Panic Stations (head in hands, weeping)

On Wednesday night, I finally got around to watching A Clockwork Orange.

What's that, you say? How could I have not seen it? Have I been living in a cave?

Well, sorry. With that attitude, maybe you don't deserve a post.

I've seen bits of it before, but hadn't seen it all the way through.

Anyway, I really enjoyed it! It wasn't as disurbing as I thought it might be, and was much funnier than I thought it would be.

Malcolm McDowell was tremendous, and it was visually great. Kubrick is a bit insidious, in that I never think about him as a favourite director, but I like everything I've seen of his. I might have to investigate some more of his stuff. Next stop: Barry Lyndon!

***

In the end, staying up until 3am watching the film was a bad idea, as I was phoned the next day by my temping agency asking if I could do a day's reception work.

Which I did. And I can honestly say it was a highly unpleasant experience.

I was working at a University administration building, and it was a nice location, and pretty quiet. There was nothing really objectionable, it's just that the concept of a temporary receptionist doesn't really work.

A receptionist has to contact people and know what's going on. That's their job. But I didn't know who anyone was or how anything worked. The basic function part of the role is answering questions. Of course, I had no answers. All I could do was listen to the question, apologise, and find someone who knew. They could have got a robot to perform the same function. At least a robot would have made the whole thing less socially awkward.

So I spent the whole day in fear that someone would come in, or the phone would ring. I was constantly alert and terrified, like an over-caffeined meercat. It was horrible.

My awkwardness was particularly evident when I had to answer an entryphone to let people through the car-park barrier. It happened several times, and was always exactly the same:

I'd say: "Hello, Reception".

They'd say: "Pogdfgsgsgdsgd*crackle*dgsgsgsgsdgsd".

So I'd say: "Excuse me? Could you repeat that?"

And they'd say: "Pogdfgsgsgdsgd*crackle*dgsgsgsgsdgsd".

And I figured I couldn't ask them what they said again, so I'd just buzz them through.

I suppose they might have been saying: "We are the Nightmare Fireball Soldiers of Allah! You will all pay!", but I took the risk. There were no explosions that I know of. Of course, the explosion alarm might have gone off, but I wouldn't have known what it meant.

The only other interesting thing about the day was that the reception desk had a panic button. It was there in case you get attacked or something.

But it struck me that calling it the 'panic button', doesn't exactly radiate confidence.

By calling it the panic button, they have automatically ruled out the possibility that the situation can be resolved with any decorum. Your dignity is nullified by the mere presence of 'the panic button'. It's not an 'emergency button', or a 'help request button'. Semantically, you're required to piss your pants.

I don't know if it's a button to press when you're panicking; if it was, I would have hoped for a button you smash with a giant mallet, that creates a big 'awooga!' noise. Or is it a button to create 'panic'.

"Well armed robbers are in reception, but let's all stay calm. I'm sure we can resolve--"

*PANIC ALARM*

"--WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!!!!!!!!! SMASH EVERYTHING! EVERYTHING!"

And then they torch the place and start eating each other.

***

I saw this on Graham Linehan's blog. Although quite amusing anyway, it has special impact for people who share my surname. Enjoy!

Spread it Around

What is the internet for?

I know it has millions of uses, but I'm not sure what the majority of people use the majority of their time on the internet for.

Email is useful. That takes time. But not much time. Looking up things on IMDB or Wikipedia. That doesn't take up much time either.

I think the internet has developed a kind of self-sustaining element, where it makes us spend time online for the purpose of simply being online. It's ouroborous again.

The social networking sites are just there to keep you online, because other people might be online, and you don't want to miss them. There's nothing to say really, except to talk about what it's like to use the internet. Each silly message or Super Wall post is just waving a flag, letting people know 'we're here, we're here!'

The bulk of my internet usage is looking at wrestling news and message boards which is, of course, pointless, but at least it has the front of external stimuli.

Blogs are the finest example of the cyber-snake eating itself. They trade slightly interesting external sources, and broadcast them as something that should be seen, just because they're on the internet. I mean, creepy playgrounds are slightly interesting; food looking different from its packaging is slightly interesting; but it doesn't mean it should be the basis of an worldwide dialogue. But it is.

I don't want to sound critical, because I love all this stuff. The internet should allow for trivial stuff as well as discussion of important things. It's like a microcosm of life: some important shit, loads of unimportant shit.

But I still can't help but fear the day that everyone says:

"Huh. So someone made a gourmet meal from stuff bought at $0.99 stores? Why do I care? Why am I wasting my time?"

And they'll all log off, like rats off a sinking ship (if they floated on a log).

What will I do with my life?

But the internet will survive.

It will survive doing the thing it was invented for: a giant porn depository.

I think we'll all sleep a little safer knowing we have that safety blanket to fall back on (even if the blanket is encrusted with various fluids).

Paul & Co

I turned everything off at the wall, and only afterwards realised I'd have to re-set the video clock. It serves me right for still sticking with VHS. It's pointless nostalgia. I don't keep a mangle in the house, for Christ's sake.

I'd allotted too much preparation time, and so had to sit on the sofa in my suit-jacket and uncomfortable shoes for five pointless minutes, watching the clock. When the time came, I realised I needed to go to the toilet, so was late leaving the flat anyway.

On my way to the bus stop, I stubbed my toe on a loose paving slab. There wasn't anyone around, at least not that I could see, so I didn't bother pantomiming amusement at my clumsiness and just looked pissed off and annoyed.

The song I was listening to on my iPod had loads of sound effects in it: sirens, rain, wind; I kept thinking it was happening in real life. Even the screaming.

It was only when I got to the bus stop that I realised that none of the above had actually happened. I looked at the electronic bus timetable board, and it was all gibberish. I heard once that you can tell if you're in a dream, because you won't be able to read anything. I'm not sure if that's true, as I'm sure I have read things in dreams, but nevertheless I couldn't read the bus timetable.

And indeed the events of the day were entirely fictional. I hadn't left the house or put on a suit, or thought about these things until just now when I wrote them. I came to the conclusion (in the future - hence the past tense) that I'd wasted my time on something that won't be interesting and profound tomorrow, but will just be nonsensical and annoying.

Another sign that you're dreaming is an inability to vary light-levels. I found that out in a Richard Linklater film called Waking Life. You're supposed to go to a light switch, and if pressing it makes no difference, you're in a dream.

The film was pretty interesting. When I saw it, I was under the influence of certain intoxicants, which may have aided my enjoyment. What it captured particularly well was those dreams where you keep thinking you've woken up, but are actually still asleep. For a moment, you think the dream is over, but then you realise everything is weird.

The film uses cool cartoon/live action effects like the later A Scanner Darkly, and it is a success. I don't know if it would work as entertainment if I was sober, but I'd like to see it again.

Lucid dreaming is pretty enjoyable. I'd like to do it more often. Lucy says she can never have lucid dreams (or more accurately, she never does have them - my original statement made it sound like she was constrained by a court order or something). It seems that an ideal scenario would be total control of your dreams. You could live in paradise.

Even if your 'real' life was shit, you could just treat the dream world as your most important life. All you'd need to do would be make sure the 'real' you has a bed to sleep in, so you're not interrupted.

I've always liked the idea of sharing dreams with people, so you can talk to them when awake or asleeep. I suppose I'm thinking of the cartoon Potsworth & Co (which incredibly doesn't seem to have a wikipedia entry). But at least Youtube hasn't let me down:



What a world it would be...

I'm not crazy about the nightmare guy, but it would be worth it if I could talk to my dog.

Planet of the Gripes

Do you think the producers of the BBC talent show I'll Do Anything gave any thought to the possibility that having terrified, pressurised children in a talent show, desperate to please their parents, willing to do 'anything' to succeed might seem a bit seedy?

Maybe it's just me, but it conjures up disturbing images, and I resent it. Damn you, BBC.

"Please sir, can I have some more?"

*Shudder*

***

It snowed yesterday! And everyone was amazed, sending in pictures of their gardens. "Here's my garden on a so-called - heh- "sunny" spring day!", they all said, thinking they were funny.

Snow's one of those things that we're always impressed with, even though we've seen it hundreds of times before.

I can understand if we lived in Borneo or somewhere. But it snows reasonably often here.

And still, there I was, looking out the window at the snow in awe.

There must be some evolutionary benefit of our being impressed by the same old shit. I suppose if we weren't able to find beauty in things, no matter how often we see them, we might all commit suicide out of boredom.

I think it's called Dog In The Playground Syndrome (DITPS), which has been discussed by several thousand mediocre stand-up comedians.

The biggest offender in this regard is fireworks.

Fireworks.

At least once a year we huddle in the cold, watching flashes of lights in the sky. And they're always pretty much the same. I don't know what I'm expecting. I suppose I think they might try something new one day, like a massive glowing orb that plummets to earth, or a glowing effigy of Peter Crouch doing his robot dance. But it's always the same bangs and showers and lights.

And no-one seems to notice that they've seen it a million times before.

"Oooh! Aaaah!"

And I shout at them: "You fools! This doesn't merit an 'oooh' or an 'aaah'! You saw this last year, remember?"

And they look confused, as though they've been hypnotised, and their gaze wanders back to the sky.

"Wow, that was a good one!"

Then I put my head in my hands and collapse, and berate the world like Heston at the end of Planet of the Apes.

But out of the corner of my eye, some of the light from the display is refracted through my streaming tears, and I look up tentatively. Then I stand.

Then I say "Oooh. That was a good one".

I'm one of them! I'm one of you! I love fireworks and the snow! (Hey, imagine fireworks IN THE SNOW. That would be amazing.)

Oh... oh God...

You maniacs! You did it! Damn you! God Damn you all to Hell!

The Children Are Our Retarded Future

Children are stupid. At least, it seems that way. They're always thinking stupid things, like "I might as well piss myself" and "Westlife are good!"

It's really just a lack of information, I suppose, which makes it understandable.

And yet, I'm probably still going to be impatient if my children don't know everything I do by the time they're two years old.

I can picture the little scamp now, toddling along to the TV showing Back to the Future, his chubby hand pointing, saying (in a cute baby voice) "Elisabeth Shue!"

And I'll say, "No!"

"NO! You idiot! NO! Elisabeth Shue was Jennifer only in Parts II and III, you fool. Jennifer in I is played by Claudia Wells! That's it - no dinner for you". And then I might give the child a clip round the ear, or a kick to the clavicle.

And the child would respect that, and just get up (perhaps nodding to me in appreciation - or saluting), and would learn from their mistake.

Cratthew Fung will not grow up a fool.

I remember some of the stupid stuff I used to think when I was a kid.

I knew people went to heaven when they died, and I knew what death was, so I thought heaven was just a massive room with loads of people lying down in it. And God, I suppose, was sitting at the head of the room like some all-powerful invigilator, keeping an eye on the whole enterprise. What a ridiculous thought!

Heaven doesn't look like that! It doesn't look like anything, because it doesn't exist!

I also knew that we had blood in our bodies, and that we bled if cut. So I assumed we were just filled up with blood, like a big vat. Lucy also believed this; I wonder if it's a common misconception. I also wonder why we didn't get suspicious when we failed to hear any significant internal sloshing when we were on the swings.

Stupid kids.

Everyone was like that in the olden days. Everyone was a child back then, full of stupid ideas. The olden days were the childhood of mankind. People were convinced of ridiculous notions, like the four humours, or that bears lick their cubs into their proper form.

But then again, they suffered from the same lack of information as children do today.

You'd think that adults in the present day, apprised of facts, wouldn't be so stupid. And yet...

Of course, Bush is deprived of facts too (by his aides, his culture, his lack of basic motor skills), which makes the whole world insane. It would be funny if it wasn't so real.

Oh well, the world will survive. After all, we're on the back of a benevolent giant turtle aren't we?

He'll protect us.

Unlike God in his invigilator's chair, pretending to read a book, when he's really eyeying up the attractive corpses.

I was an invigilator once...

Cosmic Wager

Lucy and I went to go and see an exhibition on John Milton at the Bodleian today. It was pretty interesting. I like old books. It reminds me of when I applied for a job as a rare books dealer at Blackwells, despite knowing nothing about books and having no sales experience. I didn't get the job, which came as some surprise.

My favourite bit of the exhibition was an illustration by John Martin from a volume of Paradise Lost. You don't really get a sense of the scale and detail here, but here it is:


It looks like an epic comic book drawing, which I'm sure is fairly insulting, but I don't mean it that way.

The resolution is a bit rubbish on the computer as well, which makes it look more like a video game screenshot. Which is damning with even fainter praise.

The exhibition is celebrating 400 years since Milton's birth. I was wondering if there are any modern artists whose births will be celebrated in 400 years. Elvis Presley? He might have returned from Neptune by then.

McCartney? Lennon? Groening? Pasquale?

Pasquale?

Imagine having such impact that your legacy lasts 400 years. I think I'm going to struggle to make such an impression. Unless my blog begins to be worshipped as some kind of Bible. It shares the Bible's incoherence and disdain for humanity, but has embedded youtube videos and loads of puns.

If I wrote Ten Commandments, they'd all contain puns.

And swearing.

And two of them would be indentical, just to confuse people.

What will the world be like in 2408? People always overestimate what will happen in the future. That's why you get films made in the 80s, where the wonders of 1999 are predicted: all flying dogs and meals-in-a-pill. It's an embarassing guess.

To ensure I'm not humiliated in this way, my predictions are as follows:

1) Computers will be almost twice (twice!) as powerful as they are now

2) Lemar off of Fame Academy will no longer be a household name

3) People will narrow their eyes in confusion if you mention Jif, Marathon bars or Opal Fruits

and

4) The Earth will be kneeded into a disc by giant Italian space pirates.

Let's see you prove me wrong, Universe!

(Even if I am wrong, I'll be dead by 2408; so the joke's on you, you starry nonce!)

In retrospect, hindsight is 20/20

I'm ashamed to have left such a big gap between posts, and I might have to remedy it by posting much too frequently over the next couple of days.

Unfortunately, there hasn't been much happening, so I'll have to make things up or just repeat myself ad nauseum.

I mentioned an Umberto Eco book in my last entry (The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana - a title so cumbersome and clumsy, it has almost put me off writing about it). I have been reading it on and off, and it's pretty good. I think the themes of the book have filtered into my subconscious. I've been thinking about memories, and attempts to recapture the past (see my last post for examples).

The plot of the Eco book is about a man who is suffering from amnesia, and seeks to regain his memories. He travels to his childhood home and tries to rebuild his life by experienceing old books, music and objects; in effect he is re-living his life.

I haven't finished the book yet, so I don't know what will happen. But it raises some interesting questions about time and identity. The main character, Yambo, is doing what we all sometimes try to do: return to his past. I suppose the book is questioning human lives, and pondering whether we are nothing but the sum of our experiences, or something like that.

I have thought about this a bit before, but it must have weevilled its way into by brain.

I removed the old graphic novels and comic trade paperbacks from under our bed and have put them on display. I also read a book about the history of comics that I hadn't read for a long time. It's weird looking at these things again, and wondering how the changes in my situation have effected my reaction to them. I sometimes watch old wrestling events too: ones that conjure up particularly strong memories.

You can do the same with music. There are certain songs that are incredibly evocative of my childhood. Songs work best, I think, as they've got something intangible about them that taps into your soul. Smell and taste work in a similar way.

I suppose it's like I said last time - you remember the past with fondness, even if it wasn't that spectacular at the time. The thing is, those memories, those moments, were once so important and immediate that they seem like home. It's like never being able to return to your childhood home (which incidentally, I can't). It's just sad to say goodbye to all those things that shaped you as a person.

It would be good if you could revisit your own past, maybe as a ghost (you could scare yourself by wailing and knocking stuff off shelves), and experience the same sensations. But you can't. The me of now could never feel the same as the me of fifteen years ago, even if we were both watching Summerslam 93.

There is a poinancy to the past that is quite painful. That's why that Johnny Cash video is so sad. Awareness of the passage of time makes us seem impotent and alone. It's probably an evolutionary development that keeps us looking forward most of the time, or else we'd be obsessed with recreating our lives, still dragged forward in a riptide.

It's what makes moments of pure satisfaction so important. Sometimes, you just realise and appreciate the beauty of the present, and can live it with all the attention that the elder ghost-you would if he could.

I know I'm rambling on a bit. OK, a lot. But that's what I've been thinking about. Maybe when I've finished book with an annoyingly clunky title I'll have a new perspective on the whole thing.

***

I'm sure it's incredibly interesting for everyone, but here is the Top Ten songs that evoke Paul's childhood, for one reason or another!

Number 10

The Carpenters - We've Only Just Begun
My parents liked the Carpenters. And even though they're incredibly uncool, I think they're pretty eerie. If you saw Juno, you know Sonic Youth thought so too...

Number 9

Grease Theme

My sister liked the film, alright? I didn't like it. I didn't enjoy it, watching it again and again. I didn't! I'm heterosexual, dammit! *sob*

Number 8

The Beatles - Help
I don't even remember my parents having this record, but this song definately reminds me of being a child. Perhaps I was constantly abused, and 'help' was my first word...

Number 7

Lionel Richie - All Night Long
Providing the "Dynamic" Duo of parent-pop with their first entry onto the list, some classy Richie.
Number 6

Billy Joel - An Innocent Man
The other member of the "Dynamic" Duo. Joel is also unfashionable. If you're not going to watch any of these videos (which is very understandable) at least watch this one. It's dedicated to my darling Lucy.

Number 5

Spandau Ballet - True
Another slightly conventional choice from my parents' collection. You wouldn't think it, but my mum is into experimental Jazz-Funk, and my dad loves Noisecore.

The preceeding statement was a lie.

Number 4
The Bangles - Eternal Flame

Come on now, the others in this list are just throwbacks. This is an amazing tune; no-one can deny it. And FUCK Atomic Kitten for their Godawful cover.

Number 3
Disney's Robin Hood - Not In Nottingham

A great film. Ironically, Nottingham seems to have only got more unpleasant, what with all the gun crime. They should start to use this as their city anthem.

Number 2

Family Ties Theme

OK, I'm running out of ideas now. Did anyone else watch Family Ties? It was a good show, if I remember correctly. Michael J Fox is the King of 80s nostalgia. Family Ties, Back to the Future, Teen Wolf. All winners.

Number 1

Kylie Minogue - Hand On My Heart

I liked this before Jose Gonzalez did his (admittedly quite good) version!


So, there it is. I'm sure this means about as much to you as Eco describing Yambo listening to fascist anthems does to me. Which is to say: a bit. Do these songs remind you of your childhood? Which songs do? You can tell me in the comments section, if you like. I'm not desperate or anything.

I can always write some myself, pretending to be someone else.

"Why Diamond Bagder, your writing is simply stunning! And might I add, you have an enormous cock!"

Enlightenment

I had a very enjoyable day today. It was one of those days that really improves your spiritual, or at least psychological, well-being.

I'm writing this as a storm of hail-stones hits the window, and completes a day of feel very satisfied with the natural world and the experience of being alive.

The events of the day actually began last night, where Lucy and I went to go and see the Guillemots at the Oxford Academy (formerly the Zodiac). I'm sure this isn't confidential information, but my sister has joined the band. She plays the sax, keyboards and she sings too. She might be on TV soon: on a show called Sound on BBC2 on Saturday lunchtime, and on that Lily Allen show next week.

So, by virtue of this connection, we got on the guestlist and got in for free, which was useful as I am at an all-time lack of funds.

This was the first time we'd been there since its revamp, and I wasn't crazy about the result. If I'm going to see indie music, I want the venue to be filthy, stink of piss, and be generally unpleasant. That's what indie music is about. You want to be crammed in a hot room with sweaty strangers; it makes you feel part of some kind of collective (even if it is collective stench).

But the Academy is now all spacious and clean. There are new, tidy bars, and clearly marked toilets. In some ways it's nice, but it seemed a bit sterile.

The gig itself was really good. I reckon the new Guillemots single will do pretty well. One pleasant change from the Zodiac days was the occasional burst of air conditioning. Sometimes the cool air got a big reaction from the baked crowd. I wonder if the band knew what the fuss was about.

So we got home at a reasonable time, but I knew I wasn't going to have much sleep as I'd agreed to do some paid psychometric testing through my temping agency. I had to catch a bus from Oxford City Centre to a tiny village called Sandford on Thames at 7:25 in the morning, which was a bit annoying.

I'd done the tests before, and it doesn't pay much, but I think I felt it would be some kind of catharsis to be out there doing something.

On my way to the bus stop, I began to notice all the nature around. In Summertown there is birdsong all the time, even at night, and early in the morning I enjoyed watching the birds and feeling the cool air. I was experiencing a real heightened sensitivity to the world, and feeling quite positive.

On the bus ride I noticed an advert from the bus company asking: "Have you any questions?". What a strange way to put it. Not, "do you have any questions?" or "have you got any questions?". The syntax was strange, as though Thames Travel had some archaic Victorian-throwback writing for them. Or Russell Brand.

I arrived at the hotel where the tests were taking place, and it was really nice. I think it must be a converted farmhouse or something, with cool old beams and high ceilings. There was a roaring fire in the waiting area/reception, and I sat there reading my book (Umberto Eco - The Mysterious Flame of Queen Loana; I'm undecided about it thus far). It was so warm and comfortable. There were other people waiting to whom I chatted, most of them students - making me feel jealous and nostalgic.

Nostlagia is always tied up with jealousy. The past seems so magical and profound; it's painful that you can never return there. Of course, in the future I'll probably look back to now with the same envy. Past grass is always greener than the lawn of today.

The test was interesting. You take a questionnaire made up of questions about your preferences in a number of areas, and you're given your personality type at the end. I was slightly distracted by the fact that the woman asking me questions had incredibly big pupils. Maybe she'd taken Magic Mushrooms before arriving. Maybe I'm a figment of her imagination.

My personality type is INFP (I won't bother explaining the letters). The paragraph summarising my characteristics is:

Idealistic, loyal to their values and to people who are important to them. Want an external life that is congruent with their values. Curious, quick to see possibilities, can be catalysts for implementing ideas. Seek to understand people and help them fulfil their potential. Adaptable, flexible and accepting unless a value is threatened.

That sounds about right. Quite positive, but then they all are. I wish they were a bit more critical:

ESFJ: Obnoxious sissy-boy

ENTJ: Freak

INTP: Utter cuntI'd respect that kind of honesty.

After it was finished I had to wait at the bus-stop in Sandford for ages. The village is tiny, with nothing going on. I listened to The Doors' The End on my iPod and it started to rain.

There was something about the freshness in the air that brought the nostalgic feeling back to me; like the wind was blowing something of the past. I can't explain it, but I felt a real visceral connection with the world around me. Maybe I had taken Magic Mushrooms...

The feeling continued on my way home, walking through North Oxford, light rain falling, the smell of the damp earth, the palpable moisture and the fragrance of the blossom trees. I felt such an appreciation for the beauty of life; of the pleasure of just living.(This is a pleasure that you can't get when you work full-time, of course. At least, I can't get it. It's too tiring. You can't sit back and experience the world because of stress and buses and annoying colleagues. If people weren't trying so hard to make a living, they'd be able to get on with the living itself. But the we're making a living we can never use; storing it up in some existential ISA. Maybe we can access it when we've retired, I don't know, but by then you're incontinent and right-wing and you've forgotten what you were saving for.)

When I got home I went to sleep, and woke up a couple of hours later, with the wind blowing through the window, and streaks of sun coming through the curtains feeling utterly at peace.

I don't know why I felt like this today. As usual I see it optimisticly. I feel good about life. I just hope I get the freedom to have more of these days.

***

I forgot to say that we went to McDonalds on the way home last night - my first visit there in about five years. It wasn't as good as I remember it. The chips weren't salty and greasy enough, and the milkshake wasn't as thick. The burger was too dry. I don't know if it was always like this, and I just remember it with grease-tinted spectacles, or if the healthy-food brigade has cut down on all the lard and sugar and offal that made the food palatable in the first place. Thanks a lot, Morgan Spurlock!

***

We were watching WWE Raw today, and Lucy pointed out that Shawn Michaels is starting to look more and more like a cat. She's right. He's got those tight, feline, face-lift features, and a lithe, wiry frame. Jerry Lawler even noted his "cat-like agility".

We came up with an amazing storyline they should do. It would have to be really subtle. One week have a cat run out of the locker-room, just in the background of a shot. Later that night, have Shawn come out, with a bandage on his hand. Don't mention it or anything.

Then, as the weeks go by, you give gradual clues. Shawn starts licking the back of his hand during a promo; he keeps landing on his feet after being thrown of the ropes; he starts chasing mice. Eventually, you could have him coughing up furballs, and reveal his was bitten by a radioactive cat, or a werecat.

It could culminate in a feud with a dog-based wrestler (perhaps the British Bulldog's son), where the loser is neutered.

I should write for the show.

Clone Wars!

Unbelievable. I just tried to register with the Guardian website, and have been told someone already has the name DiamondBadger. A quick Google search confirms this.

What are the odds? I thought that combination of words would be pretty unique. I was wrong.

(The google search also brings up an embarrassing wrestling message board post I made years ago. What a nonce. This is why I should forever be a lurker.)

It seems the other diamondbadger is a Rushden & Diamonds fan, which explains the 'diamond'. I don't know where the 'badger' came from. And why isn't he 'RushdenBadger'?

He or she, but let's face it: he, has also posted a few videos. Including one of a fight. Which begs the question: what is a Rushden and Diamonds fan, who enjoys fights, doing on the Guardian website? I don't want to generalise here, but I would have assumed diamondbadger2 was the kind of person that wants immigrants dead, and hates Graeme Le Saux. I suppose I would be wrong.

It's a free country. I just wonder who came up with the name first... I reckon I've had it since around 1998.

Anyway, if he wants to fight for it... I'll probably back down like a pussy. But only because I don't want the youtube footage to do the rounds.

In Defence of Scientology

I've had two moments of personal connection to the media today.

One was whilst watching Lewis tonight on ITV and seeing the Mansfield College chapel made up as a sleazy night club called Kommunion. I wish it really was a nightclub. That would be good. All churches should become sleazy places at night (brothels, crack dens, killing floors, etc) so that when it's time to worship, there's some real sin to expunge. It's like a cleaner having to sweep the floor: it's much more satisfying when it's filthy. It seems like you're getting stuff done.

Of course, I've never been a cleaner. But it seems like that when I sweep up in our flat. I'm sure it would lose its therapeutic qualities if I had to do it for a career.

I like watching Lewis. It's usually quite fun, and there's the obvious feel-good element of recognising places and saying "we've been there!". It's obviously not as good as Inspector Morse, as it lacks the right level of exasperation, but Laurence Fox's character is good.

Today's episode was a bit of a mess, though. Lots of crazy soap-style expositionary dialogue, and some incredible gay stereotypes. Plus, I solved the mystery pretty early, whereas I'm usually really dense about these things, and have only just learned everyone's name by the time the murderer is revealed.

The second media mention was Adam and Joe reading out my email on their radio show (Saturday mornings on 6Music)! They read my name and everything! I just wish I'd had something more interesting to say... I was wondering if that's enough to get me my own radio show. I reckon it is.

***

I'm not really going to defend Scientology (is it appeasment to capitalise it? - probably not, I'm sure you even capitalise cults). It's clearly insane.

But the trouble with people scoffing all the time when it's mentioned is that it makes this 'religion' sound crazy and out there, and separates it from the other religions. The established ones. The sensible ones. The ones with the fire and brimstone and talking snakes and flood myths and lightning bolt vengeance.

Scientology is ridiculous, but the only real difference between it and the proper religions is it hasn't been around as long. Maybe in a couple of hundred years, it will have respected institutions, and people will picket the courts if anyone criticises L. Ron Hubbard.

What's scary is that two thousand years, there was probably loads of people writing blogs on stone tablets, rolling their eyes when everyone talked about Jesus rising from the dead.

We'd better be careful.

Anyway, I suppose my point is you'd better not spend all your ridicule on one source, while other, equally deserving, sources are left unscorned.

How's That?

Quick Paul, write another blog entry.

I don't like the idea that someone might stumble across this page and see a post about superhero films. They's think it was just like any other blog and move on.

Of course, it is just like any other blog, but sometimes I make a reference to the Strategic Arms Limitation Treaty or Ibsen, and it gives the impression of depth in my writing. In reality, my work has no depths, but instead dribbles out in a wide puddle, giving sporadic width, and covering just enough ground to make people question whether or not I'm a simpleton.

I should stop swearing. Or at least reduce it. I know I've said that before, but I mean it this time.

That's not to say I'm opposed to swearing. I like it. There are certain sentiments, emotions, or jokes that positively require swearing to be effective. I get annoyed by people saying that people who swear have a small vocabulary. Nonsense (I could have said 'bollocks' there, but I restrained myself; I learn faster than a motherfuckershitfuckshit). Swear words are words. If I'm using them, and you refuse to use them, my vocabulary is larger. There are no words that I absolutely rule out. There are no words that I have blackballed.

The only word I can think of that I never say is "naff", because I've never heard anyone say it who isn't an idiot.

Swearing is useful, and can be quite poetic and beautiful.

But, I don't want to get over-reliant on it. For one, I don't want to find myself in a situation where I'm called upon to write something and can't complete a sentence without using the c-word, the f-word, or the k-word.

It will also give me chance to search for enjoyable synonyms. The only trouble is that without swearing, I don't have a grounding influence that stops my writing becoming too arch and dry. I don't like wit to be too dry. There needs to be a bit of moisture somewhere, even if has to be a few drops of profane ejaculate. That's why I find satire such as The Onion to get a bit wearing. After a while I get tired of Yes, Minister and want to change the channel to watch Rik Mayall getting hit in the testicles with a cricket bat.

Swearing is my cricket bat, but it will do me good to survive without it for a while.

Film Shrapnel

I tried to watch the Punisher film on Channel 5 tonight (the new one, not the Lundgren one), and boy is that film a mess. I don't want to diss the man that gave me Die Hard With A Vengeance, but this was all over the place.

I stopped watching about two-thirds of the way through, so if the end redeemed it I'll retract this criticism.

The Punisher as a comicbook character doesn't really work on film. The reason is, he became a comic version of films like Dirty Harry and Death Wish in the first place. It's a superhero-ised revenge movie. When you transfer it back into film, it just seems wrong. In fact, it seems just like a superhero-ised revenge movie. Which isn't good.

You could tell they didn't know what it was supposed to be. Tragic events and comic fight scenes, scenery-chewing Travolta and grim faced Thomas Jane, torture but no violence.

It was one of those films where you can think of a million ways to make it better, and are amazed they didn't think of any of them.

The only saving grace was Kevin Nash getting scalded. But that's not quite enough for a thumbs-up.

Since the superhero movie revival started with X-Men (only 8 years ago), it's been a pretty mixed bag. As a recovering comics nerd (7 years since my last score of superhero wackiness), I feel I have the background knowledge and the emotional distance to give my thoughts on the main examples of this new wave. So here are some capsule reviews.

X-Men - Very good, exceeding everyone's expectations

Spider-Man - Great casting, great visuals, a real treat after a long wait

The Hulk - Ugly, flawed, not as bad as many people think. The Hulk is a difficult concept to mess up, but Ang Lee (don't enrage him) managed it somehow. Let's see if they can save it with the sequel (Gary Neville as The Abomination is a good start).

X-Men 2 - Underrated, Brian Cox rules the world, and Nightcrawler looked great (I didn't think about The High Life once).

Spider-Man 2 - Another Raimi success.

Daredevil - I went in with low expectations, and was pleasantly surprised. But on second viewing it turns out it was shit.

Fantastic Four - I went in with even lower expectations, and... I didn't think it was that bad. Ok, they totally ruined Dr Doom, but at least the group dynamic was right

Spider-Man 3 - Dreadful

X-Men 3 - Dreadful

Batman Begins (token DC entry) - Fine, good, enjoyable, but nothing special.

The rest (Electra, Catwoman, Fantastic Four 2, Ghost Rider, etc) I haven't seen, but none of them seem too appealing.

So, the comicbook movie boom looks to be faltering after an excellent start. One could be pessimistic about future adaptation. But one would only be pessimistic if he or she hadn't seen this yet:



This makes me do a little fanboy dance. It even has Jeff Bridges in it.

Sorry for a whole nerd entry. I'll try not to let it happen too often.

Stuff I Like

I know The Fall is something of an acquired taste, but I think this is almost as good as the lyrebird video. Just much louder.



***

While I'm recommending good things, I suggest everyone subscribes to the Collings and Herrin podcast. You can download mp3s here, or subscribe on iTunes. If you've never downloaded a podcast before, you should give it a try. It's good to be able to download a chunk of generally funny stuff every week. Even if you don't listen to it on a mp3 player, it's pretty fun to listen to some spontaneous banter, especially if you share their sense of humour.

This one is by Andrew Collins and Richard Herring (despite what the title may suggest). Collins used to do a radio show on BBC 6music, and Herring would join in to review the week's papers. This new podcast is a bit like that, except they're able to swear. It is quite amateurish in its production, with is all the more endearing.

Collins is a journalist and writer, and Herring is a comedian. I've probably written about the latter here before, but he used to be one half of Lee and Herring (guess which one) who did Fist of Fun and This Morning With Richard Not Judy. He's also a stand-up (you can by his DVDs here, I recommend Someone Likes Yoghurt). Also (and I'm sure I have written about this before), was in the audience when I did stand-up once, but was too scared to talk to him.

I've probably mentioned this before too, but he writes a daily blog/diary which is usually a good read, and may have inspired me to write this one. Collins also does a blog which is worth checking out.

Anyway, subscribe to the podcast, even of you don't want to listen to it, as they seem (Collins in particular) to be boyishly excited by how well the 'cast does in the iTunes rankings. It makes them seem like real people, which I like in a celebrity, as it makes it seem like they were once like me. Except even the laziest celebrity probably tried harder than I do. But I like to fool myself.

***

Writing the above entries has reminded my how annoying I find it when people are intent on telling you how great something is, or what an amazing person someone is. Unless they're talking about me, or someone I already know, it just seems like gloating.

"You haven't heard of X? Oh, they're amazing."

Yeah? Well I hate X. And I hate anyone who likes X. As far as I'm concerned, X is a C

(unt).

Writing Spree

I wonder why sprees are confined to just shopping and killing. They're two similar things, I suppose: at once enjoyable and repulsive, requiring bags, etc.

I think the word spree also suggests a sense of pleasure, because it's a bit like 'glee'.

But I would like it to be used for other things. I'd like to go on a exasperation spree, just shrugging and rolling my eyes at everything. Or a honey spree, where I'd... eat lots of honey.

The trouble is that sprees are often stigmatised as being frivolous and excessive. Buying one pair of shoes is ok. Killing a couple of pensioners as part of a bungled insurance fraud scam is ok. But multiple purchases/deaths is a spree, and thus to be frowned upon.

"Try and show some restraint".

***

Here is my new song. This can also be found at the myspace site. I think I have made great strides, in the same way as a mental patient makes great strides when he stops trying to wear his own solid waste as a hat.

***

I don't want to turn this into the David Attenborough Fellatio Blog, but amongst the eulogising for the great man's last show, I saw some of the highlights of his career. This video is insanely amazing. If I didn't trust good old Dave so much, I'd think he was just fucking with us. Check it out:

Enterprise

Well, it seems the internet hasn't broken, which is a relief to us all.

I did try to back up my blogs into my own documents, but I only have Works on my computer, and it is shit. For some reason I can't copy and paste large sections of text into it, so it is useless in this enterprise. I even had to save my last entry in Notepad. Notepad! I'm thinking of investing in the comfort of Microsoft Office, even though I'm sure I'm supposed to hate it.

***

I have created a side-project. I don't know what it is on the side of. I don't have a main project. All my projects are side projects. I've got loads of sides, but no middle, like some dodecahedral singularity. Maybe lots of sides are enough. I could just stack them and pack them densely, like trying to squeeze thousands of slices of ham back into the shape of a pig.

In any event, here is my new band:

http://www.myspace.com/thelonggods

The Long Gods consist of me messing about with shitty software and making exceedingly rough sounding tunes. Have a listen, and I'm sure you'll agree that music can be abused.

Although the first two Long Gods songs aren't up to much, I'm currently working on a track that will blow you away. I'll update here when it's ready. Prepare your ears.

***

I can't remember how it got started, but a while ago I began thinking about inventing new forms of cutlery: ones that are as difficult to use as possible. They need to be purposely designed to make eating food practically impossible.

They consist of:

a) a convex spoon (which would probably have to look like a silver egg on a stick)

b) a knife that has no edge whatsoever; a long thing cylinder like a bit of dowel

c) a fork with a blivet end, like this:












I think it is a noble aim, and one day it will be realised. People are too complacent, knowing when to use which knife, and what the fish-fork looks like. This will keep them on their toes.

And with that, I shall take my leave.

Old News

It's been too long since my last entry. I'm not sure if this will count as February or March, as I'm doing this at one o'clock in the morning.

I can't believe we don't get February 29th off as a bank holiday. It's an extra day, just used to make up the numbers. We should all be paid to stay at home. And the day should be devoted to compulsory debauchery and hedonism. It's only one day every four years, but old Mr Government won't have it. It should at least have a name. I like X-Day (because it's extra, and it sounds all futuristic).

It is very windy outside, which reminds me that I somehow survived the earthquake the other night. I felt it quite distinctly, and thought it might have been an earthquake, but I wasn't sure if we had them in this country. The fact that I didn't know probably suggests that it's not that big a deal. And luckily we don't have any plant or chimney pots to be smashed, as these are the only things the earthquake can impact upon. This is pretty rubbish for a natural disaster. A bit of a storm in a teacup you might say (ho ho!); one that leaves the teacup entirely unharmed, but perhaps a little cleaner.

The reason I'm up so late is waiting for the internet to work. In fact, as I write this it is broken again. I'll have to save this somewhere and post it later, which annoyingly will detract from the incisive, up-to-the-moment, cutting edge content. If we have a cataclysmic earthquake between now and when I post this, I'll look quite the fool - a shaken fool with lots of shards of porcelain embedded in his face.

So I was wondering what would happen if the internet was wiped out. What if there was some massive failure and everything was gone? I was wondering if it would be a bigger news event than September 11 (11/9). It would be pretty disastrous, even if 80% of what was lost was porn and Star Trek fanfiction. I suppose there wouldn't be the same loss of human life (or the same striking visuals), but it would still be huge. And I bet the loss of that information would cost a few lives. There must be a lot of important processes that require the web. I'm sure a few hundred online poker players would commit suicide at the very least. And a few more fatalities from those who can't live without Star Trek fanporn.

I'd lose all my blog entries (I should really back these up), which would be a big loss for not just me, but the world at large. Let's hope someone has their eye on the ball, and has made sure the internet can't be broken.

***

I saw a great advertising board (board? Hoarding sounds familiar, but I can't look it up online to check) on the football on Wednesday night. It was certainly more interesting than the match. It simply read "Like Football?" then scrolled on to reveal "Then You'll Love The Army!".

Now I may be judging prematurely, but I'm 95% sure I wouldn't love the army. I don't even think I'd like it. I don't even see the connection. I suppose they're both pointless conflicts, dominated by an atmosphere of macho bullshit, homophobia and misogyny. But you don't get shot in football (unless you're a Colombian international).

The tenuous connection is a bit perplexing also. It's as though they think we don't know what the army is, or what happens there. "I like football, maybe I'll give this 'army' a try! It sounds interesting!"

The army is pretty famous, they don't need to draw us in with this cheap chicanery.

It makes you think that just over 90 years ago, on the frozen waste of no-mans land, some desperate soldier, pulled himself over the barbed-wire, coughing wheezy mustard gas coughs, dragging an atrophied trench-foot, and scrawled on a bit of loose board (perhaps with his own blood, or the goo from his weeping sores): "Like war? You'll love football!" - and men from both sides clambered up, out of their sodden nightmare and, convinced by this simple message (even though they don't actually like war - but forget that bit), took part in a simple sport that would forever appeal a sense of goodness in man's character (but not women, because they don't understand the offside trap! Ever notice that? They get confused by it! Bloody women! They all like shoes and... and flowers and stuff).

I hope Wednesday's billboard doesn't have the opposite effect and cause hundreds of footballers to down their expensive boots and tie bayonets to their shin-pads.

For all I know, it has already happened. Stupid broken internet. By the time I'm back online it may be too late, and Dietmar Hamann will have snuck in and grenaded the whole block of flats.

***

It's now the next day, and I feel like a cheap liar.