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That's Entertainment


caldrail

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Entertainment is so important to the modern world isn't it? One word from a publicist, and thousands gather teary eyed to say goodbye to someone they probably never had a good word for. I shall never forget the scenes I saw on television regarding Princes Di. Remember her? Yes, I thought you'd forgotten.

 

The thing with entertainers, or any celebrity for that matter, is that they loom ever larger in our conciousness thanks to the media. Love or loathe them, a part of our life dies with them, and I suspect it's the loss of the pseudo-family/friend image we actually feel grief over.

 

A few days ago, I saw a news report about Hip Hop music. Apparently it's thirty years old or something. Is that supposed to be something I'm grateful for? There were two interviewees. One was a Radio One DJ who seemed oddly devoid of any character. His praise of Hip Hop bordered on the ridiculous. Apparently it's a form of music that has inspired me and changed me forever. I have to say the only thing I've noticed is a headache and an overwhelming urge to change the disc.

 

The second interviewee had similar things to say, but this particular woman told us that Hip Hop was not just music. It was fashion, expression, an entire movement taking over the world. She then gave Obama credit for inspiring Hip Hop musicians. Oh? I'd never heard of Obama before someone decided to make him a presidential candidate. I don't think that was thirty years ago. Naturally, both people immediately distanced themselves from Rap, Hip Hop's ugly brother. The glorification of criminals, violence, drugs, misogyny, and bass speakers was enough to earn itself condemnation, though in all honesty I don't see that Hip Hop is really any better than other forms of music or legal and responsible activity.

 

I wish people wouldn't come out with this sort of twoddle. Music doesn't change the world. It simply changes hands. These days, it's big business. I should know, I was in the lower echelons of it, having personally sold one box of twenty albums. Heck, I even managed to sell one to a patient at a mental hospital. Forget this culture crap. I'll give you this CD to listen to if you pay me a few quid.

 

That's entertainment.

Warning of the Week

Yesterday was signing on day. Once again they don't seem to know when I should be queueing up but this time I have to wait. Eventually I was asked to go through and waited just as long again for my name to be called.

 

"There's two vacancies come up." My claims advisor said with a smile. That, believe it or not, isn't a good sign. It means they think I'm not doing enough, even though I've applied for four times as many jobs as they expect me to. The first vacancy looked familiar. I've definitely seen it before and muttered something about having applied for it already. I didn't like the look she gave me though. She asked if I wanted the job sheet thrown away but I told her no, I'd check it out. It turns out I hadn't applied for it before, because the job is fifteen miles away out in the remote countryside, and that's as the crow flies. Are they seriously expecting me to walk back and forth across country in all weathers for seven or eight hours a day?

 

Someone's been sticking a knife in again. Watch it Caldrail, you're in bandit country.

 

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What? Of band I was in? Good grief, the official discography of Red Jasper doesn't even list the releases I was part of. The first three...

 

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... are all collectors items and therefore too priceless to even consider distribution to the public. There is also the question of maintaining public order, as scenes of hero worship outside my home (which is on a busy street undergoing gas pipe repair) isn't going to please the local authorities.

 

So it looks like my copies are hermitically sealed for future generations. One day... maybe tomorrow, maybe a thousand years from now... people will play my records and say...

 

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