Watching the Champions League final last night left me a little cold. I didn't really care who won.
Watching football through the plastic film of neutrality is an alienating experience. I can usually muster up some kind of tenuous allegiance (maybe I'll support the home team, maybe I'll support the team with the best hair, maybe I'll cheer for the Spanish side because I like tapas). But I couldn't manage it last night. I sort of wanted the English league to be proved superior, but I'm genetically incapable of supporting Man United.
Anyway, the most interesting part of the game happened just after the half-time whistle. The camera zoomed in on Thierry Henry walking off the pitch, just in time to catch him in a clumsy gob.
He was going for a traditional footballer's spit, but must have misjudged and it was a messy affair, dribbling over his chin, no trajectory, a calamitous flob, a saliva explosion. He looked decidedly undignified - decidedly un-Henry.
It was the kind of spitting that I probably would have done. I was never a very good spitter, and never really attempted it. All the cool kids spat (well, the boys anyway). You can measure street-cred in pints of saliva. I always lacked the confidence.
But I didn't expect it of Henry.
If you'd asked me before the game how Thierry Henry would spit, I would have a very specific idea.
It would emerge from his delicately puckered lips, precise as a dodecahedral gemstone, propelled with grace, arcing beautifully, glittering as it catches the light, swooping and diving into a bejewelled spittoon on the sideline.
It would splash musically, sending concentric ripples outwards, tickling the calm tropical waters contained therein, where brightly-coloured tropical birds - flamingoes, toucans, Cuban red macaws - bathed annd fluttered. Nearby, vestal virgins would be at peace, pouring cascading water from large, ornate, earthenware vases. The moon would be full.
That's what I would have said.
It's sad to have your illusions shattered.
I didn't see the paradise spittoon anywhere. I suppose it might have distracted players at throw-ins. The linesman would have needed to wade.
Annoyingly, I didn't get to see any of the other Barca forwards attempt to spit. I imagine Samuel Eto'o would get some good distance, as his surname sounds a bit like loogie onomatopoeia. And I'm sure Lionel's spitting technique would be anything but Messi.
(No-one has ever made the Messi = messy joke before. Ever.)
This entry has been slightly disgusting. I apologise. Next time I'll write about something irrefutably pleasant. Like a cold chocolate milkshake.
Or a comb.
You can't argue with combs.
Thursday, 28 May 2009
Wednesday, 27 May 2009
Pleased To Meet You
If you don't know someone well, it's difficult to start a conversation with them. You don't need much information, but you do need some.
If you know they breed carrier pigeons, for example, you can ask "How are the carrier pigeons?", "What have your pigeons been carrying?", or something similar.
But if you have no information whatsoever about their life or interests, your options are limited.
You can go for a question about football or television. But if they don't like football, or if they don't believe in television, you've lost them forever.
That's why the weather is such a popular conversation topic. You can be reasonably sure that everyone has experienced some weather in their life. Unless they live in a plastic bubble (in which case the opener "What's the deal with the bubble?" is available). So, your opening salvo might be:
"It's a bit chilly today, isn't it?"
They might disagree, but at least you've got the ball rolling. Sometimes I like to mix it up a little:
"How about that nitrogen, eh?"
or
"How long has it been since you saw a volcano?"
Just small talk. But it's not much fun.
I might start handing out questionnaires to everyone I meet, so I can get a sense of their interests. Questions can include 'Favourite Film', 'Favourite Band', 'Favourite Food', 'Stance on Immigration' etc.
Then I'd have a list of ready-made conversation-starters. I could just look at their answers.
"So... Ricardo," I could say, looking down at the form. "It says here you've been convicted of 'manslawter'. Can I assume from this that you are a poor speller? How's that working out for you?"
Or:
"So... Ricardo," (this is a different Ricardo) "Your favourite film is Phone Booth. That's an interesting choice. Oh, I see. It's not the Colin Farrell one. It's that documentary where someone keeps making nuisance phone calls to Connie Booth from Fawlty Towers. I haven't seen that. IS IT GOOD?"
If someone refused to fill out the questionnaire, even that would be a starting out point.
"So... Ricardo," (the first one again) "I see from your lack of answers that you don't like questionnaires. Is the reason for this: A) You feel they are invasive; B) You think it's odd for me to be doing this, as we've only just met; or C) You were abused as a child in a multiple-choice format."
[His answer would be B]
The questionnaire might be time-consuming to produce, and is possibly a waste of the office photocopier. But I've come up with a cheaper solution.
As soon as I'm introduced to someone, I'll hurl a mug at their face as hard as I can. That way, I'm sure to have something to talk to them about. Either:
"Wow, your reflexes are incredible!"
or
"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I just wanted to get to know you better. The ambulance will be here soon. Just put pressure on it. Here, wrap this foil blanket round you. Ok, it's not technically a foil blanket. It's a Kit Kat wrapper. Yes, I miss the old ones too. More satisfying. Try to stay awake. You've lost a lot of blood. And I've lost a mug. Yes, I know it's not really the same. I was just empathising. You might look better with a different-shaped nose, anyway. Surgeons can do amazing things. Even on the NHS. Try to stay awake. I'm sure it does hurt. No, sorry, I finished the Kit Kat a while ago. Yes, I miss the old wrappers too. I mentioned it before. You seem a bit woozy. Why don't you have some coffee? Oh. Wait. It seems to have all gone. It must have spilled out when my mug shattered in your face. Oh. Yes. Now I understand. You're also badly scalded. At first I thought it was just the shards of enamel and bone piercing your skin. But it's also the hot coffee. My bad. Hey, I think that's the ambulance. Oh. No. It's just a leaf. Ha. Hahahaha. I thought it was an ambulance. But it's just a leaf. I don't know what I was thinking. Don't let your eyes roll back in your head. Well, ok, one can roll back. But not both. Why are you still shivering? What about the Kit Kat blanket? Shall we sing a song? I'll take that as a 'yes'. What shall we sing? A sea shanty? We're not at sea. Though you seem quite wet. Because of the blood! Sorry, that joke was a little close to the knuckle. If only the mug had been close to the knuckle. Right? Right? Yes. Then we wouldn't be in this situation. What shall we do with the Drunken Sailor? No, silly. I mean the song. There isn't actually a Drunken Sailor here. Not in the office. He wouldn't work in an office. Also, we have a strict alcohol policy. Oh dear. Your foil blanket-wrapper has torn. Oh. And now you've been sick. Well, I can start singing. And you can join in if you start to feel better. #What shall we so with the Drunken Sailor?! What shall we do with the Drunken Sailor?! What shall we do with the Drunken Sailor?! Ear-ly in the... # What's wrong? Don't be ridiculous! The impact was nowhere near your brain stem! Yes. Yes. I miss the old foil blankets too! I think we mentioned that before. Oh look, here's the ambulance. Oh. No. It's another leaf. Only joking! I was joking. Because, before... do you remember... before, I thought the ambulance was here, but it turned out to just be a leaf. So I was joking that I'd made the same mistake again! But I haven't; it actually is the ambulance. Try to not look too bad. You don't want to scare them. You've stopped shivering. That's good. Anyway, it was nice to meet you.
DON'T DIE ON ME, RICARDO!
Anyway, it was nice to meet you."
***
Just small talk.
If you know they breed carrier pigeons, for example, you can ask "How are the carrier pigeons?", "What have your pigeons been carrying?", or something similar.
But if you have no information whatsoever about their life or interests, your options are limited.
You can go for a question about football or television. But if they don't like football, or if they don't believe in television, you've lost them forever.
That's why the weather is such a popular conversation topic. You can be reasonably sure that everyone has experienced some weather in their life. Unless they live in a plastic bubble (in which case the opener "What's the deal with the bubble?" is available). So, your opening salvo might be:
"It's a bit chilly today, isn't it?"
They might disagree, but at least you've got the ball rolling. Sometimes I like to mix it up a little:
"How about that nitrogen, eh?"
or
"How long has it been since you saw a volcano?"
Just small talk. But it's not much fun.
I might start handing out questionnaires to everyone I meet, so I can get a sense of their interests. Questions can include 'Favourite Film', 'Favourite Band', 'Favourite Food', 'Stance on Immigration' etc.
Then I'd have a list of ready-made conversation-starters. I could just look at their answers.
"So... Ricardo," I could say, looking down at the form. "It says here you've been convicted of 'manslawter'. Can I assume from this that you are a poor speller? How's that working out for you?"
Or:
"So... Ricardo," (this is a different Ricardo) "Your favourite film is Phone Booth. That's an interesting choice. Oh, I see. It's not the Colin Farrell one. It's that documentary where someone keeps making nuisance phone calls to Connie Booth from Fawlty Towers. I haven't seen that. IS IT GOOD?"
If someone refused to fill out the questionnaire, even that would be a starting out point.
"So... Ricardo," (the first one again) "I see from your lack of answers that you don't like questionnaires. Is the reason for this: A) You feel they are invasive; B) You think it's odd for me to be doing this, as we've only just met; or C) You were abused as a child in a multiple-choice format."
[His answer would be B]
The questionnaire might be time-consuming to produce, and is possibly a waste of the office photocopier. But I've come up with a cheaper solution.
As soon as I'm introduced to someone, I'll hurl a mug at their face as hard as I can. That way, I'm sure to have something to talk to them about. Either:
"Wow, your reflexes are incredible!"
or
"I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I just wanted to get to know you better. The ambulance will be here soon. Just put pressure on it. Here, wrap this foil blanket round you. Ok, it's not technically a foil blanket. It's a Kit Kat wrapper. Yes, I miss the old ones too. More satisfying. Try to stay awake. You've lost a lot of blood. And I've lost a mug. Yes, I know it's not really the same. I was just empathising. You might look better with a different-shaped nose, anyway. Surgeons can do amazing things. Even on the NHS. Try to stay awake. I'm sure it does hurt. No, sorry, I finished the Kit Kat a while ago. Yes, I miss the old wrappers too. I mentioned it before. You seem a bit woozy. Why don't you have some coffee? Oh. Wait. It seems to have all gone. It must have spilled out when my mug shattered in your face. Oh. Yes. Now I understand. You're also badly scalded. At first I thought it was just the shards of enamel and bone piercing your skin. But it's also the hot coffee. My bad. Hey, I think that's the ambulance. Oh. No. It's just a leaf. Ha. Hahahaha. I thought it was an ambulance. But it's just a leaf. I don't know what I was thinking. Don't let your eyes roll back in your head. Well, ok, one can roll back. But not both. Why are you still shivering? What about the Kit Kat blanket? Shall we sing a song? I'll take that as a 'yes'. What shall we sing? A sea shanty? We're not at sea. Though you seem quite wet. Because of the blood! Sorry, that joke was a little close to the knuckle. If only the mug had been close to the knuckle. Right? Right? Yes. Then we wouldn't be in this situation. What shall we do with the Drunken Sailor? No, silly. I mean the song. There isn't actually a Drunken Sailor here. Not in the office. He wouldn't work in an office. Also, we have a strict alcohol policy. Oh dear. Your foil blanket-wrapper has torn. Oh. And now you've been sick. Well, I can start singing. And you can join in if you start to feel better. #What shall we so with the Drunken Sailor?! What shall we do with the Drunken Sailor?! What shall we do with the Drunken Sailor?! Ear-ly in the... # What's wrong? Don't be ridiculous! The impact was nowhere near your brain stem! Yes. Yes. I miss the old foil blankets too! I think we mentioned that before. Oh look, here's the ambulance. Oh. No. It's another leaf. Only joking! I was joking. Because, before... do you remember... before, I thought the ambulance was here, but it turned out to just be a leaf. So I was joking that I'd made the same mistake again! But I haven't; it actually is the ambulance. Try to not look too bad. You don't want to scare them. You've stopped shivering. That's good. Anyway, it was nice to meet you.
DON'T DIE ON ME, RICARDO!
Anyway, it was nice to meet you."
***
Just small talk.
Tuesday, 26 May 2009
Sir David Attenborough's Reward
Apparently David Attenborough has special privileges. And I don't think anyone would begrudge him that.
Because of his work in creating incredible television and raising awareness of a variety of wildlife, he is allowed to eat swans. It's just him and the Queen. Sometimes they go swanning together.
Swanning is an ancient ritual where you put your mouth around a swan's head, and attempt to ingest the bird only through suction (no chewing is allowed). I once saw the Queen Mother swanning. She tried to use the same tactic on a policeman, but was politely informed that swanning a living human person was outside of her remit.
Attenborough can also transport any plant or animal anywhere he likes.
Even Australasia, which has very stringent laws regarding the importing of foreign species, allows him to come and go as he pleases. Attenborough recently carried a wombat and a koala in an attaché case through Australian customs. The radiation from the x-ray scanners killed the creatures, but Attenborough wanted to keep the carcasses for an unknown purpose.
If he is not recognised, and is questioned about his living cargo, he shows the authorities a special ID card. The card is just a picture of his own face. It is respected by all governments on earth, even North Korea and The Republic of Santa Claus (in Southern California).
Once, he was seen attempting to throw grey squirrels onto Brownsea Island (from a yacht). The authorities could do nothing.
David Attenborough can take any object from any museum, no questions asked. He can even yank out a bone from a dinosaur skeleton and, provided he has his ID card, can keep it (even if the skeleton collapses on a visiting school party from the Netherlands).
Some people have asked why his ID card is necessary. "It's just a picture of his face," they say. "He already has an image of his own face. It's on the front of his head. It's his face. It is literally his face."
But the ID card is laminated.
Attenborough is also allowed to experiment on animals. He is known for his attempts at human flight. He tends to use severed birds' wings, attached to his arms with twine. His most successful attempt was using one albatross wing and one starling wing. Both on his right arm.
He flew forty centimetres.
I'm proud of Attenborough. I think he has done this country a lot of good, and deserves some special treatment.
To summarise, David Attenborough can:
1) Eat Swans
2) Transport Wildlife
3) Pillage Museums
4) Experiment on Animals
and finally:
5) He can use the phrase "Let's be Attenborough" instead of "Let's be 'avin' ya", and everyone must laugh and not look confused or anything.
As long as he shows his card.
Because of his work in creating incredible television and raising awareness of a variety of wildlife, he is allowed to eat swans. It's just him and the Queen. Sometimes they go swanning together.
Swanning is an ancient ritual where you put your mouth around a swan's head, and attempt to ingest the bird only through suction (no chewing is allowed). I once saw the Queen Mother swanning. She tried to use the same tactic on a policeman, but was politely informed that swanning a living human person was outside of her remit.
Attenborough can also transport any plant or animal anywhere he likes.
Even Australasia, which has very stringent laws regarding the importing of foreign species, allows him to come and go as he pleases. Attenborough recently carried a wombat and a koala in an attaché case through Australian customs. The radiation from the x-ray scanners killed the creatures, but Attenborough wanted to keep the carcasses for an unknown purpose.
If he is not recognised, and is questioned about his living cargo, he shows the authorities a special ID card. The card is just a picture of his own face. It is respected by all governments on earth, even North Korea and The Republic of Santa Claus (in Southern California).
Once, he was seen attempting to throw grey squirrels onto Brownsea Island (from a yacht). The authorities could do nothing.
David Attenborough can take any object from any museum, no questions asked. He can even yank out a bone from a dinosaur skeleton and, provided he has his ID card, can keep it (even if the skeleton collapses on a visiting school party from the Netherlands).
Some people have asked why his ID card is necessary. "It's just a picture of his face," they say. "He already has an image of his own face. It's on the front of his head. It's his face. It is literally his face."
But the ID card is laminated.
Attenborough is also allowed to experiment on animals. He is known for his attempts at human flight. He tends to use severed birds' wings, attached to his arms with twine. His most successful attempt was using one albatross wing and one starling wing. Both on his right arm.
He flew forty centimetres.
I'm proud of Attenborough. I think he has done this country a lot of good, and deserves some special treatment.
To summarise, David Attenborough can:
1) Eat Swans
2) Transport Wildlife
3) Pillage Museums
4) Experiment on Animals
and finally:
5) He can use the phrase "Let's be Attenborough" instead of "Let's be 'avin' ya", and everyone must laugh and not look confused or anything.
As long as he shows his card.
Wednesday, 20 May 2009
Pitcher
Photographers must get annoyed with new technology. It used to be a subtle art, requiring patience and technical expertise. Now any loser with a digital camera can open a basic bit of software, mess with some sliders, and produce something cool:
I suppose you can still tell what's genuinely good photography (and photographic alteration) if you're in the know. But for the layman, I'm a picture genius.
And that's what this blog is all about: for the layman, by the layman.
I suppose you can still tell what's genuinely good photography (and photographic alteration) if you're in the know. But for the layman, I'm a picture genius.
And that's what this blog is all about: for the layman, by the layman.
Youthful Discretion
I don't know why I've been having trouble writing things here lately. I suppose I haven't had as much time for one reason or another. There's no reason I couldn't just post a dialogue between two random objects. That's easy.
(Flannel: Hey
Egg-cup: What's up?
Flannel: Nothing much.
Egg-cup: Plans for today?
Flannel: I thought I might absorb some water. You?
Egg-cup: Well, I'd like to cup an egg. But some NIMROD keeps putting kiwi fruit in here.)
But I've been reluctant to launch into one of those. I suppose I want to write something interesting and profound. Like an essay about the Middle East. But I can't quite generate the momentum.
Yesterday I thought I had come up with something profound. It was about dying in dreams. You usually wake up after dying, as your brain can't deal with it. You've called reality's bluff. It shows there's an innate understanding that there is nothing outside of life.
But that's probably not that interesting. And probably false.
It would be ok if I had some anecdotes to fall back on. As I've mentioned before, I have no anecdotes. It's not really a complaint. I have a great time doing nothing. And I'd probably be annoyed if I met a lunatic in the street or was drawn into a hunt for a missing grandfather clock.
But maybe I should spend one day per month wandering around an unfamiliar city, dressed as a flamingo, just to have something to write about.
I've pondered talking about some incidents from when I was a child. I walked on a glacier in Canada. I got my finger stuck in a wooden toy railway track. I seem to recollect having a magic torch of some kind.
Maybe that will be something to think about for future posts. I'm sure I got into all kinds of japes and hijinx. It was like something from an Enid Blyton book - perpetual summer, building boats, shunning ethnics, eating picnics, evading paedophiles, playing Centipede on the Atari 5200, sleeping in treehouses, drinking ginger beer, watching Why Don't You?, drinking alcopops, catching smugglers.
In many ways they were the happiest days of my life.
My favourite Enid Blyton series was The Birmingham Six. Together with their dog, Scamper, they solved all kinds of problems. Mostly prison-based, as I recall.
I might write a series of children's books based around my own childhood. It could be called The Lonely One. Each book could deal with my attempts to solve the mystery of my own isolation. With my invisible dog: Scamper (who has since been put to sleep).
Wow, that got quite dark! None of that is true! (Except the glacier and train-track stories).
I had a very happy childhood. Blissfully eventless. Just like my life now.
I'd rather have a nap than an adventure.
Also, aren't the best adventures the ones that occur within your own consciousness? Aren't the greatest mysteries the ones concerning the very nature of existence? Isn't my realisation about death dreams a more exciting treasure than any amount of smugglers' gold?
Well?
Isn't it?
(Flannel: Hey
Egg-cup: What's up?
Flannel: Nothing much.
Egg-cup: Plans for today?
Flannel: I thought I might absorb some water. You?
Egg-cup: Well, I'd like to cup an egg. But some NIMROD keeps putting kiwi fruit in here.)
But I've been reluctant to launch into one of those. I suppose I want to write something interesting and profound. Like an essay about the Middle East. But I can't quite generate the momentum.
Yesterday I thought I had come up with something profound. It was about dying in dreams. You usually wake up after dying, as your brain can't deal with it. You've called reality's bluff. It shows there's an innate understanding that there is nothing outside of life.
But that's probably not that interesting. And probably false.
It would be ok if I had some anecdotes to fall back on. As I've mentioned before, I have no anecdotes. It's not really a complaint. I have a great time doing nothing. And I'd probably be annoyed if I met a lunatic in the street or was drawn into a hunt for a missing grandfather clock.
But maybe I should spend one day per month wandering around an unfamiliar city, dressed as a flamingo, just to have something to write about.
I've pondered talking about some incidents from when I was a child. I walked on a glacier in Canada. I got my finger stuck in a wooden toy railway track. I seem to recollect having a magic torch of some kind.
Maybe that will be something to think about for future posts. I'm sure I got into all kinds of japes and hijinx. It was like something from an Enid Blyton book - perpetual summer, building boats, shunning ethnics, eating picnics, evading paedophiles, playing Centipede on the Atari 5200, sleeping in treehouses, drinking ginger beer, watching Why Don't You?, drinking alcopops, catching smugglers.
In many ways they were the happiest days of my life.
My favourite Enid Blyton series was The Birmingham Six. Together with their dog, Scamper, they solved all kinds of problems. Mostly prison-based, as I recall.
I might write a series of children's books based around my own childhood. It could be called The Lonely One. Each book could deal with my attempts to solve the mystery of my own isolation. With my invisible dog: Scamper (who has since been put to sleep).
Wow, that got quite dark! None of that is true! (Except the glacier and train-track stories).
I had a very happy childhood. Blissfully eventless. Just like my life now.
I'd rather have a nap than an adventure.
Also, aren't the best adventures the ones that occur within your own consciousness? Aren't the greatest mysteries the ones concerning the very nature of existence? Isn't my realisation about death dreams a more exciting treasure than any amount of smugglers' gold?
Well?
Isn't it?
Tuesday, 19 May 2009
Intermission
I'm really sorry for the current blog-drought. I'm sure I'll have time to write something interesting soon. In the meantime, here's a picture of some moss:
Thursday, 14 May 2009
Stand-Up - Baby Simple, Oxford 31/03/09
It's finally here! I'm sure the anticipation has been killing you. My stand-up videos from the end of March are in the can (on Youtube).
The video skips a little bit at places, and the aspect ratio got a bit screwed up when I converted the file type. I don't think anything too significant is missed. If there's anything that seems really stupid or obvious or unfunny, let's just assume it refers to something else that happened on the night, and is actually really good.
Yes. Let's assume that.
My comments are below.
I wrote about this briefly before. I thought this was my favourite one so far. I was very much unprepared (as is evident from my cheat-sheet), but I felt quite relaxed and was able to improvise quite a bit.
I wish I'd thought more about my wardrobe choices though. Perhaps some tweed for next time.
I was also worried by the fact that I enjoyed putting together the few seconds of LEDs at the end of the first video as much as I did performing. Maybe I should be an editor instead of a comedian. As long as the things I worked on weren't more than a few seconds long.
How about a competition? If anyone can tell me what the music was that accompanies that few seconds of lights, I will give you a special prize. A signed picture of me or something.
***
On the other side of the comedy coin was the video of April's performance. I received it at the same time as March's, but you'll notice it is conspicuously absent from this blog.
It wasn't good. I wrote about why last month.
Luckily, in addition to being quite rubbish, I also looked terrible on the video, thus confirming that I shouldn't post it here.
My face does not do well if shot in close-up. My face is big enough as it is. I have about 35% more face than is necessary. In close-up, it looks like a ghoulish Little Nemo moon. I know I shouldn't judge these videos by my appearance (if I did, none of them would get shown). But this was the ugly cherry on top of the awkward cake.
I think it's good not to show every one of my performances. The beauty of stand-up is in its ephemeracy.
(I don't know if that's a word. Well, it is now.)
That's all I got.
The video skips a little bit at places, and the aspect ratio got a bit screwed up when I converted the file type. I don't think anything too significant is missed. If there's anything that seems really stupid or obvious or unfunny, let's just assume it refers to something else that happened on the night, and is actually really good.
Yes. Let's assume that.
My comments are below.
I wrote about this briefly before. I thought this was my favourite one so far. I was very much unprepared (as is evident from my cheat-sheet), but I felt quite relaxed and was able to improvise quite a bit.
I wish I'd thought more about my wardrobe choices though. Perhaps some tweed for next time.
I was also worried by the fact that I enjoyed putting together the few seconds of LEDs at the end of the first video as much as I did performing. Maybe I should be an editor instead of a comedian. As long as the things I worked on weren't more than a few seconds long.
How about a competition? If anyone can tell me what the music was that accompanies that few seconds of lights, I will give you a special prize. A signed picture of me or something.
***
On the other side of the comedy coin was the video of April's performance. I received it at the same time as March's, but you'll notice it is conspicuously absent from this blog.
It wasn't good. I wrote about why last month.
Luckily, in addition to being quite rubbish, I also looked terrible on the video, thus confirming that I shouldn't post it here.
My face does not do well if shot in close-up. My face is big enough as it is. I have about 35% more face than is necessary. In close-up, it looks like a ghoulish Little Nemo moon. I know I shouldn't judge these videos by my appearance (if I did, none of them would get shown). But this was the ugly cherry on top of the awkward cake.
I think it's good not to show every one of my performances. The beauty of stand-up is in its ephemeracy.
(I don't know if that's a word. Well, it is now.)
That's all I got.
Wednesday, 13 May 2009
Life is incomplete without the
We went to the cinema to see The Big Lebowski last night. There were lots of White Russians on show (the drink, rather than the race), and lots of slightly nerdy-looking twenty-something men (of which I was a proud member).
I still maintain that the film is severely underrated. It belongs in the pantheon of truly great comedies. It's well paced, packed with great scenes, and is beautifully shot.
Annoyingly, it was just a DVD projection (as was evident by the technical fault in the middle, where the player stopped, and the 'projectionist' had to labouriously search for the right place to resume). When we saw Back to the Future at the Picturehouse in Exeter, is was a beautiful scuzzy, crackly film print.
Lebowski was still great, though. There's always something new to find.
It means that I've now seen four of my top five films at the cinema, which I'm quite pleased with.
I've probably listed them before, but here they are again:
60s: The Graduate
70s: The Godfather Part II
80s: Back to the Future II
90s: The Big Lebowski
00s: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
I've seen them all at the cinema except The Graduate (although I also only saw the first BTTF, but I think that should count).
I'm trying to expand my top five into a top ten. There are some obvious choices to fill out the list:
The Apartment
The Conversation
And some strong possibilities:
Dog Day Afternoon
Once Upon A Time in America
I also feel I should include some more fun ones (Die Hard or Con Air maybe).
I'll keep working at it.
It's important. What if someone asks me my top 10 films, and I don't have a ready response? I'd probably have to kill myself.
Of the ones I've suggested, most of them have the word 'the' in it. I sure like me some 'the'.
This entry has been interesting to no-one, but I'm worried that my posts are becoming too infrequent. So, whereas I'd usually just delete this, I'll probably post it anyway.
Maybe, if I just keep on typing, something interesting will emerge out of all this.
I ate an apple earlier.
(No, nothing there.)
I got the bus into work this morning.
(Still no luck.)
I ate an apple earlier.
(Well now you're just repeating yourself.)
I ate a bus this morning.
(That's not even remotely plausible.)
I got a tattoo at the weekend.
(Did you?)
I got a tattoo at the weekend.
(Did you?)
I...
(You didn't get a tattoo at the weekend.)
An apple tattoo.
(You didn't get an apple tattoo at the weekend, did you?)
...
(Well?)
No.
(No. You didn't.)
Sorry.
(That's ok. Just try not to lie.)
Hmm.
(What?)
Nothing.
(What is it?)
I...
(You didn't even eat an apple earlier, did you?)
*sniff*
(There's no need to cry. Did you eat an apple?)
No.
(You don't need to do this to yourself.)
I know...
(Did you even get the bus?)
I don't want to talk about it...
***
Well, that was something.
I still maintain that the film is severely underrated. It belongs in the pantheon of truly great comedies. It's well paced, packed with great scenes, and is beautifully shot.
Annoyingly, it was just a DVD projection (as was evident by the technical fault in the middle, where the player stopped, and the 'projectionist' had to labouriously search for the right place to resume). When we saw Back to the Future at the Picturehouse in Exeter, is was a beautiful scuzzy, crackly film print.
Lebowski was still great, though. There's always something new to find.
It means that I've now seen four of my top five films at the cinema, which I'm quite pleased with.
I've probably listed them before, but here they are again:
60s: The Graduate
70s: The Godfather Part II
80s: Back to the Future II
90s: The Big Lebowski
00s: Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind
I've seen them all at the cinema except The Graduate (although I also only saw the first BTTF, but I think that should count).
I'm trying to expand my top five into a top ten. There are some obvious choices to fill out the list:
The Apartment
The Conversation
And some strong possibilities:
Dog Day Afternoon
Once Upon A Time in America
I also feel I should include some more fun ones (Die Hard or Con Air maybe).
I'll keep working at it.
It's important. What if someone asks me my top 10 films, and I don't have a ready response? I'd probably have to kill myself.
Of the ones I've suggested, most of them have the word 'the' in it. I sure like me some 'the'.
This entry has been interesting to no-one, but I'm worried that my posts are becoming too infrequent. So, whereas I'd usually just delete this, I'll probably post it anyway.
Maybe, if I just keep on typing, something interesting will emerge out of all this.
I ate an apple earlier.
(No, nothing there.)
I got the bus into work this morning.
(Still no luck.)
I ate an apple earlier.
(Well now you're just repeating yourself.)
I ate a bus this morning.
(That's not even remotely plausible.)
I got a tattoo at the weekend.
(Did you?)
I got a tattoo at the weekend.
(Did you?)
I...
(You didn't get a tattoo at the weekend.)
An apple tattoo.
(You didn't get an apple tattoo at the weekend, did you?)
...
(Well?)
No.
(No. You didn't.)
Sorry.
(That's ok. Just try not to lie.)
Hmm.
(What?)
Nothing.
(What is it?)
I...
(You didn't even eat an apple earlier, did you?)
*sniff*
(There's no need to cry. Did you eat an apple?)
No.
(You don't need to do this to yourself.)
I know...
(Did you even get the bus?)
I don't want to talk about it...
***
Well, that was something.
Saturday, 9 May 2009
This could be 氣
I wish I had a piano.
It would have to be a grand piano, I think. I want to convey ostentatious wealth. An upright piano is more closely associated with the ramshackle Victorian house of an eccentric geography teacher.
If I had a piano, I could use it to punctuate my speech. I'd be giving a rousing oratory on the Middle East or Derrida, and would then hammer out a chord to prove my point.
"... an analyis of language that has tremendous implications for our conception of the world!"
G#
Also, I could dance seductively on top of it, possibly wearing a skimpy red evening gown, writhing, as though electrocuted with erotic current.
In our flat at the moment, the lectures and evening dress seem out of place; unsettling, even.
I'd also like an umbrella rack and a safe.
And a little train I could ride around the house. Is that too much to ask?
Is even asking if it's too much to ask too much to ask?
What about the above question?
Is this going to turn into an infinite inquisitive regress?
No. Apparently not.
There's not really enough room for a grand piano in our flat. I'd have to sleep on it. I fear a sleeping bag would muffle the tone of the instrument. Also, the keys would give me odd dreams full of moral certainty. Unless I had grey keys fitted.
'Key' is a very interesting word. It has loads of meanings. I'll get Lucy to look up the exact etymology (she works on the OED, I'm not just getting her to perform tasks).
[By the way, you should all read her latest journal which, as usual, is excellent!]
Key is a musical term (both in instruments and a description of musical tone), an object used to unlock things (or lock them, if you're a pessimist), as something that is the most important thing. And of course, I'm using keys to write this.
It's apparently Old English, but I'd like to know how it became used for so many things. It seems like they all refer to things that are used for a purpose. They are all tools to achieve something further, be it a musical note, a letter, or understanding itself.
The key is a means to an end.
Although it would mean abandoning even the semblance of realistic linguistic connections, we could also look at the Chinese 'Qi'. I'm pretty sure it's pronounced 'Chi', but still... it would be good if there was some kind of connection. Qi can refer to an inner force. I'm sure Qi is key to understanding life.
Perhaps a true understanding of the word 'key' is integral to unlocking the secrets of the universe.
Probably not. Interesting, though!
We've been listening to lots of old Russell Brand podcasts, so please forgive my elevated diction. I'm sure it's just temporary.
To make this ramble worthwhile, here's a very funny bit from Look Around You: the funniest key-related video I could think of. Unfortunately, I couldn't find just the bit I wanted, but you can see it at 5:42 if you like (though the whole thing is great!):
It would have to be a grand piano, I think. I want to convey ostentatious wealth. An upright piano is more closely associated with the ramshackle Victorian house of an eccentric geography teacher.
If I had a piano, I could use it to punctuate my speech. I'd be giving a rousing oratory on the Middle East or Derrida, and would then hammer out a chord to prove my point.
"... an analyis of language that has tremendous implications for our conception of the world!"
G#
Also, I could dance seductively on top of it, possibly wearing a skimpy red evening gown, writhing, as though electrocuted with erotic current.
In our flat at the moment, the lectures and evening dress seem out of place; unsettling, even.
I'd also like an umbrella rack and a safe.
And a little train I could ride around the house. Is that too much to ask?
Is even asking if it's too much to ask too much to ask?
What about the above question?
Is this going to turn into an infinite inquisitive regress?
No. Apparently not.
There's not really enough room for a grand piano in our flat. I'd have to sleep on it. I fear a sleeping bag would muffle the tone of the instrument. Also, the keys would give me odd dreams full of moral certainty. Unless I had grey keys fitted.
'Key' is a very interesting word. It has loads of meanings. I'll get Lucy to look up the exact etymology (she works on the OED, I'm not just getting her to perform tasks).
[By the way, you should all read her latest journal which, as usual, is excellent!]
Key is a musical term (both in instruments and a description of musical tone), an object used to unlock things (or lock them, if you're a pessimist), as something that is the most important thing. And of course, I'm using keys to write this.
It's apparently Old English, but I'd like to know how it became used for so many things. It seems like they all refer to things that are used for a purpose. They are all tools to achieve something further, be it a musical note, a letter, or understanding itself.
The key is a means to an end.
Although it would mean abandoning even the semblance of realistic linguistic connections, we could also look at the Chinese 'Qi'. I'm pretty sure it's pronounced 'Chi', but still... it would be good if there was some kind of connection. Qi can refer to an inner force. I'm sure Qi is key to understanding life.
Perhaps a true understanding of the word 'key' is integral to unlocking the secrets of the universe.
Probably not. Interesting, though!
We've been listening to lots of old Russell Brand podcasts, so please forgive my elevated diction. I'm sure it's just temporary.
To make this ramble worthwhile, here's a very funny bit from Look Around You: the funniest key-related video I could think of. Unfortunately, I couldn't find just the bit I wanted, but you can see it at 5:42 if you like (though the whole thing is great!):
Hafnium Aspirations
The weekend at the end of a week's holiday becomes one giant Sunday. I feel like I want to hang on to my free time for as long as possible. The best way to do it is to do very little. Time passes more slowly when it's devoid of activity. If a watched pot never boils, I can just make sure I watch it continually - that way Monday will never come.
It would be a waste of electricity to keep boiling water. Although I'm not sure how energy consumption works if time stands still. Do I still get charged for units used? Do I still have to pay rent for the extra time? Or is everything frozen and free?
Time is a tricky beast. It's really the one area of existence that human knowledge can't control. The progress of science allows us to gain a greater understanding of genetics and physics. We can devise experiments that test these things, we can alter the fabric of objects and living creatures. But we are totally impotent when it comes to time.
The only way to impact upon time is to create art. Because time flies when you're having fun.
Being entertained is the temporal equivalent of scientific research. So, in many ways, listening to Ben Kweller and playing Minesweeper is as important as looking for a cancer cure.
I'm a pioneer. But where's my Nobel Prize? The Nobel Prize for Fun?
In truth, I probably wouldn't be a contender. There are loads of people who have more fun than me. Mostly bubbly blonde girls, who communicate in ultrasonic screams. They're always drinking and laughing and dancing.
That's too much fun, if you ask me.
It's the fun equivalent of candy-floss - it hurts my teeth.
I do like fun, but not too much. Too much fun begins to grate. I don't want to live in a perpetual club night. It's more pleasant to be in the dark sometimes.
Also, Mark E Smith could never be described as 'fun'.
I'm cursed in that regard, because my surname is 'Fung'. You can't spell Fung without Fun. I've tried, believe me.
"Hey I bet he's a Fung guy!" they say, sometimes, in dreams.
You can't spell my name without 'un' either, which has given me an innate sense of self-contradiction.
And you can't spell my name without 'ng'. Which is the chemical symbol for Norwegium. Not even a real element - a Scandinavian scam. A ScanScam.
But I'm probably over-analysing it. What's in a name, after all? A Fung by any other name would smell as sweet (ie not that sweet).
Well, this blog entry has been very interesting. Just writing it has made my remaining time seem all the more interminable.
Also, I now have a freshly boiled pot of water for doing some potatoes.
It would be a waste of electricity to keep boiling water. Although I'm not sure how energy consumption works if time stands still. Do I still get charged for units used? Do I still have to pay rent for the extra time? Or is everything frozen and free?
Time is a tricky beast. It's really the one area of existence that human knowledge can't control. The progress of science allows us to gain a greater understanding of genetics and physics. We can devise experiments that test these things, we can alter the fabric of objects and living creatures. But we are totally impotent when it comes to time.
The only way to impact upon time is to create art. Because time flies when you're having fun.
Being entertained is the temporal equivalent of scientific research. So, in many ways, listening to Ben Kweller and playing Minesweeper is as important as looking for a cancer cure.
I'm a pioneer. But where's my Nobel Prize? The Nobel Prize for Fun?
In truth, I probably wouldn't be a contender. There are loads of people who have more fun than me. Mostly bubbly blonde girls, who communicate in ultrasonic screams. They're always drinking and laughing and dancing.
That's too much fun, if you ask me.
It's the fun equivalent of candy-floss - it hurts my teeth.
I do like fun, but not too much. Too much fun begins to grate. I don't want to live in a perpetual club night. It's more pleasant to be in the dark sometimes.
Also, Mark E Smith could never be described as 'fun'.
I'm cursed in that regard, because my surname is 'Fung'. You can't spell Fung without Fun. I've tried, believe me.
"Hey I bet he's a Fung guy!" they say, sometimes, in dreams.
You can't spell my name without 'un' either, which has given me an innate sense of self-contradiction.
And you can't spell my name without 'ng'. Which is the chemical symbol for Norwegium. Not even a real element - a Scandinavian scam. A ScanScam.
But I'm probably over-analysing it. What's in a name, after all? A Fung by any other name would smell as sweet (ie not that sweet).
Well, this blog entry has been very interesting. Just writing it has made my remaining time seem all the more interminable.
Also, I now have a freshly boiled pot of water for doing some potatoes.
Tuesday, 5 May 2009
Monday, 4 May 2009
With great flour (and yeast), comes great responsibility.
God bless the internet and all who sail in her!
It's a very special thing, and deserves to be toasted (in the champagne sense, rather than the crumpet sense).
[The 'crumpet-sense' was a rubbish superpower. No wonder the Crumpet-Man comicbook only lasted 8 issues. #Crumpet-Man, Crumpet-Man, does whatever a crumpet can#. It was ill-conceived. The first five issues saw him slowly absorbing butter.]
Our Freeview box/DVR thing froze up yesterday. Despite my best efforts to fix it (unplugging it, then plugging it in again; smashing the remote; utilising shamanistic chants etc), it stayed frozen.
In the old days, I'd probably have to take it somewhere to get fixed. Or phone up some kind of help-line. Either way, I'd have to speak to someone - which I try to avoid at all costs.
But in this wonder-age, I just looked it up online. All over the country, all over the world, people had been having the same problem. The orange light. And the blinking other lights.
It was a shared experience. I felt like I really could be part of a Jungian collective unconscious - albeit one based on substandard electrical goods.
There was a solution, and I used it. The box now seems to be ok (touch cyber-wood).
I'm glad that there is a global communication network. As well as solving problems, it allows people with niche interests - people who previously would have felt isolated and freakish - to find out that they're not alone.
I wonder how many serial killers and maniacs would have been stopped in their tracks if they'd just been able to vent on message boards instead of murdering. You can tell that there are a lot of maniacs online now (see the comments on any Youtube video for examples). I'm glad they let off steam by abusing strangers and voicing 9/11 conspiracy theories, rather than through ethnic cleansing. Ethnic cleansing is really just a cry for help.
If the internet had been around in the 1920s, Hitler might have gone on anti-semitic chat rooms, and led a normal life in the real world.
Of course, there are still nutcases who use the internet and kill people. So my point is probably invalid.
Still, it's good to have an outlet through this blog to reach people all over the world. Even if I haven't really thought things through.
I may be wasting everyone's time, but I haven't been doing any ethnic cleansing. And I think we can all take comfort in that.
Due to my exotic heritage, I sometimes wonder if having a shower constitutes ethnic cleansing.
I also wonder if you could be considered genocidal if you only murdered women called Jen.
I bet there's someone - in Paraguay or Linlithgow - who has been wondering the same thing. And now they feel bonded to the world: the collective unconscious caresses us all with its spongy tendrils.
Jung must be looking down on us now, feeling slightly confused.
It's a very special thing, and deserves to be toasted (in the champagne sense, rather than the crumpet sense).
[The 'crumpet-sense' was a rubbish superpower. No wonder the Crumpet-Man comicbook only lasted 8 issues. #Crumpet-Man, Crumpet-Man, does whatever a crumpet can#. It was ill-conceived. The first five issues saw him slowly absorbing butter.]
Our Freeview box/DVR thing froze up yesterday. Despite my best efforts to fix it (unplugging it, then plugging it in again; smashing the remote; utilising shamanistic chants etc), it stayed frozen.
In the old days, I'd probably have to take it somewhere to get fixed. Or phone up some kind of help-line. Either way, I'd have to speak to someone - which I try to avoid at all costs.
But in this wonder-age, I just looked it up online. All over the country, all over the world, people had been having the same problem. The orange light. And the blinking other lights.
It was a shared experience. I felt like I really could be part of a Jungian collective unconscious - albeit one based on substandard electrical goods.
There was a solution, and I used it. The box now seems to be ok (touch cyber-wood).
I'm glad that there is a global communication network. As well as solving problems, it allows people with niche interests - people who previously would have felt isolated and freakish - to find out that they're not alone.
I wonder how many serial killers and maniacs would have been stopped in their tracks if they'd just been able to vent on message boards instead of murdering. You can tell that there are a lot of maniacs online now (see the comments on any Youtube video for examples). I'm glad they let off steam by abusing strangers and voicing 9/11 conspiracy theories, rather than through ethnic cleansing. Ethnic cleansing is really just a cry for help.
If the internet had been around in the 1920s, Hitler might have gone on anti-semitic chat rooms, and led a normal life in the real world.
Of course, there are still nutcases who use the internet and kill people. So my point is probably invalid.
Still, it's good to have an outlet through this blog to reach people all over the world. Even if I haven't really thought things through.
I may be wasting everyone's time, but I haven't been doing any ethnic cleansing. And I think we can all take comfort in that.
Due to my exotic heritage, I sometimes wonder if having a shower constitutes ethnic cleansing.
I also wonder if you could be considered genocidal if you only murdered women called Jen.
I bet there's someone - in Paraguay or Linlithgow - who has been wondering the same thing. And now they feel bonded to the world: the collective unconscious caresses us all with its spongy tendrils.
Jung must be looking down on us now, feeling slightly confused.
Sunday, 3 May 2009
Gleanliness is next to Godliness
I've taken next week off work. It's the first full week's holiday I've had since Christmas, and is well needed. Hopefully it won't stop me from regularly updating this blog.
I considered keeping a daily Holiday Journal like I did last summer, but decided against it. We're just staying at home this time, so don't have the benefit of unfamiliar surroundings to mask the mundanity.
At least in Sidmouth, if I had an anecdote about seeing a bird, or looking for a pen, I could create an air of intrigue by mentioning it had happened near a beach. Beaches make everything more exciting. If you're on the coast, you're literally living on the edge. 50% of all people who live in coastal towns end up drowned. It's the price you have to pay for so many ice-cream vendors.
In Oxford, we're about as far from the coast as it's possible to be. Far from the edge. If I drown, it would have to be down to my own carelessness (like searching for a coin in the toilet and getting stuck) or some kind of foul play.
But I'm glad I don't live on the edge. The security of my geographical life provides an anchor for me to explore the vast dimensions of consciousness and human potential. I live on the mental edge.
People who live in Poole (to take a notorious example) aren't free to think about the nature of life, or cosmology, or evolution. They're too busy preparing sandbags in case of a flood alert.
Whereas I'm allowed free reign. It's this freedom that allows me to do what I'm doing now: writing a blog entry, listening to The Rolling Stones, wearing no trousers, straining my eyes in a dimly-lit room (as I'm too lazy to replace one of the bulbs), and reaching important realisations.
It's a noble quest. I think Socrates did this kind of thing. He almost certainly wouldn't wear trousers.
So I suppose I should impart some wisdom that I've gleaned. I don't glean often, but when I do glean: I glean. Here's what I've learned today:
1) The Departed is a decent film, but not that great
2) Lucy's lasagne is top-notch
3) It's impossible to absolutely finish all the washing-up
That's it. A noble quest, as I said.
***
I wish could use those three asterisks in real life.
Whenever I was boring myself, or digging myself deeper into a conversational quagmire, I could just hold up three asterisks and we could all move on.
I'd have to do them simultaneously, or they'd think I was referencing a footnote. And I'd have to get a friend to stand at the end of the room with a corresponding asterisk, ready to fill them in on the extra information. He could be dressed as Asterix, just to add an extra layer of confusion to the whole affair.
***
I should probably stop now. This evening isn't going to waste itself!
I considered keeping a daily Holiday Journal like I did last summer, but decided against it. We're just staying at home this time, so don't have the benefit of unfamiliar surroundings to mask the mundanity.
At least in Sidmouth, if I had an anecdote about seeing a bird, or looking for a pen, I could create an air of intrigue by mentioning it had happened near a beach. Beaches make everything more exciting. If you're on the coast, you're literally living on the edge. 50% of all people who live in coastal towns end up drowned. It's the price you have to pay for so many ice-cream vendors.
In Oxford, we're about as far from the coast as it's possible to be. Far from the edge. If I drown, it would have to be down to my own carelessness (like searching for a coin in the toilet and getting stuck) or some kind of foul play.
But I'm glad I don't live on the edge. The security of my geographical life provides an anchor for me to explore the vast dimensions of consciousness and human potential. I live on the mental edge.
People who live in Poole (to take a notorious example) aren't free to think about the nature of life, or cosmology, or evolution. They're too busy preparing sandbags in case of a flood alert.
Whereas I'm allowed free reign. It's this freedom that allows me to do what I'm doing now: writing a blog entry, listening to The Rolling Stones, wearing no trousers, straining my eyes in a dimly-lit room (as I'm too lazy to replace one of the bulbs), and reaching important realisations.
It's a noble quest. I think Socrates did this kind of thing. He almost certainly wouldn't wear trousers.
So I suppose I should impart some wisdom that I've gleaned. I don't glean often, but when I do glean: I glean. Here's what I've learned today:
1) The Departed is a decent film, but not that great
2) Lucy's lasagne is top-notch
3) It's impossible to absolutely finish all the washing-up
That's it. A noble quest, as I said.
***
I wish could use those three asterisks in real life.
Whenever I was boring myself, or digging myself deeper into a conversational quagmire, I could just hold up three asterisks and we could all move on.
I'd have to do them simultaneously, or they'd think I was referencing a footnote. And I'd have to get a friend to stand at the end of the room with a corresponding asterisk, ready to fill them in on the extra information. He could be dressed as Asterix, just to add an extra layer of confusion to the whole affair.
***
I should probably stop now. This evening isn't going to waste itself!
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