Hang In There

Right. Let's do this. It's go time. In fact, it's way past go time. It's almost quarter to stop.

I was going to watch the football and write this later, but it's making me feel ill.

The Liverpool fans are booing Patrice Evra for reporting racist abuse. That's disgusting.

It has made me, for the first time in my life, want Manchester United to win a football match. That's equally disgusting.

So I need to cleanse my palate. And what better way to do that than with a delicious sorbet of my recent tweets? There is no better way.

Let's take a look back through the past ten days of bad puns, irritating whimsy and jokes that don't quite work. It will be like leafing through a photo album, except that all of the photos are out of focus, and riddled with red-eye. Even the ones that aren't of eyes.

That's right - it's another edition of my popular regular feature:

The Tweet Locker (like "meat locker")

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I'd like to be swept into power, but only if they did it with a real pretty broom.

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The monocle is an emblem of the upper class. What is it about asymmetrical blindness that's so sophisticated?

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I find human interaction difficult because I hate cynicism and also anyone who has ever enjoyed anything.

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If I had three wishes, I'd firstly get Mick McCarthy to play Ted Danson's character in Bored to Death. Then world peace. Then wish 1 again.

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"Twelve" is a really weird word. There should be some kind of inquest.

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I'm worried one of my hairs is going bald.

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PayPal is LapYap backwards. I don't know what benefits this knowledge will reap.

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Everyone on Twitter should try to post one piece of bad advice each day.

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Remember when we all thought Skunk Anansie were called 'Skunk & Nancy'? The 90s was an amazing time to be alive.

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When I worked at the crash mat factory, I don't think we got the most out of our trust exercises.

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Watching Morse once, I came up with a song which goes: "Lewis, Lewis, I think we have to do this. What's the heartiest foodstuff? Stew is."

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The Lewis song has been stuck in my head for some time. It's surprisingly sombre in tone.

[Paul/Editor's Note: Luckily, with the power of blog, I've been able to record this fantastic "song". It's designed to be played on the guitar with one hand, so you can concentrate on giving Morse the thumbs up.

I should probably close these 'note brackets' now.]

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I shouldn't have put my phone on silent. I just checked it and saw I'd had three mist calls. MIST CAN'T EVEN TALK.

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I'm going to start dabbing my brow with handkerchief. It will make people think I've got a handkerchief.

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I'm going to turn all my tweets into webcomics. I just need to replace all of the adjectives with drawings.

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"This is just like 'Who shot J.R.', isn't it?!" - Me, whenever I hear about a shooting.

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I can't tell you the problems I had with the punctuation in that last tweet.

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I've stopped washing behind my best friend's back.

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Sing this tweet.

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Mutter this tweet under your breath.

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Stop reading this tweet before you get to the final noun.

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Regret reading this tweet immediately.

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All triplets have an innate sense of whether or not the other two are married.

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I wish I could smell my own hair.

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When I answer the phone, and someone says "Is that Mr Fung?", I shout "I'VE NEVER BEEN MORE SURE OF ANYTHING IN MY LIFE", then hang up.

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Kate Bosworth is so anonymous as an actor that I was going to tweet a joke about her anonymity, CERTAIN that she was called 'Kate Boswell'.

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The best thing about having a Kate Bosworth poster on your wall is you can see right through to the brickwork.

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I didn't want to offend Kate, so checked if she was on Twitter. I searched for 'Kate Boswell'. I think this says more about my own problems.

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Nothing raises my spirits more than seeing someone brazenly eating a massive sandwich. I'm surrounded by mirrors.

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Irony is this century's Spanish influenza.

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How long can you spend in the bath before you're out of contention for "Fastest Land Mammal"? I don't want to rule myself out at this stage.

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I'm erecting a plaque dedicated to my heroic procrastination this afternoon. But first, I need to learn how to smelt.

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It's always fun to look and see which search terms have led people to my blog. Here are the stats for this week:

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Whenever I walk through a rough area, I wear my "NEVER BEEN MUGGED" T-shirt. Criminals can't read anything written in sequins.

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I despise the establishment, so I just cut the nose off some brie and mailed it to Brian Sewell.

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The thorn messiah was crucified wearing a crown of little Jesuses.

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You should never put a cat in the microwave or vice versa.

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Coroners are allowed to keep one part of each body they examine. Most of them go for a buttock and use it for painting.

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Farmers never get up early. They just keep that lie circulating because, seriously, who's gonna check?

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Instead of a capital V, you can just type two opposite slashes: \/. So if your V key breaks, it won't be a problem! SEND ME MONEY NOW.

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I don't know why anyone would want a drum kit when they have perfectly good thighs.

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Three first names of Premier League managers are also crimes: Arsene (setting fires), Harry (harrassment), Roberto (stealing from Erto).

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Everyone is posting photos of their babies on Facebook today. They all look identical. I think it's all just one baby, working in shifts.

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I lead an interesting life down an alley and watch it get bludgeoned and robbed.

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When your kids learn to talk, it's amazing for two reasons: 1) They can finally express themselves and 2) You can interrupt them constantly.

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I just accidentally grated the wrong knuckle. What am I going to do with all this index zest?

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I finished a long book today, then went and perused some of the early chapters again to remind me of when I was young.

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I like that instant, Polaroid nostalgia. "Ah, remember before all this photo shaking? My wrist was much less tired then."

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Slug to fellow slug, upon seeing a snail: "Do you think he knows how ridiculous he looks?"

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One of the most obvious indicators that someone is lying is if they nervously finger their "NEVER TRUST ME" badge.

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If you can suck your Victoria sponge through a drinking straw, I recommend asking an expert to look at your oven.

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I've been rubbing this so-called "magic lamb" for hours, and it's only granted one of my wishes (friction-seared mutton).

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I'd never enlist in the army because I'm terrified of medals.

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There are some things you just can't teach if you ever want to see your daughter again.

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The Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles were known as the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles in the US because heroism is illegal over there.

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Shunning the obvious is in itself obvious. I like to embrace the obvious. It's the last thing anyone would expect.

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If Parma ham has taught us anything, it's that you can glamorise any cured meat by putting a place name in front of it. And the times tables

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In Northampton today, a woodwork teacher was sectioned under the Mental Health Act because he claimed he could hear vices.

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I'm going to write a song about my pillow tonight. (That will also the first line of the song)

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I just googled "The Full English Patient", expecting to find a Ralph Fiennes made of sausage, beans and egg, with a bacon Binoche. NOTHING.

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There's a plastic bag being blown around outside, and now all I can think about is Thora Birch's tits.

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I feel like I'm wasting a lot of storage space by not carrying anything on top of my feet. I could strap two blocks of butter onto them.

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I just cut off all my belt loops and joined them together to make a belt. Then I cut up my trousers to make new belt loops. Problem solved.

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I've got that "parsnip" song in my head.

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"Arsenic" doesn't rhyme with "parsnip". Good try though.

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Tony the Tiger didn't use to roll his 'r's. It was that year at the Sorbonne.

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I woke up on the wrong side of the wok this morning.

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It's difficult to compliment a mirror without people thinking you're arrogant.

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I've started to question my commitment to this twe

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That was a flurry of activity. Now comes the full-on blizzard of inertia.

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It's so cold in our office that David Attenborough just muttered "Fuck THIS", and shuffled off to get a hot chocolate.

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If you want a wooden replica tie (for a Pinocchio costume or something), use the hinged stand from the back of a picture frame.

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The jobs section of the Thames Valley Police website is called "Coppertunities". #untruths

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Mummy, invisible man, burns victim. Probably won't take off as a variant of 'rock-paper-scissors', but I need to get rid of these bandages.

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"Oh God. I'm starting to act like my father." - Jeff Bridges.

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We've just had to ask for a new coat rack. That's four this week. To be honest, I really don't know if we need this many dreamcatchers.

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There's a small area of your back that's impossible to scratch during a shipwreck.

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I'd rather have a scorpion for a face than a scorpion's face for a face.

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A dreaded rainy day, so I meet you at the sedentary gates. Chip and Dale are on your side, while Garfield is on mine.

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The national symbol of Portugal is a massive superfluous 'h'.

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I just had a breakfast of nose on toast. It doesn't taste as good as it smells.

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They were playing "Man in the Mirror" in the coffee shop. I'm going to have myself in my head all day.

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I have very stringent standards for my tweets. I spent some time drafting a "Fearniture Cotton" joke that didn't pass muster.

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I'd rather have sleep than the identity of my father's killer.

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I've been subtly hinting that I'd like a box of warm straw. Perhaps telepathy is TOO subtle.

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Here's a fun game for the next time you're on public transport: nudge the person next to you as many times as you've got skin cells.

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I'm a heptakleptomaniac. I can't resist the urge to steal seven things.

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"No Gloria Paynor, no Gloria Gaynor!" This disco workout video is confusing.

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Apparently, it's impossible to cut a cake in half with a spoon. I'm going to test this hypothesis as soon as my spoon is out of the oven.

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I'm on first name terms with F. Murray Abraham.

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Let's get right down to business! What's that? There's no direct route to business? There's a three hour layover in "Procrastination Gulch"?

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I'd like to draw your attention to justify the expense of my art classes.

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If my children ever ask me what life was like in the 90s, I'll force-feed them No Doubt albums until they stop asking questions.

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It's funny that they were called No Doubt, when they seem to have inspired such ambivalence.

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I find it easier to cope in a cape, to hope in a heap, and to mope in a Costa Coffee.

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I'm looking forward to Easter. Mainly because I need some bunny-neck-circumference-length bits of ribbon for my collection.

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I bet the knuckle really envies those parts of the finger with no obligations.

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I've been terrified of dangling from things ever since I was mugged on a trapeze. That's why I could never hang myself.

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I hate people who speak loudly in restaurants, or into restaurants at distance through a tube.I hate people who speak loudly in restaurants, or into restaurants at distance through a tube.

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Imagine if we all swapped fruit bowls!

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I hope you've enjoyed reading this tweet as much as I've enjoyed writing it.

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I've just set myself a place at the IRRI TABLE. Pass the fucking salt.

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MY FAVOURITE KIDS' BOOK IS JITTERY MYSTERIES BY CAFFEINID BLYTON (I've had some coffee)

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I need to get my hair cut. It's currently so thick I need to part it with a machine gun.

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Reality Show Pitch: NECKS TO NOTHING - Three tall young women, tired of hitting their heads on light fittings, have their necks amputated.

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Film Pitch: MY FRIEND GAVIN- Moving drama about a boy coming to terms with the burden of having a friend called Gavin. Set during Watergate.

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Sitcom Pitch: CLASSIFY THIS! - Hijinks and romance set in the offices of the BBFC. One prude, one liberal, one sadomasochist. Eight laughs!

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I wish columnists would stop talking about "The Rise of [BLANK]". Nothing rises. You're just sinking.

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I aspire to be 20% more nasal by this time next year.

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I'm going to buy an anger sandwich (or "angwich") on the way home. Inside? The children of those who have wronged me. And rocket.

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I just robbed a hosiery shop, with my head covered in bank notes to hide my identity.

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The song 'Old MacDonald Had a Farm' is sung in the past tense, because he was convicted of manslaughter and hanged himself in prison.

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Stick nine plectrums to an piece of A4 white card and pretend it's a giant 9 of Spades! (If you have more or less than nine, it's pointless)

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I keep having recurring dreams where I'm experiencing déjà vu. Then again, it might have just been one dream...

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They should make more savoury shampoos. Some ideas: L'Oreal Vindaloo, Chicken & Mushroom 2 in 1, Head & Shoulders: Egg & Soldiers.

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That last tweet was the first stand-up joke I ever wrote. You can see how I've developed since then. Backwards.

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Russian Roulette Drinking Game: whenever someone takes a shot, take a shot.

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Exquisite or exquisn'tite?

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My phone is running out of battery. I want to call Al Gore to ask his advice, but I don't know if I'll have enough juice to get through.

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Andie MacDowell's Moving Castle

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If you want to make an omelette, you've got to exorcise the ghost that lives on your hob.

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I know that last tweet wasn't great, but E4 have just commissioned a series based on it.

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I know that last tweet was weak cultural "satire", but Radio 4 have just commissioned a series based on it.

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I know this repetition device is a bit annoying, but I'm currently in talks with Christopher Nolan.

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You should dramatically sweep everything off your desk if you're overcome by rage or lust or if the desk is on fire.

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Don't worry. That's not a spider on your forehead.

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Putting subliminal commands in your tweets is totally self-indulgent and maSTABaTORY.

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That was another one of those tweets that I dreamt. When I woke up, I discovered that my genius was foiled by the concept of "spelling".

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The drainpipe across the road is staring at me. And now it's starting to cry. I'm going to move to a different part of the room.

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I might have some Kellogg's Crunchy Nut, but am slightly concerned about their new ad campaign: "Do YOU have a severe mental illness?".

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In researching that last tweet (as I always do), I discovered that the cereal no longer has "Corn Flakes" as part of its name. #interesting

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Also, it's now "Coco Pops" rather than "Coco Choco Puffy Sweet Milk-Colouring Monkey Rice Pops". Scandalous. It's Opal Fruits all over again.

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It's stop time.

And Out

I've started exhaling funny.

Let me rephrase that. Repeatedly. Until every last drop of ambiguity is drained from an already bitter lemon.

I haven't started exhaling funny. I've been doing that for years. I eat, drink and breathe funny. Everyone knows that. It's on my business card. I was just using charmingly incorrect grammar. What I meant to say was:

I've started exhaling funnily.

There's no comma there. I haven't started exhaling, funnily. If I had only just started exhaling, it would be no laughing matter.

I've started exhaling funnily, funnily enough.

I don't know if this is something that happens to everyone as they get older, but over the past couple of months I've noticed that I've started doing strange, pointless little exhalations. They serve no purpose.

There are a few acceptable forms of exhalation:

• the normal, everyday breathing out (to expel carbon dioxide and other useless gasses)
• the exhalation after some kind of exertion - perhaps one that requires the holding of breath
• the sigh (emotionally generated; an expression of relief)
• a percussive release of air, to fill a silence, convey thought, or just mediate loneliness (this one is a bit like drumming your fingers on a desk, or cracking your knuckles)

But my exhalations don't fit into any of these categories.

They're certainly not normal, they aren't a response to physical or emotional stimuli, and they're not an absent-minded tick. I'm not filling a silence. Sometimes I'm in the middle of a conversation. I don't think there's any need to release that air, and it doesn't seem to be premeditated.

It's difficult to describe a breath in text, but it's something like: "PFFUSHHH".

The only thing I can think is that I'm steam-powered. But I'd be aware of that, wouldn't I? I'd be able to feel the cogs and pistons beneath my skin. There don't seem to be any. I've checked.

It could be evil spirits, I suppose. They need some time away from their host every now and then. Just to get some perspective on the world, and remind them why they're evil in the first place.

It doesn't bother me. Exhaling is, if not the least of my problems, certainly not the most. (I imagine that sentence is grammatically incorrect. Just like my placement of this bracket(.

It's just strange to have acquired a new... foible? Is it a foible? Or a quirk, perhaps?

Just something new. I thought I was set in my ways. Deeply set. Like a concrete mousse. I thought I'd settled on all my physical defects and twitches. It's refreshing, in a way. You can't teach an old dog new tricks, but a new dog might spontaneously develop a strange new habit, like savaging canoes.

My funny exhalations can become a boon. I can inflate things.

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I've started inhaling funny.

Let me rephrase that.

Go on.

Please.

Just once. I promise.

No.

No, it won't be like last time.

I'll just rephrase it once, and then I'll be finished. It won't take long. No skin off your nose, right? Sorry. Sorry, I didn't mean anything by that. It looks totally healed now anyway. Did you use some kind of ointment? Sorry. Yes, you're right, it's none of my business. Anyway, about this rephrasing...

Really? Great! Seriously, I appreciate it.

You won't regret this. I'll just rephrase it once, and then - BAM - I'm outta here! Ha ha!

I will get on with it. I was just, y'know, saying thanks, that's all.

OK. Here it is. Time for a rephrasing. This is going to knock your socks off, I guarantee it.

I've... you know, the funny thing is, I don't even know how I'm going to rephrase it! I didn't even think about it. I'm not even that sure why I was so insistent!

What? No, I...

I wouldn't say I've wasted your time. That's harsh. I think that's harsh. I'm still... let me finish - I'm still going to rephrase it, and for all you know, it might be really good. It might have been well worth it.

I've rephrased things before, and had some really positive feedback.

No.

No, I don't think I should have been more prepared. I mean, yes, that's one way to handle it. But I revel in spontaneity. Some of my best rephrasing work has come totally out of left-field.

There are people who like to plan their rephrasings, and I'm not having a go at them. They might prefer to have something ready before making any promises.

But for me - let me finish - but for me, having that self-imposed pressure is what spurs me on to create something special. There's no right or wrong in the creative process. Everyone works in their own way. I remember when I was in a rephrasal improv group in the late 90s - Rephaserhead, we were called - I...

Hang on! No, don't go! I'll just do it now. Bish, bash, bosh. Here we go. I'm going to rephrase it right now.

...

Should I repeat the original phrase? Because it was quite a while ago, and... OK, great. What I said was:

I've started inhaling funny.

Now.

Let me rephrase that:

I've started... inhaling...

fanny?


[DOOR SLAMS]

...

I deserved that.

Click

I was talking to someone earlier today - let's call him "Alex Clissold-Johns" - about something. We were talking via the email machine, not in person. I don't have much call to use vocal communication these days. Not since my jaw was wired shut because the local priest thought I had a "sinful molar".

Something came up about churches (which, now that I think about it, might be why I mentioned a priest just now), and I was going to explain my point of view. But I remembered that I'd written a blog post about it some time ago. So I just gave him the link:

http://headscissors.blogspot.com/2008/02/confession.html

Linking seemed like a good solution. I wouldn't have to cover old ground, and could refer him to a place where I had articulated my feelings and experiences more precisely.

It then occurred to me that I could do this more often. The more blog posts I've written, the greater the chances that I will have written something relevant to the conversation.

(Vigilant readers will recognise this as an error. I only have about four topics of conversation, and have basically been writing the same thing over and over again for the past four and a half years, occasionally bringing things up-to-date with a topical noun. But let's ignore that for now - it interferes with my "point".)

If I'm ever communicating with someone online, I can save myself a lot of time by pointing them to a URL. If the topic of fruit came up, for example (as it often does), instead of taking the time and effort to think of something interesting to say, I can just point them to a blog post where I discussed fruit in a hilarious and inventive way. Like this. Except hilarious and inventive.

Even if our conversation is on a topic that I don't have a totally relevant post to link to, there's no reason why I can't nudge them into that direction.

"Yes Gary, it must be difficult dealing with your redundancy. You were married to that job, in a way. It must be a bit like becoming a widower. Hey, that reminds me of this! LOL!"

I can't use it when I'm speaking to people in person. The human brain has not yet adapted itself to competently process URLs. But I'm sure they'll come out with something soon. I can just think of the relevant blog post, and then communicate it through some kind of retina explosion.

I'd never have to think of anything new ever again! I'd never have to actually engage with another human being! Just imagine...

Of course, I'd spend most of my time writing blog posts on topics that I feel are likely to come up in conversation. I'd have to have quite a large back catalogue. I'd have to anticipate all possible future events. It might even be more work than, you know, talking to people.

But at least it will have embedded videos! I can convey meaning through italics and punctuation!

Someone should write a disappointing television drama about this dystopian future: we're all just referring to previous events, and are unable to process the present. There will be no direct communication with anyone. It can be called U.R.HELL. Or some kind of footnote pun.

I actually have been close to this terrible technopocalypse in real life.

You've never felt more out of touch with reality than when you reply to a thoughtful text from your mum, asking how you are, with the phrase: "see my blog for further details".

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Speaking of dystopian futures, the Blogger spell check doesn't recognise the word 'dystopian'. It suggests 'dustpan'.

ORWELL WAS RIGHT! IT HAS BEGUN!

Of course, it doesn't recognise the word 'Blogger' either. So I don't know what to believe.

***

It's getting dark. That's the evening for you. As sure as day follows night, evening is always in the middle of the two of them.

I don't mind the cold, but I am not a big fan of winter's early darkness. Even my legendarily sunny disposition is not enough to chase away the 5pm-and-we-need-the-lights-on blues.

I need Spring. I hunger for it, just as I hunger for chocolate eggs, daffodil petals, and buns that signify a horrific method of execution.

But it's not far away. And I can deal with the gloom by utilising a number of techniques, including "not sleeping in until 11" and neon baby chicks.

I can also listen to music, which cares not for light levels (except for The Darkness, and we shouldn't try to please them).

In making my regular playlist this week, I rediscovered an Otis Redding song. This can't help but cheer you up. As long as you don't pay too much attention to the lyrics.

Pinker, Paler, Soldier, Spy

I've written about something for a change!

***


Steven Pinker - The Better Angels of Our Nature

This isn't exactly a book review. It isn't part of my Idiot Flaps Odyssey either (which seems to be lying dormant at the moment). I just happened to finish this yesterday and felt like writing about it for the following reasons:

1) It's long, and so I feel like I've achieved something for once
2) Writing about it will help me remember things
3) It's an interesting and important subject
4) I want you to think that I'm clever (though as you'll discover, I will probably demonstrate the opposite)

I'll try not to summarise the book in too much detail, as I'll probably mess things up, and will have Pinker on the phone saying "No, no, no, you've misunderstood everything and you have a ridiculous face. Even evolution can't explain THAT."

But the basic premise is that violence in the world has greatly declined, both in the long and short term.

Despite our notions of the modern world as an very violent place, and our romantic ideas of the past as being an Eden-like wonderland where you can leave your kids unlocked and buy some corn from an elf, the present day is (proportionally) the safest time to be alive.

He looks at many types of violence - war, murder, rape, torture, pushing a friend's face into a gorse bush, animal cruelty, Swingball - and has shown that they have all greatly declined.

Pinker also demonstrates that the commonly accepted belief that the 20th century is the most violent is probably untrue (proportional to population), and that the period since the end of the Second World War has been one of unprecedented peace.

To explain these ideas, Pinker looks at violence through a number of lenses: historical, political, philosophical, economic, biological, psychological, neuroscientific and probably some kind of futuristic space glasses. The discussion is supported by a wide range of statistical evidence. There are lots of graphs and tables, useful case studies and interesting experiments.

Pinker identifies the nature of the change and what has caused it, both in terms of social and political movements, morality and the functioning of the human brain.

So it's a pretty broad remit. Some of the smallest chapter sub-sections could have justified entire books. But Pinker writes fluidly and interestingly, and explains his findings well. Even I, with an attention span shorter than the word 'than', found it easy to follow.

I enjoyed it, and was convinced by most of what he had to say. Violence has declined. Put that in your pipe and smoke it humanely.

But I don't want to jump on his bandwagon just yet. I suspect that I could be easily bamboozled by a clever writer. Though I "studied" philosophy, politics and economics at university, and so should be used to looking at academic writing in a critical way, it's been ages since I had to do it. I reckon an eloquent person could write about why pigs invented the Super Bowl, and I'd believe them.

I don't want to be a chump. I don't want someone to suddenly bring up some point that contradicts his entire thesis, so I'm going to engage my critical faculties.

I've read a bit of commentary and criticism of the book. I've thought hard about the implications of his writing. I've sat in a dark room stroking my chin and folding paper into the shape of a light bulb.

I wear a neon badge on my lapel, and that badge says: RIGOROUS.

Luckily I didn't have to think too far outside the box, because The Guardian did a whole feature on the book, including some reviews and discussions. One review is particularly scathing, though amusingly, the columnist hasn't even read the book, and tries to judge it based on the index. It's an interesting technique. Like judging it based on the font. But as with most of the other criticisms I've seen of the book, the concerns raised seem to be dealt with, in depth, in the book itself.

There are lots of reader comments on these pieces, offering their usual mix of prejudice, self-importance and the simultaneous missing of dozens of points. It's always a mistake to read these comments, I know. There's a curious mindset in some of these people that makes them see changing your mind as a terrible sin. Well, not changing your mind. Changing your mind is a noble crusade. It's changing their mind that's an unforgivable sin. It's a parade of snappy, snide, self-congratulatory hate speech. My comments, on the other hand, are always gracious and productive.

Even given my low expectations, I was surprised at the conviction of so many people who hadn't read the book. They were sure they'd nailed a pithy refutation of the whole argument, even though Pinker had anticipated their glib idiocy and disproved it at length.

I've read several other reviews of the book. Most of them more reasonable than Captain Index. I wanted to be open to arguments against Pinker. I was on the look out for convincing counter-examples, and gaping holes in his argument. But I haven't found any of them yet. Most people who are critical of the book seem to dislike the implications of the central premise. But that doesn't mean that Pinker is necessarily wrong.

I think a lot of people have judged this book based on their preconceptions. And so have I. I'll look at these preconceptions first, and then identify some common objections. After which, I expect to receive my PhD.

What is it about claiming there's a decline in violence that people find so distasteful? No-one wants to admit that things are getting better.

Those on the right find the whole idea ridiculous. The world is clearly going to hell in a handbasket. There was a a vague golden age, not long ago, in which children did what they were told, old women could walk the streets at night, and you wouldn't say boo the goose. You'd call the goose "sir".

Now it's all violent video games and disrespect and suicide bombers performing their own one-woman plays, written with apostrophes in all the wrong places. The job of the conservative is to halt this terrible decline, by returning to nature and family values. The world was better in this non-specific past, even though similar conservatives were complaining about similar things for as long as we can remember.

So saying that violence is declining is anathema. They see violence everywhere, and will believe in this modern evil, no matter how many "facts" you throw at them.

Those on the left are similarly appalled by the idea that we live in a more peaceful world. Injustice is everywhere, people in the third world are suffering, capitalism is causing harm, the West is fighting immoral wars. If violence is declining, it doesn't help their campaigns. They see it as a type of blindness that encourages complacency, and lessens the need for change.

A lot of criticism I've read comes from this latter position. (I haven't read much right-wing reaction to the Pinker book. I doubt the Mail has discussed it in-depth, because it would involve reading a book.)

I've written before about how I hate this glory of the past, and the assumption that the current generation is going down the toilet. The current generation always thinks that theirs is the the most significant, that their young people are stupid and disrespectful, and that modern culture is rubbish. They've thought that for thousands of years, I reckon.

I was pleased to hear about this book, because it supports my view that the past was just as horrible as now, if not more so. I'm biased, then. I just read this because it agreed with me, and then patted myself on the back. It's always good to read a clever person corroborating your world view.

That's why I looked at the counter-arguments. I didn't want my preconceptions to colour my judgement. I want to feel legitimately smug. Blinkered smugness is no fun.
 
What I was mainly looking for was for clever people to tell me if anything was wrong with Pinker's statistical analysis. His graphs are all very convincing, and I don't really understand stats. I tend to assume that if they've been published, they'll probably be quite reliable. (I'm sure this is a dangerous assumption.) I was waiting to read that he's mislabelled the 'x' axis, or reported on a scientific trial done in another dimension. But I haven't seen any of that so far, so I think I'm reasonably safe to trust the numbers.

Pinker has answered a lot of possible objections in an FAQ here, so I won't go over too much of that.

Some of them are interesting, and I can see where they might be concerned. But some people are just idiots. You see things like:

"I read a news story yesterday about a boy killing bees with a hammer. How can Pinker say that violence is in decline?"

or

"My racist aunt is scared to leave the house. Call that peaceful?"

These people make my statistical analysis look like... uh... some kind of... good statistical analysis. (And make my comparisons seem devastatingly apt.) A single recent violent act will define the world. It's that same lack of proportion that leads people to claim that white middle-class men are the most oppressed group in the country, or that climate change is a myth because it's chilly today.

People tend to give their own experiences prominence. And if their own experiences involve watching the news, and TV shows about crime, and films in which a bomb has to defuse another bomb, they will probably have a warped idea of what's happening. But I don't believe my eyes. I believe a GRAPH.

More understandable criticism is of the implications of this study. If you want to discourage illegal wars, it's not useful to have someone talking about how relatively insignificant they are. People are dying and horrible things are happening.

Of course, Pinker thinks they're horrible too. He's not trying to say "Everything's OK! Everyone disband your charities and protest groups!". He's just trying to describe a change that has taken place.

Likewise, when people rightly campaign against the appalling conviction rates for rape, it doesn't help to have him talking about how incidents of rape have decreased.

He's just trying to present the facts. It's just that some of the facts are a little "off-message".

Fear is a tool that can be used by people of all political persuasions. We don't want society to rest on its laurels. We want new and better laurels, and better living standards for laurels (fewer people resting on them and for shorter hours).


But knowing what is contributing to long-term change isn't an impediment to change. If anything, knowing the progress we've made will encourage people. It will let them know that their campaigns, their protests, their policies, their witty placards, actually can do some good. It doesn't mean we have to accept illegal wars and massacres and Jeremy Kyle.

Yes, fear is a tool that people like to use. But the truth is a useful tool too, and one that is more difficult (though not impossible) to misuse.

One of the funniest criticisms of the decline of violence is that there could be a big war tomorrow that ruins Pinker's whole argument (and presumably his shirt). People seem to think he's arguing that everything is going to be fine, that war is over, that stabbings are going the way of the MiniDisc.

But of course, this isn't some teleological, utopian belief. He's not predicting that peace is inevitable, but reporting on the increase in peace that has already happened. He makes a point of stating that wars can still occur, and the conditions that have led to this state of peace could change.

You'd have to be pretty sure of yourself to write a book that guaranteed peace. If I was doing it, I'd hedge my bets. Even if it was just a tiny footnote at the end, which said: "Or, you know, maybe not".

Anyway, that's all the stuff I looked at. I'm reasonably happy with what I've read. If anyone has any convincing arguments that violence is not in decline, please let me know. I'd be happy to hear them. (And, no, punching me in the face is not an argument.)

I'm going to keep believing that I might be wrong, and that Pinker might be a charlatan with a ridiculous haircut. But until I read something conclusive, I'm going to go along with the conclusions in this book. I'd much rather be alive today than fifty years ago, a hundred years ago, or five thousand years ago (or any number of years in between, smart guy).

There. I hope I've shown how thoughtful I am, and that I know what the term 'teleological' means. Do you respect me more now? Does this make up for the months of nonsense, stupid dialogues and childlike drawings of ducks?

Or have I blundered all over the place? I might have made a foolish pig's ear of the whole thing. I might have angered and bored you.

Blogging is a subtle art.

I'll be back soon, with some more funny observations about water and scratching yourself.

Frank55 Spreads His Wings

I'm not a professional cartoonist. I can't draw, don't have any pens, and have never been paid for anything even remotely worthwhile. But I am a passionate amateur. Is it possible to be a cartoonist if you lack any of the essential skills and equipment?

Yes it is.

Frank55 is a character I created. He's the flagship (and only) character of my creative... boatyard. I've shown you his adventures before: here, here, and a little cameo appearance here.

I've realised that I can't hide these genius needles in the huge haystack of my archive, so have created a place for Frank55 to call his own:

http://frank55is.tumblr.com/

It's on Tumblr. I don't really know how Tumblr works yet. I spent a long time messing around with the settings and background. I'm sure you can tell. It seems pretty fun. I need a new place to waste time - Twitter, Facebook and this blog aren't enough. I find that I'm only distracted for 90% of my waking life. I'm trying to nudge it up to 95%.

I joined Google+ a while ago, but I haven't really spent enough time there. Also, I don't know anyone else who uses it. I've just used it to write a sporadic analysis of the slotted spoon. If anyone would like to add me to their circle, please do. (I think that's the right terminology. I'm not making a inappropriate proposition.) My stage name is 'Paul Fung', which is a letter-for-letter copy of my actual name.

But Tumblr is my chosen platform for Frank55. If you visit the above link, you'll see all of the existing cartoons, plus quotes from experts, plus an unpublished third cartoon (that I apparently didn't post here because I thought it was rubbish). If you'd like to "follow" me on there, please feel "free" to do so.

You can also see the most recent instalment, which I include below, to give you a flavour of my artistry.

Pretty moving, right?

I'm hoping to get some kind of publishing deal. Webcomics are big business now. They're a way for people to show off their talents and reach a wide audience.

I could bring out a book. I might need to be more productive, though. Five cartoons in nearly four years isn't enough. I'll try to step things up.

I might also start a Tumblr page for myself. I can't be cluttering up the Frank55 page with interesting links and photos and videos. It needs to be pure, unadulterated ART.

I hope I'm not spreading myself too thin. This blog, my tweets, and now a "regular" cartoon... I just hope I can maintain my current high standards.

***

Now that's out the way, here is some entertaining content. I give with one hand, and give with the other. And if someone wants to hand me an ice-cream, I have to hold it in the crook of my elbow. I then give that away.

I'm worried that this much generosity will lead to me giving everyone the same clothes off my back, which could lead to infighting and spine pneumonia.

In other news, I was in my work canteen today, and overheard a physics expert at another table describing Stephen Hawking as "fundamentally second-rate". He said it with such conviction, that I've started to believe it. Stupid Hawking.

I suppose Hawking's celebrity must annoy other physicists. He gets all the plaudits, all the glory, all the women, and they have to do the hard graft. It's the same with Prof Brian Cox. That pretty boy is basking in the limelight (analysing the limelight's wavelength and eloquently describing the behaviour of limephotons), when the REAL scientists are wrist deep in gluons and sweating into a beaker.

But I suppose that's the way of the world. It happens in all walks of life. The Queen makes all the headlines, but its the unsung royals that are putting the blue-blood, blue-sweat and crystalline tears into making this nation one of the greatest in Western Europe.

It's just the way it is. Let the Coxes and the Queens and the Hawkingses be the glamour-magnets. There's work to be done. And you can't smash protons together if a paparazzo is staring up your lab skirt.

***

I seem to have mislaid my entertaining content. I'll rummage around and see what I can wrangle for next time.

I hope you enjoy the wedding you might be attending this weekend.

Twelve

I haven't done a compilation of tweets since 2011. Remember 2011? Back before the Golden Globes, before the Swansea-Arsenal game, when the notion of proposing gift yachts seemed as distant as the hover-carp.

Things are different now. We're all a bit more humble and wrinkled.

Let's stumble together towards a bright tomorrow with another edition of:

Clever and Productive Ideas

***

?thgir ,2102 ni sdrawkcab gnitirw lla er'ew ,oS

***

It's pretty grey and miserable out there. But then, 2012 is the Chinese Year of the Eeyore.

***

You might say that it isn't the Chinese New Year yet. If that's true, how do you explain my spring roll body armour? Hmm?

***

I might make soup for lunch. But I'm not 100% sure, because my alethiometer is covered in soup.

***

Oh man. Has anyone else been watching "The Adventures of Faecal Pinocchio"? Shit just got REAL.

***

The best part about being a cannibal is you can tag photos of your meals on Facebook.

***

It is impossible for any human to draw an accurate bird. If you think you've seen one, it's either some kind of trick or a photograph.

***

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, and finally: 17. #counting

***

Liver. You can't live with it; you can't live without it. Except you can live with it. For a time.

***

"OooOoh. Water displacement. *rolls eyes* THAT's an important discovery. EUREKA. Sheesh..." - Sarchimedes.

***

The most embarrassing time to choke is when you're in the middle of performing the Heimlich Maneuver.

***

I decided to use "maneuver" rather than "manoeuvre" because I'm trying to crack the American market. Like Bush.

***

Outside: the smoke and spicy stench of burning leftover festive pastries. What a waste, what a waste. A mince pyre can't inspire confidence.

***

And lo! An unsatisfying abbreviation of Lorraine! The lower-case 'L' compounds the folly.

***

There are only three breeds of dog. Everything else is just a difference in combing techniques.

***

You might as well get rid of your rear-view mirror. What if you were being followed by a vampire? Useless.

***

Proportionality is directly proportional to itself.

***

If anyone with only a massive finger and thumb has lost a glove, I just found it outside. Or it could be trousers.

***

My concentration is like a can of Nuclear Pepsi: it CANNOT BE SHAKEN.

***

For better results, use the "bristle" end of the toothbrush for cleaning your teeth. This GQ subscription has paid off already.

***

Someone should write a film that begins with the main character being late for something.

***

I've started pronouncing Tibet "tie-bay", in an effort to appear more cosmopolitan. And... now I've stopped.

***

Casting Garth Marenghi as Bruce Banner was a brave choice for the Avengers movie.

***

You look like you haven't seen a ghost.

***

You know those little squiggles you draw to check if a pen is working? In 80,000 years, an alien civilisation will assume they were our gods

***

Film Pitch: JURASSIC PARK PARK - An island resort populated by Jurassic Park recreations goes wrong when a Wayne Knight droid eats a guest.

***

I never get to say "Halt! Who goes there?" in my job. It's like they didn't even read my application letter.

***

Bake a cake with a prison inside and send it to an agoraphobic.

***

When I played Chinese Whispers in China, I was arrested for incitement to commit murmur. But what I did was right. And important.

***

I want to do an off-beat remake of the film Total Recall, where someone plants a tree in Schwarzenegger's memory.

***

There are lots of songs in the public domain, but not many songs ABOUT the public domain. What's it like there? I've never been.

***

I just searched for 'hinge' on Wikipedia. I should probably go to bed.

***

POEM: I found a crouton // in my futon // then sighed // and put my boot on

***

FACT: 90% of household waste is made up of the powdery silver residue from used scratchcards.

***

Every human being who has ever lived has won first place in the World's Youngest Baby competition.

***

No-one likes the sound of their own voice on tapir.

***

They have different consternations in the Southern Hemisphere.

***

Forget the Nicorette Inhalator. The best way to quit smoking is by carrying a bugle with you at all times.

***

Forget the bugle. The best way to quit smoking is by carrying a beagle with you at all times. Chew its ears whenever you have a craving.

***

Forget the bugle and the beagle. And the bagel. And Bungle from Rainbow. The best way to quit smoking is some kind of mouth hypnosis.

***

Ants can only carry all that weight because they have so many knees to bend.

***

This nervous breakdown makes for uncomfortable pillows.

***

Any lyricist who uses the word "unfurled" should have their rhyming privileges revoked.

***

Here's a tip: use "planet" instead of "world". The possibilities are endless: gannet, granite, uh... David Mamet... You see? Endless.

***

I'm too easily Pb.

***

Statistically, fifteen of my followers will be left-handed and shallow.

***

My friend's got a fire-hose for an arm. Other than that, he hasn't got any extinguishing features.

***

Whilst eating an apple just now, I opened my mouth so wide a pteranodon flew out.

***

Just to put it in context: conteitxt.

***

I'm worried my new coat makes me look like a robin. It's not red, but it is made of beaks and feathers and shrinking.

***

To spice things up on the walk home, I'm going to move my feet in the opposite order to usual.

***

There's no more romantic gesture than bundling your loved one into a hot air balloon whilst dressed as a dozen roses.

***

I'm learning how to beatbox. The beats are coming along fine, but I'm really struggling with the box element. I'm only up to three corners.

***

It's considered crass to laugh at your own jokes/children.

***

POEM: A virgin guava // submerged in lava // will appease the fruit gods // but // for how long?

***

"Shhh! I hear something!" is fine. "Shhh! I hear nine things!" is too much.

***

Lie back and think of Robert Englund.

***

I only like organs, skin and skeletons when combined in a very specific way.

***

I just flipped out, but then quickly flipped back in again before anyone noticed.

***

Revenge is a dish best served backwards (eg. never).

[Paul/Editor's Note: this was my attempt at clever wordplay. It doesn't quite work.]

***

You can tell a lot about someone if you speak quickly at an open mic night.

***

Sometimes I worry that I'm too eloquent. I need a bigger tongue.

***

The smell of wallpaper paste always reminds me of a rapid decrease in rigour.

***

I want a personalised numberplate that says "no, I insist" (or N01 1NS15T), but I haven't got a car.

***

Unclench your jaw. It is. It is clenched.

***

I find it difficult to attract the attention of waiters when I'm at home in two sleeping bags.

***

The commentary of Ray Wilkins is the best thing to have happened to football since the invention of the sphere.

***

The smallest bone in the human body can be found in the ear of Dennis Quaid.

***

"I swung around suddenly and knocked a bust of Tom Wilkinson into the litter tray." - MR CONTEXT

***

You make me feel, you make me feel, you make me feel like a natural woman ONE MORE TIME, and we're through. GOT ME?

***

Typing certain words in CAPS makes a worthless tweet into something a hilarious American would say.

***

In chair westerns, the characters are hit with gimmicked breakaway stunt humans.

***

John Thor is Inspector Norse.

***

I just had an embarrassing water cooler overflow spillage disaster. I tried to play it cool by shouting "I HAVE GILLS!", but it didn't work.

***

I'd like to join a TV news team as their 'Despondence Correspondent'. It would just be me standing outside with my hand over my face.

***

I always wear a name-tag on my name-tag, which reads "name-tag". Good to know who's who.

***

LOOK OUT! Statistically, that probably just saved one of your lives.

***

I'll always treasure one thing or another.

***

I've got fluff all over my shirt because I accidentally washed it on the 'glue cycle', and then got in a fight with an angel.

***

Sitcom Pitch: LUMBERJACK OF ALL TRADES - Jack Lumber (Mark Addy) chops wood, changes tyres, and generally lumbers about.

***

Film Pitch: SPARKLEHOOF, THE PRETTIEST FOAL IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD- Bleak, psychological thriller set in Soviet Gulag. Miley Cyrus to star.

***

Quiz Show Pitch: XTREME PANCAKEZ- People flip pancakes in a variety of risky locations (minefield, Baltimore, etc). Tagline: "Shrove THIS!"

***

"Be still, my beating heart!" But it's always sparkling... :-(

***

I was named after my great-grandfather. It made sense to do it in that order.

***

"Richard Eats Many Eggs Mostly Because Everyone Recommends Them". I use that mnemonic so I always remember how to spell 'remembert'.

***

Only the odd numbered Citizen Kane movies are any good.

***

If no-one calls me resplendent before 10:30, I'm in a bad mood all day.

***

Has anyone seen my invisible keys? If so, they're not mine.

***

On the way home, apropos of nothing, Lucy said: "If I'd died in the first year of our relationship, you'd be well over it by now".

***

I answered the door in my dressing gown this morning. I also answered the question "Is my dressing gown too revealing?" The answer was "yes"

***

First, brown the mince.

***

I was tired of constantly wading into controversy, so I bought a Jet Ski!

***

There you go. You're bang up to date. And bang out of order.

Tell your friends about me. It doesn't need to be positive. Just mention me in passing. "I clicked on this blog link by mistake, and immediately regretted it." Say that.

There's no such thing as bad publicity. Or good publicity.

There's no such thing as publicity.

It's a fiction that has only achieved such widespread acceptance because it was brilliantly marketed.

Bless

I was just about to sneeze, when I suddenly felt overcome with panic.

It was the morning, and I hadn't spoken to many people or had many thoughts, so my faculties were still getting limber on the sidelines.

I panicked, because I realised I was about to sneeze and couldn't remember if that was the kind of thing that people did in public.

I know there are certain things that society expects us to do behind closed doors. Micturition for one. Defecation for two. That numbering system is well established.

I was at my desk in a quiet office, so other forms of bodily ablutions and excretions are also frowned, and in some cases tutted, upon.

But in that split second before the sneeze, so tired was my brain, I couldn't work out if sneezing was part of that list. It seemed indecent somehow: an involuntary release of face air. I was worried that I'd broken some kind of taboo; that I'd cause my colleagues to be disgusted with, at, and towards me. More than usual.

I could be fired for bringing the company into disrepute. The barbaric expulsion could have left me imprisoned or harangued by all and sundry.

These thoughts all rushed through my head moments before the sneeze did. It had begun - there was no turning back.

I sneezed. Luckily, I realised that sneezing at one's desk is permissible. It's not a sacking offence (at least not these days). Everything was OK.

I was so relieved that I shat myself.

***

Now that last line is much cruder than is my wont. But it did seem like the obvious punchline to that story. And the story needed some kind of ending, otherwise the whole thing could have been summarised by me saying "I sneezed".

That's not enough for a whole blog post. Even by my low standards.

So I went the crude route. Luckily, I was able to follow it up with this disclaimer, which will make my grandparents feel slightly less disappointed in me.

Using the phrase "my wont" is enough to counteract "shat myself". It's a one-to-one trade. Or in this case, a two-to-two.

Did anyone else hear that owl?

***

That seems to be everything that's in my head right now. I'm sure it will be full again soon (barring the odd sneeze exodus). Here's something nice to listen to: