… and they’re still trying to force their music onto people’s personal listening devices! The shits.
Still, one of the benefits of being old is that not only do you get to laugh at the technology/fashion/hairdos we once considered cutting edge, but you can state with absolute confidence that War is a better album than Songs Of Innocence.
Because it is.
Vancouver’s Gay Pride parade was at its understated best this weekend.
Practically everyone wants to be famous these days.
We all know that person who reads magazines and speaks in hushed tones about the perfection therein; the flawless skin, the perfectly proportioned muscle groups, the happy, carefree, penthouse suite boasting infinity pool life that millions of dollars can afford. Perhaps we tease them gently, rib them about their aspirations, which we ourselves see through because we know that money and a designer baby doesn’t equal happiness, it just appears to when photographed in the right lighting.
So for want of something better to do, I click on this Buzzfeed article called ‘8 Stories Of Everyday Sexism, As Told By Female Journalists‘ and I get really, really pissed off and angry that people like those described still exist in the world and their pathetic, irrational fear of women achieving something is having an impact on lives and careers in 2014.
When I wrote about Paddy Power’s execrable ‘betting opportunity’ on the Oscar Pistorius trial last week, I tried to present my argument against it in a (relatively) measured way.
I was wrong. This response, from Adam Hills on his Channel 4 show, ‘The Last Leg’, is far more appropriate. I can only apologise.
As an elderly person with what I like to think is fairly decent taste, I’ve never really understood the purpose of One Direction as a musical entity. I’m so uncomfortable with the whole ‘mogul grooming and primping boys for the purpose of manipulating the vulnerable, fecund areas of teenage sexuality for financial gain’ thing, that the actual music has passed me by.
The snippets I have heard makes me yearn for the touchingly disorganised and cheery console manipulation of Stock, Aitken & Waterman.
What is this person buying from a pharmacy? Nothing that will benefit mankind, I’ll warrant.
I used to be a goth. A proper one, who would not leave the house with first festooning myself in crushed velvet, eyeliner, talcum powder and at least two unfeasibly large hats.
Many people saw me. Many people laughed as me and my little gang – an erstwile group equally caught up in the romanticism of gloomy men covered in flour shouting indecipherable lyrics about Cthulhu into the fog – dodged between shop awnings to evade the watery sunlight. We drank cider and black, found philosophical meaning in the work of Wayne Hussey and drank heroic quantities of cider & black.
I write a lot about how corrosive and depressing the internet can be. How miserable it is that a tool enabling instant communication between anyone, wherever they might be in the world; a collective mind capable of constantly renewal where the answer to every question can be found instantly, is used by most to look at porn and pictures of cats.
Turkana has spent five years waiting for rainfall sufficient to supply them with the water necessary to continue their way of life. In 2011 and 2012, drought conditions were severe enough for the people, many of whom survive as nomadic herders, to sell off their livestock. Recently, the UN estimated that of a population comprising approximately 41 million people, about 17 million did not have access to clean, safe water.