July 16, 2008

Heroes & a bit of Dr. Who 2008 review

Filed under: Uncategorized, reviews, PhoeniX Phil, art — pxpl @ 4:38 pm


I happened to have enjoyed the second season of Heroes a lot better than i expected to after all the backlash in the States. A lot of Uk fans also dropped it from their viewing schedules. I’m still not sure why it alienated so many previous fans. Sure it had it’s faults (the odd plodding storyline, some characters not getting enough screen time, corny dialog) but these faults were also shared by the popular first series. One of the common complaints about the second season was that it’s pace was too slow… if anything each episode whizzed by like a speedball. But then again after watching four brilliant series of the slow burning yet almighty “The Wire” going back to speedy Heroes for me is a bit like listening to the entire Radiohead back catalogue and then sticking on the Ramones “It’s Alive”Anyhow a cracking finale to Heroes 2 I thought. Although the cliffhanger of Nathan being shot isn’t much of a cliff hanger seeing as he has “the healing blood” in his body now. And having said that, Nathan will survive “healing blood” or not after all didn’t DL and Matt get shot up at the end of series 1. But I enjoyed the final episode possibly because the overall season stories of the virus and the twins of death didn’t interest me on a whole. So I was glad to see it all wrapped up in a fast action, fun packed way. If I had to witness anymore whinging and bad acting from “Tears of Death girl” I would have snapped. Plus the subtle Popeye gag when Sylar got his powers back in the alley was a class touch 


Now with season 3, they can start again and build it up from scratch… Sylars back, “the twins of death” storyline is over, Hiro is back with Ando in the present day, Nathan and Peter are re-united with Matt (and thus Mohinder and that little girl who’s name escapes me) giving us a band of “Heroes”, Elle being a bit of emotional head case who often does wrong by trying to do right can implemented as and how the plot dictates. 

  If I was allowed help build back from scratch here’s what I’d recommend for season 3….* Seeing as half the cast now have “healing blood” PLEASE can a virus or defect or for the effects to be temporary to be written into the series for characters who get the blood second hand. Otherwise we’ll soon have a cast of characters who are immortal. I know there’s the highlander esque “you have to shot them in the head” to kill them but that can only go so far tension wise. For example if it is permanent, surely it’d now be expected by Claire and Peter’s friends and family that they get given a quick transfusion “just in case”. And those people then would do the same for their nearest and dearest and so and so.. in the end everyone would be immortal. 


I’d make transfused “Healing blood” either temporary (which would contradict the already slightly scientifically dubious “Sylar getting powers by eating brains thus incorporating their dna coding into his”) OR give the the healing blood a side effect if it’s transfused resulting in it’s use being reduced for emergencies. 

* More “Elle Bishop” please! She really sparked some life into the last few episodes (no pun intended). The brief clash between her and Sylar was electrifying (again no pun intended). I’d like to see a fierce rivalry between her and Sylar develop in series 3.* Much more Sylar. Heroes IS Sylar’s show. Keep him evil, keep him alone (please no sidekicks or minions) and keep him a threat. His predatory stalking of the Heroes gives the show it’s edge. In series 2 he was stuck with the sucky “Tears Of Death” twins. Speaking of which….

* Axe Little Miss “Tears Of Death”. Oh how I cheered when firstly she got told her brother was dead and then I cheered even more when Sylar shot her dead. Typically Mohinder brought back to life with “the healing blood” like the idiot do-gooder that he is. I know the makers of Heroes love her but she’s fakking rubbish and annoying. Please kill her.. full on properly leave no room for a comeback. Let her annoy Alejandro in TV Hell.

* Either kill of Nikki in the explosion or make her kick ass again in season 3. She did a whole lot of nothing in season 2. I always figured that her and Nathan would get together down the line and form some sort of power couple.

* Cut out the stoopid “as if” bits like how the corporation (which is supposed to be all powerful and all knowing) put powerful threats Peter and Adam in cells next to each other and let them chat freely through the wall. And also last night Peter takes out Hiro, and Adam who’s vowed revenge against Hiro for 400 years just leaves him unconscious surely he’d kill him while he could… or at least tie him up of something.

* Oh less Claire Bear please. I know FHM readers like her but either turn her into a cheerleader uniform wearing kick ass hero or reduce her role. Her make up / break up sessions with her “daddy” are getting boring now. 


I may be the only but I see good things in store for Heroes. F*ck the critics.. it’s still a billion times better than anything else on telly this month…. 

  Well apart from Dr.Who season 4 that started off sh!te but got back up to speed about two thirds in. The “Midnight” episode was one of my favourites. A tale of physiological terror and paranoia, David Tennant was brilliant as the Doctor who for once was a bit out of his league while a mysterious life-force attacked a shuttle train. And the final story arc that carried over the final three episodes was a Saturday night TV heaven….  a tiny bit rushed plus Catherine Tate was ultra annoying but great stuff none the less. It was good see all the seasons and spin off’s cross over …I even gushed like an 8 year old when K-9 scooted out to save the day. Plus Martha Jones is an excellent sidekick and should be in it more often in my opinion.I do wonder what was up with Billie Piper’s mouth / speech. It sounded like she had some bad ass mouth ulcer or something. Plus I do feel that the Billy and the clone Dr. ending could’ve been more romantic …but I suppose it’s hard to be all “sunsets and smooching” if you have to settle for a mad clone of the man you love.

Still, tons of action, a mega weepy bit when the TARDIS was being destroyed, Davros telling off the Dr for being a hypocrite at the end plus a downer ending…. as the man himself would say, “Brilliant”. 


I look forward to seeing what David Tennant and the writers do next with Dr.Who. I’m hoping that the scolding he got from Davros has effected him bringing a more sombre tone to the series. Roll on the Christmas special. 



April 2, 2008


Filed under: Uncategorized, editorial, PhoeniX Phil — pxpl @ 5:12 pm

02 Apr 2008

Current mood:
Category: A little lost & found
Writing and Poetry


So then… did you miss me? I didn’t mean to leave y’all dangling… time flew by and here we all are in the now. So you last time you saw me I was in the Metro club covered in some unknown girl’s sick while a foreign girl called me rude for resisting her dance request… it’s now a year later and I should really write a blog entry called “PXPL & The Missing Year” but I’ll leave that for the vultures to compile with various message board posts after my death like that sh!te Pink Panther film made with Peter Sellers outtakes after his death.
Anyhow, Don’t cry for me my dear reader… the truth is I never left you.
Let the second season begin……


Despite the many wise lessons I learned growing up there are huge gapping gaps in my development thus far. These tend in be in situations that are very easy and obvious for other people. Two huge examples of these gaps are ”Family / Circle Of Friends gatherings” and also Religion.
Regarding the “Family / Circle Of Friends gatherings” thing… well despite being lovely friendly people my parents tended to keep themselves to themselves and thus our household was place of natural calm and individuality. I’ve barely met most of my uncles, aunts, cousins etc. and we never did things like throw parties in church hall for landmark birthdays / engagements / passing driving tests etc etc or hire out a villa for a shared holiday with another family.
This has meant that due to lack of practise (and to be more honest; embarrassment) I find it very hard to switch into what I call “introductions/anecdotes/conversations mode”.  This is where people act ever-so-slightly-different in the company of others… for example it’s where people say things like “You should really see this play me and Julian went to see the other day..” and get measured responses like a hushed  “Oh really?” instead of “You’re wrong… you’re f*cking wrong! I really shouldn’t go to see that play… I have no interest in plays and neither do you really… if we we’re all being honest we’d all much rather be sitting in our front rooms in our underwear scratching our itches!” Naturally even at my worst I wouldn’t go that far I’d just say “No way it’s sounds boring…” before trying to enter a flawed (or should I say Phlawed) argument about how wrestling is better than Shakespeare. Naturally I’d end up walking home alone devising an apology as each sobering step I took reminded me how much of d!ck I’d just been.   
Most people can do this “introductions/anecdotes/conversations mode” with natural ease (during the few instances I saw my parents socialise I’ve seen them be masters at it and pondered if they had secretly practised in their bedroom before hand).
I’ve learned to live with it being a social norm but it used to really annoy me at 6th form college… all these fun little boys who used to have in depth conversations about things like “if you were in Neighbours who would you try and sex first?” and would laugh at girls crying over spilt milk suddenly turned into wannabe-smalltown husbands discussing doing up their motors with the Saturday job money and they would do the concerned boyfriend act when girls (that they weren’t even going out with) left their purses somewhere stupid and burst into tears. Naturally I got damned for not evolving and took my leave of their friendship. I remained a virgin for two more years.
Which leads me to the next one: “Religion”. It’s not that my parents are “not religious“… more that they don’t really care. I mean, they like Christmas and I was baptised but apart from that we never went to church or anything and my secondary schooling wasn’t religious AT ALL. I never had the whole guilty thing that apparently exists about growing up with a religion… I have a conscious and a moral compass but I’ve never got that guilt thing that people go on about. I understand why some people feel the fear of a god’s wrath but I can’t really relate. With that in mind, to my ignorance I never really felt the importance of any religion.
I respect people’s wishes to follow a religion (as long as it causes no harm) but sometimes my distance from needing a religion can lead to a Phaux-pas…. possibly with me entering a flawed (or should I say Phlawed) argument about how Kiss’ 1981 concept album “(Music From) The Elder” helps me more than the Bible ever could. Again, I’d end up walking home alone devising an apology as each sobering step I took reminded me how much of d!ck I’d just been.  
So as I’m sure you can understand, what my troubles with “Family / Circle Of Friends gatherings” and also Religion, I have been known to “do wrong” at the celebration known as a Wedding.
Up until my Twenties, I’d only ever been to one wedding. I was 9-ish years old and I wore a brand new sweatshirt from Sittingbourne market that featured a counterfeit image of the Chicago Bears football player William “the Refrigerator” Perry (what I wore comes into play a little bit later so pay attention please). It was my older cousin Anthony’s wedding and all I remember about it was…
1) Seeing the poster for “Star Trek 4: The Voyage Home” on a London bustop during the neverending car journey there and thinking “Oooh they’ve made a new Star Trek film”.
2) The seemingly never ending church ceremony in which I endured like a good little boy… no need to for my mum to grab my hand and attempt to smack me as I wailed and tried to escape justice (a.k.a “Grab-Hand-Runaround”) thank you very much.
3) A lengthy discussion with my similarly aged cousin James about Transformers. He got the comic every week.. he knew EVERYTHING.
4) Me and my cousin James finding the fact that you can sing not only “Vanilla” but also “Aston Vila” over the chorus of Michael Jackson’s “Thriller” hilarious.
5) Me sliding around on my flecked trousered knees resulting in a quick spot of “Grab-Hand-Runaround” when my Mum caught me.
6) Ending up sitting in the back of my dad’s car driving home devising an apology as each sobering turn the tyres took reminded me how much of deck I’d just been.   
The next wedding I went to was a friend of mine’s and it was my job to be ”the usher” (and not in the “R&B singer that does outrageously camp dancing” way… unfortunately) anyhow I ended up letting his three year old son eat some peanuts and got a telling off from all manner of his relatives.
Then the next wedding I went to after that I fortunately had no official role so I went in a shirt and jeans only to have to fence a barrage of “nice to see you made an effort” snotty remarks.
Now then, I know right now that loads of you clever clever smug people out there and tutting and sighing about the last two Phaux-pas BUT in my defence, I have NO FRAME of reference regarding “children”… I know via the much missed Public Service Information Advert bombardment of the early 80’s that Children shouldn’t play with matches, go off with strangers, climb an electrical device to retrieve an orange Frisbee and shouldn’t pick up a finished sparkler by the hot end (or you end up in a never ending “Ground Hog Day” style advert as a little blond girl with bandaged hand who is constantly patronised by your mum and her hag friend in the high street*) BUT I never saw an advert in which Charlie the Cat gargled a hazard warning about children of a certain age enjoying a peanut or two.
As for the not wearing a suit to a Wedding charge… I was sat at the back with no obligations. Again nobody ever constantly told me when I was growing up that if I was to go to wedding that I’d have to wear a suit. My only non-usher experience of a wedding was when I wore a brand new sweatshirt from Sittingbourne market that featured a counterfeit image of the Chicago Bears football player William “the Refrigerator” Perry… nobody complained then why would they now? The way I saw it is that all I had to do was avoid skidding abound the floor and I’d be home and dry BUT NO! People had to surprise me with this sudden “people always wear a suit at a wedding” finger wagging. I mean it wasn’t like I crawled out of bed and turned up in a t-shirt…  I had a shirt on… just not a suit. If it’s so important to wear a suit then the dress code should be printed on the bottom of the “invite”… even better put nightclub bouncers on the door so they can send me home with a  ”not tonight mate” and I can spend the day playingstation in my pants instead. And then have Co-CoPops for my tea. Oh yes!
So with all this anecdotal evidence ganging up against my confidence, I must declare that I was a little nervous when my fiancée Laura advised me that we had been invited to her cousin’s wedding… in Belfast no less! A different country… I could wax lyrical at length about my PhauX-Pas abroad but these are different stories for different times. 
All I had to do to survive was make sure that previous phaux-pas were avoided thus I devised a Ten Commandments / Gremlins-esque set of rules in my head
1) Thou SHALL wear a suit. Thou shall check suit for stains and creases a full FULL calendar week before the event and consistently make sure with Laura that it’s the right thing to wear almost to the point of getting a written confirmation / “get out of jail free card” that I can show any “finger waggers” on the day.
2) Thou shall blank out whatever religious / traditional things are going on around me. And just sit there politely smiling. Thou shall not ask questions or do traditional niXian activities like pointing and laughing at any statues with penises (note to self: I don’t think that churches… nay, cathedrals have statues of Jesus with his winkle out but it’s best to be on-guard in case they do).
3) No matter how much they cry. No matter how much they beg…. thou shalt not feed peanuts to a child. In fact, thou shall just keep away from children. No good can come from being near them. They are a walking Phaux-Pas hive.
4) Thou shalt not “entertain”. There is too much at stake to take the “humour gamble”…tis better to be seen as a “gob-shy” rather than a “gob-shyte”.
So fast forward to the big event, I have a suit on and I have made it to my place on the church spectator’s bench with relative ease. I was closer to the front than I expected so I quickly drafted a Fifth rule to my Commandments in my head as I fumbled for the hymn sheet..
5) Thou shall make an effort to look alert and fixated on the ceremony. Though shalt not drift off into a daydream and then laugh out loud at unrelated thoughts that pop into thou head.  Though shall remain alert and fixated… possibly act a little moved… maybe force my eyes to “well up”? …no that’d be too much just remain alert and fixated… even anyone glances at you just do a polite smile and then look away quick. Mercy! this is as intense as the Pod-Racing bit on Star Wars Lego.
So anyhow, the wedding was a Catholic affair held in a vast Cathedral. The Priest used a microphone to help convey his message, this proved to be more of a hindrance as the sound quality of the P.A. was very poor so what we got was a booming muffled sermon a bit like when Pirate Radio DJ’s yell nonsense during drum and bass tracks. 
As long as I sat there and concentrated on the Commandments I’d be fine, there was one challenge to overcome however but luckily it was challenge that most people (even “the finger waggers”) struggle with. This challenge was the most dreaded part of any Church service… the part known as “Hymn Time”!
Now don’t get me wrong, I think the concept of “Hymn Time” is amazing. it’s good to have a bit of a sing-along HOWEVER it’s never “the hits”…. if the Priest screamed ”All right you crazy people it’s audience participation time… I wanna hear everybody in the church singing this one… THIS ONE’S CALLED “ALL THINGS… BRRRRRIGHT & BEAU-TI-FULLLL” everybody in the church would scream “YAAAYYYY!” before draping their arm over their best mates and loved ones before singing along with gusto. The Priest would then pace the stage mouthing the words while holding his microphone out to the crowd like Robbie Williams singing Angels at Knebworth. Or picture this… a sea of lighters being held aloft during an acoustic version of “Morning Has Broken”.
BUT NO! We don’t get “the hits”…we don’t even get well known “album tracks” like “When I Needed a Neighbour Were You There? Were You There?”. We get hymns only known to the die-hards and the bootleggers, hymns with seemingly made-up titles like “Thy Love Is God O’ Glorious” and “Praise Be Thy God With Compassion Unbounded”. I always feel like the Priest or Vicar might take a perverse delight in breaking out these rare hymns, you can almost see him give a little nod of appreciation to the proper Christians and a bitter smirk out to the Weddings & Funerals day-trippers.
So with the Priest suddenly requesting everyone to sing an unfamiliar song, the crowd get a few rusty parps from the church organ to stand up, shuffle their hymn sheet, attempt to learn the words and guess the tune… if innuendos were allowed it could be a game on “Who’s Line Is It Anyway?”. Luckily each row in the church tends to have at least one diehard in it and they tend to bellow out the lyrics as if to spite the day-trippers.
Unfortunately most of the die-hards tend to be a little a bit elderly so they run out of gas halfway through the second verse leaving a remaining two minutes of  non-committal guessing of the tune / whispering of the words over a never ending cascade of chords tiredly parping from the church organ. The sound of which fills the church the same way that damp spreads up a bedsit wall.
With both hymns out of the way, I thought I was home free BUT an unexpected challenge arose… “The Body Of Christ Communion Buffet”. I didn’t think this would be a challenge as I thought that only Catholics were allowed to go up BUT NO the Priest offered it open to “anyone who has been baptised”. I have been baptised AND I have always been curious to find out just what does the “body of Christ” bits taste like ( I imagine that they taste like Snack-A-Jacks without the bumps and ridges) BUT the whole concept of me going up there had Phaux-Pas written all over it. I mean, I’m not mad-keen on wine… imagine if I found the wine in the ancient goblet (that represents Jesus’ blood no less) a little too sour and I gagged a bit… I’d be apologising and explaining through a nervous dry voice all night. The problem being was that I was so close to front that as I was pondering what action to take I found everyone in the two rows in front of me going up. My time was running out and I didn’t want to hold up the queue with my panicky um’ing and erring. Nor did I want to be the first person to say “No thank you please Jesus” …knowing my luck my Baptism certificate would be found and I’d probably get “finger waggers” coming up with “So you’re good enough to be baptised but too good to take communion”. Unlikely I know but with my history of upsetting people accidentally I have to be so careful sometimes.
Luckily for me, two people in the row in front of broke the chain of people going up so I relaxed back in my chair and counted the minutes until it was all over and I could finally have the pee that I’d been bursting to have as soon as the Priest started his “Dearly beloved…” opening address.

The cathedral was a drafty one and by the end of the ceremony it seemed that Jack Frost had whipped everyone’s bladders up into quite a frenzy as everyone darted towards the disabled toilet on the right hand side of the toilet. It was while I was standing in the queue for the toilet I first observed
The Cathedral Matriarch. She was a woman in her late 40’s / early 50’s busily pacing back and forth, glancing at wedding guest with suspicious looks that would suggest a slight anger that none of the guest’s had offered to help her tidy up.
So anyhow, the Cathedral Matriarch was darting about as I stood their queuing I desperately tried to avoid her accusing looks. “I’ve done nothing wrong,” I said to myself, “I’m just a man waiting for the toilet”. After a while, the queue diminished leaving just me, Laura and her sister Jemma waiting in line. The Cathedral Matriarch suddenly appeared and in a broad Northern Irish accent proclaimed “The Woman’s Toilet down stairs is open if you want to use it”. She sternly looked me deep in my trembling heathen eyes as she emphasiesd the words “Women’s toilets” like a warning. 
Laura and Jemma followed The Cathedral Matriarch down the steps to these toilets and I was soon joined by some of Laura’s cousins in the Queue who asked “Oooh where did Laura & Jemma go?”
At which point safe in the knowledge that I had a suit on and there were no children or peanuts around I decided to quip, “They’ve been allowed to use the secret toilets down stairs!” I emphasised the words “secret toilets” in sarcastic manner indicating that the huge queue I’d waiting in was unnecessary and cruel.
All of a sudden like Carrie’s hand emerging from the grave, The Cathedral Matriarch appeared and came at me with a fully fledged finger wagging vengeance…
“THOSE AREN’T SECRET TOILETS… WE DON’T HAVE SECRET TOILETS. THEY’RE WOMAN’S TOILETS!” she said in a stern fashion. Feeling small and still shrinking I backed against the wall my face full of embarrassed blushing and went to utter an apology but The Cathedral Matriarch decided to go for her killing blow, “THOSE TOILET’S WERE BEING USED BY THE CHOIR BOYS TO GET CHANGED IN… WE DON’T ALLOW ANYONE IN WHILE THE BOYS ARE GETTING CHANGED…” she then glanced at the cousins witnessing this berating of the nix before disgustedly looking me up and down before declaring, “….ESPECIALLY NOT MEN.” She said the word “men” in uncertain tone as if to attack my masculinity.
And with that she was gone. I had done so well up to this point but once again found myself in an embarrassed silence. As if by magic the Disable Toilet opened and I crept inside. I stood inside the booth alone devising an explanation to Laura as each stream of pee I squeezed out reminded me how much of d!ck I’d just been.   
Oh this lamentable life!

Bonus Materials:

* with reference to the reference of the little girl with the burnt hand. I was talking about an frequently shown series of TV ads warning about firework safety. An edited shorter of the version of the ad can be found here;


  • Kiss’ 1981 concept album “(Music From) The Elder” was supposed to be major cross over masterpiece (via a planned plot-revealing sci-fi movie) and to win them some of the critical acclaim they had found hard to find (via having Lou Reed pen some of the lyrics and Bob Ezrin’s cinematic production). However the mix of a strange new image (keeping the make-up… but short haired and satin clad?) and sheer OTT’ness of the music proved too much even for Kiss’ diehard fans and it ended up a massive flop for the band. It has however provided PXPL with moments of counsel in his most self-doubting moments.


”Elder: Morpheus, you have been summoned here to offer your judgement of the boy. Do you still deem him worthy of the fellowship?

Morpheus: I certainly do my Lord. As a matter of fact, I, I think you’re going to like this one. He’s got the light in his eyes. And, the look of a champion. A real champion.”

Dialogue from Kiss (Music From) the Elder

March 26, 2008

PXPL & The Hidden Hypnotism of the Latest M&S Advert

Filed under: Uncategorized, music, PhoeniX Phil — pxpl @ 5:56 pm


22 Sep 2006

PXPL & The Hidden Hypnotism of the Latest M&S Advert
Current mood: crazy


Some of this is recycled from correspondence I have had with dear friends over the course of the past day or so. I apologise for any doubling up but i’m in a venting mood this week.


This is…

PXPL & The Hidden Hypnotism of the Latest M&S Advert


I’ve always despised Marks & Spencer. It reminds me of when I’d be dragged out for “christmas shopping” in a bigger town or city (usually Canterbury) as a child.  You see, Sittingbourne where i grew up literally had a Woolworths, a Dixons, a plethora of charity shops and not a lot else on it’s so called high street. Later a McDonalds and an Argos were added but ultimately most people in the ‘Bourne go elsewhere for important shopping trips.

So with excitement in her eyes and coupons in her handbag my mum used to drag me and my brother off to a larger town for “shopping”. Initially me and my brother would be excited about the seasonal chance to spend savings and gift vouchers on toys (and later tapes and cd’s) but once our limited funds were gone we’d then have suffer “Mummy’s Retail Demands”.


This would involve going in and out and in again several large stores, trying on clothes, putting them in a basket before putting them back on the rail and ultimately going back to store an hour later to eventually buy the item of clothing.

Now then, I’m not a selfish man (or boy as I would’ve been then) and I could grit my teeth through a lost hour in BHS, I could read everything printed on the back of the packaging of a Masters Of The Universe action figure while the sales rack in C&A was given a thorough going over BUT I have limits… I am only human and I have a breaking point. That breaking point was…


Marks & Spencer. (*insert the Mumm-Ra transformation jazz freak out music here*)

M&S, every 8 year old boys nightmare, a mecca for screaming toddlers and clumsy old ladies, the most annoyingly grown up shop in the world. I hated everything about it… it’s annoying green and yellow scheme, the customers, the sqwarking staff, the lack of toys, the lack of anywhere to sit, the hustle and oh by jingo, the bustle of it all.


SO imagine my discomfort when as a grown man I find myself waiting with excitement for the TV to show the latest M&S tv advert. 

The advert is the latest instalment of “The Mis-adventures of Twiggy and Her Wacky Model Friends”. You know the ones where Twiggy, a girl with short hair that pulls comedy faces and a dark skinned girl with a glorious head of hair (who always ends up having to wear “the knickers and the bra”) lark about in an autumnal London making M&S clothes seem a certain shade of dignified sexy.

I think the thing that sucked my in was the jaunty “Virgina Plain” rip off that soundtracks it.

I’m guessing that the song is “Glass of Champagne” by Sailor. I’ve made this assumption based on the following:

* One of the lyrics is “Glass of Champagne”.

* It sounds a bit like Roxy Music and whenever TOTP2 used to show Sailor performing “Girls, Girls, Girls” the fascinating text based fact would always highlight “the wannabe Roxy Music” criticism.
in conclusion…

* I know for a fact that Sailor had a hit with a song called “Glass of Champagne” from all the nights i’d stay in as a teenager reading the “Guiness Book of Hit Singles” wondering how many top ten black circles and number one triangles my entry would have against it if i was a pop star.


So now i sit during a television comercial break, half of me yearning for a “Glass of Champagne” fix and the other half of imagining a digusted 8 year old niX shaking his head in disgust.

It’s not even that good a song ! What hidden swirls and devices have those evil M&S bosses planted in the ad. I always thought i had a strong will… maybe I was wrong.


I think i’ve been burning the candle from both ends. Maybe i’ll have a bit of a sleep.



March 11, 2008

Gig review: Hanoi Rocks Live In London Town 07/03/2008

Filed under: Uncategorized, music, PhoeniX Phil — pxpl @ 10:19 am

It’s a sad state of affairs that Hanoi Rocks are generally known for little more than being “an inspiration to Guns N Roses”. The early 80’s saw Hanoi Rocks undertake an almost mythical rock n roll exodus from their home country of Finland to Tooting Bec and then finally to LA… along the way there was excess and ultimately the tragic death of their drummer Razzle which as-good-as ended their career just as they finally approached stardom.

As for the music? Hanoi’s songs were their own beautiful creations and didn’t sit easily in any specific genre. Sounding like ice cream spiked with whiskey, Hanoi’s 80’s albums were an unrelenting mix of hard rock, punky sleaze, outrageous 50’s styled sax solos and 60’s garage band pop while sounding completely uncontrieved and natural.

The albums released by this decade’s reformed Hanoi Rocks are a different kettle of fish. Tellingly only two members of the original line up are still present (admittedly the main two: singer Michael Monroe and lead guitarist Andy McCoy) but the sound and stylings of modern Hanoi Rocks is straight forward “fist in the air” stadium rock sadly lacking the coolness, subtlety and uniqueness of the early stuff. This is possibly a result of all the time spent in L.A. following the bands original demise or possibly the fact that the band now consists of two members of 90’s rock group The Electric Boys (admittedly I do love some of their songs such as “Lips N Hips” & “Mary In The Mystery World”) either way the hungry young scoundrels responsible for the efferscent “11th Street Kids” (sadly not played tonight) are a different proposition to today’s Hanoi Rocks. Not that this should be keeping the band awake as the latest album “Street Poetry” has been a hit in Europe (even giving them a proper number one hit in Finland with the single “Fashion”).

So this being my first Hanoi Rocks gig, the question on my lips was “What would we get live? The legend? or the men behind the legend cashing in on the name and promoting their latest album?”. Two songs in and the question on my lips no longer mattered, after the instrumental intro of “Fumblefoot & Busybee” Michael Monroe leapt on to the stage like a demented cartoon character and the band riffled through newie “Hypermobile” before going head first into the classic “Malibu Beach Nightmare”. Even the fact that most of the set was made up with songs from the new album didn’t matter much as Michael Monroe sold each of them as if they were classics (even the frankly embarrassing “Teenage Revolution”)… he was relentless on stage, swirling his microphone around, doing the splits, climbing all over the venue like a kid in a candy store. The most impressive thing I’ve ever seen on stage was Michael Monroe do the “swing the microphone cable around the neck” trick that Paul Stanley of Kiss does. The difference being that Paul Stanley does it in a “very controlled-at-the-end-of-show way” whereas Michael Monroe would do it during a song dangerously close to the other band members.

Naturally the old songs were the highlights and we got an ample portion of them… “Motorvatin”, “High School”, a riotous “Oriental Beat” which sent the crowd full on mental, “Boulevard Of Broken Dreams”, “Tragedy”, “Back To Mystery City”, “Up Around The Bend” and a glorious “Don’t You Ever Leave Me” which saw Michael Monroe sit on the edge of the stage his feet semi dangling into the crowd) doing the second verse talking bit instead of Andy McCoy (who seemed to be having some sort of trouble talking into the microphone all throught night !?!).

It was an “impossibly beautiful” gig and as the modern world of pop gets increasingly dull and spiritless it was a joy to see some forgotten heroes show “London town” how it should be done.

March 4, 2008

PXPL & The Sheer Alien Concept of Dating

Filed under: Uncategorized, editorial, PhoeniX Phil — pxpl @ 2:06 pm

21 Sep 2006

PXPL & The Sheer Alien Concept of Dating
Current mood:
Category: a little lost &found
Writing and Poetry
There are a lot of misunderstandings about my love life. Some people think I’m frigid, some people think I’m a virgin, some people presume I’m gay (although this seems to be lessening as my beer gut expands)… none of which is true, ultimately I’m a self obsessed scumbag.
This is…
PhoeniX PhiL & The Sheer Alien Concept of Dating
A lot of people have been going on about this new “Indie Speed Dating” thing sweeping London. Crikey! I couldnt think of anything worse than “Speed Dating”… to be honest the concept of “Dating” scares the living daylights out of me… talking to a girl? ….SOBER? ….like it’s a job interview at a restaurant or something?

Do people in the UK actual go on dates? like in the tv show Friends?

AWFUL…. I just dont get it… you go on a date with someone who you may / or may not fancy… likewise they may / or may not fancy you… and then you have to talk about your jobs and stuff… and then you go home?

Where’s the magic & the mystery in that?

It’s simply a process to find someone to go furniture shopping with. How vulgar… i’d rather die alone than live in the lie of a convenience marriage.
Even if you are so desperate to find anyone available to share your life with, how could anyone find this “dating” thing fun? From what I’ve seen, there seems to be a lot of talking about your job… WHY ON EARTH would anyone want to spend their spare time talking about what they do for a living? It’s ok if if you’re James Bond or a member of Kiss but imagine having to explain the ins and outs of Excel spreadsheet based Vehicle Lease Extensions to some yawning girl… how is that a good way to spend a valuable night off !?!
Ultimately I’d have to say, “I’m not talking about my rubbish job.. I only do it to pay the rent” which means that i’d be seen as not only “surly” but also “lacking ambition”.
“AH”, the pro-dating squad would smugly proclaim, “…But thats where INDIE speed dating comes in. You wouldn’t have to talk about career progression or IKEA… you could talk about music.”
This would actually be worse.. i cant fully express my diverse and opinionated views on music within 60 seconds. Imagine if a say “Belle & Sebastian” to a punk girl or if i say “Husker Du” to a twee girl…. or if I get excited thinking about my cd’s and I drop the immortal “I have the entire Kiss back catelogue” bombsell?
Also picture this…
Girl: “I really like the Klaxons. Do you like them?”
PXPL: “umm.. not really. Saw them at Reading… they were Jesus Jones without the tunes”
Girl: “Who are Jesus Jones?”
PXPL: “A band from the 90’s. I’ll burn you their hit album “Doubt” if you want?”
Girl: (gets up and leaves)
It’s all just like the moment i gave up trying to find love in meat market indie clubs…
PXPL: (dancing away… fit blonde girl comes up to me is if i know her and says…)
Girl: “hi…”
PXPL: “Um…. alright? how are you doing?”
Girl: “I’m ok… whats your name?”
PXPL: “i’m Phil”
Girl: (after a brief chat about the Beach Boys) “who are your three favourite bands?”
PXPL: “oooh thats too hard depends what kind of mood i’m in? how about you?”
Girl: (and believe me i’m not making this up…) “Well my alltime favourite band is the Kaiser Chiefs… I’d also have to say the Coral and the Datsuns. What bands do you like?”
PXPL: (realising that she will have never heard of Husker Du) “well Pulp…” (girl pulls the blankest expression i’ve ever seen) “Belle & Sebastian” (girl nods but clearly has never heard of them, i desperately search for a cool band who are also really well known…) “I really like The Smiths…”
Girl: “OHMYGOD… Morrissey’s sooooooo amazing. I really hope they play “Irish blood, English heart” tonight. um… do you have a nickname?”
PXPL: “why yes i do… they call my PhoeniX PhiL”
Girl: “OHMYGOD do you know what phoenix means in latin… it means from the flames”
PXPL: (latin !?!) “yep from the flames… like when i wake up tomorrow with a hangover and have to go to work”
Girl: “oh… you work… do you mean you’re not a student”
PXPL: “no… um, i have a full time job”
Girl: (visably disapointed) “oh… i thought you were a student.. oh well, i’d better go find my boyfriend”.
Whats that all about !?!
I dont want to be some sad case loner but increasingly it’s the only costume that feels comfortable.
What with my job, PopArt and generally being PhoeniX PhiL I dont really have time to be an effective boyfriend.
So it’s probably best that I dont try to hard to find a Girlf…
…especially with the dreaded and expensive Christmas / Valentines Day period approaching (right lads?  … sorry ladies just a bit of banter).
It would be nice to have a girlfriend but i think i’ve spent too much time alone and “weirded” myself out of the game.
ANYHOW.. enough of this soul searching crap, i’ll go back to mocking the foolish and moaning about supermarkets next time.
And you can trust this
it’s from the lips
of the ‘niX

February 29, 2008

PhoeniX PhiL & The Unwanted Evolution Of Smarties

Filed under: Uncategorized, PhoeniX Phil — pxpl @ 10:31 am

Monday, July 24, 2006

  PXPL & The Unwanted Evolution Of Smarties
Current mood: annoyed
Category: a little lost & found Writing and Poetry

I’m not a man who is afraid of change… I have David Bowie AND Madonna albums to back this claim. But every so often I am left with my hands on hips looking towards the sky thinking “if it aint broke… don’t fix it”.This is a case in point, this is….


PhoeniX PhiL & The Unwanted Evolution Of Smarties

A running joke between my mother and my brother revolves around my love of Smarties. Famously, this came about when my brother asked me what my favourite chocolate bar was. I answered Smarties and every mocked me… “Ha Ha Divy-Phigis … SMARTIES !?! … it’s not even a chocolate bar! ha ha ha” Yes, I know it’s not even a chocolate bar but let me explain…My mum / household had a very strict regime on food. I could always tell what the day was by what I had for dinner. Thus…

MONDAY - Chicken fingers / Alpha-bites/ beans

TUESDAY - Bacon (or omelette) / beans

WEDNESDAY - Beef Burger & Pasta (or “Beef & Pas’ ” as it become known… famously, my favourite meal)

THURSDAY - The dreaded “Gravy Meal”… sausages / or cheap pie, mashed or boiled potatoes, with horrible frozen peas.

FRIDAY - Budget Rib steaks or “White block” (a strange block of fish) with rice and sweet corn.

SATURDAY - Lunch time: Daddy’s Mince (this is a bit of a strange one and may need a spin off blog entry of it’s own. and NO! it isn’t anything sexual… it’s stranger than that).

Tea Time: Oven chips, slice of bread and a Sausage Roll.

SUNDAY - was more varied food wise although we’d listen to the vintage charts at lunch and the Radio one top 40 at tea time.

So yeah… part of my mum’s food regime was that we were only allowed a chocolate bar on Tuesday and Saturday. Mother used to buy the multi - packs in Sainsburys and more often than not it would be the Nestle-Rowntree range that would be discounted.

Aeros were quite nice in winter. You could leave them to go cold and crisp in the fridge and then drunk them in your tea. One of my favourite Aero techniques was to bite off a cool, crisp chunk of Aero and leave it in my mouth slowly dissolving. Then take a glug of strong, sweet tea and feel the hot Tetley pierce the chocolate bubbles. It was quite a sensual experience for a lonely boy in a small town.

As enjoyable as “the Great Aero / Tea Sessions: 1990 -1996″ were, I had a strange fondness for Smarties. They’d arrive in tightly wrapped packs of three tube normally with a free fourth tube. If Smarties were being sold in packs of four tubes it was a certainty that Mother would buy them… being on a budget the extra tube help saved pennies but also 4 tubes worked out even shares between me and my brother.

Smarties on a teenaged Tuesday was a gloriously exciting affair. Following a strange series of circumstances I had been labelled and left with the role of “Supper King”. This essential meant that at 10 PM I’d be nagged into making a cup of tea for everyone (Mum would make increasingly louder “dry mouth” noises until the tea was served) and sometimes some cereal for Dad.

Once the family were satisfied I would sneak upstairs with not only a tube of smarties but also with the bottom third of Saturday’s 2 litre Pepsi that I was allowed to finish off. As much as I enjoyed the chocolate and pop while listening to Mark Radcliff’s late night radio 1 show (or as between song “fuel” for my late night leap around the bedroom to “Cheap Trick Live At The Budokan” sessions) a big part of the reason that I loved Smarties was the packaging.

Firstly there was the plastic cap with a random letter on the back. This was exciting in several ways, most obviously the strange excitement if the Smarties letter was the first letter of your own name. The other way was a personal way, I used to collect a  couple of months worth of Smarties lids and if I could spell out the name of whichever girl I was currently stalking well ….then it was meant to be.

Strangely, I never got the right letters for “I-N-D-I-E G-I-R-L    T-H-A-T   W-O-R-K-S  I-N    O-U-R-P-R-I-C-E” I always had plenty of T’s and R’s but alas never enough vowels.

A less soppy form of fun was to hide on the stairs in the dark and then shoot a family member by popping the little white cardboard disk out of the bottom at them.

Maybe if I had popped my disk at the “Indie Girl That Works In Our Price” she would have loved me. Actually I realised early on that the situation was made up of futile heart beats… after all she was at least two years older than me and her boyfriend looked like Evan Dando. Apparently he was in some “local band” and his cousin was the Dolly Grip for the TV show “The Word”.

Naturally, I didn’t stand a chance… HECK! I wasn’t even cool enough to know their names.

But I used to see them around…

Oh! how I used to see them around. *sigh*





Now Smarties have these rubbish, possibly more cost effective cardboard hexaganal tubes. Is nothing sacred! I now have no way of collecting letters to make girl’s names.

The worse thing about these new tubes is that they pop open at the slightest touch… leading to all kinds of further problems with the security staff at the Tesco Metro.


February 27, 2008

PXPL & The Sticky Mishap

Filed under: Uncategorized, editorial, PhoeniX Phil — pxpl @ 1:08 pm

PXPL & The Sticky Mishap

Current mood: crushed
Category: a little lost and found
Writing and Poetry

Friday 16th June 2006 T’was a great night… my housemate Ed aka “The Rulez” came along with me to see Lucky Soul play at the Brixton windmill and now he is also a dedicated “Soul’dier”… although the hot weather meant that had a few too many shandies and was probably a bit devastated… I apologise if I upset anyone. This is…

Phoenix PhiL & The Sticky Mishap

Anyhow, the “Lips Are Unhappy” / “Baby I’m Broke” single by Lucky Soul is sound tracking my Summer…. it’s a bittersweet double header that I keep listening to. I remember during the long hot Summer of ‘95 I had Supergrass “Alright” / “Time” orange 7 inch constantly on my Alba mini hifi turntable. If I was about to hit the streets or if life was good then I’d throw the needle onto “Alright”… when I’d come back home from the streets - all tired and defeated, I’d flip the yellow 7inch over and collapse to the melancholic tones “Time”. Well, the new Lucky Soul single has a similar effect on me these days. The bittersweet pop heaven of “Lips Are Unhappy” despite being kind of a break up song was built for hitting the street and the flip side “Baby I’m Broke” is the perfect soundtrack for collapsing on your bed with a big cup of tea while summer rain hits your bedroom window.


I was so drunk infact, that after the show I got a £1.99 “dirt box” from a dubious chicken outlet. It’s odd, most people get drunk and wake up with a headache and a rash regretting some ill advised night of passion… I get drunk and wake up with a stomach ache and an oily mouth regretting fast food.

Despite the KFC photo on MySpace.. I’m not really a “Chicken Box” kinda guy. I like chow mein in a tupperwear box but takeaways always close at like, 11 or something…. thus by the time your out on the streets feeling a bit tipsy and hungry for fodder they’ve already turned the lights off and gone to bed.

At my most blokey I have been known to “enjoy” the classic Kebab Meat & Chips in a polystyrene tray a “Yellow Sign Dirt Merchants”. I think this is mainly because I order it using my bestest faux-chav accent and then add the necessary “.. yeah and plenty of chilli sauce on that please mate”. Problem is with Meat & Chips is that it makes you stink like filth for the next three days and everyone avoids you like you’re the proverbial wicked uncle.

A classic Chippy is “the bliss” on the way home… just a simple open portion of big British chips… maybe sometimes with a saveloy. Oh the saveloy.. it’s like a sausage from outer space or something. The problem is with the classic chippy is that they tend to be family business and they shut early to avoid exposing their poor innocent children and frail grandparents to the drunken likes of me. And they tend to be located away from the night time world.

Anyhow, that is just some of the fun I have when choosing my post-boozing fodder supplier.

My mother’s right…. I’ll never marry.

SO, the next thing I know….

I woke in my front room at 4 in the morning with my massive Eeyore mug resting in my lap at a tilted angle… I felt a heavy drip…

..followed by another heavy drip

..drip! drip! and thrice, another drip!

My massive Eeyore mug that was resting in my lap albeit tilted at an angle was slowly pouring pepsi max all over my groin… still being a bit drunk, I whipped off my jeans and boxers shorts and left them half-in half-out of the washing machine and sloped off to bed with my bottom half completely naked…

I then woke up at about 10 am. I was lying on top of my bed with no underwear or trousers on… with the window wide open. I shudder to think who may have seen my sticky cola crotch in the early morning light. It would’ve put even the most gluttonous family off their breakfast.

Oh the trials of being “the bad boy twee”.



February 21, 2008

PhoeniX PhiL & The Blue Badge Of Courage

Filed under: Uncategorized, editorial, PhoeniX Phil — pxpl @ 4:44 pm

10 Mar 2006 


PXPL & The Blue Badge Of Courage
Current mood:
Category: A little lost & found
Writing and Poetry 

Hello there you little spaff monkeys, 

Sometimes it’s not about the glamour… or the squalor, sometimes it’s all about the mundanity. 

This isnt a dig against disability (That would be hypocritical… I have a diseased toe)… this is an observation of human behaviour. 

This is…. 

PhoeniX PhiL & The Blue Badge Of Courage  

I love a bit of Public Transport but hate… nay, DESPISE rush hour.  

Oh! the rush hour ….with all it’s hustle and bustle, germ spreading, tannoy excuses and people tutting. However my Monday to Friday routine dictates that I take part. Stoopid day job… I’m an ideas man but it doesnt pay the rent. 

Still as David Essex once sang, “Every cloud has a silver line-ing…” and sometimes commuting can produce some truly life defining moments. One of which happened the other week… 

As some of my keener stalkers will know , my route to work is Tooting Broadway to London Bridge via the Northern Line. So as i hustled and bustled on to the already crammed tube I sparked up the old diskman. On this paticular day I was listening to Ooberman’s great lost “dark second” album “Hey Petrunko” (3rd March 2003 / Rotodisc / ROTOCD004). For those young enough not to have “lived” through the bleak post Brit-Pop War years, Ooberman got famous when Graham Coxon discovered and signed them and they realeased the “Shorley Walls Ep” which became infamous for the bit at the end of the title track where keyboardist Sophia Churney reads a poem and bursts into tears… see the girl in the song can’t choose between going to university or staying in her home town with her boyfriend. So she “tips the velvet” with a mermaid. or something. 

So, with Ooberman’s “Running Girl” blasting through my headphones, I hustled and (by jingo) I bustled into a tiny standing space by the chair reserved for those with disabilities. The disabled chair was already taken by a stocky gentleman with a ruddy complexion and a bomber jacket, on his left foot was one of the those surgical shoes…. you know the type… big made from grey burlap with huge straight jacket type straps accross the top. He had his left leg slightly stretched out and was monitoring and moving his leg to avoid any possible contact with his fellow commuters. It was evident that “Bomber Burlap” (as i call him) was in serious pain. 

When the tube reached Balham a vast number of people piled on to the tube. At the tail end of this mob was a sturdy yet short gentleman in his mid to late forties. He was wearing a dirty cream jacket (you know the sort… “day centre beige”) and had semi grey hair… his was kinda like a cross between Ernie Wise and Keith off  East Enders. So anyhow “Ernie Beige” (as i like to call him) started to barge through the people on the tube. 

 Ernie Beige then lifted a walking crutch high in to air and gently pierced it through the huddled mass of commuters’ shoulders. He then then squinted his eyes, glared directly down the long shaft of his crutch at Bomber Burlap sitting in the disabled seat and with great force and arrogance prodded Bomber Burlap in the shoulder…. 

Ernie Beige: “Oi mate…” (motioning to his crutch), “you’re in the disabled seat.. .”
Bomber Burlap: “Yeah I know…” (Bomber motions to his injured foot) “I’ve just had an operation mate… I literarly can’t put pressure on my foot for long periods of time”

Ernie: “….. but… I sit there every day… I was born with a disability.”  

At this point Bomber Burlap ignored him and went back to his Metro newspaper… Ernie Beige spent the rest of the journey desperetely trying to catch peoples eyes, when he didmanage to do so he’d shake his head and mutter “disgusting”, finally ending the display with a sour nod in the direction of  Bomber Burlap. 

I think the commuters took Bomber Burlap’s side because he was there first    …and also (if they were honest with themselves) because he didn’t smell of wee like Ernie did, but still…. 

…it got me thinking, how would you decide who should rightfully have the seat?  

is there such a thing as “Cripple Trumps” ?…

“wheelchair bound” scores more points that “false arm”  

…. maybe?  

“deaf” vs. “blind” is a no score draw  

…. perhaps?  

“manky hand” beats “weathered penis”  

…. hmmm, reminds me of last night… well, to be honest every night.  

I’ll never marry.  


(PhoeniX PhiL then turns and looks into the camera breaking the fourth wall with a devilish verve, “Yeah… yeah… i know it’s weak to end on an innuendo.. but you know you would have disapointed if I hadn’t stuck it in at the end”   


February 15, 2008

PhoeniX PhiL & The Pillow Talk of Mr. Mongford

Filed under: Uncategorized, editorial, PhoeniX Phil — pxpl @ 5:47 pm

07 Jun 2006

PXPL & The Pillow Talk Of Mr. Mongford
Current mood: accomplished

Hello my gorgeous ones…

This is PhiL talking… IN AUSTRALIA. Imagine that!

Anyhow… this is the first of my Australian Adventures. This is….

PhoeniX PhiL & The Pillow Talk of Mr. Mongford

I wish i could jet about more however being a boy of humble financial origins and with very little disposable time it is with great regret that I inform you loyal readers that the last time i boarded a plane was May 1992. my father had booked a cheap holiday to LA following the Rhodney King riots… this however is another story for another time.

I’ve never been nervous about flying however something inside me was screaming out that the plane would crash. I accepted the process of aging and death back in 2002 …I would however like to age before I die though. I suppose dying in plane crash is one of the cooler ways to die (i.e. Buddy Holly or Randy Rhodes)… it’s better than assination or suicide. I will NEVER kill myself…. if i die and someone says it’s suicide, it will be a LIE.. I will have been murdered for the PhoeniX Phortunes.

I decided to stay up all night the evening before the flight so i could drift off in a yummy sleepy and wake up either in Australia or as a ghost.

The problem being is that I was sat next to a gentleman called Mr Mongford.

I knew his name was Mr mongford because he was a vegetarian and they’d call his name as they brought around the “special meals”. Slightly off topic …. even as a meat eating bad boy of twee i find it DISGRACEFUL that they call them “special meals”… christ on a bike.. it’s like they’re trapped in the 1950’s. or something.

Mr Mongford had requested the window seat. i had requested the aisle seat. The seat between us was free. As soon as i sat down he started chatting to me… now you can call me rude but I see little point in making conversation with people for the sake of it… be it hairdressers, taxi drivers or strangers on a plane… you’ll never see these people again.. whats the point of justifying and explaining yourself to them… naturally if it was sexy girl or someone important I’d change this theory.. BUT it never is.

So i sat down and Mr Mongford started quizing me about why i was going to to Austalia? I put my foot in it almost immediately…

PXPL: “Oh my friend… this boy i used to live with.. (Mr mongford’s eyes lit up) well he moved there.. um well when i say lived with… we had seperate rooms … anyhow he’s getting married and um..”

Mr mongford gave a knowing nod and i decided to give him the book off by burying my head in the rubbish in flight magazine. “Please bring the earphones… PLEASE BRING THE EARPHONES NOW!” i thought to myself.

Mr. Mongford lent across the middle spare seat and gently yet firmly jabbed me in arm (right in the middle of the Mod target on my jacket sleeve), “So did you ask for an aisle seat?” “Oh yes”, i repled, ” I wouldnt want to feel boxed in… plus I dont want to be one of those annoying people that asks for a window seat and then has to keep asking the other to move everytime i want the toilet”. Mr Mongford looked visably hurt by this statement probably because the man went for a pee every 30 minutes of so… and if he wasnt going to the toilet he was playing about with his luggage. I’m not kidding on that flight i learned that middle aged people are worse than toddlers… fussing over food, shuffling around, just plain whinging..”Stewardess! Stewardess!” they’d cry. Pathetic.

Anyhow luckily after spending the past few years getting very little sleep I found it very easy to doze off on the plane… still Mr Mongford did do the “lean across and jab” for these important annnouncements…

“Look! Look! we’re taking off”

“I’ve figured out how to get the films up”

“When you get to Melbourne make sure that you watch some Aussie Rules football.. it’s very fast… very exciting”

(i look up after the jab and mr. mongford is already back in his chair.. throwing is head back in hysterical laughter while rubbing his hands together)”Aha-haha You should watch this… Kath & Kim it’s hilarious.. ha ha ha ha” (he is laughing at the opening credits).

“Do you how much they tried to charge me in Hong Kong for a digital camera?”

“I think you’ll like Melbourne… it’s very young… it’s very fresh. You should go to… (Mr mongford lists several places all of which i forgot as soon as he said them)

(I look up after the jab and see the contents of a rather old mobile phone scattered all over the spare seat) ” Do you know how to get the sim card out, mate?”

“ah ha ha I didnt think that i like scrambled egg… but it turns out that i do… still that’s what travel is all about.. trying new things”

“Look! Look! we’re landing”

Luckily I lost him when I had trouble at customs but that’s a different story for a different time.

February 13, 2008

PhoeniX PhiL & The Art Of Being Dumped

Filed under: Uncategorized, editorial, PhoeniX Phil — pxpl @ 10:06 am

11 Apr 2005

PXPL & The Art Of Being Dumped
Current mood: anxious


Here’s a bit of “old skool” PXPL reprinted for y’all.


PhoeniX PhiL & The Art Of Being Dumped

Now if you’re like me you’ll find that you get dumped quite a lot…

Not necessarily the “out of the blue, we’ve been going out two years but the DNA test shows we’re cousins” that we all experience in our twenties at some point but generally dumped..

Wether it be someone you’ve pulled in a dingey club who at time begs to meet up with you again but when you do they look disappointed and bleat on about how they aren’t over their ex…

Or someone who forced you to marry them because they didn’t believe you loved them - then two years later they run off with someone else because they now find you too clingy….

No matter the back story it always ends the same way..

Now then, being the dumpee is no fun. Firstly, you get no sympathy - not really, all your friends (and believe me they are the worse) f*cking love it - you are now the butt of all jokes, the laughing stock for the month. The tragic loser that makes everyone else feel much better about themselves. The Violet Pets have often spoke about “The Theory Of The Pathetic Boyfriend” - being dumped is the final humiliation especially if another man is involved. If it’s another woman and you live in a small town I advise you leave - you’re as good as branded “a gay” for not being able to satisfy a woman. If a woman is dumped by a man for another man she strangely doesn’t get this abuse.

I’d like to think that if a girl is dumped that her friends are more supportive but for men it’s definetly a case of “what a loser”.

The other downside of being the dumpee is that you have to explain to everysingle person you meet and know that:

1) You got dumped (Even when they know, people pretend that they don’t so you have to go over it from square one)

2) Why you got dumped (in great detail & no matter what you tell them it’s never enough)

and 3) that no I didnt know that they had done (insert the names of various tossers and “dirty acts”) behind my back and said (insert several bitter and pointless quotes) about me when i wasnt there.

You expect this conversation to take place at parties for anything up to the next three years.

Ultimately, the worse thing about being dumped, is that you will never get to feel the closeness that you once felt with someone you cared about …heck maybe, truly loved EVER again.


There is an actual way to enjoy being dumped.

Yes you heard me right! there is a way to enjoy it.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately and I think I’ve come to terms with a lot of my rejection issues. The main thing that I can’t past is the guilt.

Strangely despite being the victim in the dumping - the main thing that drags you down is the guilt. It may not seem like it but after being dumped you tend to blame yourself (am I too ugly? am i not understanding enough? is it because my lifes going nowhere? …is it because i can only manage one erection a night?)

And after a lot of thinking I know where this guilt comes from…

…it comes from the RIDICULOUS faces your “soon to be ex” pulls when they are ditching you. Those stupid, simpering - “I’m not a bad person honestly” faces that they love to pull.

Lets be honest if you are breaking up with someone -you’re happy about it (otherwise why break up?). The dumper should be dancing for joy amd should be singing “Oh Happy Day”. Nobody pulls a simpering face when they leave a job they hate, do they?

So next time you’se getting ditched and the bastard / whore pulls the simpering face just laugh at them and walk away.


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