tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-174755532024-03-07T14:13:49.603+05:30dampnacioun.fyn scarlet reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05989059731250192270noreply@blogger.comBlogger106125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17475553.post-81913796163077731762008-04-14T19:40:00.006+05:302008-04-14T20:17:34.460+05:30This is your surgeon... on laudanum.New year's day is a good time to make the last post here. Over summer break i will read much Patrick O'Brian and, i hope, somehow become a considerably less awful person. Rereading the previous sentence i am impressed by the implied causality.<br /><br />Really; the year is not very old yet and already such sadness(es). Why. I cope and then i can't cope and be like an awful person which adds to sadness; i cannot even work which takes away from the little i have (left).<br /><br />So here is my fist coming down on the table with a business-like thump. Enough! it says. Enough.fyn scarlet reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05989059731250192270noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17475553.post-61354685951523277792008-03-19T22:15:00.002+05:302008-03-19T22:23:34.043+05:30at times, your disinterestedness may seem insincere, to strangersshite, i'm reading six books, this is the life!<br /><br />note to self, never take blank verse for granted.<br />i have wise professors.<br /><br />i need summer clothes but i can't be arsed to go shopping.<br /><br />i'm looking for frank o'hara.<br />the new york school has saved my life.<br /><br />i have nothing to say except the following. bebo valdés is an excellent musician and anybody reading this should drop everything to go listen to him.fyn scarlet reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05989059731250192270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17475553.post-85573179399125330402008-01-06T23:32:00.000+05:302008-01-06T23:42:28.572+05:30<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6gc5I5L0UyRSsgylbSt84ItOTKf7czPc-v3w5tKIA-xnZE-87nAjeiy4pwtWKR2e3JNGWrp9a97oVH0fb5I2fJ8Vi0D0-E0qtosS_fX7X48vDpqY9lpgOQjuMVx_QZdGYqZnE/s1600-h/reve.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5152426210985438722" style="WIDTH: 465px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 317px" height="318" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6gc5I5L0UyRSsgylbSt84ItOTKf7czPc-v3w5tKIA-xnZE-87nAjeiy4pwtWKR2e3JNGWrp9a97oVH0fb5I2fJ8Vi0D0-E0qtosS_fX7X48vDpqY9lpgOQjuMVx_QZdGYqZnE/s400/reve.jpg" width="456" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;">ddgdgdgddgdgdgdgdgd;;;;;;;;dgdgdgdhhdddg;;<br /><br />sudden urge to see 'jurassic park'.<br /><br />fact: i still like dinosaurs.<br /><br />today was good. very good. yes.</span>fyn scarlet reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05989059731250192270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17475553.post-58350124377864027262008-01-05T23:43:00.000+05:302008-01-09T00:14:32.187+05:30<img src="http://i17.photobucket.com/albums/b52/hamletpow/holdyrheaddown2.jpg" /><br /><br /><blockquote></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote><span style="font-family:arial;">people who put their hands between their thighs when it's cold;<br />people who put their hands under their armpits;<br />people who rub their hands together;<br />people who hold the rhythm for the first four measures using their fists and their knees;<br />people who count your pulse;<br />people who cup their palms behind their ears;<br />people who light cigarettes (once, twice, thrice);<br />people without fingerprints;<br />people without fingernails;<br />people who put their hands on your back and push (the softer the harder);<br />people who put their hands around your feet and pull (harder)<br /></span><br /><blockquote></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote><blockquote></blockquote><span style="font-size:78%;"></span>fyn scarlet reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05989059731250192270noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17475553.post-35970065367520882952007-12-23T09:45:00.000+05:302007-12-23T11:39:29.751+05:30and whyever notRules:<br />1. Put your MP3 player on shuffle<br />2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.<br />3. You must write the name of the song no matter what. No cheating!<br /><br />IF SOMEONE SAYS “IS THIS OKAY?” YOU SAY?<br />"let me explain", sonny boy williamson ii.<br /><br /><br />WHAT WOULD BEST DESCRIBE YOUR PERSONALITY?<br />"mater ora filium", the hilliard ensemble.<br />(i think not...)<br /><br /><br />WHAT DO YOU LIKE IN A GUY/GIRL?<br />"superstylin'", groove armada.<br />(heh, not really.)<br /><br /><br />HOW DO YOU FEEL TODAY?<br />"get out of town", caetano veloso.<br /><br /><br />WHAT IS YOUR LIFE’S PURPOSE?<br />"bad luck and trouble", john lee hooker.<br />(sounds about right.)<br /><br /><br />WHAT IS YOUR MOTTO?<br />"all for one", qntal.<br />('i must go walk the woods so wild, and wander here and there in dread and deadly fear, for where i trusted, i am beguiled, and all for one.'<br />yes. yes, ok.)<br /><br /><br />WHAT DO YOUR FRIENDS THINK OF YOU?<br />"dancing in my head", the raincoats.<br /><br /><br />WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR PARENTS?<br />"men of good fortune", lou reed.<br />(no. except the 'me, i just don't care at all' part.)<br /><br /><br />WHAT DO YOU THINK ABOUT VERY OFTEN?<br />"orange ball of hate", the mountain goats.<br /><br /><br />WHAT IS 2+2?<br />"i'm going on a journey never to return", t bone burnett.<br /><br /><br />WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR BEST FRIEND?<br />"walking with a ghost",<br />tegan & sara.(not that i <i>have</i> a best friend, ha.)<br /><br /><br />WHAT DO YOU THINK OF THE PERSON YOU LIKE?<br />"love goes home to paris in the rain", the magnetic fields.<br />(n/a, but; marry me mr merritt.)<br /><br /><br />WHAT IS YOUR LIFE STORY?<br />"elephant gun", beirut.<br />('let the seasons begin, it rolls right onlet the seasons begin, take the big king down.'<br />this makes me happyish.)<br /><br /><br />WHAT DO YOU WANT TO BE WHEN YOU GROW UP?<br />"the rain song", led zeppelin.<br />(bootleg! i am hardcore! 'this is a slow one, it's got nothing to do with being silly'. quoi? non! vraiment?)<br /><br /><br />WHAT DO YOU THINK WHEN YOU SEE THE PERSON YOU LIKE?<br />"prince moth mothy moth moth", autechre.<br />(really rather insectoid burblings, gurglings and thumps. i wonder what this could <i>signify</i>.)<br /><br /><br />WHAT DO YOUR PARENTS THINK OF YOU?<br />"i put a spell on you", nina simone.<br />(HAHAHAHA. ahem. ha. hahahhaha.)<br /><br /><br />WHAT WILL YOU DANCE TO AT YOUR WEDDING?<br />"do your best for rock 'n roll", linda thompson.<br />('the party’s nearly over, the guests are all but dead; take ‘em to the graveyard, lay ‘em down instead.'<br />priceless. i'll take it.)<br /><br /><br />WHAT WILL THEY PLAY AT YOUR FUNERAL?<br />ravel's "scarbo".<br />(frankly i cannot imagine anything better than some excellent classico-romantic piano playing to quickly distract everyone from the main event.)<br /><br /><br />WHAT IS YOUR HOBBY/INTEREST?<br />"four left feet", the ditty bops.<br /><br /><br />WHAT IS YOUR BIGGEST SECRET?<br />"locomotive breath", jethro tull.<br />(could be worse, could be... halitosis.)<br /><br /><br />WHAT DO YOU THINK OF YOUR FRIENDS?<br />"five years", david bowie.<br />('i never thought i'd need so many people.'<br />shoot me in the head.)<br /><br /><br />WHAT SHOULD YOU POST THIS AS?<br />"pie jesu", sissel kyrkjebö.<br />(i see we're still on the christianity theme. for the record, i loathe the sprinkly disney soundtrack effect used for this version.)fyn scarlet reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05989059731250192270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17475553.post-38456878967172348852007-12-22T23:07:00.000+05:302007-12-22T23:23:30.590+05:30gunmetalmouth<span style="font-size:78%;"><br /><p><br /><em>Fruit tree, fruit tree<br />Open your eyes to another year.<br />They'll all know<br />That you were here when you're gone.</em> </p><br /><p><span style="font-size:100%;">If I turn the music off I think and that's not good not good at all. So I turn the music back on. I'm afraid that one day I will wake up and find that it stopped working. </span></p><p> </p><p><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 499px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 375px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="362" alt="" src="http://i17.photobucket.com/albums/b52/hamletpow/outsidelookingin.jpg" border="0" /></span></p>fyn scarlet reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05989059731250192270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17475553.post-14173184879302310852007-11-20T00:55:00.000+05:302007-11-20T01:07:54.092+05:30i tell you, my eyes are black as iron<img src="http://i17.photobucket.com/albums/b52/hamletpow/loights4.jpg">fyn scarlet reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05989059731250192270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17475553.post-50354233800376063012007-11-07T14:51:00.000+05:302007-11-07T15:44:51.278+05:30Comorbidity is the new black.Twothousandseven, why you hate my body so. <br />Not used to long prescriptions or elaborate drug-taking schedules, I invariably fudge up. And then bad things happen.<br /><br />On the other hand, Fionn Regan's voice, damply resonant.fyn scarlet reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05989059731250192270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17475553.post-4114300046227796692007-11-05T23:48:00.000+05:302007-11-05T23:49:26.964+05:30.<img src="http://i17.photobucket.com/albums/b52/hamletpow/immacutyou.jpg" alt="IMMA CUT YOU">fyn scarlet reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05989059731250192270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17475553.post-12894205253094939022007-10-26T00:35:00.000+05:302007-10-26T01:20:52.605+05:30touching from a distanceA review of the new Anton Corbijn film appeared in a recent Telegraph (the Cal one, natch) tabloid edition. I felt vaguely ill the rest of the day, because it seemed to me quite absurd. 'Control' will never be released here - in fact, it's probably out on 'limited release' anyway. Why review it? Here I bite off a long tangential rant on good movies never making it to my city because it's beyond obvious. I've wanted to see 'Control' since I first heard of it a few months ago. Some form of band-related OCD kicking in, no doubt, as I declared myself officially Over Them last year. (New Order is more to my taste right now, shock horror.) But teenage angst is more splendid and memorable than, well, a lot of other, more worthy events in one's life. Do I generalize unfairly? Paint those burgeoning years of indie fandom in too-flattering hues? What could possibly be more depressing than endless afternoons listening to songs like 'Transmission' and 'I Remember Nothing' on repeat, being something surely far worse than being the nineteen year old misfit (id est the nineteen year old underachiever)? Ach. Beware of the cookie cutter.<br /><br />But it's music. By its very definition - perhaps 'description' suits better - it is life. Signs of, affirmation of, reason for. <br /><br /><img src="http://i17.photobucket.com/albums/b52/hamletpow/ian_curtis.gif" alt="starry-eyed trouble boy"><br /><br />And... I'm only doing this because I <i>think</i> the first post on this blog featured a picture of Blixa Bargeld: Einstuerzende Neubauten have apparently released 'Alles Wieder Offen'. That's right, folks, they've been doing this who-needs-a-record-label stuff longer than Radiohead. I have not, need I mention, heard any of EN's new work, but I hope it's a step up from 'Perpetuum Mobile'. They're an interesting example of a (literal-) deconstruction band with pronounced centripetal tendencies. (Oh gosh that sounded <i>so good</i> in a sort of wanky left-field-music-critic way.) I also admire that Bargeld continues to write and perform his lyrics in German - and that, going by translations, they're really very good. <br /><br />I shall now fling a terrible navel-gazing trivia question into the void. Which bands alongside Joy Division form my personal (un)holy quintet of Bands From Manchester Whose Songs I Have Played On Repeat During Endless Miserable Afternoons? (And No, It's Not Bleeding Oasis.)fyn scarlet reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05989059731250192270noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17475553.post-20943417298292656162007-10-14T15:32:00.000+05:302007-10-14T16:07:32.034+05:30rabies parachutesThis is the exact moment I was supposed to have turned into a vegetarian. It is a highly self-conscious moment, a moment that announces itself as poignant and epiphanic. I am standing with my mother, we are up to our wrists in potatoes, rotating, scrutinizing, our hands are dusted a soft yellow, the man sitting behind the dizzying mounds of potatoes is discreetly scratching his crotch. We fill up one of the plastic baskets with hand-picked tubers. Their eyes are winking at me. We know we'll end up with some rotten ones anyway. Or maybe we won't. I am too cynical sometimes. On the other side of the potato seller is the man with his cage bursting with chickens. There is a boy beside him, together they are a well-greased, blood-slicked machine. The boy lops the dirty white wings off with two motions Hemingway would have given his arms for. The squawking amputated chickens are thrust at the man, who bends them over something and hacks their heads off. The bodies catch up a little late, pretending to swim free-style in the ripe air of the market. <br /><br />Do you see the poignancy?<br /><br />Do you?<br /><br />I was supposed to have been transfixed by the brutality of this sight. 'Never again,' I was supposed to cry (on the inside), 'Shall I assist in the perpetuation of this brutal cycle of violence and genocide.' I was supposed to dream of dancing headless chickens, to drop my fork in horror the next time I laid eyes on the corpse transformed, marinaded and paraded, flesh unto meat, and quiver like a good little consumer whose ignorance and hypocrisy had been exposed.<br /><br />Why am I writing this when I haven't finished my final piece for college?<br /><br />Perhaps I shall write about headless wingless chickens.<br /><br />Perhaps I shall write about potatoes.<br /><br />Perhaps I shall write about how hard it is to be a vegetarian.fyn scarlet reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05989059731250192270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17475553.post-80279744127790214922007-10-14T00:28:00.000+05:302007-10-14T00:50:20.931+05:30The reason I don't write hereis that I hate everything else I've written here. I think I will delete everything. A fresh start. I have a new camera. Afraid to even start looking at the user manuals yet, this is the most intimidating mass of technology I have held in my hand. So many fiddly bits, what if I click the wrong one? What if I ruin it on the first day. Hello anxiety disorder. I will take pictures of factories. And crows. A series on crows. I made friends with one when I was fifteen. He would peer at me from up on the windowsill and purr when I sat down to my lunch. I always shared. I would like to take pictures of people at university but I think I'm too shy to dare. But maybe this is what a camera is for? A kind of courage, once removed. <br /><br />The new Babyshambles: I like the jazzy songs. I like that Pete is pulling himself out of the mire. 'There She Goes' is still one of my favourite tunes, I love the shuffly beat to it. I love that clearly it is about Carl - the Northern soul reference seals it - and shut up shut up it is not about anybody else.fyn scarlet reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05989059731250192270noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17475553.post-11946052519529287022007-09-18T19:25:00.001+05:302007-09-18T20:04:51.931+05:30"Your joys are counterfeit"I love misreading things. One of my more peculiar hobbies, I am told, although I think it is something people simply don't admit to. You have to cultivate whatever talent you have for a truly fruitful and substantial experience. And so, while reading an Alan Garner interview, the exquisite expression <i>failed Triassic scarp</i>. Can you imagine a more complete failure? Discredited to the very bones of the earth. Too bleeding lazy to even stand up straight, a geological slouch, a Mesozoic mess, pitiably stoical in its inadequacies. Come to think of it, maybe it collapsed, couldn't take all the environmental abuse. All it had really wanted was to be a nice safe boring plateau. And what was up with all those flying dinosaurs, anyway? If you think your life is sad, spare a thought for that towering natural edifice of crumbling hopes and dreams.<br /><br /><br />Quote of the day (<i>not</i> that there is such a tradition around these parts): "They wouldn't let me onstage because I'm a girl" - Kim Gordon, on turning up late for the Sonic Youth set at Coachella '07.fyn scarlet reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05989059731250192270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17475553.post-65545111226653814912007-08-16T21:29:00.000+05:302007-08-16T21:34:37.691+05:30lkdjslkj;lkfjdlkjfd;lkSomany toomany somany things. Somany. Sounds like a soap. Somany Moisturizing Body Soap. Or tiles. I think there actually are Somany tiles. Somany things include a sixtieth birthday (plees, let them eat cake), the usual disarray of knee-tremblers (out of the gutter, ok?) on the world news, my own dillicate constitution, boogeriffic EXAMS.<br /><br />So what do I do? Naturally I draw crap. <a href="http://tarataradom.blogspot.com/2007/08/of-diabolical-diapers-and-fiendish.html">Aw, innit cute.</a>fyn scarlet reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05989059731250192270noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17475553.post-84167040933178778472007-08-13T21:56:00.000+05:302007-08-13T22:11:30.181+05:30Free drinks for ladies with deez nuts.And you thought 'Trespassers Will Be Prostetuted' was funny.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjepY_FS-Woubm9Ur1ZDPvFHV_2g7MrewAwhSWzyZUFbz4bJu552VULMkcQTQvJM7K1OmiftozyZsE9c6orJVX0raCVra6CDNcmj3gjODZxBXWGtw6FYzUwkV_etRZ8i5ZZ2629/s1600-h/cuntryclubbiotches.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjepY_FS-Woubm9Ur1ZDPvFHV_2g7MrewAwhSWzyZUFbz4bJu552VULMkcQTQvJM7K1OmiftozyZsE9c6orJVX0raCVra6CDNcmj3gjODZxBXWGtw6FYzUwkV_etRZ8i5ZZ2629/s320/cuntryclubbiotches.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5098226125092239442" /></a><br /><br />Found this on the corner bracket above the phone, which means I owe my father thanks for saving it from the indiscriminate maw of the rubbish bin.<br /><br />Is it not brilliant and beautiful and life-affirming? Are you not suddenly eager to seek out this resort and spend all your hard-earned (or hard-wheedled) money on its various delectables? <br /><br />This may be a good place to announce my Official Position on Engrish. I must respectfully disagree with everyone who has suggested that being a connoisseur of Engrish is a subtle or blatant form of racism, of making fun of those who do not know that hegemaniac tongue well enough to produce boringly correct slogans and signs. I love mistakes. I love the accidental misreading, the typo, the freudian slip. I love Engrish for what it <i>finds</i> in translation. I love its pokerfacedness, its spirit of joyful (in)appropriation*, its excesses and abscesses. <br /><br />Viva la Engrish! Long may the Cuntry Club prosper as a haven for cunning linguists across the world.<br /><br /><br /><br /><font size="1">* Ha! test-driving the jargon.</font>fyn scarlet reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05989059731250192270noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17475553.post-37914644013318465752007-07-31T18:26:00.000+05:302007-07-31T18:50:59.818+05:30falsa larm.I do not like the new blog anymore.<br />So it is now the ex-blog.<br />My new new blog is the old blog.<br />Id est this one.<br />My drawing blog also lives.<br />Alleluia!<br /><br />I glanced at the previous entries. <br />They are childish! <br />And exasperating!<br />And about as profound and moving and well-executed as Donald Trump's haircut!<br /><br />Alas, they must remain.<br /><br />I have taken this up again partly because I am now in a course called 'Writing in Practice' at college.<br />And partly because I can't wait to fill a speck of the internet with more of my rubbish.<br /><br />It is a noble plan, and effective immediately.fyn scarlet reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05989059731250192270noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17475553.post-1162561360649244082006-11-03T19:00:00.000+05:302006-11-03T19:25:36.760+05:30NIGHT OF THE TRANIBORGS.I'm writing SF, apparently. To the perfectly wonderful and incongruous soundtrack of rembetiko classics. You can tell from the title of the post that 'Utopia' is somewhere on my mind, although I feel the need to declare that my slow, softboiled SF effort is neither inspired by More's or anyone else's 'Utopia'. <br /><br />I cannot, of course, guarantee that my story will <i>not</i> be called 'Night of the Traniborgs'.<br /><br />I got back negatives for my holiday photos. All distressingly dull, as usual, but I'll excuse myself, because most of my holiday was spent climbing boulders and skipping waves. And the damned camera, the damned camera is an automatic. What can I say.<br /><br />I recently translated a Bangla children's story into... into Scots, and will be posting it here as soon as I can preface it with the most articulate disclaimers possible. I wasn't expecting a standing ovation or a gift certificate, but I <i>had</i> mentioned that I'd be translating into Scots the previous day; the professor seemed comfortable enough reading it out; and then to say 'this is not English'. I mean: no, it's not English. Nor is it Scottish Gaelic. It's Scots. I'm not an authentic writer of Scots and I wasn't trying to pull <i>that</i> off, but whatever I did I did consciously. Is there something disconnect between what I was supposed to take from that observation and what I did? As a somelongtime fan of Scots-in-writing I found it fascinating. It's not perfect, it's probably laughable, but I understand the politics of this, I think, and some of the resonances between the languages made it worthwhile and pleasurable enough to pursue. So. There. Shrug.fyn scarlet reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05989059731250192270noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17475553.post-1159801147655224182006-10-02T20:18:00.000+05:302006-10-02T23:22:54.320+05:30Doshomi.Hello. I haven't gone out yet, but art and writing and footy have kept me happy. I guess my mum's cooking helps, too. Isn't it always supposed to? Imagine the cultural embarrassment when your mum sucks at cooking. Enough salt to burn your throat and squeeze your tongue out of your mouth - na, maa, akdom noon kom hoi ni!<br /><br />My brother got me to sit down to watch 'Rang de Basanti' today. It's very well-made, and the boy banter is almost hilarious. Apart from this - the trope of Earnest Young White Woman reintroducing existential-crisissified Indians to their historical heritage or things of similar, exalted nature, where have I seen this before? And ok, yay for parties. I am underwhelmed. Don't mind me, I'm just a cynical hater.fyn scarlet reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05989059731250192270noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17475553.post-1159375318058926262006-09-27T22:09:00.000+05:302006-09-27T22:51:45.823+05:30STOIC CHEESE.Rivets in my spine. A long metallic grin.<br /><br />This Tavener fellow and his Protecting Veil. I don't hear holy, I hear hole in the ground. <br /><br />But their connection: woolly. Expound. Argufy. Give examples.fyn scarlet reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05989059731250192270noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17475553.post-1159200321948869212006-09-25T21:35:00.000+05:302006-09-26T00:59:11.583+05:30Project Objectify. Keepin' it light and oh-so-tight.<object width="400" height="350"><param name="movie" value="http://youtube.com/v/y5ySzNg0BOg"></param><embed src="http://youtube.com/v/y5ySzNg0BOg" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="350"></embed></object><br><br /><br />Look. I was gonna say stuff about, y'know, THE SPORT ITSELF, because even with my limited knowledge of skatesthetics/jargon I know Plushenko is hardcore brilliant. I was gonna try to pad and puff my post with absolutely scintillating trivia, such as the fact that, apart from being a superachieving ice star, he is also apparently in the Russian Army. I was gonna post pictures - naturally not the slightly scarring one where he's grinning at Vladimir Putin. <br /><br />Then I thought, to hell with that shit! Ladies, laddies and all other gentlefolk of the world - I present Evgeni 'Sex Bomb' Plushenko.<br /><br /><br /><br />Edit: barring the next Project Objectify post, all frothy frivolosity re footy will rest over at <a href="http://deludoglobi.blogspot.com">DLG</a>.fyn scarlet reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05989059731250192270noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17475553.post-1158847737804408302006-09-21T19:37:00.000+05:302006-09-21T19:38:57.820+05:30the unimaginable zero summerDear October:<br /><br /><br />Please be quiet.fyn scarlet reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05989059731250192270noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17475553.post-1158549737192506112006-09-18T08:45:00.000+05:302006-09-18T09:30:29.103+05:30Hmm.The local rickshawallahs are dragging out their Bishhokorma Pujo celebrations. Which include playing music really loudly. It's always Rabindrasangeet and classic Bangla film songs in the morning, and Hindi filmi hits in the afternoon. Really, it's like an unwritten rule. You know how specific ragas are associated with specific hours/periods of the day? Reminds me of that.<br /><br />Last night after a weekend's worth of gnashed teeth and high blood pressure I ended up watching both English Premier League matches on tv - Chelsea-Liverpool and Arsenal-Man.Utd, each ending 1-0. I'll spare this little blog my match babble, except I am a goalie fan and I cannot lie even by omission. Petr Cech was wonderful, which made me root for Celsea even though I don't exactly support either team. See how complicated football fandom is? And in the other one, green (erm, literally, too) boy Tomasz Kuszczak did his 'mates proud. Of course Arsenal were <em>once again</em> criticised by the commentators for being slow starters, for not capitalising on all their chances, for their lack of Thierry Henry. I mean, I agree with the second one, but English footy seems to have this unhealthy obsession with madscramblethud!action. It makes for excellent <em>dorkiness</em>, of course, but I suppose I'm used to a slower, more Machiavellian oh did I just type that? scratch it more calculated style of play.<br /><br />Oops, babbling despite myself. Jens Lehmann almost got his darling face broken while blocking from - was it Cristiano or Wayne Rooney? One of the brats, anyway. That was close. Over during Milan-Parma, though, poor ickle Gilardino's match ended in blood and stitches. It's not serious, but again. Close.<br /><br />This morning, among the many appalling news stories I woke up to, this one gave me a bit of hope. <a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/main.jhtml?xml=/news/2006/09/17/women17.xml">Not the bit about the actual fact of the commercial</a>, but the fact that Vasselli isn't taking this shit as the 'harmless joke' the men responsible for it so conveniently thought it was. You know how feminists are, always getting their knickers in a twist over yet another harmlessly jokey jab at their historical and innate incompetency at, well, everything including recognising 'irony'.<br /><br />Two steps forward, three steps back: or, <a href="http://pandagon.net/2006/09/16/but-theres-titties-in-that-picture/">internalised misogyny is such a bitch</a> (ooh, I was being ironic, don't you know). If that's depressing, have a non-sexist giggle over <a href="http://driftglass.blogspot.com/2006/09/since-this-category-four-teacup.html">this</a>!fyn scarlet reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05989059731250192270noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17475553.post-1158117806610328392006-09-13T08:44:00.000+05:302006-09-13T09:52:26.446+05:30Of bards, boys and birds.We are studying 'Hamlet'. I am geeking out on the textual studies geekery of it.<br /><br /><br /><a href="http://www.dishtvindia.in/ChannelPreview/channelPreview.asp">I want.</a> Not fond of this unhealthy obsession with the EPL, although so many of my favourite players are there. Butbut Scottish, Dutch and French league matches! I haff neffer seen those! Now if only someone would show some Bundesliga and Liga Argentina... Oh who am I kidding. I barely ever have time to watch anything, much as I'd love to. And it is frustrating to watch footer on tv anyway, imagine myopic eyes swimming in a sea of icklebickle pinpickle, and the camera whorishly following the ball even though it's almost as much fun to watch one of the goalies keep himself awake at the far end... And I still haven't decided whom to make that subversively fruity Project Objectify (a.k.a Hot Male Athletes Are Just That) post on. Aishwarya decided on <a href="http://bluelullaby.blogspot.com/2006/09/1-rafael-nadal.html">Rafael Nadal</a>, he-who-is-too-young, and Supriya on <a href="http://roswitha.blogspot.com/2006/09/objets-de-foot.html">Thierry Henry</a>, who is like an ice dancer except on grass not ice and with a ball not skates. Um.<br /><br /><br />Um. Yes. So. In my frivolous froufrouey way, the only news I will comment on has little to do with war, horror and woe, not because I don't care or have my head under sand or anything, but because this blog is now officially frothcentric. Until the next white-hot feminist rant, at any rate. The news is this: a new bird species has been discovered in India, specifically in Arunachal Pradesh. It has been named the Bugun Liocichla and it is most darling to behold, assertively coloured (guessing the picture in the paper is of a male) and spiky-capped. I read also that it has a beguiling song. How lovely is the loveliness. There doesn't seem to be too many of them, which is a situation that one hopes will change. If only there were incentive packages for the reproduction of birds, eh? (I think that rant is about to explode on to this blog very soon.)fyn scarlet reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05989059731250192270noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17475553.post-1157885368160482562006-09-10T16:09:00.000+05:302006-09-10T16:35:43.793+05:30WWJD? Whom would Jesus do? It could be... YOU!So I rediscover an old song whose violiny bits I rather liked. Ah, it's 'Flames' by Vast. Slow and schmoopy and simple, good song for a not-yet-rainy afternoon. And ah, there are the angsty violiny bits. And ok, so the lyrics are utterly useless... 'Close the door, leave your fears behind, let me give you what you're giving me...' And then the guy goes, 'Just put me inside you, I will never ever leave.' Repeats this, more insistent now. Then crooning and violins. By now the song's spell, however cheap and brief, has been utterly broken.<br /><br />I suppose the reason I collapsed into snickers has to do with a story a friend related this morning, from today's paper (I shall have to ask which one). Something about a group of nuns bringing in a hysterical rickshawallah. The rickshawallah moaned and writhed and rolled his eyes before his anxious audience - some of whom thought the poor man was going through a heart attack. But what was really happening? 'Jesus had come in him'.<br /><br />Anyway, I'm going to listen to some nice Mahmoud Ahmad songs now and attempt to write something that resembles verse.fyn scarlet reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05989059731250192270noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17475553.post-1157550622409150122006-09-06T18:42:00.000+05:302006-09-07T21:43:13.453+05:30Hwæt!My internet and computer both seem to be working, and, shockingly, in synchrony! Praise them with great praise. And I have rather neglected the blogosphere for a long time, haven't I? Have kept busy, though, with medieval texts on virginity (damned if you do, damned if you don't), trashy cable telly, and before I forget to underline this, league football<br /><br />During the World Cup I remembered why and how much I'd loved the whole sprawling mess; by now, I'm keenly aware of the perilous state of my blood pressure. Because I realised: this is why I stopped watching. God, the corruption, the conflicting rumours of transfers and public statements, the conspicuous lack of any football beyond the bloody EPL on tv (rodeo boys, golfers and cricketers of the world, never have I hated you more)... But it is exactly this helpless and cynical excitement I seem to crave. I suppose I can live with the collateral damage - worrying over whether the bloodthirsty moneybags who run the business will tear Jesusboy Kaká away from AC Milan, or why Alessandro Nesta is selling Gatorade instead of spumante. Anyway, it <span style="font-style: italic;">is</span> a beautiful game, and I'm touched by the vanity and the sublimity. Despite myself.<br /><br />Regarding Steve Irwin, whose death prompted the Telegraph, my current Englang daily, to print <span style="font-style: italic;">two</span> obituaresque articles in yesterday's paper. He seems either to be adored for his all-too-easily caricatured Australianisms and love of wildlife, or to be demonised for trying to feed his son to a crocodile and generally Disneyfying everything with teeth and scales. I actually thought immediately of Timothy Treadwell, alias the 'Grizzly Man', who got himself and his girlfriend killed by bears three years ago. Treadwell made the monumental mistake of thinking himself very like a bear, which bit of delusion proved fatal. On the other hand, people dying on the job - happens all the time, why bring convoluted notions of karma/ the animal world 'taking revenge' (Germaine, Germaine, you are not very germane) into it? What a singular connection to have made with a sea creature. Poor bloke.fyn scarlet reedhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05989059731250192270noreply@blogger.com2