WLTM...

From an article singing the praises of the witty personal ads in the London Review of Books:

Philanthropy is my middle name. It's just a name though so don't be expecting any free rides. You can call me Mr Wallace. My first name is none of your business. Applications to box no. 9741.

I have a mug that says 'World's Greatest Lover'. I think that's my referees covered. How about you? Man. 37. Bishopsgate. Box no. 8763

If clumsy, unfeeling lust is your bag, write to the ad above. Otherwise write to me, mid-forties M with boy next door looks, man from U.N.C.L.E. charm, and Fresh Prince of Bel Air casual insouciance. Wikky wikky wick yo. Box no. 2851.

All humans are 99.9% genetically identical, so don't even think of ending any potential relationship begun here with 'I just don't think we have enough in common'. Science has long since proven that I am the man for you (41, likes to be referred to as 'Wing Commander' in the bedroom). Box no. 3501.

Normally on the first few dates I borrow mannerisms from the more interesting people I know and very often steal phrases and anecdotes from them along with concepts and ideas from obscure yet wittily-written books. It makes me appear more attractive and personable than I actually am. With you, however, I'm going to be a belligerent old shit from the very beginning. That's because I like you and feel ready to give you honesty. Belligerent old shit (M, 53). Box no. 6378.

Google-search this: 'Inherited wealth real estate Bentley' - that's me, result 63 of 275. It'll take 0.21 seconds to find me online, but an eternity of heartache in real life. Save time now by writing to box no. 4511, or by just giving up. Mother says you'll never be good enough for me anyway. And you carry the odour of your class.

God appeared to me in a dream last night and spoke your name in my ear. He gave me the winning lottery numbers, too, though, so you can understand where my priorities lay when I raced to grab a notebook and pen. Man, 37, living on hope and the next seven weeks' bonus balls seeks woman whose first name begins with S, or maybe F, and rhymes with chicken, and has a surname that's either a place in Shropshire or the title of a 1979 Earth, Wind and Fire track. Shicken Boogiewonderland, I know you're reading this. Write now to box no. 5729.

- Guardian, 27 January 2009

A modicum of bad language

Parliamentary sketch-writer Simon Hoggart, on the tabling of the famously sweary Alastair Campbell's diaries at the Hutton Inquiry in September 2003:

'The Campbell diaries exploded on top of the Hutton Inquiry like a shellburst over the chateau where the officers are billeted. They were sensational! Right in the very first paragraph he wrote 'G[eoff] H[oon] and I agreed that it would f--- Gilligan if that was his source'.

We gasped. We reeled. The thought that a senior official in the British government would use the word only once in the pages of his diaries was unimaginable! This is a man who probably reads his children stories like Now We Are F---ing Six and The Wind In The F---ing Willows. Were the diaries a forgery? It seemed a real possibility'.

- from Simon Hoggart, The Hands of History, London, 2007

Untidy men

From Mark Barrowcliffe's article in the Times, in which he puts in a good word for untidy men:

Francis Bacon was famous for his filthy studios. “I work much better in chaos,” he explained. And Pablo Picasso forbade his studio to be cleaned, so that “I would know at once if somebody had been meddling with my things”.

So I am not a slob, I am an artist. But this doesn't quite hold up because, like most untidy people, I prefer things tidy. It's just that I am always being distracted, then forgetting that I was meant to be clearing up. This is what life is like with an untidy mind; one that is focused inwards on its own thoughts rather than outwards to meet the demands of the exterior world. Tidiness is a priority - just a very low one; behind, say, looking out of the window blankly.

The accommodation that I have reached with my wife is this: if clutter is drawn to my attention, I will do something about it. The trouble is, I've never quite worked out what that “something” is. “Put it away,” she says. Where is this “away”? Where do you put a jumper that you have worn twice? You can't put it back in the clean-jumper drawer, can you? The back of a chair seems as good a place as any. What do you do with continual-use items? You leave them where you use them continually.

- The Times, 29 January 2009

He would've enjoyed the swearing-in

'Celebrity socialite Paris Hilton believes TV chef Gordon Ramsay is the British Prime Minister. The hotel heiress made the embarrassing statement while in England to promote her new reality TV show Paris Hilton’s British Best Friend.

After explaining she is desperate to find a UK pal because she "loves Britain" and "London is her favourite city in the world", the 27-year-old socialite was asked who the Prime Minister of the country was.

Rather than replying 'Gordon Brown', Paris said: "It's Gordon ... Gordon Ramsay?"'

- Stuff.co.nz, 30 January 2009

My Sugar Lumps

They drive the ladies crazy, apparently. From series 2, Flight of the Conchords.

Silly money

John Bird and John Fortune discuss the global financial crisis, November 2008. Luckily, the rich people who caused the crisis still have lots of money left.




[Courtesy of Bob]

Pariahs

The new record-holders for the lowest form of life in contemporary New Zealand society is being strongly contested by the much reviled category of human detritus known as property developers. In one Auckland court case relating to leaky apartments, the Herald reports that ‘calling yourself an Auckland property developer has become so unpopular that courts are hearing claims these people were instead an office administrator and a hairdresser’. Developers Greg Nielsen and Brian Gailer failed to convince the judge, who described their claims as ‘demonstrably false’. The case is ongoing.

- Source: NZ Herald, 27 January 2009

The Cat Came Back

Canadian animator Cordell Barker's 1988 Oscar-nominated short, The Cat Came Back (7:39) illustrates the perils of challenging a cat once it's made up its mind:



Barker was also nominated for an Oscar for 'Strange Invaders' in 2002.

Dull cricket

Comedian Andy Zaltzman in the preamble to his cricket blog article, the World's Dullest XI (Titans of Tedium):

Dullness as a cricketer is of course somewhat subjective, and is not measurable purely by statistics. Batsmen must not only score slowly, but do so with a lack of style that renders them unwatchable to all but their closest family and most dedicated team-mates. They must also be aggravatingly good enough to stay at the crease sufficiently long to send spectators into a deep coma. Bowlers must be skilled and patient enough to contain and restrict, without threatening the excitement of a wicket by any other means than a mental capitulation by the batsman, brought on by overwhelming frustration and an uncontrollable consideration for the paying spectator. Thus, we are looking for the crabby, awkward stubbornness with the bat, and trundling negativity with the ball.

The obvious temptation is simply to pick 11 New Zealanders at random – a team of Edgar, Franklin, Wright (capt), Richardson, J. Crowe, Coney, Blain (w-k), Bracewell, Snedden, Chatfield and Watson would challenge the enthusiasm of even the most ardent cricket lover (and if Jacob Oram could bat like Chris Martin, he would walk into the team as a specialist bowler). But that temptation must be resisted, if only because other nations must be rightly recognised for their contributions to tedious cricket...

- Cricinfo, 22 January 2009

Bands that name-check Hitler

Steven Wells, on the cavalcade of mediocrity unleashed upon an unsuspecting world by bands that thought it would be quite cool to name themselves after Adolf Hitler:

[It's] definitely not a suitable name for a band. Think about it: Adolf Hitler and the Pacemakers, Badly Drawn Hitler, Everything but the Hitler, Hitler Killed the Cat. No way, a total non-starter. But it does make you wonder: how would a musical act called Hitler fare? Fortunately, we'll never know, because no one would be stupid enough to … oh wait. I'm having a flashback.

Moscow, 1991. Communism has collapsed and the embittered youth of the former Soviet Union have turned to the aural dementia of Napalm Death, who are playing a series of sell-out gigs in the Russian capital. I'm backstage with the band. A young man approaches Napalm bassist Shane Embury with a tape.

"You called your band Hitler?" says Shane.

"Yes, we like Hitler because he was against communism," says the kid.

Shane drops the tape, stamps on it, flings it in the toilet and flushes. The kid freaks, screams abuse, runs from the room yelling – and minutes later falls to his death down a stairwell.

And then there was Jerry Hitler – a big noise in 1960s reggae. Had he been called Jerry Gandhi or Jerry Jesus, would we now be speaking of him in the hushed and reverential tones we reserve for Bob Marley? (And, as a slight aside, did the similarly awkwardly named Jah Wanks, ever really stand a chance, career-wise?)

- Guardian music blog, 23 January 2009