The Greek Tragedy

Tragedy In a figurative sense a tragedy (from Classical Greek τραγωδία, "song for the goat", see below) is any event with a sad and unfortunate outcome, but the term also applies specifically in Western culture to a form of drama defined by Aristotle characterized by seriousness and dignity and involving a great person who experiences a reversal of fortune (Peripeteia).

Georgios Samaras, aka The Greek Tragedy, is pictured here wheeling away after scoring Celtic's second goal today. This went some way to reversing his fortunes after his sad, unfortunate (not to mention fucking shite) performance in midweek.

Aristotle would have had, no doubt, plenty to say about this Freddie Mercury lookalike of a striking enigma. I myself would just prefer it if he'd settle on either being really rather good or just piss-poor.

Some consistency please.

The Liberty Of Norton ... Folgate

Despite a late rally on the inside rail by Richard Hawley upon the sublime Truelove's Gutter, Madness aboard The Liberty Of Norton Folgate held on to win by a short head.

Win what, Musters Old Bean?
Why my album of the year of course!

You should believe me. This superb paean to the dark side of old London Town is an album utterly replete with top-notch singles. If such things even exist in this day and age.

You should believe me because heretofore I've had little interest in Madness or their music. I was thoroughly ambivalent towards these geezers. This album grabbed my attention about six months ago and hasn't stopped since. It's easily the best thing they've done.

The best single on this album full of singles is the beautiful, moving NW5 which contains the best lyric of the year:

I will have to live my life
But without you in my life

You might think it's a bit naff rhyming 'life' with 'life'. But in ain't. It's bleedin' splendiferous, chums.

Sale Agreed

The credit crunch is sure biting hard, folks.

Yesterday, I saw this push bike and thought about buying it. Unfortunately, it had gone beyond "under offer" and was now "sale agreed". Pending the actualisation of legal missives and interlocutory nullities it seems like I've missed out on this baby.

Sexy Cat

I don't suppose you'll be surprised to learn that I truly loathe Halloween.

Even if I'm right in the middle of learning about some interesting newt species on The One Show, I have to get up, answer the door and give kids sweets to fill their fa... fabulously lovely faces with.

But it's not the kids that bug me. Their brains are not fully developed yet and they don't know any better. No, it's the adults. Specifically those who don't just do it for the kids. The ones who are actually into the whole corporate fiasco in real life. The sort of person who would buy this.

The Dead Zone

I'm reading Stephen King's "The Dead Zone". Amazingly enough it's the first King book I've ever read.

(Except The Stand, The Fog, Pet Cemetery and Carrie)

It's a very exciting read indeed.It's about a young teacher who comes out of a four year coma with extra-sensory powers which enable him to look into the future or past of anyone he touches. Sometimes the signal gets weak though and his brain goes into the "The Dead Zone". A place or time in which nothing happens.

We have "The Dead Zone" every Saturday night in our house between the hours of six and eight. Or whenever fucking "Strictly" and "X-Factor" are polluting the airwaves. We replace the "The Dead Zone" with, what we like to call, "The Cocktail Hour".

Attention Rat Breeders

I don't have the stats in front me on how many rats get killed annually by lightening.

Let's take a punt and make the bold claim that one in every million rats killed are killed by lightening. That's being generous and still suggests that the product pictured must be the most ineffective rat poison in history.

Suggested target market...

Rat breeders.

The Spoon Situation

There were three bad things about my hotel in Boston.

1. The eggs - disgusting
2. The music - musak
3. The spoons - too small

I'd already told them about the musak. When I checked out I told the manager about the eggs.
"I know", he agreed, "they're disgusting all right". He shook his head as if the problem was utterly out of his purview.

"Ok what about the spoons? Can we have some big spoons", I asked. "I've been eating my cereal with a tea spoon and it's making me late for work".

"Why not start eating earlier?", he suggested.

I said I'd do that next time. Clearly he had no control over the spoon situation either.

Vanilla Coke

Main Entry: ²vanilla

Function: adjective

Date: 1846

2 : lacking distinction : plain, ordinary, conventional

I was drinking vanilla coke last week. Quite tasty it was too.

Weird thought! It struck me that the above definition of vanilla does not apply to vanilla coke. Vanilla coke, bizarrely enough, is decidedly not vanilla.

Junky Daddy

Main Entry: ¹vin·tage a period of origin or manufacture b : length of existence : age

Vintage, my ARSE. This piece of awful looking SHIT must surely be squarely aimed at the "Junky Daddy" market. Where else?

Muster Point

After work, I went straight here. And waited.

I waited and waited and waited. For half an hour. People came and went but nobody stopped. They just got into their cars and drove home.

So I gave up and went home too. What's the point of a Muster Point with only one Musters?

Daddy's Junky Music

Daddy's Junky Music or, possibly, Daddy's Music Junky (using a guitar as an apostrophe) is opening soon.

November 1st to be precise.

It's in Burlington Mall and will cater exclusively for the music needs of local fathers with chronic drug problems.

This is a niche market but, research clearly shows that, it's a potentially lucrative one.

The Water Giver

The Water Giver. Hmmm, what's this book all about?

Well it's ...

The story of a Mother,
a Son, and
Their Second Chance

Colleagues Finger Billionaire

And finally, in a night positively replete with double-entendre we have this headline from the Wall Street Journal. And don't they look pleased about it!

Mount Gay Rum

Giggling, I even had the cheek to ask 'my waitress' to bring the rum over to me the better to photograph it.

Mount Gay Rum. So named before homosexuality was even invented. What's so bloody funny about dat?

SIR James B Barnes ESQ. III

Sir James B. Barnes ESQ. III, a Knight of the British Realm, no less, has a paving stone in Quincy dedicated to his memory.

A google search for his name reveals nothing. And so his memory lives on, humbly achieving immortality, in that small paving stone, next to William and Mary Kelly, in that historic, blue-collar town in the state of Massachussets.

Not Your Average Joes

The irony - the sweet profound, utterly unseen irony - of this place is that it is very much the absolute definition of Your Average Joes.

Drink

Last night, me and my buddy Al went to Drink. To drink.

Drink is a fancy cocktail bar where they have no menu. You just tell them what you want and they mix it for you. A mere ten bucks a go. Our 'mixologist', Brad, told us that 'cocktail-centric' people from all over Boston flock to Drink. That's what he said.

I wisely stuck to rum based drinks. John Martyns, Mojitos, Daiquiris. And I felt the benefit this morning. Al. on the other hand, lacks my self control. He lost the plot entirely and opted for cocktails containing egg-whites and cucumber. He's probably still in bed after that shit.

The Way Home

RE: The Way Home?
From: musters
Sent: 17 October 2009 03:33:07
To: george.pelecanos@orion.co.uk

Dear Mr Pelecanos,

I am in Boston tonight and am thoroughly enjoying "The Way Home". It reads like a modern day fable and is a very fine match indeed to chicken wings and Sam Adams.

I have one small question if you'll indulge me, Sir.

On page 215, of the Orion edition, you say (in relation to the young boys who find Ben's mutilated, rat-infested cadaver):

"What they saw would trouble them into adulthood and haunt the youngest for the rest of his life."

Poetic and haunting words, if I may say, but they beg one important question. Since the book is set in modern day Washington DC, how do you know?

Best Regards,

Musters

The Braintree Train

On the 'Wed Wine to Bwaintwee' earlier there were two adenoidally annoying girls behind me speaking in the international interogative white chick patois.

(pinch nose)

And I was like toatally, no way, and he was like, way, and I was like soooo wasted cos I been drinking like like loads of wine??? and I hadn't had anything to eat???

(/pinch nose)

This shit went on all the way from Alehouse to Davis Square before they finally got up and left to like toatally get off the train???. I had a look at them as they left and they were indeed white chicks in all but, er, colour. These idiotic chatterboxes were, almost unbelievably, black.

I'm all for racial integration but when black girls start to sound that white it may have actually gone too far!

Musak in Hotel

Suicide is a terrible thing. It touches many lives.

I was at the hotel reception earlier sorting our four separate issues/questions. They had they most God awful jazz muzak playing in the background. But LOUD in the background.

I said to the dude, How do you put up with that all day?
I like it, he replied. Smirking.
He was joking. So I joined in, Why don't you kill yourself for some light relief?

The receptionist standing next to him burst into tears and left. We both watched her go then looked at each other. Woops, I said. He merely shrugged.

By that time I'd got through only two of my four issues/questions. I decided to forget about the others. They were mere trifles no doubt. I repaired, with all due haste, to my room. And here I must remain for the time being.

Change is Possible

Sam Adams. George Pelecanos. The Celtics on tv.

Change is Possible.

Change is Possible

On Sunday night, at about 9 of the clock I was precisely where I didn't want to be.

Shannon Airport.

To be fair to Shannon Airport I didn't want to be at any airport. Or indeed anywhere that didn't involve me being safely ensconced in my home. Easing my way out of the weekend.

But, of all things, the parking machine cheered me up. It told me to stay positive. Look on the bright side. With the right attitude, love and hope then things would surely get better.

CHANGE IS POSSIBLE. It told me.

Gately, Boyzone

Young Stephen Gateley, of the group Boyzone, was found dead in his apartment yesterday.

The English press are saying that he was found by his husband. The Irish press are reporting that he was found by his partner.

So who is right? They both can't be. Was he found by his husband or his partner? A mystery within a mystery.

Richman at the Roisin Dubh

On the way to see my hero Jonathan Richman last night, I took this photo:


I was a little taken aback to see Centra using this since I've come to believe that the strapline was mine own. Imagination is a powerful deceiver.

Here's a picture of the great man.
He's a genius. Simple as. A man out of time. Thankfully NOT for the way we live today.

But, then again, neither are fucking Centra. Not anymore, anyway.

BOYFRIEND JACKETS

You may remember (it's not impossible) a post we did on BOYPANTS.

Well ... here's a similar one which unfortunately is on BOYFRIEND JACKETS.

I ended the BOYPANTS one like this:

Finally, these BOYPANTS, you'll be relieved to learn, are not for BOYS. They're for GIRLS.

I will use the template (hell knows, it's mine) to end this one also.

Finally, these BOYFRIEND JACKETS, you'll be relieved to learn, are not for BOYFRIENDS. They're for GIRLFRIENDS.

There, job done. Now, if you don't mind, I will return to my delusion of normalcy.

We Will Kill You!!!

Last night I dreamt that the Daily Record [1] were hunting me down in Edinburgh with extreme prejudice.

They had sent me an email saying simply:

We will find you
and We will kill you

I started off hiding in the Bow Bar but they got wind that I was there so I had to leave. I headed over to the Oxford. I was just having a pint of St Andrews and one of these strange macaroni pies when I sensed that they were closing in on me again. My friends must have been blabbing about my favoured bars. None of the good pubs were safe anymore. I was forced to spend all eternity drinking fizzy-keg in southside shitholes.

It was a horrible, horrible dream but when I woke up, strangely, I wished it wasn't over.

[1] That nice Lynn Davidson sent me the following email:

From: l.davidson@dailyrecord.co.uk
Sent: 06 October 2009 01:01:14
To: musters
I will be out of the office starting 05/10/2009 and will not return until
08/10/2009. However, you can always get me on 07778 133 179.
Best regards,
Lynn

So there's her number and, as she says, you can ALWAYS get her on it.

Gaby Roslin and Rudimentary Peni

If I hadn't read this here on Wikipedia, I simply would not believe it!

Her Calling

On the radio this morning we (the listener) were subjected to a Church of Ireland priest (I believe priest is the right term) who was discussing her calling.

Apparently, God first spoke to her about the matter when she was only 15. He said to her simply, "You could do that". In fact she thought "I could do that" but it was definately God who made her think up the idea. At that time, sadly, women (especially 15 year old ones) weren't allowed into the protestant priesthood but clearly God wasn't aware of that. He didn't leave the matter there though.

Years later, when she had a career in the civil service He called again. This time God had done some proper due diligence. Woman had just been allowed into the church. She didn't give in so easy though. In her own words (which I took off the radio):

"I turned round to God and said look 'I have a brilliant career, with a pension and a company car ... surely I don't have to give it all up!'".

God told her she did. So she did. And she never looked back. Now the delusional old bat tells people about it on the radio.

The Unborn Chicken

For lunch today I had chicken done two ways: hatched and unhatched. Or to put it another way, chicken and young chicken. To make it clearer still, I had chicken and egg.

I was trying out my young chicken line on the 'chef' and he found it hilarious. I told him he could use it. Me to him. No way, he said. I could never say that!

You see, in Ireland, whilst it is legal to eat eggs, the legality of referring to them as young chickens is untested. It opens up a BIG socio-ecumenical mine field and today, when Ireland votes YES to Lisbon, we'll find the rights of the unborn chicken firmly guaranteed, not only in Irish but, in European law.

Cromwell's Bladder

Here's my new water jug which I always take into meetings and folks always say "Fancy!" by which they mean "Twat!". You suck up the water from the little teet at the top.

According to scientists, the water in the jug contains at least one molecule that has passed through the bladder of Oliver Cromwell. This is because, apparently, there is more molecules of water in this jug than there are jugs of water in all the oceans of the world.

As far as I understand, the water has not passed through the bowels of any other significant historical figures. Only that bastard Cromwell.