Not dead yet

At all, in fact. We're just waiting for some new stories... So, by all means, send them in!

And now for something completely different

This is just an odd bit of ranting - just scroll down to the posts underneath (and don't forget to check the 'previous posts' on the right) for the hardcore musical bonanza.

OK, so the cat story didn't have anything to do with Spinal Tap whatsoever. Those guys probably didn't even have cats. And they sure as hell didn't make them sing (if the first statement turns out to be wrong, you might to want start doubting the second one as well though). But since I loathe those embarrassing linear gaps on my blog and no new stories seem to be forthcoming (I'm too groggy to post them anyway - that's what a concussion does to you), I've been pondering about ways to fill those gaps up.

For one thing, I could steal other people's Spinal Tap stories. Theft is common enough on the internet and anyway, who could sue me? I live in Antwerp. You don't even know where that is*. But that wouldn't do at all. It'd be boring. And if I'm about to be bore myself (never mind you) for no good reason, it should at least include drinks.

Then it hit me: let's drop the pretence. Let's write about what really interests me: me. Let's talk about all the simple yet incomprehensible things in life. Let's talk about love in the air, about the futility of reason, about all those dissapointments that give you more strength (and the rare ones that casually dump you in a pool of self-inflicted misery) or about the reason for taking on a job you hate (notably: making sure you'll never ever have to do it again).

Then it hit me again: if you want start egotripping either a) start a band or b) put another blog online. Because crap like this will make you lose the 5 visitors a day you're still getting, dude.

Some deep thoughts on the farce that is contemporary music then, perhaps? Nope, then I'd become my own worst blunder. And besides, I'm not about to bite the hand that feeds me. At the very fringe of besideness there also was a wee voice saying: "you'll also lose even more visitors. Dude."

At this point I had to make a brief detour to the wee voice to point out that I don't care about the amount of visitors this blog gets (don't take it personally - I'm just not the sort of dude who enjoys jerking off on his site stats).

And there I was, back at square one. But suddenly, there was a third hit and this time, it went straight to the cranial base. I realised that this blog is all about superficial drivel. Sure, I'll throw in some (hell no: wads) of irony for good measure, but in the end Blunderpop is and will always remain a tribute to stupidity. So why do I bother about linear gaps? Who cares? Instead, I could be spending quality time in an animal shelter folding balloons into funny'ish shapes to the amusement of underprivileged cats (remember: I have a concussion and all those hits aren't helping either).

So, finally, have I made any point at all? Well yes, several in fact. One: Spinal Tap cannot be rushed. Just visit this blog from time to time and see what's come up. If there's nothing: give your cubicle a jolly good bang and start filling out your time sheets. Two: writing in your blog while ye olde internal gyroscope has forgotten about gravity is not a good idea. Three: I'm going to put up another blog with my own confused view of the world. It will be straight from the heart (or at least with as few detours as a male brain will allow) and it might very well be tacky.

I hope all that is good enough for you. But if you prefer some really harcore pornography instead (possibly including underprivileged cats), just let me know.


* In case you're an attorney: yes, I live in Ohio.

Spinal Pussycat

Spoiler warning: This particular post has nothing to do with Spinal Tap itself, nor with music or anything remotely cool in general. This one is about one strange cat. I'll get back to posting regular stuff soon (and of course, the archives are still full of real Blunderpop). This is just a bit of New Years' sentimentalism, I suppose.

Nothing ever happens here. And for once 'here' doesn't apply to the Blunderpop blog, but rather to my wordly home in Antwerp. Yesterday, we had a bit of Spinal Tap of our own there. Pussycat Spinal Tap, that is.

My wife and myself -who are leading perfectly normal, quiet, tax-evading lives- are currently serving two cats. The eldest doesn't cause much excitement ; Basje used to be one mean, territorial bitch but ever since her ovaries got sliced, she has become indifferent to the world. Sure, there will still be interfeline unpleasantness whenever her droit de seigneur over food and accomodation is being questioned and as far as kitty's occasional mood swings are concerned: that's why one keeps an antiseptic handy in the medicine cabinet. So now she's just mean.

Then there's the youngest, Wickie. There couldn't be more of a contrast with Basje. Here's a quickie on Wickie :

- clumpsy. This is a cat you can push over.

- easily distracted. Often by nothing in particular.

- stupid. When her own tail hits something, she goes bezerk.

- clever. In a very abstract, detached, lofty sort of way.

- extraordinarily talkative. If you want a pet that not only talks back to you, but actually comes and tells you stories, then this is the cat for you.

- ridiculously sweet. To humans as well as to other cats.

Wickie, Spinal pussycat par éxcellence

In short: she doesn't seem to get the idea that cats are supposed to be solitary, mean, haughty and slick animals. This is even more striking when you know that she's the daughter of Basje (her siblings ended up dead in my fridge, don't ask).

So it won't come as a surprise to you when I tell you that Wickie's resume as a predator is basically a blank. She did emerge victorious from several fierce battles with twigs, leafs and -on one memorable occasion- a semi-comatose moth, but anything else has been way beyond her hunting skills. Until yesterday, that is. Yesterday, Wickie caught a mouse. I don't know how she did it. Was it a one-off hiccup from her primal instinct? Or possibly the mouse was intoxicated after nibbling from some fermented fruit in the compost heap? Who will tell?

Anyway, there she was, standing in the kitchen with a wee little mouse tail dangling from her mouth. I already heard stories of cats bringing bits of prey to their bosses ("there you go sir, you must be starving.") / servants ("medium please, with a bit of Whiskas on the side"), but I also figured those animals'd be dead. But no, I should have known that Wickie doesn't abide to convention. So she dropped the mouse from the mouth, which was very much alive indeed. The latter happily rummaged through some oranges before Wickie picked it up again. Together, they moved to the first floor, possibly because she didn't like my wife an me anxiously hovering about. There, they had some more fun playing hide and seek together. Mind you: Wickie didn't make any attempt to hurt the mouse. No claws, no juggling, no chewing, no nothing. Just a keen interest and possibly -at least, I like to think so- the idea that she had made a new friend. And the mouse itself didn't seem to mind much either. So they got along nicely. Rumour -a glimpse in poor lighting- has it that Wickie actually gave the mouse a jolly good wash with her tongue. Fact is, that Wickie didn't want us anywhere near, which is in itself exceptional. Again: this is a cat that talks to you.

Not Wickie (but I was too stunned to take pictures so here's some stock photography)

Eventually, Wickie's limited attention span got the better of her and she finally lost track of (or interest in?) the mouse and it dissapeared. A few hours later my wife and me were dutifully watching TV when she suddenly calmly remarked: "I think I felt something move under that blanket." (you should know my wife is not exacty squeamish). And there it was. The mouse didn't have as much as a scratch and it calmly walked across the couch, checking us out. And it didn't seem in any hurry to run off either. In the end, I caught the mouse without much effort (it either was fearless or else it was paralysed with fear) and returned it to the wild in the back of our garden. Later that evening, Wickie suddenly remembered her new-found rodent friend and came to look for it. She seemed sincerely dissapointed that 'her' mouse wasn't around anymore. I think this cat needs a soul mate.

And in case you're wondering about Basje: she slept through it all.

Update: Wickie, the scourge of the savannah, has actually caught a second mouse, this time with lethal consequences. The wee rodent must have had an heart attack as it was otherwise unharmed. Anyway, the mouse is very much dead. Hence, Wickie (who is still upset about her now defunct toy) has been officially listed as a predator.

Worst Christmas Song ever

The slightly masochist people at Retrocrush.com have chosen, after long and excruciating deliberation, the worst Christmas song / video ever. Sorry Macca, it's nothing personal. But why on earth did you have to make such a truly tacky song? Even to the standards of the late 70s. You're rich, aren't you? You've got your musical freedom? You don't have to record any piece of shit, do you? So, again, WHY ? And people, by all means do check the video featuring a great number of musicians (and never mind that there are no instruments whatsoever in the song itself, apart from a keyboard from Plastic Hell) and the late Linda McCartney shaking bells.

Oh, and don't forget to check out this guy, whose song came in a close second in the Retrocrush Christmas poll.

Ho ho holy shit !

The name of the site really says it all... Last Christmas has been collecting for almost two weeks now and the database (which also includes videos) is becoming quite impressive and continues to grow.

Currently, they've already posted 103 covers of the Wham! song (with a total playing time of7hr 8min 37sec) which includes versions by Vietnamese pop hero Dam Vinh Hung, Manic Street Preachers, The Hairy Bottlers, The Three Degrees and -of course- Richard Cheese.

And yes, Blunderpop does know the secret of Christmas cheer:
a funky little jingle deer !

Cover me, cover you

When you're not able to come up with songs of your own, what do you do? You make some covers of course! Sometimes, even that goes horribly wrong. Here are a few examples. Watch and hear bad songs become even worse (and good songs being thoroughly gang-banged).


The Final Countdown - Yes, there's always worse. Europe's video clip at least had a crowd.

Smells Like Teen Spirit - It certainly does. Wow. I'd feel stupid and contagious, too.

Something by Iron Maiden apparently - Words fail me... and the singer as well.

Super Trouper - Psychedelic accordion bonanza, baby!

You're Beautiful - With a sensual Latin twist.

Doesn't all that make you wonder what their own songs sound like? No?

Alive and twitching

Blunderpop still lives, although things are a bit comatose right now. Needless to say, this is your fault. We need your stories to keep this blog up and running. We did receive several comments though, but most of those were either complaints ("why don't you update your blog more often?") or proposals about the purchase of family-sized packs of Viagra. The latter sounds mighty interesting too, we agree, but in itself it's not exactly Spinal Tap. So stop bitching and start writing. Cheers!