Burning bridges to the 21st century

British people are often fond of levelling completely unfounded accusations against other peoples (a). One that I've heard from time to time is that Americans are too soft on their political figures, refusing to satire them in anything more than a loving way. Here's a clip that goes against that:



(a) They also claim that we are incapable of irony -- such as the irony of someone from the United States criticising an entire island of people for their perceived-by-him tendency to criticise large groups of people.

Eric saves the blog

I am presently in the midst of revising (FTYPAH: "studying") for exams, so blogging has fallen way down the priority list -- still above housecleaning but well below watching "I'd Do Anything" (a). So, I was all set to let the blog go into its usual other-things-are-happening languishing state, but now Eric has given me something to post.

Here are a few videos from a recent performance of the Secondhand Ska Kings at Minneapolis' Fine Line. It's a group of people in their 30s pretending they are still in college. But they are betrayed by the fact that they are in tune:


On this one you get to hear funky, funky Eric sing. An interesting thing to note is that Eric is always like this. Watch his mannerisms and this is pretty much how he acts all the time. No, really. Go to his house and you'll see him acting like this while he's watching TV, making food, etc. Actually, don't go to his house. His wife would not appreciate my sending a load of people over to visit.


Apparently, the fellas have taken on Markéta Irglová. What's with the chick on keyboards? Who is that? Do I know her?

One of my favourite things about Secondhand Ska Kings is that I know most of the members. Eric has been my best friend for 20 years; Matt (the guitarist who hides to the left of the screen) used to live next door to me in Ballard Hall (b); Bryce (the trumpet player) used to live across the hall from me and Matt; Scott (the other trombone player and singer on two of the songs) is the guy who always riles me up by suggesting that Welsh is really Klingon. I am hoping that I do, in fact, know the female keyboardist and that I have shagged her.


(a) Yes, I realise that every time I admit to watching these shows I fall a little further in the eyes of Chris and Jenny. By now they almost certainly regret ever having let me stay in their home.

(b) Note that this is an all-male residence hall. Trust me, it's even worse than it sounds.

Merry Christmas

Music by Billy May Orchestra.

Mike Stonecreek reports

When I worked in local television news one of the things I hated most were health reports. More often than not, they were shockingly uninformative and the only reason the newscast carried them is because they were sponsored. In America's free press, the sponsor is king.

This video might not make any sense to international viewers, or indeed anyone who hasn't spent several years working (read: "suffering") in American local media, but Adam and my dad will get it, and blogging is all about targeting a narrow audience.

Were it real, of course, this report would be twice as long and even more useless. And because it would be sponsored we would drop actual news to ensure that it aired: "Oops. The show's running heavy, I'm going to axe this stuff about the crumbling American economy to make space for health."

I am particularly tickled with my choice of news guy name.

Another broken heart for Siân Lloyd

This video just about made me wet my pants with laughter. It is taken from a segment in the programme about me that aired Tuesday (and will air again Saturday at 21:15 on S4C). It was put together by consistently brilliant fellow Welsh blogger Dafydd. For the most part it's pretty self explanatory, but if you don't speak Welsh, "Pwy ydy hi?" means "Who is she?"

What $27,000 will get you these days

Occasionally people will tell me that they are envious of me because I'm actually acting upon a Sunday afternoon idea.

Sunday afternoons seem to be particularly conducive to "what if"-style thought. It's perhaps that mix of the relaxation of a weekend and the frustration of knowing that said weekend is almost over. So, if the weather's nice and you've got nothing to do, you find yourself lying on the couch and thinking: "I wish I had a boat;" or "I wish I could live on a big ranch on Montana;" or "I wish I could drop everything and scarper off about 5,000 miles from here and become expert at speaking a 2,600-year-old language."

People tell me that they admire me (excuse me while I knock down a wall to make room for my ego) because, after so many Sunday afternoons, I actually did that thing I was daydreaming about.

I'm glad that I did, and that I am. But there are certain realities that perhaps I didn't think all the way through. Debt, for instance. I chose to daydream about living in a place that is doubly expensive to live in as the United States. And, so, to get by, I'm having to take out loans that will eventually see the child bride and I owing about what it would cost to buy a lovely three-bedroom home in West Columbia, Texas.

When I feel like beating up on myself, I will bring this fact up in the constant internal conversations I have. I will try to work out exactly how much money I've wasted in eating a tub of Ben & Jerry's Chocolate Fudge Brownie Ice Cream, instead of writing an essay on how the work of Federico García Lorca foreshadowed the Spanish Civil War.

Fortunately, I am shit at math*, so I've never come up with any solid figures. But it's a good bet that this video cost much, much more than it's worth. That said, I am strangely proud of it. If there were any justice in the world, my "Hikky Burr" dance would become an Internet sensation.

*I suppose this is one of the factors that made it possible for me to act on my daydream of moving to Wales. I was able to allow myself to enter into so much debt because I am incapable of truly understanding what it all means.

A message to songwriters...

This video basically expounds upon a comment I made a few months ago:

Crying while eating

A few months ago, Jenny identified one of the greatest uses of the internet so far: CryingWhileEating.com. It's a simple concept -- the name says it all -- and it's brilliant. On the site, there is an explanation with each video as to what the person is eating and why they are crying.

Here, I am eating a Marks & Spencer Victoria Sandwich Cake. I am crying because when I tried to explain CryingWhileEating.com to Fflur she didn't seem to understand why it was so funny.*

For those of you playing along at home, an interesting fact about the cake I'm eating: According to the box, it's supposed to feed six people. What kind of fuckery is that? I'm not sure whether the fact that I think it is outrageously small speaks more to my American upbringing or simply that I love carbs.

Apologies to Dan, by the way. When his apartment burned down I told him that I would do a Crying While Eating video in which I cried over the loss of all his possessions. I never did that, but he scores a blog point with this mention.

*It's entirely possible that the quality of my Welsh is to blame for that. The way I stammer through sentences, perhaps she thought I was trying to tell her about something else but using the wrong words.

Guapisimo

Continuing the Chris-is-too-lazy-to-post-anything-other-than-YouTube-videos theme, but with the twist of it being a video that I actually produced, I give you this. It's a video I made for my Spanish conversation course on how I use the Internet. If you don't speak Spanish, don't worry -- neither do I. It's potentially worth watching, though, just for the part when I shout "¡guapisimo!"

My apologies for the sound quality. Some day I will buy a cool microphone and all my videos will have really slick voiceovers.

For people like Beth, who can actually speak Spanish, I would be interested to know how close I've come to being understandable here.

Mom, Pancho and me

Storytime

The story behind why, "Man, this is fucked," is one of my all-time my favourite phrases...

Christmas message

Sound is a little poor, feel free to turn it up.