A most unHappy Meal

It's time to update those apocryphal stories about life after a nuclear armageddon. For years, people having been saying that when someone finally presses the big red button, the only things left on Earth will be cockroaches, Twinkies and possibly Jodie Marsh.

But New York artist Sally Davies has evidence that the cockroaches might be able to tuck into more than just sugary snack cakes in the post-apocalyptic wasteland. Because there'll be plenty of McDonalds Happy Meals for them to enjoy.

Having worked in McDonalds during my student years (only slightly preferable to hand-washing bed-linen in a whorehouse), I know how fastidious the management can be about product freshness. Even now - when I'm feeling mischievous - I'll go into a McDonalds, order a thick shake and say loudly "I think they need to check the syrup calibration." Then I watch as the Duty Manager panics that I might be from head office, and races down the line tipping every single hot item into the bin. Ahhh, good times.

So, having seen Sally's new art project, I'm wondering why they bother. Sure, they can promise that nothing is ever more than about eight minutes old, but does it really matter? If the food had been sitting there longer than that, would anyone really be able to tell?

Not according to Sally, who bought a kids' Happy Meal on April 10th. She decided to watch what would happen as the food deteriorated, documenting its gradual decomposition with her camera.

Problem is, it didn't. In fact, four months later, the meal looked slightly more appetising than it had at the beginning.

We've all heard tales of people who've gone for a colonic and marvelled as the bold clinic employee sifted through their partially digested detritus. Legend has it that a colon cleanse can unearth bits of food that have been sitting silently in your bowels for half a decade.

Presumably, this means that each of us is carrying around enough undigested McGarbage to cater a children's party (ice cream and cake is extra). Give it a quick rinse and it's as good as new.

Now, do you really want fries with that?

Is it art? Part 2

Lots of people have plastic surgery, but some people insist on taking it to extremes. For instance, Joan Rivers looks like an alien struggling to get her human disguise to fit, whereas Jocelyn Wildenstein has turned herself into a one-size-fits-all punchline. Whenever a picture of them appears in the press, you can guarantee that someone will pop up and diagnose them with body dysmorphia.

Blame Lolo Ferrari - by turning herself into an 11 year-old grafitti artist's depiction of womanhood, she inadvertently introduced the world to the psychological disorder. As a result, anyone who goes under the knife more than a couple of times is instantly damned with dysmorphia-by-proxy.

Like anorexia and bulimia, it's a mental condition that manifests itself in a pathological disappointment with one's appearance. It's hardly surprising that many people were keen to diagnose Michael Jackson with dysmorphia too, given that he rearranged his face the way most people try out a different haircut.

But maybe Michael wasn't as unhappy about his appearance as we all thought he was - it turns out he actually wanted to look like that. Even if it meant he had the eyes of a cartoon bear and a nose that only existed in two dimensions.

In the last few days, Michael's collection of artwork has been revealed to the world, and it's a sight to behold. In the last ten years he commissioned a host of paintings, depicting his idealised self in a variety of poses. It's enough to make Jarvis Cocker's head spin.

As well as being portrayed as a superhero and King Arthur, Michael appears in one painting as a bizarre cross between Michelangelo's David and Botticelli's Birth of Venus. Surrounded by floating porcelain-skinned cherubs, the tastefully draped King of Pop shows off some pretty impressive pecs and abs that Peter Andre would kill for. And although there's only a swathe of muslin between Michael's groin and a crowd of naked children, there's absolutely no sense of predatory sexuality.

No doubt people will be falling over themselves to condemn Michael's lack of taste (and possibly clothing), but is it really that shocking? After all, Michael may have paid up to $150,000 for the portrait, but all he's done is what countless thousands of people do every day. The only difference is that they do it in those 'pose as a cowboy' photo studios, or by sticking their heads through a crudely cut hole in a cartoon of fat people in Victorian bathing gear. Different strokes, different folks.

Let's get 'serious'

Sad news this week about Natasha Richardson, who had an accident on a learners' ski slope and died hours later in hospital. The news was reported on BBC Breakfast this week, and a theatre critic from The Telegraph was wheeled in to eulogise the late actress.

As you'd expect from a theatre critic, he focused primarily on Richardson's board-treading career, with a couple of obligatory references to her film appearances in Gothic and the remake of The Parent Trap. He also made an embarassing faux pas when talking about Richardson's husband Liam Neeson, saying that it's commonplace for American film actors to be intimidated by well-respected British theatre actors. No-one bothered to point out that Liam Neeson is actually Irish.

But still, he bumbled on (and on and on) repeatedly pointing out that Richardson was a serious actress. She appeared in films, but mostly uncommercial ones. Which means that they went largely unseen. And although she did appear in a couple of 'popular' films, she remained at heart a serious actress. He must have mentioned Natasha's 'seriousness' about five times. And it all became rather annoying. Because what he was really saying (and given that this was a Telegraph critic we should hardly be surprised) is that anything that gives enjoyment or finds an audience is ultimately unworthy of respect. And should not be taken 'seriously.'

OK, so nothing here is rocking any boats, but I felt it needed saying. After all, the whole point of this blog is to talk about popular culture. Art doesn't have to be po-faced and serious. And popular culture doesn't have to be empty vacuous bullshit. Quality comes in all shapes and sizes, and you limit your opportunities for enjoyment if you close your mind to the variety on offer. Seriously.