THE GREATEST BAND OF ALL TIME.

I'm opening up my blog again for one post only, because the greatest and best band in the history of music has emerged from nowhere and you NEED TO HEAR THEM NOW. Tell your mother, tell all your friends, tell them to tell ALL THEIR FRIENDS- 2008 and the future forever belongs to these guys.

The clip is a bit long, but please stick with it- you'll thank me afterwards. In fact, leave your thanks in the comments section below, please.



"There is nothing more powerful than an idea whose time has come".

Barry Twotter and the Deaf Tree Sparrows.

Being a sour, joyless old cunt I have no intention of reading the new Harry Potter book. It's about a school for young wizards, ergo it's for kids. If there was no latent adult embarrassment to be found in reading it then it wouldn't come with the "adult" cover option- the cover could feature a nekkid Hustler model with a magic wand up her fanny, it'd still be a Harry Potter novel and you'd still be an emotional retard for reading one over the age of twelve.

SO. Here's the final novel's epilogue, a week or so before release date. Go on, treat yourself:

One. Two. Three. Four.

While we're at it, all the spoilers you'd need to not have to read the rest of it are here- get yourself a nice bit of adult fiction instead (cough- cough). You'll sleep easier, and there's no hassle with choosing the right cover.

Creepy Eeriness.

Can't believe I haven't posted this yet- the dearth of new material here can be blamed squarely on Facebook, the funnest and most excellent social utility around. Go on, join if you haven't already. It knocks MyTwats into a cocked hat, let me tell you.

Anyway, what it is right is that last Thursday I received a letter all the way from Pasadena, California. A hand-mailed, stamped envelope with a yank postcode, with my full name and address hand-written on the front.

And I have no fucking clue who it's from.

Obviously I've scanned it for your perusal. Check out the lunacy:

Envelope (front). Envelope (back). And, the main event- The Document. I've 'shopped out my name from the top-left corner of the letter, and my address from the front of the envelope, obviously.

It uses the same sort of language as a sham psychic trying to cold-read a punter; vague references to my job, to Christmas, to my love-life and so on, but the back-story... this letter has a plot- the bit about Rick "assisting some of us with the letter writing"... what the fuck is that supposed to mean? I feel like I've been sent the jumping-off point to some weird-ass ARG which I didn't sign up for. Maybe it's some viral marketing campaign, but I never give my real address (or my real name, for that matter) to anyone asking for it, so what the fuck? The return address on the envelope is a PO box, which struck me as weird but I'm told that plenty of Americans use PO boxes for their mail. I don't know what to think... other than that I must reply. I feel like Bill Pullman in Lost Highway, being sent clips of my life by an unknown observer. If I'm honest I'm quite enjoying it, which is another reason why I have to reply- it's fun getting letters from fuck-knows-who and I want another one.

Any ideas, anyone? What might this mean?

Benoit.

Over the weekend the massively talented and well-respected WWE performer Chris Benoit apparently murdered his wife and child of seven years of age, then killed himself on the Monday. Details such as motive or murder weapon haven't been released as yet, but according to Fayette County District Attorney Scott Ballard...
"The details when they come out are going to prove a little bizarre."

Obese Racist Dies.

Expect to see a lot of "Racist? Naaah mate! 'Ee was the salt o' the Earth, loved 'his old muvvah 'e did" bullshit over the next day or so. Don't buy a bit of it. You don't spend fifty years of your life making racist jokes on stage and screen unless you're a total, dyed-in-the-wool cunt. Let's have a look at him being made a twat of- among others- on Brass Eye.


"One young kiddie on Cake... cried all the water out of his body. Just imagine how 'is mother felt. It's a fookin' disgrace".

Last Bit of Sham-Dram Nonsense For a While...

... I promise. The following are from the Gwent Gazette dated 12/06/2007- apologies for the rubbish quality, newsprint doesn't scan too well (click for full-size):

*Slow and Echoing Hand-Clap*

From digitalspy:

"A reality TV show which claimed that it would follow three young patients competing to win a kidney transplant has been revealed as a hoax.

The Big Donor Show - created by Big Brother producers Endemol - sparked outrage when it was announced by Dutch network BNN. The public was led to believe that the show would centre on a dying woman choosing a recipient for her kidneys.

However, Endemol have now announced that the programme was a hoax intended to create awareness of the shortage of donors in the Netherlands. While the show's "terminally-ill patient" was in fact a healthy actress, the three contestants are genuinely in need of transplants. All three were aware of the programme's true nature."

Okay, I got hoaxed. But it backs my point up completely that so many fell for this- in a world this fucked-up it sounds totally acceptable.

Theatre Pics.

Here we go then, some pics. Nothing of any real worth, sorry, but I do love the atmosphere of a working theatre- I've always been about process rather than product, and I hope these give a flavour of that process. Click 'em for full-size, as always.


The empty stage, there- Peter Brook would be proud.



I don't know- I've been performing now for eighteen-odd years, and I still find the theatre so much more interesting when there's no audience in it.

It's All Coming True.

Presenting The Big Donor Show, a reality-television special airing this Friday night in Holland where a cancer victim will choose which of three kidney-disease sufferers will inherit her kidneys after her inevitable death. The selection process will involve video diaries from the three hopefuls, conversations with their friends and families and, best of all, "viewers will vote by text to urge her who to choose after the videos... have been broadcast" (article here).

A decade ago, this sort of thing was what alternative comedy was made of- We've all seen The Day Today, one can imagine this win-a-kidney gameshow being hosted by Chris Morris in his meth-head Paxman guise, but it's totally real, and produced by (who else?) Endemol, Big Brother fans.

Keep in mind that every "TWAT #2 2 WIN LOL VIKI IN DRBY XXX" text that scrolls across the bottom of the screen during the new series is helping to fund television in which death and disease are boiled and sifted to make a televisual gruel on which CUNTS GROW FATTER AND MORE STUPID, and in which you're not texting to evict some dead-eyed no-mark, but to save an actual disease-ravaged human life.

Whatever next, eh? Anyone for Monkey Tennis?

The Best Day of My Life.

It seems like it takes a lot to get me blogging these days- there are loads of photos from the show I need to put up, as well as lots of news from work and such. I've got tickets to a talk by Armando Iannucci next weekend at the Hay Festival, which I'm ecstatic about, but really I'm here to talk about today.


The best day of my life.

I could give you the full preamble, but the bottom line is that I JUST SAW AND SPOKE TO CJ DE MOOI OFF "EGGHEADS" WHILE WALKING THROUGH ABERGAVENNY.

I Believe in Harvey Dent.

Exactly how fucking cool is that?

EDIT- NOT AS FUCKING COOL AS THIS:

AWESOME RECORD ALERT.

Enter Shikari are currently providing the soundtrack to my life. "Take to the Skies" is the finest album I've heard in a long, long time, even beating the brilliant new release from NIN in the "play it through then start it again" stakes. High-energy synth behind roaring yet melodic and lyrical metal. This band sound like they're channeling Faith No More at their finest- yup, they're that fucking good.

What a Cool Week.

I'm having a good one, I really am. Yes, this isn't the most scintillating website at the mo, but y'know. Fuck off.

Opening Night Tomorrow...

... and that's all I really want to say about that. Terrified, adrenalised, all that madness.

The Internet Reckons I Look Like Spider-Man.

Go on, have a crack at the myheritage.com facial recognition profiler.



It's great for listing celebs who look fuck-all like you.

When Graphic Design Attacks!

The poster for All 4 One, then:


(click for full-size)

So bad that the first time I saw it my eyes literally bled*.

*not literally.

Richard McBeef

I'm sure that this is the ten thousandth blog to mention this today, but being a Drama teacher I couldn't not. The good ol' Smoking Gun has unearthed and published the manuscript of a one-act play by Cho Seung-Hui, the face of evil* and the loner* responsible for Mondays atrocity at Virginia Tech campus.

The play is called Richard McBeef, and it has become my dream to bring it to the stage- I think it's exactly what the Gwent am-dram scene is crying out for.

*copyright ITN news.

There Are No Answers...

... and the sooner you stop looking for them, the sooner you can understand and appreciate the world on it's own terms. I believe that there was a time when there were answers, but back then we didn't know that we'd ever need to ask such difficult questions, so we let things slide. I love to dream of alternate realities splintering from our own, worlds where there is a point and a purpose and the difficult questions didn't have to be asked because way back when it counted, someone somewhere did the right fucking thing. If that other place exists, then it's a comfort to me- but that place is not this place. In this place we've gone too far, and there's simply no way back.

Okay! Hi all! Things are very fucking hectic here indeed- so, right? Last week, with just five weeks to go until curtain up, our lead fucking actor walked out. Upshot? I have to start from scratch learning the lead role for a show which starts now in just under four weeks time. Another actor whom none of the cast has ever even fucking met also has to step in to learn and perform my old role. This is sham-dram at it's finest, folks.

My work situation is worrying me a little, too- there's an interesting offer on the table from the LEA regarding work as a home tutor, but I just don't know where to hedge my bets for the long-term prospects. Gah.

Let's see, the bright side, the bright side... a new series of Peep Show, Xbox Live, Year Zero, a night with Gavo, wedding plans coming together, discovering how easy it is to give up smoking, the interwebs... see, on the small-scale it's a pretty beautiful life, but when the camera pulls back to show the bigger picture then it turns into fucking Babylon. Just spend fifteen minutes at foxnews.com, you'll see what I'm saying.

Oh and by the fucking way, regarding the worst shooting in American history which occurred yesterday- if you really want to bring the loss home to yourself, don't bother with the newspapers and television reports. Look up each victim's myspace and read the tributes being written by friends and loved ones. That's Tragedywang. And Marilyn Manson has a new album coming up- eh? EH? Coincidence?*

*No, it isn't. BLAME MANSON.

A Delightful Easter in Oxford

One More Reason to Love Lynch.

"... Then I Shall Blog in the Shade".

First and foremost a big "welcome" to my new niece Chloe, and gigantic congratulations to her Mam and Dad, my brother Alan and his wife Lyndsey. I've always sort of thought that all babies look the same regardless of gender, but I'm taken aback by just how lovely she is- all perfect-looking and little and wrinkly and confused by everything.

Excellent work.

School continues to be constant and fulfilling, wedding plans are continuing apace and the only thing that's really worrying me at the mo is the ever-creeping-closer opening date of All 4 One. The local paper is plugging it (click) and tickets have started selling... but it feels like we're really badly behind schedule. There's nothing worse than an underprepared performance, it's like eating half-cooked food or reading an unfinished book, it just disappoints and makes everyone involved look like a dick. There is still a month and a half to go though, so I won't shit it just yet.

Let's see... was able to have a typically messed-up night with Rob J and Kara last weekend- Big thanks to the former for the Gwar souvenirs (sorry I missed it, dude) and to the both of them for the stunning drinking-game bruise.

That's it for now- very much looking forward to 300 and TMNT this week.

To finish off, let's have a SophieFact-

"During the last year Sophie’s been listening to lots of Goldfrapp, Turin Brakes, Streets, Human League, Prince, and Heart FM".

Ooh!

Before I go, regarding the Cash Money E-Mail Experiment- No responses yet, although I'm still plugging away. I've gotten through quite a bit of marked cash by now, but it's all been in my home town or thereabouts. I've got a plan in mind to widen the distribution area a little, more in the next update. My legal advisors (i.e Laura) are advising me against continuing, what with the technical illegality of marking banknotes, but I really can't see the web police or interpol launching a sting operation on me, particularly not with Pete Townshend still at large.

Mark.

All's Right With the Internet Once More...

... as Harri returns!

Ooh, I Know...

... let's have a picture of Sophie Ellis-Bextor:

There's lovely.

Right, big update over the weekend- loads has happened but I've got literally NO TIME RIGHT NOW.

The Cash Money E-Mail Experiment.

If you saw an e-mail address hand-written on a banknote in your possession, what would you do?

I know what I'd do. I'd mail the fucker. I think lots of other people would too, and with that in mind I'm scrawling my hotmail address on any banknotes that come my way...

...and crossing my fingers that I get something interesting. Any and all responses will be posted here, naturally.

As an interesting aside, when I tried to open the above image in my usual photo program I got this:

... which at first made me reach for my tinfoil hat, worried that tsar Blair was controlling my computer via radio-waves in my fillings. A quick Google, however, taught me about something called the EURion Constellation, a pattern of dots on every banknote that's recognised by commercial printers and scanners, which triggers their blocking mechanisms to prevent counterfeiting- here it is:

That pattern of dots is hidden on every banknote- on the £20 it's disguised as musical notes. If you are considering chancing your arm at counterfeiting though, don't worry too much- there are tutorials all over the place on how to crack the fucker.

I learned something today. I hope you did, too.

No-one Likes a Smartarse.

Have that, ASIMO.

I love the cameraman at the end- "A-haha! Robo-san, he ferrovah!"

Squashed Tomatoes and Stew.

It's this blog's second birthday today.
Anyone who's ever left a comment, anyone who's chuckled, tutted, cursed or yawned at this site, you have my thanks. It feels as though shitloads has happened since 21/02/2005, but looking through the archive I suppose I must've either imagined it or not been arsed to write about it. My patch of internet continues to serve it's purpose though, so I can't see myself packing it in yet. Here's to the next birthday!

Girls Playing Video Games.

Such grace.

My favourite bit happens toward the end of the clip when one of them- probably Charlie, closest to camera- mutters "fucking bitch" under her breath. Classy.

I Don't Ask For Much.

Someone please buy me this please. And be quick, there's only two days to go. Let me know when you've got it, just leave a comment.

Cheers, nice one.

EDIT: Cuh, thanks a lot for NOTHING.

Learning Lines.

Hahaha, it really makes me laugh when I think about how shit I am at learning lines. Seriously, I'm awful at it. Really, truly dire. I'm laughing right now at just how shitty my line-learning skills are. Do you want some lines learned? Best look elsewhere, pal. Nah, seriously, I'm awful.

I've been looking for an excuse for ages to post a pic of Princess Di. Apropos of absolutely nothing, here is that picture:



Let us pray.

"O Princess of Hearts, lovely Lady Di, please shine your holy light on me from heaven and give me the strength to learn my lines, sweet sweet Lady Di, O scourge of landmines and curer of AIDS, O media-shy reluctant celebrity (DAMN those paparazzi DAMN THEM), please look to little Marko and help him in his hour of need".

That should sort it.

One More Angel in Heaven.

Snow Days 2007

"Fuck" I thought to myself just over an hour ago, "they weren't lying on the news, for a change. It's snowy as fuck out there".
Despite all the tales I've been told of my current headteacher being a non-school-closing kind of dude, school has succumbed and I get to spend the day in Hyrule breaking in to the new Zelda. Sweet as you like.
Here's the obligatory pic of Snow Day 2007- it's exactly the same as the pic from this time last year, which is either comforting or depressing, can't tell which yet.


EDIT: Wooooargh, Day II! Woke up at 06:45, snow started at around 07:00, just got another call to say school's closed AGAIN. I probably won't feel this pleased at the end of next month but for now, fuck it, four-day weekend!!

Christmas Arrives, Finally.

As you can see, I've got my Wii at last, and it's great. It's all thanks to my brother who saw some stock in Toys R Us and grabbed one for me.

Bit of a lovely weekend, actually- went to Bristol and had a session with Kara, Rob J and co, then got home to Wario Ware! Very nice. The only downside is that boxing doesn't half make your bloody arms ache, and that Laura keeps beating me.

"Schoolyard Penis Seen From Space"

From The Guardian:



"Two pupils who drew a giant penis on a school lawn using weed killer two years ago can still admire their work from satellite photos now posted on the internet.

Despite the school re-seeding the area, the penis has turned up on satellite image search engines because a photo was taken before the new grass could conceal the appendage".

Good work, lads!

On Parent's Evenings, Sleep Medication and a Right Cunt of a Cold.

Well, this is certainly turning into one of those weeks- despite my being in a lowly long-term cover position I've been following a policy of making myself as useful to the school as possible so when THE POSITION shows up, whenever that happens, I can be seen as an attractive prospect for them. With that in mind, this week I took part- voluntarily, mind- in my first parent's evening, chatting to families of my year ten pupils about their progress. Most of the families were fucking rednecks but they seemed pleased enough to have someone talking to them being as how the regular teacher is still off sick- I'd love to say more about why, but I really fucking really can't.
Anyway, what else? Well, since just after Christmas, right, I've been having this crazy-ass bout of insomnia. It's not the first time, but it's certainly the worst. I've been unable to sleep before 0300 or 0400, with my mind spinning and random, out-of-context phrases or words looping in my head, basically driving my ass fucking insane- I get up at half six, so I needs me my sleeps. Last week I went to the GP, and after doing her level best to diagnose depression (which she couldn't, as there is none) she elected to sort me with a week's worth of Zopiclone, AKA Zimovane. I've been prescribed this before in my late teens, but I don't remember the side effects being this intense- each night I've taken it I've been having vivid-as-fuck dreams, some of which have been quite nasty. Over the weekend I was in some Resident Evil III-type situation, only I remember being in a barn with a dead dog and I kept stabbing the fuck out if it with a pitchfork, really mashing it up even though I was aware of what I was doing and how crazy it was. They also give me a bit of an aftermong until about mid-morning the following day... add that to the utter gypsy CUNT of a cold I've come down with today, and it feels as though my skull has been stuffed with asbestos fibres- my sinuses are itchy and enflamed, I'm sneezing constantly, my nose is all scabby and I'm basically a bit of a drooling mongoloid right now. Wait, wait, I can't say "mongoloid", I mean I'm a drooling 'tard. No, not 'tard, spacker. Shit, sorry, I mean... look, I'm all over the shop. My head of department told me to go home this lunchtime, but I clung on until the end of school and added before I left that I'm taking tomorrow off if I still feel rough- I do, so on the bright side I'm having a fucking sick day tomorrow.

Well, that was an ill-thought out and poorly written rant. Don't blame me, it's the drugs.

"She Got A Big Face!"

A totally untouched pic here of Jo O'Meara from the current Celebrity Big Brother:

The Return of Bauer Hour.

Looking back through the archive, during the last series of 24 I note that every other post here was about how brilliant it was and how it was blowing my mind etc etc- I won't be doing the same this year as I realise how boring it must have been to read. I'll just say that the sixth season has now started in earnest, and five episodes in it's as shockingly good as ever.

What did I do before BitTorrent?

EDIT: I hate myself, but this made me laugh a lot.

EDIT AGAIN: Okay, this is the last mention of 24, I promise- this site has also been making me chuckle lots since the beginning of the new season.

Roll Up! Roll Up!

Haven't shown a decent accident of nature for ages, so feast your eyes on this poor fucker from LiveLeak.com:

Baby Born with Brain Outside Skull
A baby boy was born with a cleft palate and brain outside his skull in a maternity hospital in the southeastern Turkey recently. His parents have had trouble getting medical treatment due to a lack of local specialists.

HELL FREEZES OVER.

From www.thedigitalbits.com:

"Paramount has officially set Twin Peaks: The Second Season for release on 4/10".


Fucking hell, finally! The first season has only been sat on my shelf for something like six years. Still, better late than etc.

BURN YOUR TELEVISION.

I reached a conclusion today. Ready?

The power to imagine is dying.

I teach Drama, a subject that thrives on creative input from pupils. I make sure that the environment is one in which pupils can feel safe from ridicule and judgement, and I do my best to keep lessons lively- music, moving images, I try to fucking well keep it dynamic, but the time has to come where the pupil takes over and infuses their work with something of themselves. All the fuckers can do is rip off shit catchphrase comedy ("Eh-eh-ehhh!"), try to act the gangsta, or mug like pricks to get easy laughs.

Until I teach a class where the pupils can take a suggestion and run with it, can explore an inner world that doesn't come from a screen and can relate to each other in original terms without relying on pop-culture, then I'll stand by my assertion that the imagination is dying- each kid that gets a plasma screen in their bedroom forgets how to switch on the screen inside, where all the really good programmes are on. I'm speaking in broad terms, I know, but I love having the power of abstract thought and I don't want to see a generation without it.

Anyway, in other news, I'm actually going to see GWAR.

Some Tool Goodness.

Someone's phone-cammed and Youtubed a piece of the Tool concert I was at from November!

Cardiff International Arena, 30/11/06

The fucking sound-guy was all over the shop, eh? I didn't remember that, being wrecked and all.

Happy New Year, Everyone.