I started work on Wednesday and discovered, to nobody's surprise, that I'm not really cut out for the working life. By the end of the week I was physically and emotionally drained, and am now incapable of generating any energy but sadness-energy (which is the most useless kind). And that was only after three days.
During the week I realised that I have never been in a meeting where I haven't, at some point, visualised hurling myself through the window. Not as an act of misery or desperation, but just because I'm easily distracted. I do it all the time. At university I used to imagine the various stunts you could do in the lecture hall. I wouldn't listen to the lecturer, just visualise wrestling moves through the tables.
I have trouble focussing on things that I don't really care about. My brain rebels and pulls me in the other direction.
***
On Friday, we went into London to see a comedy show at the Bloomsbury Theatre. Stewart Lee is comparing a series of gigs by his favourite comedians.
Lee himself did some stuff. I was a little disappointed that he did some of the same material we saw last month. Don't get me wrong, I understand comedians have set material, and that no bit is ever really the same. It's just that he said on his website that it would be brand new or really old. Never mind.
He has a bit about going to Weightwatchers. I don't think he looks fat. He just looks like he's at a different aspect ratio to his mid-90s self.
Anyway, the first act was Simon Munnery, who I may have mentioned before. He was excellent. You should buy his DVD.
And the second act was the 'mystery guest', who I correctly predicted would be Johnny Vegas. He was hilarious and embarrassing and emotionally exhausting, and totally unique. He involved the audience in lots of ways, and made me laugh until I was in pain. It was a great experience.
***
I'm not really enjoying writing right now, but I'm forcing myself to do it. I don't want to stop writing this blog, even though after work I don't feel motivated to do it.
I'm sure I'll get used to the schedule in time, and will once again be my usual effervescent self.
Just as I'm feeling worried about going back to work, I read Charlie Brooker's latest column and am reminded of the pain of the morning commute.
At least it's almost summer, so I won't be getting up in the dark. And by the time winter comes around, I might have won the lottery, so won't have to get up early. If I'm still working, I might fuse a powerful halogen bulb to my head to create instant, dazzling light on those winter mornings.
As depressed as I feel now, I was very happy this afternoon.
I was listening to Stuart Maconie's Freak Zone on BBC 6Music. It's a show full of weird music, and is usually pretty entertaining. Anyway, I was listening to the music, the window was open, reminding me of the summer, and the smell of Lucy's lasagna (the actual dish; that's not some euphemism) was wafting through the room. I felt happy and content.
That happens sometimes. And it's quite reassuring. Because it sometimes seems that the miserable, discontented moods are all there is. I get get in a bad mood for no reason whatsoever. It's refreshing to find that you can fall into similarly inexplicable good moods as well.
I'm sure another good mood will strike me soon, and everything will be hunky-dory. I sometimes think the main determining factors of my mood are the tidyness of the kitchen, and how much fresh air there is in the room.
If the kitchen is spotless, and the windows are wide-open, I reckon I could deal with any disaster (lost wallet, ethnic cleansing, pubic lice, etc) with a smile on my face.
***
I just watched a good documentary on The Who on BBC4. It's called Amazing Journey: The Story of the Who. I enjoyed it a lot. Documentaries have to walk a fine line between being informative and being arty, and this one was just right.
Anyway, I quite like the The Who. But not that much. I admire their aesthetic and everything, I just don't like too many of their songs.
It must have been annoying for all the other 'British Invasion' bands, that not only were The Beatles the biggest and most famous group, but they were also the best.
Usually, the most popular things aren't the most talented, and the ultimate genius is outside the mainstream. But the Beatles did both.
I'm trying out this new blog template for a while. Just to see how it feels. At the moment, it seems very... blue.
I'm starting a new job on Wednesday, which is a relief/pain. Hopefully the job won't be too much hard work, and will allow me to write blog entries in the office, just like the old days.
I keep focussing on what I can do with my salary. I could pay a homeless man to do the "I'm not worthy" bowing mime at me every time I walk past him. A little bit of an ego boost in the morning.
This entry seems to be composed of short sentences. I don't know why. Sometimes I'm willowy and waffly and slippery. But today I'm not. I'm just short. And abrupt. They call me the Staccato Prophet.
No, they don't.
The people in the flat upstairs are having a party. And I'm sitting on my own, writing my blog on a Friday night. Still, we all know who the real winner is.
They're probably having a raucous time, alcohol flowing like wine, witty conversation, several kilos of recreational drugs. They're probably all beautiful and carefree, and sexually promiscuous. They're probably pouring champagne into a crystal fountain, discussing Wittgenstein and manually stimulating each other.
But we all know who the real winner is. He's the one about to watch WWE Smackdown with a cup of tea.
And given the choice between a beautiful bohemian orgy and a possible appearance by Chuck Palumbo - well...
I was watching Cruickshanks today (the final 's' is superfluous, in the style of Richard Herring, eg Collings). That's the architecture programme I talked about a while back.
I was getting annoyed at his tolerance of the various ridiculous beliefs that had inspired these beautiful buildings. I can't stand tolerance. Or forgiveness. But I'm easy about forgetfulness. Live and let... how does that go?
Anyway, I do appreciate how amazing these places are. And I am a big proponent of mankind striving for the spectacular, and trying to be more than they are (and, as I've said before, this desire is admirable in itself and probably the meaning of life or whatever).
But I'm a bit annoyed at wondrous stuff created for religious purposes, whereas I love art.
I think the difference is, art's purpose is to express and religion's purpose is to impress.
Art for its own sake is noble and freeing and empowering.
You can't help but think that all these temples and mosques and chapels were created on the assumption that the creators will get a gold star at the end of it all.
Religion is a bit too sycophantic for my liking.
Art is like the cool kid who just doesn't give a shit.
Of course, I always hated that kid, so maybe I'm talking bollocks.
***
I've posted the link before, but everyone should read Lucy's current journal here.
All the entries are good, but this one is especially so. It's annoyingly better than anything I can write. But at least I write more frequently! Quantity, not quality, my friends.
***
Ahahahahaha!
Those were the days. If only modern men could abuse their wives, refuse to kiss them over the shittiness of their coffee, and still be considered the ones in the right.
But bloody Tony Blairs doesn't want you to do that. This country...
Mine is the last true generation. It's all downhill after this.
I look at those poor wretches born after me, and think "they'll never know what it's like".
It all changed after me; after the glorious generation. 1982 was the year of revolution (fuck 68).
What do the kids of today know about the Falklands? They weren't there. They can never understand.
They never lived through Thatcher and the Poll Tax and Knightmare. They were born with mobile phones and the internet. I didn't have either until I was sixteen.
The last true conversational generation.
Modern teenagers have no rebellions to follow. I mean, they're rebelling against my generation (the last true rebellious generation), but that doesn't count. It doesn't.
Tupac is dead. Cobain is dead. Bill Hicks is dead.
Who do teenagers have to look up to now? Pete Doherty? A drug addict.
What? Yes, I know Cobain took drugs. And Hendrix. And Wilde. But they did it with so much more élan.
I don't see any heroes for the youth of today. What? Yes, I suppose the generation before me didn't care for my heroes either. They didn't understand. They couldn't judge my culture. They weren't young.
But I don't have to be young. I never became out of touch with what's cool and important. Huh? I don't know. Things must have just stopped being cool and important at some point. It's strange that it happened when I got old. It happened to my parents' generation. But for my generation the change is really there. It's genuine.
Ours is the last true generation of inspiration and truth and beauty, and subverting the first three.
I guess I'm just lucky. The end of a constant process - a process of artistic and cultural progress, development and exploration, lasting thousands of years. And it's all over. It just so happens to have occurred in my era - where I have a blog and can write about it.
When I was a boy I invented a superhero alter ego for myself: Paul Instructon.
No, not instruction. Instructon.
I don't think the fact that 'instructon' isn't a word was any kind of barrier to me. I think it might have been related to ideas of being indestructible. In fact, I have just remembered there was a film with Scott Bakula in it that might have influenced me.
I just checked the internet to find it, but I can't. I must have imagined it had Bakula in it. I thought it was called Invincible Man or Indestructible Man. I have no idea what it was. Maybe I can search it out.
Anyway, Paul Instructon wore a green costume and had a ridiculous array of powers. I could do things that even Superman would be envious of. One of the things Instructon could do was shoot water out of my hands and crocodiles out of my fingers, trapping my enemy.
Looking back, this was an unwieldy power. Firstly, because it assumes my enemy is in a water-tight area where they could be submerged, and at the mercy of my amphibious killer minions. And secondly, crocodiles don't really need water to live. I could just shoot the crocodiles out on dry land. I'm sure they'd still do their jobs. Maybe I wanted them to feel moist and comfortable.
The necessity of water might have worked if I'd been shooting out sharks from my fingers, but this would require a solution to problem presented by my first objection.
Also shooting sharks from ones fingers is a little too far-fetched, don't you think?
Paul Instructon was never destined to be a huge commercial success. But I think he won every battle and always fought the good fight. We may never see his like again.
***
Here is the second and final installment of our Facebook conversation highlights. I might trawl other areas of my correspondence to unearth some gems.
On Life:
Lucy: I'm living the British Dream (if you weel), and it is as impractical as living a dream implies. I'm just basically a sleep-walker, who keeps narrowly avoiding cliff-tops.
On Boredom:
Paul: I'm so bored!! Bored with a capital 'BORE'.
I would very much like to go to sleep. But that's socially unacceptable. Whenever I try, they get me to put my trousers back on.
Borded. Bourd. Bordh. Bawd.
Boherd. I'm boherd.
(You might think I'd be so bored that I'd come up with something interesting to say. But I'm so bored that my imagination has broken. I'm boring myself right now.)
Lucy: I've been at that level of boredom before! That's one behind the stage where you try shifting your focus and blurring your eyes for fun. And then, the next stage is where you fight the big boss at the end of the level, but the trick is to hit his fireballs back at him with your sword. And then, if you beat him, you get to the bonus boredom levels, and they are another state of consciousness entirely. You get to play as other characters, for one. Yes, if you battle through boredom, you come out in a world where things are very interesting indeed!
---
Paul: I'm Joeseph W. Bored.
I'm sure you're somewhere else, but I could do with some entertainment. Maybe you could tell me a story about a Leopard?
Lucy: Here it is: Once upon a time, there was leopard called Claude, who ruled the Savannah. One fine morning, Claude was chomping on a Wildebeast, when he decided that there had to be more to life than this. He went to the city, developed a crack habit and fathered many bastards upon unsuspecting women standing at bus stops. And they all lived happily ever after (except for the half-leopard kids, who had to be put down) The end.
On Escaping The House:
Paul: If you want to get out, you could stick bread and cheese on your fingernails. stick your hands into the fireplace (if it's turned off), and lure seagulls down the chimney. Then you could let them pull you towards sunlight and freedom.
On Pringles:
Paul: They should do a fork-shaped variety called Prongles.
AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH
AHA.
Yes!
On Christmas Cheer: Lucy: You could use the opportunity to send free, easy and obscene Christmas cards, by writing 'Merry fucking Christmas, you retards' on everybody's wall (retards plural, so that you don't leave anybody out - some people may have little babies, or cats, that cannot be represented on Facebook).
On Current Events: Paul: I've just had my second smoothie. Expensive? Yes.
Tasty? Yes.
Boring? Yes.
Rhetorical?
Yes.
***
I've just found the Scott Bakula film! It was him! Although, it seems the title is I-Man.
I think it was called Indestrucible Man when I saw it on video. A failed pilot for a TV series, apparently.
I-Man is almost as terrible a name as Paul Instructon. Do you think they thought the US audience wouldn't be able to hande a five-syllable word in the title?
If I thought the hero was called I-Man, I'd probably expect him to have amazing visual powers. Maybe a giant eye, or he could be composed entirely of eyes.
Either that or I-Man could be some courtroom drama about Tarzan's struggle to prove his humanity. I'd watch that, my friend. Fuck Grisham.
Ooh, you can get it on DVD! £4.99? Hmm. Probably not worth it.
The other good thing about this is on the IMDB page linked above, the plot keywords (for searching purposes, I suppose) are:
Gas / Immortality / Kids and Family If that's not a winning combination, I don't know what is.
The annoying thing is, when I pitched my film idea to Dreamworks about a man who ingests children's farts in an attempt to live forever, I got some funny looks.
Listening to the excellent Collings and Herrin podcast today, I was a little annoyed by Andrew Collins's stance on the experimenting with embryos and the like. He thinks that human-animal hybrids are a step too far; that we're going against nature.
It's the same fuss about genetically modified food and cloning. People think that we are over-stepping our bounds. We're messing with the domain of the natural world. We're playing God (which even seems to be a problem to good-old liberal atheists for some reason).
What is strange about the controversy is that it is often the case that the same group of people who are outspoken against GM foods and screwing around with embryos, also tend to be environmentalists, stressing the importance of our role in the natural order of things.
The thing that annoys me is the idea that by doing certain experiments, we have suddenly crossed a line. We suddenly become adversaries with nature.
The thing is, we're part of nature. Surely that's what environmentalists believe.
(I was going to make a joke about them putting the 'mentalist' in 'environmentalist', but that would be trite).
The human race has evolved as all life has on the planet. We're made of the same basic building-blocks. We evolved naturally. We're just one type of creature; one of many. Why is it that what we do is unnatural? Termites build hives (or nests or something, I'm not doing research) by using the planet's substances in a way that fits their needs. That's what we do. We use and combine substances to serve our purposes. A termite nest is natural, but a plastic hot-dog replica isn't for some reason.
I'm not saying we shouldn't act responsibly, but I still don't see why everything we're doing shouldn't be entirely natural. An alien observer wouldn't segregate our actions from the rest of the other lifeforms, even if we have mastered speech and badminton.
I don't know how protestors have managed to draw the line between science and 'playing God'. Forging metal is natural, that's ok. Fighting disease is natural, that's ok. Flying in BIG METAL SKY TUBES is ok. But doing stuff with embryos? The line has been crossed.
It's a bullshit, pointless line.
We should think about what we're doing and why, but we shouldn't be hindered by arbitrary codes of conduct. There's no rulebook saying what we can do. Unless you count the Bible. But with that as my rulebook, I'd imagine it would be a nonsensical and terrifying game.
The other thing about people making assessments about these new scientific experiments, is most of us don't know enough about the specifics of the project to be able to make a meaningful judgement. We don't have enough specified knowledge, so everyone who decries GM and the like are just basing their opinions on third-hand summaries and superstition.
So, I'm all for scientific experiments. There are no boundaries. And if science eventually leads us into lives confined to isolated pods, being drip-fed nutrients and electronic pulses to keep our brains stimulated, our blank, staring eyes moistened by tiny robot sponges, I have no problem with that. None whatsoever.
***
So in my last post I mentioned a funny Facebook thread between Lucy and myself. I've selected the good bits, and will present some highlights over the next few entries. The conversation took place while I was working for Exeter University, and Lucy was at home. The length of the conversation should show how interested I was in the work. Here's the first extract:
On TV Detectives:
Lucy: Have just drunk coffee, and I'm feeling rather jittery and paranoid. I'd be great at solving crimes! (Wait a minute... this earring is a fake! He was dead before he got in the water! The prostitute was a man! etc.) Love you.
Paul: I'd love to see you in a detective show. Can I be your slow-witted sidekick?
"But Inspector, how would he have been able to get in unseen?" "You stupid fucking cunt. If you don't know, you never will. Now get me a coffee." "Yes ma'am."
Lucy: Oh, I love you, my slow-witted sidekick! You know I don't like mild, sumbissive, put-upon Paul. It makes me sad. Still, the sidekick is usually the happier of the two - i.e. the one without a drink/drug/ problem, so I guess we can take comfort in that.
Paul: I didn't mean to sound put-upon. The sidekick is simply awed by your genius, and happy to be around you. It would be much better if the sidekick had the drug problem, and was just an albatross around the detective's neck.
"John. John! We've got to go to the Manor House. I know who did it." "Can't... legs... fuckin'... right!"
The detective would probably have to stop sticking up for him after a while. Or just give him simple jobs so he didn't get in the way.
Better yet, it would be good if the sidekick was an actual albatross.
And, somehow, I still don't have my own TV series.
This country...
Lucy: You get an lol and an lmao for that. My ass is quite separated from my body with mirth. It's over the other side of the room, warming itself by the fire.
On Diplomacy:
Lucy: I was good at that when I was a kid (my two friends would always get annoyed with each other, I'd refuse to take sides, and in mutual annoyance at me, they became friends again). This is known as masochistic diplomacy, and may well be successful on an international level.
On Facebook Etiquette:
Lucy: Why, you ask, would somebody request to be friends with you just to ignore you? To make a point. You know what this means? If you can underestimate somebody, do. If you can't, teach.
On Weekend Plans:
Lucy: We should do something this weekend, like eat out or bake a cake or something.
Paul (to no response): Let's go bake a cake! Up where the heat is make(d)! Let's All Go...
How do you like my title? It's like some meta-pun.
Sometimes, I wonder why television companies haven't already begun a bidding war for my services. I suppose I should send them my ideas, but I still think they should have heard about my innovative, cutting edge proposals by now.
I've just come up with two excellent ideas of TV shows. Both are founded on puns (which is the best bulb from which to grow an entertaining flower).
Firstly:
Antics Roadshow Fairly self-explanatory. "Welcome to the Antics Roadshow. Look! There's Michael Aspel on a unicycle!"
And secondly:
Diamonds Are Forever A sitcom charting the upbringing of the Diamond family. The characters would be:
Anne Diamond (formerly of Anne and Nick)
Dominik Diamond (the Gamesmaster guy)
Dustin Diamond (AKA Screech from Saved by the Bell)
and of course singer-songwriter Neil Diamond.
Each show would begin with the four people playing themselves, reminiscing about an event from their childhood growing up together. (Their wildly different ages might prove a problem, but we can use creative license.)
It would then flash back to the past, where the Diamond family lived a simple life, a bit like the Waltons. Each episode could be about how they learned a moral lesson, like "always be honest" or "don't trust the Jews". These simple parables would be an old-fashioned reminder that family is the most important thing and that, truly, Diamonds Are Forever.
Perhaps actor Lou Diamond Phillips could be a recurring guest star - a neighbour jealous about not being a true Diamond.
What do you think? I think there's money to be made.
I'd like to send it off to their agents, but I'm worried I might be ignored, like I was by Neil Mullarkey when I sent him my idea for a sitcom. Luckily it was preserved in a Facebook message to Lucy, so it can live on:
Dear Neil
My girlfriend and I were talking about you the other night, and through a variety of conversational twists and turns, we came up with an idea for a sitcom.
I think it would only work with you. You'd play yourself (or a version of yourself), and would have supplemented your income by selling your sperm to women in need of artificial insemination.
The characters would include four of the women who have had your baby (I'm thinking each one could be a terrible stereotype: communie-living hippy, uptight nazi, wacky transsexual etc), and a friend (who may or may not be work at the sperm clinic).
Another character would be the talking ghost of a rat. Not (and this confusion can be a running gag) the ghost of a talking rat (which in any case would be too unrealistic).
Occasionally one of the mother characters can talk about how good the Shrek franchise is, and you can look at the camera and roll your eyes like Oliver Hardy.
As I have said, I can't think of anyone else who would fit the role, so if you aren't interested, the idea will die.
If I see you have made a programme similar to this (especially with a talking ghost rat) I won't take legal action, but will be happy that you have embraced the idea.
If you would like me to produce a first draft, let me know.
(Although this email may have seemed sarcastic, it is, for the most part, not)
Yours, Paul Fung No reply. I can't believe it. But apparently he's busy doing strange comedy-related personal relationship workshops to notice me.
But I can't think of anyone else who the idea would fit. I don't know why...
Actually the Facebook thread this is saved in has many other funny ideas, which I may share with you in future entries.
But for now, I'm going to sit and stew and think about what is to be done.
I'm experiencing rapid mood swings; no doubt as a result of living in a precarious situation. I don't have a job yet, and need money, so want a job, but hate working, so don't want a job. You may remember this cycle from the past four months of my life.
But now it's wearing thin. A really thin cycle. A penny-farthing made of hay. Thin. Yeah, thin.
My state of being is so precarious that I experience constant ups and downs of emotion, caused by the most insignificant thing.
I got a second interview! - UP
I've got to go to a second interview. - DOWN
I might be earning some money soon! - UP
I might be working full-time soon. - DOWN
I just bought a muffin! - UP
Pompey are in the Cup Final. - DOWN
Saints won at the weekend! - UP
The planet is dying of ozone and wars. - DOWN
I'm writing a list of mood swings! - UP
I hate lists. - DOWN
I don't like being so erratic. It makes me feel weak. I'd like to be able to marshal my moods through sheer willpower, but I keep getting distracted by birds and teletext.
I should be using my free time to do something constructive, I suppose. But I'm writing this instead and, although it is a kind of construction, it's not very useful.
I have probably written many other posts sharing my dissatisfaction with my situation, but it never seems to change. I should stop being boring and write about something interesting.
***
I know, I'll impart some sayings that Lucy and I have invented. They're useful for certain situations. You have our permission to start using them in conversation. If we increase usage, we can make sure they become commonplace. Given that Lucy is an insider in the Oxford English Dictionary, expect to hear more about them in the coming months.
Firstly, an expression describing something difficult, perhaps an impossible and thankless task:
Fucking the capital 'A'
eg. "Trying to get my Uncle to recycle is like fucking the capital 'A'"
The origin of the phrase is unknown, but I think it comes from a discussion about which letter of the alphabet would be the most uncomfortable to have sex with. Think about it.
Secondly, an expression stating how someone is having a highly productive streak:
Raping the Week eg: "Finished a couple of projects, lucky at the bingo, got given a knighthood. I tell ya, I'm raping the week!"
This highly unpleasant phrase is a way of showing a triumph over fate and circumstance. I'm going to blame Lucy for its invention.
I'll post some more when I think of them.
Right, I'm going to try to find something that will alter my mood. Perhaps an online episode of TMWRNJ? That should clear away the angry voices in my brain.
Don't get me wrong, I'm all in favour of the right to protest and the freedom of Tibet. But come on...
It's Konnie Huq.
Even if she was walking in stilettos over a crumpled pile of pleading Tibetan children, I'd still give her a smile and a wink and send her on her way.
***
I keep noticing annoying elements in my speech patterns. I don't know where they came from; I'm sure they didn't used to be there.
The main offenders are the constant rhetorical responses to questions. For example:
Jeffrey: Yeah, I've started snowboarding.
Me: Have you?
or
Mary: Actually, my brother lived in Trinidad for a year.
Me: Did he?
What an idiot. "Have you?", "Did he?". Of course he has. Of course he did. They just said that. They just confirmed it. But I have this involuntary need to clarify the situation. I think it must be a subconscious desire to please: I'm trying to sound so interested in what they're saying that I act as though I'm astounded. "What? Surely not! I... I... I can't believe... *deep breath, deep breath*... s-s-snowboarding?"
What an idiot. I wish I could meet someone brutally sarcastic to put me in my place.
Someone: I lived in Finland for six months.
Me: Did you?
Someone: NO. I DIDN'T. I JUST SAID THAT FOR A FUCKING LAUGH.
Then they could walk away. And although I'd have been chided, I'd at least feel like I had paid for my conversational crimes.
I noticed a similar thing whilst watching a repeat of an old Room 101 with Ricky Gervais. He'd make a point, Merton would agree with him, and Gervais (as an expression of his agreement, I suppose) would say "D'you know what I mean?"
Again rhetorical, it is really a strange verbal reflex. Of course what he's really saying is "you do know what I mean". I think it's a result of being pleased that someone shares your view. It's a sign of relief.
But if Sarcastic Someone had hosted the show, things would have been different.
Gervais: The worst thing about kids is that their parents don't notice what they're doing?
Someone: Yeah. It's like they've grown accustomed to it, so they can't register how annoying they are.
Gervais: D'you know what I mean?
Someone: NO, I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU MEAN. I ONLY JUST FUCKING AGREED WITH YOU. I ONLY JUST CONFIRMED WHAT YOU SAID. SO, NO. OBVIOUSLY I DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU MEAN, YOU UTTER TWAT.
Who knows how Gervais's career might have turned out after that? Golden Globes? I don't think so. He'd be hosting some shitty panel show on Channel Five.
Bring out the party poppers (and the other kind of poppers - it's that sort of party), crack open the champagne, invite some people you know to a place and do some things.
100 posts doesn't actually seem like that much, but I should mark the occasion.
In my first post I mentioned child pornography, and I continued writing in the same vein. Over the last 100 posts, I've covered such topics as religion, evolution, being depressed, religion again, child pornography again, rape, child rape pornography, religious pornography, and the weather. Not really! I don't think I mentioned child pornography once (until this post, where I've mentioned it five times - child pornography, I mean. Six times).
My life hasn't really changed in that time, despite moving to a new city. On looking back, there are some embarrassingly bad entries, and some genuinely funny ones. I don't seem to be getting better, though. I only hope I can last another 100 entries, and try to maintain the same level of mediocrity.
As a celebration (or as penance), this will be a special anniversary post. I can't think of anything special to do, though, so it'll probably just be like all the other ones, only a bit longer.
***
I was in a job interview today, and I was asked what three words people would use to describe me.
I chose stupid words.
"Friendly", "Consistent" and "Reliable".
These are obviously shit. For one, 'consistent', and 'reliable' basically mean the same thing. Secondly, it marks me out as utterly banal and mediocre.
Lucy thinks I should have used "GSOH". But, as I remarked to her, they didn't ask me to sum myself up in three acronyms. Otherwise I could have used "LMAO" or "MILF".
In retrospect, I should have said:
"Effervescent"
"Byzantine"
and
"Throbbing"
Welcome aboard, Mr Fung.
***
As a I was chastised below for being frugal with my Wrestlemania opinions, here's a quick run-down:
The arena was quite the spectacle, but I felt the outside setting didn't really help the crowd volume.
As for the matches:
JBL vs Finlay
A bit disappointing. I was hoping for a few more nasty punches and a bit of blood. Maybe there's more to follow in this feud. **1/2
Money In The Bank Ladder Match
Lots of goodness here, and some spots I hadn't seen before. Shelton Benjamin nearly died, Matt Hardy returned, and CM Punk won. No complaints! ***1/2
Batista vs Umaga
Another disappointing match. I wanted more cool power shit. *1/4
Chavo Guerrero vs Kane
It was nine seconds long.
Ric Flair vs Shawn Michaels
Better than I expected, very good, lots of drama. Both guys looked good - a suitable last match. Also, Michaels nearly died here:
---The video of his near death has since been taken down due to copyright bollocks. So, instead, here's a really funny dubbed Richard & Judy video by Adam Buxton. Enjoy!
---
Very emotional ending, with the standing ovation. I almost cried (but then realised I'M A MAN. I'm... *sob*... a man). ****1/4
Divas Match
It was alright, Santino is the funniest person in wrestling right now. And he got clotheslined by Snoop Dogg. *3/4
Triple H vs John Cena vs Randy Orton
Very good match, maybe slightly below expectations. I was suprised by how strongly they put over Orton. A good ending too. ****
Big Show vs Floyd 'Money' Mayweather (AKA that little guy)
100 times better than I expected. Loads of cool bits, a good ending, and highly satisfying. ****1/4
Undertaker vs Edge
Started slow, but built well. A very fun match, even if the ending was a bit predictable. ***3/4
All in all, a good 'Mania. Probably the best since WMXX. I'd recommend checking it out - and also Ric Flair's retirement speech on Raw the next night. Even though, if you don't watch wrestling it will probably be meaningless - just lots of balding men crying.
***
We watched the first episode of Dan Cruickshanks's Adventures in Architecture tonight (BBC2 9pm). We've liked the old 'Shanks (as he's called at our house) since Around the World in 80 Treasures was on a few years ago. He's one of those amiable British enthusiasts in the Michael Palin mould; all hats and speech impediments.
His enthusiasm is infectuous, and it was particularly fun to see him comment on an Indian temple decorated with depictions of various sex acts.
The most interesting part of the programme was when he visited Albi Cathedral in France. It survives as a testament to the evil legacy of the Catholic church.
The building is immense, and it's dominating presence is a physical embodiment of the oppression of the organisation.
The building itself is part ancient castle, part dystopian monolith. The columns made me think of it as something industrial. And that's what it was really - an engine for the eradication of heretics (in this case the Cathars).
Inside, there are disgustingly vivid depictions of the torment of Hell. Loads of them. The paradise part of the afterlife isn't represented. I think Heaven is kind of an inconvenience for Catholics - it distracts from the purity and ornateness of guilt and sin and eternal fire.
Lucy and I were thiking how strange it is that people still worship and swear allegiance to an organisation that has committed so much evil. The Catholic church is responsible for such genocide, and has tried so hard to repress knowledge, that you'd think it would be unthinkable for any modern person to adhere to its teachings.
It's like people in the future continuing to be Nazis, despite the Holocaust.
It's not even as though the Catholic Church accepts its guilt and is trying to make a new start. It's still all about pain and suffering. I bet they'd sort out another crusade if they had the balls. Maybe we can send all the fanatical Catholics and all the fanatical Muslims to the moon, or an island somewhere, and let them wipe each other out.
That's not a very original thought, I know. It's just annoying that we have to suffer through all the bullshit. If I was God, I'd be pissed off. It is surely the ulimate proof of his non-existence that he hasn't yet come down from his cloud and broken up the fighting in Gaza, holding both sides at arm's length, saying "alright lads, leave it. It's not worth it".
***
I just had a look to see what my 50th post was about. I didn't seem to notice the milestone. I just talked about killing Evel Nievel.
I should have done something special then. In superhero comics, they always try and milk every milestone or everything it's worth, with fancy foil covers and holograms and double-sized landmark issues.
The historic 428th issue of She-Hulk! 428 issues in the making!
Collectors' Edition: 13 Year Anniversary of Aquaman's Concussion! It's lucky I'm not that ostentatious.
