Wednesday, September 29, 2004
[ This provoked by a diamond geezer post today ]
Critics, in my view, play a valuable role because they create a standpoint on a topic. Rather like the opposing sides in a debate. By staking out a viewpoint you are engaging others to have some response - even if that's to say 'what a load of old b******s'. I quite like being 'told what to think' sometimes because it provokes me to think about something to which I would otherwise have remained indifferent. When it comes to Art in particular I've personally found it rather helpful to have people of insight articulate in a detailed way the concepts and meanings of a piece as they perceive it. It gives me a handle and 'way in' that I might not otherwise have. The careful use of language to describe visual concepts is something to be accepted for what it is - an attempt to convey subtleties of meaning as they are understood by the viewer. The language used by critics is often criticised for sounding pretentious or impenetrable. On the one hand I'm all for simplification and inclusion. On the other, I think that some visual ideas are difficult to render in text and that's where things can get out of hand. I've written several posts which use what might be considered high falutin terminology about art and design. I'm unashamed because I was genuinely trying to convey meaning. I don't know if it's always possible to write about art without someone thinking, 'pretentious twaddle'. Matter of fact language isn't always enough.
Back to DG's comments >>
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 6:55 PM
Tuesday, September 28, 2004
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 6:40 PM
Monday, September 27, 2004
I thought I'd write to let you know how things were going - it's a long time since we had a good chat.
I'm the bloke who lives near you that you sometimes pass in the street and scowl at for no apparent reason. Even after I've smiled and said, 'Hello'. Difficult I know, to return a greeting when you've got so much going on in your life. I mean, that vintage car of yours must take up a lot of your time - what with the rust promotion treatments. Those beaded seat covers a quite rare now too - must be worth a lot. [ to a scrap merchant ] I don't really mind when you rev the engine for 2 hours from 7am on a Saturday - helps me to wake up nice n early - cheers.
That bin liner installation in your front garden is coming on a treat isn't it? I noticed that council bloke taking photographs the other day - was he from the art gallery? Those arty types always dress weirdly don't they? I bet he's got a whole wardrobe full of rubber suits and respirators.
I see young Lance is growing up fast and Kirsty is not far behind him. Nice to hear you all screaming at each other in the street on Sunday at 6am - very jolly and gave us a good laugh. We wondered if it was about the dog. He's always been a handful I know - I've often seen you whipping him to make him run faster in the park - he must be very reassuring to have around. All that snarling he does would scare anyone off eh? He he. Well, I must be going - I have to be up early for work in the morning - pay all those taxes to subsidise
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 11:34 PM
Sunday, September 26, 2004
There are 3 weather related singles in this week's top 20.
This is only fitting for a nation obsessed with the weather. The tracks are:
Breeze On By - by Donny Osmond. Sample - this is Dozza's first top ten hit in 30 years. Ex Take That porker, Gazza Barlow has co-written a nice n easy track perfect for tearing around in your [ insert name of hairdressers car here ] with your mullet blowing in the wind.
[ In at no 8 this week ].
Sunshine - by Twista. Sample - nice n easy track borrowing heavily from the 1977 classic 'Lovely Day' by Bill Withers. Perfect for tearing around in your [ insert name of hairdressers car here ] with your skunk stripes blowing in the wind.
[ Down 1 at no 9 this week ].
Butterflies and Hurricanes - by Muse. Sample - cacophonous dirge borrowing heavily from Friday night traffic at the Dartford Tunnel - perfect for tearing around in your [ insert name of boy racermobile here ] with your Burberry baseball cap on, windows open and fag buts being chucked at passers by.
[ In at no 14 this week ].
Meanwhile, the weather here in Bignjuicyville has been stunning, prompting me to purchase large quantities of plants at the garden centre and install them in the grounds for the enjoyment of yours truly, passing cats and the wider neighbourhood. I'm particularly pleased with some bargain Phormiums [ New Zealand Flax ] - 'bronze baby' - which have added a new dynamism to the Bignjuicy window box as well as nearly taking my eye out.
Winter flowering pansies are always a favourite. This year I've gone all classic with rich purple - almost royal velvet in appearance - deep saturated colour - very spesh. This offset with masses of white pansies too. It's all looking rather gorgeous - if I say so myself.
The answers are now posted and points will be updated shortly.
Thanks to all who took a small part.
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 8:00 PM
Saturday, September 25, 2004
Prince Harry wants to continue his mother's legacy. [Sick bags at the ready.]
David Frost will no longer be oozing forth on Sunday mornings.[ Thankyou God ]
The Blair Brown feud is known in Westminster variably as "10/11" and the "TBGBs".
Kushi's in Drummond Street Edinburgh is good for a curry.
I feel physically ill when trees are cut down in my immediate vicinity.
The Libeskind V&A spiral will not be built.[ Very very bad news ]
Anthony Worral Thompson supports public smoking - woop de doo.
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 10:00 PM
Friday, September 24, 2004
This morning they arrived.
Majestic bows arching out - over the road. Great canopy shading the hot cars on the road below. Green hands in the sky - for a hundred years.
This morning they came, with their oily metal screaming demons. Teeth grinding to dust lifetimes of journeys. Teeth ripping to shreds a thousand homes.
Defenceless it stood as they clambered on every branch, shouting as they cut. When lunchtime came. It was no more. Green hands on the road, crushed by passing wheels. Sweet sap - the scent of death, heavy in the breeze. Brown lustrous fruits months in the making scattered, splintered, destroyed. Tomorrow the cars will pass and the beautiful tree will be gone.
The men laugh - a job well done.
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 10:13 PM
Thursday, September 23, 2004
1. Science of small things.
2. Diminutive Scottish comedian.
3. Pointy hatted garden dweller.
4. Dysentry causing single cell.
5. Ronnie Lane's lot.
6. Basic building block of matter.
7. Positive nuclear particle.
9. Tray planted.
10. Fiscal arachnid.
11. Picture element.
12. Mexican pooch.
13. Creepy Scottish boy like woman.
14. Lord Nuffield's 1948 jalopy.
15. Homebush bum waggler - Dancing Queen.
16. Incontinent Belgian boy.
17. Defunct wren coin.
18. Sir Alec's 1959 wheels.
19. Prison room.
20. Symbolic 5'2" 1999 etc.
Max two answers each please until Sunday - when you may return to hoover up the remainder. Points will be awarded and updated then. Good luck.
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 11:00 PM
Wednesday, September 22, 2004
I succumbed to temptation and purchased some Easyjet flights in their recent bargain sale. I'm going to Glasgow for the day in a few weeks, I'm also going to Edinburgh for the day a little while after. The flights cost me about 1p - you can't complain can you? I'm burning a personal hole in the stratosphere all in the interests of frippery but we need to keep moving as a species right?
I'm excited. Love Glasgow - home to my hero - so hoping to indulge whilst there. However, more to Glasgow than Toshie. Never ever been to Edinburgh. So much to see, so little time to see it in. Help me plan my itinerary? What to see and do in both cities with only a day? This could be the first blogalog [ in the vein if a travelog - so to speak ]. Scots and scotiaphiles - speak now!
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 10:33 PM
Tuesday, September 21, 2004
Alive o - am I - but only just.
I seem to have been running around more than a Man in Tights the last few days. Still, it's not all been stress and strife.
There was the incident with the lemon and poppyseed muffin in the town centre which almost lead to an appearance on Crimewatch. Then there was the two hour meeting at which it was my job to take copious notes - only nobody told me that the lights would be switched off throughout for a Powerpoint frenzy. [ Are there any graphologists out there? ] Then there was the Removal of Masonry Nails from a Granite Wall exercise in which your intrepid blogger discovered the fragility of his digital blood vessels when dealing with the Arthurian forces necessary to dislodge those buggers. There was the whiteout experience in which 25 thousand gallons of white paint were applied to endless surfaces leading to Duluxitis of the Retina. Followed swiftly by the attempt at driving home in the dark and seeing imaginary animals on the hard shoulder. Later that day there was the Champagne by the Thames moment sweetie. Followed by last night's reversing over a pile of doggy doos thus releasing it's hidden aromatic treasure into the immediate neighbourhood - thanks Fido.
Postscript: Fell asleep on the sofa awaking at 1.45am and having to get up for work at 6. Feeling very special today.
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 9:00 AM
Thursday, September 16, 2004
Peardrops - my fave. [ I'm sucking one as I type ]
What are your favourite sweeties? - I'm curious.
Has been bestowed by Pogo - who seems to have the right idea in taking things not too seriously. Ta muchly.
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 9:00 AM
Wednesday, September 15, 2004
D'ye ken that man
With his coat so gray?
D'ye ken that man
who was there all day?
D'ye ken Bat Man
When he's far, far away
With his ass in a cell
In the morning
Twas the sight of his garb
Brought them from their beds
And the cry of his mates
As he oftimes led
For Dave's new review
Would 'ave em shot dead
By the cops from their box
In the morning
D'ye ken that hound
Whose voice is death?
To hunting gents
Of peerless faith
D'ye ken that hound
who with his old mates
Stitched them all as he grinned
In the morning?
Yes, I ken TB
And auld 2 jags, too
Ranter and Royal
and Lizzy's no amused
From Balmoral to Buck House,
From the chase to the view
Our Tone will be kicked
In the morning
And I'm glad that the hunt
will soon belong
To the crusty old past
and be only a song
From the Home Counties
To the Yorkshire Moors
Where Foxy laughs last
In the morning
Then here's to John Peel
With his beard so gray
On the wireless each night
his tracks do play
D'ye ken John Peel
he's a fine DJ?
unlike Foxy who is crap
In the evening
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 3:00 PM
Tuesday, September 14, 2004
How interesting to observe the continued reaction to my unexpected resignation a couple of weeks back. As I work out my notice - [ interminable ] - whilst trying to remain motivated [ increasingly difficult ] news reaches me almost daily of little signs that the reptiles have crawled out of their corporate holes. They are positioning themselves to reap whatever meagre pickings can be had from my departure. People starting rumours about who will be doing what after I've gone. People 'volunteering' to take on things from me because it will give them some microscopic advantage in their own deluded clambering up the greasy pole. People bypassing me completely and trying to pretend I've already gone. People who've barely spoken to me in five years telling me they will miss me [ ! ]. If I needed a reason to leave, then I now have several more. Having seen the way in which the whole relentless termite pile swarms over my dead carcass to assume some new form - better optimised than before to achieve it's purpose. A purpose that remains a mystery to me, and to them - they who blindly crawl.
Not that I'm bitter or owt.
..ran out again yesterday - meaning my organ was destabilised for many many hours and therefore unreachable. Apologies to those of you that clicked in vain yesterday.
The compost merchant is on short notice of sacking unless he bucks his ideas up.
Full service has now been restored. More later...
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 11:15 AM
Sunday, September 12, 2004
Mutant has a new job [and a new hairstyle].
Blue Witch admires M******t T******r. [ Fixation with blue, economic prudence...nah surely, she couldn't be - could she? ]
GroŖ Bruder. We get 24/7 hair gel and farting - the Germans get live nipple piercing.
The phrase, "Iím sorry you feel like the service has not been what you expected.." - when uttered by a Call Centre operative actually means that they don't really care. [ sob ]
Ashley works in a corridor. In Tel Aviv.
Dandelion and Burdock is made from Starling vomit and the liquefied contents of a trampís shoe. [ That's what Simon reckons anyway.]
Mark has a new blog - stop by and say hello.
Alan has transmogrified - he's gone all minimal - v.cool.
London buses are exercising London Bloggers. [ Better bend than brake I say ]
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 3:58 PM
Saturday, September 11, 2004
Seeing the footage earlier of the memorial service in New York I was struck by how everyday culture has assimilated what happened. How it's been packaged into, 'that terrible thing that happened'. I can still remember when it happened. What I was doing, who I was with and the strange disorientation I felt. I'd only returned from New York a week earlier and could still vividly picture the city and the Trade Center, the underground shopping centre there where I'd bought a pair of jeans. The restaurant on the plaza between the towers where I'd had dinner. I pictured, now, the panic and confusion for those in and around the towers, those trapped underground in subway trains. The people in the streets nearby shocked and frightened as a surreal drama played out in front of them.
Fast forward 3 years. The events now are something we look back on and commemorate. We 'pay our respects' in a ritualistic way. It is the right thing to do and all right thinking people do the right thing. The unimaginable grief of those directly affected is portrayed. Shots of grieving people holding photos, mothers comforting children. The rebuilding has started, the demands of capital must be satisfied and the raw wound of that day managed. Order must be imposed, memorial spaces will be provided. The unthinkable became real. Now, that reality has entered our vocabulary. Once, we Brits talked of "the events of the eleventh of September". Awkward phrasing - our formality a device of distance. Now, we say "9/11".
We are all touched by what it means and we say it now, easily. We have learnt to think that the unthinkable may happen to us and we live now, all of us, with that terrible truth that somehow makes our lives and those of whom we love all the more precious.
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 11:11 PM
Thursday, September 09, 2004
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 6:54 PM
Tuesday, September 07, 2004
Following my reckless employment autooblivion I have some business prospects developing. I need to acquire some business cards; a first for me. Perusing Office World earlier I find the 'Office World Cut out n keep Business Card Pak' [ ie: 10 sheets of cardboard you can feed through your printer having created a masterpiece from clipart and dodgy typefaces. What to include on my first ever business card?
Your suggestions awaited.
Is afoot at Blue Witch. She seems to have been assimilated by some alien entity. It's all too much.
Is ahand at Oddverse. After a regurgitational interlude, Alan has pulled his plug and says hell be back on the 10th.
a. Are these two phenomena related?
b. We need to be told.
That I missed The fight for Ground Zero shown on Channel 4 last night. Telling the story of Daniel Libeskind's fight to realise his vision in Lower Manhattan. Dratski.
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 8:47 PM
Monday, September 06, 2004
Has been bestowed by Ian. I'm very honoured and very impressed with his ubercool approach to in-blog archive listings. I feel I could learn much from him.
In other link news:
Does anyone know if Mark is still around? Last I heard he was going on holiday - that was months ago - did he ever return?
DG has been driven to counting conkers as an alternative to reporting the minutiae of renovational goings on at Bow Rd tube station. [ There aint any ]. This is very serious. Given his capacity for protracted and painstaking reportage if even he's got bored then the outlook for Bow is low. [ I know ]
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 6:40 PM
Saturday, September 04, 2004
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 10:51 PM
Friday, September 03, 2004
Sitting here in the stillness of my garden. It's a beautiful evening and I can hear the urban hum in the background. A discontented dog can be heard barking in the distance. The friday night melee is off and running as a police siren punctures the peace they are off to keep. I'm reminded, for some reason, of the interconnectedness of everything. Nature, us and our schemes and our repetitive inability to learn from the past. 'Intelligent' people do make the same mistakes twice. Innocent people suffer needlessly. It all rolls round again and again.
Where have all the flowers gone?
DGs been privatised.
I blame Thatcher.
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 10:00 AM
Thursday, September 02, 2004
I decided last week to have a health check after facing up to the fact some time ago that I'm crap at looking after myself as most men are. So this morning at the crack of dawn I hauled my ass off to the doctors to sample Health Promotion NHS style.
I phoned them last week after looking at the BUPA website to see what they have to offer. For several hundred quid BUPA will probe your innermost parts and prescribe a personal programme of preventative physical stuff to make sure you don't cark it prematurely. Large numbers of tests will be performed and you will be given a good talking to and a nice shiny folder with all the results in to bore your friends and relatives with. [ makes a change from holiday snaps and good prep for being old and crusty talking about your operations ]. Being the pseudo socialist that I am I decided to check out what the NHS could offer by way of alternative. So there I was this morning, sitting in an empty waiting room 15 minutes past my appointment time. [ I was the first appointment - what the hell were they doing - feeding the leeches? ]
I am called in. Vague questions are asked about my 'lifestyle' [ a concept invented in 1983 by Madonna ]. I give vague answers trying not to lie about how much I drink / smoke / take drugs / have wild sex parties and dabble in the occult. The nurse [ no doctor required for this - I'm not ill for goodness sake ] remains deadpan throughout. Then she sticks a needle in me and starts to suck blood out of my arm. I feel faint - I was warned not to eat anything for 10 hours prior to the appointment - no wonder I feel bloody faint - and now she's stabbing my arm - evil psycho.
It's all over in 20 minutes - no shiny plastic folder or perfumed receptionists. It's the health care equivalent of a wipe down with an oily rag. Everything was fine - which is good. I've got to wait for my blood to be coagulated in Transylvania and then phone them in a week to find out if it's suitable for black pudding manufacture or if I might live a while longer. I'm not sure what to think. I'd really like one of those shiny folders - I secretly think it might unlock the hidden secrets of my body and take me to a higher plane of 'wellness' [ doncha love that word? ]. As it is, I feel like I've been given the Nurse Widdecombe approach and sent packing with a jolly good, 'come back in two years if you're still alive'.
I blame Thatcher.
freshly squeezed for you by drD at 9:27 PM