Was just reading the latest copy of ARTHUR. It's a great mag, probably one of the best around right now in terms of yer actual print. A lot of the music therein doesn't thrill me but it's a quality read alright. Their off music commentary is particularly likely to kick start the old grey matter. It feels like you can believe what you read there. A far cry from the outrage of Saddam in his Y's (You can photoshop anything these days - right?) or Kylie's brush with breast cancer. One would think that she could be given a bit of privacy under such circumstances but no, the media rolled out the full living obit carpet.
The BBC news this morning reported on George Galloway's schlep to Washington to "do battle" with his accusers. It said he gave them his best "Barrowland's stare" before launching into his Chewing The Fat goes to Penn Av. spiel. If he wasn't such an odious wee bauchle it might have been funny. Reality TV eating itself indeed.
The perspective of the day to day is getting ever more skewed and remember, a mobile phone that only makes calls and lets you text is still a mobile phone. Don't be snowed, these things are not toys and should only be used in an emergency such as to enquire why the person you were supposed to meet at a certain time hasn't bleedin' turned up. Having said that I still prefer to use a callbox when I can find one. Think of all the revenue these things are eating up with inane dribblings, surely such funds could be better diverted to other areas? You don't NEED to be instantly available all the time surely?? Cut yourself some slack, go underground, mobile phones are like cigarettes... they're bad for you and they're bad for me. Not because they might fry your, er, brain but I might have to hear some of your pish as I walk past you or sit next to you in a train. Me no likee that.
No comments:
Post a Comment