Sinister: we were rich once, until our heads exploded

[Mark Casarotto]

Word for today = "casualisation". As I sat on the bus
one the way back from Waitrose this morning, I saw a
woman holding a leaflet. It announced that today is
the "Simon Jones Memorial Day of Awareness about
Casualisation", I think it was. 

I couldn't for the life of me think what it could be
about. The picture of Mr Jones was of a young man with
a crew-cut wearing a Ben Sherman type shirt. So people
are finally rising up against the
Reebok-classic-wearing, pissy-lager-drinking,
pub-brawling culture that blights our provincial
towns? Er, no.

It's all to do with casual labour, and the lack of
writes and protection the employee has. More about Mr
Jones and the ugly side of casualisation can be found
at http://www.simonjones.org.uk/latest.htm.

I used to know a Simon Jones - but he was a twat. And
he's still alive, so it couldn't have been him. 

Which made me wonder. What do people with really
common names do when their mates are Googling
themselves? My combo of dull-as-fuck first name and
moderately exotic surname makes me fairly easy to
track down. There were no Marks among the 31
Casarottos listed in the records of Ellis Island -
though some of those 19th Century eye-ties have
ker-azy names!
http://www.ellisislandrecords.org/search/passSearch.asp?
is quite interesting, especially if you're a septic.

So. What else is new? I went to ATP. It wasn't great.
The line-up was so po-faced and post-hardcore (Steve
Albini cloned into a million sour-jawed men with
unnecessary facial hair) that I couldn't be arsed to
see the great majority of the bands. I know this is
anathema to people like Stefano, but it's life. I
think most sinisterines had a similar approach :-)

However, their was one huge beacon of hope (and I'm
not talking about Kelley Deal's arse). The Breeders
were SUPERB, and totally made it for me, on a musical
level at least. Though if anyone tries to tell you
Cheap Trick were anything other than your dad making a
70s rock cunt of himself, they're lying, you know. 

And we won the football! Again! For bunch of
bed-wetters, we can kick a ball passably (and I'd like
to see someone call Dr Sean a bed-wetter to his face).
Ally 96, big gay Richard, Mr Purple Troosers the
skipper, lovely Joss, Dr Sean, Hairy Pat, Jonnie no. 5
and, of course, "Drunken" Matt Powell, manager
extraordinaire, who pulled it together when it came
down to the wire. Brian. Played 4, won 4; goals for,
19; goals against, 3. I think it's safe to say we're
all over the spoon.

This is a bit of a prosaic post, really, so I think
I'll send it and maybe come back for more later. 

Mark xxx

p.s. I got to SLEEP with David Moore!





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