Something For The Weekend 27

Dave… I’m sure, like me and the rest of the interweb, you’re still reeling from last weekend’s Videogate debacle, especially since it turns out that you might have had more of an involvement in it than was first thought. But no matter, I tried to put it all behind me this week by getting out the house and taking up an offer to attend a “private viewing” of a new Andy Warhol exhibition in Edinburgh – me and 175 other “lucky” winners of a company competition.

Being so young ‘n all, you probably don’t remember much about Andy Warhol although his stint as keyboard player for Duran Duran in the early 80s might ring a bell… didn’t you once tell me that your mum used to sing a lullaby version of “Girls On Film” to you to persuade you to dance for her Super 8 cine camera after she’d dressed you up in that pink tutu?

Anyway, Andy Warhol was also an “artist” – according to the programme notes I have here – and this exhibition at the big Greek-looking building in the middle of Princes Street, the name of which escapes me, is the biggest retrospective of his “art” ever displayed in Scotland. It opens to the fee-paying public tomorrow so if you fancy kissing some hard-earned cash goodbye to view a pile of Campbell’s soup tins and 423 copies of the same Marilyn Monroe photo, then this is the very fellow for you.

Call me a philistine if you want but I know what I like and I much preferred the competition-winning efforts of Edinburgh schoolchildren, some as young as three and four, which lined the foyer of the building where the free drink was being served. I’m sure if I was a merlot-sippin’ Guardian reader, I too would agree that his work is “highly charged” and “a form of radical realism” but it didn’t move me at all… except to the nearest McDonald’s where I underwent my own version of radical realism.

Finally, before I sign off and try and extract the last remnants of Big Mac pickle from my fillings, HOW GOOD was last night’s episode of “Scrubs”? Please, please tell me you saw it? If you didn’t, the simple, innovative genius of the plot was this… a woman is admitted to the hospital complaining that she hears singing wherever she goes so the whole episode becomes a musical with ten original and brilliantly composed songs including soon-to-be-golf-tour-stalwart “Everything Comes Down To Poo”.

My favourite though is the one which you can now view below. Dave, I’m not afraid to admit that I watched this and thought of you… and your “significant other”.

Enjoy, Edge.