Tuesday, 31 March 2009
Friday, 27 March 2009
So, my friend's sister just had her baby. It's got a fucking cool name, a mohican and is really cute and stuff.
'Awwww', we say. The joy of new life, the miracle of conception, the unbeatable radiant glow of a pregnant woman.
Shit, this sounds great, I want to have one of these little ones!
...What's that you say?
You were in labour for 30 hours?
They had to use forceps to get it out of you?
THEY HAD TO CUT YOUR PUM TO FIT THE FORCEPS IN?
I think my Vagina has just shut up shop.
So, I found out that there are certain degrees of ripping/tearing a woman can experience during birth.
First Degree tears – Small, skin-deep tears which usually heal naturally.
Second Degree tears – Deeper tears affecting the muscle of the perineum as well as the skin. These usually require stitches.
Sounds fucking painful, right? Well that's just the start. This is the little league in tearing, you should be GREATFUL if you only reach First or Second Degree.
Third Degree tear - Extends downwards from the vaginal wall and perineum to the anal sphincter, the muscle that controls the anus.
Fourth Degree tear - Extends to the anal canal as well as the rectum (further into the anus).
Er, WHAT? Seriously...WHAT? I never fucking signed up for this! I knew childbirth was painful but I thought it was like break your neck painful...not rip me a new, solo hole painful.
Not only is there chance of you ending up with a Vaganus (see what I did there?! Yep.), but women regularly shit and piss themselves whilst going for the push. Oh, and the baby might decide to do a little number 2 inside you as well. Thanks, kid!
I think I'll adopt, thanks.
Friday, 20 March 2009
Michael Jackson at the O2, anyone?
When he came on stage at Don Valley Stadium on his History tour, he damn near stole my tears. The big screens flanking the stage told me that to be there that night, the prince of pop had been propelled in a little space ship through a desert landscape, passing the Great Sphynx, the whole of ancient Greek civilisation and the submerged arm of the Statue of Liberty along the way. He'd really made the effort, basically. When his shuttle finally landed on the Sheffield stage, oh how we screamed - we. went. mental. Even though I was right at the back with my friend and his mum and dad, all four of us were camp as Christmas with anticipation.
Michael (ahem) was wearing a full bodyheadfacehands and feet space-suit and didn't move for about 3 or 4 minutes. Milked it a bit, I thought. But once he stripped down to his dancing shoes he literally set the place on fire. Quite a few times actually. The rest of it's a bit of a blur but I left with a red face and a beating body, safe in the knowledge that if a playground brag-off came about, I'd probably win, as I'd shaken a leg with Jacko. He'd even sang Dirty Diana, for fuck's sake, I'd arrived!
That History Tour took in over 50 cities in a 13 month period. From Bombay to Bremen, he never played to less than 20,000 people, delivering a total of 86 performances. I'm sure it can't just be Michael Jackson fans that think it's a bit sad that he's now been reduced to taking up a 7 month residency at the Millennium fucking Dome. He looks like Snow White after years of substance abuse, and he's barely capable of even speaking, let alone bashing out Billy Jean.
I suppose if universal knowledge of your kid-fiddlery isn't enough to make you step down, then nothing is. It's pretty rubbish seeing one of your all time heroes slowly but surely losing the plot, and this O2 debacle only adds to the feeling that Michael Jackson's plot has long since been all mossy and covered in cat wee. Shame. Real shame.
Tuesday, 17 March 2009
Wednesday, 11 March 2009
But what happens when I meet someone who see's past my expletives? What if, when it comes down to it, I'm a complete limp-wristed, high-pitched human punchbag?
Maybe some self defense classes from this guy will help me out.
OR...if there are guys like this walking around at night, maybe I should just keep my big mouth shut.
Friday, 6 March 2009
We realise we've been a bit slack with the ol' radio side of things recently but this hasn't been because of laziness, no no. We are now going to start broadcasting L-I-V-E.
Yes, that's right. Like proper radio.
So be prepared in the near future for some live WASTE action. It's going to be so good. It's going to be like the best sandwich you've ever had...and you know how good that is.
Wednesday, 4 March 2009
Metronomy probably don’t know this, but me and them have got a rocky relationship. I managed to piss them off to such an extent during an interview at a festival last summer that one of them asked me whether my equipment could pick up the sound of him punching me in the face. I’m always up for trying out new things, so I encouraged him to go ahead with the experiment. Nothing happened, and it transpired that I had forgotten to switch it on anyway. A couple of months later, I wanted to have my birthday party at the Moustache Bar in Dalston in London, but of course Metronomy had booked it for the night. I ended up seeing in my 23rd in a crap pub next door, accompanied by a collection of insane men and a forty-year-old Polish prostitute who wouldn’t stop stroking my face. It’s hardly surprising then that when I saw them play along with Micachu And The Shapes, thecocknbullkid and Chairlift, at KOKO, I had quite an eventful evening.
First up was Micachu. At first I felt a little bit sorry for her and her backing group, The Shapes. It was pretty empty, and people were hanging around as if they were in a shopping centre watching a crap brass band. Despite their insistence on playing with dwarf-like instruments, I thought they did pretty well. Some of the songs did make me feel like I was listening to tacky Chinese music on ketamine, but on the whole they managed to pull off the quirky electro sound, which is actually pretty hard to do. I tried once on ‘Garage Band’ and succeeded, but it took me ages. I enjoyed one song in particular, which had a similar synthy sound to the Knife. To their credit, the crowd took more interest as the gig went on, and they were well appreciated in the end.
The lovely cocknbullkid was next. It’s hard to comment on her without resorting to hackneyed terms like ‘up-and-coming’, ‘original’, ‘talented’, and ‘stylish’ because they so obviously apply, so I’ve decided not to use those words. One thing that sets her apart from other poppy electro acts though is the fact that the lyrics aren’t just a random collection of words that are slapped on top of the music; in fact, they’re just as interesting as the melody. Synth-pop with substance is quite refreshing, but not as refreshing as her taste in clothes. She had a Grace Jones moment and went off stage to change from a silvery cape blouse thing – I’m a fashion journalist in my spare time – to a navy polka dot blazer. Even though at points the bass made my nasal hairs have a little party, she sounded as good live as she does on recorded tracks.
I asked a drunk Canadian guy what he thought about the next band, Chairlift, and he said “they’re so iPod.” Another guy dressed in a bowtie and velvet jacket said that they were “shoegazers.” As shoegazers are defined as 'people who look at the floor without moving, and whose music consists of undecipherable vocals with guitar and keyboard effects', I’d say that was pretty much true, but in the case of Chairlift, the effect can be pleasing. The lead singer doesn’t remain motionless though; she moves around like a puppet in the hands of a drunk with narcolepsy. She’s quite hot though, so she can dance how she wants.
As for the Metronomy set, I’m afraid I can’t say very much, apart from that they had lights on their chests. I bumped into some friends on the dance floor during the first song, and we had a beer and danced. At that point a guy who was standing next to us started to dance with his elbows out. He was smashing into everyone, knocking people’s drinks out of their hands and preventing anyone else from enjoying themselves. I know it’s meant to be cool to dance like nobody’s watching, but this guy took it too far. I politely asked him to desist, but his only response was to call me a homosexual. I told him to stop annoying everyone, and he said “I’m going to get a drink from the bar, and I bet you’re going to follow me because you’re a gay.” I then told him to perform a sexual act on himself, and he punched me in the eye. The situation escalated, and we both got chucked out. It’s OK though, I stole his shoe when we were outside and chucked it on the roof of KOKO. He’s not getting that back in a hurry. Aside from the drama at the end, the evening was a success. The bands complemented each other. Each act is unique, and has a degree of quirkiness and originality that seems to withstand the pressure of becoming popular. As for Metronomy, despite my grievances, they’re actually rather good.