60s romanticism & La Commedia Divina

Yes, yes. I promised you a daily post and I'm only just about maintaining a monthly entry. But, well, you know me better than I know myself so you can't be too surprised.

Did you notice that I've acquired a new domain name? No, well, I've hidden the fact well.

Thoughts on Nick Drake. And Vashti Bunyan. Why do they continue to be popular when fey miserabilism has so many more proficient exponents who aren't achingly shy or dead? What is it about 60s romanticism that appeals to modern folk? Sparse production, the sound of bean-fed dogs wapping in the background, small voices intoning sad and simple truths? Or an undeniable commitment to honesty that is, frankly, more terrifying and from-another-era than anything else on offer?

I wonder.

On the subject of music, if you decide to start listening to anything other than BSS, CSS or AF, then give Divine Comedy another chance. What did Neil Hannon do to prevent himself becoming a national treasure?

 

 

Lack of Incident & Castiron Plunger

I like reading blogs in which the writer relates with a keen eye the quotidian details that marked their day. Things overheard in the butchers while waiting for a dozen of eggs - that sort of thing.
A feeling of inadequacy comes over me when I try to create this kind of entry. It's like I haven't been paying attention. Well, that's true enough. I haven't been paying enough attention. But I will try harder in future to record what gets said and what not by the people around me.

I've been given a tip for a horse race. Leopardstown, 2:20, this Sunday. I know nothing about horses but that won't stop me placing a hefty bet. My girlfriend knows just as little as me but actively encourages the wager. Does anyone want to know the name of the horse (NB: incentive for a comment. I am not convinced it will work...)
 

God appearing out the window

On David Bowie's 50th birthday (all of, oh, 10 years ago), BBC Radio One did a nice tribute to him on which many of his peers were invited record messages paying him tribute. The only time DB got excited, emotional even, was when Scott Walker's brief words of praise were played to him. He said it was like God appearing out the window.

The phrase came to mind when I saw this footage of Zinedine Zidane messing around, playing football with some teenagers. I don't know the background. I like to think he just turned up out of boredom (he has retired, you know) and fancied a kickaround as a way of passing time before the omnibus of Eastenders came on the telly. The kids seems not too overawed, although if they were it might explain the quality of their performance.

Oh, I'm just being churlish.

Build It. They Will Come.

The contract for GoogleAds is fascinating. Just as well; I spent the last 20 minutes of my life reading it. My financial model for 2007 requires that I make 12c from it (1c per month!). I am not overly hopeful.

The trip to Cork was nice, although spending the whole of Saturday lying on a hotel bed watching bits of sundry films (Ice Age, The Sixth Sense) was not a good idea. The only saving grace was that we didn't actually decide to do it. We just kind-of forgot to go out. Well, that happens sometimes, doesn't it?

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Here is something I made to fend off a little bit of boredom. It reminds me of my schooldays...


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The litre of house red (Sainte Marthe) in Cafe Bar Deli in Cork is, by the way, highly recommended. On the flipside, the bottles of beer and the beastings of whiskey I took on board later didn't like it as much as I did.

Anyway. The weekend dispensed with, the week already 20% completed. Only 4 days of grim winter sun and early nights between now and a day in bed. Hooray for seasonal affective (?) disorder.

Nothing for the weekend

Going to Cork for the weekend with a lady of significance. Well, she’s significant to me, and herself. Such trips usually involve wandering purposefully around Patrick Street, weaving in and out of shops (clothes for her; music and books for me) and reconvening for the taking of alcohol.
This is likely to continue into our dotage, shopping really being the universal hobby of wealthy and otherwise Young Irelanders.
But what happens when you run out of money? What do indigents do at the weekend? I should know, being a vagrant and all, but the information eludes me for the moment. I imagine that the poor vacation in different-coloured squalor. There really should be government support for self-esteem related shopping. Surely, everyone is entitled to buy things they never knew they didn’t want?

A further incidental - ease of blogging

A quick observation on setting up a blog.

1: It is very easy.

2: A second observation, the first one being less insightful than I had hoped.
The availability of authoring tools, aids, facilities, connectivity and space has improved so much in the past some years, that nearly everybody must have a blog now. Except for a few slackers in Eritrea who still haven't got their ECDL. And the people in my neck of the woods (an urban part of rural Ireland) who just scrawl their thoughts on brick walls instead. Well, it reaches a wider audience. It is, after all, a very big wall.

A beginning & incidentals

Greetings.

Some years ago, inspired by boredom, I took to creating nonsense websites under time constraints. A 7-page affair with graphics and some overarching theme to be devised, revised and uploaded in 6 hours, with stops for small cups of tea and a hasty wonder at the mystery of it all.

I stopped. It wasn't that I lost interest in it; it just took so much time.

It's been a while since I posted anything, so this is a new start, a fresh beginning to mark the advent of January and the fact that there plainly aren't enough people out there communicating only with themselves. This seems like a grand place for quiet shouting. Even the wallpaper suits my mood. Actually, the number of people committing words to screen is quite distressing. I didn't realise so many where as under-occupied as me.

Here's to less fruitful times and the promise of daily posts.