I Missed My J-Rock

I spent most of last night engaged in a large scale digi-enema.
That is to say, moving a mass of files from laptops into external hard drive storage, so that the laptops are less sluggish and congested.

An awful lot of data gets into my laptops, as it is necessary for it to store the raw footage from our radio shows (roughly just under 2gb per show and we've been going since November 09) and all the video footage from our sketches, which takes up a gargantuan amount of space. When you factor in the music, podcasts and videos that also find their way from iTunes then the laptops become a bloated mess.

Having a good clear out, even in purely digital terms, can be a very satisfying process. It's the same sort of feeling I got from clearing the back garden of nettles, albeit with significantly reduced chance of getting a farmer's tan.

I decided to also rejig my iPod a bit, since mine doesn't have a huge amount of space on it it is necessary to operate a squad rotation system with the songs, and it has been awhile since I've changed it. I realised if I left it much longer then I'd run the risk of really hating some of my favourite music.

I've been meaning to cobble together a playlist of Japanese music for the radio for a number of weeks now, so I took the opportunity to embark on that effort. Several hours later I realised I managed to fill my iPod almost exclusively with Japanese music, which is a fairly drastic, nostalgic change. It is an odd process where you can listen to music you probably haven't heard for a number of years, and still know all the lyrics. Made even more strange if they are in Japanese (and you aren't in Japanese).

One of the most interesting tracks I rediscovered was 'Nothing Can Be Explained' by Mike Wyzgowski. I warmed to the track a lot more than I had previously, it is strange, hypnotic and faintly sinister. What really hooked me about it, however, was how little information is available on Mike Wyzgowski. He is not to be confused with Mike Wazowski, who is the green thing from off've the Monsters, Inc. After a bit of digging it appears that he is a UK-based artist, who used to be in a band called Garlic. The vague nature of the name makes it very hard to find anything out about them, with the only site that mentions them being their own official website, which is out of date and desolate. There is no mention of them on iTunes or Wikipedia (which these days means they didn't happen) and the only sight of them on Amazon is of old and used albums.

More digging led to the discovery that he was more recently in an outfit called Stations of the West, which is another band name which is almost impossible to search. The only mention of them is on their own myspace. I found them on iTunes, and, having enjoyed the previews, took a chance. I am enjoying them so far, the album is called 'You Missed Yourself'. The standout track for me so far is 'Silly Cow', though the amusing title is surely playing a part in that.

It is strange, and exciting, to have found bands who seem to be mysterious non-entities, at least in terms of the internet's coverage of them. The band searching I did does flag up a more costly habit, however. Having invested an amount of time researching Mike Wyzgowski, when I then found an opportunity to buy an album, I instantly took it, and received it minutes later, thanks to the wonder/danger of the internet. This goes for a number of other things aswell. In the last week I have interpulse purchased two pairs of shoes (a new pair for work and trainers for exersize - they are practical purchases at least) a t-shirt, that album and the newest Football Manager game. I am an idiot.

The purchase of the Football Manager game also informed my data-clearing, as for the game to run smoothly, which it needs to if it is to have the best chance of devastating my life and mind, it'll need a system in good shape. FM is D&D for football nerds, and if the game and the time is right it is like a stat-based black hole which consumes weeks of your life in a blink of an eye.

My reacquainting with football is, as will be obvious, informed by the World Cup, which has sucked me in like a wily Bret Hart playing possum ready to drag me into a small package. I'm just glad some interesting matches have happened now. Switzerland 1, Spain 0 was enjoyable, and Argentina 4, South Korea 1 was similarly great.
　
Also, this is a special one for you fans of lookalike athletes that were at their best in the late-80s through the mid-90s; Jürgen Klinsmann is the doppelganger of "Rowdy" Roddy Piper.

Cruijff on a Bike!

I think I've broken myself.

I was unable to shift a persistent headache yesterday, and it has transformed itself into genuinely feeling ill today. I therefore decided to veto exercising this morning in favour of resting up, which was undermined by my dog, who decided he would indulge into previously unknown levels of misbehaving. Continuous barking and climbing on chairs (not allowed), culminated in him sneaking upstairs (really not allowed) and chewing on socks and eating potpourri (really really not allowed and stupid). Attempting to summarily deal with these antics, especially considering he reacts to discovery of knowingly bad behaviour by exploding frantically around the room.

A restful morning, then.

Leaving him unsupervised in order to make food, wash up or run a bath resulted in returning to find some form of bad behaviour, or the aftermath. I think I'm going to put him in the washing machine, it's the only thing he'll listen to.

In between warring with the dog, I managed to get a bit of the podcast edited, this week it is the show we did on Valentine's day, which wasn't really a special, but that's what we called it. I am enjoying the editing so far, it will probably be another long one, it has a particularly good God or Fabio segment.

I think part of how I broke myself involves how full on I have been in going into things recently. My wholesale embrace of Royal Rumbles and the consequent binging on them left no room for anything else. Similarly, since restarting Final Fantasy IX I have been obsessed with it to the exclusion of all else, I've only managed to force out blogs in work, and the editing of last week's podcast was done as a last ditch effort on the Tuesday. I am now trying to force the World Cup into my obsessive habits, which has been disappointing so far, with some decidedly sub-par games. Hearing the disgusted commentary on 5Live was more draining than the actual match however. Rather than just rage that the match was a waste of time, it would be more beneficial to look ahead optimistically, especially given the very early stage of the tournament, and the plethora of opportunities for excitement there is to come. Having a professional, paid commentator wailing along the lines of "oh for fuck sake, what an absolute load of arsemangle!" just saps the fun and excitement out of the whole thing. I enjoying hearing Robbie Savage covering matches, but having a Welsh accent whilst commentating makes me feel as though there's rugby on. If the matches were covered by Jonathan Davies I think it would really unsettle Welsh viewers. I think it would be exactly the sort of low-level freakout that would add an extra frisson of interest during a game. Especially when they are being the absolute waste of complete time oh my god this is an hour and a half of my life I am never getting back, skies above and Cruijff on a bike! sort of games they've been so far.

Hopefully the Brazil match later on will be more exciting, but if not I have more editing to look forward to, and since I am suffering wrestling-based brain damage if it gets too boring I can always shut my eyes and watch the never ending montage of over-the-top-rope eliminations I have playing in my skull. What's the best elimination you've seen so far, you ask? Sgt. Slaughter being eliminated by Sid Justice in the 1992 Rumble, nothing beats a lumper going over bigstyle.

I am still trying to find a way to kickstart my brain, hopefully service will resume eventually.

Haribo, Lack of Ideas, Wil Hodgson and a World Cup Song

I am in work, and a child just pronounced Haribo 'huh-ree-bo' (rhymes with Kuriboh)(the example says more about me than I would like). Very amusing indeed. Kids and grown-ups love it so, across all the social classes it seems.

I have been at a loss for things to write somewhat this week, a mix of staying up late playing Final Fantasy 9 and having wrestling moves dancing around my mind during any free moment is not a healthy environment in which whimsy can flourish.

I went with mates to see a comedy gig last night, and I can't really write about that, because a page full of superlatives strung together to describe Wil Hodgson, while accurate and sincere, would probably seem mawkish. He is one of the most engaging performers I have seen, and surely a genuinely unique act.


It was one of the strangest room I have ever been in, we sat, as is our custom, right at the very front. We figure that having paid to get in, it makes sense to get as close to the performers as possible. Whereas everyone else decided it would be better to sit in the very back of the room, leaving a huge swathe of empty seats in the centre. This came together to give the impression that, for a lot of the time, our table was receiving a private, special gig. Which sounds either amazing or filthy, depending on how your mind works. It was amazing.

The gig was being compered by Elis James, which we didn't realise until the fact, which was a lovely bonus as he is a beautiful human being.  I will leave my strange praise there.


I frightened a man in the toilet afterwards, (filthy), when I walked in and saw a poster advertising 'An Audience with Derek Acorah' and said "oh for fuck sake!" much louder than I had intended. It is one of the ugly inequalities of the world that Hodgson plays in the lounge room and Acorah will play in the theatre. It is an indictment of the area that people will turn up to it. If there's any karmic justice in the world then ghosts will be proven to exist and Acorah will be pulled inside out by a Greater Demon during his set. I am getting a message from beyond, it says to buy Wil Hodgson's DVD from www.gofasterstripe.com. Them ghosties know what they are on about.


I am circumcising this blog entry here, as I have to record a World Cup-based song for our radio show tomorrow, since one of our running sections where we cynically jump on a bandwagon to become 'popular' is returning. I have to write the lyrics now, although I think I am going to be relying on 'hilarious' singing to sell this one, rather than incisive satirical points. I pulled Algeria and New Zealand in the office sweepstakes, so they will feature heavily I assume. If only as much fuss had been made of the rugby World Cup and I'd picked those teams (with Australia instead of Algeria). That might also appear in the song.


I am loath to actually end this entry now, as I feel that if I keep blagging my way through then I will accidentally stumble on things I can do in the song.


Nope.


~fin~