year now) and plastic buckets to catch the water leaking in from the roof. We know how to show people a good time in Britain, naturally.
The security was as laughable as ever; a quick flash of my passport, and a short pat-down after I set off the metal detectors (one day, I shall learn to buy shoes that contain nothing metallic whatsoever). On arrival at RDU, I imagine we will be subject to a search regime that stops just short of the strip-search (hmm. Perhaps I should be less blasé about that. Tempting fate and everything), that'll last for about an hour.
An observation after spending far too long looking at the backs of albums in Virgin while waiting for my flight to be called: all the backs say "this label copy is protected by copyright". Are they seriously trying to say that listing the contents of an album is copyright infringement? If I tell you that the first track on the Dexy's greatest hits album is Geno, will the BPI take me to court? I have similar problems with the FA declaring that it owns football results. Madness!
The plane is strangely empty. Most of the centre seats are empty, so I've taken over an aisle; MP3 player on one side, book and notepad on the other. Is that business class feels like? Is that you John Wayne? Is this me?
Yes, I know that it's become cheap fodder for poor observational comedians, but after travelling to the USA for almost ten years now, the question still remains: has anybody, ever, answered yes to question C. on the I-94W Visa Waiver form? I've half a mind to write to the INS to inquire. "Dear sir, thank you for your email. The INS welcomes the chance to shed light on its internal activities, and we can inform you that 432 people have said that they have committed crimes of genocide and/or were involved in the running of Nazi Germany between 1933 and 1945. We still chuckle a little at their stupidity. Have a nice day."
Hmm. My batter says 83% charged. I don't trust it. Any time now it could —
Bonnie, if I come back to find that you've shredded my books, your extensive *NSYNC collection goes in the microwave. Deal? 8-)
Off to Chapel Hill again. I've no idea how often I'll be updating the blog in the next few weeks, although I suspect that due to the extensive Wi-Fi network on campus, you probably won't notice too much of a difference.
I'll see some of you in a day's time, and others in three weeks. Bye!
The Observer (the Sunday paper from the Guardian group) today published the first issue of its new monthly music magazine. Being nice people, they've put the whole thing on their website, so go have a look. Highlights include Paul Morley on his nefarious plan to smuggle Cat Power tapes into the Fame Academy, Lauren Laverne indulging in a spot of nepotism, and an excellent article by Miranda Sawyer on the perils and delights of being a pop journalist.
Pirate-free for the next 364 days (okay, they might make a reappearance when Pirates of The Caribbean comes out on DVD)!
Three! More! Days!
Shiver me timbers! Here be new music, landlubbers!
- Snow Patrol — How To Be Dead
The first track from their new album, Final Straw. Imagine, if you will, Sebadoh with Scottish accents. Something that I think we should all embrace. Unless you're Lou Barlow, of course, in which case you might be a bit miffed. - Towa Tei ft. Kylie Minogue — German Bold Italic
Personally, I blame Paul Morley. He mentioned this track in Words and Music; I thought he was joking, but no, it does exist. Kylie sings about being a font. Yes. Gut ja! - Stellastarr* — Jenny
The American rediscovery of New Wave continues apace. And the singer sounds a little like Kevin Rowland, which is again something that should be encouraged in this day and age. - Dexy's Midnight Runners — Manhood
They're back. Reformed, recording, and touring. This is a specially-recorded new track ("cynical addition to force old fans to buy a package of old songs" — Ed.) from their upcoming greatest hits collection. Not the best song that they've ever made, but I like it, and I hope you do too.
and speaking of the Devil...
My favourite part of the Isabel coverage is the newscasters getting indigent about the people remaining behind. "Don't they know it's dangerous? That they're putting the medical and fire agencies at risk by being here?" they say, replete with full camera crews and heavy equipment. It's not as if getting pictures from the centre of a hurricane is particularly newsworthy, although I admit, the images are fairly impressive.
In other news, Priest has returned to the web, after the Summer of Hell™. While I'm naturally disappointed with the cancellation of The Crew (as well as Marvel's handling of the promotion), I'm intrigued as to what Tom Breevort has offered him as a replacement. Considering that Priest was considering quitting the industry before talking to him, it's got to be a high profile title. My current bet? The Avengers. I know that Chuck Austen is about to take over the reins on that, but he's writing half of Marvel's output at the moment (or so it seems), so it wouldn't be inconceivably for Priest to slip after a short Austen-penned arc. However, I've just noticed the title on Priest's weblog entry is "Impossible Man", which points towards Fantastic Four. Either way, it'll be a great, possibly final, test of the Priest Curse: surely even he can't get one of the original 1960s Marvel comics cancelled.
I know there's a few people who read this blog from North Carolina. Stay safe over the next few days, okay? (yeah, I know Chapel Hill is well inland, and so should be reasonably protected against Isabel, but humour me)
Can't really work up the effort to talk about The Italian Job much. Fairly predictable, fairly enjoyable, and probably worth seeing if you like Seth Green (plus you get Mos Def thrown in for free). If you're put off by the remake factor, then let me put you at ease; aside from the minis, this is a completely different film from the original. The new version strives to do the same sort of super-cool reimagining that was found in Ocean's Eleven, but never quite manages to pull it off. Still, I didn't leave the cinema wanting to slaughter everybody involved in the production, unlike Mark Wahlberg's last film, so that's a bonus.
The view from space.
Apparently, the current tracking information on the hurricane indicates that it will probably hit land at Cape Hatteras. Which is where I was staying back in April. It's weird to think that the house may be just a pile of rubble and wood by Friday morning.
Yay for the US Senate! Of course, the White House will probably veto the vote, but it's a start, I suppose.
Linkage:
Isn't Democracy wonderful? Sadly, I can imagine that next year, people will be in up in arms at the closure of schools, the ending of state scholarships, removing Medicaid support for some sections of the community, and cutting back on state troopers. Still, at least the state of Alabama can organise a public vote, which seems to be more than California can manage at the moment (incidentally, Gray Davis looks rather demonic in that BBC photo).
It's International Talk Like A Pirate Day on Friday. Arrr!
The wars of the 21st century will be fought with model airplanes.
The item of clothing for this Autumn's dissatisfied youth. Just don't trust anybody who insists that he has a star in his head…
Now, I was going to wish a good time to everybody going to the Bruce Springsteen concert tonight (or those of you sitting outside Kenan Stadium). But it appears that the concert was held yesterday. So any such wishes would be a bit pointless now. But I hope you had a good time anyway. Yes.
The harbinger of my upcoming trip to America. Um, sorry everybody.
I've spent the day fighting with my CD-Writer and reading through the CD-Extra specification. I now have lots of hilarious anecdotes about CD-ROM XA Mode 2 track layouts and ISRC codes to tell at parties. This should be considered a warning.
Hello
My name is German Bold Italic
I am a typeface
Which you have never heard before
Which you have never seen before
I can compliment you well
Especially in red
Extremely in green
Maybe in blue blue blue
Okay. I've turned the speakers off, plugged the headphones in (thus sparing my neighbours from the hideous sonics that would otherwise get me arrested for noise pollution). A glass of water and a sore leg. I'm not sure that the sore leg is necessary, but it appears to be here to stay at the moment.
And so we begin.
Metal Machine Music: Track 1.
[0:00] Okay, so there's feedback.
[0:15] Lots of feedback.
[1:42] Scarlily, it actually sounds quite musical at times.
[2:05] ZX Spectrum loading sounds!
[2:06] R: Tape Loading error
[3:44] Oh god, help me. I'm actually enjoying it.
[5:12] Someone's killing a cat!
[7:02] Here, it's beginning to sound like when the science programmes on television play the sound of the universe's background radiation.
[8:58] We're over halfway through the first track!
[10:42] Strange beeping in the right channel. It is trying to send me a message?
[12:27] A baby crying in the right channel?
[14:55] Someone's seen to the baby.
[16:11] End track 1
Track 2
[0:03] The baby's gone over to the left.
[1:01] My headphones are self-tuning - they just flipped out because they think it's static.
[3:36] Paul Morley was right.
[4:20] Was that a voice in the left?
[6:45] It's really quite beautiful. Brutal and disgusting, but beautiful.
[10:04] Disappointed that I haven't gone insane yet. (Mind you, would I notice?)
[11:07] Was that my eardrum?
[13:24] " And seven priests shall bear before the ark seven trumpets of rams' horns: and the seventh day ye shall compass the city seven times, and the priests shall blow with the trumpets."
[14:32] Left eardrum starting to fail. But I shall not give up! I! Shall! NOT! GIVE! UP!
Track 3
[1:10] Glossolia. ah ah The Tower of Babel they knew what they were after
[2:16] The baby's back stretched across the sky.
[3:13] Hey! That almost sounds like a guitar. I'm almost disappointed.
[4:02] Starting to develop a headache.
[6:05] Is that the ice-cream van?
[7:13] I can't explain. I can hear patterns, notes, emerging from the feedback. Order from chaos. Or is that my mind trying to assert itself over reality? Where is my beautiful wife? How did I get here?
[7:59] Godspeed You! Black Emperor was born in Track 3.
[10:37] It occurs to me that this would be a great choice for a funeral. Especially if, as the deceased, you hated everybody. All! Four! Sides!
[11:02] Of course, they could promise to do it and then bottle out on the day.
[11:11] And then you'd haunt them to the end of their days.
[13:00] Did somebody just walk across the studio?
[14:20] Somebody should make a book on email junk mail. What was the first spam message sent? What is the story behind the 419 messages? Did the guy trying to make a time machine succeed?
[16:10] One more track left.
Track 4
[0:10] Somebody needs to make a continuous mix.
[0:45] The baby is yelling again.
[1:03] But, really, what was the reaction in RCA after the first play? "Gee, Lou. Thanks. Very funny. Now where's the record?"
[1:47] Some strange pulsing going on in the right hand channel.
[2:50] Marching?
[4:31] Feeling calm.
[5:29] I really am beginning to sense a tune. There is truly no hope for me.
[7:27] I think my left ear is starting to bleed
[8:32] Thinking about it, the best time to listen to this isn't during the day, but early in the morning, say 3am, with lots of people spread out on the floor.
[9:41] And that reminds me, I must get hold of Zaireeka.
[11:40] Final few minutes now.
[12:32] Nice.
[13:05] Sadly, this copy can't replicate the original release completely. The vinyl version has a "locked" groove on the final side, so it will actually play forever if you let it.
[13:49] BoBoom. BoBoom. BoBoom. The finality of the end is approaching.
[14:35] Faster, faster.
[15:04] Sweet Jane! Anyone who had a heart!
[15:35] The
[15:36] end
[15:37] is
[15:40]
[15:55]
Finally finished Words and Music. I'm not quite sure what to make of it, to be honest. It's a rambling mess, seemingly lacking an editor or a proofreader ("thier"?), it never really fulfills on the promise of the murder mystery, and it's nothing more than a bunch of lists, with twenty page digressions on Kraftwerk and Simon Fuller, and a chapter that's comprised mostly of footnotes. It's laughably pretentious, in all the ways you'd expect from Paul Morley.
And yet...it's wonderful. It's everything music journalism should be: joyful and serious, critical and reverential, obscure and populist, descriptive and vague, Missy Elliot and John Cage, modern and nostalgic, obsessive and shallow, optimistic and despondent, entertaining and informing, digital and analogue, left and right, mysterious and clear.
I'm going to steal just about half of it. Plus, tomorrow, I'm listening to Metal Machine Music. Be afraid…
Yesterday, the RIAA acted swiftly to try and avert a public relations disaster, after it found itself suing a 12 year old girl from a New York housing project. The maximum penalty the girl could have faced was a fine of $150m (American copyright laws have the potential of fining $150,000 per infringement, and the girl had over 1,000 songs on her computer). Realising that this would lead to more questions being asked of their recent crusade, the RIAA quickly settled with the girl's family. The girl's mother will pay a $2,000 fine to the RIAA. Brianna Lahara, the girl in question, said this to reporters:
I am sorry for what I have done. I love music and don't want to hurt the artists I love.I don't know if the RIAA has been asked how much of this $2,000 will go to the artists. Wearing my British Cynic Hat (standard issue for all citizens), I guess that most, if not all of that sum will go into the pockets of the RIAA's lawyers.
Which brings us to another question: what is the RIAA going to do with all this money it's collecting? Will they give some to the artists, and if so, how are they going to divide it up? A simple tally of how many times the artists appears in people's shared lists (in which case, remove all your Phil Collins and Celine Dion MP3s now)? What happens if we're sharing bootlegs? Giving more cash to Orrin Hatch, so he can continue to make stupid statements? We need to know!
The first part of a series investigating the PATRIOT Act. An important axiom for our times is buried within this article: Don't mess with librarians.
It also seems to contradict Ms. Comstock's assurances in last week's Nightline documentary. Although the agencies need a judge to get a secret warrant, the judge is powerless to refuse their request, as long as they've filled in the paperwork correctly. Which seems to get rid of some of those pesky checks and balances,
It's in 32V! 32V! 32V! 32V! Stop lying, corporate scum!
Ahem.
The Greatest Computer Game Review. Ever.
(In memory of YS, AP, Digi, and now Digiworld. *sniff*)
But then, I'm fairly sure that everybody reading this already knows that.
Still, you'd be surprised at the huge grin on my face after reading JLA/Avengers earlier this evening. Sure, superhero comics are a childish power fantasy, most likely responsible for holding back the acceptance of comics as an art form in the US and UK. And this book is probably the ultimate fan-fantasy, teaming up the two big teams from the DC (Batman, Superman, Flash, etc.) and Marvel (Spider-Man, Captain America, The Hulk, and so on) Universes.
But, for what it was, it managed to include everything that can make these things great. Stupid gigantic cosmic menace that wipes out inconsequential universes in the first few pages? Check. A silly quest to find important objects? Check. The two teams meet up, immediately distrust each other, and start fighting? Check, check, and check.
It contains everything you need in a good crossover, backed-up with the usual gorgeous art from George Perez.
And! Jokes! The Batman beats up the Punisher off-panel! Quicksilver looks forward to being worshipped as a super-speedster in the DC Universe! Hawkeye thinks that the JLA are a copy of the Squadron Supreme! Plastic Man! Lobo versus the Sh'iar!
(Of course, none of that makes sense to the majority of you, but trust me, it's amusing. Nod your heads and back away slowly...)
It's gloriously unashamed superheroics, casting aside the dead-end of the Authority and Dark Knight eras, and going back to crazy, goofy ideas. Can't wait for issue #2.
(Quick comic round-up: The Priest Curse strikes again, so The Crew will be ending with issue #7. Grr. Neil Gaiman's 1602 is intriguing, but I think it's definitely going to be a minor work. The Filth continues to get better. I'm thinking about selling all my Global Frequency issues on eBay, in the hope that some Ellis fan will appreciate them more than I did, and boy oh boy did Morrison pull a fast one on us, eh readers?)
I think this entry can only go downhill from here. Soon, I'll be explaining my love of the Five-Year Gap, why it was Straxus in Time Wars rather than Megatron, thinking about why Delight became Delirium, the identity of V (in both instances), and the significance of the different Key viruses in The Invisibles. So I'd best stop here, for all your sakes.
This is likely to be a patchy entry, but anyway…
Here we go!
First 9/11 mention. We took out Afganistan! Yay! 2/3 of known leaders captured (don't mention Osama).
And on to Iraq. Ah, it was a humane war. Good to know. And it's only since 9/11 that terrorists have been stopped? Er, okay, we won't mention the Irish and Basque groups, shall we.
Decent and Democratic society! Except women can't go out alone at night. But hey.
Okay, he's not actually said anything yet. And dances around the point that a Free and Democratic Iraq could conceivably elect a party that promises to institute Sharia law...
More foreign terrorists in Iraq. Is there any confirmation of this yet? They keep harping on about it, but I've never actually seen any evidence…
It's just Baghdad and Tikrit that are causing problems.
"A different kind of war"
"We will spend what is necessary" —
Okay, first WWII mention. Thankfully he avoids the Werwolf issue.
The Coalition is still on the offensive, apparently. But major combat operations are over. It's not a war. It's not.
We need help! 130,000 US troops in Iraq at the moment, 20,000 troops from other countries. Colin! Colin! Colin! He'll save us all, but we're still calling the shots, okay! But we were right, so suck it up and send us troops that we can order about.
Of course, the Governing Council is regarded as a joke by many Iraqis, but at least you're doing something.
Here comes the begging bowl 8-).
$87bn. Ow. And that's just for the next year. Colin gets to go to the other countries asking for money. He gets all the nice jobs.
More careful mingling of Iraq and 9/11.
Okay, that final pull away shot - very, very scary.
I suppose that I shouldn't be too surprised; the British equivalents of the MPAA and the RIAA have often drawn links between commercial piracy and organised crime, so attempting to scare people from KaZaa on the basis it might contain child porn is just a natural extension of their scare tactics. Expect to see news stories showing how Al-Qaeda is using P2P software to communicate in the next few months, just before John Ashcroft unveils his revised VICTORY Act (unless he decides to drop the pretense and simply name it the WAR IS PEACE Act).
Also, if any American readers are thinking about taking up the RIAA's amnesty offer, this article in Wired explains why you should be a little cautious before doing so.
But...But wait? Surely we overthrew the previous regime out of the goodness of our hearts? To install a democracy in the Middle East? We wouldn't stoop as low as using Iraq's future oil production to fund our invasion, would we? Oh, we would. Look, the news has been full of references to post-WWII Germany in the past week. While you're combing through the files trying to find some evidence of German insurrection, have a look at something called The Marshall Plan, will you? It could give you a few ideas…
Yes, it's that time again (what, where you feel there's nothing you can say, and so you fob your readers off with a few songs, inevitably trying to defend the choice of picking something with a female vocal? — Ed. Yes. — Ian. Okay, but don't come crying to me in the morning — Ed.).
- Belle & Sebastian — Roy Walker
Taken from their new album, Dear Catastrophe Waitress. I like this because it's jam-packed will all the twee clichés that you could possibly imagine, but it's still quite fantastic. Even the wazoos. This MP3 has a few encoding errors, but that should entice you to go and buy the album when it comes out in October (or, it could just be that I couldn't find a proper copy on Soulseek. You decide). - Club 8 — You and Me
I know very little about this band. They're from Sweden, they have a website (which isn't working as I write this), and they're rather good. And it's only two minutes long, so you might as well give it a try. - Nick Cave — Good Good Day
Just to show that Nick Cave isn't always miserable. Although my sister insists that Where The Wild Roses Grow is a happy song, because Kylie Minogue gets killed at the end. - Suede — Another No-one
A sad and haunting b-side from their Trash single. I seem to remember playing it a lot during the winter of 1996. - Betty Boo — Doin' The Do
No explanations. No apologies. Betty Boo is doin' the do.
Deep within the bowels of Ticketmaster HQ, there must be a special department set with the task of finding new and exciting ways of making music fans hate them further. They've had successes: the Orwellian masterstroke of 'Convenience Fees', managing to get consumers to print their own tickets, and of course becoming a monopoly force in the American arena scene. This new idea ensures that they'll get their Christmas bonus this year.
But what of the poor scalper? Will they become extinct? What will happen to the honoured tradition of being asked if you have any tickets to sell while you wait in line for a concert? And the stranger cousin, being asked if your want to buy tickets when you're standing in line. I've never, never understood this. I know it's considered an amusing stereotype that the British, when left to their own devices, will naturally form queues, but surely it should be assumed that if you're waiting in line, there's pretty good odds that you have a ticket. My favourite example of this was during the mile-long queue to Glastonbury a few years back. Yes, I'm standing here, in line, in sweltering heat, with a backpack containing far too much food, a gas canister, a two-man tent, clothes, plus an oversized coat for when it inevitably rains. I've been here for an hour, and I've moved two hundred metres. Do you think I would be doing this without a ticket? I mean, really?
Ahem. Actually, now that I come to think about it, I've never seen anybody either buy from or sell to a scalper. And the tickets that Ticketmaster will be selling are very different to the ones that you can pick up on the street five minutes before the doors open. So, erm, the last paragraph was a little pointless, but hey, you've all got used to that by now, right?
To sum up: Ticketmaster - still corporate scum.
(Today's entry may be coloured by the fact that they're charging me $20 for posting my R.E.M. tickets. My, that's a big stamp.)
Currently, the Page You Made™ on Amazon is recommending that I buy these items:
- New Nokia phone
- Wait Until Dark DVD
- FLCL Vol. 2 DVD
- The Lone Wolf and Cub Series
- Ted Conover's Coyotes, and...
- the Anna Kournikova sports bra.
More from the "if we keep making up crazy stories, they'll stop complaining" department:
"There is an understandable tendency to look back on America's experience in postwar Germany and see only the successes," Ms. Rice said, noting that the Allied-occupied nation was neither stable nor prosperous between 1945 and 1947. "SS officers, called Werewolves, engaged in sabotage and attacked both coalition forces and those locals cooperating with them, much like today's Baathist and Fedayeen remnants.
Donald Rumseld added a helpful example in his speech to the Veterans of Foreign Wars National Convention last week:
One group of those dead-enders was known as “werewolves.” They and other Nazi regime remnants targeted allied soldiers and they targeted Germans who cooperated with the allied forces. Mayors were assassinated including the American appointed Mayor of Achen, the first major German city to be liberated.
On the surface, this seems like a fairly reasonable comparison, although it could be pointed out that the situation in Germany was vastly different to Iraq (Iraq never had an equivalent of Dresden, for example, and the US domination of the Coalition meant that there was no squabbling over how to split Iraq up, unlike the convoluted plans partitioning Germany).
Unfortunately, as this article at Slate points out, this latest damage-control exercise is grounded more in fiction and the dreams of Goebbels than what actually happened. Yes, the mayor of Aachen was assassinated. However, the event happened over a month before the Germans surrendered, so it's not quite the same as what's been happening in Iraq. It also appears to be the apogee of the Werwolf's guerilla tactics. In fact, the Germans were happy to cooperate with the incoming Allied forces (according to a RAND report referenced in the article - it's in the "Lessons Learned" section at the end of the file), with very few reports of resistance or sabotage.
It's hard for an administration to admit it made had made a slight misjudgement. To be fair, they didn't promise a cakewalk, but they gave hints that the people of Iraq would celebrate the removal of Saddam Hussein, and welcome us with open arms. Many anti-war protestors pointed out that it probably wouldn't be that simple. Unfortunately, it seems that the protestors may have been right, no matter how the US and UK try to tell us otherwise.
