Nibbling on nuts, and sucking down seed.
Apologies for that title, but it seems that innuendo and suggestive comments are handy for onanists coming across the site (so to speak). what’s the point of a blog if random strangers aren’t going to read it while looking for titilation and tubthumping?
Anyway, 4 days as a gym member and I’ve still only been once. The progress has been good, although I am somewhat disappointed that chocolate hobnobs seem to have been less beneficial than i was expecting. I can’t understand it myself, ignoring the chocolate, they contain oats for goodness sake… that makes them healthfoods, surely! Still, the packet has been eaten, so the only solution is to eat TS’ homemade soup (which consists of tinned tomatoes and assorted veg), and snack on seeds. I feel like some kind of overweight blue-tit.
Making the most of my pre-employment status for the last week, I have been trapped watching music channels and feeling the growing rage at Girls Aloud. As I type, I am being subjected to the dire soundtrack song they perform for the new St Trinian’s soundtrack. In other words, it’s a tortuous mound of crap indistinguishable from most of their other prefabricated tut except for the fact they are dressed up in school uniforms and the video looks like it was made on Top of the Pops in 1987. This can only be a desperate attempt to appeal to the sort of men who enjoy school uniforms, and a generation that wasn’t tortured by Grange Hill on Children’s BBC.
I know that everyone takes the view that popular music isn’t as good as it was when they were growing up, but the selection I’ve seen today just makes you think that some producer is literally crapping out artists and songs, and combining the 2 in some kind of blender. Think I’m joking? Take Timberland for example… the video for Too Late, performed by One Republic (who for some reason get demoted to “featuring artists” despite the fact they are playing the bloody song). The video features Timberland sat at the mixing desk, conducting an invisible orchestra and producing random noises that sound like a porpoise with chronic flatulence has hijacked the microphone. Meanwhile, the band/musicians/pretty white boys are in the studio and showing so much emotion, I’m half convinced their facial expressions are the result of a Filipino hooker being employed under the camera shot. Suffice to say, the song itself (which at the end of the day is the product consumers/fans are buying) is just a jumbled bucket of bilge that isn’t a patch on ballads from the likes of Ultravox. Hell, even Hanson’s MMMM-Bop is an improvement, and I actually preferred the feeling of razor blades on my fingertips to listening to that when it came out!
One of the biggest acts at the moment (according to people who know about these things instead of just slagging them off like I am) is 50 Cent. He’s gone from one-trick pony (guy who survived being shot 9 times) to being a consistent recording artist at the top of the rap tree. I have just one question: why? I know people who’ve had strokes who sound clearer than him! If your jaw is wired shut, you can still produce some clearer sound than that monotone twonk! I do love his video persona though. In every one, he is usually having to cope with the strains of assorted strippers vying for his lock-jawed attentions. Unfortunately, when faced with some gyrating jubblies he tends to sit there like a slightly backward child transfixed by a kaleidoscope. Or, like Sean Kingston faced with an all-you-can-eat cake buffet.
Luckily I can always take solace in the eclectic range on my ipod. It’s amazing just how refreshing some early 90s Madchester dance music, followed by high class Indie music (Inspiral Carpets or Stone Roses anyone?) can be after the platter of X-Factor clones. in fact, I think it’s time to retreat into my own audio Fortress of Solitude, and see what I’ve downloaded this week (from legitimate file-sharing services of course, not mininova or other torrent websites… that would be naughty!). I just wish I could have some decent snacks to eat, instead of Kevin the Gerbil’s leftovers.
