plasticbag.org

Courtesy of idiote.org: A song in french about plastic bags – a song with a startling hidden meaning.

Matt has taken Metafilter down for the weekend to do some maintenance and hardware / software improvements. But he hasn’t just thrown up a ‘closed’ or ‘under construction’ page – instead he’s taken the opportunity to celebrate Two Years of Metafilter.

8.30pm Friday: Yesterday evening I was travelling up the escalator in Maida Vale tube on my way home. Halfway up, I felt this strange sensation – as if some force behind me was gently pushing me faster than everyone else. For a fraction of a second, I didn’t know what was happening, but then the escalator gently slid to a halt. Like a car braking suddenly and its passengers being thrust forwards, my feeling had been the consequence of a sudden deceleration rather than a speeding-up. This has never happened to me on an escalator before. And it suddenly got me thinking about the sensation associated with things ending or breaking. Maybe there’s always a sensation of oneself moving forward – a positive feeling of individual movement, or progress – in the moment when the rest of the world suddenly slows and stops.

8.30am Saturday: Despite being awake until 3.30 am in the morning, I rise early when the postman arrives. There’s a letter from AOL in the post rejecting me for the role of Broadband Producer. I am surprised by how disappointed I am. I have several potential job opportunities around at the moment, but none excited me anywhere near as much as this one. It seemed to me something I could get passionate about – something exciting that I could excel at.

I’ve been investigating Q4music.com’s guide to (and reviews of) my favourite ever band: The Pixies [Reviews: Come On Pilgrim | Surfer Rosa | Doolittle | Bossanova | Trompe Le Monde | Death To The Pixies | At The BBC | Complete B-sides].

Now I’ve never been much of a one for Robbie Williams. I mean the man’s a laugh, and it’s good to finally have some pop stars with a sense of humour and some style, even as the manufactured groups get more and more overt and trashy. But I think I could assert that I’ve never really found him attractive. Until that is I saw him this morning in a few sketches he’s done for Comic Relief. Based on the Ted and Ralph characters from The Fast Show (and more than a little based upon Scudder from Maurice), I present for you – uncut half-naked Robbie digging holes.

Here’s an interesting exercise – Mo Morgan is donating £1 to Comic Relief for every page impression that his weblog gets today. Join me in my question to bankrupt him, by visiting his site immediately.

Mark becomes the second weblogger to move his writing into the source-code. Could this be the future? Endless rows of blank-pages, updated two or three times a day with invisible content? Quick, InvestoBoy – to the Businessplanmobile…

There’s a redesign over at sourground.co.uk that is kind of what I was trying to do with the blue design of plasticbag.org – only, you know, sourground actually works. I’m endebted to the site for another reason – it pointed me towards dreamline.nu – an unofficial fan site for the works of Dave McKean – an artist who often produces the covers for the higher class of comic books.

Adjunct notice: Despite perceived trashiness of Mr Big references and forced associations with TV programme Sex and the City, said parallel is allowing me to get a handle on what might otherwise be an intolerably difficult to deal with piece of mental engineering. Hence I fully intend to investigate this particular pathway until it collapses beneath me. Having undertaken the quiz associated with the TV series, however, I was alarmed to be presented with this (edited for length and gender improprieties – unfortunately one found oneself at a professional loss as to how to remove the cheesy bits):

“Who you are: Complex and creative. Yet somehow, when it comes to relationships, you’re not adept. You can whine all you want about the way men treat you (usually, like dirt), but it’s the challenge of obtaining the unobtainable that thrills you. Your resolutions this year: To admit you made a few BIG mistakes in 2000 and move on to better things. To kick your vices (that includes seeing that ex you KNOW is no good). To tame those over-indulgent tendencies. To seek out men who might actually be SANE as well as single. In the past, you’ve been swept off your feet by charismatic creeps who are about as available as a lunch table at Le Cirque 2000. The more obnoxious and aloof they are, the more interested you are. When you do find a nice guy, you send him packing: Hey, where’s the angst?”

E-mail to Big (subject header: “Message for Mr Big”) has solicited a reply. And an altogether unsatisfying one at that. It appears, in true Sex and the City style, that Mr. Big is in fact part of the family unit “Mr and Mr Big”. This is a piece of information that I was, unfortunately, unaware of until this point. There remains a flirtatious vibe to the correspondence. This, I am afraid, doesn’t surprise me. More to the point, my decision to go along with said vibe to the detriment of my own health and general well-being also doesn’t surprise me. Tempted as I am to place my reply on the site, I think I might just restrain myself.