It takes a big man to admit when he's wrong.
It takes a big woman to admit when a big man is wrong.
It takes a small dog to catch a fly.
It takes two to tango.
It takes a big man to tango with a small dog for anyone to complain.
It takes with one hand and gives with the other. A big man's hand.
It takes time.
A big woman takes time from a fly, whilst having fun.
It takes just one man to stand-up and say to the big man: "Sit down! I can't see!"
***
INTERLUDE:
Paul left his fingers hovering over the keyboard for a few seconds. He didn't want to break the spell. But it was time for a break, and he knew it.
He smiled. It was a satisfied smile; one born of the knowledge that an artistic miracle has taken place.
He scrolled to the top of the blog window, to look over his triumph.
"Yes," he thought. "Yes. This is a good thing to write. It makes sense. It's funny and moving. It's clever without being pompous. Yes."
He cracked his knuckles and knuckled his cracks.
"One of the best," he said to himself, internally. He re-read the line "It takes a small dog to catch a fly", and pounded the desk with satisfaction. "Yes! Perfect! Perfect!"
It would take a lot to beat that. But he had to give it a try. One swig of Diet Coke, and then back on the horse (not heroin).
END INTERLUDE
***
You can't be serious.
You can't squeeze blood from a stone.
You can't make a silken purse out of a sow's ear.
Or a stone.
You can't make a silken purse out of a stone.
...
You CAN squeeze blood from a sow's ear.
You can't judge a book by its cover.
You can't judge An Oxford Companion to Pig Parts out of a stone purse.
You can't be John McEnroe.
You can't! You just can't!
(Unless you are. Good afternoon, Mr McEnroe)
You can't beat it.
You can't argue with that.
You can't stand it.
You can't stand loosing.
You can't stand-up, once again, repeating your request to the oblivious big man.
***
INTERLUDE 2:
Paul made himself laugh, then vomit, then laugh again.
"Who could have seen that coming?" he asked himself, externally. "A callback to the big man!"
He stood up and did a little victorious dance. He'd written good blog posts before. God knows he had. He's done one that was just a picture of moss. He'd written a haiku about Bertolli spread. But this...!
This was something else.
A pigeon landed near-by. A message from (the) God(s), perhaps?
Paul chuckled. He was in the zone.
He looked around.
Yes.
Yes, this is the zone. It's clearly the zone. That chair, that brick, that pigeon: sure-fire zone-indicators.
He wiggled his fingers above the keyboard, as though performing some sort of gypsy curse, then the dance began once more...
END INTERLUDE
***
Nothing's guaranteed.
Nothing left to lose.
Nothing beneath the surface.
Nothing's guaranteed beneath the surface - except nothing.
Nothing wrong with that!
Nothing would make me happier.
Nothing could have prepared me.
Nothing out of the ordinary.
Nothing...
Nothing...
***
INTERLUDE 3:
Paul froze.
A momentary blip. Surely.
Nothing was coming to him. But not enough, not enough...
The pigeon was still there, but with none of its former vigour. Just dead eyes. Nothing there. Just... pity?
"No," said Paul, fingering a desk apple. "I'm still in the zone. I'll be back there soon. I just need to keep going!"
The pigeon turned away.
END INTERLUDE
***
You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar.
You can catch a.... a....
a cold.
You can catch me if you can.
YES! That's it!
You can catch me if you... if you're...
if you're cold.
You can catch a fly.
...
A cold fly
***
INTERLUDE 4:
And then it was all over.
Paul knew it. He sucked a bloody-bitten thumb (his).
The zone had fallen apart like so much paper zone.
The pigeon had gone. The fire had gone. His fingers lingered over the keys. No longer poised with electric potential, but swinging ominously like hanged men.
His bloated digits lolloped to the mouse, fumbling towards the 'Publish Post' button.
Just time to cough up one last chunk of hubris.
END INTERLUDE
***
Look before you leap.
Friday, 26 February 2010
Thursday, 25 February 2010
Take Your Pictorial
I have a day off, so I'm going to try to fill this blog post with things that can only be reasonably done at home. Here's a picture of me, taken about 30 seconds ago (or longer, depending on when you read this):
Don't let the expression fool you; I'm in a good mood. I just don't like to smile in photos, as I look like a split conker.
I seem to have a small tuft of hair sticking up. Or perhaps it is the silhouette of a tiny gopher.
In case you're interested (and I'm sure you are), the picture hanging on the wall is a print of Van Gogh's The Church at Auvers:
Also, in case you're interested, the door behind me is the door to our living room:
It is a white door, open, with a green towel hanging on it to dry.
In case you're interested, my shirt is a grey shirt. I think it came from Next:
It has buttons on the front, and a sleeve for each arm.
In case you're wondering what that bright light is in the background of the shirt picture, it's the sun:
The sun is the a big hot ball that also generates light. Although it is quite far away (over 800 miles), the light is strong enough to come through our living room window and illuminate my shirt etc.
It has taken me several hours to complete this post. This is what I look like now:
Good day.
Don't let the expression fool you; I'm in a good mood. I just don't like to smile in photos, as I look like a split conker.I seem to have a small tuft of hair sticking up. Or perhaps it is the silhouette of a tiny gopher.
In case you're interested (and I'm sure you are), the picture hanging on the wall is a print of Van Gogh's The Church at Auvers:
Also, in case you're interested, the door behind me is the door to our living room:
It is a white door, open, with a green towel hanging on it to dry.In case you're interested, my shirt is a grey shirt. I think it came from Next:
It has buttons on the front, and a sleeve for each arm.
In case you're wondering what that bright light is in the background of the shirt picture, it's the sun:
The sun is the a big hot ball that also generates light. Although it is quite far away (over 800 miles), the light is strong enough to come through our living room window and illuminate my shirt etc.It has taken me several hours to complete this post. This is what I look like now:
Good day.
Tuesday, 23 February 2010
All Over The Place
David Mitchell is something of a hero of mine.
I don't think I am (or could be) very much like him, but I respect him and wish I had his job. He seems to be totally sensible and reasonable, and despite doing lots of stuff, still has a very high success rate in terms of quality comedy.
In an interview with Time Out, he beautifully articulates a point that I've been thinking about and obsessing over for ages:
'One of the things that makes me angry is people thoughtlessly dismissing what is a broadly functional society. That sort of lazy internet cynicism is maddening – people with no historical sense of quite how miserable and inept most regimes in most periods of history have been, and here we are, with street lighting and the vote and sewers and all sorts of amazing things. In the overall scheme of things, we need to thank our lucky stars.’
Well said, sir.
I always want to write a long blog about that, but can never seem to manage it. Maybe I should plan it first.
I never planned essays or exams at school. Not out of any noble pursuit of spontaneous self-expression, but out of boredom. I didn't want to write about boring shit in the first place, let alone conduct a shit inventory, lay it all out in neat rows, and meticulously check my shit before diving in.
I'm not down with that shit.
(I've probably said 'shit' too much for one blog post. I'll try to avoid it from now on.)
So the topics I'd like to cover in this never-to-be-written blog post include the following:
- There's no place for optimism in the world (both the Left and the Right disdain it)
- Everyone thinks the period in which they're living is hugely significant
- People always think TV, music, art, are suddenly in decline, and that there was a golden age at some point (music was at its peak when you were 17, and nothing since has been any good)
- Stewart Lee (for all his genius) constantly espouses the above opinion
- The nerdish internet community is obsessed with privacy, government surveillance, conspiracy, 1984, but doesn't seem to care about people (a lot of their concerns are justified, but the attitude is repellent to me)
- the same left-leaning bloggers/commenters are political libertarians (a position I share), but have the same overwhelming self-interest of economic libertarians
- too many people (of all political hues) suffer from a lack of empathy (expressed through disgusting tabloids, hatred of criminals/outsiders, closed-mindedness)
- If you're Right-Wing, you have to be stupid and evil, but it can be in any ratio: you can be really stupid and not that evil, or really clever and exceedingly evil
- Having said that, I don't believe 'evil' exists, morality is ultimately subjective, and the world is essentially deterministic
And that is why it will never be written.
The trouble is, all my theories on the world bleed into other theories. My entire conception of life is all interlinked. If I pull on one thread, everything will unravel.
My conversations always go through the same process, through the same steps, and usually ends up with a discussion of evolution.
In short: I'm a pretentious idiot.
I'm interested in lots of stuff, but I'm not dedicated enough to turn it into something coherent.
So I get away with it by presenting it in short-form: rambling and self-deprecating, so I can have my lazy cake, and eat it (in a hammock).
It's like when I think of an offensive joke. Sometimes instead of just saying it, I'll soften the blow by starting: "I was going to say..."
As though I was showing restraint. But of course by even mentioning the joke, I show that I have none.
This has been quite ramshackle. For that I apologise. I'm sure my next entry will be exactly the kind of tightly-constructed, finely-tuned treatise that has made this blog such a rousing success.
I don't think I am (or could be) very much like him, but I respect him and wish I had his job. He seems to be totally sensible and reasonable, and despite doing lots of stuff, still has a very high success rate in terms of quality comedy.
In an interview with Time Out, he beautifully articulates a point that I've been thinking about and obsessing over for ages:
'One of the things that makes me angry is people thoughtlessly dismissing what is a broadly functional society. That sort of lazy internet cynicism is maddening – people with no historical sense of quite how miserable and inept most regimes in most periods of history have been, and here we are, with street lighting and the vote and sewers and all sorts of amazing things. In the overall scheme of things, we need to thank our lucky stars.’
Well said, sir.
I always want to write a long blog about that, but can never seem to manage it. Maybe I should plan it first.
I never planned essays or exams at school. Not out of any noble pursuit of spontaneous self-expression, but out of boredom. I didn't want to write about boring shit in the first place, let alone conduct a shit inventory, lay it all out in neat rows, and meticulously check my shit before diving in.
I'm not down with that shit.
(I've probably said 'shit' too much for one blog post. I'll try to avoid it from now on.)
So the topics I'd like to cover in this never-to-be-written blog post include the following:
- There's no place for optimism in the world (both the Left and the Right disdain it)
- Everyone thinks the period in which they're living is hugely significant
- People always think TV, music, art, are suddenly in decline, and that there was a golden age at some point (music was at its peak when you were 17, and nothing since has been any good)
- Stewart Lee (for all his genius) constantly espouses the above opinion
- The nerdish internet community is obsessed with privacy, government surveillance, conspiracy, 1984, but doesn't seem to care about people (a lot of their concerns are justified, but the attitude is repellent to me)
- the same left-leaning bloggers/commenters are political libertarians (a position I share), but have the same overwhelming self-interest of economic libertarians
- too many people (of all political hues) suffer from a lack of empathy (expressed through disgusting tabloids, hatred of criminals/outsiders, closed-mindedness)
- If you're Right-Wing, you have to be stupid and evil, but it can be in any ratio: you can be really stupid and not that evil, or really clever and exceedingly evil
- Having said that, I don't believe 'evil' exists, morality is ultimately subjective, and the world is essentially deterministic
And that is why it will never be written.
The trouble is, all my theories on the world bleed into other theories. My entire conception of life is all interlinked. If I pull on one thread, everything will unravel.
My conversations always go through the same process, through the same steps, and usually ends up with a discussion of evolution.
In short: I'm a pretentious idiot.
I'm interested in lots of stuff, but I'm not dedicated enough to turn it into something coherent.
So I get away with it by presenting it in short-form: rambling and self-deprecating, so I can have my lazy cake, and eat it (in a hammock).
It's like when I think of an offensive joke. Sometimes instead of just saying it, I'll soften the blow by starting: "I was going to say..."
As though I was showing restraint. But of course by even mentioning the joke, I show that I have none.
This has been quite ramshackle. For that I apologise. I'm sure my next entry will be exactly the kind of tightly-constructed, finely-tuned treatise that has made this blog such a rousing success.
Monday, 22 February 2010
Monday Rundown
It's been ages since my last post! I can't be having that.
I mean, I have had that. But I don't want to have had any more than that. If I look back and see that I had had more that than I'd hoped to have, I'll really have had it with the whole thing.
So, to guarantee content for today, here is a timeline for my activities:
22 February 2010
7:35: Dreamed about sentient legs
7:45: Alarm goes off
7:45-7:50: Five minute groan
7:55: Brush teeth
7:58: Brush face
7:59: Brush off
8:03: Get dressed
8:04: Look in mirror
8:05: Get re-dressed
8:08: Weep violently
8:10: Leave building, step into snowy winter wonderland
8:11: Five minute groan
8:20: Graciously say more than one word to Lucy (the second one is 'off')
8:21: Apologise
8:26: Buy eight Braeburn apples from M&S, shunning human staff for the automated machine
8:29-8:59: Trudge through sludge
9:00: Work. Of course. Work.
9:52: Work (I didn't start this blog at that time - I was working)
10:00: Work (still working - not blogging)
10:18: Radioactive helicopter attack! RUN! RUN!
10:20: Apologise
10:21: Work. Definitely.
10:27: Work (important work)
11:00: Tea break
11:02: Back to work - can't take too long at tea break: there's work to be done!
11:49: Mention Tenko in an email
12:16: Look at an apple
12:16: View of apple obscured (blinking)
12:16: Resume apple-lookage
12:25: Lunch (salad bar salad, water cooler water, conversation with Lucy about courgettes, trench foot, being tired etc)
12:58: Back to work (not writing this: WORK)
15:00: Other tea break - various unsavoury topics discussed
15:32: Back to work (obviously I've been working for ages)
15:33: Got bored of doing running timeline
15:34: Apologise
***
Sorry
I mean, I have had that. But I don't want to have had any more than that. If I look back and see that I had had more that than I'd hoped to have, I'll really have had it with the whole thing.
So, to guarantee content for today, here is a timeline for my activities:
22 February 2010
7:35: Dreamed about sentient legs
7:45: Alarm goes off
7:45-7:50: Five minute groan
7:55: Brush teeth
7:58: Brush face
7:59: Brush off
8:03: Get dressed
8:04: Look in mirror
8:05: Get re-dressed
8:08: Weep violently
8:10: Leave building, step into snowy winter wonderland
8:11: Five minute groan
8:20: Graciously say more than one word to Lucy (the second one is 'off')
8:21: Apologise
8:26: Buy eight Braeburn apples from M&S, shunning human staff for the automated machine
8:29-8:59: Trudge through sludge
9:00: Work. Of course. Work.
9:52: Work (I didn't start this blog at that time - I was working)
10:00: Work (still working - not blogging)
10:18: Radioactive helicopter attack! RUN! RUN!
10:20: Apologise
10:21: Work. Definitely.
10:27: Work (important work)
11:00: Tea break
11:02: Back to work - can't take too long at tea break: there's work to be done!
11:49: Mention Tenko in an email
12:16: Look at an apple
12:16: View of apple obscured (blinking)
12:16: Resume apple-lookage
12:25: Lunch (salad bar salad, water cooler water, conversation with Lucy about courgettes, trench foot, being tired etc)
12:58: Back to work (not writing this: WORK)
15:00: Other tea break - various unsavoury topics discussed
15:32: Back to work (obviously I've been working for ages)
15:33: Got bored of doing running timeline
15:34: Apologise
***
Sorry
Tuesday, 16 February 2010
Holy Ghost Story
I've been thinking about some things. It's a hobby. My brain processes electrical impulses, which become ideas, pictures, words, etc.
I've been thinking about the Cherry Tree Carol.
It's not very seasonal. If I was going for something relevant, I should have been thinking about some kind of pancake-based spirituality (Batter my heart, three-person'd God...).
But instead I've been thinking of a Christmas song. Here is Joan Baez singing it:
It tells the story of Mary and Joseph travelling to Bethlehem. Mary asks Joseph to pick her some cherries, and he refuses - asking that the child's true father (spoiler warning: God) do it instead. Then Jesus, from inside the womb, commands the cherry trees to bend down towards him. Which takes the wind out of Joseph's sails.
I like the carol for a few reasons.
Firstly, it shows Joseph and Mary as normal people. Mary is hungry and tired. Joseph is feeling like a bit of a third wheel, and feels a bit resentful.
Secondly, the cherry trees bending down is a really cool, eerie image. There's something supernatural and fantastical about it. It seems like something from a twisted fairy tale.
Thirdly, it conjures up an emotion not usually associated with Jesus: fear. There's something vital and exciting and chilling about the whole thing. Which is what it would really be like - an alien, all powerful presence has entered the physical world. It's a bit like Alien, but with John Hurt as Mary (and presumably a donkey instead of a spaceship).
Religious stories are such a part of our cultural fabric, that they tend to become quite dull. We know them all so well, there's no excitement in them. I like the idea of Biblical tales being fraught with angst and wonder.
In the last couple of verses, the foetus Jesus (Foesus?) sounds really creepy:
Then up spoke baby Jesus, from in Mary's womb:
Bend down the tallest branches, that my mother might have some
Bend down the tallest branches, that my mother might have some
There's something pleasing about the idea of a creepy Jesus. There's no reason why the epitome of good wouldn't be quite unsettling.
Then, in the final verse, Mary seems to be gloating a little bit:
And bend down the tallest branches, it touched Mary's hand
Cried she: Oh look thou Joseph, I have cherries by command
Oh look thou Joseph, I have cherries by command
"Oh look thou, Joseph! What's this? It seems like we didn't need your help after all!"
I like the idea of Joseph and Mary as having a couple of passive-aggressive arguments. That's the way it would really happen - they're under a lot of stress.
Religious figures as perfect, placid conduits of virtue are boring. There's no honour in heroism without struggle.
I wish the Bible had more stories like that: Moses stubbing his toe, Noah accidentally using a racial epithet, Satan playing air guitar.
So. That's what I've been thinking about.
I've been thinking about the Cherry Tree Carol.
It's not very seasonal. If I was going for something relevant, I should have been thinking about some kind of pancake-based spirituality (Batter my heart, three-person'd God...).
But instead I've been thinking of a Christmas song. Here is Joan Baez singing it:
It tells the story of Mary and Joseph travelling to Bethlehem. Mary asks Joseph to pick her some cherries, and he refuses - asking that the child's true father (spoiler warning: God) do it instead. Then Jesus, from inside the womb, commands the cherry trees to bend down towards him. Which takes the wind out of Joseph's sails.
I like the carol for a few reasons.
Firstly, it shows Joseph and Mary as normal people. Mary is hungry and tired. Joseph is feeling like a bit of a third wheel, and feels a bit resentful.
Secondly, the cherry trees bending down is a really cool, eerie image. There's something supernatural and fantastical about it. It seems like something from a twisted fairy tale.
Thirdly, it conjures up an emotion not usually associated with Jesus: fear. There's something vital and exciting and chilling about the whole thing. Which is what it would really be like - an alien, all powerful presence has entered the physical world. It's a bit like Alien, but with John Hurt as Mary (and presumably a donkey instead of a spaceship).
Religious stories are such a part of our cultural fabric, that they tend to become quite dull. We know them all so well, there's no excitement in them. I like the idea of Biblical tales being fraught with angst and wonder.
In the last couple of verses, the foetus Jesus (Foesus?) sounds really creepy:
Then up spoke baby Jesus, from in Mary's womb:
Bend down the tallest branches, that my mother might have some
Bend down the tallest branches, that my mother might have some
There's something pleasing about the idea of a creepy Jesus. There's no reason why the epitome of good wouldn't be quite unsettling.
Then, in the final verse, Mary seems to be gloating a little bit:
And bend down the tallest branches, it touched Mary's hand
Cried she: Oh look thou Joseph, I have cherries by command
Oh look thou Joseph, I have cherries by command
"Oh look thou, Joseph! What's this? It seems like we didn't need your help after all!"
I like the idea of Joseph and Mary as having a couple of passive-aggressive arguments. That's the way it would really happen - they're under a lot of stress.
Religious figures as perfect, placid conduits of virtue are boring. There's no honour in heroism without struggle.
I wish the Bible had more stories like that: Moses stubbing his toe, Noah accidentally using a racial epithet, Satan playing air guitar.
So. That's what I've been thinking about.
Monday, 15 February 2010
How to Write
I have just read an excellent article on relationships by Jon Richardson. You can find it here.
I've never seen Richardson do stand-up, but have enjoyed his radio show on occasion. I didn't know he was such a good writer. His article is serious without being preachy or pretentious, funny without being wacky, and full of beautiful observations about real life without being Peter Kay.
It's exactly the right tone. I wish I could write like that.
I used to write serious blog posts much more. I'd talk about issues and give my heartfelt opinions on life and politics and the world. But I don't do that anymore.
I think I get scared that I'll come across as preachy, wacky or Kayish. It's difficult to discuss something seriously when most of my other posts consist of puns and imaginary scenarios.
I think I worry about ending serious posts. Those endings are awful. You want to sum things up, but do you write something dismissive? Something nauseatingly profound?
Another reason I don't write about serious things is that I've already rehearsed the arguments so many times in my head that by the time I start to write them down, I'm really bored.
I'm happy to discuss them in real life, but not here.
The trouble is, that leaves me with very little content. I don't write about serious issues, I don't write about my life, I don't often just post links to videos or articles, I don't often review films or music.
So I write about nothing much. I suppose it hasn't really hampered me. I'm still writing as much as I ever was. But I'm forced to mine for content in odd places. I look in the small spaces between words, in the recesses of my brain, in dreams, in misunderstandings. It probably makes all this stuff a bit too slight. I'm never really writing anything of substance.
But then, who needs substance? People have enough substance in their lives. They need ephemera. They need guff. They need to be guided down a path that no-one's ever been before, because it's prickly and obvious, and it doesn't really go anywhere.
Maybe I could write something serious. I could do an article like the one above. Maybe I'll write one.
But not today.
(See what I mean about endings?)
***
I was trying to think of something to supplement the above. Sometimes I do that: I'm not totally satisfied that what I've written warrants its own post, so I try to add a bit of value.
What I fail to understand is simple mathematics.
2 x Disappointing Blog Posts = twice as much disappointment.
Also, if I leave a long gap before completing the entry, my mood has changed. This changes the overall impact of the entry.
(This is fascinating information. I'm giving away the tricks of my trade here - like one of those programmes - Behind the Magician's Secret Compartments or The Hidden Secrets of Tom Cruise REVEALED! [hint: robot])
Really I should cut my losses and give up now. But I can't shake the feeling that I might start writing something interesting. I'm trying to tunnel my way out of a cul-de-sac by burrowing further and further into shit.
It's understandable. If I had a gold nugget, I probably would hide it under miles of excrement. After all, what kind of idiot would look for it there?
In any case, if I keep tunnelling, I'll eventually arrive on the other side of the world. There's sure to be something interesting there. Sharks, probably. And everybody loves sharks.
That reminds me of that old joke.
Haha... good times...
I should stop reminiscing. There's a hole to be dug.
I should probably have worn some gloves. But hindsight is 20/20. Unless you've been drinking.
Then it's 40/40.
I could be an optician if I didn't feel dizzy every time I saw an iris.
Hmm, I seem to be wandering round in eccentric circles. I should stop now before I collapse.
I've never seen Richardson do stand-up, but have enjoyed his radio show on occasion. I didn't know he was such a good writer. His article is serious without being preachy or pretentious, funny without being wacky, and full of beautiful observations about real life without being Peter Kay.
It's exactly the right tone. I wish I could write like that.
I used to write serious blog posts much more. I'd talk about issues and give my heartfelt opinions on life and politics and the world. But I don't do that anymore.
I think I get scared that I'll come across as preachy, wacky or Kayish. It's difficult to discuss something seriously when most of my other posts consist of puns and imaginary scenarios.
I think I worry about ending serious posts. Those endings are awful. You want to sum things up, but do you write something dismissive? Something nauseatingly profound?
Another reason I don't write about serious things is that I've already rehearsed the arguments so many times in my head that by the time I start to write them down, I'm really bored.
I'm happy to discuss them in real life, but not here.
The trouble is, that leaves me with very little content. I don't write about serious issues, I don't write about my life, I don't often just post links to videos or articles, I don't often review films or music.
So I write about nothing much. I suppose it hasn't really hampered me. I'm still writing as much as I ever was. But I'm forced to mine for content in odd places. I look in the small spaces between words, in the recesses of my brain, in dreams, in misunderstandings. It probably makes all this stuff a bit too slight. I'm never really writing anything of substance.
But then, who needs substance? People have enough substance in their lives. They need ephemera. They need guff. They need to be guided down a path that no-one's ever been before, because it's prickly and obvious, and it doesn't really go anywhere.
Maybe I could write something serious. I could do an article like the one above. Maybe I'll write one.
But not today.
(See what I mean about endings?)
***
I was trying to think of something to supplement the above. Sometimes I do that: I'm not totally satisfied that what I've written warrants its own post, so I try to add a bit of value.
What I fail to understand is simple mathematics.
2 x Disappointing Blog Posts = twice as much disappointment.
Also, if I leave a long gap before completing the entry, my mood has changed. This changes the overall impact of the entry.
(This is fascinating information. I'm giving away the tricks of my trade here - like one of those programmes - Behind the Magician's Secret Compartments or The Hidden Secrets of Tom Cruise REVEALED! [hint: robot])
Really I should cut my losses and give up now. But I can't shake the feeling that I might start writing something interesting. I'm trying to tunnel my way out of a cul-de-sac by burrowing further and further into shit.
It's understandable. If I had a gold nugget, I probably would hide it under miles of excrement. After all, what kind of idiot would look for it there?
In any case, if I keep tunnelling, I'll eventually arrive on the other side of the world. There's sure to be something interesting there. Sharks, probably. And everybody loves sharks.
That reminds me of that old joke.
Haha... good times...
I should stop reminiscing. There's a hole to be dug.
I should probably have worn some gloves. But hindsight is 20/20. Unless you've been drinking.
Then it's 40/40.
I could be an optician if I didn't feel dizzy every time I saw an iris.
Hmm, I seem to be wandering round in eccentric circles. I should stop now before I collapse.
Thursday, 11 February 2010
Templates
You know how mobile phones have template text messages?
No? Oh.
Well, forget it.
***
Actually, I'll continue.
You know how mobile phones have template text messages?
Yes? Good.
They're time-saving tools, for when you're too busy to make words with buttons.
Here are the templates on my phone, with some suggested uses:
1) I am late. I will be there at
This one is useful. It can double up as a suspected pregnancy text. And we all need those in a hurry.
2) I'm in a meeting, call me later at
Another basic one. You can add your own suffix to make it into a threat: "call me later at your own risk".
3) I'm busy right now. I'll call you later.
This is nice and noncommittal. You might as well write: "the answer you seek is buffeted on the winds of time".
4) I will be arriving at
speed? high speed? an alarming speed?
5) Meeting is cancelled.
It doesn't specify a particular meeting. This text must be for when all meetings and, in fact, the very concept of meeting is no longer allowed. People are no longer allowed to meet.
(That would be big news - there wouldn't be time to type out your own unique message. Well done, Mr Nokia.)
6) See you at
This is a great all-purpose one. Possibilities:
See you attack!
See you ate the whole cake!
See you athos (frm 3 mskteers LOL!)
7) See you in
...a dusty sombrero
8) Please call
...your first born son 'Darren't'
9) I love you too.
What's this one about? What kind of emotionally bereft loser replies to a declaration of love with a template text? "I don't have time to manually express my love. Oh look. Nokia knows my own heart better than I do."
At least it wasn't 'I love U2'. Anyone who agreed with that sentiment would be the ultimate emotionally bereft loser.
Having said that, you could modify it slightly, and send it to the band Tool. They are pretty good.
10) Happy Birthday
This is even worse than number 9. It takes birthday greetings to a whole new level of laziness.
Now that I know it's here, I'll use it all the time.
I can't believe I've been wasting my time by going to all the effort of writing on someone's Facebook wall "Happy Birthday! We should catch up soon, Dad!"
11) Thank you
This one is... actually quite useful. My mockery has fallen at the last hurdle. And the preceding 10.
I wonder if anyone actually uses this function. If I owned a phone company (and one day I very well might, Dad), I'd put some more esoteric templates on there. Sure, they'd rarely be used.
But what if you're the one person that needs them and uses them? You'd thank your lucky stars and taunt your unlucky ones.
Here are some suggestions for text templates:
1) What's that, Barnabas?
2) Probably about twelve.
3) By hook or by crook.
4) JUST THE TICKET! JUST THE TICKET! JUST THE TICKET!
5) &
6) That awful frog scene in Teen Wolf Too
7) It's questions like that which make you the ideal candidate to run this company. INTO THE GROUND.
8) I'm attending a crucifixion right now. Meet me at
9) Every fibre of my soul aches to hold you, to be held by you. I want to become one with you. I want our atoms to mingle. We can become one holy miracle: the miracle of the universe itself.
10) No.
11) Yes.
12) No. No, no, no.
I could do this all day.
And so I will!
No, I won't.
***
I've just had coffee and come back exceedingly hyper.
I don't know why. I haven't had any more than usual. But I'm feeling like I could levitate.
I won't. It would arouse suspicion (amongst other things).
Is it a good idea to write a blog entry whilst high on caffeine? In a way, yes. It means I'll write a lot. And lots of content is good. I believe quantity is more important than quality. But even better than either is quantility.
If you have quantility, you're all set for success. Especially if there's a lot of it.
The more the merrier. (Not to be confused with Merrier the Moor, the jolliest Muslim conqueror of the 8th century).
That seems to be my cue to depart with this gem of a clip. Good day.
No? Oh.
Well, forget it.
***
Actually, I'll continue.
You know how mobile phones have template text messages?
Yes? Good.
They're time-saving tools, for when you're too busy to make words with buttons.
Here are the templates on my phone, with some suggested uses:
1) I am late. I will be there at
This one is useful. It can double up as a suspected pregnancy text. And we all need those in a hurry.
2) I'm in a meeting, call me later at
Another basic one. You can add your own suffix to make it into a threat: "call me later at your own risk".
3) I'm busy right now. I'll call you later.
This is nice and noncommittal. You might as well write: "the answer you seek is buffeted on the winds of time".
4) I will be arriving at
speed? high speed? an alarming speed?
5) Meeting is cancelled.
It doesn't specify a particular meeting. This text must be for when all meetings and, in fact, the very concept of meeting is no longer allowed. People are no longer allowed to meet.
(That would be big news - there wouldn't be time to type out your own unique message. Well done, Mr Nokia.)
6) See you at
This is a great all-purpose one. Possibilities:
See you attack!
See you ate the whole cake!
See you athos (frm 3 mskteers LOL!)
7) See you in
...a dusty sombrero
8) Please call
...your first born son 'Darren't'
9) I love you too.
What's this one about? What kind of emotionally bereft loser replies to a declaration of love with a template text? "I don't have time to manually express my love. Oh look. Nokia knows my own heart better than I do."
At least it wasn't 'I love U2'. Anyone who agreed with that sentiment would be the ultimate emotionally bereft loser.
Having said that, you could modify it slightly, and send it to the band Tool. They are pretty good.
10) Happy Birthday
This is even worse than number 9. It takes birthday greetings to a whole new level of laziness.
Now that I know it's here, I'll use it all the time.
I can't believe I've been wasting my time by going to all the effort of writing on someone's Facebook wall "Happy Birthday! We should catch up soon, Dad!"
11) Thank you
This one is... actually quite useful. My mockery has fallen at the last hurdle. And the preceding 10.
I wonder if anyone actually uses this function. If I owned a phone company (and one day I very well might, Dad), I'd put some more esoteric templates on there. Sure, they'd rarely be used.
But what if you're the one person that needs them and uses them? You'd thank your lucky stars and taunt your unlucky ones.
Here are some suggestions for text templates:
1) What's that, Barnabas?
2) Probably about twelve.
3) By hook or by crook.
4) JUST THE TICKET! JUST THE TICKET! JUST THE TICKET!
5) &
6) That awful frog scene in Teen Wolf Too
7) It's questions like that which make you the ideal candidate to run this company. INTO THE GROUND.
8) I'm attending a crucifixion right now. Meet me at
9) Every fibre of my soul aches to hold you, to be held by you. I want to become one with you. I want our atoms to mingle. We can become one holy miracle: the miracle of the universe itself.
10) No.
11) Yes.
12) No. No, no, no.
I could do this all day.
And so I will!
No, I won't.
***
I've just had coffee and come back exceedingly hyper.
I don't know why. I haven't had any more than usual. But I'm feeling like I could levitate.
I won't. It would arouse suspicion (amongst other things).
Is it a good idea to write a blog entry whilst high on caffeine? In a way, yes. It means I'll write a lot. And lots of content is good. I believe quantity is more important than quality. But even better than either is quantility.
If you have quantility, you're all set for success. Especially if there's a lot of it.
The more the merrier. (Not to be confused with Merrier the Moor, the jolliest Muslim conqueror of the 8th century).
That seems to be my cue to depart with this gem of a clip. Good day.
Monday, 8 February 2010
I Didn't Start the Fire
I watched the Super Bowl last night.
It was good. I don't know if I'd go so far as 'Super'. You shouldn't praise your bowls before they're super.
Don't get ahead of yourself. Unless you're in an inter-dimensional race with an evil You. The Flash can get ahead of himself.
And don't run before you can walk. Because otherwise it will be difficult to transition from running to being stationary. You really need an intermediate slowing-down period. Or some kind of parachute. But it's good to have walking in your locker.
(And before you ask: yes, it is also good to have Christopher Walken in your locker. Happy now?)
Ah haha. Isn't this good? I've taken some common phrases much too literally, exposing their ridiculousness. I've never done that before.
I'm really not growing as a writer. I should be onto something new by now. I could be writing a florid confessional. But I'm not.
I need to invent a whole new literary genre. Maybe I can use letters in a whole new way.
I could stack them up:
Y
(That's three Ys stacked on top of each other.)
Maybe I could start a fire by rubbing a slash with a backslash.
\ /
\ /
\/
\/\/\/\/\/\/\/
XXXXXXXXXXX
It hasn't worked. Must be something to do with the font.
Maybe I can try to type using only my mind:
Must... write... something...with... incredible... brain...
Hmm. Doesn't seem to work...
Well, I suppose it's ok to retread the same ground over and over again. I can just do it in a variety of different shoes.
My toes hurt.
It was good. I don't know if I'd go so far as 'Super'. You shouldn't praise your bowls before they're super.
Don't get ahead of yourself. Unless you're in an inter-dimensional race with an evil You. The Flash can get ahead of himself.
And don't run before you can walk. Because otherwise it will be difficult to transition from running to being stationary. You really need an intermediate slowing-down period. Or some kind of parachute. But it's good to have walking in your locker.
(And before you ask: yes, it is also good to have Christopher Walken in your locker. Happy now?)
Ah haha. Isn't this good? I've taken some common phrases much too literally, exposing their ridiculousness. I've never done that before.
I'm really not growing as a writer. I should be onto something new by now. I could be writing a florid confessional. But I'm not.
I need to invent a whole new literary genre. Maybe I can use letters in a whole new way.
I could stack them up:
Y
(That's three Ys stacked on top of each other.)
Maybe I could start a fire by rubbing a slash with a backslash.
\ /
\ /
\/
\/\/\/\/\/\/\/
XXXXXXXXXXX
It hasn't worked. Must be something to do with the font.
Maybe I can try to type using only my mind:
Must... write... something...with... incredible... brain...
Hmm. Doesn't seem to work...
Well, I suppose it's ok to retread the same ground over and over again. I can just do it in a variety of different shoes.
My toes hurt.
Friday, 5 February 2010
Correspondence
Thursday 9 Noctober
Dear Mrs Fint (a letter might begin)
I am writing to inform you of a terrible miscarriage of justice. If justice is blind, perhaps the miscarriage was a blessing (eugenically speaking). But I'm getting ahead of myself.
(the letter might continue)
On the evening of January the Wth, at approximately sixteen pee emm, a basket containing firewood was deposited at your door. Precisely fourteenish minutes later, you found said basket, took said wood into your house, and would use said wood on your unsaid fire (or so it has been said - by me).
The wood you so selfishly consumed was, in fact, intended for my door. I was hoping to use the firewood to build some kind of gnarled character, who would move jerkily like a puppet, perform basic household tasks, and scare the children of the neighbourhood.
Unfortunately, that is no longer possible, as the wood has been right burned up.
As am I.
I hope you will admit the error on your part (on your porch), and will reimburse me the sum of: SOME FIREWOOD, first class post-haste.
Yours pricklelily
Anton Baker (from next door)
***
Thursday 15 April
Dear Mr Baker
(the reply might begin)
I must say I was surprised to receive you letter dated Noctober 9, as that is not a real month.
Furthermore, I am unaware of the firewood of which you speak. I have no fire, no doorstep, and do not live anywhere near you. In fact, I found the whole thing thoroughly confusing.
(this letter might be spattered with red liquid, but who can say?)
I would consider any attempt to animate a wooden creature, be it goblin or chunky "Wicker Man", an affront to nature. I must warn against playing God. My father once tried to breed horseshoes, and got flattened by a runaway tram.
I consider this matter to be resolved.
Yours tasered
Polystyrene Fint
***
Then Baker would send flowers, and they'd be married.
(The late Mr Fint would approve from Heaven)
***
I ran out of steam there. But you get the picture.
Dear Mrs Fint (a letter might begin)
I am writing to inform you of a terrible miscarriage of justice. If justice is blind, perhaps the miscarriage was a blessing (eugenically speaking). But I'm getting ahead of myself.
(the letter might continue)
On the evening of January the Wth, at approximately sixteen pee emm, a basket containing firewood was deposited at your door. Precisely fourteenish minutes later, you found said basket, took said wood into your house, and would use said wood on your unsaid fire (or so it has been said - by me).
The wood you so selfishly consumed was, in fact, intended for my door. I was hoping to use the firewood to build some kind of gnarled character, who would move jerkily like a puppet, perform basic household tasks, and scare the children of the neighbourhood.
Unfortunately, that is no longer possible, as the wood has been right burned up.
As am I.
I hope you will admit the error on your part (on your porch), and will reimburse me the sum of: SOME FIREWOOD, first class post-haste.
Yours pricklelily
Anton Baker (from next door)
***
Thursday 15 April
Dear Mr Baker
(the reply might begin)
I must say I was surprised to receive you letter dated Noctober 9, as that is not a real month.
Furthermore, I am unaware of the firewood of which you speak. I have no fire, no doorstep, and do not live anywhere near you. In fact, I found the whole thing thoroughly confusing.
(this letter might be spattered with red liquid, but who can say?)
I would consider any attempt to animate a wooden creature, be it goblin or chunky "Wicker Man", an affront to nature. I must warn against playing God. My father once tried to breed horseshoes, and got flattened by a runaway tram.
I consider this matter to be resolved.
Yours tasered
Polystyrene Fint
***
Then Baker would send flowers, and they'd be married.
(The late Mr Fint would approve from Heaven)
***
I ran out of steam there. But you get the picture.
Tuesday, 2 February 2010
Blog Dreg Clogs
Sometimes I start to write blogs, don't get around to finishing them, but don't want to delete them. It means that I occasionally have blog dregs clogging up my post count. Blog dreg clogs.
This can be annoying, as it gives a misleading total blog post number, meaning that my anniversary posts might be inaccurate. Heaven forbid.
So, to get rid of these little draft stumps, I'll put them here. That way, I can move on with my life. Well, I say life...
***
On 30/11/2009, I began:
I'm feeling tired and pointless. I'm annoyed by my typing. Not just the things I type, but the method.
Fingertips.
What a loser.
I don't feel too tired. I've been more tired than this. But I'm not in the finest of fettles. I feel sad about the world. I feel trapped in my body. The pressure in my head is building, but it won't burst.
I feel cynical. And I despair when faced with cynicism.
What a shame I didn't finish that one. It seemed like it would be a real crowd-pleaser. Infused with joie de vivre, and no mistake. I was probably building to some kind of euphoric epiphany. But we'll never know...
***
On 19/01/2010, I wrote:
Let's give this a go. I've just finished (re)reading a JD Salinger book, which comprises two stories - Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters and Seymour: an Introduction.
I like it. I like Salinger a lot. I think he's my favourite writer. But it worries me.
It worries me because lots of people like him. And not in the way that lots of people like Shakespeare or Michael Palin or toad-in-the-hole. He seems to have a more specific fanbase: people who have similar backgrounds to me, have similar interests, but are (of course) oh so much more shallow than I am.
The main character in the (supposedly awful) new Michael Keaton film is a Salinger fan. Annoying people write songs and stories about his characters. He seems to be a sage to the adolescent -and not that good kind of adolescent (fearless, eager and ) - but the kind of adolescent that loves The Matrix, and thin
I think I stopped mid-word there. I don't have particular disdain for the thin.
This one takes on extra significance, since ol' JD himself has since died. Maybe I was being prophetic by writing about him.
I definitely didn't poison him.
Just to clear that up.
I think I was trying to defend my interest in his work. Which is totally unnecessary, of course, but I am nothing if not an utter fool.
It is true that a lot of annoying people like him. But that's probably true of everything. Annoying people like The Simpsons. Annoying people like Michael Palin.
All the retrospectives of Salinger's work talk about The Catcher in the Rye, and how it was beloved by teenagers. Everyone thinks it's speaking directly to them. But it wasn't speaking directly to them; it was speaking directly to me.
I suppose that's what makes it a good book.
I've come to terms with annoying people liking the book, and I've come to terms with everyone having the same unique and personal reaction that I did.
What I did find a bit irritating is the focus on Catcher (is that an acceptible abbreviation?). I much prefer the short stories.
That makes me a real fan. Not like everyone else. (Of course, they've all read the same stories) The saga of the Glass family is well worth reading.
I hope people don't get caught up in wondering whether Catcher is overrated, or wondering whether it's only read by immature people. I hope people realise that above all the hype and counter-hype, Salinger wrote really good stories that are thought-provoking, have superb dialogue, and are really, really funny.
So a few weeks ago, I may have been caught up in a vortex of snobbery, snob-snobbery and defensive rationales. But I'm over that now.
I like the books of JD Salinger.
They're good. And even if everyone else feels exactly the same, it doesn't matter.
He may have been having a unique and individual dialogue with everyone, but he did provoke a conversation I've had with myself. And that is unique.
Unless there's someone else in my brain.
But I don't think there is.
(Oh, really?)
I think so.
***
I just wrote a conclusion to this, but it wasn't saved by Blogger! Maybe someone doesn't want me to publish this. Maybe they think this a bit to pointless even for me.
But I'll show them.
I think the gist was:
That's it for these little unborn bloglets. If I produce anymore dull, whiny and pretentious little vignettes, I'll compile them in a similar manner.
Also, I just got back from lunch, and can't be bothered to proofread this. So if there are any mistakes, it's probably your fault.
This can be annoying, as it gives a misleading total blog post number, meaning that my anniversary posts might be inaccurate. Heaven forbid.
So, to get rid of these little draft stumps, I'll put them here. That way, I can move on with my life. Well, I say life...
***
On 30/11/2009, I began:
I'm feeling tired and pointless. I'm annoyed by my typing. Not just the things I type, but the method.
Fingertips.
What a loser.
I don't feel too tired. I've been more tired than this. But I'm not in the finest of fettles. I feel sad about the world. I feel trapped in my body. The pressure in my head is building, but it won't burst.
I feel cynical. And I despair when faced with cynicism.
What a shame I didn't finish that one. It seemed like it would be a real crowd-pleaser. Infused with joie de vivre, and no mistake. I was probably building to some kind of euphoric epiphany. But we'll never know...
***
On 19/01/2010, I wrote:
Let's give this a go. I've just finished (re)reading a JD Salinger book, which comprises two stories - Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters and Seymour: an Introduction.
I like it. I like Salinger a lot. I think he's my favourite writer. But it worries me.
It worries me because lots of people like him. And not in the way that lots of people like Shakespeare or Michael Palin or toad-in-the-hole. He seems to have a more specific fanbase: people who have similar backgrounds to me, have similar interests, but are (of course) oh so much more shallow than I am.
The main character in the (supposedly awful) new Michael Keaton film is a Salinger fan. Annoying people write songs and stories about his characters. He seems to be a sage to the adolescent -and not that good kind of adolescent (fearless, eager and ) - but the kind of adolescent that loves The Matrix, and thin
I think I stopped mid-word there. I don't have particular disdain for the thin.
This one takes on extra significance, since ol' JD himself has since died. Maybe I was being prophetic by writing about him.
I definitely didn't poison him.
Just to clear that up.
I think I was trying to defend my interest in his work. Which is totally unnecessary, of course, but I am nothing if not an utter fool.
It is true that a lot of annoying people like him. But that's probably true of everything. Annoying people like The Simpsons. Annoying people like Michael Palin.
All the retrospectives of Salinger's work talk about The Catcher in the Rye, and how it was beloved by teenagers. Everyone thinks it's speaking directly to them. But it wasn't speaking directly to them; it was speaking directly to me.
I suppose that's what makes it a good book.
I've come to terms with annoying people liking the book, and I've come to terms with everyone having the same unique and personal reaction that I did.
What I did find a bit irritating is the focus on Catcher (is that an acceptible abbreviation?). I much prefer the short stories.
That makes me a real fan. Not like everyone else. (Of course, they've all read the same stories) The saga of the Glass family is well worth reading.
I hope people don't get caught up in wondering whether Catcher is overrated, or wondering whether it's only read by immature people. I hope people realise that above all the hype and counter-hype, Salinger wrote really good stories that are thought-provoking, have superb dialogue, and are really, really funny.
So a few weeks ago, I may have been caught up in a vortex of snobbery, snob-snobbery and defensive rationales. But I'm over that now.
I like the books of JD Salinger.
They're good. And even if everyone else feels exactly the same, it doesn't matter.
He may have been having a unique and individual dialogue with everyone, but he did provoke a conversation I've had with myself. And that is unique.
Unless there's someone else in my brain.
But I don't think there is.
(Oh, really?)
I think so.
***
I just wrote a conclusion to this, but it wasn't saved by Blogger! Maybe someone doesn't want me to publish this. Maybe they think this a bit to pointless even for me.
But I'll show them.
I think the gist was:
That's it for these little unborn bloglets. If I produce anymore dull, whiny and pretentious little vignettes, I'll compile them in a similar manner.
Also, I just got back from lunch, and can't be bothered to proofread this. So if there are any mistakes, it's probably your fault.
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