My favourite piece of 'real-life' dialogue of all time took place about two years ago at a party held by my old journalism tutor, Angela, a stern feminist of the old-school. The fact that the payoff comes from Kearns, a Telegraph-reading sports lover certainly adds to the quality of the exchange, particularly as him and Angela were often at loggerheads. Loggerheads! What a word!
Anyway:
Ed: "So, we're having a house-warming party and the theme is 'film and television of the 80s'."
Angela: "Who are you going as?"
Ed: "Sigourney Weaver."
Angela: "Hmmm. I didn't have time to watch any films in the '80s - I was far too busy with parenthood."
Kearns: "Parenthood the film?"
[Silence.]
Showing posts with label Kearns. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Kearns. Show all posts
Sunday, December 03, 2006
Sunday, September 03, 2006
Saturday
Due to the paucity of posts of late, I thought I'd document a day in my life in minute detail. I had no idea it would happen like this. But that's life I guess...
(With insincere apologies to Ian McEwan.)
8.51am Wake up, go to toilet and fill empty water bottle.
9am Ponder why I’m unable to lie in any more. I used to be able to sleep for hours and hours. Get annoyed about this.
9.20am Sit up and start reading the next chapter of James Robinson’s The Gospel of Gideon Mack. At the moment this vicar – who is about to go mad after meeting Satan – is talking about long-distance running. I used to run a lot when I was 17, 18, 19. But no more.
9.40am Decide to go for run. Make necessary preparations.
9.45am Walk out the door of the flat and start stretching. Go outside and start running towards Clapham High Street. I'm running! I aim for the Common, but I'm pretty knackered by the time I get there. I run across the Common, go into the library and look through the books. I think it’s just an excuse to have a rest. I walk up the high street then hop on an empty bus which carries me back towards Stockwell.
10.30am Get back. Drink lots of Orange juice. Have shower. Get dressed. Feel quite empowered thanks to the run – like I can have a genuinely productive day. Wow!
11.05am Flick TV on. Music videos are playing on E4. I don't normally watch music videos, but The Smiths' There is a Light that Never Goes Out is playing. Lots of shots of Morrissey and Morrissey look-alikes riding bikes through Salford.
11.10am Make tea and beans on toast.
11.20am Stick on Bob Dylan DVD. Watch it eating beans on toast. Things Have Changed video is fab. It nicely intercuts shots of Dylan singing with scenes from the Wonderboys film, making it look like he's turning into Michael Douglas's character and back. It nicely sums up the role of the artist - both living a life but also outside of life commenting on it. Another great thing about the video: Bob tries to 'do facial expressions'.
11.31am Phone rings. A foreign lady says "Good morning." Pause while I wait for the sell. Realise I'm expected to say 'good morning' before this can proceed. "Good morning," I say. She's trying to get hold of someone whose name I will never be able to spell. Something like, "Mr Dhordonashyenaleandethon". Wrong number, I say and hang up.
11.33am Phone rings again. The woman is crazy! "Who is this? This is the number they give me to ring." We try to work things out, but her poor grasp of English means we don’t really get anywhere. I start to get annoyed that she doesn’t seem to believe I’m not harbouring this Dhordonashyenaleandethon character. "I'm afraid you're going to have to sort this out for yourself," I say. She doesn’t understand. "Goodbye," I say emphatically, and hang up.
11.38am Phone rings again. I wonder whether to answer it. I decide not to.
11.39am I give in and answer it. "I want to speak to Tony."
"There's no Tony here!" I say.
"Dhoni, dhoni."
"No! Wrong number!"
"Okay," she says in a resigned voice.
11.51am Watch more music videos. Radiohead’s Just. Radiohead playing guitars! Those were the days. Then Work It by Missy Elliot - "It's yr fribaderba yep yep".
12.05pm Hear the key in the door. Jamie is back from a night in Glasgow. Work flew him up there to go drinking with XFM people. No, I don't know how he does it either.
12.07pm Try to finish off this review I’m writing. It’s 400 words about the new album by an obscure ambient electronica duo called Infantjoy. Not particularly easy to write.
1.15pm Dan arrives at the flat – we're going to see Onto the Streets, an exhibition of contemporary London street photography in Brixton. Apparently there's a house party later in Marylebone, which I have inexplicably not been invited to.
1.30pm Me, Jamie and Dan leave the house to go to Photofusion ("London's largest independent photography resource centre"). The exhibition is great - particularly the pictures by Nick Turpin and Matt Stuart - but small. We're only there for about 10 minutes. What now? I unwisely suggest the pub.
2.20pm We go to Living and get some beers in. No one has change, so we have to do rounds. Jollity ensues. For three hours.
5.25pm Get to Circle bar to watch England v Andorra. We meet Badger who's annoyed because we're late. He tells us about a recent holiday where missed a flight and had to spend 15 hours at the airport. To survive, he got wrecked on vodka and because of a lack of space, ended up trying to sleep on an air hockey table, loading it up with pound coins because he thought it would be more comfortable with air blowing out the holes. Badger is in the anecdotal zone. Later, Dan to Badger: "So you're onstage in Moulin Rouge getting off with a girl? Shut up! Shut up!"
6.35pm England are winning 5-0. I leave Circle bar and get the tube to Charing Cross. Wow, I'm quite drunk. That's what happens when you drink on an empty stomach, apparently. I'll never learn.
7.05pm Get to Fire and Stone trendy pizza restaurant – we're celebrating Macca's last day in London (he's moving to Bristol). Macca knows I'm pished, so introduces me to people quickly and ushers me away from them so I don't say anything that'll offend them or embarrass him. The restaurant serves pizzas all named after different places in the world. I order a Peking. Service is slow. Spend most of the time talking to someone called Julia about myself. Poor girl.
10.15pm We all split the bill. Ian is livid. "Twenty-three quid for a pizza and a glass of wine?" he rages. I knew this would happen. That's why I had a starter.
10.30pm We walk to Soho and go to a barclub called Lupos. The promised lashings of Bon Jovi are not forthcoming. But the shots of sambuca are. Now I'm really drunk. I tell Macca's brother's girlfriend that I own the single I Like to Move It Move It by Real 2 Real featuring the Mad Stuntman on cassette. She is well impressed. The music begins to get cheesier.
12.58am The DJ plays Johnny B Goode. I phone Dan and yell down the phone "Chuck? Chuck! This is Marvin! Your cousin? Marvin Berry? You know that new sound you’re looking for? Well listen to this!"
1am Most of the group have left, and it’s all gone a bit coupley. Me and Hugh Dennis lookalike James stand at the bar smoking Lucky Strikes. I leave, hoping to head up to Marylebone for a house party. Phone Dan, but he says the party's over. Doh.
1.02am Start drunken dialling while walking down Oxford Street. Phone Sarah, Kearns, Sharma, Birdy and Jamie. None pick up.
1.12am Birdy phones back from a noisy club and yells, "Will! I’m in Po Na Na! In Brighton! Will! I can't hear you! Goodbye!"
1.40am Text from Jamie. "We're back at the flat, have booze & poppers. Expect mess."
2am I get home. I stagger into the kitchen and see Jamie and Eddie and two girls I don't know. Jack Daniels is being drunk and poppers sniffed. I talk shit for about an hour, and lurch around.
3.15am I've sobered up a bit now, though all is relative. Go into the lounge and play the guitar while Run Lola Run plays on the TV. As I watch the flame-haired German running through city streets, I realise that I was doing the same thing 18 hours earlier.
4.02am I say my goodnights to the kitchen revellers, who're trying to work out how to get home. I go to bed.
(With insincere apologies to Ian McEwan.)
8.51am Wake up, go to toilet and fill empty water bottle.
9am Ponder why I’m unable to lie in any more. I used to be able to sleep for hours and hours. Get annoyed about this.
9.20am Sit up and start reading the next chapter of James Robinson’s The Gospel of Gideon Mack. At the moment this vicar – who is about to go mad after meeting Satan – is talking about long-distance running. I used to run a lot when I was 17, 18, 19. But no more.
9.40am Decide to go for run. Make necessary preparations.
9.45am Walk out the door of the flat and start stretching. Go outside and start running towards Clapham High Street. I'm running! I aim for the Common, but I'm pretty knackered by the time I get there. I run across the Common, go into the library and look through the books. I think it’s just an excuse to have a rest. I walk up the high street then hop on an empty bus which carries me back towards Stockwell.
10.30am Get back. Drink lots of Orange juice. Have shower. Get dressed. Feel quite empowered thanks to the run – like I can have a genuinely productive day. Wow!
11.05am Flick TV on. Music videos are playing on E4. I don't normally watch music videos, but The Smiths' There is a Light that Never Goes Out is playing. Lots of shots of Morrissey and Morrissey look-alikes riding bikes through Salford.
11.10am Make tea and beans on toast.
11.20am Stick on Bob Dylan DVD. Watch it eating beans on toast. Things Have Changed video is fab. It nicely intercuts shots of Dylan singing with scenes from the Wonderboys film, making it look like he's turning into Michael Douglas's character and back. It nicely sums up the role of the artist - both living a life but also outside of life commenting on it. Another great thing about the video: Bob tries to 'do facial expressions'.
11.31am Phone rings. A foreign lady says "Good morning." Pause while I wait for the sell. Realise I'm expected to say 'good morning' before this can proceed. "Good morning," I say. She's trying to get hold of someone whose name I will never be able to spell. Something like, "Mr Dhordonashyenaleandethon". Wrong number, I say and hang up.
11.33am Phone rings again. The woman is crazy! "Who is this? This is the number they give me to ring." We try to work things out, but her poor grasp of English means we don’t really get anywhere. I start to get annoyed that she doesn’t seem to believe I’m not harbouring this Dhordonashyenaleandethon character. "I'm afraid you're going to have to sort this out for yourself," I say. She doesn’t understand. "Goodbye," I say emphatically, and hang up.
11.38am Phone rings again. I wonder whether to answer it. I decide not to.
11.39am I give in and answer it. "I want to speak to Tony."
"There's no Tony here!" I say.
"Dhoni, dhoni."
"No! Wrong number!"
"Okay," she says in a resigned voice.
11.51am Watch more music videos. Radiohead’s Just. Radiohead playing guitars! Those were the days. Then Work It by Missy Elliot - "It's yr fribaderba yep yep".
12.05pm Hear the key in the door. Jamie is back from a night in Glasgow. Work flew him up there to go drinking with XFM people. No, I don't know how he does it either.
12.07pm Try to finish off this review I’m writing. It’s 400 words about the new album by an obscure ambient electronica duo called Infantjoy. Not particularly easy to write.
1.15pm Dan arrives at the flat – we're going to see Onto the Streets, an exhibition of contemporary London street photography in Brixton. Apparently there's a house party later in Marylebone, which I have inexplicably not been invited to.
1.30pm Me, Jamie and Dan leave the house to go to Photofusion ("London's largest independent photography resource centre"). The exhibition is great - particularly the pictures by Nick Turpin and Matt Stuart - but small. We're only there for about 10 minutes. What now? I unwisely suggest the pub.
2.20pm We go to Living and get some beers in. No one has change, so we have to do rounds. Jollity ensues. For three hours.
5.25pm Get to Circle bar to watch England v Andorra. We meet Badger who's annoyed because we're late. He tells us about a recent holiday where missed a flight and had to spend 15 hours at the airport. To survive, he got wrecked on vodka and because of a lack of space, ended up trying to sleep on an air hockey table, loading it up with pound coins because he thought it would be more comfortable with air blowing out the holes. Badger is in the anecdotal zone. Later, Dan to Badger: "So you're onstage in Moulin Rouge getting off with a girl? Shut up! Shut up!"
6.35pm England are winning 5-0. I leave Circle bar and get the tube to Charing Cross. Wow, I'm quite drunk. That's what happens when you drink on an empty stomach, apparently. I'll never learn.
7.05pm Get to Fire and Stone trendy pizza restaurant – we're celebrating Macca's last day in London (he's moving to Bristol). Macca knows I'm pished, so introduces me to people quickly and ushers me away from them so I don't say anything that'll offend them or embarrass him. The restaurant serves pizzas all named after different places in the world. I order a Peking. Service is slow. Spend most of the time talking to someone called Julia about myself. Poor girl.
10.15pm We all split the bill. Ian is livid. "Twenty-three quid for a pizza and a glass of wine?" he rages. I knew this would happen. That's why I had a starter.
10.30pm We walk to Soho and go to a barclub called Lupos. The promised lashings of Bon Jovi are not forthcoming. But the shots of sambuca are. Now I'm really drunk. I tell Macca's brother's girlfriend that I own the single I Like to Move It Move It by Real 2 Real featuring the Mad Stuntman on cassette. She is well impressed. The music begins to get cheesier.
12.58am The DJ plays Johnny B Goode. I phone Dan and yell down the phone "Chuck? Chuck! This is Marvin! Your cousin? Marvin Berry? You know that new sound you’re looking for? Well listen to this!"
1am Most of the group have left, and it’s all gone a bit coupley. Me and Hugh Dennis lookalike James stand at the bar smoking Lucky Strikes. I leave, hoping to head up to Marylebone for a house party. Phone Dan, but he says the party's over. Doh.
1.02am Start drunken dialling while walking down Oxford Street. Phone Sarah, Kearns, Sharma, Birdy and Jamie. None pick up.
1.12am Birdy phones back from a noisy club and yells, "Will! I’m in Po Na Na! In Brighton! Will! I can't hear you! Goodbye!"
1.40am Text from Jamie. "We're back at the flat, have booze & poppers. Expect mess."
2am I get home. I stagger into the kitchen and see Jamie and Eddie and two girls I don't know. Jack Daniels is being drunk and poppers sniffed. I talk shit for about an hour, and lurch around.
3.15am I've sobered up a bit now, though all is relative. Go into the lounge and play the guitar while Run Lola Run plays on the TV. As I watch the flame-haired German running through city streets, I realise that I was doing the same thing 18 hours earlier.
4.02am I say my goodnights to the kitchen revellers, who're trying to work out how to get home. I go to bed.
Friday, May 26, 2006
Introducing an eccentric alien who looks like Robin Williams
As phrases go, one of the greatest ever coined has to be "jumping the shark". The line originates from a scene in an episode of the American TV show Happy Days, when a waterski-clad Fonz literally jumped over a shark, a scenario so far from the show’s original premise that viewers realised en masse that this was no longer the sitcom they once knew and loved.
Wikipedia says:
My sidekick Kearns has a briefer, but no less acute definition:
So far so good. I recently found out – and bear with me if you knew this already – that the TV sitcom Mork and Mindy was actually a Happy Days spin-off show. In Mork and Mindy, wacky comic actor Robin Williams played an eccentric alien (Mork) who had been sent to Earth to study human behaviour.
Anyway, now it’s time to coin a new phrase. Happy Days jumped the shark, then gave birth to Mork and Mindy (here’s how, if you're interested). You could see jumping the shark as the initial watershed moment – or you could see it as a prelude to an even more ridiculous, far-out moment: the moment when a show "introduces an eccentric alien who looks like Robin Williams".
How can this snappy expression be used in real life? Well, let's look at the trio of Labour party scandals that occurred in April this year. One might say this:
Mark my words, that'll be in the Oxford Dictionary of Idiom next year. I wonder if my readers have any good examples of when they might use the expression? It would be good to hear from you both.
Wikipedia says:
Many have noted the shark episode as the moment when they realized the show was no longer worth watching, considering the scene to be unrealistic and of poor quality, making it impossible to maintain suspension of disbelief...
More recently, the phrase has been used outside the realm of popular culture, representing anything that has reached its peak and has turned mediocre. For example, if one thinks a stock or a sports team has reached its peak, one can say that it has "jumped the shark".
My sidekick Kearns has a briefer, but no less acute definition:
The watershed moment when a tv series starts becoming shit.
So far so good. I recently found out – and bear with me if you knew this already – that the TV sitcom Mork and Mindy was actually a Happy Days spin-off show. In Mork and Mindy, wacky comic actor Robin Williams played an eccentric alien (Mork) who had been sent to Earth to study human behaviour.
Anyway, now it’s time to coin a new phrase. Happy Days jumped the shark, then gave birth to Mork and Mindy (here’s how, if you're interested). You could see jumping the shark as the initial watershed moment – or you could see it as a prelude to an even more ridiculous, far-out moment: the moment when a show "introduces an eccentric alien who looks like Robin Williams".
How can this snappy expression be used in real life? Well, let's look at the trio of Labour party scandals that occurred in April this year. One might say this:
"When Charles Clarke's Home Office deportation scandal hit, it looked like the Blair government had jumped the shark. With the Prescott affair, it introduced an eccentric alien who looks like Robin Williams."
Mark my words, that'll be in the Oxford Dictionary of Idiom next year. I wonder if my readers have any good examples of when they might use the expression? It would be good to hear from you both.
Wednesday, February 15, 2006
Love is in the air
As my wonderful and beautiful girlfriend currently lives in the wrong city, I spent Valentine's Day alone. What a loser. Here are some of the romantic things I did:
- Restrung my guitar and listened to Green Day
- Talked about Jack Bauer with Kearns on MSN Messenger
- Sat in a beanbag and watched Shameless on TV
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Two observations
California Uber Alles
Yesterday I noticed for the first time the sinister fascist undertones of The Beach Boys song California Girls. What I once believed was a carefree ode to beautiful American females has suddenly turned into a right-wing anthem of ethnic cleansing. In the song, we hear of the protagonist's travels around the country and the world, with visits to a variety of exotic locations. But all he can think is "I wish they all could be California girls". It's a frightening thought: all nationalities, all cultures liquidised in favour of one master Californian race.
I put this to Kearns, who suggested the song could also be read as a call for a liberal immigration policy: the teller wishes they all had the opportunity to be California Girls. This is also possible. Either way, life will never be the same again.
Socksial healing
Say you have 12 pairs of socks and wear one pair a day. If you look at the life of one individual pair, you'll see that for 11 days of the 12-day cycle, that pair will be either be sitting in a dirty clothes basket, going through the washing and drying process, or spend its days lying in a drawer – ie doing nothing for at least 334 days of the year. Imagine the possibilities if we could somehow harness the power of these unused socks.
Yesterday I noticed for the first time the sinister fascist undertones of The Beach Boys song California Girls. What I once believed was a carefree ode to beautiful American females has suddenly turned into a right-wing anthem of ethnic cleansing. In the song, we hear of the protagonist's travels around the country and the world, with visits to a variety of exotic locations. But all he can think is "I wish they all could be California girls". It's a frightening thought: all nationalities, all cultures liquidised in favour of one master Californian race.
I put this to Kearns, who suggested the song could also be read as a call for a liberal immigration policy: the teller wishes they all had the opportunity to be California Girls. This is also possible. Either way, life will never be the same again.
Socksial healing
Say you have 12 pairs of socks and wear one pair a day. If you look at the life of one individual pair, you'll see that for 11 days of the 12-day cycle, that pair will be either be sitting in a dirty clothes basket, going through the washing and drying process, or spend its days lying in a drawer – ie doing nothing for at least 334 days of the year. Imagine the possibilities if we could somehow harness the power of these unused socks.
Friday, December 09, 2005
Absolute Bauer corrupts absolutely
MSN conversation with Kearns #24. In which Kearns reveals some worrying personal statistics, declares his love for two fictional television characters, briefly defends '80s classic film Short Circuit and concludes by endorsing torture.
Kearns says:
ive become slightly obsessed with reading blogs
Kearns says:
its worrying
Kearns says:
i really could be reading books instead
Kearns says:
thing is - at least you still read books. i couldnt believe you had enough to compile a top 10
Kearns says:
unless you only read 10
Bungle Bungle mountain range says:
No, more like 55
Kearns says:
serious?
Bungle Bungle mountain range says:
yes
Kearns says:
bloody hell
Kearns says:
do you read like jonny 5?
Bungle Bungle mountain range says:
Yes
Kearns says:
oh ok
Bungle Bungle mountain range says:
Except I actually take it in, unlike that idiot robot
Kearns says:
dont besmirch the memory of jonny 5
Kearns says:
so you read a book a week?
Kearns says:
thats cocking ridiculous
Bungle Bungle mountain range says:
Roughly
Kearns says:
well i watched all 96 episodes of 24 in 17 days
Bungle Bungle mountain range says:
Good job
Kearns says:
i beat my seinfeld record by watching 14 episodes of 24 last sunday
Bungle Bungle mountain range says:
Woah
Kearns says:
thats commitment
Bungle Bungle mountain range says:
Me and Sarah watched two thirds of series 3 in about 4 days
Bungle Bungle mountain range says:
I wept for Tony Almeida
Kearns says:
i love tony almeida.
Kearns says:
and is it me or is jack bauer the greatest human of all time
Kearns says:
god i love him
Bungle Bungle mountain range says:
Sarah's MSN name is Michelle Dessler
Kearns says:
sweet
Kearns says:
how anyone can watch 24 and oppose torture i'll never know
Kearns says:
ive become slightly obsessed with reading blogs
Kearns says:
its worrying
Kearns says:
i really could be reading books instead
Kearns says:
thing is - at least you still read books. i couldnt believe you had enough to compile a top 10
Kearns says:
unless you only read 10
Bungle Bungle mountain range says:
No, more like 55
Kearns says:
serious?
Bungle Bungle mountain range says:
yes
Kearns says:
bloody hell
Kearns says:
do you read like jonny 5?
Bungle Bungle mountain range says:
Yes
Kearns says:
oh ok
Bungle Bungle mountain range says:
Except I actually take it in, unlike that idiot robot
Kearns says:
dont besmirch the memory of jonny 5
Kearns says:
so you read a book a week?
Kearns says:
thats cocking ridiculous
Bungle Bungle mountain range says:
Roughly
Kearns says:
well i watched all 96 episodes of 24 in 17 days
Bungle Bungle mountain range says:
Good job
Kearns says:
i beat my seinfeld record by watching 14 episodes of 24 last sunday
Bungle Bungle mountain range says:
Woah
Kearns says:
thats commitment
Bungle Bungle mountain range says:
Me and Sarah watched two thirds of series 3 in about 4 days
Bungle Bungle mountain range says:
I wept for Tony Almeida
Kearns says:
i love tony almeida.
Kearns says:
and is it me or is jack bauer the greatest human of all time
Kearns says:
god i love him
Bungle Bungle mountain range says:
Sarah's MSN name is Michelle Dessler
Kearns says:
sweet
Kearns says:
how anyone can watch 24 and oppose torture i'll never know
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