I’ve just had dinner at the local Indian restaurant – and guess who should also be there? Well, if you read the title you’re already one step ahead – it was none other than Michael Flatley , masochist and creator of Riverdance. I use the term creator loosely. You have to question the merits of the creation of something as diabolical as Riverdance. A bit like the creation of chemical warfare, line dancing, or Brussels Sprouts. Anyhoo, Rene and Kirt texted their mothers on the other side of the world to say the man himself was sitting at the table across from us. Yes, he is still a big star in some peoples eyes.
What did he eat? Who was he with? Lamb korma and Pilau rice with nan bread; a sexy blond wearing a little too much war paint who’s hips are about as wide as my thigh. He apparently lives just around the corner from the restaurant, in a huge house on the canal. I managed to grab his post-meal lemon scented refresher towel which I will be converting into a retirement fund after I auction it on e-bay.
On the stereo….. Chicago. Due to a tragic case of mistaken identity I have a copy of Chicago ‘s (‘The Chicago Story – The Complete Greatest Hits’- ‘greatest’ and ‘hits’ are wildly exaggerated claims surely) but I actually like two of the songs on it. I am twisted and evil. It’s even digitally remastered. I took issue with the phrase ‘remastered’, it is a careless use of the term, applied to any rehash of tired sounding music by a marketing committee. Was this music ever mastered in the first place? What hope would ‘digital’ remastering have on this band? Chicago is emblazed on the album cover in dubious ‘Cheers’-like lettering. I’m up to track 5, and this CD is going off like the fish that’s been in our fridge for too long. It’s going back to the record store tomorrow.
All this talk of Indians and curry reminds me of why American Indians are called Indians. According to Michael Moore, Columbus got lost and thought he was in India, and thus the indigenous people of the America’s are known as Indians.