Short thoughts.

The London Olympics -even though they are still some 8 and a bit months away- are managing to piss me off.
To be fair, the olympics always piss me off -what seems like 24 hour coverage of skinny men running in circles for hours at a time, not really my thing- but it's never been this bad before.
Every time an ad arrives on the TV whatever the product is, it's suddenly become the official 2012 Olympic version of it's former self.
So far this morning I've spotted the Panasonic Smart Viera tv - the official tv of the olympic games, Cadburys Dairy Milk - the official tooth rotter of London 2012 and a couple of others as well.
I understand the need for corporate sponsorship, but does everything have to have a commercial tie-in? Really?
Tampax, the official feminine hygiene product of the 2012 Olympic Games.

Scott Weiland, erstwhile singer, professional substance abuser and frontman for the Stone Temple Pilots -who were alright- and Velvet revolver -who were shit- has a new album out. Nothing remarkable about that you might think, and, in a sense, you're right. But Scott has released a Christmas album full of yuletide favourites like White Christmas and such. Are things really that bad Scott?
Is this a desperate attempt to cash in on a seasonal event or a new career direction as a lounge singer? Take a guess.

It's generally around this time of year I do my top 10 albums of the year, but I'm going to hold it off until the new Black Keys album lands through my letterbox. It's due out on December 6th but hopefully I'll get it a bit before that.
If you've no idea who I'm talking about, have a listen to this -it's a great video too.

Giant vicious beast spotted in local forest.

Here it is, captured on film by my wife at the weekend.

Click the pic to see the horror in full size.

Short thoughts.

It's been a while since I did one of these so I thought I would treat you all to a recap of some of the stranger stories that I've come across on my travels around the interwebs.

Is your dog going bald? It is? Well, help is at hand.

Ruth Regina of Miami has started http://www.wigglesdogwigs.com/ and it's...it's......different.
So if you're German Shepherd is going a little thin on top or you just want to see your Pitbull with dreadlocks -and lets face it, who doesn't?- Ruth can help. On a side note, Chi has just bitten me. Coincidence? Unlikely.

Could be worse. Maybe.

A British marathon runner has admitted to getting on a bus part way round his course-but only after he was challenged by event organisers. Around the 20 mile mark Rob Sloan decided he was "A bit tired" and boarded the vehicle only to hop off a few miles later and hide in a wooded area of the course. Sadly for Rob, a number of onlookers spotted him as he rejoined the race in 3rd place. I suspect this is part of a plan for next years London Olympics, so if Usain Bolt is suddenly abducted by aliens remember I told you about this conspiracy first.

"26 miles? That's a really long way"

In Edinburgh the emergency services had to be called to a curry eating contest after competitors started "writhing on the floor, vomiting and farting", sorry,  "fainting". Whilst writhing on the floor vomiting and fainting -or farting, for that matter- are common scenes played out in pretty much all of Scotland's hostelrys, this time they called an ambulance.

The restaurant owner has said he'll tone down the spicyness in future.

"Forget the ambulance call the Gas Board"

I love this.

 I found the following on a random Everton Fansite -I can't remember which one-  and it struck a chord with me. If you're out there and you wrote this, thanks, it's brilliant.

Everton wear an easy grace. They are a Cary Grant smile with a John Wayne walk. Evertonians know that no matter what befalls them or their club, they'll still be Evertonians. The cheers heard at Goodison are exaultations of pure, white-light joy, and despite the barren years at Goodsion, that brilliance will always eminate from it.

However, there is a dimness across the park. It started when God bannished Satan from heaven and Satan snarled, "Fine, but I'm taking Anfield with me," and God replied, "Whatever."

Because Liverpool supporters know that no matter how many trophies they desperately try to jam into their cabinets, at the end of the day they just aren't Everton. They are simply the hatefull step-son who grows up to be wealthy and powerful, yet filled only with spite for his brother.

The dank world of the Liverpool fan is one of pettiness, false pride and faked orgasms. The cheers heard at Anfield sound more like yelps of anger and cries of pain.

In fact, the next time a Liverpool supporter screams and yells at you after their team win a match, simply smile at them. What they are really yelling is, "Do ya love me now, daddy???"

Stirling and its Uni

As I mentioned a while back, my youngest daughter has just started university down in sunny Stirling- home of Braveheart himself, William Wallace- and as I've finally summoned up the inclination to get the photos onto the PC I thought I'd share them with you guys.
And yes, everything in Stirling is named after Mr. Wallace, no matter how tenuous the link.

This prison style structure is one of the halls of residence

The NSA, which is on campus

A campus complete with a rather nice lake

This is Gabi's actual hall, she's about halfway along on the top floor.

 

This is the Wallace monument, and yes, it looks a bit like a cock.

 

Bush - The Sea of Memories

First up, an apology. I haven't posted for a fortnight or so because -no, not ebola this time- we've been busy getting our youngest daughter to university and dealing with the fallout of all that entails. I shall try to get back to some sort of regular posting schedule from now on. Thanks for listening. Reading? Whatever, thanks anyway.

And so onto Bush. Remember them? A sort of British version of Nirvana -not as good obviously, although they were far superior to Silverchair -the Australian version, or Nirvana in Pyjamas as I like to call them- they were pretty good and despite being largely overlooked in their homeland, they were quite popular in the US and achieved a fair bit of commercial, if not critical success.
Until a couple of days ago, Bush hadn't released a new album in 10 years -and that was the not very good Golden State.
10 years is a long time, people and tastes change and given that my last memories of Bush were on the aforementioned Golden State, as I started listening to this I was more than a little anxious.

"Will I like this?"
"What if it's poo?"
"Did I ever like Bush?"

Initially at least, it seemed as though my fears were unfounded, as the first 3 songs are good. Very good. Huzzah! Bush are back and just as good as they were on Razorblade Suitcase.

Erm....no.

Not by a long shot. After the excellent opening tracks we descend into radio friendly AOR combined with the sort of filler tracks seen on a hundred average rock albums. Did they get bored after the opening of this album or what? Did Gwen come down into the basement and tell Gavin that playtime's over and his friends have to go home now? It certainly seems that way.
A major disappointment.

Bush, yesterday

Jim White Ruined my Birthday. Again.

Yesterday was my birthday -no, I'm not telling you how old I am- it also happens to be the football (soccer for you, my american cousins) transfer deadline day. And every year on August 31st, Jim White ruins my birthday.
I know what you're thinking -"Ok Fizz, who the fuck is Jim White?" and it's a fair enough question if A) you don't like football, or B) you don't live in the UK.
Jim White is Sky TV's equivalent of the transfer deadline day's Grim Reaper, Megatron and Hannibal Lecter all rolled into one. If you're an Evertonian, that is.
This year, big Jim gleefully told me that we'd just sold arguably our best player to Arsenal. Thanks Jim. Fucker. Stop smiling.
In between shots of Peter Crouch's people carrier, Yakubu smiling like he'd just been given the keys to Pizza Hut and strangely large mobs of youths behind reporters in car parks, it came to pass that Everton had sold 3 players and bought none -bar a couple of "interesting" loan deals, one an argentinian striker who appears to be more Martin Palermo than Leo Messi, and a famously mad dutchman. Brilliant.
Jim white ruined my birthday. Again.

Jim White yesterday, shortly after ruining my birthday.