I'm not usually a huge fan of excessively self-referential songs or videos - they usually fall on that fine line between smugness and egotism which isn't exactly appealing. However, I've been enjoying The Killers' latest video for one of their new songs, Just Another Girl, from whatever it is their greatest hits album is called.
As opposed to coming across as brash, it felt more of a reminisence, re-covering their previous videos from the past decade. Even as someone who is fairly agnostic on The Killers - they make decent tunes but can be a bit annoying at the same time - I could pick out several song references, such as the red costume from Spaceman, the wedding scene from When You Were Young, the dancing Japanese man in red from Read My Mind, the bird prop from Human and the slightly more obvious direct video insert of Bones as well as the opening montage of clips from All These Things That I Have Done, Human, When You Were Young, Runaways and Mr Brightside. There are probably more in there that I don't recognise by simply not knowing their songs or videos that well, but it's well put together. In other words, it seemed like a nod to their past songs on a sign-off note, which is actually rather well done.
For completeness I should probably link to the video itself - it can be found here.
Monday, February 24, 2014
Sunday, January 26, 2014
Octuple Century
I was going to cover many things today - the film we saw yesterday, the restaurants that were selfishly fully booked and with ridiculous waiting times, the imminent house move - but today is a milestone blog, and milestone blogs dictate a full post reserved for them exclusively. It's just how it's done.
So this post, marking my 800th blog post, is on its own a tribute to my own blogging. And how I've done so 800 times over the last 8-and-a-bit years.
So this post, marking my 800th blog post, is on its own a tribute to my own blogging. And how I've done so 800 times over the last 8-and-a-bit years.
Saturday, January 25, 2014
Everything's Changing
One of the things that's hard to measure is whether your tolerance is increasing, or whether what you're trying to tolerate is actually becoming more tolerant.
This sounds like a deep and meaningful point but I say this, of course, thinking about music. I was listening to the radio on the way into work yesterday - as I usually do, but this came about yesterday hence the focus - and realised that the Keane song I was listening to was actually rather good, and that was the second time recently I'd thought that. I've always associated Keane with depressive dirge, a similar vein to classic Coldplay where nothing should be upbeat on pain of pain, and moaning melancholy was the favoured note.
Now this means one of two things; either (1) I've mellowed significantly, which is always a possibility, or (2) the more unlikely option that Keane have actually cheered up. I'm not sure which is scarier. I've linked the two songs beneath - have a listen, let me know if it's just me.
Keane - Higher Than The Sun
Keane - Won't Be Broken
Is it really just me?
This sounds like a deep and meaningful point but I say this, of course, thinking about music. I was listening to the radio on the way into work yesterday - as I usually do, but this came about yesterday hence the focus - and realised that the Keane song I was listening to was actually rather good, and that was the second time recently I'd thought that. I've always associated Keane with depressive dirge, a similar vein to classic Coldplay where nothing should be upbeat on pain of pain, and moaning melancholy was the favoured note.
Now this means one of two things; either (1) I've mellowed significantly, which is always a possibility, or (2) the more unlikely option that Keane have actually cheered up. I'm not sure which is scarier. I've linked the two songs beneath - have a listen, let me know if it's just me.
Keane - Higher Than The Sun
Keane - Won't Be Broken
Is it really just me?
Friday, January 24, 2014
Electrical Choices
This morning I had a ridiculous journey to work - my car was being particularly tempremental, but in new and unusual ways.
I was leaving slightly late, but while it started without issue - and went around the two right turns at the foot of the road without issue - when I went to turn right into the main road, I realised I'd utterly lost my power steering. This had happened once before, and I was hopeful that it would clear up. As I was in traffic queueing up to the roundabout, I was able to turn off the engine and turn it on again - that age-old solution - in the hope that this would do the trick.
It did! While I was greeted with an ominous beeping upon reengaging the ignition, when I got to the roundabout I was able to steer around it without incident. I was able to proceed happily on my way. Except as I came off the roundabout and glanced down at my speedometer, it was still registering 0. I was definitely not doing 0. Hoping this was a minor glitch, I continued - I had little choice but to do so at that point - and navigated the car carefully for the next 6-7 miles. It is surprising how much you need to look at your speedometer, and changing gear by ear was trickier than I'd realised. Judging speed by how fast other cars are going and what gear you're in equally so.
Unsurprisingly, when I came to a point where I could turn off I decided to stop for petrol. This allowed me the option to turn off the engine, leave it for five minutes to get out of its sulk (ten minutes when you include walking slowly around the shop), and hopefully it would be behaving better on my return.
It wasn't. Admittedly I could register speed again, but the steering had disappeared to compensate. Following the best example of parents everywhere, I pulled over to the side by the garage and sat down for a stern 'we're not going anywhere until you behave yourself' lecture. After a fifteen minute wait, I decided to give it a go again. The steering was sulky but almost could be persuaded to work; the speedometer was fully engaged. I made it to work without incident.
The evening home my drive was fine. Whatever funk it was in had cleared up. I have no idea quite what it was or for that matter wasn't doing, but I have booked a long-overdue service for Wednesday. This should hopefully soothe it back to full health.
I was leaving slightly late, but while it started without issue - and went around the two right turns at the foot of the road without issue - when I went to turn right into the main road, I realised I'd utterly lost my power steering. This had happened once before, and I was hopeful that it would clear up. As I was in traffic queueing up to the roundabout, I was able to turn off the engine and turn it on again - that age-old solution - in the hope that this would do the trick.
It did! While I was greeted with an ominous beeping upon reengaging the ignition, when I got to the roundabout I was able to steer around it without incident. I was able to proceed happily on my way. Except as I came off the roundabout and glanced down at my speedometer, it was still registering 0. I was definitely not doing 0. Hoping this was a minor glitch, I continued - I had little choice but to do so at that point - and navigated the car carefully for the next 6-7 miles. It is surprising how much you need to look at your speedometer, and changing gear by ear was trickier than I'd realised. Judging speed by how fast other cars are going and what gear you're in equally so.
Unsurprisingly, when I came to a point where I could turn off I decided to stop for petrol. This allowed me the option to turn off the engine, leave it for five minutes to get out of its sulk (ten minutes when you include walking slowly around the shop), and hopefully it would be behaving better on my return.
It wasn't. Admittedly I could register speed again, but the steering had disappeared to compensate. Following the best example of parents everywhere, I pulled over to the side by the garage and sat down for a stern 'we're not going anywhere until you behave yourself' lecture. After a fifteen minute wait, I decided to give it a go again. The steering was sulky but almost could be persuaded to work; the speedometer was fully engaged. I made it to work without incident.
The evening home my drive was fine. Whatever funk it was in had cleared up. I have no idea quite what it was or for that matter wasn't doing, but I have booked a long-overdue service for Wednesday. This should hopefully soothe it back to full health.
Thursday, November 28, 2013
Best Use Yet For Incognito Mode
Among the many other signs of ageing, one of them must be the increasing frequency with which bands from your childhood spring up on shows such as Never Mind The Buzzcocks as the 'remember these from so long ago that noone actually remembers, and can you even recognise one of them now?' ... rounds. This week it was one of the girls from B*witched (yes, that asterisk is important, and I have no idea (1) why and (2) why I remember that keenly).
After the short snippet had given me a bit of an earworm, I did search for the video on my phone - here if you want to inflict it upon yourself by the way - before immediately realising that I've now cursed myself to have random Irish 90s cheese-kiddie-pop acts appearing in all my search options and adverts for the next few months.
It was worth it though. I'd forgotten how bad the video was - the entire premise seemingly sold on a 'just dance, girls, and we'll CGI in a load more people doing the exact same dance on either side later so it doesn't look too silly' basis, when the budget ran out and they decided to just go with the four of them in a field, doing their very best to prove the theory that just because four people are doing the same synchronised movement it doesn't stop it from looking total bollocks. It's an unstable field, too - occasionally the entire ground tilts and the girls roll off into the fiery pit beneath. That, or it's some terrible camerawork - it really could be either. The dramatic masterpiece of the video - and my particular highlight - is, however, the dramatic zooming out at the 19 second mark when the treehouse is revealed to be ... right next to them!
But! Don't let my justified mockery of the terrible video distract you from how bad the lyrics are. Bragging about a house with windows and doors? Call me old fashioned if you must, but a house without windows and doors isn't a house. It's a box. Or a bunker. Either way, not a selling point. The worst part is that listening through the entire song, that's actually the lyrical highlight. Not to mention the fantastic random pieces of dialogue interspersed throughout, which in no way at all utterly stereotype Irish people, speech or cliches.
This entertaining and distracting diatribe aside - nothing like being topical by cynically tearing down a 15 year old pop video - does lead me to believe that I have inadvertently discovered the best use yet for the Incognito mode in browsers: watching embarrassing old pop videos, while still avoiding it cropping up to humiliate you in later searches or histories. To prove the point I followed this up by watching the linked video for Mmmbop, by Hanson; and yet Google is none the wiser ...
After the short snippet had given me a bit of an earworm, I did search for the video on my phone - here if you want to inflict it upon yourself by the way - before immediately realising that I've now cursed myself to have random Irish 90s cheese-kiddie-pop acts appearing in all my search options and adverts for the next few months.
It was worth it though. I'd forgotten how bad the video was - the entire premise seemingly sold on a 'just dance, girls, and we'll CGI in a load more people doing the exact same dance on either side later so it doesn't look too silly' basis, when the budget ran out and they decided to just go with the four of them in a field, doing their very best to prove the theory that just because four people are doing the same synchronised movement it doesn't stop it from looking total bollocks. It's an unstable field, too - occasionally the entire ground tilts and the girls roll off into the fiery pit beneath. That, or it's some terrible camerawork - it really could be either. The dramatic masterpiece of the video - and my particular highlight - is, however, the dramatic zooming out at the 19 second mark when the treehouse is revealed to be ... right next to them!
But! Don't let my justified mockery of the terrible video distract you from how bad the lyrics are. Bragging about a house with windows and doors? Call me old fashioned if you must, but a house without windows and doors isn't a house. It's a box. Or a bunker. Either way, not a selling point. The worst part is that listening through the entire song, that's actually the lyrical highlight. Not to mention the fantastic random pieces of dialogue interspersed throughout, which in no way at all utterly stereotype Irish people, speech or cliches.
This entertaining and distracting diatribe aside - nothing like being topical by cynically tearing down a 15 year old pop video - does lead me to believe that I have inadvertently discovered the best use yet for the Incognito mode in browsers: watching embarrassing old pop videos, while still avoiding it cropping up to humiliate you in later searches or histories. To prove the point I followed this up by watching the linked video for Mmmbop, by Hanson; and yet Google is none the wiser ...
Sunday, November 17, 2013
A Drive Home, Or, Why Navigating From Terminal 4 Is Like Using A Compass At The North Pole
This evening I took my cousin Armaan to the airport to allow him to fly on to India for the next leg of his holiday. He was departing from Heathrow Terminal 4, an unusual choice (although I will concede not one of his own choosing) and one that is not quite as straightforward to get to - in fact, we managed to miss a quite well hidden sign on our way in and ended up doing an entire lap of the airport before we arrived at our destination.
This, however, was (a) forgiveable, (b) understandable considering the hidden nature of the sign and (c) nothing compared to my efforts on the way home.
For those unaware, this is the rough journey I should take home:
However, I decided to do things ... a little differently. I set off like this, following the signs to both the A30 to Staines and to M25:
Reaching the roundabout I had no choice but to go straight on, as far as I thought - I knew the roundabout but didn't usually come at it from that angle, but all was, as far as I thought, well. I opted not to go onto the M25 and took the "easier route" continuing on the A30 - it took me round a bit of a loop as I went under the M25:
At this point I missed the exit the first time round and so went for a second circumnavigation ofthe roundabout to add a bit of slapstick to the utter farce that my journey was rapidly becoming. I managed to leave the roundabout slightly better at the second attempt, still faithfully following the signs for the A30 to Staines, now going in the other direction:
Continuing to loyally follow the signs for the A30 to Staines, I persisted onwards with retracing my steps - a fact I was at this point completely oblivious to:
And not long after - fifteen minutes after I was here the first time - I returned to the Crooked Billet roundabout, this time from the direction I should have been, and managed to go back where I thought I was going the first time (and a review of the Streetview on Google Maps shows me that I could easily have turned here at my first visit):
Proceeding at a leisurely pace now once again comfortable with where I was, I rejoined the original route after a detour of a mere 20 minutes:
From here the journey was fairly routine - but to illustrate the utterly ridiculous journey I made, this was my route in full. Sadly, the zoom doesn't show up the ridiculous amount of time I spent driving in circles:
This is why people shouldn't fly from Terminal 4.
This, however, was (a) forgiveable, (b) understandable considering the hidden nature of the sign and (c) nothing compared to my efforts on the way home.
For those unaware, this is the rough journey I should take home:
However, I decided to do things ... a little differently. I set off like this, following the signs to both the A30 to Staines and to M25:
Reaching the roundabout I had no choice but to go straight on, as far as I thought - I knew the roundabout but didn't usually come at it from that angle, but all was, as far as I thought, well. I opted not to go onto the M25 and took the "easier route" continuing on the A30 - it took me round a bit of a loop as I went under the M25:
At this point I missed the exit the first time round and so went for a second circumnavigation ofthe roundabout to add a bit of slapstick to the utter farce that my journey was rapidly becoming. I managed to leave the roundabout slightly better at the second attempt, still faithfully following the signs for the A30 to Staines, now going in the other direction:
Continuing to loyally follow the signs for the A30 to Staines, I persisted onwards with retracing my steps - a fact I was at this point completely oblivious to:
And not long after - fifteen minutes after I was here the first time - I returned to the Crooked Billet roundabout, this time from the direction I should have been, and managed to go back where I thought I was going the first time (and a review of the Streetview on Google Maps shows me that I could easily have turned here at my first visit):
Proceeding at a leisurely pace now once again comfortable with where I was, I rejoined the original route after a detour of a mere 20 minutes:
From here the journey was fairly routine - but to illustrate the utterly ridiculous journey I made, this was my route in full. Sadly, the zoom doesn't show up the ridiculous amount of time I spent driving in circles:
This is why people shouldn't fly from Terminal 4.
Wednesday, September 18, 2013
Warning: Creativity At Work
A short update tonight, because Chrissi and I have been busy. Busy doing what, you ask?
We've been baking a pirate ship cake!
Words cannot describe the awesomeness. It took me about two hours, perhaps more, to build a mast and get it to hold together. But I managed it in the end. Chrissi managed the hard part of baking the cake - I simply added decorations for guns and bowspits and the eventually-completed mast - bedecked, of course, with the Jolly Roger. A good night's work.
We've been baking a pirate ship cake!
Words cannot describe the awesomeness. It took me about two hours, perhaps more, to build a mast and get it to hold together. But I managed it in the end. Chrissi managed the hard part of baking the cake - I simply added decorations for guns and bowspits and the eventually-completed mast - bedecked, of course, with the Jolly Roger. A good night's work.
Tuesday, September 17, 2013
Knocking And Letterboxes Are Beyond Us
One of the benefits of working at home yesterday was that I was in to collect the Amazon delivery. Well, it didn't help as they still didn't bother to knock or post it through the letterbox and just propped it up against the bin - fortunately I was going out for a breath of fresh air and noticed it, bringing it inside before the sudden downpour a few minutes later.
The bounty it contained was four CDs and one DVD - the CDs being Jake Bugg's self-titled album, an album similarly and imaginatively named after themselves by The 1975, Imagine Dragons' debut album which with astonishing creativity they managed to think of a separate name for, Night Visions, and the compilation mentioned last weekend, Teenage Dirtbags. The DVD was the magnificent full collection of Thunderbirds, which is one to add to my growing stash of TV series as I see them on special offer at various times.
I've not really listened to any of the albums fully enough yet to give a proper opinion on them, but the compilation album has made its way to my car where it is now the soundtrack to my drive to and from work. This makes my trip considerably more pleasant (although today it was much nicer anyway as the traffic didn't seem quite so bad). I may swap to disc 2 tomorrow - watch this space for more such crucial updates.
The bounty it contained was four CDs and one DVD - the CDs being Jake Bugg's self-titled album, an album similarly and imaginatively named after themselves by The 1975, Imagine Dragons' debut album which with astonishing creativity they managed to think of a separate name for, Night Visions, and the compilation mentioned last weekend, Teenage Dirtbags. The DVD was the magnificent full collection of Thunderbirds, which is one to add to my growing stash of TV series as I see them on special offer at various times.
I've not really listened to any of the albums fully enough yet to give a proper opinion on them, but the compilation album has made its way to my car where it is now the soundtrack to my drive to and from work. This makes my trip considerably more pleasant (although today it was much nicer anyway as the traffic didn't seem quite so bad). I may swap to disc 2 tomorrow - watch this space for more such crucial updates.
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