WHEN BULLSH*T PRACTICALLY GALLOPS

My emphasis added to this report from the SMH courtesy of the "American Journal of Preventive Medicine" (????!!!!!!) …

A new US study has found that kids who listen to music with raunchy lyrics are more likely to engage in sexual activity than kids who don't.

The study, to be published in the American Journal of Preventive Medicine, did not find a causal link between crude music and teen sex, but indicated that "people who are exposed to certain messages in music are more likely to copy or emulate what they hear", said study author Dr Brian Primack in a statement ...

... The research in 2006-07 asked 711 year nine students around Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, about their sexual activity and the songs they liked to listen to ...

...The researchers found that youths who listened most to "degrading" songs were more than twice as likely to have had intercourse as other kids in the study ...

“Do you have sex Otis?”

“I rooted the teacher on the football field last week, Doc. So did Buster. And Randy too. Then we went and ate some Twinkies and watched “Iron Man” again.”

Former Fairfax writer and “Daily Truth” blogger Jack Marx had this to say on a similar topic in 2007, addressing Joan Sauers claims about teenage sexuality in her book “Sex Lives of Australian Teenagers” …

Testimony-based science is vexed at the best of times, human beings so prone to bullshit - both the agenda-driven variety and the seemingly pointless - as we all know they are. The risk is amplified when the theme is sex, a topic upon which everyone can be relied to either lie through embarrassment or embellish through boast. Add to that capricious brew the fact that your interview subjects are such notorious opponents of exactitude as teenagers, their respect for scientific endeavour so often overwhelmed by a lust for pranks and the crush of peer pressure, and you've got a pile of "data" that might easily be mistaken for a pile of something else …

… Allow me to provide some preliminary conclusions of my own: the data in Sex Lives of Australian Teenagers is, for all academic purposes, frivolous junk, which no serious "specialist" should regard as having any more academic credibility than the Logies.

Yep. Reckon so.

VIRTUAL PANADOL FRIDAY

Last night, my first real meal in six days after retching sickness. A six buck takeaway of soy-steamed chicken in noodle soup. And a can of Guinness.

My, it was good.

And now, to another matter entirely ...

I didn't catch the original UK version of "Life On Mars", but I've managed to catch the first 2 episodes of the US edition and so far I like what I'm seeing. What can you say about Harvey Keitel that hasn't already been said? The man's a fucking legend. And Gretchen Moll is practically unrecognisable from the last role I saw her in as Betty Page. Anyway, the theme song has been rabbiting around my head all day, so I thought I may as well plonk it down here ...



From 1973, David Bowie "Life On Mars"

NOSES OFF

I couldn’t be bothered for the rest of the week.

I’m on annual leave from Friday until early January, so there won’t be nothin’ going on here but spam and dust bunnies and virtual tumbleweeds.

So, have a happy whatever and a merry thingymawhatsit …



From ?, Jane Siberry “Love Is Everything (Live)”

VIRTUAL LAY DOWN AND DIE FRIDAY

I’m in a murderous mood.

I will not go into details, but it’s a filthy, foul, hateful, horrible murderous mood, and if anyone so much as looks at me askance today, I will slit their fucking throats and shit down their fucking necks.

Understand?

Now, as the scummy, low-life, gutter-sucking thrush buckets at Universal Music Group don’t allow embedding of their fucking material, go here to see Richard Kern’s clip for Sonic Youth and Lydia Lunch’s “Death Valley ‘69”. That's where my head's at right now.

In a similar vein, what I wouldn’t give to see Siouxsie Sioux beat the crap out of shiny-faced, pump-titted scrags like Spears, et al with a nail-studded baseball bat …

I’d pay good money for it. Fucking lots of money.



From 1983, Siouxsie & The Banshees “Helter Skelter”

TOM ♥ JULIE BISHOP

You and your pussycat nose, whoa-oh-oh-oh …

VIRTUAL PANADOL FRIDAY

From Dikipedia …

"The only thing Sarah Palin seems to enjoy more than having children is giving those children ridiculous names and inadequate sex education …

… On August 29, 2008, Republican presidential candidate Senator John McCain performed perhaps the greatest political mindfuck in American history by announcing that he had chosen Sarah Palin as his running mate. Palin celebrated by ovulating."

Now ... WATCH ME SEGUE! ...

From ovulating to the chilly twilight of barren, menopausal misery, Filmthreat have compiled their Frigid 50 for 2008, “The 50 Coldest People in Hollywood” … Curiously, neither Tom Cruise or Lindsay Lohan make the cut, which must surely mean their careers are no longer just cold, they’ve decomposed altogether and have now become one with the ether …

Coming in at No. 13 this year is …

“Scarlett Johansson - Funny how quickly that Next Big Thing title slips away, isn’t it? Not to worry, Woody Allen never tires of his young ingénues. Just ask Mia Farrow.”

Awww, poor Scarlett.

I must confess I’ve never really paid much attention to Ms. Johansson’s acting abilities. Although I do seem to recall her arse featured quite prominently in the opening credits of some movie a while back … What was that called? “Virgin Suicides”? … Whatever …



Yeah, that one. Meh.

I think it would be quite a good idea if all movies in future opened with a close-up of Scarlett Johansson’s arse. Might be just the ticket to give a much-needed lift to all these dark and depressing “small” films that blight the cinematic landscape so, with their vanishing-point narratives of doom and wretched angst, stuffed with spotty teenagers or those horridly inconvenient wobbly folk with their unsightly disabilities; fat slapper mums in fluffless fluffy slippers with upper arms that look like punched pudding dough and drugged-out deadbeat dads forever hauling slabs of XXXX from the ute to the dunny fridge who like to piss on the family dog at night for giggles.

It’s just what movies need these days, I reckon. More arse.

Yet topping (so to speak) the Frigid 50 list at No.1 is “our” Heath Ledger, the man whose face I’d like to put on a t-shirt accompanied by the slogan “Best Sleeping Pills Ever” …

“Develop the posthumous ability to go back in time and read some pharmacology textbooks that might’ve clued you in to the fact that mixing OxyContin, hydrocodone, Valium, temazepam, Xanax and doxylamine wasn’t a wise move. Hell, go ahead and lend them to River Phoenix while you’re at it.”

Run, River, run!!

And with that, a smoother segue into song you will never find. On this blog, at least …



From 1995, Suddenly Tammy “River Run”

VIRTUAL PANADOL FRIDAY

Talk about a filthy frame of mind …

I’m holding the elevator door open for a couple of guys who are only a few steps away. Polite thing to do, I reckon. They get to the elevator and stand outside the door, peering in, as if in awe that it is open. So I say …

“Either get in or feel free to loiter, but I’m going and I’m going now”.

So in they get. In a somewhat sheepish fashion, shall we say.

Yes, I know.

And while I’m at it, if this thing actually happened (which I very much doubt), it’s just a damn shame they didn’t pull the trigger and blow his ugly fucking face off. Wearing a hairstyle like that in public should be a criminal offence punishable by death anyway. What a silly little cockhead.

Anyhow, this clip is from an age when women with “attitude” (Hello Granma Madge, Pink, et al) didn’t have to throw themselves about in front of a camera like so many Z-grade porn-zombies in order to get a little attention …

Yummy.



From 1987, Siouxsie & The Banshees “The Passenger”

VIRTUAL ECSTACY FRIDAY

I'm currently feeling way too good about things to blog anything even remotely coherent ...



From 1968, The Staple Singers, “Reach Out, Touch A Hand”

EYES ON THE PRIZE

From 2007, Mavis Staples “Eyes On The Prize”

VIRTUAL PANADOL FRIDAY

I was planning on posting a colossal dummy spit about what a thoroughly crappy decade this has been so far …

Maybe next week. Depending on what happens next Wednesday, maybe not.

In the meantime, this song popped up on my IPod yesterday as I was walking home from work. This is the live version …



From ?, Cassandra Wilson, “Harvest Moon”

GO AWAY!!!

The music industry’s equivalent of an albino blaxploitation Freddy Kruger is threatening to scare the world shitless again by poking his horribly deconstructed visage back into public view to squeak out some daggy old tunes in a pretty desperate and transparent attempt at shoving some moolah back into his much-depleted coffers.

God help us.

“Bad”? “Dangerous”? For fuck’s sake, the guy’s about as “bad” and “dangerous” as Don Knotts and those anemic gyrations of Jackson’s would make a St. Vitus afflicted Wiggle look hot by comparison.

I've never owned a copy of Jackson's "Thriller". Not even a single off it. Or anything else he’s done. Well may people say it's the biggest-selling album of all time or whatnot, but you couldn't sell one to me if it had a pair of tits growing from it or projected a hologram of Scarlet Johannson wandering around my living room stark naked …

[…]

[…]

[…]

[…]

Well, maybe you could sell one to me if it projected a hologram of Scarlett Johannson wandering around my living room stark naked, but I wouldn’t listen to it …

[…]

I can’t think straight right now.

Come back tomorrow.

VIRTUAL PANADOL FRIDAY

Meanwhile, on the other side of the world …

Crisis? What crisis?**

It doesn’t take much more than that to get a sense of perspective about all this crap people are forever whining about, their sense of entitlement to things that many would regard as manna from heaven. Listening to these millionaire, middle-aged men in thousand dollar identikit suits flap on and on and on interminably about how everything’s thoroughly fucked but none of it was their fault but can we please have a few gazillion dollars to get us over this rough patch …

What a load of crap.

Just jump, you silly fuckers.

Leave us in peace to enjoy some of the simpler pleasures in life.

For example …



From 1973, The Staple Singers “If You’re Ready (Come Go With Me)”

**Photographs by Toaf's Missus, Vasco Pyjama

VIRTUAL PANADOL FRIDAY

Look, we’re all screwed, okay? And given the way people are talking you’d think we were heading to a fate as supporting players in a fiction by Cormac McCarthy set in the 9th circle of hell. But, until that time comes …

Fuck it. Let’s dance …



From 2001, Brooklyn Funk Essentials, Live at Carhaix, France

VIRTUAL PANADOL FRIDAY

I've recently come into possession of an iPod Shuffle, one of those tiny little player things no bigger than a thumb-joint. I won it in a competition at work, and it's the first such gizmo of its sort I've owned. I’m not really big on gadgets. Mostly, they break down and just piss you off or they sit around in drawers and cupboards for years gathering dust until you need to pack them into a box when you move.

Anyway, a couple days ago, I loaded this gadget with a bunch of cd's and tracks from home and I've been listening to it on my way to and from work.

So far, I've got 227 songs on it and it's only half-full. I've seen cockroaches bigger than this bloody gadget. How do they do that? But I'm convinced. It's a good gadget. And, as I didn't have to pay for it, that makes it even better.

Also, I think it may come in very handy when I'm up the pub trying to have a quiet drink. Strangers may think twice about striking up a conversation about some fucking game or other if they see I'm otherwise plugged in ...

"Who do you think's going to win the big game?"

"What game? Is there a game on? What of? Chess?"

One of the albums I loaded was "La Llorona" by Lhasa De Sela, and this live clip is a stunning version of one of the most beautiful tracks from it ...



From 2006 (?), Lhasa De Sela, “De Cara a la Pared” (Live)

VIRTUAL PANADOL FRIDAY

I first became aware of the music of Estonian composer Arvo Pärt when some of his works were used for the soundtrack of the 1996 Canadian adaptation of Kurt Vonnegut's "Mother Night" (an excellent film).

I was trying to track down a decent clip for Pärt's "Requiem for Benjamin Britten", but no luck. Instead, this is an interesting visual interpretation of a shorter piece, and quite well done ...

Clip by Cesar Harada

VIRTUAL PANADOL FOR A FRIDAY AFTERNOON

Thank God it's Friday, so ...

... I've always loved this song in all its incarnations whether it be by Linda Ronstadt, Mike Nesmith (who wrote it) or The Lemonheads.

Here's another version, and a fine one it is, too ...



From (?), Susanna Hoffs and Matthew Sweet “Different Drum”

VIRTUAL PANADOL FOR A FRIDAY AFTERNOON

Wow.



From 1997 (?), Emmylou Harris and Robert Duvall “I Love To Tell The Story”

TRY THIS INSTEAD ...

I am currently unwell and just couldn’t be arsed for a few days.

So, whoever you are, watch this clip instead. It beats getting tied up in knots over the continuing frenzy about Bill Henson ...

... Somebody has put together a clip using footage from various Hollywood films and set it to the tune of Iggy Pop’s “The Passenger”. I think it works a treat ...



From 1977, Iggy Pop “The Passenger”

BLUDGET? BLODGET? ... IS THAT, LIKE, ONE OF THOSE BLOG THINGAMYS?

What can one say about the hapless Federal Opposition Leader Brendan Nelson, he of the disappearing eyes, that has not already been said time and time and time again?

On and on and on and on he goes, imploring the current government to do this and do that and not do something else, all the things he wishes to be done and undone being things that neither he, nor former Prime Minister John Howard, the now-flushed, previously unflushable turd in a tracksuit, had ever considered doing or undoing over the previous 11 years.

It really does beggar belief.

The man’s wetter than a thrice-used condom in a toilet bowl. Fuck off, Brendan.

Idiot.

In other news, Andrew Bolt’s just now cottoned on to the theory that fat people will kill us all. Ahem ... Well, Andrew, this little blogger right here picked up on that particular topic about a month back when a rather hysterical letter on the topic of obesity appeared in the Sydney Morning Herald.

See? Anyone could do Bolt’s job and do it a damn sight better too. So. Gis a job, eh? Come on. Gis a job. Ya lazy cunt.

Now. Let’s see ...

... As I continue in my frantic efforts to avoid the cacophony of whingeing and whining about "budget-related" topics in order to prevent a possible brain aneurysm and try instead to occupy my time with things pleasing to the eye and ear, down below is a rarely seen clip by the wonderful John Lurie and his Lounge Lizards from their 1986 album "Big Heart: Live In Tokyo"...

... Unfortunately, Lurie, who to many would be more familiar as that actor fellow from Jim Jarmusch's "Down By Law" and "Stranger Than Paradise", has not been able to perform for many a year due to a mysterious and debilitating illness, and now spends most of his time painting (sorry about this John, but no, I cannot buy one of your prints for 500 US bucks right now as I've just forked out 300 bucks for a new pair of reading glasses and the electric bill and the dentist is due next month, so I'll take a raincheck old chap. I'll give you a hoy-hoy sometime in 2015 perhaps) ...

... Anyway, this track (Lurie on sax and screams), and the clip, is an absolute corker. Play loud. Trust me ...



From 1987, The Lounge Lizards "Big Heart"

BUDGET? BUDGET? ... IS THAT, LIKE, A TYPE OF SMALL PARROT?

Honestly, listening to the cacophony of complaints as footsoldiers from the legions of the stupid whine about the unfairness of being expected to cope with life and the raising of their kiddies on a salary of 150K per annum in light of recent budget cuts is enough to make a person want to punch a wall.

It would, as one letter writer in today's Sydney Morning Herald put it, "bring tears to a glass eye".

On ABC Sydney radio 702 yesterday morning, a woman rang host Deborah Cameron to inform her that, even though her and her husband's combined income was over 150K per annum, it was quite a stretch to raise 8 children on such an appallingly piddly little amount.

8 children.

As subsequent callers were compelled to point out, hadn't the woman ever heard of contraceptives? And, frankly, if you are planning on having a large family, make damn sure you can afford to do so in the first place. Otherwise, just fuck off.

No doubt this rabidly reproducing creature and her eight womb warts will be in the thick of it come World Youth Day ...

Let's see now ...

... Last night, as I wandered past the local pizza joint on my way to the pub for a spot of B!I!N!G!E! D!R!I!N!K!I!N!G! (3 schooners, 2 of which will apparently increase my risk of cancer by 75% fuckyouverymuchandpleasepassthefagsgotalight?), I spotted a poster advertising an upcoming tour from the cooler-than-fuck Barry Adamson during June ...

... Adamson, one time member of seminal 80's post-punk outfit Magazine and subsequent Bad Seed, has been pumping out albums of down-and-dirty-noir-funk-faux-soundtrack excellence for the better part of two decades now, and I shall definitely be in attendance when he pimp-rolls into Brisbane ...

... Here are the dates - Brisbane, Wednesday 18th at The Zoo, Fortitude Valley; Melbourne, Thursday 19th at The Corner Hotel, Richmond; Sydney, Friday 20th at The Factory, Enmore; and Perth, Saturday 21st at The Bakery Artrage Complex, Northbridge ...

... Adamson's eighth album "Back To The Cat" is out now and must be purchased. Understand? Get thee to a discery ...

... In other news, my inner nerd-cum-Comic Book Guy went slightly spastic with pleasure this morning when I heard of the imminent release of a new X-Files movie, "I Want To Believe" ...



... Yes, yes, I know, don't say it, for I well realise that, as I slouch towards this so-called milestone of age that is FIFTY, my pleasures should be more in tune with stuff such as "The Bill" or "Midsommer Murders", a spot of tea and a little light opera, but the first few seasons of Chris Carter's series were damn fine things and the memory of their excellence should not be forever sullied simply because of the utter crap it became in it's final dying days.

It's my second childhood and I'll have it as I choose.

And, no. I will not go to my room.

So there.



From 1989, Barry Adamson “The Man With The Golden Arm”