On telly here, well on Shaw Comms cable anyway, there are loads and loads of continuous radio stations. You know the sort of thing. Just plays 70's, 90's, jazz and rave, inexplicably. The one we always tune into is the 80's. And it keeps throwing up little oddities that could have easily passed me by or never really made it into the British consciousness. And this is one of those little oddities.
I never realised Tim Curry has knocked out a couple of albums. I always thought he was that hammy bloke from Congo.
It was Canada day yesterday, here in Canada. And I briefly became an hysterical, Mountie Hunter. And like the RCMP motto (no, not 'don't taze me, dude') I got my man.
This being Canada of course, I got my man AND woman. Fairs fair.
So here's to you, the fighting, court battle scared men and woman of the Great White North. Take off!
I guess, in this hideous way us children of the 80's do, we all remember the Griswald's vacations with fondness and don't really remember that they were, in fact, a bit shit. I have watched both films in quick succession over the last couple of days.
Conclusions: Amy Heckerling was a far better director of her Griswalds than Harold Ramis was.
Are the B-52's a band we are all supposed to have listened to every single album by? Someone seems to dig up a track by them every so often that is amazing. My old manager at a bar I once worked at used to blare them out, full blast at 9am everyday. I laughed at him. I now feel I should reexamine this previous stance.
What a lameo. I didn't know this was a sample from the my man, the late MJ. May he rest in peace with the other fallen homies: TuPac, Biggie, Ayrton Senna, Bill Shankly and Harold Wilson. Peace brothers.
