2010: The Year in Felt

Ho New Glitter Baby! Merry Snow Joy!

I've been unforgivably lax with my posting this month. I can't be forgiven. Or forgotten. But there's one thing you should forget about: forgiveness.

If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, reach deep into your chest and tear that forgiveness out, and cast it to the four winds. I'm unforgivable. Don't even think about it.

I'll do my best to forgive myself for thinking I could ever forgive myself, but some things are better left forgotten.

I can't remember what I was saying.

Never mind, we're all human.

Except cyborgs, who are only part-human.

And birds, who are only part-cyborg.

I could keep this up all day. It's a wonder I struggle for content.

The festive period is winding down. I'm looking forward to a New Years Eve devoid of any alcohol or laughter.

But there is an albatross hung around my neck.

It was an odd choice for a Christmas present, but somehow it works. It's even the right size. On the side of the albatross is written:

Review of 2010
Indeed! Remember these? I do these?

2007
2008
2009

It started as an ironic satire on lazy end-of-year retrospectives, but soon the irony had peeled off and I was left staring at the quivering pink jelly of truth.

What can I say about 2010? You'll find out by reading the things I say about it. Here. Starting now.

(Though I suppose this is just the things I will say about 2010. I could say a lot more. And I will, in my new book: 1998 and Other Years and Other Animals, released Summer 2011 by Pengiun Books [not to be confused with the more popular Penguin Books, who turned me down point blank and shot me point proved])

Each year I complete certain categories and create some new ones for throwaway jokes, not realising I'll be saddled with them forever. Like tiny supplementary albatrosses.

No, saddles. I was right the first time.

Tiny saddles.

Life-Changing Event of 2010

Edinburgh. That's more of a place than an event. But it was rather exciting.

I mean doing comedy at the Free Fringe. It was exhausting. You can read about it in numerous August rambles.

Though it didn't really change my life that much, other than stopping me doing stand-up for a while. Also, I got a tattoo of Lorraine Kelly on my thigh, on my thigh. (The tattoo depicts Kelly sitting on my thigh. The tattoo is on my thigh. I don't know if I can be any more clear about this.)

Film of 2010

I can never remember what I've seen when. What have I seen this year?

Inception? Iron Man 2? Scott Pilgrim?

Is that it? I really am a child. Two comic book movies, and a film that only a 14 year old could enjoy. Not 13, not 15: 14.

I'll try to do better next year.

TV Programme of 2010
Unusually, I seem to have watched quite a bit of TV this year. Mostly BBC4, which has provided a great deal of entertainment, education and information (the three Rs).

Great shows include:

The Wonders of the Solar System
Ancient Worlds
The Art of Germany
David Attenborough's First Life

But the winner (and I've sung its praises long enough) is Michael Winterbottom's The Trip, with Coogan and Brydon.

Pure class from start to finish.



Also, Peep Show's still good.

Music of 2010

I've got a lot of music for birthday/Christmas so it's hard not to let recent discoveries dominate the year. What was I listening to in January? I just don't know.

I've enjoyed discovering lots of new things through our office's music club playlists. I've probably posted videos of most of the stuff I like already. Here are two recent favourites:





The song I've listened to the most is probably this:



Misunderstanding of 2010 (new category!)
I didn't dress up as an old woman and put a cat in a bin. I don't know how that rumour got started.


Stuffed Animal of 2010
Making his triumphant return home after years in my office, the one and only Aristophanes (don't tell Katy):


By the way, I'm sorry that this computer's webcam has such poor resolution. With this pic it's OK, but people want to see my face in it's full glory.
Tendon of 2010
See what I mean by beind saddled?

Let's just say it's the quadriceps tendon and have done with it.

Albert of 2010 (new category!)



Stand-up of 2010
Whilst I did see the magnificent Mr Kitson again this year, it wasn't really a stand-up show. So this year's honour goes to:

Kevin Eldon

He made me laugh. Which is the general aim of comedy.


Podcast of 2010

Let's give this one to Josie Long and Robin Ince's Utter Shambles. It is good.


("It is good" is part of my ongoing deconstruction of criticism itself. It is working.)

Number of 2010

h

Celebrity Sighting of 2010

More comedians than you can shake a stick at. I could shake a stick at more. But then I am brilliant at shaking sticks. Most of them are probably unknown though. I saw Phil Kay in a cafe.

Odd Celebrity Crush of 2010
Whilst watching the 1981 Spider-Man cartoon, Lucy pointed out that the character of Betty Brant had quite big breasts. So it's her fault.

I have a crush on a cartoon woman. Even if she was real, she'd be old now.

I can't find a full picture of her, but here's her head:
I'm 28 years old.

Language of 2010

French

Tool of 2010 (new category!)

Hammer.

Clothing Item of 2010

Fingerless hands

Best Bit from My Review of 2010

") is"

Prediction for 2011

I will write a song about pastry. In fact, I might do that now.

***

That's it. Enjoy your New Year.

Interesting fact, 2011 will be the first year with two ones in it since 1991.

Pre-Easter Blues

I've always considered myself to be an observant person. I see things other people miss. I have a tremendous eye for subtlety and nuance. I can read between the lines.

In another world, I could be a Poirot-style detective; solving mysteries with nothing but intuition and finely-tuned perception.

I've used these skills to work out a couple of interesting facts in which you might be interested. I haven't seen any of these online, so I don't think anyone else has figured them out. But you, loyal reader, have the inside track. Use these tidbits to impress your colleagues, astound your family or bamboozle a maniac long enough to wrest the axe from his gnarled fingers.

So, here they are. Two fascinating, groundbreaking observations:

1) It's Christmas

2) It has been snowing

There. Use those weapons as you see fit.

I'm in Devon at the moment. We drove down on Tuesday (well, we didn't drive down - we're too important/incompetent).

It was rather beautiful: white ground, white sky, white mist, and the sun trying to cut through it all like a laser beam.

We drove through picture postcard villages that made Christmas card images seem accurate for once.

But with all the family and the nice food and the relaxing by the fire, there hasn't been much time to write sarcastic paragraphs on Strictly Come Dancing or post pictures of my beautiful withered face.

I can't avoid it totally, though. I don't want this to be the Month of Fewest Posts (which is currently September 2007 with 5).

So let's plough on, like a plough through some non-specific frozen water.

What to write about? Well luckily I done read some books.

***

An Idiot Flaps Odyssey - Part 10
Intro
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9


***

John Stuart Mill - On Politics and Society



A bit of light political theory to start with. I like John Stuart Mill. He was in favour of giving women the vote long before they got it, and generally seemed quite open-minded and liberal.
I also read in the Raymond Williams book from a while ago that he was in favour of the right to assemble. He was one of those old school liberals that tried to do what's right in a fusty old fashioned world. And he was probably quite fusty and old fashioned too. But was one of the good ones.

Mill is associated with utilitarianism (popularised by his father James and Jeremy Bentham), which says that we should aim for the greatest good for the greatest number of people. Which means it should be legal to butcher Richard Littlejohn, I suppose. But Mill was open to new ideas, which is an excellent quality in a philosopher. Most don't manage it. I suppose if you fill your brain with too much stuff, it's difficult to open it again.


***

Roald Dahl - Fantastic Mr Fox


This came free with a box of cereal. That's the source of most of my literature. I've spent many an autumn evening deciphering bran-flake Braille. That explains why the cover is an image from the Wes Anderson film (which I haven't seen).

Dahl was my favourite writer as a child. When I was a child, I mean. When he was a child, I found his work quite simplistic (also, I wasn't born).

Of course, we all remember my review of JATGP. Well, FMF is pretty good too. It's quite fun and positive, though possibly sends a slightly anti-feminist message. Mr Fox is the clever one, and does all the adventuring, whilst Mrs Fox stays at home to prepare a feast (even when she's starving to death).

Reading this made me hungry.

For foxburgers.

***

JD Salinger - Various

I didn't re-read these four books. I read them all too recently, and have written about Salinger too much before. (Eg here and here)

Needless to say, they're all good and great and favourites.

***

There it is. I'll need to post a few more times this month to avoid the ignominy of a sub-5 post count.

I hope wherever you are, you're warm and safe and naked.

Ben Grimm and friends

Some things have happened to me. Not interesting things (you Facebook voyeurs can move away from this preview now and continue building a new Gulag as part of a hilarious application).

But things nonetheless.

Thing #1

On Monday, it was my birthday. I'm now 28 years old. And 40 years young. Which makes me -12. Which coincidentally is also my shoe size. I have trouble finding socks that fit correctly.

I'm not a big fan of birthdays. They don't depress me, but they don't impress me. I like to avoid attention, I'm not too fussed about presents and I have a pathological fear of accurate badges.

I should check what I've written about in past years to make sure I'm not repeating myself. And then I can copy them out to make sure I'm repeating myself verbatim.

In 2007, I wrote:

I suppose I should write about my birthday.

I'm not doing anything special. In fact, I'm at my desk, at work, and it feels just like any other day (except I've been decorating Christmas trees).

But still, I am 25. 25 years. It seems like a pretty long time. 25 is really the first of the landmark birthdays to be a negative one. 18 is fine, it means you can legally drink. 21 is a coming of age thing. 25, though. You're grown-up then. At 25, I could be on Friends (the first series).

I think your prime decade is probably 25-35. After that it's essentially downhill. And I haven't really got as much going on in my life/career/experience as I'd like.

By now, I should have toured with a punk band or invented a cylindrical waffle or made my first million. At this rate of income, I'm not going to make my first million until I'm around 100. And that's if I don't spend any of it, which seems unlikely. The chance of me resisting ordering a Domino's pizza for the next 75 years isn't high.

I'm not crazy about birthdays. I think the mother should receive gifts on the anniversary of their child's birth instead. They did all the hard work. Except my mum had a Caesarean Section - lazy.

My disinterest in my birthday is made worse by the memory of how excited I used to be at this time of year.

I couldn't sleep. Birthday then Christmas! Brilliant! But now I feel cynical and old.

25.

To be honest, my age doesn't really bother me. But lack of achievment is. I think the coming year will be a big one.

I'll be sending off writing everywhere and trying to find some calling. In a year's time, if I'm still writing this blog, I'll be able to see how far I've come. And I'll realise that I'm still an office temp with delusions of grandeur, and I'll pierce my temple with a stapler.

Oh well, at least Lucy's made me a spectacular cake!

(That's made a cake for me, rather than making me into one. Although, rest assured, if I were a cake, I would be fucking spectacular.)

Well, I'm not a temp anymore at least. And Lucy made me another spectacular cake! I took photos of it, but can't seem to extract them from my phone.

In 2008, I wrote:

Me, December 13 2007: To be honest, my age doesn't really bother me. But lack of achievment is.
[2008 Paul - Man, my grammar was used to been rubbish!]

I think the coming year will be a big one. I'll be sending off writing everywhere and trying to find some calling. In a year's time, if I'm still writing this blog, I'll be able to see how far I've come. And I'll realise that I'm still an office temp with delusions of grandeur, and I'll pierce my temple with a stapler.

Well, I'm not an office temp anymore! I have a permanent office job! So. That shows you, you idiot of the past! What do you know? (By the way, place a bet on Sarah Palin being nominated as the Republican Vice-Presidential candidate - you'll make a million pounds).

I still have delusions of grandeur, but I think that's a pretty good quality to have. If you're going to have delusions, they might as well be grand. And if you actually have grandeur (without the delusions), you're probably a bit pompous and annoying.

What kind of fool has grandeur? I'll tell you who: Terry Wogan. A year on and not much has changed.

But at least I've been doing something creative. I've written poetry and made a video. That's something.

I'm also doing a job that I don't hate, with people I don't want to stab. That's also something. Ricky Gervais was 40 by the time he made it big. I've got ages. In fact, I'm probably trying too hard, if anything. I might have all these blog entries pulped (e-pulped) and start smoking, just to give my inevitable success a little bit of suspense... [boring reviews edited out]


All in all, I'm quite happy at the moment. I don't think there's any need to pierce my temple with a stapler. It would be difficult to do.

Of course, the question is, what will I be doing in a year's time? Probably writing a defensive rebuttal to the 2008 Me explaining that although 2009 was the year I lost all my friends and became homeless, I'm still living a full life vicariously through the marionettes I've made from cigarette butts and rat-hair.

Well, 2009 Paul, I just want to say: you have my full, misplaced confidence. After all, this is a team game. I, 2007 Paul and 2006 Paul are all behind you.

(2005 Paul didn't want to join in. Twat.)

I didn't realise I was that self-indulgent so early. I didn't even notice my 2007 grammatical mistakes this time around. I must be getting old.

(This may get confusing. Just so you know, everything in black text is 2010 Paul)

I don't remember writing any of this. I'm as excited as you to know what happens next!

In 2009, I wrote:

It's just about my birthday and I'll cry if I want to. I'm my own man. Ain't no onion gonna tell me what to do!

[then a long, serious assessment of my teenage years and the film Grosse Pointe Blank]

So, I've started this birthday with feelings of nostalgia for an old film, which is itself about nostalgia. A little bit self-indulgent, but it is my birthday after all.

Anyway, I like over-analysing things. If you take things apart and scrutinise them, it makes the whole seem that much more wondrous.

I'm 27, but I'm still romantic and optimistic and excited by the world. Which sounds like arrogance.

It is arrogance. But it's also a big compliment, and a big thank you, to my parents, which makes it a bit more palatable.


That's it. I must have forgotten about the whole talking to future Paul thing. I do it in my anniversary posts anyway, so I shouldn't overuse the clever device. (I also recognise my self-indulgence. That's like double self-indulgence. Which is fine.)

Would 2007 Paul be happy with the things I've done since, and where I find myself?

To be honest, he probably wouldn't really care.

Hard to imagine, I know.

In conclusion: I'm doing fine at 28.

Thing #2

I got my hair cut.

That's two separate words. A noun and a verb (I think).

I also had a haircut.

That's just one word. A noun (I think).

Well, I had my hair cut, had a haircut and had several of my hairs cut.

And had a harecut.

And a boycott.

And had my boys cott.

(Hang on, I think this is heading into interesting territory...)

And...

my...

uh, Herr? Cut?

(I was wrong)

Here I am:

For most people, this would be the scariest picture they had of themselves. For me: ... top 5. Probably.

I've messed around with the colours and stuff. Lucy says I look like I'm wearing eye-shadow. Which I don't need to do. I have lovely eyes.

Look at me up there. Staring at you.

Yes: YOU.

I know what you're doing right now.

You should be ashamed of yourself.

And me.

I have short hair and a big, fluffy beard. I think I look like an interesting action movie villain. My friend Katy says I have an upside-down head. Another friend, Holly, says it makes my head look big.

But I like to stand out from the crowd.

I'm fearful and middle class, so my only means of expressing my status as a heroic indie pariah is by wearing a long leather coat, and having a terrifying head-enlarging, head-rotating beard.

I like to scare people as a political statement.

And I like to be mocked by my friends.

Which is also a statement of a sort.

I'm not one of those sheep that has a small, right-way-up head. I'm bringing down the government with the glare of my purple eyes.

Thing #3

I'm on holiday. Not sunning myself in Acapulco. I hear going there can lead to serious mental health problems

But I've finished work for two and a half weeks. The longest I've had off since starting my job.

I'll try to use the freedom to write more of these blogs.

Currently I'm a bit downbeat due to being buried in snow and poverty. But I'm sure my mood will improve with every delightful shopping trip and novelty bear.

What a world!

What? A world?!

Waterworld.

(Hang on, I think this is going somewhere...)

...

Wart.

uh...

whirled...?

...


....

*cough*

I should... probably... you know... head off now...

...stay ahead of the weather and stuff.

It's Beginning To Feel A Lot Like Citrus

An Idiot Flaps Odyssey - Part 9
Intro
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8

***

Anthony Burgess - A Clockwork Orange


My expression in that photo doesn't reflect my feelings about the book. I look displeased up there. And maybe I am displeased, but not with Mr Burgess. I enjoyed the book a great deal.

I was going to write lots of insightful things about the use of language, the themes of adolescence and social control, and the relation to the Kubrick film version, but I'm sure it has already been covered by people more qualified and skilled than I.

Maybe I'm displeased about my giant hand, or the lack of colour in my face.

It's a lot easier to read novels than non-fiction. If my shelf was all novels, I'd have raced through it. But I am interested in the non-fiction stuff: the politics, the history, the social analysis.

It also helps me understand the fiction on a deeper level. I'm sure Machiavelli and Spenser will really sharpen my appreciation for the themes in Fantastic Mr Fox and Russell Brand's Booky Wook.

I should either:
a) Write something interesting about the books I'm reading, or
b) Use the books as a springboard to other interesting ideas

I seem to be doing neither of those things, due to my waning mood.

Perhaps I should just stop writing this blog for a while until I feel more motivated. But I worry that that time may never come. So it's best to have these little chunks of dour vapidity to act as placeholders for a while.

Also, I should stop suggesting that what I write is dour and vapid. I think that, but only because of my current mindset. I'm sure everyone reading this was thrilled by the insight and energy of my writing, and was subsequently shocked to learn of the low opinion I have for my words.

It's all about attitude. From now on, I'm going to enthuse about my blog to such an extent as to become obnoxious and unreadable.

Then I'll have to tone it down to create a sense of balance. It's tricky to walk that fine line between wet blanket and loud-mouthed bravado blanket (though using both does keep the heat in, during these cold winter nights).

I should also stop putting my face in these blogs. I don't like being reminded of my sullen visage every time I click on the page.

On the other hand, I am extremely handsome, vibrant and aesthetically rich in facial construction. Most people see my face and are given a real boost to their day. People probably check for updates every 45 minutes to get a new snatch of my proud countenance.

On the other hand, no they don't.

On the other hand, they might.

That's four hands (or half an octopus [with hands]).

I'm really enjoying this. I think I'm being funny and interesting. This is probably the best blog post I've ever written.

Though to be honest, the transparency of that falsehood may be enough to permanently alienate any of my obtuse perceptive ugly beautiful readers, so I'd do well to both delete this without publishing it, and also post it several hundred times, on different websites, and print out versions of it to stick on walls and noticeboards and lampposts and then graffiti insults over the grotesque and brilliant text therein.

I should also post some more pictures of my face, and the back of my head for balance.

***

We put up our Christmas decorations recently. I'm currently listening to White Christmas, Bing Crosby's Aryan Festive Classic.

I don't want all my Christmases to be white. I'd like a puce Christmas every so often. Like a leap year.

We've got lots of lights, which is very pleasant. It feels like we're living in a neon brain, and rejoicing at the colourful synapses. We're like brain elves.

Nat King Cole has just barged his way into proceedings. Santa Claus may well be coming to town, but I don't appreciate a song composed mainly of threats.

Except for I'm Going to Punch Your Wife by UB40 or You've Got 'Til the Count of Three - One... Two... Three... *CLICK* *BLAM* by Ladysmith Black Mambazo.

I'd continue writing hilarious commentary on all the songs that come up, but doing that would expose how slow I am at writing.

For example, in the time it took to write the last sentence, I've gone through all of our Christmas music, all of our New Years music, all of our Shrove Tuesday music, and am now listening to Frank Sinatra sing a touching ballad about the Easter Bunny.

Yes, I do sort my iTunes by festive season. I find it to be appropriate.

I'm going to go and pour myself a large glass of water now.

I need water to live.

Things in Books

I'm not dead, you'll be pleased to know.

But I have become bored and, in some cases, irritated with every word I write. So I haven't been writing or tweeting much. I'm sure it's just a phase.

To escape the tyranny of my own words, I've climbed back on the book horse. Other people have interesting things to say.

An Idiot Flaps Odyssey - Part 8

Intro

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

This is a thing where I read all the books on a particular shelf in order. It's just that simple. It's just that fun.

I haven't been doing it for a while, as I've been reading comics and worrying about the world.

But here I am again.

***

Machiavelli - The Prince

Sorry for the blurry photo. But maybe it can be considered some kind of comment on the indistinct nature of Machiavelli's ideas. They are quite distinct, though.

This would have gone well with my last entry on Utopia. But that was a long time ago.

People don't like Machiavelli. His name is a synonym for duplicity and immorality. But he doesn't seem that bad to me. He basically just outlines the qualities an efficient leader needs to succeed. Some of these are quite ruthless, but don't seem too out-of-the-ordinary.

I think the problem is that he makes explicit the compromises leaders have to make. People probably already knew all this, even back then, but just coming out and saying it seemed a bit gauche.

It's a bit like the information being released as part of the Wikileaks mayhem at the moment. There's nothing there that comes across as shocking - it's just unsettling to have your suspicions confirmed in such a clear-cut fashion. There's something highly unsettling about realising that you're right.

People want to aspire to correctness, but don't want to have to deal with the consequences. Like the Lib Dems claiming to want power, but flipping out when they got some.

The Prince is apparently something of a Mafia handbook. There are lots of useful tidbits about keeping your troops in line. It's good to be respected, good to be feared, but probably not too good to be hated. You don't want to be too brave or too cowardly, to truthful or too dishonest, to hairy or too svelte.

Machiavelli seemed to know what he was talking about, be he's dead now. So who cares?

It's interesting reading this kind of treatise - knowing it was written for practical use and imagining what elements are still valid. Not necessarily the most entertaining read, though. Especially if you're not in the Mafia.

And I'm not.

***

Raymond Williams - Problems in Materialism and Culture



A collection of essays from the theorist and critic. I didn't read them all, because I've become rusty in the ways of academic literature. And slow. And stupid.

Also, I said at the outset that I didn't need to read non-fiction, so this is a bonus.

One essay I found particularly interesting is on the conception of nature. I'm interested in this topic, because I get annoyed by homeopathers, witches, and people who sell nuts, talking about nature and natural ingredients, when the very concept of "nature" means too many things and nothing at all.

Are we part of nature, or separate from it? What is this thing that we call nature? Some mysterious God-like force? What does it include?

He also talks about how different people claim nature for their own causes, exploiting it and claiming to preserve it. Cultivated fields are seen as natural, but are just as man-made as cities and industry.

It's interesting. I think referring to something as 'natural' is so vague that it's pretty pointless.

Now I should hilariously undercut that last remark by referring to something as natural. Because that's how things work.

***

That's it. I'd better not linger around the keyboard in case I write something inflammatory. If you're interested in anything I've watched, listened to, eaten, drinken, flinken or stinken, it's going to have to wait for another day.