POST #200!
It's a special event. I generally like to celebrate these landmarks by posting a photo of myself modified in the style of a 'special' child. And I am special.
You can have a look at the last one of these here. It will allow you to make a direct comparison between the me of the past and the me of the present (or at least the me of the more recent past). It will provide a reliable document of my mental decline. It's always nice to have one of those.
In the above picture, I've present myself as some kind of psychedelic serpent-professor. In reality, I'm not really like that. Although I do carry a light bulb in my breast-pocket, just in case I have a sudden craving to look at a filament. That has only happened a couple of times, but always be prepared. I learned that when I was in the scouts. Some of them are good fighters, so take along some rope.
I see from my 100th post that I had just had an interview for my current job. Time certainly has passed. And it will pass. And it is passing. That's the nature of time. Once time has passed past the past and passed through the present, it passes past the future path. To where?
Pass.
Yeah, I think I can keep this up for a few more paragraphs. I need to make this entry Giant-Sized, after all. I should really have said King-Sized, because kings are usually smaller than giants (except for King Kong).
***
So, how to kick off this fun-filled extravaganza? Oh, I know! Richard Dawkins!
According to The Selfish Gene, we are vehicles for the replication of genetic material. We're tools. The genes are using us. (I haven't actually read it, but I think that's the gist - God bless Wikipedia).
It's quite a depressing prospect. We're not in control of our own destinies. We're just empty shells. The genes have created us to help them multiply. We get to multiply too, but only because it helps the genes. I feel like a cheap whore. The genes bought me diamonds (or at least created structures whereby the prospect of 'buying' and 'gifts' aided courtship rituals), but they don't care about me at all.
I feel like the Statue of Liberty. Not that she was a whore (although she spent a lot of time down at the docks). I'm thinking more in terms of Ghostbusters II.
Towards the end of the film, the 'Busters use a special psycho-reactive slime to animate the statue, and get it to save the day. We're the statue. The genes are Harold Ramis.
[In fact, we're worse that that, because at least the Statue of Liberty had the pleasure of having Dan Ackroyd inside it. (I've asked him, but he won't return my letters)]
We're just empty, blank-faced forms, forced into action by various chemical-electric impulses. The genes prod us forward with quick shots of endorphins, and rein us in with pain. We're being controlled by punishment and reward, and only live through some perverse electrolysis puppeteering. We're not special or in control. We're just Frankenstein's ventriloquist dummies.
I resent the genes. The bastards. I don't like being used.
But there's a way to get back at the genes.
(If you're reading this, try to hide this next bit from your genes. Distract them somehow. We don't want them to cotton on to this devious plan)
There's a simple way to defeat the genes: use contraception.
Ingenious, I think you'll agree.
If you wear a condom, you can be having sex and the genes will think they're winning. "Excellent," they'll say. "Our genetic material is going to combine with that of the partner, and our essense will be passed on to a future generation."
But it's not, you fools! It's not going to get out of this rubber casing! It's not going to enter the womb, but will merely be a discarded - thrown in the bin, or perhaps at an annoying neighbour. We win! You lose!
The genes didn't count on that.
The only problem may be if the genes that make up the penis can communicate with the brain-genes.
"Oi!" they'll say. "This fella ain't replicatin' our genetic material! It's just bein' wasted!" (Cock-genes are Cockneys).
Then the brain-genes will get angry, and instruct the hand-genes to start slapping us around until we take the condom off. We can try and argue with them:
"But she's a prostitute!"
"We don't care! Take it off!"
"But I've got AIDS!"
"Don't make us come down there!"
Hey, that's interesting... An evil, controlling force that doesn't care about the spread of AIDS, and hates the idea of sperm being wasted (depsite that idea being utterly opposed to common sense). Am I talking about genes, or am I talking about... the Catholic Church?
"You were talking about genes"
Well, yes. Technically. Pedant...
I've been mulling this idea over for a while, so if this hasn't been explained well, I apologise. Of course, the invention of contraception is probably part of a higher-level evolution. The replication of genes is probably served by avoiding over-population. But still, I like the idea of getting back at the little DNArseholes.
The Ghostbusters II model of human existence as empty vehicles, ruthlessly controlled, isn't really true. I don't think so anyway. Because it's not just base impulses of pleasure and pain that make us human. The genes give us something much more valuable: consciousness.
Our existence as living, thinking, acting entities is our real reward for continuing to breed. And I think we've done quite well out of that trade.
***
I have a busy week ahead of me. It's making me feel old. Nowadays I like to restrict my evening activities to sitting down, sighing in a pantomime fashion, and then just staring into space (possibly with the occasional blink interruption) for four hours. I find this exhausting.
The prospect of having to leave the house, wear trousers, talk to people and generally be upright, fills me with the same dread as receiving a late-night phone call from the police.
The latter is only a little bit more stressful, and that's because there's a good chance I will have to leave the house anyway. And when identifying a corpse, you really do have to wear trousers.
This week I have an assortment of tasks, starting with a Richard Herring gig on Monday, and ending at the weekend with me sitting down, sighing in a pantomime fashion, and then staring into space for four hours. Exhausting.
I'm anticipating a high level of caffeine-intake. I'm old.
***
This has been a bit down-beat so far! It's time to celebrate with some brilliant things (in no particular order)!
BRILLIANT THING #1
Charlie Brooker's Screenwipe
Probably the best TV programme in existence at the moment. It's odd how it can make you despair for the state of modern media, and simultaneously make you so proud of it. You can see it on BBC Four, or through the BBC iPlayer. And you should do so.
BRILLIANT THING #2
Naan bread.
Man, that's tasty. I'm going to start a naan bread-themed takeaway that sells naan with curry or burgers or anything good. It will be called Naan of the Above.
££££
BRILLIANT THING #3
Ben Folds Five
They were great. Ben Folds' solo stuff is great too (his current album Way to Normal is excellent), but you can't beat a bit of the old Five. I like the rough-edged harmonies, and the youthful nerdiness of the whole thing. This is a superb cover of She Don't Use Jelly:
BRILLIANT THING #4
Lucy's stories
You can find her Harry Potter fanfiction here. She's a much better writer than Rowling. I know I'm biased, but other people have said so too. She also writes a journal that makes mine look like a random assortment of letters and expletives.
BRILLIANT THING #5
The Human Race
I know we're conditioned to hate ourselves. The right hates the modern world for corrupting values that never existed. The left wants to change everything because nothing is fair, and it could be better. Stupid people hate the world because things are difficult and hard to understand. Intelligent people hate the world because there are too many stupid people.
Optimism is seen as naive. Celebration is seen as complacent. Self-congratulation is seen as arrogant.
And there's probably a lot of truth there. We have to be on our toes. A certain amount of cynicism is necessary.
But nowhere in life, not in everyday conversation, not in intuition, and certainly not in the media, do we ever get a chance to wonder at all the spectacular things we're capable of. The world is a beautiful place, and we shouldn't forget that although we sometimes detract from the beauty, we contribute to it as well.
Hmm, I probably shouldn't have dropped acid before writing this bit of the entry.
It's eating its way through the floor.
***
I think I've taken up enough of our time. I'm glad to have reached 200 entries. I think at least 70 of them are actually quite good. I'm looking forward to seeing what the world is like by the time I get to 300 (hoverboards, hoverboards, hoverboards).
I was joking about acid in the last section, by the way. Do I look like the kind of person who would do that?
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