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A sprawling metropolis of the mind. Est: 1970. Population: 1. FAQs Suede at HMV Big Brother Eviction Gloomy Bear Harry Potter & Me Top 10 Books Top 10 Albums Top 10 Films Teaching in Japan New Year in Kyoto Being Veggie in Japan Photo Albums Asakusa Tokyo Tokyo 2 Bangkok Chiang Mai Phi Phi 1 Phi Phi 2 Kyoto Farewell Fusako Nova Kids New York 1 New York 2 Rats! Las Vegas San Francisco Los Angeles San Diego SD Zoo Winter Wonderland Routes outta MarkCity: Peak Performance Japan Today Sports Injury Bulletin Bookgirl The Guardian Hmmm Chariotaku Toast and Coffee Raymi the Minx I am a Donut Japanese Streets Sashimi Girl James Braxton Bamboo Life Strange Place Japan Box J-list Northern Monkey Auspicious Fish VegNews Mori Chack 
 Archives 
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Sunday, July 27, 2003
I've added another new page to this site - my Top 10 Albums. A late entry in the Bad Lyric challenge, from David. This is a classic piece of goth pretension from Bauhaus (pronounced Bowwwwww-haus): In the Marbled reception Halls I received a three band Gold ring from Mark. A token of esteem. Running through Ghost Hall locker rooms to hide from Clancy who has fallen to the floor emitting a seemingly endless stream of ectoplasmic white goo from ears and mouth.. Beautiful. I have a feeling this bad lyric thing could run and run. Saturday, July 26, 2003
The world is a sadder place today. Big Brother is over. To mark this occasion I've got The Cure's best and most miserable album, 'Disintegration', playing on the stereo and I've arranged for it to piss down. I feel slightly depressed because BB was won by a fish trading virgin who refuses to drink and have fun, and who thinks that gay couples shouldn't have the same rights as straight ones and that it's okay to belt children. Still, at least Steph - who has never masturbated because she thinks it's 'violating yourself' - didn't win. I'm not going to dwell on it. It's over. And Pop Idol 2 starts soon. I've been a bit rubbish at blogging lately because I've been trying to concentrate all my writing efforts into 'Sayonara Baby'. I'm resisting pressure to change it to 'Love in the Time of Karaoke'. Speaking of writing efforts, the BBC Book of the Future comes out on Thursday, and I'm going to the launch party that same day. I will of course report back on it for you. I'm not sure where it's going to be yet but I've been assured it won't be in the infamous BBC canteen. Shame. My bad lyric challenge went quite well. I think Darren came up with the worst - the entire lyric to Bryan Adams' I Wanna be Your Underwear: I wanna be - your lipstick when ya lick it I wanna be - your high heels when ya kick it I wanna be - your sweet love babe - ya when you make it From your feet up to your hair - more than anything I swear I wanna be - your underwear Well done, Darren. You win an old pair of brown Y-fronts from the Tunbridge Wells Oxfam. This week's challenge is to find the best lyrics of all time. Here are my nominations: I dreamt about you last night And I fell out of bed twice -The Smiths, 'Reel Around the Fountain' Wait! What if there's an explanation for this shit? What? She tripped? Fell? Landed on his dick? -Eminem, 'Guilty Conscience' Well, I think they're good, anyway. Your mission, if you accept it, is to beat them. Saturday, July 19, 2003
 Antmusic for sexpeople, sexmusic for antpeople After watching Channel 4's brilliant Adam Ant documentary on Thursday night, I would like to publicly take back the unkind things I said about Adam Ant after seeing him at the Groucho Club. I feel like some scummy tabloid sneerer and have been punishing myself by lying on nails and listening to Phil Collins records. Only joking - I'd never go that far. No crime could ever deserve the punishment of listening to Phil. Actually, no one listens to him any more, do they, for any reason. And the world is a better place for it. Returning to the subject of the original White Stripe, like many other 30somethings I went out and bought an Adam and the Ants CD yesterday so I could wallow in nostalgia. Ah, 'Stand and Deliver', 'Prince Charming', 'Antmusic'... such great records. It's a shame the CD doesn't include that old classic 'Lady', which featured the immortal lines: I saw a lady and she was naked I saw a lady she had no clothes on I had a good look through the crack Footmarks up her back How did they get there? She was naked They don't write 'em like that anymore. Actually, I think that listening to pervy Adam ant records when I was 11 probably turned me into the well-adjusted pervert that I am today. And sticking with pop lyrics, Butter was amazed that I could remember the lyrics to all of these songs that I hadn't heard for nearly 20 years. But we can all do that, can't we? Our brains are full of junk from our teenage years: adverts, pop lyrics, the plots of Doctor Who stories. Leaving very little room to remember important stuff like the date of the Battle of Waterloo, or your own telephone number. This is true. I know the lyrics to 'Ant Rap' but not my own phone number. Scary stuff. Anyway, here are my nominations for the worst pop lyrics of all time. Please feel free to suggest your own terrible lyrics. Go on, leave a comment! Promises me I'm as safe as houses As long as I remember who's wearing the trousers -Depeche Mode, 'Never Let Me Down Again' She used to be a diplomat But now she's down the laundromat -Spandau Ballet, 'Highly Strung' I'm hot like an oven I need some lovin' -Marvin Gaye, 'Sexual Healing' Before he leaves the camp he stops He scans the world outside And where there used to be some shops Is where the snipers sometimes hide -The Human League, 'The Lebanon' And the winner of the worst lyric of all time: A Pizza Hut, a Pizza Hut, Kentucky Fried Chicken and a Pizza Hut -Fast Food Rockers, 'A Big Steaming Pile of Poo' Wednesday, July 16, 2003
Fame at last. Well, a miniscule dose of nano-fame. The Beeb sent out their Book of the Future announcement email today, and guess who the lead item's about... Here's the first 2 paragraphs: Dear Contributors, Welcome to the newsletter for the Book of the Future. You may have already heard that there are 76 articles to be published in the book, but there are some added extras, too. In this newsletter you'll get the low-down on some of the contributors and an insight into the world of those people who are changing the world for the better. This is also where the BotF Team do the Full Monty and bare all for a sneaky peek behind the scenes in the countdown to launch. *** Researcher of the Week *** Mark R Edwards (http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/onthefuture/U217481) wrote his article for the Book of the Future while living in Tokyo, where he worked for a year as an English teacher. In his contribution to the Book of the Future - Harry Potter and the Mortgage Repayments of Doom (http://www.bbc.co.uk/dna/onthefuture/A959989) - he looks at how the Potter phenomenon spiralled out of control for both the central character and his creator. Sunday, July 13, 2003
A quick catch-up as I've been inexcusably slack this week. Although it's not really inexcusable - I have been busy, and not just watching Big Brother. However, while we're on the subject of the greatest show on earth, I just want to say two things: Jon Tickle's back! Woo-hoo!; and Despite a start that tested even the most devoted BB nut, this series has turned into a classic. The Scott-Nush thing is almost as exciting as the Paul-Helen romance. But we've only for 2 weeks to go. What am I going to do after that!? I went to the Groucho again the other night. Celeb spot: Stephen Fry, again; one of those psychologist women from BB (exciting for me); and Ricky Gervais from The Office, smoking a fat cigar in Dean Street. I also bumped into an old friend, Salena, who I've mentioned on here before. It was weird, knowing two people at the Groucho. Made me feel dead popular! Butter and I have spent the weekend planning. No, don't get excited. Not marriage and definitely not a baby. But we might be hearing the patter of tiny feet soon as we want to get some rats. (I hope my landlord never stumbles across this site.) I will, of course, update you. We're also planning our holiday for next year: we want to do a road trip around California. It will, of course, be hugely expensive, so there's going to be a lot of penny pinching over the next few months. I've come up with a title for my novel: SAYONARA BABY. This was after everyone told me that Love in the Time of Karaoke, my original title, was crap. I've spent the last few weekends knocking the first 35,000 words into shape, because it was a total mess - loads of scenes in the wrong order, characters not connecting properly. It's almost sorted out now, but I've still got masses to write. Tuesday, July 08, 2003
 To blog or not to blog I've been left to fend for myself tonight because Butter has gone to an al fresco performance of Twelfth Night. I probably could have gone (note to self: remember to ask girlfriend why I wasn't actually invited!) but Shakespeare is one of those things, like running and watersports, that I don't do. When Butter started going out with me, she misguidedly believed that I was cultured, because I read a lot. Since then, she's realised her mistake and there's been a culture war going on between us. Long time readers of MarkCity might recall that she forced me to go to the ballet earlier this year. In return, I dragged her to the Big Brother eviction. She enjoys Radio 4, I dig Radio 1. She wants to go to the theatre, I'd rather play on the GameCube. She says tomato, I say toma'o. But I'm not a complete philistine. I read highbrow literature (but not classics because they're boring). I know my art from my elbow. And I watch films with subtitles. So I could be much worse, as I realised last time I was on the South Bank. I'd popped into the National Film Theatre to use the loo, and while in there I heard the following exchange between a bloke and his 10-year-old son: Son: What is this place? Dad: It's the National Film Theatre, innit? Son: What's that? Dad: It's like a cinema. Where they show foreign films. Son (astonished): Foreign films? But... how can people understand them? Dad: They have subtitles, don't they? Son (incredulous): Foreign films? Why? I would guess he's not a big Shakespeare fanatic either. But here's a thought: if Shakespeare were alive today, I bet he'd have a blog. Thursday, July 03, 2003
I'm reading The London Pigeon Wars at the moment, which has given me a new word to use: twirtysomething. That's someone between 27 and 34. My friend Maggie (who's 22) said this is just a way for some 30somethings to cling to their youth for a little longer. To which I say, 'Yeah. So what?' I'll be clinging until my fingers bleed. However, we are doing something grown up this week: we're having a dinner party. Unfortunately, we don't have any furniture, so it could be the world's first 'bring a bottle and chair' party. So Henman's out. What a surprise. I'm always torn between cheering for him because he might be the only British player within my lifetime with a chance of winning, and jeering him because he's a posh twit. It's his dad that really gets me. He looks as if he's just had a bad strawberry. Which leads me to bad apples. Lisa is stirring things up in the Big Brother house. God knows it needs it. Here's a public plea: please please please vote for Gozzzzzzzzzzz. He has to be the most boring man in the history of the world. Apart, perhaps, from a former colleague of mine called Reg, who proclaimed himself to be 'an accountant with a sense of humour'. This is just stream of consciousness drivel, isn't it? Look, if you want biting political satire, read something else. It's my blog and I'll witter if I want to. |