8/31/2004 05:56:00 AM|W|P|dan|W|P| Ha. Lying Blogger bastard. "Write as much or as little as you like" it says in the little profile box. I wrote as much as I liked, and it told me it was too long. Listen mate, this isn't some silly little text message I'm sending so I can get a Busted ringtone for my phone, this is me, this is my heart and soul poured out onto a computer keyboard and turned into a load of ones and zeroes for you glance over while trying to steal a Bomb the Bass song off the internet. Oh yes, I look at the queries that lead people here, I know what you're all looking for. Apart from the person who typed in "symbolism of the gold bug in the parchment". I don't know what you're looking for.
Anyway, trying to fit my life story into less than 1200 characters was never going to happen, so here it is, as told to my ghostwriter (the same bloke who helped write the autobiography of some Third Division footballer)
"We may never know the true parentage of the boy who came to be called Dan. When the team of zoologists found the infant in that gorilla nest there was no clue to the child’s past, save the wreckage of a small twin engined plane, long since overgrown by the jungle and home to two skeletons, still strapped into their seats. We may surmise that these were his parents, but no convincing case for their identity has ever been put forward.
Thanks to this chance rescue, the boy became a media sensation. The publicity led to an anonymous benefactor stepping forward and offering to pay for the feral child to be educated at Eton.
It was clear early on that the boy, now nicknamed Dan by a hungry media, was destined for greatness. He excelled both academically and on the sports field and is reputed to have charmed several minor European royals.
At the age of ten he invented the Self Loading Catapult, that device which has done so much to revolutionise modern warfare. His fortune assured, the young boy decided to explore the limits of debauchery. For the next three years that is exactly what he did, gorging himself in fleshpots the world over, from the souks of Arabia to the docks of Marseilles.
This hedonism came to an end at the age of thirteen, when Dan had what he termed a vision. He announced that he had renounced his sybaritic ways and would henceforth adopt an ascetic life. True to his word, he spent the next few years living as a stylite. Perched high above the crowds below, yet oblivious to their din, he brooded on the infinite and, we may be sure, was vouchsafed the secrets of the universe by an admiring deity.
This was not enough to sate his lust for knowledge, however, and it was just a few years ago that he announced his greatest mission – to the very stars and beyond! His Cavorite-powered Astral Travelling Device was launched amid the wailing of women who had dreamed of one day giving themselves to him and the roars of a generation of boys to whom he become a hero.
If tonight you chance to look at the stars, think of him sailing that great stellar sea and weep, for those of us left behind will never see his like again."
It's all true.
|W|P|109389974825937836|W|P||W|Pfirstname.lastname@example.org/02/2004 02:55:00 AM|W|P|Sizemore|W|P|I think the gold bug in the parchment should be resolved by installing the dedicated tomb_robber v2.1 patch from indywasadog.com10/12/2005 03:49:00 PM|W|P|Bud Wiser|W|P|Wonderful page! Enjoyed it very much. I come from the land of hotlink caller ringtone so I know what I'm talking about!hotlink caller ringtone8/31/2004 05:47:00 AM|W|P|dan|W|P| I have no excuses for not updating this thing. I come empty handed with honeyed words that mean nothing.
But I will. I will.
Just not yet.|W|P|109389892243882959|W|P||W|Pemail@example.com/13/2004 06:08:00 AM|W|P|dan|W|P|"There came an old dog with a bad limp
He had a slow gait and a hunger
There was some pigeons on a wire
And they were open-eyed and still
There was an aura to the whole place
Like someone else was lurking
Such is the history of where someone has been killed...".
Listen to Marah.|W|P|109234495884978289|W|P||W|Pfirstname.lastname@example.org/13/2004 04:54:00 AM|W|P|dan|W|P|I picked up the new issue of The Walking Dead today. Wow, certainly some shocks in this one. This is rapidly becoming my favourite current comic. It captures the whole Romero atmosphere so well, and by cleverly spacing out its shock and gore gives us the opportunity to empathise with the characters and their plight. Which makes the shock and gore all the more shocking and gory.
Like Beavis & Butthead said about Radiohead's "Creep": If the bits that suck didn't suck as much, then the bits that rule wouldn't rule as much. And if there's a better description of the quiet/loud dynamic flogged to death by Nirvana et al out there, then i don't want to hear it.
I am blogging to:same record as just now|W|P|109234073827463175|W|P||W|Pemail@example.com/13/2004 04:15:00 AM|W|P|dan|W|P|I just linked to Searchlight magazine's website. If you don't know what that is, you really should read it.
"And I don't give a fuck about Combat 18" - Senser
I am blogging to: The Once Over Twice|W|P|109233832123172471|W|P||W|Pfirstname.lastname@example.org/11/2004 05:24:00 AM|W|P|dan|W|P|I forgot to mention that in that lovely sweet bubblegum song, her downstairs neighbour dies alone and gets eaten by his cats. I knew there was a reason I liked it.
I also found myself a vinyl copy of "Strings Of Life" today, which led to much excitement, but also unfortunately to me using the phrase "seminal Detroit techno record" in cold blood. To my wife, no less. |W|P|109216962423525290|W|P||W|Pemail@example.com/11/2004 04:41:00 AM|W|P|dan|W|P|IN WHICH, ONCE AGAIN, MUSIC SAVES THE DAY
as so many times before, my foul mood has been lifted by lines scored into a revolving piece of black plastic. This week's ticket to redemption is a silly litle pop song called 1980 by Estelle. It's based around some sort of generic R&B beat, and swamped in faux-Philly strings, all of which give Estelle the space she needs to rap about growing up in the 80s (the title refers to the year she was born. Jesus, I am old). Listening to Mel & Kim with her sister, remembering the time the weird neighbours burnt down their OWN house. A pretty normal life, but one that makes for a really affecting and charming song. Sometimes bubblegum is all you want or need. |W|P|109216743831861393|W|P||W|Pfirstname.lastname@example.org/09/2004 03:27:00 AM|W|P|dan|W|P|780 pages of Maggie and Hopey, coming soon. Oh yes...
I have spent most of last week growing a beard. That is about as interesting as it has got round here. Plans are in motion, though, and the game is afoot. Watch this space.
(This makes me think of the new ITV production of Sherlock Holmes. I am very dubious about Fry and Laurie as Holmes and Watson. In fact, I am dubious of Stephen Fry's ability to play anyone apart from Stephen Fry. Hmmmm)
I am blogging to: Mark Lanegan|W|P|109199000059462925|W|P||W|Pemail@example.com/02/2004 06:52:00 PM|W|P|dan|W|P|A busy week.
We went to a couple of gigs. Kings Of Leon played in the Temple Bar Music Centre, as part of the dodgy Bud Rising festival (Kids! Come and listen to music! And make sure you drink our crappy beer!). I think Esther enjoyed the gig more than I did. It wasn't bad by any means, but I didn't really get any more out of it than I would have if I had stayed at home, played the album very loudly and invited 600 very drunk Irish kids to jump around my living room and sweat profusely. Patti Smith played a couple of days later at Vicar St. I had only decided to try to blag a couple of tickets the week before, and they didn't arrive till the day before the gig. We were both collossally tired as well, and nearly blew it out. But we perservered, and were rewarded with a good show. I had been expecting/dreading all sorts of horrible clarinet noises and dismal poetry, but what we got was a really good rock show - her band were excellent, and she was a very powerful frontwoman.
We also went to see Before Sunset , as promised in an earlier post. My fears about Linklater and co messing up the beauty of the original were mercifully unfounded. It is great, and if anything, more enjoyable than the original. I am probably biased because 1) at this stage of my life, I can identify more with two people in their early thirties wondering at the way their lives have turned out than I can with the same two ten years earlier, filled with the invincible know it all arrogance of early adulthood, and 2) I am a total sucker for Paris, and Julie Delpy. Paris looks beautiful, the whole thing lasts a refreshing 80 minutes, and it has an absolutely killer ending. The best ending I've seen in a movie for years - so perfect, and so right.
I spent the weekend on Dartmoor for my friend Tom's stag weekend. It's the part of the world I love the most, but trekking across Postbridge in the sun has taken it's toll on my face, which is now glowing a lovely red colour.
Yours burnt but happy,
I am blogging to: Prince