At least I don't think so. They are a music group. Ian at work praised them, and promised to put together a CD of selected tracks. Conrad, like most middle-aged men trying to cling to a long-vanished youth, was quite chuffed at this, as it might help to cement his "hipster dad" credentials. Might. So I have deliberately avoided tracking them down on Grooveshark or Googling about them.
'Might take a few listens,' warned Ian. Conrad will therefore be playing it in the car where he is his own captive audience. At present it is playing in my upstairs lair, turned down low as Wonder Wife will instantly disparage them were she to overhear.
 |
| Kayo Dot. Obviously! What, you thought it might be Broken Social Scene? Tish - how little you know! |
I test-drove a new 2 1/2 lb loaf tin this afternoon, with excellent results. A loaf that isn't burnt, asymmetrical or with excessively droopy sides. Given that I have to go downstairs to see how the Halloween Pumpkin Cake is doing*, I will come up with a photograph. This bread, mind you, isn't that horrid doughy pap that comes wrapped in waxed paper. No. This bread will put hair on your chest, develop muscles you didn't know you had and sweep your bowels clear like an internal squeegee.
 |
| Behold the bread! |
After being sneeringly dismissive above, Mr Hand pointed out that I didn't know what Broken Social Scene look like either.
Like this, apparently:
 |
| The other nine aren't present. |
<short pause as Conrad imbibes some Old Golden Hen and decides that he likes Kayo Dot>
That Zombie Novel
It's called - working title, may need to change it - "Revelations". There's a pun in there. You can't tell because you haven't read it yet and this is definitely a first draft. I was practicing dialogue with myself this afternoon, an activity easily misinterpreted by casual onlookers, so I did it in the dungeons. The airy upper dungeons, of course! since the lower ones have no daylight. And occasional giant moles.
 |
| And these, but only once. So far. |
Shopping!
As any regular reader well knows, Conrad jovially detests doing the weekly shop as Darling Daughter or Wonder Wife are guaranteed to ask "Did you get Gerschon's Travelling Matte Wallpaper Biscuit Bars?" or "Why no Elephant-Flavoured Purple Ham Shreddies?" Lack of telepathy no excuse.
Anyway, I ordered Wonder Wife not to help with unpacking and putting away yesterday's shopping, which contrarily guaranteed (that word again) that she would. Consequently she found the "John Carter of Mars" DVD and spent several minutes mocking Conrad's choice of film.
What the hell, at least it's not the Asylum version!
 |
| Asylum. Still making a profit and films. So someone is buying them, right? |
Conrad muses -
John Carpenter is going to write and produce (directing is too much bother for him now) a TV series about a secret, hidden society of telepaths. Mere days before production is due to begin, a group of businessmen approach him with a cheque for $150 million. Would he like to make a film, carte blanche, no suit involvement at all, and when he hesitates they up the pot to $175 million.
So John makes his dream film, IIRC a musical set in a nuclear power plant, which tanks at the box office but hell, he got to make his dream film.
The TV series never gets made. Years later John wonders if that wasn't the point after all ...
* Poorly! Taking ages to bake and it's gone over the tin.
Right. Off to conquer the world. The kitchen! Sorry, the kitchen. The world is tomorrow.
No comments:
Post a Comment