Sunday Monday Collection
It's been a pretty odd week and one I wouldn't wish upon anyone. It's been pretty horrible for me as a spectator this far away, but others, about whom I care deeply, have had to endure at first hand some rather unspeakable events and my heart goes out to them, as well as a rather large chunk of love. You know who you are.
It's good to know though that there are still people out and about who, with a quite remarkable disregard for the caution one would normally exercise when faced with a dribbling hack on a slow news day, are able to cast doubt on 150 years of evolutionary theory. In this case, she probably ran out of fingers. Apologies if you heard this one on last week's News Quiz. I didn't, I heard it on this evening's repeat on the digital wireless.
Scratchcards
My parents gave up taking a daily newspaper ages ago but still buy one on Saturday for the tv listings. Any one will do but they have (as oddly enough I still do even though I can abide neither its attitude nor its politics) a loyalty to the Daily Ex-Princess. One of the delights of any newspaper supplement are the adverts for the absolute shite sold in the name of collectors' pieces. You know the stuff, limited edition portraits on cheap bone china plates of the cast of Heartbeat signed and numbered in gold paint by an artist fresh out of Scunthorpe College of Art and sold by the Danbury Mint in a manner that makes anyone whose entire wardrobe is furnished by JJB Sports feel like their life will be near enough complete once they've spent a small fortune to get it.
The offer gracing the back of the Express magazine this weekend was for a limited edition giclee print of this:
When I first saw this I was reminded of the kind of sketch I'd run off during a life class with a bit of colour treatment added. The kind of thing you'd see on a box of pastels. Here's some of the accompanying nonsense:
"fantasy and reality blur in a hauntingly beautiful study that challenges the eye as it delights the senses."
It certainly is a challenge to the eye because that's one woman I wouldn't fancy meeting in a dark alley; massive head, microscopic waist and a huge left tit pointing to one side. Scary. There's also the following load of bollocks designed as a cunning ruse to trick the aesthetically naïve into making arses of themselves at polite parties:
"His work has a shifting spontaneity of form enhanced by the hidden symmetry of fine detail..."
Care to run that by me again? "Shifting spontaneity of form"? I think that's pseud for "quick crap sketch" and symmetry is evident in something that's visual, it's not hidden. Moreover, if you can't see detail, however fine, it ain't there, brother. You can't hide it. And anyway, as I've already pointed out, the lack of symmetry in her chest area would render that statement a bit null and void. Stick to the Samurai swords or the 1:24 scale reproduction American fire engines.
Somewhere around here should be a video of the Sex Pistols from their appearance on American telly last week celebrating 30 years since "Never Mind The Bollocks, Here's the Sex Pistols" was released. I can't see the code but it appears in the preview so I'm crossing my fingers. There are always rather disparaging comments flying about whenever the Pistols re-unite in an unabashed attempt at some pension enhancement. Couldn't give a toss, to be honest. In my mind this isn't a sell out, in a way it's just as punk now as it was 30 years ago. John Lydon, in his Rotten incarnation, hasn't changed at all. He's not become a cuddly parody although it's fair to say he's an institution. He's still capable of intelligent and thought provoking outbursts; he still has an edge. Whether you like them or not, The Pistols inspired many and the contemporary musical landscape would be substantially different without them. And listen to their back catalogue whenever you can because this was a band that genuinely shocked a nation yet there's barely a swear in their lyrics at all. This is possibly my favourite single of all time. And nobody sings the word "vacant" quite like John.
It's good to know though that there are still people out and about who, with a quite remarkable disregard for the caution one would normally exercise when faced with a dribbling hack on a slow news day, are able to cast doubt on 150 years of evolutionary theory. In this case, she probably ran out of fingers. Apologies if you heard this one on last week's News Quiz. I didn't, I heard it on this evening's repeat on the digital wireless.
Scratchcards
My parents gave up taking a daily newspaper ages ago but still buy one on Saturday for the tv listings. Any one will do but they have (as oddly enough I still do even though I can abide neither its attitude nor its politics) a loyalty to the Daily Ex-Princess. One of the delights of any newspaper supplement are the adverts for the absolute shite sold in the name of collectors' pieces. You know the stuff, limited edition portraits on cheap bone china plates of the cast of Heartbeat signed and numbered in gold paint by an artist fresh out of Scunthorpe College of Art and sold by the Danbury Mint in a manner that makes anyone whose entire wardrobe is furnished by JJB Sports feel like their life will be near enough complete once they've spent a small fortune to get it.
The offer gracing the back of the Express magazine this weekend was for a limited edition giclee print of this:
When I first saw this I was reminded of the kind of sketch I'd run off during a life class with a bit of colour treatment added. The kind of thing you'd see on a box of pastels. Here's some of the accompanying nonsense:"fantasy and reality blur in a hauntingly beautiful study that challenges the eye as it delights the senses."
It certainly is a challenge to the eye because that's one woman I wouldn't fancy meeting in a dark alley; massive head, microscopic waist and a huge left tit pointing to one side. Scary. There's also the following load of bollocks designed as a cunning ruse to trick the aesthetically naïve into making arses of themselves at polite parties:
"His work has a shifting spontaneity of form enhanced by the hidden symmetry of fine detail..."
Care to run that by me again? "Shifting spontaneity of form"? I think that's pseud for "quick crap sketch" and symmetry is evident in something that's visual, it's not hidden. Moreover, if you can't see detail, however fine, it ain't there, brother. You can't hide it. And anyway, as I've already pointed out, the lack of symmetry in her chest area would render that statement a bit null and void. Stick to the Samurai swords or the 1:24 scale reproduction American fire engines.
Somewhere around here should be a video of the Sex Pistols from their appearance on American telly last week celebrating 30 years since "Never Mind The Bollocks, Here's the Sex Pistols" was released. I can't see the code but it appears in the preview so I'm crossing my fingers. There are always rather disparaging comments flying about whenever the Pistols re-unite in an unabashed attempt at some pension enhancement. Couldn't give a toss, to be honest. In my mind this isn't a sell out, in a way it's just as punk now as it was 30 years ago. John Lydon, in his Rotten incarnation, hasn't changed at all. He's not become a cuddly parody although it's fair to say he's an institution. He's still capable of intelligent and thought provoking outbursts; he still has an edge. Whether you like them or not, The Pistols inspired many and the contemporary musical landscape would be substantially different without them. And listen to their back catalogue whenever you can because this was a band that genuinely shocked a nation yet there's barely a swear in their lyrics at all. This is possibly my favourite single of all time. And nobody sings the word "vacant" quite like John.
posted by Richard at 10:40 pm
7 Vegetable peelings:
I never particularly liked the Sex Pistols when they were about : Mainly because they were liked by people I didn't like. Most of them contributed to the "worship" of Sid Vicious, who really, really put me off them.
It wasn't until years later I realised that Lydon was as sharp as a tack, and spoke a lot of sense.
I know what you mean Steve. I was never a punk - although as a 16 year old it was tempting - but I'd followed the movement avidly through the pages of Sounds and the first time I heard the Pistols it was a revelation. I'm not sure I would have enjoyed a gig but I always thought that past the persona - of which there was little superficial - Lydon displayed a remarkable amount of common sense and acuity. He also has genuine rock charisma in that you never know what's going to happen next, even after 30 years.
I was also totally smitten with Gaye Advert.
I think her nipple is bleeding through her dress.
That picture is now taking on an even more disturbing meaning
Yesterday, when I first saw it, I really didn't want to comment on the artwork. I still don't.
I'm not quite sure how anybody could think that -6 is lower than -8 but this is Britain, after all. And to think I thought my math skills were bad! I feel positively genius in comparison :)
I managed to fail maths o level twice and even I could get the whole -6 -8 thing!
The level of education today makes me despair sometimes... soe people shouldn't even be allowed to cross the orad on their own!
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