Las Pozas, MX - Surreal architecture left to the jungle
Ten questions.
1. Is this mystery man part of the medical staff? A steward? Is he registered to play?
2. What shirt is that, on the “Dutch” players? Not like Nike to be so modest.
3. Why does Van Persie begin his run-up before our mystery man is in position? Not very sporting.
4. Why do we only see three England players, plus the stricken goalkeeper, and whoever’s stood on Glen Johnson’s right? That’s four outfield players. You need at least five for a shoot-out, and at least seven in total to avoid the game being abandoned.
5. How, exactly, can we “work, rest, play our part for England”? By eating Mars Bars? How will that help? Because if we charged onto the pitch at the sharp end of an international, we’d be Tasered by security before we could shout “AND ST. GEORGE!”
6. Why is there a general presumption on the part of advertising agencies and their creative minds that throwing together an embarrassing, slapdash, incoherent mishmash of footballing components, with scant regard for production values or logic, or without a shred of respect for the intelligence of their intended target market, will help them sell their product?
7. Why are they right?
8. Why, given the brutal assault on all that is good and holy that this advert represents, would you release not one but two ‘making of’ mini-features?
9. What does Walcott say to Parker? Does it contain the words “dignity”, or “self-respect”, or “a new low for the human race”?
10. Why oh why doesn’t he finish his fucking Mars Bar?
The House That Heaven Built - Japandroids
An abandoned van and giant bowling pin - Japan.
La tête sur un plat, 1893
(Source: frenchtwist)
Liepāja, Latvia (photo by Geert Goiris)
(Source: theswagpolice)
“The saddest thing is that nothing can happen for an audience of 400 people anymore. Now it has to be on the internet and it has to be broadcast so widely. That intimidates people. Maybe that’s the issue that makes people want to be more inhibited onstage. It makes people more self-censoring. That’s the reason people think I’m a nutjob, because I don’t give a fuck who reposts or how I sound. I don’t Twitter, I just randomly urinate out of my mouth. And then people sift through the feces looking for seeds.”
Bradford Cox talks to us about his unique performance in Minneapolis last week, which saw him covering “My Sharona” for an hour and asking the crowd to take their clothes off. (via pitchfork)
Samuel Beckett
Playwright, novelist, and Nobel laureatemeets
André the Giant
Gargantuan professional wrestling legendIn 1953, fresh off the success of Waiting for Godot, Beckett bought a plot of land near the hamlet of Molien, in the commune of Ussy-sur-Marne, about forty miles northeast of Paris. There he built a cottage for himself with some help from a group of locals, including a Bulgarian-born farmer named Boris Rousimoff. Over the years, Beckett and Rousimoff became friends and would occasionally get together for card games. Rousimoff had a son, André, known as Dédé, who was something of a physical marvel. By the age of 12, André was over six feet tall and weighed 240 pounds. No school bus could hold him, and his family lacked the means to buy a car big enough to schlep him back and forth to school in Ussy-sur-Marne. Enter Boris’ old card-playing buddy Beckett, who owned a truck and was more than willing to pay his friend back for his help with the cottage by giving a lift to his enormous pituitary case of a son on his drives into town. Years later, when recounting his conversations with Beckett (which he did often), André the Giant revealed that they rarely talked about anything besides cricket.
← Earlier posts
Page 1 of 4
