Archive for January, 2001

Marvin Pontiac

Crikey. I’ve just been to our company’s annual meeting in Milan, and I’m exhausted. Too much drink, too much work, and waaaaay to much risotto. All the same, a big shout out to my fellow Editors – Claudia, Franza, Dave, Dewey, Goran, Peter, Paco, Eva, Stine, Frederic, Michael and Joerg. You’re all lovely.

To be honest, I’m too tired to surf and just about incapable of writing. So instead I’ll recommend you buy something by this guy, which is the best thing I’ve heard in an age.

and this is how I feel...


I’ve already seen this link posted at a few sites, but it’s too good to miss out on, so forgive me if you’ve seen it already: Google search results for dumb motherfucker.

Playstation Warning

Bad grammar or a con of simple genius – you decide. How much would you pay for a Playstation 2 box and receipt? (Small print: please note lack of comma between Playstation 2 and Box).

Bloggies 2001

The nominations for the very first bloggies are in, and while there’s little mileage to be gained by ruing the exclusion of some favourite blogs, or pondering what could turn out to be little more than an excersise in meme-building from those bothered enough to take part (damn, I’ve contributed), one of the categories immediately strikes me as not representing it’s supposed field. The Best European Blog section features five completely worthy candidates, but they’re all written in English, and this is supposed to be a European award… right? What about the completely bewildering 2Balles? Or Uren. Dagen. Nachten? Or ORF ON FM4? Or Le Temps Perdu? Or any one of hundreds of non-English language sites that were probably never considered?

O Brother, where art thou?

Finally got round to seeing O Brother, where art thou? last night, after revelling in it’s sumptuous soundtrack for several months. And… was disappointed. Maybe because I’m not familiar with Homer’s Odyssey, maybe because I’ve lived with the music for so long that the film felt like little more than a series of tenuous sketches to introduce each new song. George Clooney was wantonly miscast – however many jokes are put in about his hair-net obsession to diffuse the sex-symbolism, he still smoulders in his coy, shoulder shrugging way, and it just doesn’t feel right. The Golden Globes might disagree, but Woody Harelson would have played the role more convincingly. Just buy the CD instead.

Living In A Box

I’ve just been to a funeral, for an Uncle I had a lot of time for, but rather regretably failed to spend any of that time with. It was a typically joyless ‘insert name of deceased here’ kind of affair, and although I’ve not yet reached the stage where I’m thinking about my own mortality, it has got me wondering about leaving the most specific of instructions for my own ceremony. A humanist affair, I think, where all my friends will be forced to stand and tell stories about my legendary wit, kindness and generosity. Dancing girls, perhaps. And music. Lots of it. And alcohol. A real celebration. And the song that plays as my casket drifts off down the conveyor belt to the inferno? Why, it’s got to be “Living In A Box” by Living In A Box. At least people would leave the chapel smiling…

Charles Neal

I was looking up the names of some people I haven’t seen for a while today, and came across a guy called Charles Neal, with whom I worked the best part of fifteen years ago. Whilst his want in those days was to write about the formative years of Industrial Music, he now appears to have moved on to more genteel pursuits, importing a very high standard of fine wines into the US from South-Western France. Blimey.

Air Safety

Next week most of the people in my office are heading off to Milan for our company’s annual “International Meeting”, typically three days of and unrestrained hedonism. Actually, it’ll be non-stop meetings, seminars and think-tanks, but I can dream. Baring this in mind, I took a look at, a site that’ll give you a statistical analysis reflecting your chances of arriving safely at your intended destination, based on airline, departure and arrival points, and time of year. It appears that my chances of dying on the outward leg of the trip are one in 5,391,499, which I can live with. Indeed, it’s apparently a little better than usual for my particular route. (link via /usr/bin/girl)

Feng Shui for websites

Just what we needed, Feng Shui for websites. According to their reliably scientific reasoning, my website doesn’t point East, and I’m screwed.