Glasgow Suffers Husker Du CD Shortage

You know when you're on a mission and nobody can stop you? Yeah, well I wish somebody had stopped me. It started at lunchtime when I made the the three quarter hour round trip to HMV to buy a few cd's. Did they have them? Did they fuck! They had all sorts of shite that would only be of interest to a drunken engineering student, they had the Sandy Thom cd (the antichrist is among us!!!) and they certainly didn't have any Husker Du cd's. Back I went to work with ten minutes to eat my lunch.

Three hours later and i'm wandering back into town like a zombie, convinced that I shall find what I want. It's started raining by this point and I realise very quickly that the soles of my shoes are letting in. Bollocks! I take a quick detour to be parted with fifteen quid at Deichman's for a new pair before heading down Sauchiehall Street, battling through the crowds of slack jawed shoppers and their detestable offspring that seem to live in Glasgow City Centre by day.

Virgin? Nothing. Borders? No chance. Fopp? closing at six O'clock the thick fucking bastards. Don't they know I will not be stopped? I wander along Argyll street wondering why it is that one of the great punk/alternative rock bands of the mid to late eighties don't have their cd's available in every music retail emporium. I get to HMV in Argyll street and find to my delight/disgust that yes indeed, they have more Husker Du cd's than I can possibly buy at this moment in time. The full collection by the looks of things. I pick one and take it to the counter and walk out with a vague feeling of mild triumph. I also feel a bit of self loathing, but then this is normal...........

Ok, so i'm home and I put the thing on, convinced this is the Husker Du album I really liked when I had it on vinyl.....................

Yeah, it's alright. Some good songs. Some unlistenable crap.

I am reminded of an arcane early nineties comedy catchphrase........

"It's Not What I Wanted......."

* *Actually, if memory serves me correctly, it was "It wasn't what I asked for", but then nobody remembers it anyway, so who cares?

My Weakness

Certain things rule your life. Some of them are inevitable and unavoidable. Death and taxes etc.... Some are emotional or pleasurable and much as they try you, life wouldn't be the same without them. Some on the other hand are hideous blights on your existence and seem to have been placed there to take advantage of your weakness and basest compulsions. ..........Like the vending machine at work. What a cunt this thing is. I can't walk past it without glancing at it's contents. Even when i'm fucking stuffed after lunch.....yet it still holds an influence over me that I can't seem to break. Hunger is the initial catalyst. By about half past ten in the morning, i'm ravenous and need something to eat. A packet of crisps usually fills the hole, but it never stops there. Hell no! An hour later, i'm back worshipping at the alter of sugary snacks. I have turned into Homer Simpson. I can't bloody help myself and as long as it's there I'll be a slave to it's wares, my teeth gradually dissolving in my mouth and my waistline expanding by the month...... I'm convinced it's satan himself who comes to reload the fucker twice a week......... Anyway, what I really want to know from you all is what your particular weaknesses are when it comes to these evil mechanical tormentors. (Or if vending machines aren't a particular problem for you, tell me what is...............)

Unnatural Beauty 1

Foccaccia?

Yes, Foccaccia. At Firhill................ Fancy that? There was a time when getting a mutton pie of suitable consistency and warmth was an achievement. They seem to have pushed the boat out a bit this season. Helpful, smiley staff (we'll see how long that lasts...) and a decent selection of sundries. Nacho's, decent hot dogs, what looked like pitta pockets, soft drink dispensers that work, clean and clutter free counters. As I said, we'll see how long it lasts. I'm not normally too fussed about the purvey at a football match but I hadn't had my tea and I was ravenous. I decided to get into the spirit of things and ordered a cheese and ham foccaccia, much to the bemusement of the woman at the counter. Obviously not expecting to sell any then................. It was alright. A bit dry as these thing can tend to be. Just as well I ordered a coke. Well, I was asked if I would like a drink.............It's little things like that which put you in a good mood. Ok, she was only doing a bit of "selling on", but it beats the grim faced and amateur looking mob who have been slapping lukewarm and overcooked pies my way for the past few seasons. No longer will I have to make do with a twix or a mars bar when the ovens break down or the pies run out....... Typical 'pre-season friendly' turnout All that's needed now is a relaxing of licensing laws in this country and I would be able to wolf down my 'poofy sandwich' with a nice cold tumbler of beer instead of some sickly soft drink.

Nice dream................. The game? Typical pre season friendly. Loads of substitutions, not much action, playing 'guess the new player' and doing a damn good job of counting the away fans in the stand opposite.

Partick Thistle(in red and yellow) attack the Morton goal in the second half.

As promised, here are the links I couldn't get up last night.

Band Name Generator

At War With Baraka

The Baraka thing is worth a look. I downloaded the whole DivX thing, but all you probably need to do is download the codex to use with your own media player. As I said, I got about ten minutes out of it before it stopped on me. Still impressive enough to make me go and get the dvd......

Cheers!

Ladies And Gentlemen!

................ As we await the end of civilisation as we know it, I hope I can briefly divert your attention to matters of an altogether more frivolous nature. First of all, i'd like to say cheers to Billy and the brilliant 'Last.FM'" site he just happens to have in his sidebar. What a great little device. My cd player has become a little redundant as a result.......................... Heres one for Flaming Lips fans. A chance encounter between the last Lips album 'At War With The Mystics' and the film Baraka in some chaps living room one night spawned the rather interesting experiment of merging the music to the movie. I have to say, though i'm only able to see about ten minutes of this(for various reasons), the concept seems to work very well indeed. Give it a try anyway. Due to unforeseen problems with blogger(fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckFUCK!!!!!!!!) I will provide the link to the Bakara experiment tomorrow. I will also bring you the rather tidy little band name generator I found and my proposals for a virtual band tomorrow. You lucky people! Cheers!

Some Friends..............

Just photos tonight. I shall bring you many amusing things tomorrow.

The Sickly Sweet Smell Of Burning Flesh

Fucking sunburn! Deeply unpleasant and really quite painful. My neck is still glowing. Eight hours in the blazing sun with no suncream, in only a T-shirt and jeans. Hard as nails? Thick as fuck? A bit of both.................? You tell me. Also, I want to hear your sunburn stories. Hospital visits, falling asleep on the sun lounger, putting the sunblock on then jumping in the pool, the agony, the peeling skin.....................that sort of thing. The most entertaining/unpleasant/gory will win absolutely nothing at all bar my undying admiration. Stories about sunbed overdoses will be treated with the contempt they deserve.

The Ill Man Takes A Short Break

Back sunday night. Cheers!

Darbyshire Syndrome.

I've been wrestling with this one for the past few hours and as yet can come up with no adequate answers as to why reading 'The Darbyshires' has brought about a hitherto unfamiliar feeling of utter ennui and existential terror in me.

Ok, I exaggerate, but only a bit...........

The Darbyshires are a rather self satisfied and dull couple with a dog (WHO ALSO BLOGS!!!). I tumbled over their blog on a post at Clairwil. It seems they have tickled the fancy of dear old David Duff(link still down) with their everyday 'antics'. Nothing wrong with that, plenty of blogs out there would put a hyperactive five year old to sleep. Every so often I look through my own meanderings and think "Christ, sometimes i'm glad only about a dozen people read my blog on a regular basis....." Everyone has off days.

I had actually dismissed the blog after a quick glance but I was encouraged to go back for more by Mr Duff, much to my regret (i'm far too biddable).

Oh dear! I shall leave you all to pass your own judgment but the latest post made me lose the will to live for five minutes or so...............This is potent stuff and should not be read by anyone. Full stop.

I should actually be grateful to Duff on this one. No longer will I dribble just any old toss purely to fill out a post. No longer will I bore you with things I already know you won't be interested in. Only the good stuff from now on................

Promise.

Yet More Name Calling

Having called Glasgow City Council a bunch of dozy cunts the other day, I see no reason why I shouldn't keep the ball rolling. So on behalf of my poor sick mother, I would very much like to call the Royal Bank of Scotland a bunch of dishonourable, clueless and incompetent pricks. Cheers! Next up, we have crazy David Coulthard lookalike Dave "The Hoff" Hasselhoff and his new single. It's about picking up harmony singing chicks in dark alleyways by offering them a lift home. Very sinister indeed. This guy's creepy even when he's taking the piss out of himself. A major achievement. Finally a cheer for my man on 'Le Tour', Mikael Rasmussen. Four mountains this guy rode up today on his way to the stage victory and the 'King Of The Mountains' jersey. ........and he's got to do it all again tomorrow.

One More Thing.............

Whose blogroll did I find this link on? I found it tonight in my bookmarks and can't remember where I got it. I have to say, I was most amused. More of this sort of thing I say...........................

Glasgow Mini Tour part 2

Kelvingrove Skate Park. The guys on BMX's kind of monopolise the place. They're pretty good, but somehow I don't think the council had grown men in mind when they built the place.

The River Kelvin, just outside Kelvingrove Park.

View of Kelvingrove Art Galleries from "The Vital Spark"

Glasgow Mini Tour part 1

Tay House. This is actually the "Bridge To Nowhere", built during the construction of the M8 in the 1970's. It was intended to be a platform for a restaurant overlooking the motorway(yes, i know......quite hellish). When the M8 through Glasgow kind of failed to live up to it's utopian remit, I guess they just decided that such a proposal was a little inappropriate. It lay unused for ages until they built some offices on it. Charles Bukowski & friend. A rather fine, if slightly alarming portrait in Chinaski's Bar, Charing Cross, Glasgow. Kelvinbridge underground station. That's my train...................

Kelvingrove Art Galleries

So there I was, wandering along through Kelvingrove Park with nothing much to do with my time. I was in the process of trying to shake off a bit of a hangover and for once in my life I was succeeding in beating the post booze blues. The weather was fine, I had just guzzled one of those 'subway' thingies and I wanted a bit of action of a sunday afternoon. So I went to.............. .........An art gallery. Kelvingrove Art Galleries had just been refurbished and opened the previous week. To be honest, it was late and busy and I only had time to take a quick look about, the odd photo etc. I'll put more up as and when. For now though, I present the halo'd Elvis, the WW2 fighter plane in the west wing hallway and the iron sculpture of 'The Vital Spark' in the grounds of the gallery. Cheers!

Moo!

Well, Moo to you too good sir................ I think people should moo at each other by way of greeting. Try it sometime...................

The Chicken from Tølløse

Football? Fuck football. What a pile of wank. Give me 150 finely honed athletes putting themselves through absolute torture every day for three weeks on The Tour De France for my viewing pleasure...............Yes, I know they're all doping/on drugs. Wouldn't you be too? Team coach- "Right lads, you've got 200 km to ride today, 50km of which is up the side of some fucking mountains. By the time you get to the end of the stage, even the gentlest of rises is going to feel like the north face of the Eiger. I hope you're all suitably "enhanced" cos i'm not stopping the team car to pick up stragglers......" Ok, maybe i'm guilty of cynically playing to the popular belief that "They're all at it". Maybe they are clean. Maybe I don't really care. Even if they are walking science experiments............... The rider in the picture is Michael Rasmussen, a Danish chap who won the 'King Of The Mountains' classification last year. They don't get any harder than this guy. He's a tiny bloke and from the waist up looks rather emaciated. He wears the absolute minimum (not even one of those yellow 'Livestrong' bands) and has been known to ditch the drinks bottle to shed a few ounces from the weight of the bike. Anyway, he's rubbish at everything except climbing hills, which makes him better than a sprinter(lazy) or a time trialist(boring) any day. Might just see him in fetching red polka dots again by the time the field reaches Paris, but he's well back this year and seems to be helping out his better placed team mates...... That's the price you pay when I make you a favourite son.......................

Stuff On The Way Home

Some bloke appeared at the door as I was taking some shots of the mosaic tiled steps. Felt a bit of a charlie really as it was obvious he'd seen me snooping around and decided to go out and find out what I was up to. I had my mp3 on so I don't know if he said anything to me. A rather fine set of steps as it happens. I don't just take photos of any old shite you know................

Mean, Moody and Magnificent. UnfortunatelyI didn't catch his/her name.............

"Bite ma Banger Ya Dobber"

Glaswegian stencil graffiti at it's best/worst

Rose Hill, Torrance

Postcard Manifestos, The Digger and Other Matters Of Moment

Ok, I now have a clearer idea of what my good friend Clairwil is up to. Basically she wants you to send her a postcard with your manifesto for ruling the world. You'll find the Postcard Manifesto blog here. Get to it!! That wonder of western civilisation, The Digger has been keeping me in high spirits as well as making sure I stay abreast of the comings and goings of the criminal classes. Nothing about Lord Levy yet. We can but hope........... Some of the more esoteric stories include: The guy in Possil Park who has set up a company called 'Trauma Clean' which specialises in cleaning up after rotting corpses and at crime scenes. I'm assuming he's thinking of expanding into some of the city's other less salubrious suburbs. A tall story about small unmanned planes with mini cctv cameras being deployed to spy on the wayward citizens of places like Royston and Drumchapel. Apparently they've been used in Afghanistan.............(insert cheap joke of your choice in the commenets box) Finally, and most amusingly, theres a piece in one issue about the Orange Order wanting to turn their marches into 'carnival like celebrations' of one of the 'ethnic minorities of Britain'. Ethnic minority???? They have to be pulling my plonker on this one. These arseholes are no ethnic minority, no matter how much of a chip on the shoulder they're starting to develop. The bit about wanting to emulate the Notting Hill Carnival left me stunned. I mean, how much of a good natured party atmosphere is it possible to generate with a flute band? Are they all going to learn to play the sash on steel drums? Are we going to be treated to the glorious sight of dozens of grim faced protestant ladies decked out in giant orange homemade costumes and revealing samba outfits, gyrating down the High Street to Simply The Best by Tina Turner? I think we should be told. More tales of madness next month. Before I go, a small obit. Tom Weir - 'Weir's Way' filled up many a spare half hour in my insomnia days. Often shown on STV at ludicrous timeslots in the middle of the night this strange little travelogue would without fail hold me entranced. In his hiking boots, wooly jumper and red tammy hat, Tom strode up and down Scotland, telling us the history of the places he visited and talking to locals in amusingly contrived and stilted 'on the spot' interviews. Filmed in, I think, the late seventies or early eighties, old Tom looked a fair age even then. I have been known to wonder aloud if the old boy was still alive and now I have my answer. He passed on at the wonderful old age of 91. In a way I like to think of him as a subliminal and indirect inspiration for 'The Gyp'. Cheers Tom.

I Love Zinedine Zidane! (Retitled)

Hello again. It's been a few days and i'm a little unfocused so you'll just have to put up with what's flashing across my mind at this moment by way of a blog entry. Marco Materazzi, having taken the full force of 'Raging Bull' Zidanes wrath in the World Cup Final the other night is busy trying to get his story right ahead of what will inevitably become something of a shitstorm. The claim being made is that Materazzi said, in French, something to the effect that Zidane was 'A Filthy Terrorist'. Zidanes parents are Algerian. If those were indeed the words uttered by Materazzi, I think he can count himself lucky to only have had the wind knocked out of him. Materazzi claims he had no idea the words he said were so inflamatory. What Bollocks. Why say it if you have no idea what it means? Nobody's that gullible. Much as there was no option but to send off Zidane, I now kind of understand why the French as a nation have failed to castigate him. First of all, there was something strangely heroic about his assault. Head down, barrelling into Materazzi and sending the tattooed Italian bean pole sprawling, fighting for breath and wishing he'd kept his gob shut. Ignore all the hand wringers and the "Beautiful Game Ruined" merchants, a line was crossed by the Italian player and he got roughly what he expected by way of response. I'm sure he would have been slightly disappointed if Zizou hadn't clobbered him............ Secondly, the French realised that a moment of 'red mist' at the end of his last international could never overshadow the brilliance of a career that has seen him guide the French to the World Cup, European Championships and reach the final of a further World Cup final with a team that really ought to have been knocked out in the group stages. They won't see his like again. I don't grudge Italy their win at all, either team would have made suitable victors, but neither do I think France nor Zinedine Zidane have anything to feel ashamed of.

After The Rain

General Announcements

I see Clairwil's up to something. I have to say, i'm intrigued................ I linked to this the other day but not in an obvious manner. Anyway, get your postcards with your daydreams of world domination rolling. It'll only take five minutes. Well, it should only take five minutes. I foresee certain bloggers I know of needing at least two postcards to fit everything in................ Next up we have an announcement regarding my next gig. It would seem Uncle Travis has had another brush with the reaper(real or imagined, I don't know), hence his temporary mental enfeeblement leading to his offer to put my sorry arse on the bill for The Goat Club on sunday the 30th of July at The Vale, across from Queen Street Station in Glasgow. If you're free that night and live local(ish), i'd be absolutely overjoyed to see you, if only to ply me with drink, massage my ego and carry my gear...............=D

LOOK!

Ok, more lazy blogging coming up. Hell, you've had some good return out of me this week. A new story for those that like that sort of thing, and an attempt to generate some debate about the national anthem. Anyway, Rob's latest post about the impending 'End Of The World' had me reaching for my Swiss Army knife, baked bean supply and the key to the coal bunker. Theres also this link to the 'History of Armageddon' Timeline, which will either make you chuckle indulgently to yourself or give you the absolute willies. Not that i'm bothered or anything. The sages foretelling our doom have a 100% failure rate so far. A fair few of them are clever enough to be unspecific in their tales of woe. Nothing worse than leading the faithfull out on a cold November evening to meet the rapture only to find that God had other things to do that night like play bridge with Ghandi or sit scratching his arse watching Big Brother.

Filler Alert 2

Interesting ideas here, here,(courtesy of Bawbags) and here. Nothing from me i'm afraid. I'm leaving my brain fallow tonight. (apropos of nothing) Can I just say that Glasgow City Council are a bunch of self serving fucking cockroaches? I can't? Oh, ok then..................... Bye!

A Cloth Eared Nation Votes

I really do despair sometimes.................... In a recent poll on what the Scottish national anthem should be the Scottish public only went and voted for this bloody 'orrible dirge. Ok, it is the current Scottish national anthem and most folk, being creatures of narrow habit have decided overwhelmingly in favour of retaining it. They know the words and it has verses about kicking English arse. Fair enough. Even if the poll is not representative of every man and woman in the land(only 10,000 people voted), it's a fair bet that Flower Of Scotland is the song most people in Scotland know and identify with so the other entries are nothing more than mildly diverting curios in this exercise. Which is an absolute crying shame. It would have been better to say "Here's a selection of songs, but that lumpen piece of shite Flower Of Scotland is barred" That would have wound the buggers up. The problem is that most of the other options don't exactly fill you with joy. Scotland The Brave is upbeat and jaunty. Too upbeat and jaunty. Unless you got The Aphex Twin to remix it......... Highland Cathederal was third and has a serviceable tune, but the lyrics leave a lot to be desired. If someone can rustle up something with a bit of imagination and verve for this tune of rather strange providence, we may just be onto a winner. The only option for anyone with their brain switched on is 'A Man's A Man' words courtesy of Robert Burns. It came fourth in the poll, confirming my general suspicions about most of my countrymen. Considered not to be a great tune(I beg to differ) and yes theres a fair amount of old Scots in there, but sod it, it's one of the greatest humanist anthems ever. Therein lies it's problem I suppose. National anthems are about how brilliant your country is and how you knocked seven bells out of your nearest neighbour once. Egalitarian hymns to the unity of mankind as equals need not apply. File under 'Auld Lang Syne'. It's still the only real candidate and anyone who disagrees can kiss my arse. In last place was 'Scots Wha Hae', another Robert Burns lyric. I have no idea what the tune to this is, but i'm willing to bet it's obscure. The words are fine in their context, but as a song, it's just another ruddy battle hymn. Is that all we can manage? Songs about fighting the English and songs that provide the aural equivelent of the lid of a shortbread tin. Scotland is a breathtakingly beautiful country, but neither 'Highland Cathederal' nor 'Scotland The Brave' do anything other than make rote evocations of highland mists, heather, islands and whatnot. This all leads of course to the point that national anthems are fairly pointless, they're just rallying calls in times of need(rugby, footie) and as such could be bloody anything as long as they stir the blood and rouse the soul. Flower Of Scotland does neither of these things to me but I suppose I can't speak for my fellow countrymen. That said, there are people who would have Franz Ferdinand or DJ Otzi providing our ceremonial muzak, so maybe I should just shut up................

Random

Because sometimes you just run out of time to blog about anything...........