Friday 6 February 2009

You ain't my bitch, nigga. Buy yo own damn fries.

This is the finest thing I've seen on the internet in quite a while (at least since this morning) even if our jiving president (did I just say that? Am I becoming American? Or just an inability to recognise Brian Cowan as anything other than a cement truck?) does sound a little unhip with a filthy mouth.

So, to be clear: these are samples from President Barack Obama's audiorecording of his book, Dreams of my Father, which he has read aloud himself. In this recording, he quotes some friend of his from back in the day. You are about to hear your president say nigga, sorry ass muthafucka, and perhaps the sentence of the week: This shit's getting waaay too complicated for me.

For budding Kenneth Starrs everywhere, take heed: that guy ain't shit. Sorry ass muthafucka got nothin on me. Nothin.

This one, sadly, did not show up in a vicepresidential debate, sigh: there are white folks, and then there are ignorant muthafuckas like you.

This, however is by far my favourite.

If you're having problems listening to the audio samples, you can also get them here and here.

Thanks, India!

Amanda Palmer is alive and singing

I've just gotten turned onto the new muxtape and I really think that this chick ROCKS. She sings about having abortions after daterapes but not caring because she's just sent a fanletter off to Oasis and she'll be seeing Blur in September with her ex-best friend Melissa who was molested and so she knew the right clinic to bring her to after the daterape, but who subsequently blabbed about everything to everybody and so they're not talking anymore but it'll probably be alright by September and it's all packed into a 2 minute frenzy and this is feelgood music par excellence.

Really, this is a great selection of songs. There is some wonky 'room atmos' in between songs which might have something to do with David Lynch, I don't know I didn't watch Twin Peaks, but this chick has got guts and energy and her record company has stopped promoting her for having an imperfect figure and singing about difficult female topics and even so she's getting interviewed by the Guardian and I hope she does well.

There's also a great song about it being ok that there isn't love because there's the Dukes of Hazzard and Southern Comfort.

Fun must be recognised in all her forms. Fun must be allowed to make her way uninhibited in the world, regardless of where she chooses to dance. And by fun I do not mean the fun of the murderer or the fun of the rapist or the fun of the mean girl who used to bite me when I was 6 (Jennifer whose brother was Trevor, if I knew their surnames I would write them here but I do not. They were both blonde, that is all the information I have). I mean the fun that makes its way into earnest and dark places and brings light. I feel very strongly about this. This chick was criticised for doing just that, and tv stations said they liked her song but they would not allow it to be played nonetheless. She has written a fantastic blog post about the topic.


Amanda Palmer
is my new favourite person.

So that Ross will understand about Jacques Brel

Thursday 5 February 2009

Monday 2 February 2009

Spot that pigeon


Camden Lock, London, today.

Camden, today



Christ. London gets some snow. Schools are closed, shops are closed, people take a day off work, buses are cancelled for the day, the tube is in chaos or suspended, planes are sliding off runways, and nobody's heard of Ice Melt. I'm going to bed.

London, tonight


The view around half nine this evening, walking over the Millenium bridge, with St. Paul's Cathedral visible in the background. More snow than they've seen in years.