We all wrote raps when we were younger. I'm sure you remember the first time you spat some rhymes over a tasty, tasty beat.
Your first rap is like your first time riding a bike without stabilisers, or the first time you get a police caution at the zoo.
It's almost become a bit of a cliché. Romantic notions of rapping are so deeply woven into the concept of childhood, it's difficult to separate them. We all remember Lewis Carroll writing the famous Walrus freestyle scene in Alice in Wonderland. And how many of us were captivated by Enid Blyton's Five Go to Long Beach?
I thought I'd share my first rap with you. It will show you who I was then, and it may also provide clues about the person I have come to be.
The fact that I can remember this at all shows what an important creation it was. Mozart was producing genius from an early age. Of course, I'm not Mozart. But you can see why I make the connection.
I thought about recording this rap to post here, but I think it might be better to just see the words written down. They speak of adolescent soul-searching, a yearning for emotional connection, and have such subtly and delicacy of touch that it's almost heartbreaking.
You may notice that I've gone for 12 bars, rather than the customary 16. I don't completely remember, but I'm sure this was a stylistic choice.
We can look at this in detail later. Keep in mind, this is a genuine, unaltered rap, which I wrote when I was about fourteen.
Everybody, everywhere, you'd better beware
'Cause P-Funk is in the house and I've got lyrical flair
Concede sweet defeat to the emphatic fanatic
My simplistic realistic linguistics are enigmatic
I just keep on getting faster, I'm perpetual motion
As deep as the ocean with devoted emotion
Turning sour into sweet and sweet into sour
Burning up the mic at five thousand miles an hour
You can go straight to hell if you ain't down with the Funk
'Cause one verbal assault and your battleship's sunk
Don't think that I'm one of them wannabe gangsta boys
It's just that hip hop is my playground and my lyrics are toys.
I'll give you a moment to appreciate this. Drink it in. It's like a fine wine: explore the flavours, probe the complex construction.
Pretty special, I think you'll agree.
Let's take a closer look.
Everybody, everywhere, you'd better beware
Immediately, I announce my intentions. And they are aggressive. I'm warning people - and not just people: everybody. Everywhere. No-one is safe from what's to come. I'm obviously a global threat.
'Cause P-Funk is in the house and I've got lyrical flair
P-Funk was my nickname at school. It started because my drama teacher called me Funk instead of Fung (and did the same to my sister before me). And, as my first name begins with a 'P', I became known as P-Funk. By some people.
About half of my friends called me P-Funk (possibly with irony), and the others obviously thought this was stupid. They were correct. I didn't call myself P-Funk, except in raps, on pencil case graffiti and on Youtube. But never in job interviews.
Rarely in job interviews.
Anyway, I'm 'in the house' (true - when I wrote this, I imagine I was in a house), and have 'lyrical flair', which is already abundantly clear. This is why you should beware.
Concede sweet defeat to the emphatic fanatic
Great line. The emphatic fanatic is good (although not particularly appropriate for me). You can concede defeat, and it will be sweet because you get to listen to my sick flow.
My simplistic realistic linguistics are enigmatic
Here's where things fall apart a bit. I'm clearly relishing the rhyme, but my accuracy isn't too good. My lyrics aren't simplistic (they're highly advanced), they're reasonably realistic (it's difficult to find a rhyme for 'unicorn') and whilst they may be enigmatic, this quality contradicts attributes A (simplistic) and B (realistic).
I've become so enigmatic that I'm contradicting myself. Which I suppose is an achievement in itself.
Unicorn, unicorn... Hmm... what about 'uniform'? [Your talents are nonexistent, like a unicorn / When you get dressed, lookin' stupid is your uniform] YES! I'VE STILL GOT IT!
I just keep on getting faster, I'm perpetual motion
I've let myself down here, possibly from misunderstanding a joke from The Simpsons. Perpetual motion is fine (in an abstract, hip hop way), but I can't also be getting faster. I wouldn't be in time with the beat.
As deep as the ocean with devoted emotion
You need arrogance to be a good MC. I would say that claiming to be as 'deep as the ocean' might have been slightly ambitious. I don't really know what 'devoted emotion' is, but I'm sure it was inflamed by puberty.
Turning sour into sweet and sweet into sour
This is a nice, meaningless bit of contrarian rhetoric. I could do those things. I take what you don't like and make it palatable. I take what you do like and expose its flaws. I do do that.
Burning up the mic at five thousand miles an hour
I never timed myself, but I imagine this is correct. I'm older now, so may be down to 4000mph.
You can go straight to hell if you ain't down with the Funk
The use of 'ain't' seems a bit forced. I'd never say 'ain't'. At least I was leaving the option there. You can go straight to hell. But you don't have to.
'Cause one verbal assault and your battleship's sunk
Come on, that's a good line, man.
Don't think that I'm one of them wannabe gangsta boys
The delivery makes this line: "one of them, wannabe". You need to hit that right, or it's all for nothing.
It's just that hip hop is my playground and my lyrics are toys.
BOOM! Eat that! Pick that out of... your.... face. You just got SERVED.
I had real talent. I still do, but I've moved on.
I wonder if I should have used my gift. I could have been The Streets or Bubba Sparxxx.
But I think my destiny has led me in a different direction. The lyrical flair is still there, but the burden of being as deep as the ocean weighed to greatly on my shoulders.
***
Welcome to the latest edition of Twat Twas Tweet Twas, where you get to catch up on all the hilarity you might have missed if you don't follow me on Twitter, or just don't really care that much.
***
I'm wearing my 1.5-D monocle.
***
The Grand Old Duke of York also had ninety-thousand WOMEN. But they never get mentioned. #misogynistory
***
Thinking about it, what's the difference between shark-infested water and water-infested sharks? Perspective. Only perspective.
***
"Be the change you wish to see in the world." That's when I decided to be eleven pounds, all in ten pence pieces.
***
You can make text darker, thicker and more distinct? That's a bold claim.
***
Nothing says 'dignity' more than windmill-arms.
***
What kind of bear parents name their son Bungle? I mean, with that name he's only ever going to be a total disaster.
***
It was so sad when Bruce Forsyth went blind. He doesn't talk about it, but it's why he stopped doing those "I'll see you in Courts!" ads.
***
I'm wearing sleeveless trousers. Unless you count leg-sleeves.
***
"It's not you - It's me." Never try to break up with someone in a hall of mirrors.
***
Just shook my magic 8-ball and it said "YOU WILL WASTE YOUR AFTERNOON WATCHING 'DIRTY ROTTEN SCOUNDRELS'". Spooky.
***
I don't put the clocks forward, I put IDEAS forward.
***
Every now and then I reach deep down into my soul, and regret not putting on rubber gloves.
***
I'm joining a new anti-shopping trolley campaign group. It's called 'Hold Everything!'
***
You haven't lived until you've pushed a drunk juggler into a cathedral.
***
No-one ever describes something as a marginal shambles.
***
Last night I dreamt that one of my work appraisal objectives was "I HATE LIARS". That's not an objective. It's not even the right tense.
***
Asap's Fables need to be read immediately.
That was Lucy's joke. But she's not on Twitter. So I have to channel her genius like a glib Whoopi Goldberg.
***
As a kid, I dressed like a superhero. I wore a towel as a cape, fastened with a safety pin. It wasn't glamourous, but the job needed doing.
***
Hey, here's something that might cheer you up: SELF-DELUSION.
***
I'm not being morbid. I'm just being less lessbid.
***
This 'Energy Zone' deodorant is failing to transport me to any such location.
***
In Britain, Popeye is known as Father Eye.
***
What does a 2D farmer wear? A flat cap. #taptapisthisthingon?
***
I once organised a tribute concert for the number zero, as well as a bake sale, a fun run and a 24-hour telethon. It was all for nought.
***
You're only as old as you smell.
***
If using the expression "If BLANK is wrong, I don't want to be right" is wrong, I don't want to be BLANK.
***
I managed to blag my way into a Freud convention with a fake id.
***
By the time you read this, I will have had a confusing dream about you.
***
Having a recurring dream should also be known as nightjà vu.
***
I DON'T like to use reverse ygolohcysp.
***
We have new windows! With little window keys, so no-one can STEAL THE OUTSIDE.
***
Right now, I'm sitting next to a skyscraper of comics and graphic novels. It's like a monument to social ineptitude.
***
I like to stand my apple-cores up, so they retain some semblance of regal, skeletal dignity.
***
Part of me thinks
***
Lucy just said: "I like people's mates being called Leon".
***
That's more than enough.
Good day to you.
Wednesday, 30 March 2011
Sunday, 27 March 2011
March
I went on a march yesterday. You might have seen something about it on the news.
The march itself, I mean. Not my involvement.
My participating probably wasn't covered by the mainstream, so-called "news" outlets. But I was there.
I should have taken photographs to illustrate the fact, but I didn't. So what could have been an interesting pictorial account of the day, will become just another stream of vowels, consonants and the occasional vonsonant (but no cowels - I draw the line there).
I probably don't need to explain why I was marching, but I'll give it a quick go.
The government's policy of sweeping cuts is both immoral and detrimental to the future of the economy. Poor people and public services are taking the brunt of an assault which is only happening because of the mistakes of the rich. The government have made their priorities clear: they'd rather have happy bankers than libraries; they'd rather have competition than justice; they'd rather have a patronising and false expression of concern, rather than a single shred of human decency.
We've been told they don't have a choice. But they do have a choice - they're just not interested in the option which doesn't conform to their ideology.
Anyway, I'm sure there are places where you can find this expressed more eloquently and with more actual information.
The long and short of it (and the middle of it, and the quite long of it) is that a huge range of people from different professions, parts of the country, and with a wide selection of haircuts all marched through London. And so did Lucy and I.
Lucy is a seasoned protester from her student days. She'd done it all: anti-war, anti-top up fees, anti-arms trade, anti-Muscovado sugar, pro-arms trade, anti-hairnet, pro-sugar war. [Some of those are lies] So I let her be my guide.
We left early on the Oxford Tube (which is a coach that goes between Oxford and London, and is a constant source of refuge - especially on journeys back from London, which are always a cause of huge relief).
This journey didn't prove to be very relaxing, however. I had to go to the toilet. So I went to the coach toilet. (I hope you're following this)
As I was closing the toilet door, I didn't realise my left thumb was in a dangerous place, near the hinges, so I closed the door hard. I immediately sensed something was wrong. I think it was because of the metal biting into the tip of my thumb. And then the pain. And the blood.
If you're in discomfort, one of the worst places to be is a coach toilet. It doesn't have much of a soothing atmosphere. It smells, and is small. There are no nurses on hand. They don't have a comfy bed in which to lie down.
I managed to complete the task at hand (which was only a simple urination, I should/shouldn't add), and got back to my seat, where I nearly passed out. I think it was from shock (the injury isn't so bad).
I think the shock was exacerbated by the secondary shock that I'm a complete wimp. If I faint when I get my thumb caught in a door, I probably wouldn't do too well in a war/torture situation. I always assumed I'd be a tough, rugged warrior. But apparently I'm a complete sissy. (Is 'sissy' politically correct?)
After some water and some sitting still, I felt a lot better and (after plastering the affected appendage), we were ready to march!
You might imagine that during all this, Lucy was rolling her eyes: she (a warrior) being tied to this grimacing casualty before we'd even left the bus. But luckily, she was very compassionate and helpful. I suppose she's used to being ashamed of me, so this wasn't much of a shock.
We got the tube to Temple, and then joined the throng of people feeding into the main march. 'Throng' might be the wrong word (is 'throng' politically correct?), but there were loads of people. It was really uplifting to see so many people, and so many types of people.
(Not sure about the italicisation there. Makes me sound like I'm judging particular groups with scorn. But sadly there's no way to undo italics. Thanks a lot, Bill Gates.)
So many accents and age groups, people representing fire fighters, teachers' groups, local unions. And the atmosphere was really positive. I think that's something that hasn't been emphasised enough in the media coverage: though we were there for a serious reason, there was a real sense of positivity and creativity in proceedings. There were costumes, balloons, funny placards, and bands.
Incidentally, you never feel more like an old-fashioned protester or than when you're marching with a brass band. Something about brass makes the atmosphere seem noble and historic - I would have joined the Communist party if I didn't look so bad in red.
As the march slowly, slowly made its way along the route, noise would spread its way along. People had horns and whistles and drums, and every now and then a wave of sound would ripple forward through the crowd as though it was a separate entity, or like an electric current pulsing though a conduit composed of people - marching forward with us.
It was very uplifting. Weirdly, it reminded me of going to watch football. There too, there's a sense of being part of a mass - the closest we get to being a flock of starlings, moving in unison - and having a shared purpose. And (despite what some people say), football crowds have a similar positive energy: everyone is together.
One of my favourite things from the march was accidentally bumping into a fellow protester. I excused my self, and at the same time, she apologised too, saying "I'm sorry!" in a sweet, well-spoken sing-song way, all the while wearing a David Cameron face mask with a swastika drawn on the forehead. Superb.
It was quite tiring, moving so slowly. But there were always things to look at: a line of policeman protecting a branch of McDonald's, the rising boos as we passed Downing Street, a child giving out badges.
We walked past Trafalgar Square (later to be the site of some media-pleasing violence) where flares were lit, and there were eerie puppets of death and a large horse, for some reason.
Eventually, we made it to the rally in Hyde Park. It was difficult to get a sense of the numbers of people, but watching it later on the news made it clear what a massive movement it was.
We arrived about halfway through the rally (which consisted of various speakers, live music, and protest videos). I'd half expected it to be a parade of celebrities, but the majority of the speakers were union representatives and individuals from a wide range of places, all united by the cause. The union speakers were all excellent: passionate, concise, moving, and all seemed excited by the prospect of speaking to such a crowd.
At times I felt like a bit of an intruder, given that I'm not a union member, and that the cuts aren't particularly affecting me, but the speeches clearly expressed the problems that were happening, and that the whole country was being hurt.
It's funny (and by funny I mean horrible) that all the things I truly value about this country are under threat: the NHS, the libraries, funding for the arts. I don't think I really expected Cameron to be as stereotypically awful as he has.
I should say that I like to think of myself as someone who tries to rationally engage with politics. I really do consider different sides and different opinions. Despite my generally leftist stance, I don't think I'm closed to the problems with that ideology.
And I know that the rally was put together with a particular viewpoint. But I think there's agreement about the detrimental nature of these policies that's really far-reaching. This wasn't a group only composed of anarchists, keen on demolishing the state. This was a broad group of people united under a banner of fairness.
I probably haven't put enough thought into this entry. Or enough jokes. And I've probably included too many vonsonants. But what can you do?
We went home, tired but satisfied. Will it make any difference? I don't know. This is just part of a wider campaign. Hopefully even if this doesn't make the government reconsider existing plans, it will make them wary about the implications of future ones.
So, well done comrades! I was proud to be there.
Doing a good deed is a real boost. Now the next time I throw hot Starbucks coffee into the face of a homeless man, suffocate him with a Tesco carrier bag and then film it on my Vodafone mobile, my conscience will be clear as crystal.
The march itself, I mean. Not my involvement.
My participating probably wasn't covered by the mainstream, so-called "news" outlets. But I was there.
I should have taken photographs to illustrate the fact, but I didn't. So what could have been an interesting pictorial account of the day, will become just another stream of vowels, consonants and the occasional vonsonant (but no cowels - I draw the line there).
I probably don't need to explain why I was marching, but I'll give it a quick go.
The government's policy of sweeping cuts is both immoral and detrimental to the future of the economy. Poor people and public services are taking the brunt of an assault which is only happening because of the mistakes of the rich. The government have made their priorities clear: they'd rather have happy bankers than libraries; they'd rather have competition than justice; they'd rather have a patronising and false expression of concern, rather than a single shred of human decency.
We've been told they don't have a choice. But they do have a choice - they're just not interested in the option which doesn't conform to their ideology.
Anyway, I'm sure there are places where you can find this expressed more eloquently and with more actual information.
The long and short of it (and the middle of it, and the quite long of it) is that a huge range of people from different professions, parts of the country, and with a wide selection of haircuts all marched through London. And so did Lucy and I.
Lucy is a seasoned protester from her student days. She'd done it all: anti-war, anti-top up fees, anti-arms trade, anti-Muscovado sugar, pro-arms trade, anti-hairnet, pro-sugar war. [Some of those are lies] So I let her be my guide.
We left early on the Oxford Tube (which is a coach that goes between Oxford and London, and is a constant source of refuge - especially on journeys back from London, which are always a cause of huge relief).
This journey didn't prove to be very relaxing, however. I had to go to the toilet. So I went to the coach toilet. (I hope you're following this)
As I was closing the toilet door, I didn't realise my left thumb was in a dangerous place, near the hinges, so I closed the door hard. I immediately sensed something was wrong. I think it was because of the metal biting into the tip of my thumb. And then the pain. And the blood.
If you're in discomfort, one of the worst places to be is a coach toilet. It doesn't have much of a soothing atmosphere. It smells, and is small. There are no nurses on hand. They don't have a comfy bed in which to lie down.
I managed to complete the task at hand (which was only a simple urination, I should/shouldn't add), and got back to my seat, where I nearly passed out. I think it was from shock (the injury isn't so bad).
I think the shock was exacerbated by the secondary shock that I'm a complete wimp. If I faint when I get my thumb caught in a door, I probably wouldn't do too well in a war/torture situation. I always assumed I'd be a tough, rugged warrior. But apparently I'm a complete sissy. (Is 'sissy' politically correct?)
After some water and some sitting still, I felt a lot better and (after plastering the affected appendage), we were ready to march!
You might imagine that during all this, Lucy was rolling her eyes: she (a warrior) being tied to this grimacing casualty before we'd even left the bus. But luckily, she was very compassionate and helpful. I suppose she's used to being ashamed of me, so this wasn't much of a shock.
We got the tube to Temple, and then joined the throng of people feeding into the main march. 'Throng' might be the wrong word (is 'throng' politically correct?), but there were loads of people. It was really uplifting to see so many people, and so many types of people.
(Not sure about the italicisation there. Makes me sound like I'm judging particular groups with scorn. But sadly there's no way to undo italics. Thanks a lot, Bill Gates.)
So many accents and age groups, people representing fire fighters, teachers' groups, local unions. And the atmosphere was really positive. I think that's something that hasn't been emphasised enough in the media coverage: though we were there for a serious reason, there was a real sense of positivity and creativity in proceedings. There were costumes, balloons, funny placards, and bands.
Incidentally, you never feel more like an old-fashioned protester or than when you're marching with a brass band. Something about brass makes the atmosphere seem noble and historic - I would have joined the Communist party if I didn't look so bad in red.
As the march slowly, slowly made its way along the route, noise would spread its way along. People had horns and whistles and drums, and every now and then a wave of sound would ripple forward through the crowd as though it was a separate entity, or like an electric current pulsing though a conduit composed of people - marching forward with us.
It was very uplifting. Weirdly, it reminded me of going to watch football. There too, there's a sense of being part of a mass - the closest we get to being a flock of starlings, moving in unison - and having a shared purpose. And (despite what some people say), football crowds have a similar positive energy: everyone is together.
One of my favourite things from the march was accidentally bumping into a fellow protester. I excused my self, and at the same time, she apologised too, saying "I'm sorry!" in a sweet, well-spoken sing-song way, all the while wearing a David Cameron face mask with a swastika drawn on the forehead. Superb.
It was quite tiring, moving so slowly. But there were always things to look at: a line of policeman protecting a branch of McDonald's, the rising boos as we passed Downing Street, a child giving out badges.
We walked past Trafalgar Square (later to be the site of some media-pleasing violence) where flares were lit, and there were eerie puppets of death and a large horse, for some reason.
Eventually, we made it to the rally in Hyde Park. It was difficult to get a sense of the numbers of people, but watching it later on the news made it clear what a massive movement it was.
We arrived about halfway through the rally (which consisted of various speakers, live music, and protest videos). I'd half expected it to be a parade of celebrities, but the majority of the speakers were union representatives and individuals from a wide range of places, all united by the cause. The union speakers were all excellent: passionate, concise, moving, and all seemed excited by the prospect of speaking to such a crowd.
At times I felt like a bit of an intruder, given that I'm not a union member, and that the cuts aren't particularly affecting me, but the speeches clearly expressed the problems that were happening, and that the whole country was being hurt.
It's funny (and by funny I mean horrible) that all the things I truly value about this country are under threat: the NHS, the libraries, funding for the arts. I don't think I really expected Cameron to be as stereotypically awful as he has.
I should say that I like to think of myself as someone who tries to rationally engage with politics. I really do consider different sides and different opinions. Despite my generally leftist stance, I don't think I'm closed to the problems with that ideology.
And I know that the rally was put together with a particular viewpoint. But I think there's agreement about the detrimental nature of these policies that's really far-reaching. This wasn't a group only composed of anarchists, keen on demolishing the state. This was a broad group of people united under a banner of fairness.
I probably haven't put enough thought into this entry. Or enough jokes. And I've probably included too many vonsonants. But what can you do?
We went home, tired but satisfied. Will it make any difference? I don't know. This is just part of a wider campaign. Hopefully even if this doesn't make the government reconsider existing plans, it will make them wary about the implications of future ones.
So, well done comrades! I was proud to be there.
Doing a good deed is a real boost. Now the next time I throw hot Starbucks coffee into the face of a homeless man, suffocate him with a Tesco carrier bag and then film it on my Vodafone mobile, my conscience will be clear as crystal.
Wednesday, 23 March 2011
Sensible
Every time I read the beginning of my blog posts, I get really annoyed. I need to work on being more engaging and less enraging.
I suppose I just want to launch into the middle of what I'm saying, so I don't have much time for preamble. The trouble is, I'm usually saying nothing. And if I launch myself into the middle of nothing, it would just be 'thi'. Which doesn't seem like a comfortable combination of letters.
I could go back to that technique I used a few months ago, where I tell you what I've been listening to, watching, reading, smelling etc. At least that gave me some structure.
I wonder if this is the most self-indulgent blog on the worldWweb. Which might make it the most self-indulgent thing ever created. Not only do I expect people to read my words, but most of the words are a grumbling, griping comment on my own griping and grumbling. I'm like an angry pensioner trapped in a washing machine.
So let's stop talking about me, and start talking about how fantastic the world is! And how fantastic you are!
You're looking great, by the way. Love that skirt. It really brings out the colour of your skirt!
And you. I just wanted to say how much I appreciate all your hard work! You make a lot of difference to a lot of people.
And don't think I've forgotten you, you glorious two-legged human! Every second you're alive increases the aggregate happiness of the world. Good on ya!
(I used 'I' a bit too much there. I'm still only talking about myself. The second person and the first person are pretty much the same. Maybe his only way out is to use the third person?)
Enough of this.
Let's get infested with bookworms together!
***
An Idiot Flaps Odyssey - Part 14
You can inject words directly into your leg, you can inhale language through a nasal straw, or you can read books which contain ideas and events and characters.
I have chosen the latter option.
Intro
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11
Part 12
Part 13
***
Jane Austen - Sense and Sensibility
I am a man, and am therefore expected to like cars and spitting and Kasabian.
Women are expected to like olives, weeping uncontrollably and Jane Austen.
But I have read some Austen to rebel against social convention, and also because it was the next book on the shelf.
I've never read an Austen novel before, which is something to be ashamed of. She is, after all, one of the great novelists. I don't know what put me off. Possibly the uterus.
[I sense that this post may contain a swirling ironic vortex of sexism. Ironic sexism is the lowest form of humour. Except for jokes about Boris Johnson. Or the 'funny' bits in musicals. So I'll stop.]
Though I haven't read any Austen, I have seen quite a few different TV and film adaptations (usually at the fierce behest of Lucy), and have generally enjoyed them.
I'm not that interested in the romance, but the dialogue and character observation are spot on.
Sense and Sensibility is the same: minutely realistic, pretty fast paced, and full of funny little character bits and ironic asides.
It's so rooted in the social structure of its day, that it becomes quite claustrophobic: a constant struggle for money, respectability, and some semblance of romantic love. It's quite depressing and oppressive; enough to make you appreciate free market Capitalism.
A lot of the events in the story are almost formulated like a sitcom: characters unable to express their true feelings, people giving away more than they mean to, idiots believing themselves to be clever, people trapped in a domestic setting.
The focus on wealth and status can seem frustrating, but Austen's authorial voice (and the voice of the more sensible characters) acknowledges the ridiculousness of it all.
But I feel so divorced from that world that I can't seem to generate too much enthusiasm for the outcome. I'm just not that interested in which dull man the sisters end up with, because it all feels part of the same carousel of imprisonment.
What's really striking is how sophisticated it is for an early novel. Austen seems to be one of those people who are pioneers of a particular art form, but who also get it exactly right from the beginning. Like Super Mario 64. It's all so subtle and well put-together.
In conclusion:
me book read happy
***
How about a quick comedy sketch for a change of pace?
Hilary: I can't believe you didn't tell me you were married.
Franco: Some things are better left unsaid.
Hilary: Oh yeah? Like what?
Franco: ...
Hilary: Touché.
Franco: Anyway, who cares? Being married doesn't change who I am. It's like the colour of my eyes, or what kind of socks I'm wearing.
Hilary: What kind of socks are you wearing?
[The movers come in for the grandfather clock, load it onto a little trolley, then bash the door frame on the way out]
Franco: My left sock says 'Just' and my right sock says 'Married'.
Hilary: Oh.
Franco: And they're covered in confetti. And have cans tied to them.
Hilary: When do I get to meet the lucky lady?
Franco: If she's really lucky, she'll be able to avoid meeting you altogether.
Hilary: Oh Franco! Why must you toy with me this way? Can't you see I'm agitated?
[Franco smooths his hair back with the power of his mind]
Franco: I'll tell you what.
Hilary: What?
Franco: ... I'll tell you.
Hilary: When?
Franco: No, WHAT.
Hilary: No, when are you going to tell me what?
Franco: I'll tell you when.
Hilary: What?
Franco: No, WHEN.
[The ghosts of Abbott and Costello float through the room, looking disappointed]
Franco: You can come on the honeymoon. I'm sure we can squeeze you in.
Hilary: Really? You mean it?
[The movers come back in, looking forlorn]
Mover 1: Sorry, Miss. We accidentally dropped your vase into your piano.
Mover 2: We saw a bird, and our fingers... stopped...
Hilary: Fine, fine. Who needs a piano? I'm going on a honeymoon! Where did I pack my shorts?
[Hilary wanders into an adjacent parlour]
Franco: Excellent. I'm ready for the fireworks.
[The movers bring in the box of fireworks]
***
No-one has ever said I'm not Wildean.
I suppose I just want to launch into the middle of what I'm saying, so I don't have much time for preamble. The trouble is, I'm usually saying nothing. And if I launch myself into the middle of nothing, it would just be 'thi'. Which doesn't seem like a comfortable combination of letters.
I could go back to that technique I used a few months ago, where I tell you what I've been listening to, watching, reading, smelling etc. At least that gave me some structure.
I wonder if this is the most self-indulgent blog on the worldWweb. Which might make it the most self-indulgent thing ever created. Not only do I expect people to read my words, but most of the words are a grumbling, griping comment on my own griping and grumbling. I'm like an angry pensioner trapped in a washing machine.
So let's stop talking about me, and start talking about how fantastic the world is! And how fantastic you are!
You're looking great, by the way. Love that skirt. It really brings out the colour of your skirt!
And you. I just wanted to say how much I appreciate all your hard work! You make a lot of difference to a lot of people.
And don't think I've forgotten you, you glorious two-legged human! Every second you're alive increases the aggregate happiness of the world. Good on ya!
(I used 'I' a bit too much there. I'm still only talking about myself. The second person and the first person are pretty much the same. Maybe his only way out is to use the third person?)
Enough of this.
Let's get infested with bookworms together!
***
An Idiot Flaps Odyssey - Part 14
You can inject words directly into your leg, you can inhale language through a nasal straw, or you can read books which contain ideas and events and characters.
I have chosen the latter option.
Intro
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11
Part 12
Part 13
***
Jane Austen - Sense and Sensibility
I am a man, and am therefore expected to like cars and spitting and Kasabian.Women are expected to like olives, weeping uncontrollably and Jane Austen.
But I have read some Austen to rebel against social convention, and also because it was the next book on the shelf.
I've never read an Austen novel before, which is something to be ashamed of. She is, after all, one of the great novelists. I don't know what put me off. Possibly the uterus.
[I sense that this post may contain a swirling ironic vortex of sexism. Ironic sexism is the lowest form of humour. Except for jokes about Boris Johnson. Or the 'funny' bits in musicals. So I'll stop.]
Though I haven't read any Austen, I have seen quite a few different TV and film adaptations (usually at the fierce behest of Lucy), and have generally enjoyed them.
I'm not that interested in the romance, but the dialogue and character observation are spot on.
Sense and Sensibility is the same: minutely realistic, pretty fast paced, and full of funny little character bits and ironic asides.
It's so rooted in the social structure of its day, that it becomes quite claustrophobic: a constant struggle for money, respectability, and some semblance of romantic love. It's quite depressing and oppressive; enough to make you appreciate free market Capitalism.
A lot of the events in the story are almost formulated like a sitcom: characters unable to express their true feelings, people giving away more than they mean to, idiots believing themselves to be clever, people trapped in a domestic setting.
The focus on wealth and status can seem frustrating, but Austen's authorial voice (and the voice of the more sensible characters) acknowledges the ridiculousness of it all.
But I feel so divorced from that world that I can't seem to generate too much enthusiasm for the outcome. I'm just not that interested in which dull man the sisters end up with, because it all feels part of the same carousel of imprisonment.
What's really striking is how sophisticated it is for an early novel. Austen seems to be one of those people who are pioneers of a particular art form, but who also get it exactly right from the beginning. Like Super Mario 64. It's all so subtle and well put-together.
In conclusion:
me book read happy
***
How about a quick comedy sketch for a change of pace?
Hilary: I can't believe you didn't tell me you were married.
Franco: Some things are better left unsaid.
Hilary: Oh yeah? Like what?
Franco: ...
Hilary: Touché.
Franco: Anyway, who cares? Being married doesn't change who I am. It's like the colour of my eyes, or what kind of socks I'm wearing.
Hilary: What kind of socks are you wearing?
[The movers come in for the grandfather clock, load it onto a little trolley, then bash the door frame on the way out]
Franco: My left sock says 'Just' and my right sock says 'Married'.
Hilary: Oh.
Franco: And they're covered in confetti. And have cans tied to them.
Hilary: When do I get to meet the lucky lady?
Franco: If she's really lucky, she'll be able to avoid meeting you altogether.
Hilary: Oh Franco! Why must you toy with me this way? Can't you see I'm agitated?
[Franco smooths his hair back with the power of his mind]
Franco: I'll tell you what.
Hilary: What?
Franco: ... I'll tell you.
Hilary: When?
Franco: No, WHAT.
Hilary: No, when are you going to tell me what?
Franco: I'll tell you when.
Hilary: What?
Franco: No, WHEN.
[The ghosts of Abbott and Costello float through the room, looking disappointed]
Franco: You can come on the honeymoon. I'm sure we can squeeze you in.
Hilary: Really? You mean it?
[The movers come back in, looking forlorn]
Mover 1: Sorry, Miss. We accidentally dropped your vase into your piano.
Mover 2: We saw a bird, and our fingers... stopped...
Hilary: Fine, fine. Who needs a piano? I'm going on a honeymoon! Where did I pack my shorts?
[Hilary wanders into an adjacent parlour]
Franco: Excellent. I'm ready for the fireworks.
[The movers bring in the box of fireworks]
***
No-one has ever said I'm not Wildean.
Wednesday, 16 March 2011
Friendsy
Good Wōden's Day to you.
I'm thinking about doing a thing. This is a specific thing - with a goal, a duration and its own website. But at the moment the thing I'm thinking of doing, actually seems like a thing I probably won't do.
It's called Script Frenzy.
The idea is to write a 100 page script in thirty days (those days being the recognised days of April).
It's similar to NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), which Lucy did last year. These things are initiatives to get people to write. The emphasis is on quantity, rather than quality: it's a motivating tool to get procrastinators (like me) to actually produce something.
So you have a set goal, and there are lots of helpful tips and blog posts, and forums where you can discuss ideas. All in all, it's a great concept: a supportive atmosphere to encourage creative work.
But I don't know if I should do it.
I don't think I'd find it impossible to write that much, but I don't really have an idea.
And that's the key thing. I have lots of little ideas - some of them are tweet-worthy, or even sketch-worthy, but none of them are feature film worthy. (All of them are blog-worthy, but that's just because I've set the bar so low an ant could step over it)
I've begun scripts with no ideas before. I think it's quite easy to get to thirty pages by just making stuff up, but then you lose momentum. Then I end up just throwing stuff in there, like a sudden plague or talking cartoon mountain. It's not so much a deus ex machina as a weakus ex machina.
(Because 'deus' sounds like 'day', and there are so many of them it might constitute a 'week', and it's so bad that it's also... weak.
You know what it's like for something to be weak right? I can't think of an example right now, but there may be one in the past sentence or so.)
I need a full plot. And usually I only have about a third of a plot.
If I ever had a plot, I lost it. Or most of it.
I should have kept it all in the same Tupperware container, but my thinking was "If someone comes to steal my plot, you don't want it all in one place. So I'll divide my plot up: put one piece here in the lounge, one piece over there by the biscuit hutch etc." But I mislaid some of the plot fragments, so I only have a bit left.
I wouldn't want to fall into my old routine. 80% of the scripts I've ever written have been about an underachieving main character, his idiot friend, and an aloof love interest. I need to broaden my horizons.
Of course, Script Frenzy is about quantity rather than quality. So it might be worth just writing anything. But I'm always just writing anything. I've done 528 blog posts. Quantity rather than quality is the code I live my life by.
To gain something from it, I need to have a real idea, so my end product is of some merit.
Also, 'frenzy' isn't the most encouraging word. No-one is ever buoyed by the prospect of a frenzy. I don't know anyone who has been feeling under the weather, and then frenzied themselves into a state of bliss.
[I initially did a typo there: "a state of bloss". I'd like to be in a state of bloss. Bloss sounds like a liqueur that's also a fabric softener.]
Anyway: IDEAS.
What can sustain a whole film? Maybe I should look at what's successful and just copy it. Like that King's Speech film. I could do something similar. I wonder how the studio would feel if I re-released it exactly as it is, but superimposed Don King's face over Colin Firth's. I don't think they'd mind.
Or something autobiographical. You should write about what you know. Remember that time I bought a bow-tie? That's a first act right there. All I need to do is stick in an idiot best friend, an aloof love interest and a talking cartoon mountain.
We'd need to properly schedule the production though. The best talking cartoon mountain in the business is currently in the West End doing a production of The Importance of Being Everest.
I suppose I could always finish Mug World. I just re-read it and it's even better than I remember. I used to have real talent...
OK, I'm getting an outline together:
ACT 1: Our main character, Raúl, goes bow-tie shopping with his idiot best friend.
ACT 2: An aloof cartoon mountain sends him to Mug World.
ACT 3: A sudden plague causes problems, but Colin Firth turns up and solves everything.
Let's just add the odd deus and a montage of pigeons. My tweets can be superimposed over the whole film like disappointing subtitles.
I FEEL A FRENZY COMING ON!
I'm thinking about doing a thing. This is a specific thing - with a goal, a duration and its own website. But at the moment the thing I'm thinking of doing, actually seems like a thing I probably won't do.
It's called Script Frenzy.
The idea is to write a 100 page script in thirty days (those days being the recognised days of April).
It's similar to NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month), which Lucy did last year. These things are initiatives to get people to write. The emphasis is on quantity, rather than quality: it's a motivating tool to get procrastinators (like me) to actually produce something.
So you have a set goal, and there are lots of helpful tips and blog posts, and forums where you can discuss ideas. All in all, it's a great concept: a supportive atmosphere to encourage creative work.
But I don't know if I should do it.
I don't think I'd find it impossible to write that much, but I don't really have an idea.
And that's the key thing. I have lots of little ideas - some of them are tweet-worthy, or even sketch-worthy, but none of them are feature film worthy. (All of them are blog-worthy, but that's just because I've set the bar so low an ant could step over it)
I've begun scripts with no ideas before. I think it's quite easy to get to thirty pages by just making stuff up, but then you lose momentum. Then I end up just throwing stuff in there, like a sudden plague or talking cartoon mountain. It's not so much a deus ex machina as a weakus ex machina.
(Because 'deus' sounds like 'day', and there are so many of them it might constitute a 'week', and it's so bad that it's also... weak.
You know what it's like for something to be weak right? I can't think of an example right now, but there may be one in the past sentence or so.)
I need a full plot. And usually I only have about a third of a plot.
If I ever had a plot, I lost it. Or most of it.
I should have kept it all in the same Tupperware container, but my thinking was "If someone comes to steal my plot, you don't want it all in one place. So I'll divide my plot up: put one piece here in the lounge, one piece over there by the biscuit hutch etc." But I mislaid some of the plot fragments, so I only have a bit left.
I wouldn't want to fall into my old routine. 80% of the scripts I've ever written have been about an underachieving main character, his idiot friend, and an aloof love interest. I need to broaden my horizons.
Of course, Script Frenzy is about quantity rather than quality. So it might be worth just writing anything. But I'm always just writing anything. I've done 528 blog posts. Quantity rather than quality is the code I live my life by.
To gain something from it, I need to have a real idea, so my end product is of some merit.
Also, 'frenzy' isn't the most encouraging word. No-one is ever buoyed by the prospect of a frenzy. I don't know anyone who has been feeling under the weather, and then frenzied themselves into a state of bliss.
[I initially did a typo there: "a state of bloss". I'd like to be in a state of bloss. Bloss sounds like a liqueur that's also a fabric softener.]
Anyway: IDEAS.
What can sustain a whole film? Maybe I should look at what's successful and just copy it. Like that King's Speech film. I could do something similar. I wonder how the studio would feel if I re-released it exactly as it is, but superimposed Don King's face over Colin Firth's. I don't think they'd mind.
Or something autobiographical. You should write about what you know. Remember that time I bought a bow-tie? That's a first act right there. All I need to do is stick in an idiot best friend, an aloof love interest and a talking cartoon mountain.
We'd need to properly schedule the production though. The best talking cartoon mountain in the business is currently in the West End doing a production of The Importance of Being Everest.
I suppose I could always finish Mug World. I just re-read it and it's even better than I remember. I used to have real talent...
OK, I'm getting an outline together:
ACT 1: Our main character, Raúl, goes bow-tie shopping with his idiot best friend.
ACT 2: An aloof cartoon mountain sends him to Mug World.
ACT 3: A sudden plague causes problems, but Colin Firth turns up and solves everything.
Let's just add the odd deus and a montage of pigeons. My tweets can be superimposed over the whole film like disappointing subtitles.
I FEEL A FRENZY COMING ON!
Saturday, 12 March 2011
Limpy's Got Cancer
This post may contain some petty complaints.
I'm fully aware that in a world of earthquakes, tsunamis and civil wars my problems are quite insignificant. But remember: this is the internet.
And on the internet, there's no such thing as proportion.
On message boards and comments pages throughout the world wide web (or 'WWweb'), there will be people whose hearts have been broken by a continuity error in a zombie film, whose ires have been raised by a grammatical mistake, whose life is over because someone has forgotten to correctly rotate a Facebook photo.
If I'm not part of the solution (and I'm not), I'm part of the problem. But in a world (or 'worldWW') without proportion, the problem is negligible. And all-encompassing.
So, whilst the horrible images of waves sweeping through civilisation are everywhere, fires are consuming cities, and the threat of nuclear disaster is hanging overhead like a Soviet ghost, I feel justified in telling you all:
my feet hurt
and my back hurts.
I think the two may be connected.
This past week, I began to find scraps of shoe all over the living room floor. I don't buy shoes very often (I believe it had been a few years since my last purchase), so I forget that they're not supposed to last forever. I like to ride my shoes until they drop like a shattered horse. So my current, faithful, brown walking boots have been worked to death.
But soon they will evaporate into a kind of shoe mist - and as such will not provide much comfort or traction on the long walk to work.
They've served me well. I think I might give them a full funeral. I can give a touching eulogy ("Of course, the shoes will never truly be gone, as long as we remember them and leave them decomposing in the corner of the room") Then I can play a shoe-based ballad to send them off to the next life.
So I decided to buy some new shoes.
I don't like shopping. I instantly get flustered and start making bad choices. I wish we lived in a Communist utopia, where everyone gets the same state-issued grey smock and sandals.
I searched vaguely throughout Oxford city centre for shoes. What I wanted was shoes that were almost exactly the same as the ones I used to have. Except they would be made of a solid material, rather than an ethereal suede powder.
I didn't find any of those, so had to settle on some big black boots that I thought looked cool. They are big. They are black. They make me about an inch taller - which is always good.
But sadly, they turned out to be evil.
I should have guessed, given their Darth Vaderish appearance.
On Thursday I walked to and from work. By the end of this experience, I was beginning to wish I had been born a snake, so as to have been spared the concept of foot pain.
The back of my right heel had a piece of skin the size of a fifty-pence piece hanging off it. My left heel seemed to have taken on some of the properties of the black leather.
I foolishly thought another day (with thicker socks and the odd plaster) would wear them in. This proved to be false.
I spent the day limping and shuffling around the office. It's quite embarrassing to be experiencing such discomfort because of a wardrobe choice. It's another example of me failing as a human (I can add that to my ever-growing list).
I don't think the pain was that bad, but my legs started tensing up, which made walking difficult. And whenever I concentrated on walking normally, I started making very strange leg configurations.
It's like that proverb about the bird who's asked which foot it takes off from. And because it's thinking about it, the bird can no longer fly.
I'm the bird. And I can't fly. Or walk.
I wanted to limp in a cool, war-hero way, but ended up jerking and jittering through the office like a puppet undergoing electrolysis.
And I complained to everyone, which made me feel even more of a wimp. And the complaints made me feel guilty, as there are people who have permanent disabilities that suffer more than me, but with dignity.
I made it home, but haven't put on the shoes since. I don't think I can take them back, and now I don't know what to do.
Today my back started hurting too. I think it might be related - the pain is just under my right shoulder; the right side is the same one as my skinless heel. So today I've been lying on the floor and wincing at various intervals. Once again laid low by the most minor of complaints.
I've never really had back pain before, and it makes me feel old (even though loads of people suffer from similar complaints).
I've made matters worse by complaining about my complaints. Does two lots of complaints cancel each other out? I hope so.
I feel a bit better now.
I can't imagine why anyone would find this interesting but me. But hopefully I've bought myself some leeway with a worthwhile simile here or there.
It all makes me appreciate that I'm generally in good health. I haven't been to the doctors for about five years (and don't even have one in Oxford). So I'd like to thank God and Darwin and my parents for my good health.
CLONK.
(That was the sound of me TOUCHING A LARGE PIECE OF WOOD)
Anyway, my limping made me think of this great Peter Serafinowicz sketch, which I find disproportionately amusing.
But as we've established, there's no room for proportion on the WwideW.
***
I hope Mr Serafinowicz has saved this from the title of Worst Blog Post Ever.
I'd be interested to work out who might win that title. I mean the worst post in my blog. Not in all blogs. I'm sure there are some blogs that are worse than mine. Some aren't even in English! Just imagine!
I'm fully aware that in a world of earthquakes, tsunamis and civil wars my problems are quite insignificant. But remember: this is the internet.
And on the internet, there's no such thing as proportion.
On message boards and comments pages throughout the world wide web (or 'WWweb'), there will be people whose hearts have been broken by a continuity error in a zombie film, whose ires have been raised by a grammatical mistake, whose life is over because someone has forgotten to correctly rotate a Facebook photo.
If I'm not part of the solution (and I'm not), I'm part of the problem. But in a world (or 'worldWW') without proportion, the problem is negligible. And all-encompassing.
So, whilst the horrible images of waves sweeping through civilisation are everywhere, fires are consuming cities, and the threat of nuclear disaster is hanging overhead like a Soviet ghost, I feel justified in telling you all:
my feet hurt
and my back hurts.
I think the two may be connected.
This past week, I began to find scraps of shoe all over the living room floor. I don't buy shoes very often (I believe it had been a few years since my last purchase), so I forget that they're not supposed to last forever. I like to ride my shoes until they drop like a shattered horse. So my current, faithful, brown walking boots have been worked to death.
But soon they will evaporate into a kind of shoe mist - and as such will not provide much comfort or traction on the long walk to work.
They've served me well. I think I might give them a full funeral. I can give a touching eulogy ("Of course, the shoes will never truly be gone, as long as we remember them and leave them decomposing in the corner of the room") Then I can play a shoe-based ballad to send them off to the next life.
So I decided to buy some new shoes.
I don't like shopping. I instantly get flustered and start making bad choices. I wish we lived in a Communist utopia, where everyone gets the same state-issued grey smock and sandals.
I searched vaguely throughout Oxford city centre for shoes. What I wanted was shoes that were almost exactly the same as the ones I used to have. Except they would be made of a solid material, rather than an ethereal suede powder.
I didn't find any of those, so had to settle on some big black boots that I thought looked cool. They are big. They are black. They make me about an inch taller - which is always good.
But sadly, they turned out to be evil.
I should have guessed, given their Darth Vaderish appearance.
On Thursday I walked to and from work. By the end of this experience, I was beginning to wish I had been born a snake, so as to have been spared the concept of foot pain.
The back of my right heel had a piece of skin the size of a fifty-pence piece hanging off it. My left heel seemed to have taken on some of the properties of the black leather.
I foolishly thought another day (with thicker socks and the odd plaster) would wear them in. This proved to be false.
I spent the day limping and shuffling around the office. It's quite embarrassing to be experiencing such discomfort because of a wardrobe choice. It's another example of me failing as a human (I can add that to my ever-growing list).
I don't think the pain was that bad, but my legs started tensing up, which made walking difficult. And whenever I concentrated on walking normally, I started making very strange leg configurations.
It's like that proverb about the bird who's asked which foot it takes off from. And because it's thinking about it, the bird can no longer fly.
I'm the bird. And I can't fly. Or walk.
I wanted to limp in a cool, war-hero way, but ended up jerking and jittering through the office like a puppet undergoing electrolysis.
And I complained to everyone, which made me feel even more of a wimp. And the complaints made me feel guilty, as there are people who have permanent disabilities that suffer more than me, but with dignity.
I made it home, but haven't put on the shoes since. I don't think I can take them back, and now I don't know what to do.
Today my back started hurting too. I think it might be related - the pain is just under my right shoulder; the right side is the same one as my skinless heel. So today I've been lying on the floor and wincing at various intervals. Once again laid low by the most minor of complaints.
I've never really had back pain before, and it makes me feel old (even though loads of people suffer from similar complaints).
I've made matters worse by complaining about my complaints. Does two lots of complaints cancel each other out? I hope so.
I feel a bit better now.
I can't imagine why anyone would find this interesting but me. But hopefully I've bought myself some leeway with a worthwhile simile here or there.
It all makes me appreciate that I'm generally in good health. I haven't been to the doctors for about five years (and don't even have one in Oxford). So I'd like to thank God and Darwin and my parents for my good health.
CLONK.
(That was the sound of me TOUCHING A LARGE PIECE OF WOOD)
Anyway, my limping made me think of this great Peter Serafinowicz sketch, which I find disproportionately amusing.
But as we've established, there's no room for proportion on the WwideW.
***
I hope Mr Serafinowicz has saved this from the title of Worst Blog Post Ever.
I'd be interested to work out who might win that title. I mean the worst post in my blog. Not in all blogs. I'm sure there are some blogs that are worse than mine. Some aren't even in English! Just imagine!
Wednesday, 9 March 2011
The Long and Short of it
Right lets kick it.
Kick it right the F off.
Kick it old school.
Let's just kick it.
Off.
No more Mr Nice Guy.
No more Mr Not Kick.
We're kickin' it right now.
Can I kick it?
Let's hope so, or my bluster will be rendered pointless.
...
I should give speeches at football matches. I ooze inspiration from every pore.
At least I think that's inspiration.
Yeah.
Short, staccato sentences.
Just like the old days.
Let's get this party started right. Right?
Right.
Kick.
Kick.
(I should also teach people how to swim/to be a belligerent horse)
Here we go.
This blog will be in two parts: one book (pseudo)review and another one of my highly popular tweet compendiums. If you like words, you'll like this (unless you don't like me).
That's right - overused parentheses.
I'm kicking it alright.
...
My foot hurts.
***
An Idiot Flaps Odyssey - Part 13
Unlucky for some.
Intro
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11
Part 12
It has been an emotional journey so far. I've learned, I've leaned, I've gleaned, I've glearned.
I've learnt about the history of the western world from Spenser and Williams, been given insight into the human condition from Tolstoy and Fitzgerald, had my passions excited by the great classics, been moved to tears, grown as a reader and as a person. And next on the agenda of enlightenment...
***
Russell Brand - My Booky Wook
Ah, Mr Brand.
Mr Brand.
I've probably written about old Rusty Rockets (as he's known) before. Here's the quick version:
- I think he is clever and funny
- his radio show is brilliant (Lucy and I have listened to it almost literally every day for the past couple of years)
- his stand-up leaves me feeling a bit cold, and doesn't quite capture him
- his other work is varied in quality
- he is everything people accuse him of
- he seems very arrogant and hard to get along with
- he produces words, ideas and jokes at an amazing speed
- he is very self-aware, and is able to have his cake and eat it by being ridiculous and brutally satirising himself, often in the space of the same sentence.
- he is a curiosity; I'm not sure if I like him, but I feel that I know him, like an irritating cousin
So, with that in mind, is the Booky Wook any good?
It is some good, but not entirely good.
(Brand is often attacked for his ridiculous use of language - epitomised by the title of this book. We recently listened to the radio show where he came up with Booky Wook. It emerged as an extreme parody of his language, and as a 'wouldn't-it-be-funny' joke suggestion for the title. I think this is an example of something that often happens: his self-ridicule being taken at face value)
It's an interesting read (unfortunately I'd heard a lot of the stories before), and he has clearly led an eventful, and in some cases disturbing, life. But it leads to an uneven tone and pace. Brand has more to offer than just describing the events of his life, but the balance seems a bit off.
I suppose that's the case for all celebrity autobiographies - they're not there to convey ideas, but to list incidents. It makes for an unsatisfying reading experience: you want something deeper instead of broader.
To be fair to Brand, he discusses a lot of interesting ideas, strange philosophies, and can analyse his own behaviour in vivid and original ways. He speaks candidly about his childhood, his drug addiction and his womanizing ways. In a way, the best bits are when he is unapologetically arrogant, because it provides an window into his (slightly warped) thought processes.
He has a great way with language, but this is sometimes hindered by the inevitable break-neck pace of the story. What sticks out most is his keen observational eye, and his ability to express it in interesting terms.
I've written more about this than I do about most books. Sorry.
In conclusion, I think (just like stand-up), Brand's style is too constrained by the biography format. He needs to be able to roam free and pull out surprises, weird insights, and ridiculous comedy scenarios, without having to worry about narrative.
I did enjoy reading it, but I don't know if I'd recommend it to a friend.
I don't have any friends, so that situation may never come up.
But I wouldn't recommend it to an enemy either.
Final Judgement:
BOOK IS QUITE GOOD.
Thank you.
***
Welcome to another edition of That Was The Tweet That T'was. I'm going to subtly change the name of this feature each time.
(Haha! Feature! I seem to think this is like Going Live, and I've got an organised running order of hilarious segments. Up next: Sarah Green fights Sarah Brown - both camouflaged against a jungle backdrop)
***
A crescent moon is a pleasant moon. A gibbous moon is a... uh... hmm... plibbous moon?
***
"The moon! The moon! Like Guile from Street Fighter's Sonic Boom!" - William Blake, 1819.
***
I love watching the moon slide down the sky like a smiling slumped drunk.
***
I've probably tweeted about the moon too much tonight. But on the other hand, I might gain a few werewolf followers.
***
A message to the custard makers of Britain: Keep up the goo work!
***
Love is like a flower: covered in aphids.
***
I wish my internal monologue would shut up. It's like living with a melancholy parrot.
***
I've just sent myself an email reminding me to be less self-involved.
***
If I could marry a foodstuff, it would be my work canteen's curried sweet potato salad. Though the wedding would be weird (coleslaw inlaws).
***
No man is an Eye Land (ocular-themed amusement park).
***
Keep an eye out for the eye socket inspector.
***
What do you call a man with five legs? If in doubt, check his birth certificate.
***
Time to do a quick bit of washing up. Luckily, I thought ahead and had taps installed.
***
"There are three kinds of lies: lies, damned lies, and MegaXtremeLies™".
***
I've been waiting for inspiration to strike, and it has. Now it's outside with placards and chants and demands, and I'm at a complete loss.
***
I'm starting an anarcho-punk collective called Furrowed Brow. #untruths
***
Old is the new new.
***
Old is the old new new. NEW is the new new new. (And the old new)
***
If you do the old "Your shoelaces are untied!" trick, you get extra points if the trickee has no feet and still looks down.
***
On my desk I have a mug, covered by a coffee filter lid. And what's inside? A lightbulb. That's how I roll.
***
If I ever find myself questioning my own courage or integrity, I just have to remind myself I don't own an iPhone, and I feel a lot better.
***
When they finally invent the vestproof bullet, shit's going down.
***
I'd like to ride a modified penny-farthing, with the front wheel the size of the sun and the rear wheel the size of an electron.
***
I only have ten teeth. Some people might think that's decadent...
[NOTE: I don't think anyone got this]
***
I haven't thought about stirrups for years. Honestly.
***
Lobsters were originally named because they were so good at throwing things.
***
Nail-clippers are anachronisms in a world where there's belt sanders.
***
Most Danger Mouse fans don't realise that Penfold's exclamation "Crumbs!" is actually a racial slur mocking the Bread People.
***
I'm drilling a hole in my skull to let the angst out. Trepannicking, I think it's called.
***
I'm working on a contagious racist quiche, but at the moment it's too unstable. I call it the Flu Flux Flan.
[NOTE: This tweet is flawed for two main reasons. See if you can guess what they are]
[NOTE: I'd better not start doing this analysis for all tweets, or this post will be a mile long]
***
I think match.com should start selling firelighters. Otherwise the site name is misleading. Also, lonely people like to burn things.
***
"Bloody Hell!" and "Good Heavens!" are both expressions of frustration. I like to say "Neutral Limbo!", then wink at the waitress.
***
I got the bus home because I want the planet to die.
***
I'm no conspiracy theorist, but even I question the veracity of the Warren Commission. "Where rabbits live" is not a satisfying conclusion.
***
If my doubt alarm had a snooze button, it would be fucking dust by now.
***
Loop before you leak.
***
If you hold the sea up to your ear, you can hear the unmistakable sound of shells.
***
I received some excellent guidance on seasoning onion stuffing. It was sage advice.
***
I don't have any friends called Steve, and I think I'm a more tolerant person as a result.
***
The flat above ours is full of loud, boisterous, stomping people. It's possibly a 'party', but I have my hopes pinned on 'massacre'.
***
If you concentrate on one spot for long enough, you can really freak out a leopard.
***
There's always something magical about rain hitting the window at night. As a side note, I'm dressed as a wizard.
***
I'm going to stop procrastinating and start concrastinating.
***
Exams are getting easier. Young oaks are now producing a*corns.
***
I'm going to brush some of my teeth.
***
I'm undecided about whether we should electronically track ants. In fact, you might say I'm antaganostic.
***
I can use all my hooves equally well - I'm Bambidextrous.
***
Which snake is the best at maths? The one with the calculator.
***
I think it's fair to say that anyone who has ever ridden a horse is also a big fan of Oswald Mosley.
***
No-one ever offers people their shallow condolences.
***
That's it.
This is too long to check for typos. Let's just hope everything turns out OK.
Remember: you're all special and appreciate all of you. One day we'll all live on an special island and won't have to worry about war or bills or cricket.
But we will have to worry about crickets.
It will be The Isle of Crickets.
We will be in mortal peril.
Good night (or day, depending on when you read this)
Don't have nightmares.
Well, you can have some.
But don't have too many. Four is too many.
Have ≤ three nightmares.
Kick it right the F off.
Kick it old school.
Let's just kick it.
Off.
No more Mr Nice Guy.
No more Mr Not Kick.
We're kickin' it right now.
Can I kick it?
Let's hope so, or my bluster will be rendered pointless.
...
I should give speeches at football matches. I ooze inspiration from every pore.
At least I think that's inspiration.
Yeah.
Short, staccato sentences.
Just like the old days.
Let's get this party started right. Right?
Right.
Kick.
Kick.
(I should also teach people how to swim/to be a belligerent horse)
Here we go.
This blog will be in two parts: one book (pseudo)review and another one of my highly popular tweet compendiums. If you like words, you'll like this (unless you don't like me).
That's right - overused parentheses.
I'm kicking it alright.
...
My foot hurts.
***
An Idiot Flaps Odyssey - Part 13
Unlucky for some.
Intro
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11
Part 12
It has been an emotional journey so far. I've learned, I've leaned, I've gleaned, I've glearned.
I've learnt about the history of the western world from Spenser and Williams, been given insight into the human condition from Tolstoy and Fitzgerald, had my passions excited by the great classics, been moved to tears, grown as a reader and as a person. And next on the agenda of enlightenment...
***
Russell Brand - My Booky Wook
Ah, Mr Brand.
Mr Brand.
I've probably written about old Rusty Rockets (as he's known) before. Here's the quick version:
- I think he is clever and funny
- his radio show is brilliant (Lucy and I have listened to it almost literally every day for the past couple of years)
- his stand-up leaves me feeling a bit cold, and doesn't quite capture him
- his other work is varied in quality
- he is everything people accuse him of
- he seems very arrogant and hard to get along with
- he produces words, ideas and jokes at an amazing speed
- he is very self-aware, and is able to have his cake and eat it by being ridiculous and brutally satirising himself, often in the space of the same sentence.
- he is a curiosity; I'm not sure if I like him, but I feel that I know him, like an irritating cousin
So, with that in mind, is the Booky Wook any good?
It is some good, but not entirely good.
(Brand is often attacked for his ridiculous use of language - epitomised by the title of this book. We recently listened to the radio show where he came up with Booky Wook. It emerged as an extreme parody of his language, and as a 'wouldn't-it-be-funny' joke suggestion for the title. I think this is an example of something that often happens: his self-ridicule being taken at face value)
It's an interesting read (unfortunately I'd heard a lot of the stories before), and he has clearly led an eventful, and in some cases disturbing, life. But it leads to an uneven tone and pace. Brand has more to offer than just describing the events of his life, but the balance seems a bit off.
I suppose that's the case for all celebrity autobiographies - they're not there to convey ideas, but to list incidents. It makes for an unsatisfying reading experience: you want something deeper instead of broader.
To be fair to Brand, he discusses a lot of interesting ideas, strange philosophies, and can analyse his own behaviour in vivid and original ways. He speaks candidly about his childhood, his drug addiction and his womanizing ways. In a way, the best bits are when he is unapologetically arrogant, because it provides an window into his (slightly warped) thought processes.
He has a great way with language, but this is sometimes hindered by the inevitable break-neck pace of the story. What sticks out most is his keen observational eye, and his ability to express it in interesting terms.
I've written more about this than I do about most books. Sorry.
In conclusion, I think (just like stand-up), Brand's style is too constrained by the biography format. He needs to be able to roam free and pull out surprises, weird insights, and ridiculous comedy scenarios, without having to worry about narrative.
I did enjoy reading it, but I don't know if I'd recommend it to a friend.
I don't have any friends, so that situation may never come up.
But I wouldn't recommend it to an enemy either.
Final Judgement:
BOOK IS QUITE GOOD.
Thank you.
***
Welcome to another edition of That Was The Tweet That T'was. I'm going to subtly change the name of this feature each time.
(Haha! Feature! I seem to think this is like Going Live, and I've got an organised running order of hilarious segments. Up next: Sarah Green fights Sarah Brown - both camouflaged against a jungle backdrop)
***
A crescent moon is a pleasant moon. A gibbous moon is a... uh... hmm... plibbous moon?
***
"The moon! The moon! Like Guile from Street Fighter's Sonic Boom!" - William Blake, 1819.
***
I love watching the moon slide down the sky like a smiling slumped drunk.
***
I've probably tweeted about the moon too much tonight. But on the other hand, I might gain a few werewolf followers.
***
A message to the custard makers of Britain: Keep up the goo work!
***
Love is like a flower: covered in aphids.
***
I wish my internal monologue would shut up. It's like living with a melancholy parrot.
***
I've just sent myself an email reminding me to be less self-involved.
***
If I could marry a foodstuff, it would be my work canteen's curried sweet potato salad. Though the wedding would be weird (coleslaw inlaws).
***
No man is an Eye Land (ocular-themed amusement park).
***
Keep an eye out for the eye socket inspector.
***
What do you call a man with five legs? If in doubt, check his birth certificate.
***
Time to do a quick bit of washing up. Luckily, I thought ahead and had taps installed.
***
"There are three kinds of lies: lies, damned lies, and MegaXtremeLies™".
***
I've been waiting for inspiration to strike, and it has. Now it's outside with placards and chants and demands, and I'm at a complete loss.
***
I'm starting an anarcho-punk collective called Furrowed Brow. #untruths
***
Old is the new new.
***
Old is the old new new. NEW is the new new new. (And the old new)
***
If you do the old "Your shoelaces are untied!" trick, you get extra points if the trickee has no feet and still looks down.
***
On my desk I have a mug, covered by a coffee filter lid. And what's inside? A lightbulb. That's how I roll.
***
If I ever find myself questioning my own courage or integrity, I just have to remind myself I don't own an iPhone, and I feel a lot better.
***
When they finally invent the vestproof bullet, shit's going down.
***
I'd like to ride a modified penny-farthing, with the front wheel the size of the sun and the rear wheel the size of an electron.
***
I only have ten teeth. Some people might think that's decadent...
[NOTE: I don't think anyone got this]
***
I haven't thought about stirrups for years. Honestly.
***
Lobsters were originally named because they were so good at throwing things.
***
Nail-clippers are anachronisms in a world where there's belt sanders.
***
Most Danger Mouse fans don't realise that Penfold's exclamation "Crumbs!" is actually a racial slur mocking the Bread People.
***
I'm drilling a hole in my skull to let the angst out. Trepannicking, I think it's called.
***
I'm working on a contagious racist quiche, but at the moment it's too unstable. I call it the Flu Flux Flan.
[NOTE: This tweet is flawed for two main reasons. See if you can guess what they are]
[NOTE: I'd better not start doing this analysis for all tweets, or this post will be a mile long]
***
I think match.com should start selling firelighters. Otherwise the site name is misleading. Also, lonely people like to burn things.
***
"Bloody Hell!" and "Good Heavens!" are both expressions of frustration. I like to say "Neutral Limbo!", then wink at the waitress.
***
I got the bus home because I want the planet to die.
***
I'm no conspiracy theorist, but even I question the veracity of the Warren Commission. "Where rabbits live" is not a satisfying conclusion.
***
If my doubt alarm had a snooze button, it would be fucking dust by now.
***
Loop before you leak.
***
If you hold the sea up to your ear, you can hear the unmistakable sound of shells.
***
I received some excellent guidance on seasoning onion stuffing. It was sage advice.
***
I don't have any friends called Steve, and I think I'm a more tolerant person as a result.
***
The flat above ours is full of loud, boisterous, stomping people. It's possibly a 'party', but I have my hopes pinned on 'massacre'.
***
If you concentrate on one spot for long enough, you can really freak out a leopard.
***
There's always something magical about rain hitting the window at night. As a side note, I'm dressed as a wizard.
***
I'm going to stop procrastinating and start concrastinating.
***
Exams are getting easier. Young oaks are now producing a*corns.
***
I'm going to brush some of my teeth.
***
I'm undecided about whether we should electronically track ants. In fact, you might say I'm antaganostic.
***
I can use all my hooves equally well - I'm Bambidextrous.
***
Which snake is the best at maths? The one with the calculator.
***
I think it's fair to say that anyone who has ever ridden a horse is also a big fan of Oswald Mosley.
***
No-one ever offers people their shallow condolences.
***
That's it.
This is too long to check for typos. Let's just hope everything turns out OK.
Remember: you're all special and appreciate all of you. One day we'll all live on an special island and won't have to worry about war or bills or cricket.
But we will have to worry about crickets.
It will be The Isle of Crickets.
We will be in mortal peril.
Good night (or day, depending on when you read this)
Don't have nightmares.
Well, you can have some.
But don't have too many. Four is too many.
Have ≤ three nightmares.
Sunday, 6 March 2011
The Egg and the Chicken
If you always time how long it takes you to read one of these posts, you should have started your stopwatch at the beginning of this sentence.
I've got a slight pain in one of my shoulders. I suppose that's what I get for falling asleep on a fire escape in the middle of a fire. I think it's a muscular pain, rather than a gunshot wound or an acid burn. It's not really going to impact on my ability to write, but I thought you should know about it.
I don't want us keeping any secrets from each other.
Except for... well, you know... the BIG one.
But I won't mention that. We don't want to give that can of worms the oxygen of publicity (if the seal is broken, the worms will go bad).
I'm working on a tight schedule here. The Liverpool-Man Utd match starts soon and even with my aforementioned multitasking skills, I'd still rather devote my attention to the football.
So I'm going to have to cram a lot of insight into a short space of time. Luckily, most of my insights are collapsible, and could probably fit inside a full matchbox with room to spare for my self-confidence, my self-respect, and an ant's sofa bed.
Let's get cracking (as the egg said to the other egg, before they both realised they were sentient eggs, tried to sob, then realised they didn't have eyes).
***
An Idiot Flaps Odyssey - Part 12
Yeah, I'm burning through the books! Not literally - that would be immoral. And costly. And would contravene our tenancy agreement.
Man, I love being glib.
Intro
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11
***
Ivan Turgenev - Fathers and Sons
[I wonder if that picture was a mistake. I look like I've seen a rapist's ghost.]
Turgenev! One of the masters of the Russian novel, along with Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky and Boris Yelstin's imaginary friend.
This is a superb novel about family, nature, the cross-generational divide, politics and lots of other things. It's really beautifully written, the characters are engaging, the morality is ambiguous. You should read it. Well, not you. You.
I can't really explain the plot (I'm sure a certain pedia can help you out there), but I have noted down some of my favourite bits. I made a list of six things in a Notepad document called 'turgnotes'. I'm clever.
1) Bazarov, the fiery, rationalistic, nihilistic, slightly-dickish antihero of the book for the first time expresses doubt about the ridiculousness of his circumstances:
He is frustrated that he has normal human desires when he should be above such concerns.
2) This description of Bazarov's mother is a great bit of writing.
(Google books is great! I don't have to do no typing or nothin'!)
3) Another character, in my edition, is described as: "a small shrivelled woman with a clenched fist of a face".
4) One of the central themes of the book is about the division between generations - the old-fashioned, romantic aristocratic old people, and the ruthless, determined, revolutionaries of the young.
This book was published in 1861, but I like to relate these things to the modern day. It seems each generation must war with the next. And every time, they think it's new and unique, when it's just a continuing cycle. It's a Hegelian dialectic, I suppose. (Those years at university weren't entirely wasted!)
It's summed up nicely by Nikolai Petrovich, the father of one of the other main characters, Arkady:
I think even now, people find that pill difficult to swallow.
5) I nice bit of anti-Russian humour:
6) One of the reasons I like the book so much is that the characters are so well drawn, you're never told who is right and who is wrong. Each viewpoint is explored thoroughly and reasonably - there are no heroes and villains really. It's a mark of great sensitivity that Turgenev can sympathetically present different points of view.
Apparently, this open-mindedness attracted a lot of criticism from both the Left and the Right, for failing to pick a side. There's a good introduction in my Penguin edition from Isaiah Berlin, where he talks about this in depth.
He identifies Turgenev with the left-leaning liberal: opposed to exploitation and the old order, but unwilling to overlook the harsh extremism of the Left, and so unable to commit to revolution.
Berlin refers to Turgenev's ability to put himself in the shoes of people he doesn't necessarily believe in as 'negative capability' (a term coined by Keats apparently). I'm always impressed by this in art. It's easy to present your own views with elegance and conviction, but to do the same for your opponents is a sign of a really good writer.
It reminded me (to continue the high-brow discussion) of The Simpsons. Remember the episode where Marge tries to get the Itchy and Scratchy Shows banned because they're too violent? What an episode...
Anyway, the writers manage to present both sides of the argument, and even create an idyllic childhood wonderland without cartoons. The writers weren't supporting the anti-cartoon perspective, of course, but were able to present it with dignity. You can make more effective political points by addressing the views of your opponents, than you can by just putting your own views forward.
So there. Turgenev and The Simpsons.
Humanity has created a lot of beautiful things.
***
Once again, I hope these book posts aren't too annoying for anyone. I suppose they're just prompts to get me to read, and to remind me of what I have read.
I know I should probably either do a proper review (including historical context, plot summary etc), or just do something short and funny. But I don't really know how to do either of those, so I'm an unhappy medium.
But at least they're clearly signposted, so you can skip them!
I didn't get it finished in time for the match, so I'm writing this bit at half time. It's going well so far, but I'm not going to count my weeping, cracking eggs before they hatch.
I'd like to end on a song.
I've got a slight pain in one of my shoulders. I suppose that's what I get for falling asleep on a fire escape in the middle of a fire. I think it's a muscular pain, rather than a gunshot wound or an acid burn. It's not really going to impact on my ability to write, but I thought you should know about it.
I don't want us keeping any secrets from each other.
Except for... well, you know... the BIG one.
But I won't mention that. We don't want to give that can of worms the oxygen of publicity (if the seal is broken, the worms will go bad).
I'm working on a tight schedule here. The Liverpool-Man Utd match starts soon and even with my aforementioned multitasking skills, I'd still rather devote my attention to the football.
So I'm going to have to cram a lot of insight into a short space of time. Luckily, most of my insights are collapsible, and could probably fit inside a full matchbox with room to spare for my self-confidence, my self-respect, and an ant's sofa bed.
Let's get cracking (as the egg said to the other egg, before they both realised they were sentient eggs, tried to sob, then realised they didn't have eyes).
***
An Idiot Flaps Odyssey - Part 12
Yeah, I'm burning through the books! Not literally - that would be immoral. And costly. And would contravene our tenancy agreement.
Man, I love being glib.
Intro
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11
***
Ivan Turgenev - Fathers and Sons
[I wonder if that picture was a mistake. I look like I've seen a rapist's ghost.]
Turgenev! One of the masters of the Russian novel, along with Tolstoy, Dostoyevsky and Boris Yelstin's imaginary friend.
This is a superb novel about family, nature, the cross-generational divide, politics and lots of other things. It's really beautifully written, the characters are engaging, the morality is ambiguous. You should read it. Well, not you. You.
I can't really explain the plot (I'm sure a certain pedia can help you out there), but I have noted down some of my favourite bits. I made a list of six things in a Notepad document called 'turgnotes'. I'm clever.
1) Bazarov, the fiery, rationalistic, nihilistic, slightly-dickish antihero of the book for the first time expresses doubt about the ridiculousness of his circumstances:
He is frustrated that he has normal human desires when he should be above such concerns.
2) This description of Bazarov's mother is a great bit of writing.
(Google books is great! I don't have to do no typing or nothin'!)
3) Another character, in my edition, is described as: "a small shrivelled woman with a clenched fist of a face".
4) One of the central themes of the book is about the division between generations - the old-fashioned, romantic aristocratic old people, and the ruthless, determined, revolutionaries of the young.
This book was published in 1861, but I like to relate these things to the modern day. It seems each generation must war with the next. And every time, they think it's new and unique, when it's just a continuing cycle. It's a Hegelian dialectic, I suppose. (Those years at university weren't entirely wasted!)
It's summed up nicely by Nikolai Petrovich, the father of one of the other main characters, Arkady:
I think even now, people find that pill difficult to swallow.
5) I nice bit of anti-Russian humour:
6) One of the reasons I like the book so much is that the characters are so well drawn, you're never told who is right and who is wrong. Each viewpoint is explored thoroughly and reasonably - there are no heroes and villains really. It's a mark of great sensitivity that Turgenev can sympathetically present different points of view.
Apparently, this open-mindedness attracted a lot of criticism from both the Left and the Right, for failing to pick a side. There's a good introduction in my Penguin edition from Isaiah Berlin, where he talks about this in depth.
He identifies Turgenev with the left-leaning liberal: opposed to exploitation and the old order, but unwilling to overlook the harsh extremism of the Left, and so unable to commit to revolution.
Berlin refers to Turgenev's ability to put himself in the shoes of people he doesn't necessarily believe in as 'negative capability' (a term coined by Keats apparently). I'm always impressed by this in art. It's easy to present your own views with elegance and conviction, but to do the same for your opponents is a sign of a really good writer.
It reminded me (to continue the high-brow discussion) of The Simpsons. Remember the episode where Marge tries to get the Itchy and Scratchy Shows banned because they're too violent? What an episode...
Anyway, the writers manage to present both sides of the argument, and even create an idyllic childhood wonderland without cartoons. The writers weren't supporting the anti-cartoon perspective, of course, but were able to present it with dignity. You can make more effective political points by addressing the views of your opponents, than you can by just putting your own views forward.
So there. Turgenev and The Simpsons.
Humanity has created a lot of beautiful things.
***
Once again, I hope these book posts aren't too annoying for anyone. I suppose they're just prompts to get me to read, and to remind me of what I have read.
I know I should probably either do a proper review (including historical context, plot summary etc), or just do something short and funny. But I don't really know how to do either of those, so I'm an unhappy medium.
But at least they're clearly signposted, so you can skip them!
I didn't get it finished in time for the match, so I'm writing this bit at half time. It's going well so far, but I'm not going to count my weeping, cracking eggs before they hatch.
I'd like to end on a song.
Wednesday, 2 March 2011
A Billion Eyes
I'm multi-tasking.
I don't think that needs a hyphen. But it doesn't really matter - I'm multi-tasking and multitasking simultaneously.
I'm currently listening to a David Ackles album, watching two FA Cup matches and writing these words (for example, the word I'm writing NOW, is "now").
I tend to do several things at once. I'm sure I've discussed this before. Maybe I'll check my previous posts (why not add another activity to the pile?). But what to search for? "Tasking"?
"Tasking" yielded no results. And "multi" produced nothing relevant. I'm sure that can't be right.
Anyway, I like to have things to occupy my eyes, ears, hands and brain. Sometimes I'll play Freecell whilst listening to music, or play the guitar whilst watching television, or fiddle whilst watching Rome burn (on Youtube).
I think it's probably because I'm AMAZING.
So I'm writing this.
The Ackles album has finished, so I'll put something else on.
I've chosen a John Peel compilation thing on Spotify. This song is by The Misunderstood. I don't know who they are.
I'm watching the football on our picture-in-picture feature. Or "PIP". That's what it's called on our remote: PIP.
I don't like to call it that. I prefer to call it juxtapovision.
Not really. But I will from now on.
Though technically, this isn't PIP. It's PAP (picture-alongside-picture?). It means both channels are equally sized, and I can enjoy both games.
By which I mean I can not really follow either of them properly, and can only see them small. It's basically an unpleasant experience all round.
At least the music is good.
And the blog writing, of course.
This should give you a flavour of my evening. It's exhausting and fulfilling.
Ooh, Tim Hardin's just come on! Good work, Peel.
I really wish I'd listened to John Peel's radio show more often when he was alive. I did listen sometimes, but I really think I would love it now. And he selfishly had to go and die.
It taught me an important lesson about taking nothing for granted, and appreciating the fleetingness of life.
Which is why I'm watching two FA Cup games, listening to music and writing a blog post, all at the same time. Making the best of my existence.
***
I don't know why I put those asterisks there. I suppose I thought I was going down a blind alley, and that the asterisks might burst their way through the brickwork and create a path to the Elysian Fields or an all-night Toys R Us.
Adam Buxton (of Adam and Joe fame) has put together a great playlist of music videos on Youtube. He does a live show called BUG where he discusses cool videos, and this is the online version.
I thought I'd post a couple of my favourites here. I don't know if people ever watch the videos I put on here, or if they always skip over them.
I should put together some kind of survey. It would be marketing research on my readership. Questions could be something like:
Q1: When Paul rambles on for a few paragraphs about something you don't understand, do you find it:
a) Fantastic
b) Educational
c) Edutastic
f) "Like the height of The Beatles"
Q2: When Paul posts an embedded video, do you:
a) Skip over it in search of more PaulWords
b) Watch it avidly
c) Stop EVERYTHING
Q3: When Paul posts an imaginary survey, do you find it:
a) An amusing experiment in form
b) A welcome means by which to communicate
c) Impossible to participate in - thus useless
I'll do a full list soon (no more than ten pages or so). Then I'll be able to really give the people what they want.
That reminds me of a joke I once wrote:
Q:How do you find out about oxygen?
A: Question air.
AAHAHAHAHA
(ie Questionnaire. They're spelled differently, but sound similar, you see. That's why the joke works so well)
I got sidetracked.
Videos!
This is really odd, quite disturbing, catchy and sweet, all at the same time.
This next one is my quirky video pioneers OK Go. Everyone's probably already seen this, but I think it's pretty cool. Especially with the constant goose appearances.
There's lots of other cool ones on the Buxton list too.
***
More asterisks there. The asterisks are my friends.
They don't find me boring.
Hey, look at this cool wrestling picture!
***
Between you and me (and I think I'm probably correct in assuming there's only two of us), I think the multitasking (and the multi-tasking, for that matter) have impacted on the quality of this post.
I haven't been able to concentrate properly, so I'm not sure if I've been my usual eloquent self.
To be fair, I haven't been eloquent since last spring. And that was only because I'd been possessed by the ghost of Noel Coward.
Oh well. At least there are some entertaining videos and a nice picture to look at.
***
Q4: Do you find Paul's self-deprecation to be:
a) Endearing
b) Unconvincing
c) Justified
***
These football matches are getting all the more one-sided. Both of them. That's half a side each. I think I should call an end to this whole experiment.
***
Q5: Paul's refusal to use question marks to punctuate what are obviously questions is:
a) Annoying?
b) Annoying.
c) I hadn't noticed. No-one noticed. Don't flatter yourself.
I don't think that needs a hyphen. But it doesn't really matter - I'm multi-tasking and multitasking simultaneously.
I'm currently listening to a David Ackles album, watching two FA Cup matches and writing these words (for example, the word I'm writing NOW, is "now").
I tend to do several things at once. I'm sure I've discussed this before. Maybe I'll check my previous posts (why not add another activity to the pile?). But what to search for? "Tasking"?
"Tasking" yielded no results. And "multi" produced nothing relevant. I'm sure that can't be right.
Anyway, I like to have things to occupy my eyes, ears, hands and brain. Sometimes I'll play Freecell whilst listening to music, or play the guitar whilst watching television, or fiddle whilst watching Rome burn (on Youtube).
I think it's probably because I'm AMAZING.
So I'm writing this.
The Ackles album has finished, so I'll put something else on.
I've chosen a John Peel compilation thing on Spotify. This song is by The Misunderstood. I don't know who they are.
I'm watching the football on our picture-in-picture feature. Or "PIP". That's what it's called on our remote: PIP.
I don't like to call it that. I prefer to call it juxtapovision.
Not really. But I will from now on.
Though technically, this isn't PIP. It's PAP (picture-alongside-picture?). It means both channels are equally sized, and I can enjoy both games.
By which I mean I can not really follow either of them properly, and can only see them small. It's basically an unpleasant experience all round.
At least the music is good.
And the blog writing, of course.
This should give you a flavour of my evening. It's exhausting and fulfilling.
Ooh, Tim Hardin's just come on! Good work, Peel.
I really wish I'd listened to John Peel's radio show more often when he was alive. I did listen sometimes, but I really think I would love it now. And he selfishly had to go and die.
It taught me an important lesson about taking nothing for granted, and appreciating the fleetingness of life.
Which is why I'm watching two FA Cup games, listening to music and writing a blog post, all at the same time. Making the best of my existence.
***
I don't know why I put those asterisks there. I suppose I thought I was going down a blind alley, and that the asterisks might burst their way through the brickwork and create a path to the Elysian Fields or an all-night Toys R Us.
Adam Buxton (of Adam and Joe fame) has put together a great playlist of music videos on Youtube. He does a live show called BUG where he discusses cool videos, and this is the online version.
I thought I'd post a couple of my favourites here. I don't know if people ever watch the videos I put on here, or if they always skip over them.
I should put together some kind of survey. It would be marketing research on my readership. Questions could be something like:
Q1: When Paul rambles on for a few paragraphs about something you don't understand, do you find it:
a) Fantastic
b) Educational
c) Edutastic
f) "Like the height of The Beatles"
Q2: When Paul posts an embedded video, do you:
a) Skip over it in search of more PaulWords
b) Watch it avidly
c) Stop EVERYTHING
Q3: When Paul posts an imaginary survey, do you find it:
a) An amusing experiment in form
b) A welcome means by which to communicate
c) Impossible to participate in - thus useless
I'll do a full list soon (no more than ten pages or so). Then I'll be able to really give the people what they want.
That reminds me of a joke I once wrote:
Q:How do you find out about oxygen?
A: Question air.
AAHAHAHAHA
(ie Questionnaire. They're spelled differently, but sound similar, you see. That's why the joke works so well)
I got sidetracked.
Videos!
This is really odd, quite disturbing, catchy and sweet, all at the same time.
This next one is my quirky video pioneers OK Go. Everyone's probably already seen this, but I think it's pretty cool. Especially with the constant goose appearances.
There's lots of other cool ones on the Buxton list too.
***
More asterisks there. The asterisks are my friends.
They don't find me boring.
Hey, look at this cool wrestling picture!
***Between you and me (and I think I'm probably correct in assuming there's only two of us), I think the multitasking (and the multi-tasking, for that matter) have impacted on the quality of this post.
I haven't been able to concentrate properly, so I'm not sure if I've been my usual eloquent self.
To be fair, I haven't been eloquent since last spring. And that was only because I'd been possessed by the ghost of Noel Coward.
Oh well. At least there are some entertaining videos and a nice picture to look at.
***
Q4: Do you find Paul's self-deprecation to be:
a) Endearing
b) Unconvincing
c) Justified
***
These football matches are getting all the more one-sided. Both of them. That's half a side each. I think I should call an end to this whole experiment.
***
Q5: Paul's refusal to use question marks to punctuate what are obviously questions is:
a) Annoying?
b) Annoying.
c) I hadn't noticed. No-one noticed. Don't flatter yourself.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)