“So this is Winnipeg.
I can tell it’s not Paris.”
Oscar Wilde, on his North American tour.
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Monthly Archives: March 2007
another reason U2 is the greatest band in the world
The Superbowl Halftime Show in 2002; a tribute to the victims of 911 in a performance of Where the Streets Have No Name. If I’m not mistaken, the audience made Bono cry. Well, they sure did it to me.
God, how performers must love giving their all in front of American audiences. Those people just do NOT hold back; nor should they, in a case like this. This is what is known as rocking the house. Lyrics over the jump.
The First reason U2 is the greatest band in the world is here.
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ONE reason U2 is the greatest band in the world
Kiss me, I’m Reebok St. Patrick’s Day Classic Sneaker
Yes, they are real. Reebok St. Patrick’s Day Classics. Green, with white trim, shamrocks, and “Kiss Me, I’m Irish” on the heel cup.
And a goddam Union Jack on the label. Use orange laces on these buggers and you could start another civil war right there on the sidewalk. If you check out the other model through the link above, you’ll see that the Orangemen are also well-represented. I can’t wait to see that in an updated version of West Side Story.
A sneaker you can wear once a year. The fashion world has reached its apotheosis, people; here is where it ends. Here, Karl Lagerfeld swallows his own tail and vanishes in a puff of brimstone.
Besides, they’re Reebok: they’re crap. Soft, pretty crap, but it’s a good thing they’re only wearable one day a year, because that’s the only way Reeboks would last more than one year anyway.
I’m wondering, looking at these, if they were designed by a Dublin dominatrix who, being new to the business, hadn’t really gotten the hang of the “Kiss my feet” thing yet.
“Yo P.Paddy, is it me feets ye’d be kissin?” Heel, boy.
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Buy this damn thing
I hear that I’m allowed one discreet text link to an item that’s delegated its power to the Capitalist Conspiracy, ie something for sale, so here it is.
For the love of god, would you click through and purchase that fucker already? Vicus is going to whine uncontrollably until everyone on Earth has at least one copy, and god forbid he get maudlin about it and start with the weepy Sixties folk tunes. If the book doesn’t sell out, don’t blame me if the blogosphere is subjected to nothing but recitals of bloody Kumbiyah in creaky and wistful Donovan style for the next six straight months.
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raincoaster 