Hello, and goodbye. The year is almost over,today being the only day of the year appropriate to say to someone “see you next year.” Isn’t it cheeky? next year is tomorrow! Other days, it sound so far away. Usually I get a bit soppy on new years but I don’t have any excuses to do that this year. Here’s a treat for you Hogmanay gay divorcees out there, a film about the exposure of a corrupt politicians. Riveting.
last weeks podcast is here from dropbox be warned that if you download it’s a hefty wav file. Streaming is fine though mate.
Now for this weeks one, I got this snazzy little dropbox podcast program so i can share my shows a little easier. download the latest via justcast or just stream here. what ever you feel like! it’s an mp3 too so it’s not a pain in the ass.
This episode features magic island, air, mr. oizo and the stooges. Hope you enjoy it all, you princes of Dalry, you kings of Newtongrange.
Bad Talk episode #4
“How are you doing today mate?”
I looked out at the cracked grey ground, swooshing past the window. “I’m okay.” That’s how you get the taxi driver off your back, vague answers that don’t commit. Sometimes you get one that just doesn’t shut up about something you don’t know about and you feel obligated to engage with them. I haven’t slept in over a day, i don’t think anything i have to say will impress him. There are three types of taxi driver, as great musician Jack of Diamonds describes to his audience. The ones that let you have the ride, the ones that chat, and the absolute psychos. Thank fuck for the quiet boys.
He drops me off somewhere in the city centre and I walk around, looking for a Burger King. It’s not cause it’s my go to junk food when hungover, it’s just where I live they don’t have any. The last one burned down and became an Apple store, much to the dismay of cheeseburger lovers everywhere. They’ve got 5 McDonald’s in a 1 mile radius, but not one Burger King. It just almost tastes better than the golden arches of piss that they serve at Mcdo’ – the meat tastes of something instead of rubber. It’s all shit, but I know it, I’ve been on this train for a while now. They get you when you’re kids, all prime and ready for the drunk years where you soak up fear with multiple cheeseburgers. I know this BK is around here somewhere.
Behind me as I try pull up my pants, is a couple of men talking.
“That building there, you know how you see these places your entire life, always thinking about what’s in those walls?”
“The MacDonald suite?”
“Aye, yeah. I was in there on my graduation.”
“What wis it like?”
“It was everything I ever dreamed. We had Prosecco.”
There was a small pause. I looked in the windows of a bar I once visited, spying on the day drinkers. It’s Sunday, 2pm. They’re probably friendly now, but give them a few hours and somebody’s gonna piss off the gin blossomed regulars. The men behind me start talking again, and I realise that they must be a couple. They had that twee, high pitched accent of proud, quiet gays in the city.
“Don’t you think town is a bit dire today?”
“Why’d you think that?”
“I dunno, just feel like it. Maybe it’s not so dire.”
“You said it was.”
“I know, maybe i’m just in a wee mood.”
“Awhy are you in a wee mood then?
“Aw, I dunno. Maybe it’s cause I spent all day in my bed. The day before that too.”
I turn off and walk toward where the burgers may be, thinking that the guy felt the Sunday morning comedown that I feel. Maybe not as extensive as drinking all night in dark corners, but he felt that there was a lingering fog over the town as if it wasn’t as he knew it. Do we all automatically get that vibe from Sundays?
I entered the BK and ordered a couple burgers, sat by the window. I didn’t see anything there – for 10 minutes it was just me and a burger I know is made up from terrible, low quality products but it gave me a little glimmer of sun into this grey afternoon. I leave just as a teenage girl starts singing outside the window, a piercing knife through the ears of hungover parents everywhere.
The hungover dad hates his life. He cannot function without the escapism of drink, only barely able to hold on through the hangover. As i walked towards Queen Street Station, i saw a man with his son. I saw the kid first, whinging about something. I don’t know if it’s a dialect or if it’s just a squeaky kid voice, but i didn’t understand him. He was frantic, tugging at his dad’s coattails, running in circles, whining about something. I walked ahead to see the dad’s reaction. Here was a tall man, wearing some sort of wide brim fedora (but he wasn’t a neckbeard of course, he had a son) and a long trenchcoat. The son got in his way shouting, “I WANT IT” and the dad’s face turned into the saddest, angriest frown I have seen up close for a very long time. He didn’t say anything to his son. He just shoved him away, out of the way where he was trying to walk, so casually that his son must do this quite often. The control of the push signaled to me that he was not abusive towards his son, but it was a shove of necessity. He was so sick and tired of being this kid’s father, getting in his way, hearing him cry in a high pitched whine about minecraft and happy meal toys, one direction and slugterra (i don’t know what 7 year olds are into apart from minecraft, that i know for sure). His life in the central belt of our country is probably quite a safe one, if bleak. They might live in a reasonable suburb and have a nice car, but until that kid stops being an asshole, his depression will never end.
It felt strange, having such empathy for a stranger. You occasionally feel bad for homeless people, the ‘really fucked’ members of society, but only sometimes – because there is many occasions where you find that they can be aggressive or faking it to panhandle some dough. This father and son made me realise that my life, although at times full of frustration, hopelessness and pain, I can do more things that most people ever hope to do in their lifetime. I got back home, I ordered a takeaway, and I watched episodes of freaks and geeks, wishing to myself to have been born in 1960’s Midwestern America. I live in a bubble of cities, ready to be popped at when i finally look away for a moment and realise i missed the train. You’re all a bunch of cunts, but that doesn’t mean you don’t go through your own fair amount of bullshit. I can hate the world sometimes, but also try and make sense of it in the only way i can, calling anything that slightly grinds my gears a cunt. It’s not hateful or in anyway an attempt to destroy your confidence, i just feel good when i call people cunts, good or bad. This depression will never end for some, but at least i can treat mine while it eats away at my fragile mind.
Bad Talk #1 – download link (dropbox)
Bad Talk #2 – download link (dropbox)
Here it is : two lovely podcasts for you pod people. Two hours of electronic bliss with nostalgia eating away at the fringes. It’s what we live for, the pointless romance of our past and i’m only now starting to get ashamed about it. Should we be ashamed of the shit we used to listen to, or the dirty things we never consider doing anymore? I always had my mind set on crashing parties and passing out in the driveway, but do i feel nostalgic about these fleeting anarchic moments or cringe at the memories of being asked to leave the premises? Perhaps nostalgia has it’s place in music and in movies – let’s not try emulate our garden hopping championship anytime soon.
I think South Park dealt with this quite well in one of their recent episodes with the ‘Member Berries’, Randy discovered a brain numbing patch of plants that can only say “Remember the nineties?” “Yeah, but remember the eighties?” “Yeah, but remember the nineties?” It turns the past-time of remembering fond elements of your past down to a ‘Dude, Where’s My Car’ level of stupidity.
It didn’t use to be so mind numbingly moronic to talk about the past, but it appears in the public consciousness, increasingly and without substance. The internet has been creaming it’s memes about game boys and push pops and the like, stating the obvious to a few generations of people and attempting to alienate…somebody. The old? The young? I wonder why nobody’s made memes like this to appeal to other age demographics?
Sorry if that seems a bit intense, but I love Rage against the Machine. (j/k, This is the photo of Thích Quảng Đức, a monk that protested an oppressive government in Vietnam. An hero.)
Here’s a more local meme that took the UK by storm.
Bad Talk (1# & 2#) won’t pander to you, too much. It’s like we’ve got a crush on you, but are too afraid to do something that draws attention to ourselves. Except that one time where we got drunk and tried to pull you in the club and now we can’t be in the same room together. Please respond to my texts denise.
I know, I know, I didn’t use a VHS ‘video toaster’ to make this. It’s a combination of the bad talk radio podcast, with some of my footage accumulated over time that’s taking up HDD space. Thought it might be more useful if i did something with it, I have lots of long shots of the world outside my window which look pretty nice. A kind of lazy music video. You’re pretty lazy yourself.
Note: the latter half of the video has some extra drunk, mega drunk, shakycam shots that i did not screen for quality. Might make you seasick.
It has been fifteen years since those towers fell, leading the world into a more military minded, conspiracy laden terror aware era. Kind of similar to what happened in the cold war, before 1990. Americans weeped for years, and now on the 15th anniversary, can you remember what it was like or have you forgotten?Have you broken your promise to ‘never forget’? You sick bastard.
These ‘fuckin’ geniuses’ decided it would be a great idea to make an advert where they have a 9/11 sale at their mattress store, jabbing at the sides of the thin ribcage that already is September 11th.
This came from San Antonio in Texas, a place where it’s nearly impossible to gage what they find offensive. Hating Jesus? Offensive. Being gay in public? Probably offensive. Attacks on American Soil? Offensive. But in ‘Jew York City’? Probably not that much. Conspiracy Theories? Probably taught in some Schools as fact. These ‘fuckin’ geniuses’ (my words) have had to shut down their mattress shop probably so it doesn’t get petrol bombed by angry patriots over this weekend. Here’s their apology – futile attempt at saving the business. Rule 1 of offending people : Never apologize.
The ‘9/11 holiday season’ feels almost like the kick off for the holidays in America these days.
September – 9/11 filled goodness, being respectful of those who died, terrorists are scumbags
October – Halloween, lets dress up like sexy Disney characters and get thrown out of nightclubs
November – Thanksgiving. “What the fuck do I have to be thankful for, those fuckin’ floating parade faggots phineas and ferb”
December – Christmas & New Year – I’m so alone.
A big ass, big box store fumbled their shit by making a display of the gleaming towers, out of Coca-Cola company products. Look at it, you got your Dasani in there, a little bit of Sprite, Fanta – the gang’s all here.
This was taken down after spreading on social media. The two corporate giants thought that this was a good way to celebrate 9/11, but no way -it’s gotta go at least 25 years before people don’t care about the cash in on this holiday celebration. It wouldn’t probably be such a big deal if it had some other soda products in there, trying to be all inclusive in the world of captialism. Maybe get some Pepsi, some Irn Bru in the mix (jk) but just put Coke cans up there and people are gonna give you hell for it. These companies are on the edge with 9/11 – here’s a big fucking day in modern history, everybody knows about it and has an emotive reaction to it – so how do we tie it in to marketing our products?
And that’s it, that’s why you see shit like this every year, and not one company has gotten away with it yet. Either people are wising up to the fact they don’t like corporate sponsors on holidays that haven’t been around long enough so the ‘true meaning’ is lost, or it actually still really offends people to hear about it. Every year though, they’ll try it out on a new ad – “hey we know it’s been 15 years ok, just fuckin let us use it already” and the consensus is always “Too soon, never forget, don’t try next year. Maybe in 2020”
A notable example of when everybody lost their shit over 9/11 advertising was when AT&T used the beacons of light for an ad, on their official twitter.
Within the hour, it was taken down. People were mad, the huffpo article accompianying this image stating
No. Just no.
When this came out, I thought it was hilarious. They’ve been waiting to use these marketing tactics probably since the 1st anniversary of the attacks, and they still don’t know when they can use em. Buzzfeed say that a ballet ad is the only ad to have ever done it right. If you say so Buzzfeed, since you’re such massive fucking experts on planes crashing into buildings. You’re real fuckin’ industry insiders aren’t you Buzzfeed? You know everything about how people feel about everything. I still say that ballet ad is a fucking travesty and NOBODY should be using the attacks to gain publicity. Those girls in their fuckin’ upper east side $300 a pair shoes, they know EVERYTHING there is to know about 9/11. Buzzfeed and New York City Ballet, take a bow – as the most informed, most reliable sources of information concerning the 9/11 attacks and the tastefulness of advertising. You guys fucking nailed it, tastemaster generals of the fucking planet aren’t you.
So we conclude this years look at 9/11. So far nothing has been able to knock 9/11 off the top spot of ‘tragic days in the 21st century’ but tomorrow is another day. Lest we forget.
Although we made it over a month ago now, I neglected to make a post about ROOM 836 because I didn’t want to draw attention to my ‘cumshot’ scene at a time I was being vetted for a political position. Now that I’ve officially been canned for the position of ‘Provost of Edinburgh’, I’ll talk about what the fuck I like. COCK!
I had done a superior version (slightly) but it was forever lost after a sound blip ruined the final scene. I’m happy with 836 though, a concept that Sam M. came up with a couple years back and I tried to adapt to fit the apartment I stay in. I really enjoyed editing it as much as filming it – and I hope that you have fun with it too.
I had heard of Frankie Valli, but was completely unfamiliar with his music. ‘The Four Seasons’ sounds such like a generic band name, but maybe that was the point. They would unexpectedly blow your mind away. This happened to me in the past month. I found myself humming a bassline and the golden-sugar keys that dribbled over it as the hushed vocals start to fade in. What was this song, where could i have heard it? I downloaded the apps that let you whistle and hum the songs you’re looking for, I listened to all the songs on my phone and Soundcloud but I still had no idea. I managed to play some of it on the guitar, but that didn’t help. I give up, it’ll come to me eventually.
I was cooking some thing on the stove, maybe some noodles or something unhealthy when my girlfriend turned on the radio. Bam, there it is – the song. I scrambled to find what it was and was delighted that the DAB actually had the song and artist come up for once. Thank you, Radio 6 music. I owe so much to that station, whether it’s rediscovering old punk music we listened to as teenagers, or shit we never ever heard before that could blow our minds. Either way, I found my song. I didn’t know it was a northern soul favorite, but it certainly has that ‘every song feels amazing’ vibe to it. I’ll have to check out their other stuff in the future, but for now all I need is this – a haunting and beautiful song that gets you going for the night-time.
We all think we understand why we heil Hitler, but do we really know the truth? Here are the top ten reasons Hitler MUST be heiled!
1. Hitler is the best friend.
If you go to a party anytime soon, you better not forget Hitler because your friends will tell wicked lies about you if you do.
2. Hitler is the oldest man alive.
Hitler was born in 1. He is the oldest man. Say heil.
3. He can grow on demand.
Enough said! What a bad lad!
4. Hitler is from Cumberland, the county of malice.
You know it, he knows it, deal.
5. People may call him Hitler, but his real name is Uncle Hit!
He would be real FUHRER-IOUS if you told god!
6. He spent ten years on a sick ship.
Uncle Hit is a sea man. He learned from the best, expects the best, and gives the best.
7. Theres no escape.
Don’t even think about it.
8. He owns all of Germany.
A little known fact, all of Germany is his private property. And he doesn’t owe you a dime!
9. His emotions can be seen.
He can get a little angry, which is kind of a drag when you’re drinking Frappucinos with your buddies, but….
10. We still love him!
Despite these flaws, we do love him and always will. Say heil!
The other day, somebody used some words I took offence to. In a sentence they said to me, without intent of offending “Millennials like yourself are better at figuring out how to set up that headset than I could ever be”. I cringed and turned to this person, (who didn’t mean to cause offence) and said “Where did you hear that term?” She took it as a joke, a thirty-something professional who seems to have blurred the lines between her own generation and the new one. When did it happen exactly, this erroneous labeling of millions of people against their say? Who is responsible, that’s what i’d like to know.
When i first heard the term ‘Millennial’ i thought it was a dig at the youth of today, kids who were born on the eve of the Millennium and by the time they turned eight years old, they’d already seen a black president and had some basic knowledge of what happened in the Iraq war, maybe they’d even heard of Lost, you know – 2000’s shit. Little did i know that it was a lump of coal gifted by the previous generations – one that tied my own doomed brethren down along with it. As it turns out, I had become a ‘Millennial’.
The term sounds so much like an insult, it’s easy to understand my disgust with the term. I wasn’t always happy about what previous generations got to call me when i was younger – I hated being called a ‘kid’ when i was 10 years old, I hated being called a ‘youth’ when i was a teenager. I discovered around the age of 15 or so that the generations of people had boundaries – although they seemed flawed. When you get into early nineties bands like Nirvana, the question of “who were generation x” comes up. There was a lot of talk about how they were “disaffected and directionless” – how they were creating their own revolution in the way the ‘boomers’ couldn’t because of the MTV and the self loathing bunch of bastards whose lives were forever changed by punk rock.
“Generation X” by Douglas Coupland is widely credited with the rise of the term, and made it stick – it felt appropriate. Even though that book is such a bore that nobody could even finish it, they still became drawn to the term. I thought – what will my generation be called? Wikipedia told me that it was considered ‘Generation Y’ – i had no problem with that. For me, the case was closed – this weird age category set only to alienate the young against the people who were there before them, would follow in a sensible order that i didn’t have to care about. It would go Gen Y, Gen Z – and then prospective Gen AA or whatever they could sensibly call it.
Ten years pass, and I start to hear the term Millennial used in a disparaging context. By who? Newscasters, Journalists, Comedians, all American, but who cares right? It’s got nothing to do with me. But then it starts to spread into British lexicon. It appears in op-ed pieces and the like – it even appears to be adopted by Journalists that appear way older than I am. Then somebody calls me one, and i flip my shit. I don’t get why people were trying to label the generations for any reason other than scientifically. Why have we been stuck with this name that was chosen by someone else, sounds like an insult, and is able to be bounded around so casually? I see articles like “How to get the most out of your CV as a Millennial” or “Millennials are officially the laziest generation.”
Mainstream news has jumped on the chance to start branding their 20 year old kids something in effort to make boring news stories sound a bit more snazzier than “20-35 year old demographic”. It’s all bullshit. The names we give each other generation, they mean nothing if we actually care about the previous generation. It’s all a marketing ploy – i’m sure of it. If people are actively trying to come up with names for people who aren’t even born yet, these names have no merit.
“Matt Carmichael, former director of data strategy at Advertising Age, noted in 2015 that many groups were “competing to come up with the clever name” for the generation following Generation Z. Mark McCrindle has suggested “Generation Alpha” and “Generation Glass” as names for the cohort following Generation Z”
This is a stub from Wikipedia, but it doesn’t make any sense. People are actively trying to come up with ‘clever names’ for the kids that follow the kids? So they can put them in a category and file them easier when trying to sell to them? They don’t know how to understand these people, so they label them. It’s all marketing! I refuse to fall for it. The generation system is a crock of bullshit, it has never made much sense to me. You label a bunch of people you’ve never met, in order to do market research on them? To try and alienate them?
It’s way too easy to use the term ‘Millennial’ as derogatory, so people should just refrain from it as much as they can. If they really need to have something to label a generation, use boring ass terms like X & Y, don’t saddle them with something that’s harder to escape from. Authors William Strauss and Neil Howe may have created this term innocently in their attempts to study social generations and generational cycles, but it’s now come to my attention that it’s all made up. If these generational cycles aren’t real, then ‘Millennial’, ‘Boomer’ and ‘Xer’ aren’t real. Instead, we just got ‘Old Assholes’, ‘Fat Assholes’ and ‘a bunch of fucking dickheads’. I won’t be the first to share my anger at this title, and i won’t be the last. Just remember, that it’s got nothing to do with any of us.