Consumerist has posted a solution to flying wii controllers. Comment on waiting for an official solution from Nintendo: “It ain’t carved from Zelda’s hyperpolygnal ass and handed down by the hands of many small Japanese gods, but it’ll do the trick.”
Nintendo Wii is a new gaming system where you move the controllers through the air to control the action on the screen. Some people have been doing so a bit overzealously. [See Wii Have a Problem; also the twisted take by Penny Arcade; Originally noticed the Wii on boingboing with a funny post by Mark Frauenfelder]
Official Solution: Nintendo is replacing straps. Information Here.
Update from the Beautiful South Show:
Full info from the amazing show:
The Beautiful South
Cakeshop
Ludlow Street
New York City, NY
6th November, 2006
01 Especially For You
02 The River
03 Pretty Things
04 Manchester
05 Old Red Eyes Is Back
06 Prettiest Eyes
07 Paul’s Poem
08 Rotterdam
09 One Last Love Song
10 Perfect 10
11 Let Love Speak Up Itself
12 Don’t Marry Her
Performers:
Paul Heaton – vocals
Dave Rotheray – guitar
Dave Hemingway – vocals
Alison Wheeler – vocals
Tony Robinson – trumpet/backing vocals
Gaz Birtles – backing vocals
Kev Brown – backing vocals
The Beautiful South’s new CD is really worth checking out.
Artist:The Beautiful South
Manufacturer:Sony / Bmg Import
Released:20 July, 2006
I’ve gotten a recording of the show at Cake Shop (thank you leohilarious – also for a correction on the last line of the poem.) and have transcribed Paul Heaton’s poem below. If you have any corrections please comment.
Paul Heaton’s Poem
When hip-hop’s selling perfume
And boy band’s selling grief
The blues man’s market life insurance just won’t flip underneath
Jazz just chucks its concrete into transparent handkerchief
Everything is anything to anyone
The butchers sell you pantyhose
The supermarket sells you land
And the news really likes to read the news but he’s also in a band
And feminism’s fast asleep with a cock in either hand
Everything is anything to everyone
Modern, modern man is a man of many lives
So we decorate, we imitate, we duplicate their lives
It’s the sound of octopuses giving infinite high fives
Everybody’s business is show business
And the indoors wants you Oliver
And the outdoors wants you Audi
The bank they want a Tex or Hank
And the mic wants Pavarotti
Kitchen, garden, wardrobe, property in the sun
Everything is anything to everyone
The newsagent sells you holidays
The travel shop sells you sand
The local vicar saves your soul
But he also saves the damned
Nothing’s black and white no more
Just permanently tanned
Everything is everything to everyone
Locate, locate, locate
Locate the victim’s house
Swap their wives
And take their lives
And turn them inside out
Nothing left in closet
Nothing left in doubt
Everything is anything to everyone
Modern, modern woman
Is juggling many lives
Duplicating, decorating, imitating lives
To the sound of a million whistling wolves
From the ground of a thousand building sites
Everybody’s business is show business
And the thin are getting thinner
And the big are getting bigger
Till 5 and 75 year olds worry about their figure
The big are getting bigger
The thin are getting thinner
Till everyone is looking at everyone else’s dinner
And we shave our heads to make us look thin
Till the whole fucking Earth’s of fat bald skin
To the fitness instructors and the owners of the gym
I see piling down from the balcony of the trim
And there’s your space, MySpace, their big mouth
Turns everything and everyone inside out
Your tube, Me tube, everybody spout
Everything is anything and nowt is fucking nowt
