Define: Artistitis

This video was made by  Chantal Claret, who I mentioned before:

 Go to www.morningwoodrocks.com to see the making of the video, which is amusing because a) everything is  DIY and inspiring, and b) you can hear Jimmy chuckling in the background.

  Anyway, I was thinking about this blog at some point in the last week, and how so many ‘journalist’s blogs’ are really just spaces for whining posers who tell themselves that the reason they haven’t got a big break is because no one understands them, or they have so much talent it’s painful, which automatically means the world hates them. Same with a lot of ‘artists’ and ‘musicians’.

  I find this quite funny, and every time I think I’m heading toward ‘artistitis’, as it will henceforth be known, I resolve to never contract such a dreadful disease. If I do, I will embark on a medicine of Mindless Self Indulgence songs and write about stuff people want to read, or at least something that is vaguely interesting. Something like, I don’t know, my friends. They rock, even the wierd ones.

  I highly doubt this blog will ever reach BBC News or have a thousand hits a week, just like I highly doubt I will never earn a pot of cash from writing fiction stories or touring in a van with rock bands, smelling of petrol stations. I don’t think I really want to, though. The main way of inoculating yourself against artistitis is to not bother with the red carpet dream, or the fantasy that you’ll receive thousands of fan-made gifts every birthday. You don’t need them if you’ve got the things you care about around you, like your friends, your dog, or a new karate grade.

  I can’t find a picture of LiZzi or Ruby or my cousins and I at the grading we did a couple of weeks ago, so meet Fred.