I was at Oxford Train Station on Wednesday morning, waiting to get a train from the station to another station in another city. That's how transport works.
I don't need to capitalise Train Station, I'm sure. But it makes it seem like a more imposing building, and I want everyone to know that I visit imposing places. It makes me imposing by association.
I was milling about at the station. Which sounds more industrious than the truth: I was awkwardly bumbling about, getting in people's way(s) and generally acting in a suspicious manner. I'm not very comfortable in my own skin or shoes. I try to act normal, which makes me worry about every aspect of my posture and face (and face posture), so I end up seeming like a badly-operated puppet.
(On re-reading these first few paragraphs, they seem to almost be a parody of my own style. If someone wanted to make fun of my writing, they would have written the above. I don't want to make fun of my writing and no-one else cares, so it can only be a coincidence.)
At one stage, I accidentally bumped into a teenage tourist.
I'm not totally certain he was a tourist, though he was wearing a rucksack. He did seem to be a teenager though, unless they age differently on the continent. I think in hot climates, the time spent taking siestas increases the youthfulness of the locals by ten to twelve years.
So I accidentally bumped into him. Probably because I was shifting my balance awkwardly, hoping my gait didn't make me seem like an uncoordinated loser.
My friend Alex (who loves the word gait, and the suffix "-gate") witnessed Bumpgate first hand.
The tourist, clearly panicked, made a big show of checking his pockets, checking his bag, desperately making sure I hadn't stolen anything.
It was probably a sensible move. We've all heard of the old "accidentally bump into someone and steal their wallet technique". It happens all the time in films. And I'm sure this tourist was told about the legendary British pickpockets and their sly ways.
He looked at me suspiciously.
What I should have done is made a surprised face, followed by a reassuring smile, denying any wrongdoings. Perhaps I could have offered a verbal assurance.
But it was early, so my brain wasn't thinking so quickly. So I just sort-of looked at him blankly. It was an odd reaction to have, and probably watered those seeds of suspicion in his febrile European brain.
It was exactly the same as the time I encountered a girl in the men's toilets. I was surprised, but not really surprised enough to be convincing.
I seemed like either an evil, manipulative genius or the slowest man in the world. And people, who always assume the intellectual best and moral worst in a fellow human being, wrongly believe I'm the former.
The teenager eyed me suspiciously from then on. I almost felt like genuinely stealing something, to give him something to pin his distrust on. It would have been a story to share around the paella: an encounter with a genuine English cockney street-urchin, albeit a slow-witted one.
With my beard, I generally expect to be suspected of terrorism. Which I'm fine with, as it implies a sense of (misguided) moral purpose. But to be suspected of thievery is just cheap and unpleasant.
I don't know what country the teenager was from - I have no clues about his ethnicity or origin - but I can only assume he came from a country that had been crippled by the repression of the Stasi.
And what he's doing taking siestas and eating paella in East Germany, I have no idea.
Also, he was born after the fall of the Berlin wall, but it takes a few generations to breed out mistrust.
***
How about some more of my recent tweets? That always seems to go well, judging by the lack of outright abuse.
I mean, some of these short jokes have been of a terribly high standard. But I never get any feedback. I suppose you're all laughing so hard, you CAN'T TYPE DUE TO TREMORS OF HILARITY.
Well, I'll show you all. I'm going to sell some of these to Jimmy Carr. Then who'll be laughing? I'll tell you who: awful, awful people.
TweTwa
***
Sugar-glass rules are made to be broken.
***
Humpty Dumpty is a shell of his former self :-(
***
"Ambassador, with this lack of fridge you are really spoiling us!" - The Milk People
***
If these walls could talk, they'd be muffled by the wallpaper.
***
My greatest weakness is my fatal allergy to femurs.
***
I wonder when "Wow!" became the official exclamation of awe. Maybe it used to be "Awe!" but palindromes conjure a greater sense of wonder.
***
You can burst into tears, flames, song, or a room. But you can't (or at least shouldn't) burst into a pint glass.
***
I avoid spelling cleeshays.
***
There are few things more pleasing than a cat curled up in a patch of sunlight. Saves on cooking time.
***
I'd like to carry a bumblebee in a melon baller. How satisfying would that be? Very satisfying.
***
I'm not a situationist. Some of my best friends are situations.
***
I'm never sure if light is on my side: friendton or photon?
***
The last time I went bowling, I kicked over all the pins before we started. (It was a preemptive strike)
***
I'm really hitting my peak! Which is why I'm no longer allowed custody of any mountains. :-(
***
I'd rather be egged on than egged off.
***
I'm going to take a long, hard look at myself. Then two short, soft looks at myself. Then a long, soft look at you. Then blink. Then repeat.
***
I'd love to attend a Teddy Bears' picnic, but they always give such short notice.
***
Don't underestimate children. There's loads of them.
***
I can't help but think
***
What do you call the hole in a urinal? It's not quite a drain, and it's not quite a plughole. I suggest we refer to it as 'the Gove'.
***
I'm not saying I'm a pessimistic gardener, but I do tend to use a watering can't.
***
I'm not saying that beginning a joke with "I'm not saying" is a lazy device, but I'm THINKING it.
***
The greatest living screen actor is Gene McClean, the Human Screen. (Frankly, the best of a bad bunch)
***
The most convenient way to carry a holster is wrapped around a gun.
***
Wane Runey #astrologicalfootballers
***
You can italicise the world if you tilt your head whenever you see something important.
***
A spouse is not a spome.
***
I used to be in a barbershop quartet, but four pairs of scissors led to too much scalp trauma.
***
I used to be in a Babarshop quartet. I'll never forget it...
***
I used to be in a Patrick Marbershop quartet. ... *shrug*
***
Do you think Wonder Woman's bracelets can deflect semen? (Asking for a friend)
***
Good news: I will be representing Laos at the Nationality Falsification Championships!
***
"There Was An Old Woman Who Lived In A Shoe." No there wasn't
***
The rich get richer and the itchy get itchier.
***
Q: What did one golf club say to another? A: "If I've got a mouth and you've got ears... I... Man, this is some fucked up shit.." #golfjokes
***
Why did Tiger Woods get arrested at a beginners' playground? He took a practice swing. #golfjokes
***
I can't believe it's not putter. #golfjokes #punchlineonly
***
Q: Why does the 11th hole have a corpse in the bunker? A: Something terrible has happened. #golfjokes
***
I'm the new Bob Hope.
***
How many women do you think The Count from Sesame Street has killed?
***
I'm rebranding my lower lip as 'the foundation lip', so it doesn't feel belittled.
***
Some people are so attractive, I just can stop myself from being them.
***
If you could go back in time and kill your own murderer, wouldn't you?
***
People might be interested in what I have to say. But no-one is interested in what I CHOOSE to say.
***
The air is very still today. But the conversation is SPARKLING.
***
Prude [noun]: A prune with a cold.
***
I loved that experiment where scientists grew an ear on the back of a mouse. In the utopian future, we'll all have mice on our ears.
***
Cheerio!
Hey, that's weird. There's a cereal called Cheerios.
But I think they'd find it harder to market Goodbyes.
Little black discs. Each one representing an unfulfilled hope.
For the ideal start to your mourning.
And now new Frosted Goodbyes!
Ideal for breaking icy ground with an old shovel. A shovel that has done more than dig, this cold January morn.
From Nestlé.
Thursday, 28 April 2011
Sunday, 24 April 2011
Maturity and Morality
I've been keeping another list of things to talk about. When I did it last time, I went on for ages. This time, there's only two things on the list:
A. words that should be used more in jokes:
fibreglass, coins
B. maturity -
clever people argue their way out of doing the right thing
I think point A speaks for itself. And there's not a woman (or man) alive who would disagree.
Point B is a bit more nebulous.
Let's see if I can locate my train of thought. It can't be too hard to find. It's a train. It must be on tracks somewhere. Unless it's a flying train like at the end of Back to the Future III. But I don't think my train of thought would be so gaudy.
I was thinking about maturity.
People use 'immature' as a term of abuse. Being mature is seen as a goal to strive for.
Well, I don't agree. I don't think maturity is in my list of good characteristics. In fact, I'll go further and suggest that anyone who disparages someone for being immature is a boring, soulless idiot.
People generally use the term to refer to some abstract concept of 'grown-upness' that involves paying bills, drinking quality wine and never ever putting a cushion on your head and acting like a pirate.
In other words: boring, soulless idiots.
Because what is maturity really? Social development? Sophistication of thought? Pragmatism?
It's not really any of those things. It's a non-specific concept to convince people they're sensible when really they're self-deluded. If you're convinced you are mature, you're blind to the realities of being a human - which is in itself an incredibly immature mindset.
All the good qualities implicit in a notion of maturity are better served by other terms. It's good for someone to have a sense of perspective. It's good for her to have a knowledge of historical precedent. It's good for her to not be entirely governed by base emotions.
But "maturity" is a big, clumsy umbrella that encapsulated everything grey and necessary and treats the spurious, the fantastic, and the irreverent with a patronising shake of the head.
It is in fact a very childish notion. I'm sure children as they grow up are more fascinated by the concept than we are. There will be 12-year-olds you view their younger siblings with withering disdain.
"Oh, these 10-year-olds are so immature. Still watching CBeebies are you? Some of us have moved onto Horrid Henry, thank you very much,"
If I was looking for love in personal ads, and someone described themselves as 'mature' I would tough them with a ten-foot telephone pole.
So. Maturity. Poo, more like!
[A little touch of irony for any 12-year-olds reading]
But from this thought station, my train trundled towards the next stop: I'm immature. Or at least, I'm immature by the definition of those who use it pejoratively.
I read comics, I watch wrestling, I make silly jokes on Twitter, I post photos of myself making funny faces.
So maybe the real reason I deride maturity is because I don't possess it.
It can't be the case that I decided to be immature because it's a worthy characteristic. So I must have recognised it as a characteristic already in me and decided it was good because, well, I'm brilliant.
That must have been my thought process.
And it's worrying. A combination of extreme arrogance and extreme irrationality. I don't want to think I use my own traits to provide the foundation of my values.
Even if I don't believe in absolute moral truths or 'natural' goods, I would still hope that what I believe is based on something more objective than my proximity to myself.
Do I value beards because I have one? Or do I have one because I value beards?
The danger is that if you're reasonably clever (and, given that I've just identified the most awful arrogance in myself, I think I can claim to be that), you can use your powers of reason to convince yourself that things are true.
You can create convincing arguments for lots of things, which means you can justify a great deal. It might be by finding a loophole in logic, or a past example. It might be that you weigh your actions against their consequences in a certain way.
I was trying to remember why I didn't march against the war in Iraq when I was a student. It wasn't because I didn't care; it wasn't that I was in any doubt about its wrongness. But I think I managed to argue, in my own head, that the protest would be useless, that the people going were self-righteous and marching for the wrong reasons, that auxiliary causes would be tacked on and would dilute things.
Now, these things may well have been correct. They probably were correct. But it was still wrong of me not to go on the march.
And there's the scary part. If you think critically enough, you can argue your way out of doing the right thing.
In my case, all that ethical gymnastics was nothing but a clever way of rationalising my own laziness.
I think that was a big factor in making me go on the March march. I wanted to atone for my younger self's inaction.
I was so immature then...
I also justify not buying a Big Issue on the basis that it's not out of a lack of compassion that I'm avoiding it, but out of a fear of getting into a conversation with a stranger. As though that's ANY EXCUSE WHATSOEVER.
I'm sure the Big Issue-seller shivering in the sleet will be cheered up my the thought that I've been saved a bit of social embarrassment.
So after all that, we're left with two depressing thoughts.
1) My values are a projection, reflecting nothing but my own pre-existing character traits
2) I can use my intellect to evade the requirements of morality
Disturbing stuff.
But the sun is out, I'm on holiday, and I'm fundamentally an optimist (a quality I value in the external world). So let's use my intellect to make myself feel better about point 1) and self-reflexively deal with point 2).
But first, I need to go to the toilet.
***
Ah, that's better.
1) My values are a projection, reflecting nothing but my own pre-existing character traits
Of course people's values do derive in part from their upbringing, from their family, from the environment in which they find themselves.
People learn right and wrong (wrong or right) from their parents, and this informs how they see the world. In fact, there's probably a genetic predisposition for certain values to take hold.
But they also learn morality from talking to others, hearing different points of view, reading books, watching films, experiencing things independently.
[I'm probably wrong to say that people learn morality. More likely, it is constructed from all these sources.]
People are complicated. Even me. Even when I have a cushion on my head and am pretending to be a pirate.
There are lots of people that have very different moral attitudes to their family. There are some that take on morals from the church, or the state, or a particular school of thought. Upbringing is just one of many reasons for people doing what they do.
The things I value are a combination of so many different sources.
My faith in my own personality probably comes from my upbringing - my parents were very supportive and taught me to have confidence in myself.
But these values do evolve. You can see from what I wrote before that I have doubts and question myself. I'm sure most people do.
I don't think point 1) can be true because of these doubts, because of the constant flux of my ideals. The characteristics I do value the most have that status because they've withstood rigorous questioning, and have kept coming back to me as things that feel right, and that are confirmed by experience - and how I see things working in the world.
[Good grief. I need a knock-knock joke to break this up.]
So to take the maturity example. I was presumably brought up to not value maturity as much as other characteristics. I hopefully attained some of the positive elements of maturity, but didn't have much care for the whole.
So I kept reading comics.
But the notion that this was 'right' would be reinforced by encountering other people who were 'immature' whilst still being good and kind and imaginative and open-minded (all elements I do admire and aspire too).
Similarly, I probably met 'mature' people who were cold and serious and who threw around 'immature' as an insult to all those people I knew to be great.
And as I grew up, I'd also find that the people I respected and idolised - the musicians, the writers, the comedians - shared this sensibility. In fact, I can't think of any of my heroes who would see 'immaturity' as something to be ashamed of (except maybe Mark E. Smith, but he's the exception to every rule).
This doesn't mean I'm 'correct' in my opinions. But it is rational to value things and aspire to things that you see as good in the world.
It's all part of the thinking process of the rational human. Which leads too...
2) I can use my intellect to evade the requirements of morality
We've established that I can do this, and I have done it in the past.
It's probably quite a common phenomenon - you have an aversion to doing something, and you use reason to explain away any of the guilt.
But I hope that this tedious treatise shows that I don't do it without thinking about it, without worrying about it, without trying to escape it.
And in fact, most of the time the intellect is an aid to making moral choices.
I think the reason for this is that a natural consequence of rationality is empathy.
If you truly seek to understand the world, and weigh up the evidence, and come somewhere close to approaching 'truth' (or at least approaching the approach), you'll inevitably have to realise that there are other people out there, making the same blind, fumbling attempts towards truth as you are.
So whilst the intellect may allow me to avoid buying a Big Issue, if I think more clearly, it allows me to empathise - to see things from a different point of view; to view things in proportion. I recognise that despite my reasoning, I should buy the Big Issue because the inconvenience to me doesn't outweigh the inconvenience to them.
Reason allows you to interrogate the world, interrogate others and interrogate yourself.
So, in answer to point 2) - The intellect, properly employed is a greater aid to moral thinking than it is a hindrance.
And in answer to point 1) - This same intellectual reason allows you to contextualise your own morals and negotiate the tricky waters between personal preference and objective truth.
Done.
Easy.
Knock knock
Who's there?
Mr Rational
Mr Rational Who
Mr Rational... uh... Smith?
Come in.
***
I have an extremely limited readership, so every now and then I like to whittle them down to zero with posts like this.
Also, you know rationality leading to empathy? Right-wing people never take that final step.
Which is why they can rationalise immorality (like me not buying a Big Issue), they can rationalise laziness (like me not marching against the Iraq war), and they commit the fundamental failing of rationalising their own irrationality.
I escaped. I wrote this and did a knock knock joke. Let's see George Osborne do that.
***
It's a good thing I didn't go on for ages like last time.
A. words that should be used more in jokes:
fibreglass, coins
B. maturity -
clever people argue their way out of doing the right thing
I think point A speaks for itself. And there's not a woman (or man) alive who would disagree.
Point B is a bit more nebulous.
Let's see if I can locate my train of thought. It can't be too hard to find. It's a train. It must be on tracks somewhere. Unless it's a flying train like at the end of Back to the Future III. But I don't think my train of thought would be so gaudy.
I was thinking about maturity.
People use 'immature' as a term of abuse. Being mature is seen as a goal to strive for.
Well, I don't agree. I don't think maturity is in my list of good characteristics. In fact, I'll go further and suggest that anyone who disparages someone for being immature is a boring, soulless idiot.
People generally use the term to refer to some abstract concept of 'grown-upness' that involves paying bills, drinking quality wine and never ever putting a cushion on your head and acting like a pirate.
In other words: boring, soulless idiots.
Because what is maturity really? Social development? Sophistication of thought? Pragmatism?
It's not really any of those things. It's a non-specific concept to convince people they're sensible when really they're self-deluded. If you're convinced you are mature, you're blind to the realities of being a human - which is in itself an incredibly immature mindset.
All the good qualities implicit in a notion of maturity are better served by other terms. It's good for someone to have a sense of perspective. It's good for her to have a knowledge of historical precedent. It's good for her to not be entirely governed by base emotions.
But "maturity" is a big, clumsy umbrella that encapsulated everything grey and necessary and treats the spurious, the fantastic, and the irreverent with a patronising shake of the head.
It is in fact a very childish notion. I'm sure children as they grow up are more fascinated by the concept than we are. There will be 12-year-olds you view their younger siblings with withering disdain.
"Oh, these 10-year-olds are so immature. Still watching CBeebies are you? Some of us have moved onto Horrid Henry, thank you very much,"
If I was looking for love in personal ads, and someone described themselves as 'mature' I would tough them with a ten-foot telephone pole.
So. Maturity. Poo, more like!
[A little touch of irony for any 12-year-olds reading]
But from this thought station, my train trundled towards the next stop: I'm immature. Or at least, I'm immature by the definition of those who use it pejoratively.
I read comics, I watch wrestling, I make silly jokes on Twitter, I post photos of myself making funny faces.
So maybe the real reason I deride maturity is because I don't possess it.
It can't be the case that I decided to be immature because it's a worthy characteristic. So I must have recognised it as a characteristic already in me and decided it was good because, well, I'm brilliant.
That must have been my thought process.
And it's worrying. A combination of extreme arrogance and extreme irrationality. I don't want to think I use my own traits to provide the foundation of my values.
Even if I don't believe in absolute moral truths or 'natural' goods, I would still hope that what I believe is based on something more objective than my proximity to myself.
Do I value beards because I have one? Or do I have one because I value beards?
The danger is that if you're reasonably clever (and, given that I've just identified the most awful arrogance in myself, I think I can claim to be that), you can use your powers of reason to convince yourself that things are true.
You can create convincing arguments for lots of things, which means you can justify a great deal. It might be by finding a loophole in logic, or a past example. It might be that you weigh your actions against their consequences in a certain way.
I was trying to remember why I didn't march against the war in Iraq when I was a student. It wasn't because I didn't care; it wasn't that I was in any doubt about its wrongness. But I think I managed to argue, in my own head, that the protest would be useless, that the people going were self-righteous and marching for the wrong reasons, that auxiliary causes would be tacked on and would dilute things.
Now, these things may well have been correct. They probably were correct. But it was still wrong of me not to go on the march.
And there's the scary part. If you think critically enough, you can argue your way out of doing the right thing.
In my case, all that ethical gymnastics was nothing but a clever way of rationalising my own laziness.
I think that was a big factor in making me go on the March march. I wanted to atone for my younger self's inaction.
I was so immature then...
I also justify not buying a Big Issue on the basis that it's not out of a lack of compassion that I'm avoiding it, but out of a fear of getting into a conversation with a stranger. As though that's ANY EXCUSE WHATSOEVER.
I'm sure the Big Issue-seller shivering in the sleet will be cheered up my the thought that I've been saved a bit of social embarrassment.
So after all that, we're left with two depressing thoughts.
1) My values are a projection, reflecting nothing but my own pre-existing character traits
2) I can use my intellect to evade the requirements of morality
Disturbing stuff.
But the sun is out, I'm on holiday, and I'm fundamentally an optimist (a quality I value in the external world). So let's use my intellect to make myself feel better about point 1) and self-reflexively deal with point 2).
But first, I need to go to the toilet.
***
Ah, that's better.
1) My values are a projection, reflecting nothing but my own pre-existing character traits
Of course people's values do derive in part from their upbringing, from their family, from the environment in which they find themselves.
People learn right and wrong (wrong or right) from their parents, and this informs how they see the world. In fact, there's probably a genetic predisposition for certain values to take hold.
But they also learn morality from talking to others, hearing different points of view, reading books, watching films, experiencing things independently.
[I'm probably wrong to say that people learn morality. More likely, it is constructed from all these sources.]
People are complicated. Even me. Even when I have a cushion on my head and am pretending to be a pirate.
There are lots of people that have very different moral attitudes to their family. There are some that take on morals from the church, or the state, or a particular school of thought. Upbringing is just one of many reasons for people doing what they do.
The things I value are a combination of so many different sources.
My faith in my own personality probably comes from my upbringing - my parents were very supportive and taught me to have confidence in myself.
But these values do evolve. You can see from what I wrote before that I have doubts and question myself. I'm sure most people do.
I don't think point 1) can be true because of these doubts, because of the constant flux of my ideals. The characteristics I do value the most have that status because they've withstood rigorous questioning, and have kept coming back to me as things that feel right, and that are confirmed by experience - and how I see things working in the world.
[Good grief. I need a knock-knock joke to break this up.]
So to take the maturity example. I was presumably brought up to not value maturity as much as other characteristics. I hopefully attained some of the positive elements of maturity, but didn't have much care for the whole.
So I kept reading comics.
But the notion that this was 'right' would be reinforced by encountering other people who were 'immature' whilst still being good and kind and imaginative and open-minded (all elements I do admire and aspire too).
Similarly, I probably met 'mature' people who were cold and serious and who threw around 'immature' as an insult to all those people I knew to be great.
And as I grew up, I'd also find that the people I respected and idolised - the musicians, the writers, the comedians - shared this sensibility. In fact, I can't think of any of my heroes who would see 'immaturity' as something to be ashamed of (except maybe Mark E. Smith, but he's the exception to every rule).
This doesn't mean I'm 'correct' in my opinions. But it is rational to value things and aspire to things that you see as good in the world.
It's all part of the thinking process of the rational human. Which leads too...
2) I can use my intellect to evade the requirements of morality
We've established that I can do this, and I have done it in the past.
It's probably quite a common phenomenon - you have an aversion to doing something, and you use reason to explain away any of the guilt.
But I hope that this tedious treatise shows that I don't do it without thinking about it, without worrying about it, without trying to escape it.
And in fact, most of the time the intellect is an aid to making moral choices.
I think the reason for this is that a natural consequence of rationality is empathy.
If you truly seek to understand the world, and weigh up the evidence, and come somewhere close to approaching 'truth' (or at least approaching the approach), you'll inevitably have to realise that there are other people out there, making the same blind, fumbling attempts towards truth as you are.
So whilst the intellect may allow me to avoid buying a Big Issue, if I think more clearly, it allows me to empathise - to see things from a different point of view; to view things in proportion. I recognise that despite my reasoning, I should buy the Big Issue because the inconvenience to me doesn't outweigh the inconvenience to them.
Reason allows you to interrogate the world, interrogate others and interrogate yourself.
So, in answer to point 2) - The intellect, properly employed is a greater aid to moral thinking than it is a hindrance.
And in answer to point 1) - This same intellectual reason allows you to contextualise your own morals and negotiate the tricky waters between personal preference and objective truth.
Done.
Easy.
Knock knock
Who's there?
Mr Rational
Mr Rational Who
Mr Rational... uh... Smith?
Come in.
***
I have an extremely limited readership, so every now and then I like to whittle them down to zero with posts like this.
Also, you know rationality leading to empathy? Right-wing people never take that final step.
Which is why they can rationalise immorality (like me not buying a Big Issue), they can rationalise laziness (like me not marching against the Iraq war), and they commit the fundamental failing of rationalising their own irrationality.
I escaped. I wrote this and did a knock knock joke. Let's see George Osborne do that.
***
It's a good thing I didn't go on for ages like last time.
Wednesday, 20 April 2011
Let Me In!
Hello
Welcome to the latest edition of 'Headscissors', a web-log which takes a hilarious sideways look at modern life. Covering topics ranging from current events to literature, detouring through hilarious comedy sketches and existential ramblings, 'Headscissors' is a counter-culture phenomenon.
The author's dry wit and flair for language really sets 'Headscissors' apart from the pack, and is a reminder that genuine talent, perhaps even genius, can be found on the fringes of popular media.
If this is your first visit: congratulations. You have hundreds of fascinating and funny entries to read. You can browse them in the 'Blog Archive' section to the right of this entry.
Underneath this, you will also find a poll, asking 'What is your favourite liquid?' Please take the time to select your favourite from the options provided.
Remember, this blog is also an arena for discussion. So please feel free to enter your feedback in the 'Comments' section below each post.
Now sit back, relax and enjoy!
Regards
Paul "DiamondBadger" Fung
***
Hmm. That was strange. Hopefully that has repelled certain undesirables from reading below the three asterisks. Now it's just us: the cool kids.
***
An Idiot Flaps Odyssey - Part 15
Books, books, books. Let's take a look(s, looks, looks).
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
Part 14
***
J.L. Mackie - The Miracle of Theism
I think this will be quite a serious entry, so might have to stick some knock-knock jokes in here somewhere.
YOU'RE ALL GOING TO HELL
No, you're not. Well, some of you might be. Though I imagine anyone with the good sense to read this blog has an unblemished moral character.
Also, I don't believe Hell exists. I am an atheist.
I've been struggling to describe the various stages of my religious feelings, but it has been slow going. So maybe I'll leave it for another time, when I'm ready to bore a large number of people. So this won't actually be serious.
Though that doesn't mean you don't get any knock-knock jokes!
Knock knock
Who's there?
Chuck
Chuck who?
Chuck Me My Shotgun, There Are Zombies Out Here
That's an interesting surname. What is it, Dutch?
No, seriously. There are zombies. They're getting closer.
If you're in serious trouble, why did you engage with the whole 'knock-knock' conceit to begin with?
[SOUNDS OF FLESH BEING EATEN]
Chuck? CHUCK?!
I'm finishing this entry on Good Friday, which makes me think I'm being irreverent. I assure you, the significance of the date is unrelated. But I need to get this finished.
This book was recommended reading on my Philosophy of Religion module at University. I was taught by a cool tutor who reminded me of Stephen Fry. It was my favourite subject.
This book outlines the various arguments people have put forward for the existence of God - ontological arguments, cosmological ones, arguments from design, etc - and goes through various interpretations and objections. Mackie comes down on the side of atheism, but isn't at all dismissive or patronising towards the theist.
Theists have to work really hard to support their arguments, engaging in all manner of linguistic gymnastics. Which makes it all very interesting.
I suppose it's not exactly easy, holiday reading, but it is very clearly explained and not as difficult as a lot of philosophy.
I should be disciplined and write about my own views, explain the arguments that interest me the most, and outline my conclusions.
But it's sunny outside.
I can be serious sometimes, but I need to be in the right frame of mind. And that frame is a long way away from where I am now. And the beginning of this post has been sitting in my 'Drafts' folder for a couple of days. I need to move on.
Knock knock
Who's there?
Locksmith.
Locksmith Who?
No, the locksmith. I'm the locksmith. Did you call for a locksmith?
Yes. Yes I did.
What seems to be the trouble?
I've been trapped in here for three weeks. The door won't open.
Right.
People keep coming to the door, but they won't help me. They think I'm making a joke.
Is that because you keep saying 'Locksmith Who?' and things like that?
Yeah, exactly.
Well, don't worry. I'll get this door open in no time.
Thank you, thank you.
That's OK.
I'm Kieran, by the way.
I'm Jorg.
Jorg Who?
Jorg Unnadie!
I'm sorry?
Jorg Unnadie. You're gonna die. I'm going to leave you here, because I'm also insulted by your jokey attitude.
Oh. I understand.
Sorry, Kieran. Nothing personal.
Welcome to the latest edition of 'Headscissors', a web-log which takes a hilarious sideways look at modern life. Covering topics ranging from current events to literature, detouring through hilarious comedy sketches and existential ramblings, 'Headscissors' is a counter-culture phenomenon.
The author's dry wit and flair for language really sets 'Headscissors' apart from the pack, and is a reminder that genuine talent, perhaps even genius, can be found on the fringes of popular media.
If this is your first visit: congratulations. You have hundreds of fascinating and funny entries to read. You can browse them in the 'Blog Archive' section to the right of this entry.
Underneath this, you will also find a poll, asking 'What is your favourite liquid?' Please take the time to select your favourite from the options provided.
Remember, this blog is also an arena for discussion. So please feel free to enter your feedback in the 'Comments' section below each post.
Now sit back, relax and enjoy!
Regards
Paul "DiamondBadger" Fung
***
Hmm. That was strange. Hopefully that has repelled certain undesirables from reading below the three asterisks. Now it's just us: the cool kids.
***
An Idiot Flaps Odyssey - Part 15
Books, books, books. Let's take a look(s, looks, looks).
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
Part 14
***
J.L. Mackie - The Miracle of Theism
I think this will be quite a serious entry, so might have to stick some knock-knock jokes in here somewhere.
YOU'RE ALL GOING TO HELL
No, you're not. Well, some of you might be. Though I imagine anyone with the good sense to read this blog has an unblemished moral character.
Also, I don't believe Hell exists. I am an atheist.
I've been struggling to describe the various stages of my religious feelings, but it has been slow going. So maybe I'll leave it for another time, when I'm ready to bore a large number of people. So this won't actually be serious.
Though that doesn't mean you don't get any knock-knock jokes!
Knock knock
Who's there?
Chuck
Chuck who?
Chuck Me My Shotgun, There Are Zombies Out Here
That's an interesting surname. What is it, Dutch?
No, seriously. There are zombies. They're getting closer.
If you're in serious trouble, why did you engage with the whole 'knock-knock' conceit to begin with?
[SOUNDS OF FLESH BEING EATEN]
Chuck? CHUCK?!
I'm finishing this entry on Good Friday, which makes me think I'm being irreverent. I assure you, the significance of the date is unrelated. But I need to get this finished.
This book was recommended reading on my Philosophy of Religion module at University. I was taught by a cool tutor who reminded me of Stephen Fry. It was my favourite subject.
This book outlines the various arguments people have put forward for the existence of God - ontological arguments, cosmological ones, arguments from design, etc - and goes through various interpretations and objections. Mackie comes down on the side of atheism, but isn't at all dismissive or patronising towards the theist.
Theists have to work really hard to support their arguments, engaging in all manner of linguistic gymnastics. Which makes it all very interesting.
I suppose it's not exactly easy, holiday reading, but it is very clearly explained and not as difficult as a lot of philosophy.
I should be disciplined and write about my own views, explain the arguments that interest me the most, and outline my conclusions.
But it's sunny outside.
I can be serious sometimes, but I need to be in the right frame of mind. And that frame is a long way away from where I am now. And the beginning of this post has been sitting in my 'Drafts' folder for a couple of days. I need to move on.
Knock knock
Who's there?
Locksmith.
Locksmith Who?
No, the locksmith. I'm the locksmith. Did you call for a locksmith?
Yes. Yes I did.
What seems to be the trouble?
I've been trapped in here for three weeks. The door won't open.
Right.
People keep coming to the door, but they won't help me. They think I'm making a joke.
Is that because you keep saying 'Locksmith Who?' and things like that?
Yeah, exactly.
Well, don't worry. I'll get this door open in no time.
Thank you, thank you.
That's OK.
I'm Kieran, by the way.
I'm Jorg.
Jorg Who?
Jorg Unnadie!
I'm sorry?
Jorg Unnadie. You're gonna die. I'm going to leave you here, because I'm also insulted by your jokey attitude.
Oh. I understand.
Sorry, Kieran. Nothing personal.
Tuesday, 19 April 2011
Token Effort
I once sent off for a Coco Pops badge.
I collected tokens from boxes of Coco Pops and sent them (along with some supplementary payment - possibly a postal order, even though I don't know what that is) to the Coco Pops High Command. They must have approved my request, because they sent me a badge.
As a child, it's very exciting to receive something through the post. The majority of mail (bills, court summonses, camping equipment catalogues) are sent to adults. This is because children don't have any independent income, and so would struggle to pay for electricity, or tents, or a horrendous crime.
When I'm a grown up, I'm going to just send assorted letters to children. I'll find their names by eavesdropping in a playground, and then follow them home to get their addresses. Then I'll mail them things they might be interested (like a picture of a rocket-tiger). They will be happy.
I literally can't think of a single reason not to do this.
So I was delighted to have a package on the way. When it arrived, I was over the moon. But my jubilation was slightly quashed by the parcel being addressed to Paul Funa.
Paul Funa isn't my name.
My name is Paul Fung.
There were no Paul Funas living at my address.
I don't know if there are any Paul Funas in the country.
There are a few on Facebook, but none of them list 'Coco Pops' or 'following children home' amongst their interests.
If I was called Paul Funa, I'd become a boxer. I'd be known as Paul "The Tuna" Funa. It would strike fear into the hearts of my opponents, especially Jason "The Pelagic Crustacean" Mason.
But I'm not called Paul Funa.
It was my mistake. When I'd filled out my Coco Pops badge request form, I must have made too short a tail on the final 'g'. Let this be a lesson to you: ALWAYS USE BLOCK CAPITALS WHEN ORDERING CEREAL-RELATED BADGES.
But the badge was great. It had Coco the Monkey on it. (You know - the one from off of the Coco Pops adverts) Not only that - it had glowing LEDs on it, and PLAYED THE COCO POPS THEME TUNE. It was probably the greatest achievement in the history of (wo)man.
I don't know where it is now. I can't even find a picture on the internet. It's probably worth a thousand pounds.
I think it was the only thing I ever sent away for. I don't know if I thought I'd never top the badge, or if I was a bit gun-shy over Funa-gate. But the badge was enough for me.
I hope I don't get an angry email from Paul Funa, demanding I return his badge. That would be awkward.
I looked up Coco Pops on Wikipedia (unsure if it was Coco the Monkey, or just Coco Monkey), and found this information on Coco's pals:
Coco's friends are Shortie Giraffe, Randy Rhino, Alan Anteater, Heftie Hippo, Fanny Flamingo, Osmelda Ostrich, and Kylie Kangaroo, while Crafty Croc and the gorillas are his arch-enemies.
I'm happy with most of these, but slightly concerned about Randy Rhino and, particularly, Fanny Flamingo, which sounds like a condition in need of ointment.
I think they should do spin-off cereals featuring those characters:
Randy Rhin-O's: They turn the milk white!
Fanny Flaming-O's: To be taken orally!
I don't really think that.
This started with innocent childhood nostalgia and ended with obscenity. I've embarrassed myself.
But I don't consider a blog post complete until I've damaged my own credibility.
[UNTRUE]
I collected tokens from boxes of Coco Pops and sent them (along with some supplementary payment - possibly a postal order, even though I don't know what that is) to the Coco Pops High Command. They must have approved my request, because they sent me a badge.
As a child, it's very exciting to receive something through the post. The majority of mail (bills, court summonses, camping equipment catalogues) are sent to adults. This is because children don't have any independent income, and so would struggle to pay for electricity, or tents, or a horrendous crime.
When I'm a grown up, I'm going to just send assorted letters to children. I'll find their names by eavesdropping in a playground, and then follow them home to get their addresses. Then I'll mail them things they might be interested (like a picture of a rocket-tiger). They will be happy.
I literally can't think of a single reason not to do this.
So I was delighted to have a package on the way. When it arrived, I was over the moon. But my jubilation was slightly quashed by the parcel being addressed to Paul Funa.
Paul Funa isn't my name.
My name is Paul Fung.
There were no Paul Funas living at my address.
I don't know if there are any Paul Funas in the country.
There are a few on Facebook, but none of them list 'Coco Pops' or 'following children home' amongst their interests.
If I was called Paul Funa, I'd become a boxer. I'd be known as Paul "The Tuna" Funa. It would strike fear into the hearts of my opponents, especially Jason "The Pelagic Crustacean" Mason.
But I'm not called Paul Funa.
It was my mistake. When I'd filled out my Coco Pops badge request form, I must have made too short a tail on the final 'g'. Let this be a lesson to you: ALWAYS USE BLOCK CAPITALS WHEN ORDERING CEREAL-RELATED BADGES.
But the badge was great. It had Coco the Monkey on it. (You know - the one from off of the Coco Pops adverts) Not only that - it had glowing LEDs on it, and PLAYED THE COCO POPS THEME TUNE. It was probably the greatest achievement in the history of (wo)man.
I don't know where it is now. I can't even find a picture on the internet. It's probably worth a thousand pounds.
I think it was the only thing I ever sent away for. I don't know if I thought I'd never top the badge, or if I was a bit gun-shy over Funa-gate. But the badge was enough for me.
I hope I don't get an angry email from Paul Funa, demanding I return his badge. That would be awkward.
I looked up Coco Pops on Wikipedia (unsure if it was Coco the Monkey, or just Coco Monkey), and found this information on Coco's pals:
Coco's friends are Shortie Giraffe, Randy Rhino, Alan Anteater, Heftie Hippo, Fanny Flamingo, Osmelda Ostrich, and Kylie Kangaroo, while Crafty Croc and the gorillas are his arch-enemies.
I'm happy with most of these, but slightly concerned about Randy Rhino and, particularly, Fanny Flamingo, which sounds like a condition in need of ointment.
I think they should do spin-off cereals featuring those characters:
Randy Rhin-O's: They turn the milk white!
Fanny Flaming-O's: To be taken orally!
I don't really think that.
This started with innocent childhood nostalgia and ended with obscenity. I've embarrassed myself.
But I don't consider a blog post complete until I've damaged my own credibility.
[UNTRUE]
Saturday, 16 April 2011
Something for the Weekend
Happy Saturday!
Happurday!
Here is an overdue compendium of my latest tweets. Some will make you laugh, some will make you think, some will make you cry, some will make you stink.
Usually, I try to write something interesting at the top here to provide added value.
But this time...
I seem to be doing the same thing.
Is that what this is? Value?
Here's some value! I read two separate interviews with two separate people that I thought were interesting.
***
The first is with comedian and actor Garry "Superfluous R" Shandling in GQ (from August 2010).
We've recently been (re-)watching The Larry Sanders Show on DVD and it is superb (probably cracking my top five TV programmes of all time - even though I've never made that list). Shandling seems like a really interesting guy, and this interview almost makes him out to be a mystical figure. You can read it here.
Interesting extracts:
"The direction I'm going in is eventually you won't know if it's a joke or not," he explains, describing his new act, which he has been quietly testing in clubs where his name never appears on the marquee. "What I want to happen is that I talk for an hour and the audience doesn't realize it is funny until they're driving home."
***
If you're ever asked to name your favourite adverb beginning with 'w', choose wisely.
***
I'm going to watch the French Connection now. Or, as it's known in France, Los French Connection.
***
God said to Noah "There's going to be a floody, floody!" And Noah said "Don't you think you should be taking this a bit more seriously?"
***
I need to have a shower, but I'm worried I might scrub off THE FUNNY.
***
Huh. Just found this powerful, higher-up "shower head" on the bathroom wall. I'd always just been using the taps! WHAT AN IDIOT!
***
My friend keeps repeating "A beard of a million bees! A beard of a million bees!" He sounds like a broken record.
***
Every time I write '2' instead of either 'two' or (God help me) 'to', I feel like Neville Chamberlain, appeasing the forces of brevity.
***
If I had an ice-cream van, the tune it played would be Poison by Alice Cooper. 'Cause I only want to serve kids that are fucking metal.
***
Also the ice-cream would be poisoned.
***
In the last tweet but one, the word 'fucking' was an intensifying adjective, not a noun. I'm not a pervert. #clarification
***
I'm not sure if we're getting the best from our vacuum cleaner. It just sits there, gathering dust...
***
Either there's a Dementor in our office, or "that Friday feeling" isn't quite what I'd imagined.
***
I'm organising a bake sale to raise money for the purchase of a communal office spittoon. People like cake. But apparently not that much.
***
I think if I was accused of murder, I'd use the "Oh come on! We're all just ATOMS!" defence.
***
I don't think I will be accused of murder. But it's always good to have contingency plans.
***
That isn't to say I won't murder someone. I'm just not intending to be accused.
***
When does extreme fatigue become meditation? I'm not feeling very enlightened, but I think I might have annihilated the self.
***
A wolf wouldn't fit in a boy's tear ducts. #fablefail
***
I like that sports water bottle cap that you pull open. Because I want to look like I'm a) too busy to unscrew anything, and b) a hamster
***
I wouldn't say I'm self-indulgent. I'm just really good at making i-contact.
***
Me: "Is there anything good I can tweet?" Lucy: "No."
***
How are we going to figure out a use for the world's largest hat? I think we need to put our heads together.
***
I just drank half a mug of cold coffee to avoid the potential awkwardness of a work kitchen conversation. Form a queue, ladies.
***
Gateway drugs are very dangerous. I almost got concussion from snorting a drawbridge.
***
Bleary-eyed start to the day. Almost asked a lecturer to contact me if they have any "fuhrer questions". I'm not qualified to answer those.
***
It's dark. Darker than it should be. I'm not wearing sunglasses. I'm not a depressive soothsayer. I'm not in a box. Something is awry.
***
How many owls do you think there are in the world called Leslie? I reckon no more than two.
***
I wonder who got Medusa's snakes after she died... (I believe she had a Gorgon donor card)
***
I wish my job had a designated hat. Like a chef or a fireman. On the other hand, having one of those on my head might be too heavy.
***
It's hard to believe that I'm the world's angriest woman.
***
I feel discombobulated. Or, to give it it's full name, discomrobertulated.
***
I'm a blue-collar worker. I don't do any manual work, but I am wearing a Smurfskin shirt.
***
Twitter is like a handkerchief, catching all my INSPIRATION-SNEEZES.
***
Lighthouses aren't always successful at preventing shipwrecks. But they're better than heavyhouses.
***
Most people make conversation. I break conversation.
***
I don't like what I've become, but there's no Facebook button to indicate that.
***
I'm worried I might be stalking myself.
***
If enough cowboys started wearing berets, berets would become known as cowboy hats.
***
There's a loud helicopter outside. Well, it may not be particularly loud for a helicopter. But it is much louder than no helicopter.
***
I hope I'm not under surveillance. "2AM. The suspect is sitting in underwear, googling the word 'surveillance' to get the correct spelling."
***
TOPICAL GRAND NATIONAL JOKE: Q: Why do I measure a horse's height in hands? A: Because I love the smell of neigh palm in the morning.
***
Fully writing out the words 'greater than' > the 'greater than' symbol.
***
I like the streetlight outside our flat. It looks like it's wearing a hat - a skinny Kung Lao brazier.
***
I've just eaten a bowl of Weetos. Ideal for whenever you have a craving for anuses in milk.
***
I've been startled, so I'll finishle. #MagnussonSeesAGhost
***
Umbilical cord progression.
***
The first thing I think of when I hear "word" is "association".
***
As of 2011, there remains a scientific consensus that Denver was indeed the Last Dinosaur.
***
Simon says: DISOBEY SIMON.
***
Don't take shit. Do take risks. Don't take shitrisks. #wisdom
***
I like a good Q & Q & Q & Q & Q & Q & Q & Q & Q & eventual, exasperated A.
***
I've never ridden a horse. Also, I've never skewered a sleeping tramp with a mahogany-handled umbrella. #directcorollary
***
I feel comfortable in my own skin. But only when it has been removed, lined with satin, then sewn back on.
***
How am I going to deal with all these problems? The same way an ostrich does: run very fast, then lay an egg.
***
You can get to sleep faster by counting shepherds. Cut out the middle man.
***
I've been arranging myself in order of importance.
***
The more 'o's a person puts in the phrase 'it's soooo good!', the more likely I am to disagree with their conclusion.
***
I like to lure white elephant stalls, candy floss and bunting into a public space. I hope that's not tempting fête.
***
Multiple choice: a) choicechoicechoicechoicechoicechoicechoice, b) choice³, c) choices d) All of the above.
***
To make up for this morning, the salad bar had better be full of money, onyx statues of me, and a wide array of magic hats.
***
OK - That's it. This post seems to be doing lots of strange formatting of its own accord. Like if HAL from 2001: A Space Odyssey had very little imagination.
So I'm going to jump ship before things get any worse.
I hope your day is awash with euphoria and medals.
Happurday!
Here is an overdue compendium of my latest tweets. Some will make you laugh, some will make you think, some will make you cry, some will make you stink.
Usually, I try to write something interesting at the top here to provide added value.
But this time...
I seem to be doing the same thing.
Is that what this is? Value?
Here's some value! I read two separate interviews with two separate people that I thought were interesting.
***
The first is with comedian and actor Garry "Superfluous R" Shandling in GQ (from August 2010).
We've recently been (re-)watching The Larry Sanders Show on DVD and it is superb (probably cracking my top five TV programmes of all time - even though I've never made that list). Shandling seems like a really interesting guy, and this interview almost makes him out to be a mystical figure. You can read it here.
Interesting extracts:
"The direction I'm going in is eventually you won't know if it's a joke or not," he explains, describing his new act, which he has been quietly testing in clubs where his name never appears on the marquee. "What I want to happen is that I talk for an hour and the audience doesn't realize it is funny until they're driving home."
***
If you're ever asked to name your favourite adverb beginning with 'w', choose wisely.
***
I'm going to watch the French Connection now. Or, as it's known in France, Los French Connection.
***
God said to Noah "There's going to be a floody, floody!" And Noah said "Don't you think you should be taking this a bit more seriously?"
***
I need to have a shower, but I'm worried I might scrub off THE FUNNY.
***
Huh. Just found this powerful, higher-up "shower head" on the bathroom wall. I'd always just been using the taps! WHAT AN IDIOT!
***
My friend keeps repeating "A beard of a million bees! A beard of a million bees!" He sounds like a broken record.
***
Every time I write '2' instead of either 'two' or (God help me) 'to', I feel like Neville Chamberlain, appeasing the forces of brevity.
***
If I had an ice-cream van, the tune it played would be Poison by Alice Cooper. 'Cause I only want to serve kids that are fucking metal.
***
Also the ice-cream would be poisoned.
***
In the last tweet but one, the word 'fucking' was an intensifying adjective, not a noun. I'm not a pervert. #clarification
***
I'm not sure if we're getting the best from our vacuum cleaner. It just sits there, gathering dust...
***
Either there's a Dementor in our office, or "that Friday feeling" isn't quite what I'd imagined.
***
I'm organising a bake sale to raise money for the purchase of a communal office spittoon. People like cake. But apparently not that much.
***
I think if I was accused of murder, I'd use the "Oh come on! We're all just ATOMS!" defence.
***
I don't think I will be accused of murder. But it's always good to have contingency plans.
***
That isn't to say I won't murder someone. I'm just not intending to be accused.
***
When does extreme fatigue become meditation? I'm not feeling very enlightened, but I think I might have annihilated the self.
***
A wolf wouldn't fit in a boy's tear ducts. #fablefail
***
I like that sports water bottle cap that you pull open. Because I want to look like I'm a) too busy to unscrew anything, and b) a hamster
***
I wouldn't say I'm self-indulgent. I'm just really good at making i-contact.
***
Me: "Is there anything good I can tweet?" Lucy: "No."
***
How are we going to figure out a use for the world's largest hat? I think we need to put our heads together.
***
I just drank half a mug of cold coffee to avoid the potential awkwardness of a work kitchen conversation. Form a queue, ladies.
***
Gateway drugs are very dangerous. I almost got concussion from snorting a drawbridge.
***
Bleary-eyed start to the day. Almost asked a lecturer to contact me if they have any "fuhrer questions". I'm not qualified to answer those.
***
It's dark. Darker than it should be. I'm not wearing sunglasses. I'm not a depressive soothsayer. I'm not in a box. Something is awry.
***
How many owls do you think there are in the world called Leslie? I reckon no more than two.
***
I wonder who got Medusa's snakes after she died... (I believe she had a Gorgon donor card)
***
I wish my job had a designated hat. Like a chef or a fireman. On the other hand, having one of those on my head might be too heavy.
***
It's hard to believe that I'm the world's angriest woman.
***
I feel discombobulated. Or, to give it it's full name, discomrobertulated.
***
I'm a blue-collar worker. I don't do any manual work, but I am wearing a Smurfskin shirt.
***
Twitter is like a handkerchief, catching all my INSPIRATION-SNEEZES.
***
Lighthouses aren't always successful at preventing shipwrecks. But they're better than heavyhouses.
***
Most people make conversation. I break conversation.
***
I don't like what I've become, but there's no Facebook button to indicate that.
***
I'm worried I might be stalking myself.
***
If enough cowboys started wearing berets, berets would become known as cowboy hats.
***
There's a loud helicopter outside. Well, it may not be particularly loud for a helicopter. But it is much louder than no helicopter.
***
I hope I'm not under surveillance. "2AM. The suspect is sitting in underwear, googling the word 'surveillance' to get the correct spelling."
***
TOPICAL GRAND NATIONAL JOKE: Q: Why do I measure a horse's height in hands? A: Because I love the smell of neigh palm in the morning.
***
Fully writing out the words 'greater than' > the 'greater than' symbol.
***
I like the streetlight outside our flat. It looks like it's wearing a hat - a skinny Kung Lao brazier.
***
I've just eaten a bowl of Weetos. Ideal for whenever you have a craving for anuses in milk.
***
I've been startled, so I'll finishle. #MagnussonSeesAGhost
***
Umbilical cord progression.
***
The first thing I think of when I hear "word" is "association".
***
As of 2011, there remains a scientific consensus that Denver was indeed the Last Dinosaur.
***
Simon says: DISOBEY SIMON.
***
Don't take shit. Do take risks. Don't take shitrisks. #wisdom
***
I like a good Q & Q & Q & Q & Q & Q & Q & Q & Q & eventual, exasperated A.
***
I've never ridden a horse. Also, I've never skewered a sleeping tramp with a mahogany-handled umbrella. #directcorollary
***
I feel comfortable in my own skin. But only when it has been removed, lined with satin, then sewn back on.
***
How am I going to deal with all these problems? The same way an ostrich does: run very fast, then lay an egg.
***
You can get to sleep faster by counting shepherds. Cut out the middle man.
***
I've been arranging myself in order of importance.
***
The more 'o's a person puts in the phrase 'it's soooo good!', the more likely I am to disagree with their conclusion.
***
I like to lure white elephant stalls, candy floss and bunting into a public space. I hope that's not tempting fête.
***
Multiple choice: a) choicechoicechoicechoicechoicechoicechoice, b) choice³, c) choices d) All of the above.
***
To make up for this morning, the salad bar had better be full of money, onyx statues of me, and a wide array of magic hats.
***
OK - That's it. This post seems to be doing lots of strange formatting of its own accord. Like if HAL from 2001: A Space Odyssey had very little imagination.
So I'm going to jump ship before things get any worse.
I hope your day is awash with euphoria and medals.
Wednesday, 13 April 2011
Unreal-time
No-one's ever accused me of being lazy, complacent, unadventurous, male, human or Paul before. So here's a new blog experiment.
I'll keep this window open all day, and periodically update it, based on the events of the day.
If you know me (and if you don't know me, why are you reading this?), you'll know that there are generally no interesting events in my average day. But who knows? This could be the day that I finally get involved in a drug deal gone wrong, or the day I finally discover the true meaning of my various tattoos.
***
13:57
I started writing this. Actually, it may have been 13:56. But it was definitely 13:57 when I started writing "13:57". (It's now 13:58)
Lucy is making tea, and we're waiting for our groceries to be delivered. From Tesco. Because we are like royalty.
My feet are bare. At some stage, I'll need to put on socks and shoes to greet the Tesco man (or woman). I suspect, I might cut out the middle man and go straight for the shoes. Sockless shoes are no fun, but it will only be for a short time.
I could put on socks, I suppose. But I'm too busy writing letters and numbers on a computer. This computer. These letters. Th3s3 numb3rs.
See? I knew this would be interesting.
The shopping arrives sometime between 14:00 and 16:00. At least, it should. So this is a limbo time. Can we commit to a cup of tea? A new activity? A substanceless blog entry?
Or will it be interrupted by a woman (or man) bringing an array of foods and drinks and household items?
We just don't know.
But, in a way, isn't life like this? We know we could die at any moment. Is there any point in committing to a house, or a job, or a relationship, when it could be taken from you at any minute?
Yes. Of course there is. This is the only opportunity we have.
That's why Lucy made tea. And why I'm writing this.
Because we're all going to die.
***
15:03
A flurry of activity.
I tuned into 6Music to hear Colin and Ed from Radiohead talking about my friend Jon's documentary on the Oxford music scene: Anyone Can Play Guitar. (You can probably listen again at some point here) Very exciting.
But then the Tesco man (or woman) arrived! I'm pretty sure it was a man. I didn't do an anatomical check, but he (or she) certainly seemed quite masculine. I'm going to go out on a limb and suggest that it was a man. Or woman. Or a transgendered person. But they were certainly human.
Or an android.
Or a ghost.
So we brought the shopping upstairs (because we are like royalty, but aren't royalty) and listened to the rest of the radio item.
I don't know if that really constitutes a flurry, but it has been the most dramatic part of my day.
I've just downed an Innocent smoothie. Though from their website, it seems that they're not capitalised. It's an innocent smoothie. Which seems to be an attempt to ascribe a concept to a drink.
I can't decide whether I'm annoyed by the friendly, matey, wacky approach taken by the innocent people (damn lower-case I). Sometime it seems like cynical anti-cynicism. But on the other hand, I suppose I should admire them for trying something different.
Luckily I'm not forced to choose a side in the innocent/Guilty marketing debate. It's not my job.
***
15:25
I'm thinking of adding an FAQ section to this blog. Unfortunately, nobody ever asks me any questions, let alone frequent ones.
Perhaps a NAQ section would be more apropos.
Q: Whench?
A: I'm... I'm sorry, what?
Q: What gives you the right to tell me how to live my life?!
A: I am you.
Q: How long have you been?
A: It varies, based on a number of atmospheric and temporal conditions.
Q: Have you ever considered turning your blog into a feature film?
A: No. ... Wait... yes. Now I have.
Q: What advice would you give to someone thinking of starting a blog?
A: Remember: you're mainly writing for other people. Don't write about what you want to write about. Write about what you imagine other people might want to read about.
People like hearing about what it's like to be a prostitute. They also like reading about minor continuity errors in films. Mainly, they like reading fictional Q&As; the essence of solipsism.
Remain false to yourself - and always try to be something you're not. Unless you're a prostitute.
Q: How can I get my hands on some Headscissors merchandise?
A: Whilst none is officially available at the moment, you could always put some scissors on your head. This will cost you £10, payable to me via PayPal.
Q: How many of these are you going to do?
A: Seven.
***
16:33
I've done some reading.
Short of copying down all the text I've read, there's not much else I write about. You'll get a full rundown in the next instalment of my Idiot Flaps Odyssey.
But I am on my computer, and to create a sense of continuity, I need to keep these updates frequent.
I've removed my shoes again, you'll be interested to know. If you're a cobbler or a foot-fetishist.
I don't really understand the foot fetish. But I suppose that's why it's a fetish. If everyone understood it, it would just be normal.
I wonder if anyone has other specific body fetishes. Like for forearms. Or the collarbone. A Google search would settle the question, but I'm not really prepared for such an ordeal at this stage of the afternoon.
***
16:50
I just tweeted this:
It's dark. Darker than it should be. I'm not wearing sunglasses. I'm not a depressive soothsayer. I'm not in a box. Something is awry.
I don't think I can engage in blog/Twitter cross-pollination. Perhaps this blog experiment is doomed to failure. There's already a site set up for micro-blogging. It's even called that.
On the other hand, I don't have room for lengthy disclaimers on Twitter, so perhaps there's something to be said for this arena of expression.
Also, I can embed lots of pictures here. Technically, you can do that with TwitPic too, but... hmm... still...
Look at this random assortment if pictures from the Pictures folder of my computer:
Genichiro Tenryu punching Kenta Kobashi in the face
A beardless me looking forlorn
A photo of a cathedral I've never been to
A cool Astro City drawing (probably done by Brent Anderson)
Lucy in the snow (sans diamonds)
Could I have done that on Twitter?
WORTH.
WHILE.
***
18:47
It's grey out there.
To compensate, Lucy and I have had tea and watched The Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes.
It's a superhero cartoon. I don't imagine it would be enjoyed by people who don't like superheroes, but it's probably my favourite television programme of the moment. There are lots of good action sequences and character bickering.
And it has a theme song that's both absolutely awful and quite good, depending on the mood you're in.
The top comment on the Youtube page is from eloquent orator TheRagster12, who says:
AVENGERS AINT FOR LITTLE KIDS OK IT FOR ALL AGES THIS GOES TO THE PEOPLE WHO THINK THIS IS FOR BABIES noobz
Fifty-seven people have 'liked' this comment.
I think he makes a very convincing argument. If someone as sophisticated as him (or her - but let's face it: HIM) watches the show, it must be for adults. It's the modern equivalent of an endorsement from Oscar Wilde.
***
19:23
There's a terribly addictive new site that I was linked to on Twitter. It uses your previous Tweets to randomly generate your next one. Some of the results are like twisted poetry.
For example:
Look, I'm not doing those ants... We've just eaten a cape, fastened with symbolism.
There's a Rubik's Cube up on our kitchen, but enjoyable. Except for LOSERS.
I'm not an anti-climax, wait until somebody laughs. I'm wearing Paul Fung pyjamas.
Three-day weekend. It was so sad when Bruce Forsyth went blind. He WISHES he was intentionally putting!
Today I am terrified of magic hats. Today has been a glib Whoopi Goldberg.
I got Medusa's snakes and regret writing UP YOURS HELICOPTER MAN in milk.
---
I have to stop doing this now. It's making me unable to construct genuine sentences. When I next post a compendium of tweets, you may recognise some of this content.
***
19:39
Right, this has become too long. I think this experiment has been a qualified success.
I might do some more later, or I might cut my losses. I could cut them into 'los' and 'ses'. Los ses. Which is Spanish for 'The Ses'.
This entry has been like the worst series of 24 ever recorded.
I'll keep this window open all day, and periodically update it, based on the events of the day.
If you know me (and if you don't know me, why are you reading this?), you'll know that there are generally no interesting events in my average day. But who knows? This could be the day that I finally get involved in a drug deal gone wrong, or the day I finally discover the true meaning of my various tattoos.
***
13:57
I started writing this. Actually, it may have been 13:56. But it was definitely 13:57 when I started writing "13:57". (It's now 13:58)
Lucy is making tea, and we're waiting for our groceries to be delivered. From Tesco. Because we are like royalty.
My feet are bare. At some stage, I'll need to put on socks and shoes to greet the Tesco man (or woman). I suspect, I might cut out the middle man and go straight for the shoes. Sockless shoes are no fun, but it will only be for a short time.
I could put on socks, I suppose. But I'm too busy writing letters and numbers on a computer. This computer. These letters. Th3s3 numb3rs.
See? I knew this would be interesting.
The shopping arrives sometime between 14:00 and 16:00. At least, it should. So this is a limbo time. Can we commit to a cup of tea? A new activity? A substanceless blog entry?
Or will it be interrupted by a woman (or man) bringing an array of foods and drinks and household items?
We just don't know.
But, in a way, isn't life like this? We know we could die at any moment. Is there any point in committing to a house, or a job, or a relationship, when it could be taken from you at any minute?
Yes. Of course there is. This is the only opportunity we have.
That's why Lucy made tea. And why I'm writing this.
Because we're all going to die.
***
15:03
A flurry of activity.
I tuned into 6Music to hear Colin and Ed from Radiohead talking about my friend Jon's documentary on the Oxford music scene: Anyone Can Play Guitar. (You can probably listen again at some point here) Very exciting.
But then the Tesco man (or woman) arrived! I'm pretty sure it was a man. I didn't do an anatomical check, but he (or she) certainly seemed quite masculine. I'm going to go out on a limb and suggest that it was a man. Or woman. Or a transgendered person. But they were certainly human.
Or an android.
Or a ghost.
So we brought the shopping upstairs (because we are like royalty, but aren't royalty) and listened to the rest of the radio item.
I don't know if that really constitutes a flurry, but it has been the most dramatic part of my day.
I've just downed an Innocent smoothie. Though from their website, it seems that they're not capitalised. It's an innocent smoothie. Which seems to be an attempt to ascribe a concept to a drink.
I can't decide whether I'm annoyed by the friendly, matey, wacky approach taken by the innocent people (damn lower-case I). Sometime it seems like cynical anti-cynicism. But on the other hand, I suppose I should admire them for trying something different.
Luckily I'm not forced to choose a side in the innocent/Guilty marketing debate. It's not my job.
***
15:25
I'm thinking of adding an FAQ section to this blog. Unfortunately, nobody ever asks me any questions, let alone frequent ones.
Perhaps a NAQ section would be more apropos.
NAQ (Never Asked Questions)
Q: Whench?
A: I'm... I'm sorry, what?
Q: What gives you the right to tell me how to live my life?!
A: I am you.
Q: How long have you been?
A: It varies, based on a number of atmospheric and temporal conditions.
Q: Have you ever considered turning your blog into a feature film?
A: No. ... Wait... yes. Now I have.
Q: What advice would you give to someone thinking of starting a blog?
A: Remember: you're mainly writing for other people. Don't write about what you want to write about. Write about what you imagine other people might want to read about.
People like hearing about what it's like to be a prostitute. They also like reading about minor continuity errors in films. Mainly, they like reading fictional Q&As; the essence of solipsism.
Remain false to yourself - and always try to be something you're not. Unless you're a prostitute.
Q: How can I get my hands on some Headscissors merchandise?
A: Whilst none is officially available at the moment, you could always put some scissors on your head. This will cost you £10, payable to me via PayPal.
Q: How many of these are you going to do?
A: Seven.
***
16:33
I've done some reading.
Short of copying down all the text I've read, there's not much else I write about. You'll get a full rundown in the next instalment of my Idiot Flaps Odyssey.
But I am on my computer, and to create a sense of continuity, I need to keep these updates frequent.
I've removed my shoes again, you'll be interested to know. If you're a cobbler or a foot-fetishist.
I don't really understand the foot fetish. But I suppose that's why it's a fetish. If everyone understood it, it would just be normal.
I wonder if anyone has other specific body fetishes. Like for forearms. Or the collarbone. A Google search would settle the question, but I'm not really prepared for such an ordeal at this stage of the afternoon.
***
16:50
I just tweeted this:
It's dark. Darker than it should be. I'm not wearing sunglasses. I'm not a depressive soothsayer. I'm not in a box. Something is awry.
I don't think I can engage in blog/Twitter cross-pollination. Perhaps this blog experiment is doomed to failure. There's already a site set up for micro-blogging. It's even called that.
On the other hand, I don't have room for lengthy disclaimers on Twitter, so perhaps there's something to be said for this arena of expression.
Also, I can embed lots of pictures here. Technically, you can do that with TwitPic too, but... hmm... still...
Look at this random assortment if pictures from the Pictures folder of my computer:
Genichiro Tenryu punching Kenta Kobashi in the face
A beardless me looking forlorn
A photo of a cathedral I've never been to
A cool Astro City drawing (probably done by Brent Anderson)
Lucy in the snow (sans diamonds)
Could I have done that on Twitter?
WORTH.
WHILE.
***
18:47
It's grey out there.
To compensate, Lucy and I have had tea and watched The Avengers: Earth's Mightiest Heroes.
It's a superhero cartoon. I don't imagine it would be enjoyed by people who don't like superheroes, but it's probably my favourite television programme of the moment. There are lots of good action sequences and character bickering.
And it has a theme song that's both absolutely awful and quite good, depending on the mood you're in.
The top comment on the Youtube page is from eloquent orator TheRagster12, who says:
AVENGERS AINT FOR LITTLE KIDS OK IT FOR ALL AGES THIS GOES TO THE PEOPLE WHO THINK THIS IS FOR BABIES noobz
Fifty-seven people have 'liked' this comment.
I think he makes a very convincing argument. If someone as sophisticated as him (or her - but let's face it: HIM) watches the show, it must be for adults. It's the modern equivalent of an endorsement from Oscar Wilde.
***
19:23
There's a terribly addictive new site that I was linked to on Twitter. It uses your previous Tweets to randomly generate your next one. Some of the results are like twisted poetry.
For example:
Look, I'm not doing those ants... We've just eaten a cape, fastened with symbolism.
There's a Rubik's Cube up on our kitchen, but enjoyable. Except for LOSERS.
I'm not an anti-climax, wait until somebody laughs. I'm wearing Paul Fung pyjamas.
Three-day weekend. It was so sad when Bruce Forsyth went blind. He WISHES he was intentionally putting!
Today I am terrified of magic hats. Today has been a glib Whoopi Goldberg.
I got Medusa's snakes and regret writing UP YOURS HELICOPTER MAN in milk.
---
I have to stop doing this now. It's making me unable to construct genuine sentences. When I next post a compendium of tweets, you may recognise some of this content.
***
19:39
Right, this has become too long. I think this experiment has been a qualified success.
I might do some more later, or I might cut my losses. I could cut them into 'los' and 'ses'. Los ses. Which is Spanish for 'The Ses'.
This entry has been like the worst series of 24 ever recorded.
Sunday, 10 April 2011
The Post With The Most
April is the cruellest month.
And she's also the cruellest member of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles cast - she used to pull Splinter's tail :-(
For my last post, I had a list of topics to write about. This time, I've decided to go old-school and make it up as I go along. This method has led to many classics - so many that to list any examples would be an affront to Jesus.
Huh. I was sure 'affront' was only spelled with one 'f'. I must be going CRAZY.
In the old days, being 'old-school' was just known as 'school'. There were no old schools in the old days (or as they were called then: 'days').
I'm sure all the old-timers (or 'timers') used to sit around in their old-fashioned (or: 'fashioned') clothes, thinking about all the tales that their non-existent ancestors had told (or: 't').
Everything was new then, back in the day.
In the days, there was no 'back in the day'. There was nothing before then. If anything, it was 'later in the day' that was thought of, wistfully, with forward nostalgia for the familiar events of the future.
Everything must have seemed so new and terrifying.
We're jaded now.
A plum? Yeah, yeah.
Richard Clayderman? Seen it all before...
Some legs? Same old, same old...
That's why amnesiacs have it easy.
***
LINDON: You know your 5-a-day?
FRANCES: Yeah.
LINDON: It's a big con. The government is lying to you.
FRANCES: To me?
LINDON: Yeah. Well, not just you. Everyone.
FRANCES: Oh no. Oh no.
LINDON: Oh yes.
FRANCES: I need to sit down. Or lie down. Or lean against something.
LINDON: You know how many portions of fruit you need each day?
FRANCES: No.
LINDON: No, neither do I. But 5 doesn't seem plausible.
FRANCES: You're right. Now that I think about it. You're right.
LINDON: You know how many fruits/vegetables I eat each day?
FRANCES: No.
LINDON: S.
FRANCES: S?
LINDON: That's right: S.
FRANCES: But that's not a number. Is it?
LINDON: You've always been sharp-eyed. That's why your glasses keep getting scratched. It's not a number. But what does it look like?
FRANCES: A snake? Handcuffs?
LINDON: 5. It looks like a 5.
FRANCES: Right.
LINDON: I'm beating the system. I don't have 5-a-day. I have S-a-day.
FRANCES: Right.
LINDON: Pretty clever.
FRANCES: Yeah. Really clever. But...
LINDON: What?
FRANCES: Well, what does it entail? Like, practically, how do you eat S fruits and vegetables?
LINDON: I make my own smoothies.
FRANCES: But S... well, it isn't really a quantity.
LINDON: I put in frozen fruit to make it colder. And yoghurt.
FRANCES: But... so... how many fruit and vegetables have you had today?
LINDON: 4 or S. Give or take.
***
I'm almost too productive sometimes.
And she's also the cruellest member of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles cast - she used to pull Splinter's tail :-(
For my last post, I had a list of topics to write about. This time, I've decided to go old-school and make it up as I go along. This method has led to many classics - so many that to list any examples would be an affront to Jesus.
Huh. I was sure 'affront' was only spelled with one 'f'. I must be going CRAZY.
In the old days, being 'old-school' was just known as 'school'. There were no old schools in the old days (or as they were called then: 'days').
I'm sure all the old-timers (or 'timers') used to sit around in their old-fashioned (or: 'fashioned') clothes, thinking about all the tales that their non-existent ancestors had told (or: 't').
Everything was new then, back in the day.
In the days, there was no 'back in the day'. There was nothing before then. If anything, it was 'later in the day' that was thought of, wistfully, with forward nostalgia for the familiar events of the future.
Everything must have seemed so new and terrifying.
We're jaded now.
A plum? Yeah, yeah.
Richard Clayderman? Seen it all before...
Some legs? Same old, same old...
That's why amnesiacs have it easy.
***
LINDON: You know your 5-a-day?
FRANCES: Yeah.
LINDON: It's a big con. The government is lying to you.
FRANCES: To me?
LINDON: Yeah. Well, not just you. Everyone.
FRANCES: Oh no. Oh no.
LINDON: Oh yes.
FRANCES: I need to sit down. Or lie down. Or lean against something.
LINDON: You know how many portions of fruit you need each day?
FRANCES: No.
LINDON: No, neither do I. But 5 doesn't seem plausible.
FRANCES: You're right. Now that I think about it. You're right.
LINDON: You know how many fruits/vegetables I eat each day?
FRANCES: No.
LINDON: S.
FRANCES: S?
LINDON: That's right: S.
FRANCES: But that's not a number. Is it?
LINDON: You've always been sharp-eyed. That's why your glasses keep getting scratched. It's not a number. But what does it look like?
FRANCES: A snake? Handcuffs?
LINDON: 5. It looks like a 5.
FRANCES: Right.
LINDON: I'm beating the system. I don't have 5-a-day. I have S-a-day.
FRANCES: Right.
LINDON: Pretty clever.
FRANCES: Yeah. Really clever. But...
LINDON: What?
FRANCES: Well, what does it entail? Like, practically, how do you eat S fruits and vegetables?
LINDON: I make my own smoothies.
FRANCES: But S... well, it isn't really a quantity.
LINDON: I put in frozen fruit to make it colder. And yoghurt.
FRANCES: But... so... how many fruit and vegetables have you had today?
LINDON: 4 or S. Give or take.
END OF SKETCH
***
I'm almost too productive sometimes.
Wednesday, 6 April 2011
Sick Children
I haven't posted anything here for a while, but that doesn't mean I haven't been generating ideas. I've kept notes of all the interesting things that have passed through my brain over the past week, and I will discuss them in turn.
My notes read as follows:
***
...
PSYCHE!
(Remember when people used to say "psyche"? As though they'd "psyched you out"? Like PJ and Duncan? Remember PJ and Duncan?)
***
Shop polite - good day to you - trousers
On Tuesday, we went to the Co-Op to buy some milk, some rolls, some frozen sweetcorn and some Weetabix Minis (which they didn't have - I got Weetos instead).
That's not the whole story.
We were waiting in the queue by the self-service check-outs when a male member of staff approached. I believe he was a member of staff because he was wearing the correct uniform and had an authoritative manner. I suppose it could just have been an unambitious Jackal-style master of disguise.
"Can I take that for you, sir?" he asked. But not in a helpful manner, more in the manner of someone who suspected me of thievery. Waiting in line to pay for your items is the oldest trick in the thief book.
I agreed, because I was in a bit of a stupor. Whenever we walk home, I space out a little bit. It's too far to walk really, but I'm a creature of habit. My laziness is pronounced, but short-sighted. I'd rather incur the pain of constant long walks than use a small bit of energy to change my behaviour.
In fact, I was in such a stupor that I would have agreed to anything at that point. He was wearing a uniform. I barely had enough composure to continue respiring.
"If you'll just follow me to the back of the shop, sir..."
"If you'll just lock that door behind you, sir..."
"If you could just slip down your trousers for me, sir..."
And I'd oblige, sure that he knew what he was doing, but with the slight, nagging doubt that any sexual assault might last so long the sweetcorn would defrost.
Luckily, he was being helpful, and not malicious in his initial request - just speaking in a very formal way. He took our basket to another checkout (one of the ones by the tobacco counter) and scanned our shopping.
He was brusque and mechanically helpful, straddling the fine line between sentient robot and utter sarcasm.
He literally said, after the transaction was complete, "I bid you good night".
Who says that in 2011? "I bid you good night"?
I think I might have accidentally stumbled into a poorly written student play about a Co-Op worker's attempts to thaw his icy exterior by coaxing people towards where they keep the cigarette lighters.
Dead child on back of bike story
This one isn't as funny as it sounds.
Lucy and I were talking about how sometimes you'll see a cyclist coming towards you, and you think they're talking to themselves. It's only when you pass that you see there's a child seat on the back of the bike and the conversation is a real one.
I thought you could write a good/harrowing story about a parent whose child was killed (probably hit by a lorry or something), but who went crazy and kept believing the child was alive.
They'd cycle through the streets, still talking to the child they thought was in the seat behind.
But the parent could never look back, or else the illusion would be broken. It would be like a modern version of Orpheus and Eurydice, except the main characters would be wearing reflective vests and unflattering helmets.
Race for knife
This led into a discussion that I can't quite remember, but doesn't seem that funny in hindsight. It was about someone trying to raise awareness of people being stabbed (the joke being that people are probably already aware of that danger). But I suppose there probably are anti-knife crime charities, so it doesn't really work.
The only real reason to right this down was the Race for Life/Race for Knife pun.
Not really worth it, but I can't edit this out now. My notes are my compass (which must be why I keep drawing wonky circles).
"8"
This one came about from a couple of tweets I wrote:
Deleted scene in Disney's Snow White: an 8th dwarf - known only as '8' - is revealed in the basement: a giant floating telekinetic baby.
Deleted scene in Disney's Robin Hood: after Marian & Robin's wedding, "8" appears in the sky and razes Nottingham to the ground (eye lazers)
I don't know where this idea came from, but I like the idea of a really sinister character being put into cartoons. Cartoon characters are often quite sinister anyway, but it would be good to have something really disturbing.
I think "8" would look a bit like The Watcher from Marvel Comics:
I also like the idea that the character was put into the first cut of every Disney film, but each time they chickened out from leaving him in the film.
"We just don't think the audience is gonna like this weird baby guy slaughtering all the main characters at the end of the movie. Kids don't like that! No-one wants to see Piglet disintegrated!"
That's why Hollywood's in the toilet. No-one takes chances anymore.
Overused joke words
There are certain words and references that are overused in jokes. These aren't always the same - they go in and out of fashion - but there's a weird synergy where particular objects or concepts become de rigueur.
(I've never written 'de rigueur' before. There's something about the sound of that phrase that's repellent; like the term itself wants to make people sound disgusted at having the temerity to use it.)
This is particularly common in surreal comedy, where people need 'weird' references to sound unconventional. (For reference, see every single post of this blog)
There's nothing intrinsically funny or unfunny about these words, it's just about what's expected and what's unexpected. If words are used too frequently as surreal reference points, they become commonplace and so are not funny. Then a whole new school of words take their place.
Historically overused 'surreal' references are to badgers and voles. (Bill Bailey - who I love - uses these, but so do lots of others) I don't know why woodland creatures are seen as emblems of oddity, but it seems they are. Now, whenever I see a comedian joke about a badger, it seems awfully cynical and unimaginative.
In fact any reference to badgers in writing, stand-up, or even internet usernames, is a clear sign of a lack of imagination.
The word that has recently come into fashion is 'tears'. Including 'tears' in your analogy or flight of fancy is all the rage.
If I had done my research, I'd have a good example here. But I don't. Probably because my screen is obscured by salty eye-discharge.
(Just search this blog for 'tears'. I do it all the time.)
People should stop using 'tears' for a while, just until it gets weird again.
Not quite the same is terms used in one-liners, particularly on Twitter, but also in live sets. Everyone seems to have an easy joke about OCD and dyslexia now. It's all a bit formulaic:
"My dyslexic friend invited me round for lunch - turned out we were hanging a black man with the Ku Klux Klan!"
"My friend's an Obsessive Compulsive pyromaniac. He sets fire to thing, but always in the right order!"
(I just came up with them - you can see how easy and rubbish it is)
So maybe people should see the proliferation of these subjects in jokes and lay off a bit. Then again, anything can be funny of you put enough thought into it. My friend Tom Greeves has an excellent bit about OCD, so I should probably abandon this rant.
I'm probably too obsessed with jokes being original, but sometimes the pool of comedy references seems so shallow. I want people to spread their wings.
Speaking of which, I once knew this dyslexic badger with OCD. He kept insisting on being called a Abdegr!
Ah!
Ahaha!
See what I mean?
Newton and the swan
My mum was staying at St Hugh's College recently, and we met her there. On arriving, we noticed a swan motif above the doorway. We speculated about whether there was some quirky Oxford anecdote about the swan, like the one surrounding the Boar's Head Feast.
Lucy suggested that there might have been a Newtonesque moment of scientific discovery, when a swan landed on someone's head.
We wondered what Newtonian physics would be like if they were mostly swan-related, eg: "A swan remains a swan, unless acted upon by an external force", "Each swan has an equal, but opposite, goose" etc.
Oh how we laughed.
It turns out the swan comes from St Hugh himself:
Hugh's primary emblem is a white swan, in reference to the story of the swan of Stowe which had a deep and lasting friendship for the saint, even guarding him while he slept.
The swan would follow him about, and was his constant companion whilst he was at Lincoln.
Now, I don't want to be sceptical here, but I question how deep a friendship can be between a Saint and a swan. I'm not saying there was no affection there, but I'm not sure if the swan would have been capable of connecting with Hugh on a spiritual and intellectual level.
Unless Hugh mainly honked.
The above information also implies that the feelings of friendship predominantly belonged to the swan, and that Hugh was perhaps ambivalent. I think it was at least 50/50.
Apparently, Hugh is the patron saint of sick children, sick people, shoemakers, and (of course) swans.
Sick children and sick people. It's good to be both, just in case personhood doesn't kick in until 18.
I wonder if a shoemaker has ever made shoes from swans. That would really test Hugh's loyalties. I reckon swan slippers would be really comfortable.
Unfortunately, only the Queen is allowed to wear them by law.
TripWire
I think it would be good to watch alternate episodes of The Trip and The Wire, and imagine they're taking place in the same universe.
Both are close to reality, but not quite real.
Of course, each takes place in a different country so there would be no crossover between the two. But still. Imagine it.
The TripWire.
Therape
I'm writing a thing with a friend about relationship counsellors. We've only just started, but I'm sure it will win awards, kudos, plaudits, pludos and awudos.
I've been saving my documents related to this project in a folder on my desktop. Because I'm an annoying idiot, I like to name my computer folders stupid things. They're not even jokes - just pointless wordplay. I get annoyed by other people that indulge in such things, but can't help myself.
So this folder is about therapy. I thought I'd name the folder after this, but amusingly spell it with an 'e;' at the end, in the Greek style (a la Penelope or Calliope).
So I named it Therape.
It was only a while later that I realised that this could be misconstrued. Any other person (be they friend or policeman) wouldn't have the knowledge of my mindset, and would think I had a desktop folder called The rape.
It could get me into trouble.
It would be a strange thing to have a folder like that. For only rape-related files. And not rape in general, but a specific one. THE rape.
You'd probably at least hide that folder somewhere on your hard drive. Don't put it on the desktop.
I'd almost admire someone with that level of organisation.
"Hmm. Well, I've got lots of stuff related to The rape - rope receipts, sketches, mp4 files... Should probably create a folder.
Now should this go in 'The rape' or 'Pictures'? Hmm. Best make a copy and put one in each."
I'm sure you're all aware of my distaste for rape jokes, but remember: this one is about accidental wordplay. The noblest of all humours (except maybe yellow bile).
So this is all fine.
***
Right! That's what making notes gets me! Possibly too many words.
I should do this gradually in the future. Or just forget things, and make up content on the spot. It's worked so well in the past.
Now all I need is a blog title.
Normally I like to choose an oblique phrase, which somehow links the disparate content. But this content has been so disparate, I couldn't gather it together with an infinite dustpan and overarching brush.
I'd better just pick something.
***
LATE NOTE:
I just did the spell-check, and it suggested I correct 'Weetabix' to 'Wetbacks'. That can't be politically correct, can it?
I guess Blogger hates Mexicans.
My notes read as follows:
- Shop polite - good day to you - trousers
- Dead child on back of bike story
- Race for knife
- "8"
- Overused joke words
- Newton and the swan
- TripWire
- Therape
***
...
PSYCHE!
(Remember when people used to say "psyche"? As though they'd "psyched you out"? Like PJ and Duncan? Remember PJ and Duncan?)
***
Shop polite - good day to you - trousers
On Tuesday, we went to the Co-Op to buy some milk, some rolls, some frozen sweetcorn and some Weetabix Minis (which they didn't have - I got Weetos instead).
That's not the whole story.
We were waiting in the queue by the self-service check-outs when a male member of staff approached. I believe he was a member of staff because he was wearing the correct uniform and had an authoritative manner. I suppose it could just have been an unambitious Jackal-style master of disguise.
"Can I take that for you, sir?" he asked. But not in a helpful manner, more in the manner of someone who suspected me of thievery. Waiting in line to pay for your items is the oldest trick in the thief book.
I agreed, because I was in a bit of a stupor. Whenever we walk home, I space out a little bit. It's too far to walk really, but I'm a creature of habit. My laziness is pronounced, but short-sighted. I'd rather incur the pain of constant long walks than use a small bit of energy to change my behaviour.
In fact, I was in such a stupor that I would have agreed to anything at that point. He was wearing a uniform. I barely had enough composure to continue respiring.
"If you'll just follow me to the back of the shop, sir..."
"If you'll just lock that door behind you, sir..."
"If you could just slip down your trousers for me, sir..."
And I'd oblige, sure that he knew what he was doing, but with the slight, nagging doubt that any sexual assault might last so long the sweetcorn would defrost.
Luckily, he was being helpful, and not malicious in his initial request - just speaking in a very formal way. He took our basket to another checkout (one of the ones by the tobacco counter) and scanned our shopping.
He was brusque and mechanically helpful, straddling the fine line between sentient robot and utter sarcasm.
He literally said, after the transaction was complete, "I bid you good night".
Who says that in 2011? "I bid you good night"?
I think I might have accidentally stumbled into a poorly written student play about a Co-Op worker's attempts to thaw his icy exterior by coaxing people towards where they keep the cigarette lighters.
Dead child on back of bike story
This one isn't as funny as it sounds.
Lucy and I were talking about how sometimes you'll see a cyclist coming towards you, and you think they're talking to themselves. It's only when you pass that you see there's a child seat on the back of the bike and the conversation is a real one.
I thought you could write a good/harrowing story about a parent whose child was killed (probably hit by a lorry or something), but who went crazy and kept believing the child was alive.
They'd cycle through the streets, still talking to the child they thought was in the seat behind.
But the parent could never look back, or else the illusion would be broken. It would be like a modern version of Orpheus and Eurydice, except the main characters would be wearing reflective vests and unflattering helmets.
Race for knife
This led into a discussion that I can't quite remember, but doesn't seem that funny in hindsight. It was about someone trying to raise awareness of people being stabbed (the joke being that people are probably already aware of that danger). But I suppose there probably are anti-knife crime charities, so it doesn't really work.
The only real reason to right this down was the Race for Life/Race for Knife pun.
Not really worth it, but I can't edit this out now. My notes are my compass (which must be why I keep drawing wonky circles).
"8"
This one came about from a couple of tweets I wrote:
Deleted scene in Disney's Snow White: an 8th dwarf - known only as '8' - is revealed in the basement: a giant floating telekinetic baby.
Deleted scene in Disney's Robin Hood: after Marian & Robin's wedding, "8" appears in the sky and razes Nottingham to the ground (eye lazers)
I don't know where this idea came from, but I like the idea of a really sinister character being put into cartoons. Cartoon characters are often quite sinister anyway, but it would be good to have something really disturbing.
I think "8" would look a bit like The Watcher from Marvel Comics:
I also like the idea that the character was put into the first cut of every Disney film, but each time they chickened out from leaving him in the film."We just don't think the audience is gonna like this weird baby guy slaughtering all the main characters at the end of the movie. Kids don't like that! No-one wants to see Piglet disintegrated!"
That's why Hollywood's in the toilet. No-one takes chances anymore.
Overused joke words
There are certain words and references that are overused in jokes. These aren't always the same - they go in and out of fashion - but there's a weird synergy where particular objects or concepts become de rigueur.
(I've never written 'de rigueur' before. There's something about the sound of that phrase that's repellent; like the term itself wants to make people sound disgusted at having the temerity to use it.)
This is particularly common in surreal comedy, where people need 'weird' references to sound unconventional. (For reference, see every single post of this blog)
There's nothing intrinsically funny or unfunny about these words, it's just about what's expected and what's unexpected. If words are used too frequently as surreal reference points, they become commonplace and so are not funny. Then a whole new school of words take their place.
Historically overused 'surreal' references are to badgers and voles. (Bill Bailey - who I love - uses these, but so do lots of others) I don't know why woodland creatures are seen as emblems of oddity, but it seems they are. Now, whenever I see a comedian joke about a badger, it seems awfully cynical and unimaginative.
In fact any reference to badgers in writing, stand-up, or even internet usernames, is a clear sign of a lack of imagination.
The word that has recently come into fashion is 'tears'. Including 'tears' in your analogy or flight of fancy is all the rage.
If I had done my research, I'd have a good example here. But I don't. Probably because my screen is obscured by salty eye-discharge.
(Just search this blog for 'tears'. I do it all the time.)
People should stop using 'tears' for a while, just until it gets weird again.
Not quite the same is terms used in one-liners, particularly on Twitter, but also in live sets. Everyone seems to have an easy joke about OCD and dyslexia now. It's all a bit formulaic:
"My dyslexic friend invited me round for lunch - turned out we were hanging a black man with the Ku Klux Klan!"
"My friend's an Obsessive Compulsive pyromaniac. He sets fire to thing, but always in the right order!"
(I just came up with them - you can see how easy and rubbish it is)
So maybe people should see the proliferation of these subjects in jokes and lay off a bit. Then again, anything can be funny of you put enough thought into it. My friend Tom Greeves has an excellent bit about OCD, so I should probably abandon this rant.
I'm probably too obsessed with jokes being original, but sometimes the pool of comedy references seems so shallow. I want people to spread their wings.
Speaking of which, I once knew this dyslexic badger with OCD. He kept insisting on being called a Abdegr!
Ah!
Ahaha!
See what I mean?
Newton and the swan
My mum was staying at St Hugh's College recently, and we met her there. On arriving, we noticed a swan motif above the doorway. We speculated about whether there was some quirky Oxford anecdote about the swan, like the one surrounding the Boar's Head Feast.
Lucy suggested that there might have been a Newtonesque moment of scientific discovery, when a swan landed on someone's head.
We wondered what Newtonian physics would be like if they were mostly swan-related, eg: "A swan remains a swan, unless acted upon by an external force", "Each swan has an equal, but opposite, goose" etc.
Oh how we laughed.
It turns out the swan comes from St Hugh himself:
Hugh's primary emblem is a white swan, in reference to the story of the swan of Stowe which had a deep and lasting friendship for the saint, even guarding him while he slept.
The swan would follow him about, and was his constant companion whilst he was at Lincoln.
Now, I don't want to be sceptical here, but I question how deep a friendship can be between a Saint and a swan. I'm not saying there was no affection there, but I'm not sure if the swan would have been capable of connecting with Hugh on a spiritual and intellectual level.
Unless Hugh mainly honked.
The above information also implies that the feelings of friendship predominantly belonged to the swan, and that Hugh was perhaps ambivalent. I think it was at least 50/50.
Apparently, Hugh is the patron saint of sick children, sick people, shoemakers, and (of course) swans.
Sick children and sick people. It's good to be both, just in case personhood doesn't kick in until 18.
I wonder if a shoemaker has ever made shoes from swans. That would really test Hugh's loyalties. I reckon swan slippers would be really comfortable.
Unfortunately, only the Queen is allowed to wear them by law.
TripWire
I think it would be good to watch alternate episodes of The Trip and The Wire, and imagine they're taking place in the same universe.
Both are close to reality, but not quite real.
Of course, each takes place in a different country so there would be no crossover between the two. But still. Imagine it.
The TripWire.
Therape
I'm writing a thing with a friend about relationship counsellors. We've only just started, but I'm sure it will win awards, kudos, plaudits, pludos and awudos.
I've been saving my documents related to this project in a folder on my desktop. Because I'm an annoying idiot, I like to name my computer folders stupid things. They're not even jokes - just pointless wordplay. I get annoyed by other people that indulge in such things, but can't help myself.
So this folder is about therapy. I thought I'd name the folder after this, but amusingly spell it with an 'e;' at the end, in the Greek style (a la Penelope or Calliope).
So I named it Therape.
It was only a while later that I realised that this could be misconstrued. Any other person (be they friend or policeman) wouldn't have the knowledge of my mindset, and would think I had a desktop folder called The rape.
It could get me into trouble.
It would be a strange thing to have a folder like that. For only rape-related files. And not rape in general, but a specific one. THE rape.
You'd probably at least hide that folder somewhere on your hard drive. Don't put it on the desktop.
I'd almost admire someone with that level of organisation.
"Hmm. Well, I've got lots of stuff related to The rape - rope receipts, sketches, mp4 files... Should probably create a folder.
Now should this go in 'The rape' or 'Pictures'? Hmm. Best make a copy and put one in each."
I'm sure you're all aware of my distaste for rape jokes, but remember: this one is about accidental wordplay. The noblest of all humours (except maybe yellow bile).
So this is all fine.
***
Right! That's what making notes gets me! Possibly too many words.
I should do this gradually in the future. Or just forget things, and make up content on the spot. It's worked so well in the past.
Now all I need is a blog title.
Normally I like to choose an oblique phrase, which somehow links the disparate content. But this content has been so disparate, I couldn't gather it together with an infinite dustpan and overarching brush.
I'd better just pick something.
***
LATE NOTE:
I just did the spell-check, and it suggested I correct 'Weetabix' to 'Wetbacks'. That can't be politically correct, can it?
I guess Blogger hates Mexicans.
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