Three days before she died, Amy Winehouse appeared on stage with her 15-year-old goddaughter Dionne Bromfield, at the iTunes festival in Camden. She didn’t do any singing, but she did dance along. Dionne was signed to Amy’s label Lioness and released her debut album Introducing Dionne Bromfield in 2009. After that, I needed a little cheering up. So, it’s the Marmoset song.
Remember when you were a kid, and you’d see some guy making balloon dogs or whatever, and you’d get to try yourself, so you’d make a couple of twists and wind up with balloon sausage links before the thing popped in your farking face? Well, check this out.
I stumbled across this crazy-ass balloon dinosaur on blogs and Tumbrs all over the web, with absolutely nobody crediting the artist. WTF people? Somebody, somewhere knows who made this thing. I kept looking and I THINK I’ve found him, through an article in the UK’s Daily Mail, and – full circle – it brings us back to Ontario. This guy lives in Oshawa and makes gigantic balloon animals, as well as balloon Harleys and balloon dresses. A noble pursuit, my friend, a noble pursuit.
Ugh. Poor Amy Winehouse. (Found dead, 27, etc. etc. as you know by now). That girl never had a chance, having totally cemented her place in pop culture with the brilliant, tragic, defiance of the Back to Black album. I’m sure she felt that her credibility relied heavily on her consistency. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this over the past few years, and even tried writing about it three years ago in an article I’m too embarrassed to link to, because I didn’t do a very good job. Thankfully, my friend John Woods, of the Wetspots, summed it up pretty nicely when he posted on Facebook, “These poor fuckers who paint themselves into a corner by so brilliantly chronicling their badassery [… ] If you never had street cred you don’t have to keep proving it.”
YES. That’s what I was trying to say.
As Robert Cialdini discusses in Influence: The Psychology of Persuasion, humans are remarkably swayed by their desire to be/appear consistent.
Here’s a brilliant performance by Amy at the BBC. When she was good, she was very very good. (Found via dangerousminds.net)
Here are some kittens on turntables.
I’m a little surprised at how surprised everyone is over the News of the World tapping phones and whatsit and whatnot. Really? Are you that shocked? Tabloid news has ALWAYS been that way. I just finished reading the book The Murder of the Century: The Gilded Age Crime That Scandalized a City & Sparked the Tabloid Wars, all about the newspaper showdown between Joseph Pulitzer and William Randolph Hearst, and the grisly 1897 murder that started it — the body turned up in pieces but the head was never found. They didn’t have the technology to tap phones but those guys would go to any lengths to win readership: skewering the truth, offering massive cash rewards — they had citizens tramping through the morgue by the hundreds, attempting to identify the corpse by its weiner — stuff Horatio Caine would NEVER let you get away with today.
Also, a while ago I read Tabloid Prodigy, by the stunningly self absorbed and unscrupulous Marlise Elizabeth Kast. A former tabloid journalist, Kast claims she left the profession because she started having doubts and something or other about a conscience. But no remorse is evident in the gleefully endless rationalization for doing things like sneaking into Roseanne Barr’s hotel room to rifle through stuff (and I hex you EXTRA, Ms. Kast, for making me take Roseanne’s side). It’s a good read. But tabloids are gross.
Anyhoodle. Came across this sketch from a Bit of Fry and Laurie, made in the 1995, in which the two Brit funnymen skewer Murdoch in a sketch spoofing It’s A Wonderful Life. I found it through Dangerous Minds, and a Tumblr post says they got to it through Roger Ebert’s Facebook page.
Clearly this stuff is nothing new and Murdoch has always been unpopular.
I am reading the book The Brain that Changes Itself by Norman Doidge, because I am hoping to change my brain and make myself smarter. In the book, he mentions Capgras’ delusion, a syndrome in which the sufferer thinks a loved one, or several loved ones – mom, dad, the family dog – have been replaced by impostors. Fascinating. This poor man. Ramachandran, the doctor in this clip, is a figure in the book.
I am late to this party. That’s OK. You can’t always be on top of everything. This is my new favourite song. Fucking magnets, how do they work? Indeed.