its-all-legood:

What happens when the lads from Hereford visit!

What happens when one lad from Hereford visits!

I’m struggling to pick a decent order for my favourite performances of Reading 2010, but it goes something like this.

1. Arcade Fire - Really appreciating their quality at the minute, and so seeing them live was staggering.

2. Mumford & Sons - Just a fantastic set, with the loudest crowd of the weekend man for man.

3. The Libertines - It was the Libertines, I don’t need to comment further.

4. Blink 182 - Feel harsh having to put them this low down, because I really enjoyed the fact that every tune is a hit.

5. Weezer - Funny, uplifting and full of intrigue from a band I didn’t expect to enjoy as much as I did.

abcmsaj:

agronskybelongswithme:

(via fuckyeahashleybenson)

who is she?! her boobs are awesome.

She’s an American Actress. Ashley Benson.

I have been musing on the subjects of classics a bit, and considering why some are so horribly wrong. I’ll explain.

I mean classic as when society attempts to loosely decide what we should all like, and as such proclaim things as classics. To this end, we have classic films, music, art, moments and literature.

Now, I am far from saying that all classics are wrong, as I will now illustrate. Anyone who claims that the Godfather, the epitome of classic cinema is a bad film, for example, is clearly a moron, as it is a stunning piece of cinematography, and it should rightly be almost universally appreciated.

The same sort of thing goes with music. The following names will illustrate the point. The Beatles, Elvis Presley, Michael Jackson, Bob Dylan, Johnny Cash. Need I say any more? It appears to me that music deemed as classic often is the cream of the crop, regardless of my personal taste for it. I am not an Elvis fan, but I can undoubtedly appreciate the exemplary musical talent the man possessed.

Tiananmen square, the fall of the Berlin wall, Maradona’s goal against England. That pretty much sums up classic moments for me. Bang on.

However, it is with art and literature that my problem lies. For example, classic authors I simply can not find it within myself to like, and I’m sure I’m far from the only one. I have an almost inherent loathing for Thomas Hardy, simply because I believe the work he produced is not that good. I don’t think it’s so bad it could have been written by Jordan, but I just don’t rate it. His prose is poor, and don’t even get me started on the poetry. A pointless genre in the first place if you ask me. Shocking though it is, I do not appreciate Shakespeare either. I’m not saying he was talentless, I just fail to see why it is he has risen to the stratospheric status he is held in, when his work strikes me as no better than that of many thousands of other author. The same goes for Charles Dickens.

My sentiments of classic art are almost identical. Take the Mona Lisa, the most recognisable painting in the world. I just don’t know why. Is it really that good? Think about it. And with that thought, I will leave you.

Oh yeh!

http://www.sporcle.com/games/Tempest/superfastgeo

I am very lucky really, but I occasionally have these horrible moods. Mostly it revolves around the fact that the things I want the most, are the very things I can’t have. It’s horrible, and I convince myself it’s true. I don’t even know if it is or not. It takes completely out of context what a fantastic life I actually have.