Posts from 12th June 2006

Jun 06

Poor Mia Maestro

Do You SeePost a comment • 635 views

Not only has her regular on-going TV series (Alias) been cancelled, but she gets the non-white treatment in Poseidon. And then, nary a week later she gets kidnapped in Caraccas in Secuestro Express. Though you do get a feeling that this film with the attention span and moral compass of a five year old, is not going to let any harm come to her. In our cast of players at the start of the film characters are described as Rapists, Kidnappers, Murderers, Callous Old Money etc. She gets the “Volunteers in a children’s clinic”. If only actual morality impinged on mortality like that!

Day 70: Bombs Over Baghdad

I Hate Music1 comment • 548 views

There are middle class people of my acquaintance, say Bryan Ferry, who think traveling by bus is analogous be being carried in a cattle truck. Having now spent two days in a cattle truck, I can tell them that the number 73, even on the busiest day on the Pentonville Road, is to nothing compared to being crammed with seventy people in the back of a open top lorry. When I wasn’t passing out due to the heat, or the stench, I was irritated by some people singing to keep their spirits up. In my opinion there is only one way of keeping your spirits up, and that involves getting some actual spirits.

And so, unable to stand it any more, I jumped off the back of the lorry. Only to find myself surrounded by armed US troops, waving guns at me suspiciously.
“What’s going on.”
I was so distracted by him name checking one of the worst albums of all time that I did not notice what I said until it was out of my mouth.
“Officer, I’m so very sorry. But I fell off the back of the lorry.”

Kill me know for quoting Denim lyrics. Luckily (or unluckily) I was in a particularly dangerous place, namely Baghdad, and therefore could be killed any minute.

OUTKAST – Bombs Over Baghdad

Of course the song isn’t called Bombs Over Baghdad really. It is actually called BOB. Why? There are a number of plausible reasons
a) OutKast don’t like words of more that three letters in their song titles (cf Hey Ya)
b) They were too scared that politically the title might be a touch insensitive, big fat scaredy cats
c) They weren’t sure what the correct spelling was.

Frankly c) is a rubbish reason for a band who are happy to be called Outkast. A big red sp goes by the side of that. But b) as a reason is plausible. It could also be why they sing it so fast that it is actually impossible to understand any of the words. Which suggests that there is some sort of subliminal message. And when you consider that it was recorded in 1999, suddenly all is clear.


Imagine George Bush swinging his feet during the election campaign along to an infectious (like syphilis) Hip-Hop tune. He is trying to show, in a Bulworth style, that he is down with the kids. Worming into his brain and that of the pliant American population, is the idea of normalising the horror of another Iraq war. On top of that, the horror of the actual track normalises the pain and suffering of all war casualties, it being the sonic equivalent. Don’t protest about the war to George Bush, protest about Outkast.


TMFDPost a comment • 290 views

So the World Cup is here and with it, some generally quite dull games so far. Angola Portugal lacked the colonial fireworks that, sensibly, both managers tried to play down. The most exciting game so far has been a 0-0 draw (good work Trinidad – oh and Tobago). And the biggest upset? That would be how upset the BBC’s pundits were at the end of the match against Paraguay.

Perhaps upset is the wrong word. Contempt suits them more. After a half time performance where the Ian Wright, Alan Hansen and that no-eyed Geordie bastard Alan Shearer rained compliments upon Sven;s team, it was time for the reality check. After England’s poor second half performance and some strange substitutions the atmosphere was prickly in the box. All sense of even handedness went out of the window: even Gary Linaker was taking the piss out of Sven.

Clearly a game plan which involves removing the strikers from the team are not going to convince a panel of strikers. But when even Garth Crooks’ little peanut head goes on the attack and Ray Stubbs gets in Sven’s ear with pointed “you are crap” questions, you know the BBC team have got a line. And that line seems to be: we have the best team in the world, only the manager can fuck it up.