The Null Device
The Belle & Sebastian live-to-air on PBS this evening was good; they played two songs from Dear Catastrophe Waitress (Step Into My Office, Baby and I'm a Cuckoo), one old one (Like Dylan in the Movies) and did an AC/DC cover, in the name of strengthening Australian-Scottish musical ties (which worked reasonably well; it wasn't quite as balls-to-the-wall as AC/DC, of course, but it was true to the spirit (or so I imagine, not having heard the original), rather than being an ironic twee/fey reimagining of it). In between two songs, one member threw something to another, and they joked that the fey, twee image they had been saddled with came from their lack of throwing skills.
I managed to record a MP3 of most of it (well, from some way into the first song to 45 minutes after it finished; I did the recording unattended). Now to find a MP3 trimmer (one that doesn't decode/reencode) and cut the rest of it off.
This just in: a Euro MP from the rabidly anti-EU UK Independence Party has revealed himself to be a reactionary crank. Who would have guessed?
Godfrey Bloom was given a seat on the European Parliament's women's rights committee on Tuesday. But he told the media: "No self-respecting small businessman with a brain in the right place would ever employ a lady of child-bearing age."
Mr Bloom, an investment fund manager from York, told journalists he wanted to deal with women's issues because: "I just don't think they clean behind the fridge enough". "I am here to represent Yorkshire women who always have dinner on the table when you get home. I am going to promote men's rights," he added.
The latest fad in an alienated world: cuddle parties, which are exactly what they sound like. Get enough needy, desperate losers together in a room and everyone can expect to get some human contact (except possibly for the severely hygienically-challenged trolls, who, one would assume, would be over-represented in any self-selected group of people for whom the need to embrace strangers overrides the aversion to doing so); and the organisers pocket a decent fee. Which all sounds slightly less pathetic than a Furries' plushie-humping party. I think I'll stay at home with my Smiths records, thank you very much. (via MeFi)