RICKY ROMA: Fuck you, Dave. You know you got a big mouth. You make a close, this whole place stinks with your farts for a week - how much you just ingested. Oh, what a big man you are! "Hey, let me buy you a pack of gum. I'll show you how to chew it." Whoof! Your pal closes, and all that comes out of your mouth is bile. Ooh, how fucked-up you are!
Showing posts with label art. Show all posts
Showing posts with label art. Show all posts
Wednesday, 17 March 2010
Death of a Fuckin' Salesman*
Thursday, 4 February 2010
Birthday trip
The first act of my thirties was lazily nostalgic: I lounged in my bed, leafing through the amazing book that Louise had bought me for my birthday. Sporting my new Superman underpants, I headed downstairs, to find a sea of balloons that Kate had inflated for me. Just look at them! Look!
Wednesday, 2 December 2009
A little less conversation, a little more action
Verbally Challenged at the Contact Theatre sees five new writers have their ten-minute plays performed in front of an audience, who then offer feedback. The theme for this evening was Panto, with the writers invited to subvert the genre of pantomime for a modern audience.
O Yes It Flippin’ Is by Yvonne Sewell
About a boy with an imaginary friend, and a girl who wants one. The premise captured the spirit of a magical, child-like realm, whilst avoiding panto cliché and was really funny at the same time. The pay-off was kind of corny, but saw a random audience member flexin’ and poppin’ on the stage. I thought it really worked.
Back to Mine by Will Roberts
An after-the-pub story about a group of friends, one of whom says Christmas is rubbish at the start of the play, and then says that, actually, it isn’t really rubbish at the end. Not much happened. Quite a lot was said. The highlight was a knob gag, which kind of sums it all up.
O Yes It Flippin’ Is by Yvonne Sewell
About a boy with an imaginary friend, and a girl who wants one. The premise captured the spirit of a magical, child-like realm, whilst avoiding panto cliché and was really funny at the same time. The pay-off was kind of corny, but saw a random audience member flexin’ and poppin’ on the stage. I thought it really worked.
Back to Mine by Will Roberts
An after-the-pub story about a group of friends, one of whom says Christmas is rubbish at the start of the play, and then says that, actually, it isn’t really rubbish at the end. Not much happened. Quite a lot was said. The highlight was a knob gag, which kind of sums it all up.
Wednesday, 17 June 2009
A sneaky hour
I arrived an hour early for my conference at Birkbeck, so I popped around the corner to The British Museum. I didn’t wander far from the North Entrance, up that amazing staircase, into east Asia, and specifically Japan. I saw an embossed box that was five-hundred years old, and shone blue like a beetle’s back. Its simple beauty stunned me.
Downstairs, in room 91, an exhibition of pacific shields took my breath away. They’re bright, dazzling, designed to scare the enemy.
I was most touched by the modern shields. Made using car bodywork, and decorated with the logos of contemporary rugby league teams, they are designed to withstand shotgun fire. Shield and shotgun battles are going on today in the pacific.
Downstairs, in room 91, an exhibition of pacific shields took my breath away. They’re bright, dazzling, designed to scare the enemy.
I was most touched by the modern shields. Made using car bodywork, and decorated with the logos of contemporary rugby league teams, they are designed to withstand shotgun fire. Shield and shotgun battles are going on today in the pacific.
Tuesday, 19 May 2009
Room to rhyme
After a lovely tea of chicken, spinach, mushrooms and apple amber, Louise and I went to the Chorlton Irish Association Club to watch “Room to Rhyme,” an evening of Irish poetry and folk song. Sounds shit, I thought, I’d much rather go to see the Tempest. How wrong I was! The poetry came in two sections. The first saw each of the women taking on characters from a traditional time in Irish life – the post-mistress, the layer-outer of the dead, the travelling tinker – and the second saw them each tell their own tale of how they moved to Manchester. The first half was entertaining, funny, whimsical, but the second part was really emotive. Moving in the 1950s and 1960s as children or young girls from the countryside to the smoggy brickwork of a dark and grim place was traumatic as described in their mouths, but wonderful too. All of them missed Ireland. None of them wanted to leave. The fear that change brings, and the opportunity. Very moving.
The poems were interspersed with beautiful folk songs. The other people in the room, old, Irish, all sang along.
The poems were interspersed with beautiful folk songs. The other people in the room, old, Irish, all sang along.
Tuesday, 31 March 2009
The Revelations of Dr Modesto
“I only buy a book for the way it looks, then I put it on the shelf again.”
The Revelations of Dr Modesto is such an obscure book that it doesn’t even have its own page on Wikipedia. Its author doesn’t have a page either. A shame, as the book is an absolute gem. It’s about the success that comes from conformity, emancipation by becoming the epitome of average. Like Candide, the book explores its central idea through an exaggerated story. We see the value (or emptiness) of the corporate lifestyle in all its glory (or shame). Sublimely surreal throughout. Delicious.
I picked it up in Oxfam Books at the weekend because I liked its cover. The man it shows wears a suit, a tie, and a fedora. His face is painted like an unhappy clown. Like china, his face cracks, and behind the cracks are the mean-spirited faces of tiny suited men. His eyes are bloodshot. It’s like a portrait of the book.
The Revelations of Dr Modesto is such an obscure book that it doesn’t even have its own page on Wikipedia. Its author doesn’t have a page either. A shame, as the book is an absolute gem. It’s about the success that comes from conformity, emancipation by becoming the epitome of average. Like Candide, the book explores its central idea through an exaggerated story. We see the value (or emptiness) of the corporate lifestyle in all its glory (or shame). Sublimely surreal throughout. Delicious.
I picked it up in Oxfam Books at the weekend because I liked its cover. The man it shows wears a suit, a tie, and a fedora. His face is painted like an unhappy clown. Like china, his face cracks, and behind the cracks are the mean-spirited faces of tiny suited men. His eyes are bloodshot. It’s like a portrait of the book.
Thursday, 5 March 2009
Howard Barlow, Rock Photographs @ Troubadour Gallery
Kate, Dunk and I went to the Leadstation for a drink, then skipped over the road to the Troubadour Gallery to take a look at the Howard Barlow exhibition of rock photography. Excellent stuff - you'll find it here, but for how long I'm not sure. My favourite photo was this one of Paula Yates.
(image copyright of Howard Barlow)
(image copyright of Howard Barlow)
Friday, 12 September 2008
Dog and Partridge
Paul and I met our old flatmate Alison in Didsbury for a couple of pints. She's moving to Bramhall, which means she must be doing something right.
Some dude had drawn this on the window with his finger in the steam.
Whilst we were outside smoking, Danny Bronco, Sean, Steve and Kumbi came up the road. What an unexpected surprise. Bernie and Orla were there too. Sean and I rekindled our "You're Tom Hanks!" "No, YOU'RE Tom Hanks." "No, no, no, YOU'RE Tom Hanks." game. When my beard was longer, he said that I looked like Tom Hanks in Castaway. With his head shaved, I think he looks a bit like Tom Hanks in Philadelphia.
DTRMCR?
Sean?
Some dude had drawn this on the window with his finger in the steam.
Whilst we were outside smoking, Danny Bronco, Sean, Steve and Kumbi came up the road. What an unexpected surprise. Bernie and Orla were there too. Sean and I rekindled our "You're Tom Hanks!" "No, YOU'RE Tom Hanks." "No, no, no, YOU'RE Tom Hanks." game. When my beard was longer, he said that I looked like Tom Hanks in Castaway. With his head shaved, I think he looks a bit like Tom Hanks in Philadelphia.
DTRMCR?
Sean?
Monday, 4 August 2008
Monday, 28 July 2008
Jamelia
I love Jamelia. This documentary is stunning.
Afterwards Liz and I went to the Railway for a couple of glasses of Sauvignion Blanc and a chat. She's really nervous about what's happening on 14th August, and I am too, in all honesty. I wish there was something more I could do to make it easier, but there isn't. There may be trouble ahead...
Friday, 25 July 2008
Just after 3
Liz went to a wedding today, but I managed to kiss her at the bus stop by leaving work at the same time as she did. Joy!
I went with kate to the Castlefield Gallery. I was particualrly impressed by Sigga Bjorg Sigurdardottir, whose creepy drawings mixed hairy beasts with knitwear. Unearthly stuff, magical!
Wednesday, 16 July 2008
What we look like
My old infant school has posted pictures of the teachers made by the pupils under the banner - ‘what we look like’ - Mrs King is my favourite.
Sunday, 4 May 2008
Thursday, 1 May 2008
Extra extra
Milney and I were eating lunch in Albert Square on Wednesday, when we were approached by a casting scout and asked it we’d like to appear in the new Ken Loach film as extras. Yes, we would, and yes we could attend a casting on Thursday after work, and yes, we’d see her there.
The casting was an odd affair. We were normal people who were scouted from the street, but there were clearly people there who were bona fide extras: it was like we’d stumbled into another world. I overheard the guy in front of us chatting to the woman about the kind of work they’d both done – mostly TV dramas that I’d never heard of. He sings in pubs, at weddings, in tribute acts. He wore a short-armed brand named t-shirt that showed off his big arms, and he spoke in a slightly squeaky voice.
Milney and I didn’t fare as well as the scout had led us to believe. She’d told us that we were just what the casting director was looking for. The casting director looked us both up and down and said, “Hmmmm. I’ll give you a call in a couple of weeks.” It felt like a rejection. I didn’t mind, as I hadn’t set my heart on being in the film, but I was still mildly disappointed. Lately I’ve had pleasant surprises with rejections turning out better than I thought they would, which made rationalising quite straightforward.
We walked out and passed one of the bona fides, who was griping about her hair being entirely suitable for the 1970s, and moaning about the stuck-up cow of a casting director. “What did she say to you, are you gonna be in it?” she asked us, wide-eyed. It saddened me that Ms Bona Fide was so eager for the work and so angry not to get it, and that Milney and I weren’t bothered either way.
It must be crushing to be told that you’re not even good enough to be in the background of a film, never mind progress – as I’d imagine a lot of extras hope to – into starring roles. I’m glad it ain’t me
The casting was an odd affair. We were normal people who were scouted from the street, but there were clearly people there who were bona fide extras: it was like we’d stumbled into another world. I overheard the guy in front of us chatting to the woman about the kind of work they’d both done – mostly TV dramas that I’d never heard of. He sings in pubs, at weddings, in tribute acts. He wore a short-armed brand named t-shirt that showed off his big arms, and he spoke in a slightly squeaky voice.
Milney and I didn’t fare as well as the scout had led us to believe. She’d told us that we were just what the casting director was looking for. The casting director looked us both up and down and said, “Hmmmm. I’ll give you a call in a couple of weeks.” It felt like a rejection. I didn’t mind, as I hadn’t set my heart on being in the film, but I was still mildly disappointed. Lately I’ve had pleasant surprises with rejections turning out better than I thought they would, which made rationalising quite straightforward.
We walked out and passed one of the bona fides, who was griping about her hair being entirely suitable for the 1970s, and moaning about the stuck-up cow of a casting director. “What did she say to you, are you gonna be in it?” she asked us, wide-eyed. It saddened me that Ms Bona Fide was so eager for the work and so angry not to get it, and that Milney and I weren’t bothered either way.
It must be crushing to be told that you’re not even good enough to be in the background of a film, never mind progress – as I’d imagine a lot of extras hope to – into starring roles. I’m glad it ain’t me
Friday, 25 April 2008
Plinth
1 - What rhymes with 'plinth?'
2 - I think that the plinth that Abel Heywood is leaning on must be a structural feature. The marble statues in Albert Square all have them (Albert has a cape which serves a similar function, I think) but the bronze statues don't.
Sunday, 13 April 2008
Southport Snapshot Showdown
Paul, Eileen and I went to Southport to take some photos. Organised fun was preferred, as always, so we set ourselves a challenge. Take two photos each that pertain to the following subjects:
Pair
Timeless
Help*
Reflections
Old
Wind**
*"Help" meaning "assist" or "assistance," rather than "Shit! Help me!"
** "Wind" as in "the wind blows" not "wind-up wristwatch."
Here are my twelve snaps.
Friday, 1 February 2008
Immaculate Heart College - Art Department Rules
This (by Sister Corita Kent) was worth retyping:
Find a place you trust and then try trusting it for a while.
General duties of a student: pull everything out of your teacher, pull everything out of your fellow students.
General duties of a teacher: pull everything out of your students.
Consider everything an experiment.
Be self-disciplined. This means finding someone wise or smart and choosing to follow them. To be disciplined is to follow in a good way. To be self-disciplined is to follow in a better way.
Nothing is a mistake. There is no win and no fail. There is only make.
The only rule is work. If you work it will lead to something. It’s the people who do
all of the work all the time who eventually catch on to things.
Don’t try to create and analyse at the same time. They’re different processes.
Be happy whenever you can manage it. Enjoy yourself. It’s lighter than you think.
“We’re breaking all of the rules. Even our own rules. And how do we do that? By leaving plenty of room for X quantities.” - John Cage.
Find a place you trust and then try trusting it for a while.
General duties of a student: pull everything out of your teacher, pull everything out of your fellow students.
General duties of a teacher: pull everything out of your students.
Consider everything an experiment.
Be self-disciplined. This means finding someone wise or smart and choosing to follow them. To be disciplined is to follow in a good way. To be self-disciplined is to follow in a better way.
Nothing is a mistake. There is no win and no fail. There is only make.
The only rule is work. If you work it will lead to something. It’s the people who do
all of the work all the time who eventually catch on to things.
Don’t try to create and analyse at the same time. They’re different processes.
Be happy whenever you can manage it. Enjoy yourself. It’s lighter than you think.
“We’re breaking all of the rules. Even our own rules. And how do we do that? By leaving plenty of room for X quantities.” - John Cage.
Thursday, 31 January 2008
I found this pinned to a tree.
I felt a bit bad about taking it down, but I had to take a closer look. This is the front -
and the back -
and the back -
Wednesday, 23 January 2008
Apres
http://www.boingboing.net/2008/01/22/longexposure-shot-of.html
Boing Boing boings again!
Flickr user Aqui-Ali has posted a long-exposure shot of a couple having sex on a bed, a kind of erotic blur representing a great deal of energetic movement.
Saturday, 19 January 2008
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