So she didn't make it. It was probably inevitable. She had a bit of a comeback but the sickness and above all the mad insanity and vitriol of the tweenies rooting for other acts seem to have taken the geist out of her. And wee Eoghan was playing game after game with her, crumbling her down. Now he's after Alex of course.
Enough of these dumb talent shows. Nobody really cares anyway. Simon said it all two years ago: Leona Lewis was the only person up to then who'd had any real talent anyway. And since then it's been your typical washout. Until this year.
Diana is not a technical singer like Leona. She does a lot of fancy stuff with her voice but she doesn't have a 'big' voice and she knows it.
But she's also the most original artist ever seen on any of these shows - including Leona. Brutalising this girl as people have done is unconscionable.
Gary Barlow wants to sign her. OK Gary. Do it. Simon says 'no thank you I can sign her' to Gary. So OK Simon. They you sign her. But one of you sign her. Now. And do the smart thing whoever wins her: hire on Cheryl Cole as her manager and mentor.
Cheryl Cole's got the X Factor.
2008-12-08
2008-11-19
2008-11-15
X Factor: The Old Queens and the New Queens
If the X Factor is to survive another season Louis Walsh will have to go. He's already been kicked off once; Simon Cowell promised he would never be back; Sharon Osbourne tossed water on him on live television; he's a grumpy old man - a grumpy old gay man. He sits there in his own wee world, he knows he's under siege by everyone, he takes notes. Takes notes? Notes for what? You're supposed to listen to the music, not write your memoirs! But Louis does this as his 'tell' - he's trying to run from his embarrassment.
And he's so spiteful. And so mean. Almost everyone he's ever worked with hates him. And he has to continually wag his tongue at the other judges and remind them of how many hits his (former) 'groups' have had. He's not wanted anymore.
Sorry, Louis. Bye, Louis. Won't miss you, Louis.
Simon's over the hill too. More and more his repugnant arrogance is becoming yesterday's worst news. His excruciating caution in meting out compliments together with his unabashed delight in insulting people doesn't work anymore. And his taste in music is atrocious. He's the one had Robson Green record a horrifying cover of Unchained Melody; he's the one who chose Leon Jackson's painful holiday single last year. Simon Cowell doesn't have it.
Unfortunately the X Factor is his show so if he's not smart (and he's not) he won't be turning over his chair to anyone else.
Then we have Dannii Minogue and above all Cheryl Cole. The new queens of the X Factor. (Simon and Louis are the old queens.). Watch Dannii and Cheryl talk to the artists. Their eyes don't waver all over the place furtively as especially Simon has to do. They look them straight in the eyes, often with a big beaming smile. They encourage the artists. They don't revel in putting them down. They nurture talent. And particularly in the case of Cheryl Cole they know what people want and how to get their artists to produce it.
Watch the 'Man in the Mirror' clip below. But don't watch the singer Diana Vickers - watch Cheryl Cole. She's literally beaming at Diana and sending messages across all the time. Watch how Diana answers her.
Watch the 'Call Me' clip immediately below and see the close contact Cheryl has with Diana.
Watch the 'Man in the Mirror' clip again, particularly the introduction, and watch how Cheryl wraps her arms around Diana so protectively. Cheryl's found an even higher calling.
And he's so spiteful. And so mean. Almost everyone he's ever worked with hates him. And he has to continually wag his tongue at the other judges and remind them of how many hits his (former) 'groups' have had. He's not wanted anymore.
Sorry, Louis. Bye, Louis. Won't miss you, Louis.
Simon's over the hill too. More and more his repugnant arrogance is becoming yesterday's worst news. His excruciating caution in meting out compliments together with his unabashed delight in insulting people doesn't work anymore. And his taste in music is atrocious. He's the one had Robson Green record a horrifying cover of Unchained Melody; he's the one who chose Leon Jackson's painful holiday single last year. Simon Cowell doesn't have it.
Unfortunately the X Factor is his show so if he's not smart (and he's not) he won't be turning over his chair to anyone else.
Then we have Dannii Minogue and above all Cheryl Cole. The new queens of the X Factor. (Simon and Louis are the old queens.). Watch Dannii and Cheryl talk to the artists. Their eyes don't waver all over the place furtively as especially Simon has to do. They look them straight in the eyes, often with a big beaming smile. They encourage the artists. They don't revel in putting them down. They nurture talent. And particularly in the case of Cheryl Cole they know what people want and how to get their artists to produce it.
Watch the 'Man in the Mirror' clip below. But don't watch the singer Diana Vickers - watch Cheryl Cole. She's literally beaming at Diana and sending messages across all the time. Watch how Diana answers her.
Watch the 'Call Me' clip immediately below and see the close contact Cheryl has with Diana.
Watch the 'Man in the Mirror' clip again, particularly the introduction, and watch how Cheryl wraps her arms around Diana so protectively. Cheryl's found an even higher calling.
2008-11-14
2008-10-26
In No Particular Order
We catch The X Factor on satellite. The trick they pull is revealing the winners from week to week 'in no particular order'. But it ain't that easy. Wander over to YouTube and you can figure out who's in front and who's not.
Searching for 'X Factor 2008' and sorting by views reveals the following.
372,579 Diana Vickers
362,219 Diana Vickers
318,998 Diana Vickers
278,112 Austin Drage
264,393 Daniel Evans
244,911 JLS
209,810 Laura White
179,800 Diana Vickers
152,861 Diana Vickers
137,826 Diana Vickers
Searching for 'X Factor 2008' and sorting by views reveals the following.
372,579 Diana Vickers
362,219 Diana Vickers
318,998 Diana Vickers
278,112 Austin Drage
264,393 Daniel Evans
244,911 JLS
209,810 Laura White
179,800 Diana Vickers
152,861 Diana Vickers
137,826 Diana Vickers
2008-08-24
Cheops' Pyramid (Translation)
I'm one of them slaving away at King Cheops' pyramid
That's us working down there by the base
And we wear ourselves out and sweat to not fall behind
And you feel sorry for those who can't make their quota
And once you've come here
You'll never again be free
If you quit here you quit in a hole
But they say the king is the son of the sun
Behind fifteen double bolts, behind fifteen double locks
The country holds court in the halls of power
Here is nothing that threatens, nothing that disturbs
Here the thoughts and the rooms are equally cool
And if someone has to die
Or others are to be beaten
There'll be others who can carry out the orders
Up here are never heard cries of anguish and screams
But when the night grows long
We like to sing a song
That those who rule over us can hear on the wind
About a people who lived once upon a time
Who wanted to build a tower
That would reach all the way up to the heavens
But the higher they got
The more separated they became
Those who lived at the top from those at the bottom
And in the end the tower grew so high
That those up there and down there
Could no longer understand each other
And then the tower toppled and fell down
So it seems as if in every age and with every people
There are those who want to build pyramids
Where they themselves sit atop and have power in their hands
Whilst those who live down below suffer
But if those up in the blue
No longer want to understand
But instead despise those who give them food
Then the pyramids will in the end become their graves
That's us working down there by the base
And we wear ourselves out and sweat to not fall behind
And you feel sorry for those who can't make their quota
And once you've come here
You'll never again be free
If you quit here you quit in a hole
But they say the king is the son of the sun
Behind fifteen double bolts, behind fifteen double locks
The country holds court in the halls of power
Here is nothing that threatens, nothing that disturbs
Here the thoughts and the rooms are equally cool
And if someone has to die
Or others are to be beaten
There'll be others who can carry out the orders
Up here are never heard cries of anguish and screams
But when the night grows long
We like to sing a song
That those who rule over us can hear on the wind
About a people who lived once upon a time
Who wanted to build a tower
That would reach all the way up to the heavens
But the higher they got
The more separated they became
Those who lived at the top from those at the bottom
And in the end the tower grew so high
That those up there and down there
Could no longer understand each other
And then the tower toppled and fell down
So it seems as if in every age and with every people
There are those who want to build pyramids
Where they themselves sit atop and have power in their hands
Whilst those who live down below suffer
But if those up in the blue
No longer want to understand
But instead despise those who give them food
Then the pyramids will in the end become their graves
Kung Keops Pyramid
The 2008 Olympics are all but over. It's hard to realise time has so flown. They've been dazzling. And from an organisational standpoint they've become the new bar. Where do we see any productions on this scale done so carefully and perfectly? And the birds nest stadium - the colours it emits. It's been breathtaking.
And now when the Beijing smog settles the chitchat and bickering will begin again. We don't really need that - but perhaps we need a few things to meditate on.
Jag är en av dom som slavar på Kung Keops pyramid
Och det är vi som jobbar nere intill foten
Och vi sliter och vi svettas för att inte tappa tid
Och det är synd om dom som inte fyller kvoten
Har man en gång kommit hit
blir man aldrig mera fri
Om man slutar här så slutar man i gropen
Men om kungen sägs att han är son av solen
Bakom femton dubbla reglar, bakom femton dubbla lås
håller rikedomen hov i maktens salar
Här finns ingenting som hotar, här finns ingenting som stör
Här är tankarna och rummen lika svala
Och om någon måste dö
eller några ska ha spö
finns det andra som kan verkställa besluten
Hit hörs aldrig ångestropen eller tjuten
Men när natten blir lång
brukar vi sjunga en sång
som dom som styr oss kan höra i vinden
Om ett folk som levde en gång
som ville bygga ett torn
som skulle räcka ända upp till himlen
Men ju högre man kom
ju mera skilde sej dom
som bodde där uppe ifrån dom andra
Och till sist blev tornet så högt
att dom där uppe och nere
inte längre förstod varandra
Och då rasade tornet samman
Så det verkar som om det i varje tid och i alla sorters folk
finns några som vill skapa pyramider
där dom själva sitter överst och har makten i sin hand
medan dom som lever nedanför dom lyder
Men om dom där uppe i det blå
inte längre vill förstå
utan föraktar alla dom som ger dom mat
ska pyramiderna till sist bli deras grav
It's a clever lyric by Sweden's not always most popular bard in all circles but it highlights an important aspect of major projects such as Olympic spectacles and pyramids: there are people at the top who get the glory, who never see the pain and suffering - and then there are those at the bottom who see all the pain and suffering and never get the glory. And it seems to be like this through all possible ages of human history. But the pompous atop will have to learn sooner or later or their own vanity will be their own funerals.
And now when the Beijing smog settles the chitchat and bickering will begin again. We don't really need that - but perhaps we need a few things to meditate on.
Jag är en av dom som slavar på Kung Keops pyramid
Och det är vi som jobbar nere intill foten
Och vi sliter och vi svettas för att inte tappa tid
Och det är synd om dom som inte fyller kvoten
Har man en gång kommit hit
blir man aldrig mera fri
Om man slutar här så slutar man i gropen
Men om kungen sägs att han är son av solen
Bakom femton dubbla reglar, bakom femton dubbla lås
håller rikedomen hov i maktens salar
Här finns ingenting som hotar, här finns ingenting som stör
Här är tankarna och rummen lika svala
Och om någon måste dö
eller några ska ha spö
finns det andra som kan verkställa besluten
Hit hörs aldrig ångestropen eller tjuten
Men när natten blir lång
brukar vi sjunga en sång
som dom som styr oss kan höra i vinden
Om ett folk som levde en gång
som ville bygga ett torn
som skulle räcka ända upp till himlen
Men ju högre man kom
ju mera skilde sej dom
som bodde där uppe ifrån dom andra
Och till sist blev tornet så högt
att dom där uppe och nere
inte längre förstod varandra
Och då rasade tornet samman
Så det verkar som om det i varje tid och i alla sorters folk
finns några som vill skapa pyramider
där dom själva sitter överst och har makten i sin hand
medan dom som lever nedanför dom lyder
Men om dom där uppe i det blå
inte längre vill förstå
utan föraktar alla dom som ger dom mat
ska pyramiderna till sist bli deras grav
It's a clever lyric by Sweden's not always most popular bard in all circles but it highlights an important aspect of major projects such as Olympic spectacles and pyramids: there are people at the top who get the glory, who never see the pain and suffering - and then there are those at the bottom who see all the pain and suffering and never get the glory. And it seems to be like this through all possible ages of human history. But the pompous atop will have to learn sooner or later or their own vanity will be their own funerals.
2008-08-20
Something Happened
Something happened. We were on our way to my dental surgeon yesterday. To an appointment my ordinary dentist made two months ago. I need a few teeth yanked as a result of deterioration that took place during my illness. Two months off meant I could push it into the future all along. I wasn't apprehensive even up to the last minute.
After several false starts we made it to our new local GP who was really cool and promptly prescribed all the medicines I'd need including a mild valium type pill and heavy duty pain killers. He advised breaking the pills into thirds. The pills could be broken into fourths so S gave me a half to start with; I took another half for the journey; and finally another half when we'd arrived. That was 9 milligrams all told.
I didn't think much about how it affected me. I rode rally shotgun for the trip with driving instructions from Google and it was an arduous course but we made it mostly OK and on time to boot.
The surgeon was very cool. He looked at the X-rays, noticed there was yet another tooth to yank, told us it was a simple job and he'd be finished in twenty minutes. I questioned him: twenty minutes? Twenty minutes, he assured me. Unless I screw up, he joked as an afterthought, in which case it might take several hours. Which all relaxed us a lot.
And that was it. Out to make a new appointment a month from now, get new prescriptions for painkillers and some new valium type pill and motor our way home.
I was zonked from the valium pills. I wasn't awake longer than 21:00 hours. Really beat. Didn't even want to eat dinner. Laid down on the sofa. S served me a plate of food whilst I lie there. Had no appetite but forced it down as well as I could.
Nine hours later - at 06:00 the following morning - I woke and still felt strange. Gone was the ordinary cocktail of nervous edge and mild desperation/depression and suddenly I understood those pills had somehow changed me permanently. Perhaps there were other factors but something really happened.
I'm just euphoric. Not ecstatic - euphoric. I light subliminal feeling of euphoria. And I think it's permanent. Suddenly everything is easy and suddenly I'm a better person for it - a more pleasant person as well.
After several false starts we made it to our new local GP who was really cool and promptly prescribed all the medicines I'd need including a mild valium type pill and heavy duty pain killers. He advised breaking the pills into thirds. The pills could be broken into fourths so S gave me a half to start with; I took another half for the journey; and finally another half when we'd arrived. That was 9 milligrams all told.
I didn't think much about how it affected me. I rode rally shotgun for the trip with driving instructions from Google and it was an arduous course but we made it mostly OK and on time to boot.
The surgeon was very cool. He looked at the X-rays, noticed there was yet another tooth to yank, told us it was a simple job and he'd be finished in twenty minutes. I questioned him: twenty minutes? Twenty minutes, he assured me. Unless I screw up, he joked as an afterthought, in which case it might take several hours. Which all relaxed us a lot.
And that was it. Out to make a new appointment a month from now, get new prescriptions for painkillers and some new valium type pill and motor our way home.
I was zonked from the valium pills. I wasn't awake longer than 21:00 hours. Really beat. Didn't even want to eat dinner. Laid down on the sofa. S served me a plate of food whilst I lie there. Had no appetite but forced it down as well as I could.
Nine hours later - at 06:00 the following morning - I woke and still felt strange. Gone was the ordinary cocktail of nervous edge and mild desperation/depression and suddenly I understood those pills had somehow changed me permanently. Perhaps there were other factors but something really happened.
I'm just euphoric. Not ecstatic - euphoric. I light subliminal feeling of euphoria. And I think it's permanent. Suddenly everything is easy and suddenly I'm a better person for it - a more pleasant person as well.
2008-07-18
Two Words
The gun toting right wing christian lunatics are going crazy again. Over their right to put Kalashnikovs under their beds. Take away our guns, they say, and soon they'll take away our freedom of speech.
Yeah right. Everyone can see it coming.
There are two words for these hopeless people.
1. Den
2. mark
Denmark is one of those weaponless peacenik dictatorships where there's been no censorship since 1967. None. It's forbidden by law. Nothing can be censored. Under any conditions. It simply doesn't work so don't try it.
There are other things that don't work in Denmark - things that work in places like the US. But that only means Denmark is a nicer place.
Yeah right. Everyone can see it coming.
There are two words for these hopeless people.
1. Den
2. mark
Denmark is one of those weaponless peacenik dictatorships where there's been no censorship since 1967. None. It's forbidden by law. Nothing can be censored. Under any conditions. It simply doesn't work so don't try it.
There are other things that don't work in Denmark - things that work in places like the US. But that only means Denmark is a nicer place.
You Pick Your Paradise
Paradise is out there - but not where you'd expect it. To find paradise you have to take the time to look. Few people do. They open travel magazines and pick up a prefab tour. Oh what fun. Five minutes for pictures. Two months later you look at things in those pictures you never saw before. You can say 'I was there - that's me, that little speck, at the foot of Big Ben'.
Hanna Brodda published an interesting article today. Not that she's necessarily enlightened but she's pointing in the right direction.
http://www.e24.se/kvinna/kronikor/artikel_505983.e24
Some parts roughly translated.
How can a career person choose to live outside the city? In most cases I suspect a STRONG factor.
A stereotype dream.
With a house, a garden, and a patio it's always great weather. You see how you come home from work and choose to sit outside in the evenings. On Saturdays you let the children and the dog loose in the garden and they play side by side all the while you go on sleeping - and later when you want to get up you partake of a wonderful breakfast on your patio. You like to tinker with things so when you have time on your hands you build a nice play cottage for your overly happy children.
Crash! But wait a minute! It's first now in the middle of June it gets warm enough to sit outdoors and eat. And now it's only two hectic weeks remaining until your holidays. And during the holiday season your residential area on Lidingö, in Danderyd, or in Bromma literally dies - and you don't want to be abandoned, your children don't want to be abandoned either, so you have to go away on your holiday too.
Maybe you won't have a barbecue after all. Not on any of the eleven evenings all summer when the weather permits. How are you going to have the time to make the food, carry it out, when you have to work, pick up the kids, and make it home before both you and your children are starving - the trip suddenly takes longer than ever before. Anything from fifteen minutes to an hour - yes it does: don't listen to them when they say 'when I'm sitting on the commuter train it's only 7 minutes to the central station'. You don't work at or live at the central station! You have to keep on traveling, changing trains, waiting - and whoosh but suddenly you've 'traveled' away the time you needed to make your barbecue.
I live in the city and I am scared to death of the suburbs. I gave it a real try in Mälarhöjden for a few months but I ended up running away. It was empty - at the playground, on the street outside and in my garden. Not because there was a war on but only because there are so few people who can find room to live in a villa area.
The children played in my beautiful garden for four minutes. Then they wanted to visit a friend or they wanted me to come out and play. And I didn't have time for that because I had to re-kalk the bathroom.
We didn't have time with a play cottage because the ground was weak, the facade had to be polished, and the apples that fell down in droves had to be shoveled up.
It was a level of stress I wish on no one.
It's not the city; it's not the country; it's the work life. The rat race. The ekorrhjul. That's what you have to get out of. Then if you want to live in a city or the countryside is your business. You choose.
You pick your paradise.
Hanna Brodda published an interesting article today. Not that she's necessarily enlightened but she's pointing in the right direction.
http://www.e24.se/kvinna/kronikor/artikel_505983.e24
Some parts roughly translated.
How can a career person choose to live outside the city? In most cases I suspect a STRONG factor.
A stereotype dream.
With a house, a garden, and a patio it's always great weather. You see how you come home from work and choose to sit outside in the evenings. On Saturdays you let the children and the dog loose in the garden and they play side by side all the while you go on sleeping - and later when you want to get up you partake of a wonderful breakfast on your patio. You like to tinker with things so when you have time on your hands you build a nice play cottage for your overly happy children.
Crash! But wait a minute! It's first now in the middle of June it gets warm enough to sit outdoors and eat. And now it's only two hectic weeks remaining until your holidays. And during the holiday season your residential area on Lidingö, in Danderyd, or in Bromma literally dies - and you don't want to be abandoned, your children don't want to be abandoned either, so you have to go away on your holiday too.
Maybe you won't have a barbecue after all. Not on any of the eleven evenings all summer when the weather permits. How are you going to have the time to make the food, carry it out, when you have to work, pick up the kids, and make it home before both you and your children are starving - the trip suddenly takes longer than ever before. Anything from fifteen minutes to an hour - yes it does: don't listen to them when they say 'when I'm sitting on the commuter train it's only 7 minutes to the central station'. You don't work at or live at the central station! You have to keep on traveling, changing trains, waiting - and whoosh but suddenly you've 'traveled' away the time you needed to make your barbecue.
I live in the city and I am scared to death of the suburbs. I gave it a real try in Mälarhöjden for a few months but I ended up running away. It was empty - at the playground, on the street outside and in my garden. Not because there was a war on but only because there are so few people who can find room to live in a villa area.
The children played in my beautiful garden for four minutes. Then they wanted to visit a friend or they wanted me to come out and play. And I didn't have time for that because I had to re-kalk the bathroom.
We didn't have time with a play cottage because the ground was weak, the facade had to be polished, and the apples that fell down in droves had to be shoveled up.
It was a level of stress I wish on no one.
It's not the city; it's not the country; it's the work life. The rat race. The ekorrhjul. That's what you have to get out of. Then if you want to live in a city or the countryside is your business. You choose.
You pick your paradise.
2008-07-12
Chills
Our weather is still good but inside I don't know. Just received a message from a friend who will be out traveling and staying at yet another city centre luxury hotel.
I can't say with enough emphasis how much I detest such places. I don't need to reside fifteen floors above sea level with a spectacular view of concrete jungle. It's just not my thing. I've stayed in so many hotels in so many countries and today there's nothing I am more allergic to.
Concrete? Fuck concrete! I want to sit in a garden, listen to the breeze rustling in the trees, watch a bird drop straight down out of the sky to pick something up off the ground. I want to see the sun setting over a sea of green - and not washing over a stone cold facade.
The folly of human beings. Michael Crichton would have a field day with such aspirations. In fact he already has on so many occasions.
Human beings are such pretentious creatures. We need to stay close to the basics of life - the beautiful basics of life. That's where we come from and that's where we derive most of our wonderful enjoyment.
Paradise may exist but paradise is not a high rise. Paradise means things of nature. It always has and always will. Orcs and morlocks live in concrete jungles. Eloi live in nature. Give me Eloi any day.
I can't say with enough emphasis how much I detest such places. I don't need to reside fifteen floors above sea level with a spectacular view of concrete jungle. It's just not my thing. I've stayed in so many hotels in so many countries and today there's nothing I am more allergic to.
Concrete? Fuck concrete! I want to sit in a garden, listen to the breeze rustling in the trees, watch a bird drop straight down out of the sky to pick something up off the ground. I want to see the sun setting over a sea of green - and not washing over a stone cold facade.
The folly of human beings. Michael Crichton would have a field day with such aspirations. In fact he already has on so many occasions.
Human beings are such pretentious creatures. We need to stay close to the basics of life - the beautiful basics of life. That's where we come from and that's where we derive most of our wonderful enjoyment.
Paradise may exist but paradise is not a high rise. Paradise means things of nature. It always has and always will. Orcs and morlocks live in concrete jungles. Eloi live in nature. Give me Eloi any day.
2008-07-01
Representations
Coral roses - and paradise - represent things to us. They represent the exotic. The freedom of getting away from it all. A carefree life. No worries. No tuition fees. No bills coming through the mailslot. No more hassles with neighbours, coworkers, bosses, spouses, children. They represent stepping out of it all - stepping out of one's very society.
But you can never accomplish that. Some people think you can. You can't. No matter where you live you're going to be part of a society. Are you sure you like that society as much as your own? Some societies are indeed better - but a lot are much much worse.
If all you want is good climate: that's fine. But you'll be around people. After that glorious weekend as you waddle your way back to the airport to fly back home again to return to your vertical city - you're leaving people behind. People who live there 24/7/365.2422. Do you dare stay behind, going to ground, making it on your own?
Can you have paradise - with the paradise feeling - even on Monday?
You can. But it's really tricky.
But you can never accomplish that. Some people think you can. You can't. No matter where you live you're going to be part of a society. Are you sure you like that society as much as your own? Some societies are indeed better - but a lot are much much worse.
If all you want is good climate: that's fine. But you'll be around people. After that glorious weekend as you waddle your way back to the airport to fly back home again to return to your vertical city - you're leaving people behind. People who live there 24/7/365.2422. Do you dare stay behind, going to ground, making it on your own?
Can you have paradise - with the paradise feeling - even on Monday?
You can. But it's really tricky.
So What Happens on Monday?
So what happens on Monday? That's the big question. Go out back of your exotic hotel and see the back streets lined with discarded refrigerators, car wrecks, litter, sleeping dogs.
Of course there's the old story of the rich businessman down on the west coast of Mexico. He's walking along the beach and he encounters a fisherman winding up his work for the day. The two of them begin to talk. The fisherman tells the businessman all about his daily life. Up at sunrise, breakfast out in nature, out in the boat with the sky as his roof all day (and glorious weather all the time of course). Back home at dusk, turn over the fish to the lady who will sell them later, have some dinner, relax a bit.
Quite the life, thinks the businessman who then tells the fisherman:
I think I know what I'm going to do. I'm going to go back home and back to work for now and I'm going to work really hard - harder than ever before - and I'm going to save money like never before until I've saved enough and then I'm going to come back down here and live like you!
Of course there's the old story of the rich businessman down on the west coast of Mexico. He's walking along the beach and he encounters a fisherman winding up his work for the day. The two of them begin to talk. The fisherman tells the businessman all about his daily life. Up at sunrise, breakfast out in nature, out in the boat with the sky as his roof all day (and glorious weather all the time of course). Back home at dusk, turn over the fish to the lady who will sell them later, have some dinner, relax a bit.
Quite the life, thinks the businessman who then tells the fisherman:
I think I know what I'm going to do. I'm going to go back home and back to work for now and I'm going to work really hard - harder than ever before - and I'm going to save money like never before until I've saved enough and then I'm going to come back down here and live like you!
A Good Template is Hard to Find
Some of the templates are OK. But I don't like the colours. I'd rather have something based on coral. Coral is my favourite colour. Because it literally transports me to places I want to be. Or seems to. A bit of work online and one finds out what the RGB of coral is - or at least the shade I want. It's ff4040. Ever seen a coral rose? You haven't lived until you've seen one. But finding a template where you can actually change the colours - no. Not for beginners. You have to actually change images stored at blogblog.com. That comes later.
Guess What This Is!
Guess what this post is.
What's a 'paradise Monday'? What's a 'Monday' in paradise? Is it any different from any other day?
That's the question, innit?
What's a 'paradise Monday'? What's a 'Monday' in paradise? Is it any different from any other day?
That's the question, innit?
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