My Taste Is Better Than Yours » amazingness

Now who can tell me what the maypole represents?

gremlin — Tue, 17 Nov 2009 23:40:06 +0000

In the woods there grew a tree. And a fine, fine tree was he.

Hey FNL – You, I adore

gremlin — Wed, 09 Sep 2009 21:23:29 +0000

Friday Night Lights is unbelievably earnest, the team have group prayers before games, Coach Taylor (using the power of his hair/sunglasses) gives cheesy locker room pep talks and they all chant ‘Clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose’ at some point every game to motivate themselves to victory. Matt Saracen (oh number 7 you’re the prince of awkward cute!) SINGS HIS SENILE GRANDMOTHER TO SLEEP.

But I will (uncharacteristically) never mock any of these things, because FNL is so fuck awesome and slow-clap epic that I cannot quite put my love of it into words. Just know that in walking past a place called ‘Bigguns ribs’ in my lunch break, I thought that it said ‘Riggins Ribs’ and that some genius had named a restaurant after my favourite Texan teen alcoholic Tim Riggins.

Yes, Tim, a rib shack. Named after you.

I am so excited for season 4 my facial expression looks a bit like the guy on the far right at the back.

Whenever I see your grouchy face

gremlin — Wed, 12 Aug 2009 16:19:48 +0000

My kind of love song.

“I’m glad that I’m so lucky to make you feel yucky everyday.”

Penny whistle at 1:57!

There’s something very queer about the warren this evening

gremlin — Wed, 12 Aug 2009 12:36:15 +0000

Fiver’s vision of blood over the fields, and the weird bit with with the rabbits heads coming down the warren network and then combining in a mass of red eyes and teeth? Yeah.

I know. Me too.

As a child I found Watership Down genuinely scary, and it made me cry (Bigwig in a trap… Hazel trying to bite him loose), but I still watched it more often than The Secret of Nimh. My parents even bought me the VHS and The Watership Down Film Picture Book, for more convenient terror.

If children are going to be slightly terrified, it should be by a film which has life and death and violence, and ‘Bright Eyes’ and dark visuals and a trickster folk hero called El-Ahrairah. And rabbits.

Go watch it now. Even if you have to do so through your fingers.

Ou est le discotheque?

gremlin — Thu, 16 Jul 2009 11:41:26 +0000

Claude Francois IS the discotheque, and his snake-hips are the light-up dancefloor. Sadly his amazing dancing didn’t mean he had the smarts not to change a lightbulb standing in a half-full bathtub. But that’s no reason not to watch every video of him dancing you possibly can. If I walked into a club full of cute French boys dancing like CloClo I would be in heaven. Okay, they don’t have to be French. Any boys! Just no girls.

Although are you sure this is legal, CloClo? I don’t know if Chris Hansen would approve.

I hope he knits sweaters too

gremlin — Wed, 15 Jul 2009 12:55:08 +0000

destroy build party hard

gremlin — Sun, 28 Jun 2009 14:33:09 +0000

Heavy machinery! Quarries! Preteens blowing shit up under the supervision of ANDREW W.K.!

I imagine this is what a fucking massive insurance premium looks like, ie the best TV show in the world. If they manage to incorporate gunge, it just might be perfect.

In my dreams there’s a theme tune that goes ‘we build, we destroy, we party, we’re team awesome’, and then Andrew headbutts a truck.

totally tubular

gremlin — Wed, 24 Jun 2009 14:34:30 +0000

With this nice weather I have been able to spend the day living the dream – drinking gin for breakfast, smoking cigarettes, and falling asleep reading the TLS. This might only be ‘the dream’ if you are an English graduate or alcoholic academic, and I also cleaned my bathroom, but you get the picture.

It’s also enabled me to annoy my neighbours with five hours of Van Morrison (and counting), which has in turn encouraged my sun addled brain to drift blissfully back to when I was five and my music taste depended entirely on my dad’s cassettes (with the exception of Jive Bunny – all me). Shortly my neighbours will be treated to James Taylor, Jackson Browne, Tom Petty, and the piece de resistance – Mike Oldfield’s Tubular Bells.

My brother and I were utterly obsessed with Tubular Bells as young children, and would treat anyone in listening range, or just ourselves/the nearest mirror, to interpretative performances of it (sometimes with costumes and in character) recorded on our Fisher Price tape recorder.

It was, I’m sure, absolutely amazing and a joy to watch. It didn’t seem to go down as well when I brought the concept into my primary school music lesson as a solo project, doing my unique version of Oldfield’s masterpiece while pretending to be a robot.

Anyway, sorry Silver, but this might be the best song ever:

Or I might be drunk and bewitched by the super-romantical duelling/mysterious owl bit.