BONJOUR!

Lance Armstrong is not human. I came to this conclusion while watching a live stage of Le Tour on SBS (local Australian channel). See the expression on his face; Then look at the others. The man doesn’t sweat (much). He appears to put more work in to his ride than anyone else, what with his higher pedal rate, yet seems so comfortable, at home, at peace, indestructible; As insurmountable and imposing as the Tour De France itself.
Men have tried to overcome him, to little or no avail; Jan Ulrich last year, Beloki and the wonderfully named De Galdeano this time around. Lance stays with you for a while, uses your pace as a weapon against you, and just when you think you’ve done enough, that maybe, this time, you might actually BEAT him, he turns his head back to look at you, lets his opponent see his face for one last second- and he’s off. Past the crowds, past the motorbikes and support cars, past Basque flags- past you. Your face cracks into a wry smile for a moment, feeling good about the fact that you at least tried to take it to Armstrong. Then something clicks in your head, you wake up, and start racing for second, as one sentence flashes through your mind-
-Lance Armstrong is not human.

PS- On a less poetic, but no less important, note- It’s great to see the Aussies doing really well, in particular Robbie McEwen. Full credit also to Brad McGee for recovering from that big crash. Ouch.

Missing link between man and ape found alive and well, controlling destiny of 300,000,000.

Washington DC, USA: Scientists have uncovered what they believe to be another missing piece in the puzzle of man’s evolution. The Sahelanthropus Tchadensis, or ‘Funny Monkey’, to go by the scientists affectionate moniker, is truly a unique find, proving we are now tantalisingly close to discovering the origin of both species, the moment where man and ape went on their separate ways, one to the jungle and the other to Wall Street.
As to how he was found? Palaeontologist David Pilbeam had this to say: “Obviously this came as great shock to many in my profession, but a shock we have welcomed with open arms.” Pilbeam went on to say that “What was truly extraordinary was Funny Monkey’s ability to appear completely in control of his environment, despite his species only being something of a transient, a mere stop on the long journey to Homo Sapien.”
That of course is something of an understatement: Funny Monkey’s ability to convince our own species of his power led to his being ushered into The White House, all by slipping under the ever vigilant radar of The Secret Service and that most intelligent and astute sub-species, Republicans. Installing himself on the 2000 presidential ticket with cohort and ‘monkey minder’ Richard Cheney, Funny Monkey assumed the name ‘George’.
‘George’ overcame many obstacles on his path, but not even the loss of the popular vote, and his loss in the election itself, would prevent him from winning the presidency by years end. Having taken a human wife, ‘George’ now took human power, using simple monkey language to convey to his people grand messages of Black and White, Good and Bad, Right and Wrong. The people loved their simple monkey; Loved his refusal, nay, inability, to contemplate or unravel the complexities of modern society.
But in the last few months, events have unravelled, and the message is clear: Leadership of the most powerful nation in history is no place for a chimp(or ancestor thereof). Xerox, Enron, WorldCom, Merck; Corporate superpower after corporate superpower has fallen, a victim of it’s own greed, it’s lust for shareholder’s attentions. Pilbeam pinpoints these events as the moment when Funny Monkey was discovered: “The nation seemed to be spiralling out of economic control, and we needed a leader who could something about it, who could act for the good of the people.” This could have been ‘George’s moment of glory, the perfect place to show off his clear cut ‘Good and Evil’ idea of the world.
But Funny Monkey bit off way more banana than he could chew. In a press conference, journalists grilled ‘George’ over shady financial dealings during his tenure in charge of Harken Energy. Faltering, he uttered the words which would bring about his downfall: “Sometimes things aren’t exactly in black and white when it comes to accounting procedures.” In one move, the leader whom the people had put so much stock into, had reversed GOP’s entire policy, plan for government, heck, his life philosophy. Opinion polls took a nosedive that would make the NASDAQ blush. ‘George’ was now trying to deal with complex, grey areas, and without the requisite ‘grey matter’ to do this, it was only a matter of time before he was rumbled, and scientists discovered he was from further down the ladder than the rest of us.
It’s not all doom and gloom though; ‘George’ has since been offered the Vivendi/Universal CEO gig, which he will accept, pending French lessons, and some nice EU bananas. And the front runners for the Presidency? N*SYNC’s very own Joey Fatone, with reliable stalwart Donald ‘Duck’ Rumsfeld for Vice President. Lance Bass, back from his successful space mission for Aeroflot measuring the effects of N*SYNC songs on tiny screws in space, will be installed as Defence Minister.

fuck me. I just wrote an enormous post, then the computer crashed and I lost the lot. Arsed. Anyway, I just started this thing, so I don't how to put pictures up. If anyone knows, or just wants a chat, its widereciever85@hotmail.com. And yes, it is spelt that way, and yes I know its incorrect spelling.

PS: To those of you who might want to honour me by placing me on your mailing list and subjecting me to forwards- FUCK OFF!! I HATE forwards! Trust me, if I get a letter, and it s says FWD on the subject list, it goes straight in the bin. Comprende, muthafukka? Sorry, those three letters can cause a bit of a rush of blood to the head.

Before I go, it occurred to me that you the reader may have bad taste in music. I, in my wisdom, have decided to rectify this by infroming you as to which records I have been listening to this week. So here goes:

Exile On Main St. by The Rolling Stones
Abbey Road by The Beatles
Kid A by Radiohead
Songs In A Minor by Alicia Keys
The Last Broadcast by Doves

Put down that Britney record! Spin the Stones! Listen to that cocaine fuelled glory! YYEESS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

IT’S THEIR PARTY, AND THEY’LL CRY IF THEY WANT TO

MARK REED

When Brad Pitt and Jenifer Aniston got married, Pitt reportedly spent over a million on the reception. “A million?!” Gasped the public, “They’ve got more money than sense!”. Mere mortals can only dream of being able to spend a million dollars. That’s a million US dollars, of course- Nearly two million in the local currency. Last month, Sir Macca spent three times that on his wedding to Heather Mills. The world gawped at the extravagance, the splendour, the Irish castle, the security. US$3million.
Last week the G8 convened in Spain for their regular soiree. The international rich man’s club, eight heads of the state from the wealthiest nation’s this planet has ever seen, and you better believe they had the best party in history. No kareoke machine and cheap beer for these guys- They spent an astounding US$500 million dollars on their event. Cop that, Macca.
Half a billion dollars. That means if every man, woman and child in The United States had donated a dollar, the bill would only be two thirds paid. God only knows what was in those tote bags. But at least they got together, right? I mean, we’re talking about THE world leaders, so they were probably discussing world famine, or maybe bridging the divide between the first and the third world, weren’t they?
Well, yes and no. It was a week of photo ops, limo rides, more papparazzi than Brad and Jennifer can fathom, and discussing their nations fortunes at the World Cup (seriously). But it wasn’t all Mumm and caviar for Richie Rich and his pals- they did some work, too. For instance, they decided to ‘award’ African nations US$1 billion in debt relief, and US$6 billion in aid. That is, of course, a lot of money. By G8 reckoning, that’s enough for fourteen parties. Yowsa! Pass the Campari!
But what to celebrate? African nations currently dish out US$15 billion a year in loan repayments, so an extra billion dollars is like shooting a pistol at a freight train, for all the good it’ll do. 6 billion for aid? That won’t even cover the short fall brought about by Mugabe, whose harvesting bans are starving his nation. Of course, the G8 have done something about Robert Mugabe- they imposed ‘sanctions’, that international, one-size- fits-all solution. And hasn’t it worked wonders?
This package doesn’t help the victim, and it doesn’t help the G8’s public profile as an uncaring behemoth, so what’s the point? Why not just admit they don’t care, and spend the money on a better venue next time? (I hear that castle Guy Ritchie married Madonna in is ‘the business’). Bush mentioned something about winning the hearts and minds of the poorer nations last year, after 9/11, but what we’re actually seeing is a return to American protectionism and isolationism. Over US$100 billion in farming subsidies are being handed out in his own country (hand outs? From Republicans??), the US$40 billion being spent by on the war on terror, the (unecessary) tax cut he promised his people when he was elected. They put tarriffs on foreign steel (Yes, that means Australian steel). All that, and they couldn’t spare anything to help those in real, life or death need?
The Russians got a different story, however. The G8 gave Putin and co. US$20 billion towards the nuclear weapon disarmament and storage program. The old super power got a package nearly three times the size of Africa’s to clean up it’s past mistakes. Vladimir’s flavour of the month of course, having just joined NATO, and with Donald Rumsfeld terrifying everyone over possible ‘Dirty Bomb’ attacks (much more dangerous sounding than they actually are), throwing more money at security seems to Mr. Rumsfeld to be the only solution. The problem with this? We’re making the poor nations angry, widening the gap, and creating another generation who loathes us, another army of Bin Ladens.
In response to this political slap in the face, the Africans were incredibly polite, making it clear that while this wasn’t what they were looking for, they were thankful for getting something. How utterly humiliating. Perfect time for the photo op, then, kick ‘em while they’re down, etc. Perhaps the Africans feel this is just the beginning of a larger aid package, although that’s probably clutching at straws with this bunch. Why didn’t they get more? I mean, it’s not like we can’t afford it.
Maybe the Africans had been gloating about their comparative soccer success to the super powers. Berlusconi and Chirac wincing in the corner. The French leader’s embarrassment at having been beaten by former colony Senegal in the opening game. That’s gotta smart. Thank goodness it was Korea, and not Nigeria, who beat Italy, other wise Berlusconi may have pushed for the dreaded ‘sanctions’.
Spending more on security and not on aid is like buying a truck load of band aids for your son- Why not just teach him to ride the bike? Once he knows what’s he’s doing, he won’t fall off anymore, and we’ll all be happy. Give them the aid and resources to pull themselves out of this misery once and for all. An impossible task? Maybe. But that doesn’t make it any less noble an aim. And if we achieve it?
You know what? We could have a party.

WHY OASIS WILL NEVER BE GOOD ENOUGH FOR US

Heathen Chemistry was released today (July 1, 2002). It will undoubtedly sell triple platinum in the UK, plateauing around 900, 000 units. It would take a miracle of biblical proportions to sell any more than that figure (Although Liam’s emergence as a talented song writer has to come close). Why? Read the headline, pal. Oasis are a great rock ‘n’ roll band- but we want them to be era-defining, like they were in ’95 and ’96. In 1996, you couldn’t turn a radio on without hearing Wonderwall or Don’t Look Back In Anger; Throw a stone in a newsagents, and you’d hit half a dozen Gallagher front covers before the rock hit the floor.
They reminded an older generation why they loved The Beatles, The Stones and The Pistols in the first place, while simultaneously introducing a younger generation to the simple joys of a great hook and a good time. And it worked- In two short years, we went from looking solely towards America for musical inspiration (and finding nothing but self-loathing), to gurning, shaking tambourines and shouting “Coom on!!” in dodgy Mancunian accents (Yes, I speak from experience). All of a sudden, we were proud to be alive, proud to be English. 125,000 people went to see them over one weekend at Loch Lomond. Then 250,000 people went to see them at Knebworth the next fortnight. It was like we’d beat Germany and Argentina in the World Cup final AT THE SAME TIME. Long before the term metatarsal became the buzzword de jour, they were the one thing everyone was talking about. It, to apply the parlance of the times, were fookin’ great.
But like all the best parties, it had to end, leaving us forever hungover. The general public hears the new Oasis single, tilts it’s collective nose skyward, and pronounces that “It’s no Wonderwall”. Society has moved on from what it was six years ago. Tastes have evolved, progressed. We woke up and weeded out the shit. For, like the previously mentioned great parties, when you wake you realise some people stayed the night that, had you been sober, would never have got in the front door. 60ft Dolls. Arkarna. Menswear, for fucks sake (What were we thinking?).
I’ve only seen Oasis once (February ’98, Be Here Now world tour, Perth Entertainment Centre, Australia, capacity 8000, small by there standards at the time), and, thanks largely to the local media’s disgusting behaviour, will probably never see them again (You may recall Liam vowed never to return after his arrest in Adelaide). But at least I saw them. Liam, wearing quite possibly the whitest jumper I’ve ever seen, the kind of white usually reserved for angels or portions of Usher’s wardrobe. Stubbornly refusing to take his sunglasses off in the dark. I’ll never forget the heaving, sweaty mass of the pit. Several tons of pure sexual and violent tension, pumped, ready to go, yet also full of that inebriating euphoria you only acquire in front of your favourite band. I’ve seen some huge acts perform at their peak (The Prodigy in ’97), but never have I experienced a crowd quite so “mad for it”. From opening salvo The Swamp Song to parting shot Champagne Supernova (complete with Chemical Brothers inspired feedback-and-beatbox-frenzy chicanery), it was perfect. The next day, the local press slagged the concert. 1998 was year zero for the hangover, the moment the press really started laying the boot in. For not being good enough.
That Oasis have not moved on significantly, that they try so continually to recapture the halcyion days of yore, is something the public is becoming frustrated with, bored, even pitious of. Compare The Bends with (Whats The Story)… Morning Glory, and Amnesiac with Heathen Chemistry. In six years Radiohead have gone from promising youngsters to being the most lauded band in modern musical history, their music having gone through an unparralled evolution from Americanised rock to Audio collages and disconcerting ruminations on modern life. In a recent interview with Q Magazine, Noel and Liam chastised Thom Yorke for being a “fucking dwarf” and a “miserable bastard”, and that for his next album you’d probably have to “stick a jack plug in his head to listen to it”. Of course, in between all of this, even Noel sheepishly admitted that Amnesiac was “brilliant.”
When you’re up against that kind of musical force, when you’re back’s to the wall, when you really can’t beat them, the easy way out is to join ‘em. But, in typical bullish, some might say arrogant, Oasis fashion, they stand defiant, staring down musical progression like Gary Cooper in High Noon, knowing their time has been and gone, yet still unable to back down. Rock ‘N’ Roll visionaries? Don’t be so fucking daft. Rock ‘N’ Roll saviours? Maybe. Rock ‘n’ roll heroes? Undoubtedly.
Oh, and one last thing. Next time you’re listening to Packt Like Sardines In A Crushd Tin Box, try and imagine Liam nasal foghorn belting out the words. Then listen to the 100% Cocaine rush of The Hindu Times. If that doesn’t convince you that Oasis are doing the right thing, I’ll eat my tambourine.

Welcome! Come one, come all! The site has just opened, but fear thee not- I'm sure it won't take long for me to find something to get all riled up about (G8, S11, war, peace, movies, music, Martha Stewart, John Howard, blah blah blah). When I do, it'll turn up here! Like magic! And when you gaze upon it, you'll know that you've read the truth- You'll know that you've witnessed The Gospel. The Gospel according to Mark.

Rock 'N' Roll!!!!!