Filed under: General
So they flew me 27 hours here, to spend 40 mins with U2, the biggest band in the world, and then 30 hours later I’ll fly back. No blog this week, just jet lag.
A few things I pondered on the plane here..
U2 are an incredible group of musicians, remaining relevant for 25 years, and not just touring on nostalgia.
Anchorman, the legend of Ron Burgundy is possibly one of the greatest films I have seen all year, Will Ferrell is my hero, and the scene where Tim Robbins chops off Luke Wilson’s arm in the big news crew rumble is all time. That, and ‘Carry on my Wayward son’ from Kansas is on the soundtrack. What a brilliant song. Don’t go and steal it off a P2P prog now or anything… anyway, the net cafe guy is blaring NIrvana Acoustic and I’m searching for a vegan lunch in Dublin. Good luck to me I guess.
Then afterwards I wrote this..
So I made it back. Four billion hours in cabin pressure and I made it home alive. I’m on the gold coast now. You can’t move for the blokes in stubbies and their chubby wives screaming down their mobile phones “Mum and Dad go away for one night and already you’ve smashed a hole in the wall!?! that’s it!! No ‘Who wants to be a millionaire’ for you for a week!!”. Scary thing is that most of these tourists are younger than me.
U2 were astonishing. Mr The Edge (as Adam Clayton referred to him) has a pirecing glare that reached into my soul. Bono was very warm to the touch, like Marilyn Manson. As a whole, they’re all a lot shorter than you’d imagine. They were however, absolute gentlemen, and still full of the fire that spurned them on to join a band when they were 18. Call of the interview goes to Bono, referring to Larry Mullen Jr.’s drum intro to ‘Sunday Bloody Sunday’ “I’ve just realised, after all these years, that you have the stairway to heaven of drum parts”. I pissed my pants laughing which was easy because I was delerious with jet lag.
Here’s a few other things that I learned over the last little while…
Nothing exciting ever happens after 4am. Go to bed, stop drinking. You’re just going to throw money away, and destroy your next day. Especially if you’re at Jupiter’s Casino liek me (classy huh?) gambling your dollars away.
Beware the driver of the gold car. Whatever make or model, Volvo, Mercedes or Ford, beware the gold car. They are the most dangerous drivers on the road. Stop signs, indicators, speed limits, parking zones, right of way, none of these apply to the driver of the gold car. Give them a wide berth! And if the driver of the gold car is wearing a hat? Pull over. Let them drive ahead of you. Avoid the carnage.
Listening to Modest Mouse and the Meters this morning in the office. Killer. Killer that the killers are on the show this weekend. Killer.
I lost two hundred ratings points on internet scrabble the last few days, form slump. Trying to get back to a proper stride. Speculators are the key to bingos.
I’ve just read two great books – ‘How To Make Love Like a Porn Star, a cautionary tale’ by Jenna Jameson and the guy who wrote ‘the Dirt’ for Motley Crue (this is fairly obviously an adults only read – trust me) and the Michael Peterson biography, the story of Australia, if not the world’s greatest ever surfer. He succumbed to Schizophrenia in his early twenties and retreated into a self-medicating frenzy of heroin and pot that eventualy saw him in prison. A harrowing read. Speaking of which, I’m in the middle of a book called ‘In the Heart of the Sea’ the true story of the whaling ship Essex that was rammed by an 85ft sperm whale and destroyed 3000 miles out in the middle of the Pacific in 1820, her crew taking to small whaleboats and forced to eat each other to survive. It’s the true story that inspired Herman Melville to write Moby Dick. It’s horrific, but I can’t put it down. Blokes drawing straws to see who will be killed and eaten, then ending up eating their cousins and that sort of thing. It’s a gripping tale of a survival situation. Read it, I love it.
More soon, life’s good things are fine and the sun shines.
Life’s Good.
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