#jewfilter @thejackstevens @crks29 (Taken with Instagram)
I had to cut Ben off because Instagram deals only in squares (Taken with Instagram)
I’m writing this blog entry in abject fear of being abused online. It’s difficult to talk about disability, much like race, sex and religion, without the obvious remarks of ‘can you not be a little more subtle?’ and ‘You’re a callous, cold hearted bastard’ thrown in my face. But i noticed a few hours ago that i’ve not once clicked over to Channel 4 to watch the Paralympic Games, nor read about the success of the British athletes in the papers before i leave for work in the morning. I’ve not once been enthralled, inspired, proud. And i’m sat here now trying to figure out why. Here are my conclusions..
So with the continued fear of the London 2012 bid being a waste of the taxpayer’s money, the BBC were given the job of ramming the event so far down our throats the whole thing caused our stomachs to turn. It was more desperate than the skinny guy in the plain black shirt at the end of a Saturday night. He spent all that money on Topman shoes, and no-one’s going to suck him off? I remember the days when I could watch BBC One, knowing the transition between programmes was an effortless continuum, with perhaps a reminder that Lee Nelson’s ‘Well Good’ show would soon be broadcast, therefore forcing me to plan another activity between the hours quoted on-screen. But in the last several months i’ve been bombarded with reminders that the greatest event of all time is coming to my home capital. I know the Olympics are coming to London, okay? I saw the bid. People who want to watch the Olympics are already fans of sport, and maybe the lovers of Jessie J and Paul McCartney can enjoy the Opening Ceremony on the side. Anyone else has the right to sit down with a cup of Horlicks and enjoy Midsomer Murders. Yes, so the world’s fastest man has just stepped onto the track, and the world’s most decorated Olympian has just hopped into the pool, but some people really just don’t care. To them, swimming fast is just a dull combination of splashing wildly and kicking up and down. They have a right not to be drawn in by the occasion. Let them put their feet up and enjoy Agatha Crhistie’s stories seduce them to a sleepy slumber by 9pm on ITV4.
Now, I’m a BIG fan of sport. I rue the day the football season comes to a close and I shout as loud as the next man at my TV screen in the hope that Wayne Rooney will pull his finger out, because Dave in Nuneaton told him to. But there’s only so much a sport-frenzied Brit can handle. The football season got my blood racing harder than Jeremy Kyle’s drug habit on the weekends, and to top that off, we had to put up with another torrid England football campaign at Euro 2012. ADD that to a Great Britain football team as well, and my fingernails are positively lost deep within my digits until Winter-time. Now i’ll never be able to open that cheap DVD player remote. Combine all of this to the wonderful array of sports the Olympic Games has to offer – with a smartphone and unlimited 3G – you’ve got yourself a man wired, breathing, flowing to the sound of athleticism.
When the Olympics ground to a halt on that final Sunday evening; then hearing Jessie J and Emile Sande bellowing across the airwaves of 200 million homes worldwide, I’d just about hung my novelty Union Jack cap and scarf up for the decade. I switch channels to catch the last few tear-jerking moments of Embarrassing Bodies and oooh shit; ‘ARE YOU READY FOR MORE’ flashes in my face, like that unnecessary final drink on an evening in town with your friends. You know you’ve had enough. You know your body can’t handle much more alcohol on an empty stomach. The sharp combination of cheap Jagermeister with a dash of ‘Insert Punchy Adjective Here’ is thrust beneath your nose and your evening is plagued into darkness with the harrowing thought; it’s not over. There’s only one thing you want to do at this point; go for a cheap kebab, have an ice cool glass of Coca Cola and cuddle up in bed watching Coronation Street. But your dreams are shattered into a thousand dignity stealing pieces, as your friends suggest you move on to the next club. And guess what, the entry fee is a fucking bitch.
Maybe I’m a little late to the party, but I can’t help but offer my opinion, and thanks, to a band which caresses their listener’s ears like cool Greek yoghurt on a hot Summer’s day.
Gossamer is the second studio album released by Passion Pit, now signed to Columbia records. It’s worth noting this current 5-piece mastered from light techno and the less irritating Windows 98 computer noises, was formed as a late Valentines present by lead singer Michael Angelakos. That in itself is an invite to join Passion Pit on a slowly-sexed, relaxing adventure over the course of the 47 minutes.
When you switch this record on, you can still smell the remains of Manners, the 2009 debut, which have carried this band to heights such as the FIFA10 soundtrack, among other feats. This is music we should be enjoying in the basement, with the Xbox whirring, but such is the quality, it’s started to fill festival tents across the world. The interesting sound is enough to pull in new crowds at every public appearance, and that’s admirable. Manners was a relaxing walk through the life of an Amiga keyboard; journeying across delights such as the powerful start of Make Light, to a big hitting, remix-able anthem in Sleepyhead, and finally down a road of cheap ecstasy and hallucination with Let Your Love Grow Tall.
Passion Pit still hold their distinctive sound which featured in songs such as Little Secrets and The Reeling, and arguably they’ve matured to this present day. Take A Walk dives straight into a techno beat reminiscent of Make Light in the first album, and Passion Pit rarely look back, or change tack. I can’t help but enjoy the super-gay 70’s vibe present in Carried Away, it’s like a night out with Bucks Fizz after Eurovision, drinking Smirnoff Ice with a curly straw.
The major selling point is catchiness. Many songs stick in the head and you find yourself wandering back to your iPod to hit replay when they start to close.
Constant Conversations encapsulates Passion Pit at their best, with a slow moving ballad you hope would last just a little longer than 4 minutes. Passion Pit offer a mature sound which I’ve only heard Frank Ocean and Temper Trap rival in recent times. It’s a shame Summer’s nearly over. Is it as good as Manners? No. But saying that, not much is these days.
My rating: 9/10
If you enjoyed this, listen to: Temper Trap – Conditions, MGMT - Oracular Spectacular
Tony Pulis' Penis Hat: Theo Walcott: Transfer Talk -
Since Theo has decided he clearly deserves a payrise at a club which refuses to overpay and/or be bullied by it’s key players, it looks increasingly likely he will be moving away from the Emirates this week. With only a year left on his contract, Theo is in a strong position. Acknowledging your…
MY WORD. This is special. (Taken with Instagram)
You don’t know me, or a couple of my friends who also added you on Facebook. But we feel we know you; and the wonders you can produce on a football field.
A few years ago, in a drunken stupor, 5 friends and I embarked on a FIFA 10 career mode journey, starting out as the fearless Dagenham and Redbridge. After several late nights, beers, arguments over squad selection and screams of ‘PASS PASS!! WHY DONT YOU PASS!!’ .. we made it to Champions League glory.
We signed up contracts for many big names along the way, but a couple of the squad players made it to the end. You scored in the final. In fact, you scored in many finals. Somehow, for a player with approximately 63 shooting ability on the game, you could crack them in from almost anywhere.
I’d like to keep the dream alive by believing that yourself, Jon Nurse and Abu Ogogo had great times in that Dagenham dressing room – and on the pitch alike.
It broke our hearts to learn of your misfortune with injuries, but we are all pleased you have made a return to the beautiful game and wish you all the best for the future. Perhaps in a couple of years we will see you rise again with Thurrock FC, and we will once again seek to lift the famous (FIFA) European cup with the likes of Daniel Okah and Warren Goodhind.
Dave, Craig, Tom, Matt, Ant, Jack & Ben.
You know when you see a trending topic on Twitter and you think to yourself, ‘I know exactly what the scummy little hippies of today are going to fuck this up by saying..’
‘CHEATING IS NOT OKAY!! OMG WHY IS THIS TRENDING!? I RESPECT WOMEN!’
You can go suck a dick because you’re wrong. Well, mostly wrong. Relationships are embraced because people like continual sexual activity with the same downstairs organs. They also like conversing with one another about fictional characters and best of all; they fall in love. Most people my age have fallen in ‘love’ now. And many have been cheated on. I don’t think that’s a problem, though. I put “ marks around the word love because when people aged 22 are getting married.. I wonder If I could approach the guy the night before the wedding and say.. ‘So, you’re going to be spending the rest of your LIFE with this person… sucks dude.’ I bet a few of them would jilt the fuck out of their childhood sweat-hearts.
The rest of your life at this age is a fucking long time – unless you’re a chain-smoking pothead who loves the odd game of Russian roulette.. or just has terrible luck with genetically transferred diseases. We’re talking 60 years of sexing the same person. Putting up with the same person’s mood swings, arguments and problems. But obviously it’s not all bad. I’m a sceptic. But I’m a sceptic because I know how much I’ve changed in the past 5 years. I’ll be a different person after the next 5. Fuck, I might even grow a beard – and learn to play the Accordion. How do you like me now, Lucy Spencer!?
One of my favourite lyrics of the last couple of years falls from Childish Gambino’s (Break) All of the Lights remix.
“Whatever, man, I’m just havin’ fun
I’m sorry that I fucked her but now you know she’s not the one
I’m doin’ you a favour..”
He’s got a point. The next time you walk in on a beast of a man doinking your missus; don’t hit him with a hammer. Congratulate the chap. He just saved years of lies and a poor, tear-jerking love crushing story that probably won’t be re-written and re-enacted by Michael Cera. He’ll even make you look like a massive nerd. Then compile those wasted hours finding a new love.. or maybe, finally completing Manager mode on FIFA with Accrington Stanley? Who cares dude; you don’t have to text them anymore about the new series of Sex & the City. Look on the bright side.
The same applies to you; girls. Your guy cheated on you? Fuck him. Re-engage with your best friends and go tap another guy. With a bigger, wider cock. Yeah.
Really starting to hate 3G pitches (Taken with Instagram)
My brother is a house-nazi (Taken with Instagram)