I still remember going through security at Shannon having left the family and friends behind and looking forward to having my last pint of Guinness on Irish soil, only to find the bar three people deep with American tourists looking for their first ever pint of Guinness, and only one rookie barman behind the counter trying to deal with them.
Just been watching a doco called ‘Factory - Manchester From Joy Division to Happy Mondays’ which is an absolute must watch for anybody interested in that music and that period of time. There’s one quote in it from the late great Tony Wilson that absolutely cracked me up…
”I get a lot of credit for the 42 bands I put on television for the first time - but, to my real credit, only I know the 533 bands I didn’t put on television. I was right about every single fucking one of them.
What do you do in Southill when you’re not speeding up and down the road doing handbrake turns in stolen cars? You use your (possibly stolen) camera to film the people speeding up and down the road doing handbrake turns in stolen cars, obviously…
Last nights movie of choice in Cupidstunt HQ was Zodiac, the true story of a serial killer in the 60’s who liked to send cryptic letters to newspapers.
I’d heard a lot about this movie. Probably two of my least favourite actors, Jake Gyllenhaal and Robert Downey Jr, but that’s just personal preference. Downey Jr usually annoys the shit out of me and Gyllenhaal is just an ugly fucker. They were, however, quite bearable and both put in good performances. At two and a half hours long it’s out of my usual 90 minute movie range but it doesn’t drag at all, instead sucks you in, drops a few red herrings, and eventually exposes the ‘truth’ at least from the movie makers point of view. It must be pointed out that though it’s a true story, the conclusions come to at the end of this movie are a bit at odds to actual police findings but I suppose such is artistic licence. It’s a good one however, and impulsive viewing.
I’ve just heard that song again, second time today, seventeenth time this week, you know the one. Pink’s dire attempt at the good old prop of hippie culture, the ‘protest’ song.
Now I hate George W Bush as much as the next person, I like most music, and even the music I don’t like I can tolerate because I respect the fact that somebody somewhere is passionate about it.
But I have a message for you, Pink (if that is indeed your real name)