It occurs to me that of late I may have been giving women a hard time on this here website, and I’ve also been discussing various examples of female pulchritude in my usual drooling Male Bastard fashion, so my Lady Readers may be getting a little ticked off.
Here then, in the interests of balance, is something for said Lady Readers:
I have no idea who he is (British, to judge from the label — “What label?” I hear you ask), so go ahead and just look at him like a sex object.
I owe you all one.
Comments, on this post, are restricted to the Ladies.
Lots of us don’t care much for our neighbors. But this old fart has set a new record:
Axe-wielding pensioner, 67, threatened to chop his neighbours’ heads off and burn down their house because they’re SCOTTISH
Apparently this is a Bad Thing in Britishland, despite the fact that many Stout Bulldogs share his sentiments. What disturbs me are the charges the man faces:
Rattigan was found guilty after a trial of using abusive words or behaviour with intent to cause fear of violence and racially aggravated harassment
Now I’ve heard some bullshit laws in my time — and since when was abusing Porridge Monkeys a “racial” issue, anyway?
Still, considering that said old fart is a Pikey, we can probably file this whole matter under “Nobody Gives A Shit, Either Way”… because apparently, calling the so-called “travelers” (a.k.a. gypsies) by the name “Pikeys” is also a racial issue.
I report, you decide.
In an earlier post on music, I griped:
I’ve become sick of all the old music, “old” being defined as 60s-70s music of my rock star (uh huh) youth. I mean, if I hear “Sweet Home Alabama” and anything by Led Zeppelin one more time, I’m going to slip the safety off the 1911.
So maybe that’s what Classic Rock needs: for new guys to reinterpret their music (as opposed to just reproducing it), much as Dred Zeppelin did to Led Zeppelin (I love the Dred, by the way).
And it’s happened, in (of all places) Finland (!). Have a listen to the Leningrad Cowboys (!!) performing the aforementioned Sweet Home Alabama live with the Red Army Choir (!!!) and be entertained by all the rest of the Cowboys’ interpretations of the old hits as they appear on the page (e.g. the turgid Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door and even the syrupy Those Were The Days).
I am a happy man today, and I have The Englishman to thank for bringing these guys to my attention. (I know they came on the scene in the 1990s, but somehow I missed them. More fool me.)
And now, if you’ll excuse me… I’m going to buy the album.
Apparently, Rolling Stone magazine is on its knees (not to the Democrat Party, although that’s often been the case). Tim Sommer explains why that’s a Good Thing, and I can’t disagree with anything he says.
Even apart from its political stuff, I always thought that RS epitomized Frank Zappa’s trenchant comment about rock journalism: “people who can’t write, interviewing people who can’t speak, aimed at people who can’t read.”
And their music critics were worse.
Read Sommer’s whole piece: it’s brilliant, and absolutely true.
Apparently, one’s choice of Halloween costume is seldom a random one because people tend to choose costumes which fulfill some kind of subconscious fantasy about themselves. I can sort of buy that, because at various costume / fancy dress parties in my life, I’ve been variously: a Viking, an outlaw cowboy, a Roman emperor, a 50s rocker and an Elizabethan executioner (complete with axe).
So I get these costumes:
I am, however, having a little trouble with this one:
As Mr. Free Market (who sent me this picture) commented: “Just when you think you’ve seen the ultimate in weirdness, the Asians always seem to be able to take it just one step further.”