The lyrics to Negativland's "Happy Hero" which puts all this crap into shar perspective
If I got shot
I bet the press would pick it up
You'd like me all a lot
If I got beat
When camera's rolled you'd see me lying bloody in the street
If a crazy stalker stabbed me or if down the stairs I fell
My room would fill with flowers,
And with cards to wish me well.
And I'd be your happy hero 'cause you'd heard my catchy song
And after being ripped apart, I could do no harm.
I know that I've done nothing that a coward wouldn't do
But even I might see things different, after listening to you
I'd be so hot, yeah,
For the sale-price of a press release
Success can still be bought
I'd sit so tall
They'd pluck me in a wheelchair and they'd push me down the hall
I'd play a song for dying kids, your eyes would start to tear
That would be the ticket, to bolster my career
And I'd be your happy hero and I'd sell another song
And after viewing my big heart, you'd have me going strong
I'd play a gentle lover in a movie for T.V.
So I deserve your pity, when my wife divorces me
If someone told, no,
Accused of fucking teen-aged boys and beating others cold
You'd side with me!
And enough of your would doubt it, which would likely set me free
You'd say I didn't do it and that anyone could tell,
'cause he's smooth and smart and pretty
And he reads his lines so well
And to be your happy hero
I'd just sing another verse
The more I sing,
The more you would relieve me from my curse
Release me from your consciousness
As I bring down the floor
Selling Pepsi from the stage,
You yell and scream for more
Nevermind the death of Wacko Jacko...he'll be fine, I'm willing to bet there's TONS of child pornography in hell. Plus, no good songs since like, 1981? Fuck him. If they bury him, do you realize they can excavate him decades later and he'll still be fully formed, Eva Peron style??? That's what happens when you're made of plastic water bottles, old Tandy computers, the contents of a Bedazzler, and rich Corinthian leather (bleached of course).
Anyway, (I found out from Tobi's blog) that Steven Wells died yesterday. Far sadder than some pedophile has-been, or the Charlie's Angel (I bet Ryan O'Neil is PISSED he got cheated out of a People or Entertainment Weekely sympathy cover now that the gloved one kicked off). Anyway, I'd read Steven Wells before, and liked him alot. Here's a timely article you may find entertaining...
Punk knitting: Has youth culture gone mad?
Steven Wells reports on how alternative culture has ditched rebellion for cross-stitch patterns and bobble hats
* Buzz up!
* Digg it
* Steven Wells
* guardian.co.uk, Saturday 14 June 2008 00.58 BST
* Article history
So this is how punk ends - not with a bang but with a jumper. Today, all over the world, thousands of punks, goths, emos and other ferociously tattooed, face-pierced miscreant bastard folk-devil scum will take to the streets to protest their disgust with war, oppression and bourgeois conformity by crocheting hideous green twat-hats with stupid ear flaps.
I'm talking about World Wide Knit in Public Day. Which, by its very name, suggests that knitting is a sordid and disgusting practice best done behind locked doors and drawn curtains. Which it is.
On at least four continents muscular youths possessed of the sort of surly disposition and fashionable facial disfigurements that persuade old folks to cross the street, muttering under their mint-humbugged breath about the return of national service, will be sat in parks and on street corners, cheerfully nattering to one another and churning out skull-festooned jumpers that proclaim the need for anarchy. The sickening truth is that knitting is hip - and Western youth culture is knitting its own death shroud.
This decade's mods and rockers don't cluster at Brighton and Hastings for fisticuffs. Instead they mail each other patterns for socks. Which in some ways is obviously an improvement, granted. But, blow me, nobody's going to be making a movie about it in 20 years time. They even have their own knitting Woodstock, called (oh God oh God oh God) Woolfest.
In every bookshop in Christendom there are sections dedicated to the nauseating premise that arts and crafts are edgy and alternative. They are ram-packed with punk-chick adorned books with edgy titles like Stitch'n'Bitch and Anticraft (subtitled "Knitting, beading and stitching for the slightly sinister.")
We've gone from screaming for anarchy, rocking against racism, storming the US Embassy and picketing recruiting offices, tuning in and dropping out and rutting like pigs on Viagra to taking up the favourite hobby of senile old grannies everywhere and declaring it radical. Which was hilarious for about five seconds about five years ago.
The knitting craze is the death of both alternative culture and feminism. But it's even worse that that. Scratch a knitter - discover a Knit Nazi. Like the Nazis, alternative knitters have no sense of humour.
The last time I claimed in print that the concept of radical knitting is as absurd as radical dusting or radical toilet cleaning, I received hysterical and barely literate death threats from the ferocious, fanatical, froth-gobbed and swivel-eyed knit Nazi massive. This time I suspect I might not survive.
Nonetheless, the truth must be stated. Germaine Greer didn't articulate her disgust with women's oppression by knitting a lavender and yellow toilet-roll holder. Dr Martin Luther King Jr didn't say: "I have a dream ... set of place mats that I crocheted using a pattern I got from a magazine." Jimi Hendrix didn't take to the stage at Woodstock wearing a nice orange and puce cardigan (with a reindeer on it) that he made using a job-lot of wool he got at a jumble sale. And Sid Vicious didn't crotchet his own stupid mock-Tibetan hippy-dippy ear-flapped bobble hats. And neither should you. If you need a hobby, take up spitting.