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February 26, 2005
so smile me up with beautiful things
It would appear that recently I have been succumbing to the ranty side. This is attributable to two main causes:
1) Blogging from the computer at work. Of late, work has made me a bit ranty. So when not actually working at work, my mental pressure valves have been venting. And when not in the office, I have just had things other than writing to do (such as watching telly, washing hair, lounging on sofa, being entertained by other people, abusing self etc.)
2) When I grow up properly I want to be a grumpy old man and am getting the practice in now. And there is some witness testimony that leads me to believe I am getting rather good at this already.
So taking today's out-of-office opportunity, me thought I could draw some attention to smiley fluffy me. Using the lazy-arsed method of a short list. A short list of things that are contributing to today's happy smile:
If you think that The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy internet only trailer needs any explanation then you're not going to understand why I think this is a piece of life-enhancing genius. [with an extreme debt of gratitude to Mr. Reynolds for putting me onto this]
While out on a journey through internetweb fantasyland, I've been eyeing-up some quality Kitchen Erotica - though I am not going to concern myself with reasons as to why I am getting so overly excitable about the sexiness of a fridge freezer that I will never be able to afford.
Continuing my orgy of consumerist fantasy, quite simply iWant. Which is just plain greedy considering iHavealready, but this new one is new. And in colour. And stores photos . . . And costs money. So must remember iCannotaffordit.
Which brings me back to the land where I can get my kicks for free (which is about as far as my budget stretches at the moment). In sports news, today is yet another glorious day of leek waving joy. Yet even more sensationally, down in the depths of proper-football, Macclesfield are still up at the dizzying heights of third in League 2. For those of you that this means absolutely nothing to, it is truly a rare and momentous occurrence well worthy of a celebration. I'm just hoping that they don't get high-table vertigo.
On the getting my kicks front, there are also a couple of other things to hand me that are making my eyes all sparklesome, but I haven't got a camera on me to show them to you. And I would undoubtedly get into trouble if I did.
Which makes me wonder why I'm sat here writing this? Good question.
Posted by adhoc at 09:43 PM | Comments (1)
February 25, 2005
Christian Vice
I want to believe in an afterlife. Specifically, for today, an afterlife along the lines of the classic Judaeo-Christian 'Heaven and Hell' model. I don't want this afterlife for myself, as I've already got more than enough incoherent beliefs of my own to contend with. But as an afterlife for Stephen Green. He who is the High Gitwizard and Chief mediawhore of Christian Voice. Just for the look on his face at the moment after his death, when he arrives expectantly at the Pearly Gates . . . and as St. Peter flashes him the V-sign he comes face to face with a gloating Lucifer who will torment with his wretched soul for the rest of eternity. See, Christian beliefs can be fun.
Why so vitriolic?
Well I'm not really. But the above does seem like an apt kind of justice for a man who in the name of Christianity feels pleased to have bullied, blackmailed and intimidated a charity into refusing a donation. Pathetic. And all this fuss over a 3 grand donation towards a total 1 million project to build a centre for supporting cancer patients in London. Hugely pathetic. And Mr Green has been played for a fool and made to look as much in the national media. Pathetically though, as it goes.
As for Maggie's Centres, I think they have made a good decision in the circumstances. And, in reality, it's not such a tough decision to make: 1) Don't accept £3,000 donation, 2) Issue press release saying donation refused because of 'advice' from Christian Voice, 3) Sit back and watch a shitstorm unfold, 4) Rub hands with glee as donation level goes through the roof. Well done them.
The full statement from the Maggie's Centres chief exec is here
It makes interesting reading, and is a lot more informative than the press release. It spells out what happened in black and white. Well white and green. I particularly like the understatement in the last sentence of this quote:
"They [Christian Voice] told us that if we accepted the donation we would cause offence and that they would take action against us, effectively blocking our ability to work. They said that they would picket our centres, send out a press release deploring our action and email their 50,000 members. We felt that these actions would have prevented us from being able to function effectively."
As a charity adviser in a former life, I have been involved in some fascinating debates about the morality of funding sources. I think it is important that faith groups that believe gambling to be wrong ought to debate the ethics of lottery funding. And it can be fun and educational when environmental activists consider accepting donations from oil or construction companies. But intimidating a charity into making a decision by threatening to disrupt its services to its beneficiaries is wrong. Though interestingly, I don't feel quite the same way about oil or construction companies.
Maggie's Centres provide a valuable and much needed caring and support service for those diagnosed with cancer. Given that in the 21st century this isn't a service that is going to be provided by the NHS, Maggie's Centres are undoubtedly a worthwhile thing. Even if I happen to think that relying on personal philanthropy to provide essential healthcare is more than a little Victorian. But for today, there is no need to rant. I just need to imagine Stephen Green going to Hell.
Posted by adhoc at 07:06 PM | Comments (0)
February 23, 2005
Captain of the B-Team
I have been asked to play football for the work team next Tuesday. After some initial research, I've discovered that this is amusing for more reasons than I've got fingers to count with. Take, for example, a mental picture of me running. And there you have exhibit A. Dribbling is something I can do with ease, but just not with my own feet. I did once have a raw and unrefined ability to 'kick the ball in the net', but that was a very long time ago. Way back before I became unfit, out of practice and really really lazy. Which are apparently 3 traits that make me an ideal candidate for the work team. So potential kicky-bally shenanigans ahoy. I'll keep you posted.
The association of work and football induced a flashback to me aged 11. At school. Playing football.
And in particular, the unconvincing excuses of a teacher as to why it would be best for me if I stayed as captain of the B-team rather than 'move-up' to the A-team. With a couple of decades of hindsight, the teacher was right, if for the wrong reasons. The A-team was made up of boys who I didn't actually get on with, were a mostly a bunch wankers, and took life and football way way way too seriously. Whereas the B-team was full of people I liked. I was in my element. It was fun. And as it goes, I learnt to be a good captain.
I've always looked back at the stubborn refusal of my teacher to let me play with the A-team and continued to take it as a personal insult. But now, I realise that I was happy where I was. I was aspiring to something I didn't actually want. The parallels with other times in my life are scarily plentiful. And of course, every so often the B-team beats the A-team. And I am the captain of the B-team. Today is a good day.
Posted by adhoc at 02:05 PM | Comments (0)
February 22, 2005
Questioning the Unanswering Mind
This morning, my Brain is trying to kick-start itself into action by continually asking questions. Bless it for trying, but it's a lost cause. Question after question after more and more questions. Why, for pete's sake? A valiant and worthy attempt by Brain, but neuorlogical slumber dooms all the questions to remain unanswered in a void of unconcerning uncertainty. Anyway, I though I'd share. So for instance:
Why does getting great fat flakes of snow up my nostrils first thing in the morning put me in such a good mood? And I'm not euphamising about cocaine . . . But just what is so magical about falling snow in the dark?
And so given that it was snowing this morning, how come I had my quickest ever journey into work? Were we privileged by having the right kind of snow on the tracks? Was this a fluke? What made the snow special?
If work multiplies to fill the time available, then how the hell did I come back to such a terrifying mountain of the dreaded stuff? And after having been off work for only a few days? Do I need a more threatening out of office? Or a message that goes "I am out of the office until such and such a date. On my return the first thing I shall do is to delete the entire contents of my inbox, so if your message is actually important, please resend it after my return"? That ought to do it. But will it? And what about relabelling my in-tray (the old-style paper-holding variety) with a big colourful label that says "TO BIN"?
On a lighter note, if I keep on belching will I actually implode? Is belchgas lighter or heavier than air? Today it seems on the denser side, but how can I be sure? Where can I buy balloons around here? Is this a lighter note or am I just being dense?
Is having no shame an under-rated vice?
Shall I stop now?
Posted by adhoc at 01:30 PM | Comments (0)
February 19, 2005
Bedlam to the Slaughter
I haven't been all that well at the tail end of this last week. At the tail end being an apt description, as it goes. But I'll spare the digestive details, and provide token reassurances that it wasn't all self-inflicted. Not this time.
Many other things of note have occured during this Birthdayweek. So for now, I'll just recount a tale of my favourite present. Normally I like presents. Especially presents that I don't have to buy for myself. This present however ought to have come with a huge health warning. As an object it is very shiny. Always a good thing. As a thing, it is frighteningly addictive. It's tying my brain in knots and I can't stop it. It is a simple 3-d jigsaw puzzle. It's a Bedlam Cube . . . And I've never before encountered such an equisite demonstration of the fundamental Mini-Max law of the universe. A simple idea that creates unfeasible complexities and fuels infinite mental gymnastics. And it ought to be easy, but it isn't. All you have to do is put the pieces together so that it forms a cube and fits back in the box. Day 4 and I still I haven't done it yet. Maybe I should have some sleep now.
And in other amusing developments, I think I'd better point out that there's no way that I would buy a used house of me . . .
Posted by adhoc at 02:06 PM | Comments (0)
February 16, 2005
So what happens on a birthday?
I have been truly honoured.
I am not at work.
I have been called by the BigBoss about something I consider to be only half-urgent and have not returned the call. And kept a clear conscience.
I have disabled the car alarm that was deafening me with a ceaseless and excrutiating racket just outsied the window. The poor embarrassed owner just couldn't turn the alarm off. Or get the car started. Now the car is an immobile but silent broken piece of automotive sculpture. Unfortunately the car is mine. But at least it is tomorrow's problem.
On the plus side, this means that I'm not going to be doing the driving thing today. So I can have beer with my lunch.
And my lunch has just arrived.
I am in bed.
Mmmmmm . . .
Posted by adhoc at 01:52 PM | Comments (3)
February 15, 2005
B-day minus one and counting
Yesterday, I didn't break anything.
Today, the coffee is broken. And I'm suffering from catastrophic list dysfunction.
Tomorrow, I am to be 33. But I'm bored of having my birthdays in February. It's the same every year, and for a change I want a summer birthday. So this year I am also planning to celebrate in 4 months time, when I will be 33 1/3. The idea tickles my ex-vinyl junkie sensibilities, and I can think of six other reasons right now as to why this is a great idea. Seven reasons if I discover that I actually do need an excuse for a drink. Eight if you think that 12" of black vinyl pleasure is actually a euphamism.
Back to today though. Bugger.
Posted by adhoc at 01:05 PM | Comments (3)
February 14, 2005
The Patron Saint of Lunch
Feb 14th.
It's that day again. And as ever, I'm all confused. For in the one hand, it is National Impotence Day. While on another limb, it is also Condom Awareness day. So I'm all unsure about whether I'm supposed to be coming or not. There must be a good gag in there somewhere. Really . . .
Today is also, of course, annual whore-your-partner day. Where otherwise functional and happy couples are extorted to spend-away their insecurities in an attempt to demonstrate to each other that there's more to getting laid than having sex. But only on one day of the year. Which is just missing the point. A bit like National Impotence day . . . boom boom.
So by way of my tribute to all this Whoring at the consumerhell Altars of Mammon, and also as a fun way to pass time, here's a little game that makes me chuckle. It's a song name game. And it is a perfect game for today.
All you have to do is think of a song with the word 'love' in the title. And replace this word with the word 'lunch'. And this simple process sprinkles a sparkling layer of comedy fun over any sad or superb collection of songs. Let me demonstrate, it's fun:
You can start with delectable 'Let there be Lunch,' [let there be wind, an occasional rain, chile con carne, sparkling champagne . . . mmmmm]; go wild with a rocking 'Whole Lotta Lunch,' [a hardcore 5 courses, no salads in sight: you've been coolin', baby, I've been droolin]; or suffer the unpleasantries of a 'Tainted Lunch,' [a song that sings itself . . . oh no - I don't feel well . . . bleaughh].
There's many many more, so as an hours d'ouevre why not chose from:
Addicted to Lunch, [that hidden Sex in the City episode when they actually eat];
Can't help falling in Lunch, [when an over-excited elvis has the king-sized munchies];
Crazy little thing called Lunch, [the sandwich fights back];
Feel like making Lunch, [thanks, that's why I love you];
Stop (in the name of Lunch), [ok, i get the hint . . . ]
So just as any right-thinking person ought to, now go raid your vinyl, CD and MP3 collections, and add that extra spice to your musical pleasurings. Any further contributions will be gleefully accepted. I'm sure we could all do with a laugh today.
I have to admit that this game is not an entirely original idea. Hayseed Dixie did it on stage last Saturday. Amidst some magnificent bluegrass-style rock-classic-covering beer-fuelled carnage. Let there be Rockgrass! It was great to see one of my all-time-favourite favourite live bands making it big. Well, getting paid at least. Personally I do think you have ever lived until you've heard Warpigs plucked out of the Banjo, and sung along to a bluegrassy Highway to Hell while dancing your boots off.
The 'lunch-for-love' game is also reminiscent of a best-forgotten endrunkened pub debacle of yesteryear. A debacle in which yer-everyday unamusing Bond-film titles were made truly hilarious by the substitution of a word with a 'shark'. This produced many side-splitting moments, created by such gems as: You only Shark twice, Live and let Shark, On Her Maj's Secret Shark, Sharkpussy, Never Shark Never again . . . You get the picture. For which I apologise. This sorry yet addictive debacle unfortunately went on for weeks and weeks, mostly because I used to drink much more than I do now. We sharked-up decades of film, TV and musical references. I recall the entire tracklisting of the Stone Roses' 'Fool's Shark' being exceptionally amusing for a period of minutes. Deluded fool that I am was. Though in combination of the above, we'd best take all available precautions to avoid the Shark who Lunched me.
Help. Please.
Posted by adhoc at 03:04 PM | Comments (4)
February 11, 2005
Mystery Girl
Of course I don't write this for other people. Hereby follows a notable exception:
"Oi! Here's your clue:
The shape of the answer has as many sides as the day of the month the answer is on. Which is one more than the number of the month, and twice as many as there are letters in the month."
Posted by adhoc at 03:25 PM | Comments (8)
Strangers are people
Yesterday, after a particularly hot and torturous day in Hell, I climbed into my homeward carriage. Which, even by the sweaty standards of the hell-Tube, was somehow even more unfeasibly overcrowded than usual. As I manoeuvred a little, in order to let two short Japanese tourists get fractionally closer to the naive belief that they might be able to get hold of a pole, my head got shut in the closing doors. A Tube first for me. And while a couple of people even valiantly helped the already re-opening doors re-open, no one, apart from me, said a word. Welcome to the C*ntral line.
This morning's headache was put right by the malicious enthusiasm of a traffic warden. A traffic warden who was gleefully attaching a parking ticket to a Ferrari. A traffic warden who had one of the most mischievous and self-satisfied grins I have ever seen on an adult face. A traffic warden who was so pleased with himself that he started a conversation with me. " I think of this as Carma," he explained. "It's my retribution against the wanker who bought such a great car in such a fukin' shit-awful pale-blue metallicy colour. It's just so so wrong".
Respect.
Posted by adhoc at 12:36 PM | Comments (0)
February 09, 2005
Fuksticks at the Gates of Hell
Fuckity, fukity, fuck.
Today my job just sucks.
A staff review, with cuts to do.
Fuckity, fukity, fuck.
I was scared coming into work this morning. I’m not a huge fan of communting to work at the best of time. What with communters generally being a unsociable, grisly, smelly bunch of folk. My favoured approach to dealing with the morning communt is to make sure that I’m still at least half-asleep for the duration. I’m usually rather good this, as being half-asleep is one of my few spectacular talents. Today however, excessive adrenaline levels kept me far too awake for comfort. I was even beyond the help of a detailed mental safari inspired by a new-screw that didn’t match all the others in the window surround in the train door. Being once of good old British Rail rolling stock (BR is stamped into the metal window-lifter thing), the carriage is now owned by a division of Abbey the bankers, and leased from them to what I often inaccurately and laughingly think of as ‘the train company’. So to my mind, this New-Screw is more than symbolic of the fiasco of railway privatisation. It is yer actual post-privatisation free-market franchised bastard screw. A modernising corruption amidst the surrounding tradition of functioning traininess. And so I wondered whether forcibly removing the New-Screw, and so leaving all the older ex-BR fixtures and fittings to get on with their jobs, would be constructive step towards tackling the troubles of the rail network. Or at least improving the calibre of my current train travelling experiences. I didn’t have my screwdriver on me though.
And what was it that was so disturbing my morning’s Communtasleep? With what portentous promise was the day foreboding at me?
Hmmm . . . I had to chair a meeting that I didn’t even want to go to. In fact, I didn’t want it to happen at all. Now there’s nothing in the slightest bit unusual about that. However, it was a meeting at which I was to announce that over the coming weeks I have been tasked with a major review of the ways in which we work here in Hell, the effectiveness of our interactions with the other parts of the Underworld, the impact of changing technology on our current and future methods of inflicting torture and eternal damnation, and most ominously, to make recommendations about minion levels. For there is the belief that here in Hell we have a reduced need for minions as a result of increasing customer choice at the crucial Paradise vs Damnation ‘Afterlifestyle’ decision making stage. Which is both bollocks and strategic suicide. The truth is that we are running short of money, and good minions don’t work cheaply. Turning the hellfires down a bit can only reduce costs so far. Maybe our senior management will fess-up and admit their naivety has fucked the finances somewhat, rather than hide behind the false prophet of punter-choice. Some chance . . .
Quite rightly, at the meeting, my staff all hit the roof. I’d have been disappointed if they hadn’t. They’re a bright and mostly good bunch. They know what’s going on. And so after the roof, it was my turn. I got a collective and sustained verbal battering. But I found a balance to strike, somewhere between an honest divulging of everything, and not entirely obliterating morale or scaring everyone out of their jobs. I did OK. And I tried to build a way forward. They were nicer to me than they could have been. And by the end of the meeting, my battle to ensure that we get shafted as little as possible in the year ahead is now OUR battle. Sort of. A good result in the circumstances. But still . . .
Fuckity, fukity, fuck.
Posted by adhoc at 06:31 PM | Comments (0)
February 07, 2005
Subjective Viewpoints
For those of you who can read, by now you ought to have realised that my life is 'not-quite-literally' strung-up by a beautiful and fragile web of interwoven if unravelling tangents.
However, you may not have realised that I have absolutely no will-power when confronted with a damn good challenge. Or an open yet unfinished bottle of wine. Or many other things that I'd be wise not to divulge in public.
And so on the challenge front, I find myself currently dreaming about the many potential routes that might enable me to pass through all the Tube stations in Zone 1 in under 3 hours . . . (I do have a good reason) . . .
And also on the challenge front, given that you are unlikely thus far to know that I rather enjoy taking photos and in my time may have done it before . . . Thanks to the absolute genius of The Way We See It dot Org, the world is finding out what happens when you ask anyone and everyone to take photos of an obscure part of London. As for me, last weekend I was not only allowed out to play on a Sunday, but also actually encouraged to take a camera with me as well. Bonus fun. The camera in question being a small [compact] digital thing, instead of my mega-pixieless film-eating manual-focus Nikon SLR (which I also had with me, but was too stubborn and too lazy to take out of my bag). Anyway, a collage of a few of the results appears below. A photo first for this site. I wonder what anyone thinks? Click for a big one.
To have a look at what else happened with the Way We See It project's latest installment then go here. It's well worth a look. There's some fantastic photography. Though even better, if you're in London, grab a camera and join in.
Posted by adhoc at 11:38 PM | Comments (0)
February 04, 2005
Creep Closer: London on the silverscreen
And the award for the best use of a stiletto in a motion picture goes to . . . . 'Creep'.
And a high quality item of footwear it was too.
As for the rest of the film, I probably enjoyed it too much. The film makers have made good use of a limited budget, spending most of it on decent actors and spectacular make-up, rather than wasting it on frivolities such as continuity editing. As a consequence I got to enjoy the visual horror and psychological sort-of-shock experience, without being unnecessarily distracted by over-developed characters, an over-confused plot, or any unreachable aspirations to exact realism. I also laughed in rather more places than I expected too. But maybe that's just me . . .
This is a film that has burst forth from the sicker parts of someone's mind. As far as low-budget gore-fests go, this one's OK. And this film does go further than most.
I went with a good crowd, and if I sort my act out I'll have links to some other views in the near future. [so long as other people don't have better things to do]
At the other end of the realism scale, I've recently slacked-out on writing a review of 'Closer' for public consumption, which I was due to produce a couple of weeks ago. So in a burst of monolithic biabicide, here's my hopefully controversial views:
Closer:
Fuck me. What a mind-blowing film. A beautifully crafted piece of existentialist realism. Where love is a raw emotion, as individuals become the consequences of their own choices, and relationships are made from the responsibilities of the individual. A disturbingly compelling must see. So go see it.
Posted by adhoc at 03:36 PM | Comments (0)
February 03, 2005
Arseketchup: symptom or condiment?
Well it has been a while since I've posed. Hmmm . . . that's not true. Where was I? Oh yes . . . it's been a while since I've posed a question of the week. So see above. Discuss please.
Posted by adhoc at 05:22 PM | Comments (1)
Clinton to become Special Relief envoy
"He's just the obvious choice," declared UN Secretary General Kofi Annan when announcing the news. Visibly excited by this development, Bill assured Monica not to worry as it would wash off with just a little splash of water.
Meanwhile the current presidential chimp, Dubaya, is managing to retain the election-winning support of the Christian Evangelists by continuing to disprove Darwin's theories on survival of the fittest and the benefits of genetic diversity. While announcing that the Union is really in a State this time, he's decided to make it better by pointing his warmongering finger of distraction at Iran, alleging it to be the Middle East's premier supporter of terrorism and denier of democracy. Has he learnt absolutely nothing? Or has Saudi Arabia just got too much power/oil/money and too many of his friends/syllables in for him?
Closer to home, a new virulent strain of superbug is sweeping across the medical institutions of the UK. The latest mutation of MRSA [not quite, ed.] MHRA [that's better], will condemn millions of people to a life of uncontrollable pain as the popular [wrong] effective [no no no] evil [better] painkiller co-proxamol is to be withdrawn because it is less profitable [ahem!] more dangerous than any other prescription drug in the world ever and is unquestionably somehow in league with Satan [who?] Al Qaeda [at last, a point well made.]. What a load of total and utter bollocks. What next? Are BMW's to be banned because more people drive like wankers when behind the wheel of a BMW than when driving any other type of car? It would appear that even the special warnings, such as adverts emphasising the explicitly wanky nature of the cars and even cars deliberately designed to look like realistic penises, have entirley failed to alter the ludicrous statistics. It leads us to the obvious conclusion that those people who really want to drive like wankers will always find ways to drive like wankers, whatever cars they have available to drive . . .
In other news, satire may not be dead yet but it's certainly in need of some serious help.
And for a while, working for a living became even worse in practice than it has always seemed in theory. But now it's getting better again. Slowly.
Posted by adhoc at 01:00 PM | Comments (0)