Friday, December 31, 2004
Thursday, December 30, 2004
For fans of my tempestuous on/off relationship with the Rolling Stones' "Beast of Burden", I'd like to confirm that at this moment, we are most definitely on.
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Wednesday, December 29, 2004
I want my word back!
Anything labelled “Adult” has come to mean “erotic”. As if childhood is a walled garden of innocence, protected from and oblivious to all sexuality with adulthood an endless round of orgies and sex-toys, swinging and pornography. This distinction must be broken down. Physical attraction exists between children, and although an important part of adult life, sex is by no means the defining characteristic of maturity. I can live with “erotic” - even if that which proclaims itself as such tends to be anything but - but an “adult” entertainment could as easily be concerned with house prices, ethics, ageing and vanishing dreams – anything complex enough to lose a child’s interest. This post was provoked by my girlfriend’s Dad giving her a book entitled, “Adult Origami”. He thought that the title was to demonstrate that it was difficult, but actually… you’ve guessed the rest. (And no, I’m not quite sure how he managed to make the mistake either.) I was talking about it with Marty yesterday. He described it as (and here I put words in his mouth) a piece of officially sanctioned naughtiness, akin to those soul-destroying “cheeky” Christmas presents. From there we went on to the crushing conformism of Cambridge graduates, their need to have their fun officially stamped and their terror of simply existing, outside of structures, ladders and well defined roads to achievement; stiflingly rigid in approach to career, life and personal relationships (incidentally, this includes those well-worn “alternative” routes) there is a terror of improvisation – they can’t dig on Bird. But that, my friends, is another post altogether! Hope you’re all enjoying your holidays, sooner or later I’ll start working through the backlog of notes I’ve taken over the last week. Bet you can’t wait.
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Anything labelled “Adult” has come to mean “erotic”. As if childhood is a walled garden of innocence, protected from and oblivious to all sexuality with adulthood an endless round of orgies and sex-toys, swinging and pornography. This distinction must be broken down. Physical attraction exists between children, and although an important part of adult life, sex is by no means the defining characteristic of maturity. I can live with “erotic” - even if that which proclaims itself as such tends to be anything but - but an “adult” entertainment could as easily be concerned with house prices, ethics, ageing and vanishing dreams – anything complex enough to lose a child’s interest. This post was provoked by my girlfriend’s Dad giving her a book entitled, “Adult Origami”. He thought that the title was to demonstrate that it was difficult, but actually… you’ve guessed the rest. (And no, I’m not quite sure how he managed to make the mistake either.) I was talking about it with Marty yesterday. He described it as (and here I put words in his mouth) a piece of officially sanctioned naughtiness, akin to those soul-destroying “cheeky” Christmas presents. From there we went on to the crushing conformism of Cambridge graduates, their need to have their fun officially stamped and their terror of simply existing, outside of structures, ladders and well defined roads to achievement; stiflingly rigid in approach to career, life and personal relationships (incidentally, this includes those well-worn “alternative” routes) there is a terror of improvisation – they can’t dig on Bird. But that, my friends, is another post altogether! Hope you’re all enjoying your holidays, sooner or later I’ll start working through the backlog of notes I’ve taken over the last week. Bet you can’t wait.
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In years to come friendships will be established and intimacies forged on the question, "so where were you when David Seaman won Strictly Ice Dancing?"
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Tuesday, December 28, 2004
Have been trying to solidify my opinion on Norman Foster. Good or rubbish? It's so hard to know which pithy smartmouth line to go with nowadays... I think I've decided on - Foster: the new Christopher Wren. It's so boring to rage against him.
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Elton John - Unplugged is on VH1 at the moment. And still I continue my quixotic attempt to become a fan.
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Well, so much to say... I'll start tomorrow. For now, what is more important is my current predicament: should I watch School of Rock again tonight?
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Wednesday, December 22, 2004
Monday, December 20, 2004
I'm off work this week so I'm not sure when I'll be back around internets. I'll take this opportunity to say: may your days be merry and bright, and may all your Christmases be white.
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Warning! Contains a dream
A dream I had last night made me laugh so much that I woke myself and my girlfriend up with my laughter. Marty and I were watching Liverpool play in a Colisseum. Stephen Gerrard insisted on offering a salute to each section of the crowd before the game. I said something to Martin like, "Look! It's the self-styled soul of Liverpool FC!" Next thing I know he's running on the pitch dressed as a dog - the mascot's costume - and holding up a sign saying something like, "Shut up Stephen!" I laughed, I awoke, I chuckled, I fell back asleep, I laughed again.
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A dream I had last night made me laugh so much that I woke myself and my girlfriend up with my laughter. Marty and I were watching Liverpool play in a Colisseum. Stephen Gerrard insisted on offering a salute to each section of the crowd before the game. I said something to Martin like, "Look! It's the self-styled soul of Liverpool FC!" Next thing I know he's running on the pitch dressed as a dog - the mascot's costume - and holding up a sign saying something like, "Shut up Stephen!" I laughed, I awoke, I chuckled, I fell back asleep, I laughed again.
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Saturday, December 18, 2004
Christmas party tonight. It was OK. If you're interested, we went here; make sure your sound's up for that one.
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Friday, December 17, 2004
Thursday, December 16, 2004
A role for David Sneddon at last: playing the young Steve in "X Factor! The Steve Brookstein story."
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I haven’t posted about the X-factor final, so let down did I feel by the stupid British public. I feared that G-4’s only chance of a career lay with their winning the competition, that their shtick relied on live performances and that they needed the exposure that a victory would have given them. I wondered, “Who would buy a G-4 album?” But the answer, of course, was me! That they may not top the charts is none of my concern. If they release anything, then I shall buy it. And it will form the bedrock on which future compilations will be built.
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Ian Tough is actually weedy. He is married to Janette. A middle aged woman, she dresses up as a small boy for comedic effect. The popularity of their double act wanes over time until they mainly just work panto. One day the tiny Janette falls off the (3m) beanstalk, a moment of misplaced hilarity and pathos.
Why, oh why, couldn’t Janette's surname have been Tender?
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Why, oh why, couldn’t Janette's surname have been Tender?
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Wednesday, December 15, 2004
What everyone forgets when complaining about Band Aid 20 is that the original is shit too; there is no legacy there to despoil.
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Anyone else think that Sean Connery is fucking rubbish?
I realise that selecting that picture does some damage to my position, but it's the only time that he's done anything worthwhile.
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I realise that selecting that picture does some damage to my position, but it's the only time that he's done anything worthwhile.
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Text Clearing:
Is Tim Allen my all time favourite American? You know, I think he is.
In fact, here's my list of favourite Americans:
1) Tim Allen
2) Ted Danson
3) The old dude from 3rd Rock
4) John McCain
5) Alan Sokal
6) The old dude from back t.t. future
7) Emilio Estevez
8) Gwen Stefani
9) The woman from Married with Children
10) The Rock
Oxford. The QI bookshop and club, we wait for them to turn up, then we ready those piggies for market. They fucked up the science question as well, forgetting the "relativity" in general relativity. This is too much, I'm almost fizzing with fucking rage here man, I'm fizzing, I'm FUCKING FIZZING with rage. Mark my words, my friend, in drawing my attention once more to this unholy grotesque circus, you have signed Fry's death warrant.
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Is Tim Allen my all time favourite American? You know, I think he is.
In fact, here's my list of favourite Americans:
1) Tim Allen
2) Ted Danson
3) The old dude from 3rd Rock
4) John McCain
5) Alan Sokal
6) The old dude from back t.t. future
7) Emilio Estevez
8) Gwen Stefani
9) The woman from Married with Children
10) The Rock
Oxford. The QI bookshop and club, we wait for them to turn up, then we ready those piggies for market. They fucked up the science question as well, forgetting the "relativity" in general relativity. This is too much, I'm almost fizzing with fucking rage here man, I'm fizzing, I'm FUCKING FIZZING with rage. Mark my words, my friend, in drawing my attention once more to this unholy grotesque circus, you have signed Fry's death warrant.
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Panel 1
Small boy in pajamas on left of frame. He is holding a teddy bear, smiling and saying to an unseen figure, "Daddy, it's Christmas!"
Panel 2
Voice comes from right of the frame, "No son, Christmas was last week. You slept right through it."
Panel 3
Close up of boy's face. He is saying (written shakily and small), "...no..." and a tear is sliding down his cheek.
NOTE TO SELF: Buy scanner.
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Small boy in pajamas on left of frame. He is holding a teddy bear, smiling and saying to an unseen figure, "Daddy, it's Christmas!"
Panel 2
Voice comes from right of the frame, "No son, Christmas was last week. You slept right through it."
Panel 3
Close up of boy's face. He is saying (written shakily and small), "...no..." and a tear is sliding down his cheek.
NOTE TO SELF: Buy scanner.
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If Bob Cratchett didn't like his working conditions, and was capable enough, then why didn't he just get a job somewhere else? If there was nowhere better, then it seems a little unfair for the spirits to pick on Scrooge for paying market rates.
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Tuesday, December 14, 2004
Bang up to date as always, that whole Ron Atkinson thing. In my defence, there was a programme about him last night; I’m not living in April.
First - and let’s get this out of the way, it needs to be said - the relevant question is not, “is Ron Atkinson racist?” Of course he is, yesterday's documentary just confirmed that he doesn't get it. That he has encouraged black players and has black friends is irrelevant. A man can love his wife and daughters and still be a misogynist; Ron’s rounds of golf with Carlton Palmer mean nothing. When the whole furore erupted, people queued up to say how Ron didn’t see the colour of his players, just footballers. The problem is that he should have seen their colour, identity does not come from the position one plays. I’m not keen on the “he came from a different age” excuse either. I can make some allowances for my grandmother, she holds a few views I’m – ahem – not entirely comfortable with, but she’s lived in rural Oxfordshire her whole life, didn’t have the benefits of a prolonged education, and in fairness, she vaguely judges groups rather than individuals – they are accepted on their own terms. But Atkinson is different. He has worked in the media for more than twenty years, he knows, or should know, the way the world is now and what is not the done thing.
Also, you can explain away anything if you try hard enough: BNP membership? White working class communities feeling under threat. Islamic terrorism? Response to American Imperialism/Israel-Palestine. Violent crime? Poverty/rappers/ennui. Corporations polluting? Why wouldn’t they? But listing the factors that cause an ugly opinion or act does nothing to justify them, they remain as ugly. So why are we tying ourselves in knots trying to excuse him? Atkinson, and many of his supporters, cannot bring themselves to acknowledge his racism as there is no label, bar paedophile, less welcome than “racist”. Racism is evil, Ron seems good, therefore Ron is not racist. The converse occurs too: Ron is racist, therefore he is evil, therefore he deserves everything he gets. For me the interesting questions are “how much bigotry can we live with?” and “do his beliefs have any bearing on his suitability as a commentator?” These are harder, and everyone will have a different opinion. For the record, my answers are “some” and “no, but you may not choose to listen to him anymore.”
(Staggers back in) And another thing! People won't talk about race and ethnicity out of fear of being called a racist. Whilst it is a welcome development that racial slur words are rarely heard in the public domain anymore, the attitudes behind them remain. Saying "black" rather than "nigger" just makes them harder to spot.
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First - and let’s get this out of the way, it needs to be said - the relevant question is not, “is Ron Atkinson racist?” Of course he is, yesterday's documentary just confirmed that he doesn't get it. That he has encouraged black players and has black friends is irrelevant. A man can love his wife and daughters and still be a misogynist; Ron’s rounds of golf with Carlton Palmer mean nothing. When the whole furore erupted, people queued up to say how Ron didn’t see the colour of his players, just footballers. The problem is that he should have seen their colour, identity does not come from the position one plays. I’m not keen on the “he came from a different age” excuse either. I can make some allowances for my grandmother, she holds a few views I’m – ahem – not entirely comfortable with, but she’s lived in rural Oxfordshire her whole life, didn’t have the benefits of a prolonged education, and in fairness, she vaguely judges groups rather than individuals – they are accepted on their own terms. But Atkinson is different. He has worked in the media for more than twenty years, he knows, or should know, the way the world is now and what is not the done thing.
Also, you can explain away anything if you try hard enough: BNP membership? White working class communities feeling under threat. Islamic terrorism? Response to American Imperialism/Israel-Palestine. Violent crime? Poverty/rappers/ennui. Corporations polluting? Why wouldn’t they? But listing the factors that cause an ugly opinion or act does nothing to justify them, they remain as ugly. So why are we tying ourselves in knots trying to excuse him? Atkinson, and many of his supporters, cannot bring themselves to acknowledge his racism as there is no label, bar paedophile, less welcome than “racist”. Racism is evil, Ron seems good, therefore Ron is not racist. The converse occurs too: Ron is racist, therefore he is evil, therefore he deserves everything he gets. For me the interesting questions are “how much bigotry can we live with?” and “do his beliefs have any bearing on his suitability as a commentator?” These are harder, and everyone will have a different opinion. For the record, my answers are “some” and “no, but you may not choose to listen to him anymore.”
(Staggers back in) And another thing! People won't talk about race and ethnicity out of fear of being called a racist. Whilst it is a welcome development that racial slur words are rarely heard in the public domain anymore, the attitudes behind them remain. Saying "black" rather than "nigger" just makes them harder to spot.
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There was a power cut at work last night. It's freezing in here and there's no water.
This is my island in the sun.
That was the best picture I could find with my cold, stiff hands.
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This is my island in the sun.
That was the best picture I could find with my cold, stiff hands.
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Saturday, December 11, 2004
Excellent programme on BBC3: David Ginola, Secrets and Lies. Great talking heads too: Eamon Holmes, Arsene Wenger, Stephen Gately.
And yes, I know.
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And yes, I know.
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Friday, December 10, 2004
Why I hate the Tate Modern
Oh, you know this one: the crowds of people who are not so much interested in art as they are interested in being interested in art; the smugness of the visitors – look at me, I’m in an art gallery… Yeah, I really am that cool; the overwhelming stench of self-satisfaction; the fact that it’s much more a place to be seen in than anything else - a way to demonstrate hipness and broadmindedness - full of people trying to show how much their minds are blown by some minor Dali, now utterly irrelevant. And that’s about it, really.
But there’s also that it fails as a gallery. So much of what is there is only understandable in terms of what went before. The eternal problem of innovation is that the new is made redundant by what follows it: Bacon’s Three Studies for a Crucifixion is not as powerful once one has seen Alien. This problem is particularly acute when a piece of art is the diagram of an idea, without the fortuitous accident or unconscious touches that can make paintings so beguiling.* We cannot feel the shock of Duchamp’s Fountain anymore, we can only appreciate its significance; and perhaps wonder that he missed a trick by not having a fresh turd laid in the bowl every morning. So, on the South Bank we have a museum, and we visit it as cultural historians. Not without merit, of course, but it’s not the only game in town.
* Realising that I actually have far too much to say on this, I shall fatigue further in my forthcoming post, “Why I hate the Turner Prize.”
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Oh, you know this one: the crowds of people who are not so much interested in art as they are interested in being interested in art; the smugness of the visitors – look at me, I’m in an art gallery… Yeah, I really am that cool; the overwhelming stench of self-satisfaction; the fact that it’s much more a place to be seen in than anything else - a way to demonstrate hipness and broadmindedness - full of people trying to show how much their minds are blown by some minor Dali, now utterly irrelevant. And that’s about it, really.
But there’s also that it fails as a gallery. So much of what is there is only understandable in terms of what went before. The eternal problem of innovation is that the new is made redundant by what follows it: Bacon’s Three Studies for a Crucifixion is not as powerful once one has seen Alien. This problem is particularly acute when a piece of art is the diagram of an idea, without the fortuitous accident or unconscious touches that can make paintings so beguiling.* We cannot feel the shock of Duchamp’s Fountain anymore, we can only appreciate its significance; and perhaps wonder that he missed a trick by not having a fresh turd laid in the bowl every morning. So, on the South Bank we have a museum, and we visit it as cultural historians. Not without merit, of course, but it’s not the only game in town.
* Realising that I actually have far too much to say on this, I shall fatigue further in my forthcoming post, “Why I hate the Turner Prize.”
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Warning! Contains a dream:
Last night I dreamt that George Bush Jnr was on the Daily Show with John Stewart. They were chatting and that, having a bit of a giggle, when another George Bush Jnr walked onto the set and started spraying the original with a soda siphon. The original, seated Bush laughed hysterically as the bubbly liquid poured down his face. It was fucking terrifying.
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Last night I dreamt that George Bush Jnr was on the Daily Show with John Stewart. They were chatting and that, having a bit of a giggle, when another George Bush Jnr walked onto the set and started spraying the original with a soda siphon. The original, seated Bush laughed hysterically as the bubbly liquid poured down his face. It was fucking terrifying.
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Here's one for you:
Victoria Wood is a comedic genius, probably the most important British comic from the post-Connolly and pre-Paul Whitehouse period. If you don't like her, but do rate Peter Kay, then you are probably a misogynist.
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Victoria Wood is a comedic genius, probably the most important British comic from the post-Connolly and pre-Paul Whitehouse period. If you don't like her, but do rate Peter Kay, then you are probably a misogynist.
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Thursday, December 09, 2004
I don't think I know anyone who could care less about this Blunkett thing. Personally, I don't see that it's relevant whether or not his genes were used in making the child. If they are then he wants to raise it, if they're not, then he doesn't? The child's the same either way. He should take a leaf out of Jack Holden's book. Even though he was the biological daddy, he was quite happy for Peter Mitchell to raise Mary.
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Wednesday, December 08, 2004
Monday, December 06, 2004
Following housemate comings and goings, I may advocate a strict, "Who's Jo(e)?" policy.
UPDATE: Is that reference over-obscure? It's from this.
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UPDATE: Is that reference over-obscure? It's from this.
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Final of I'm a Celebrity tonight. Janet was Joe's only serious competition. When it comes to the final choice, people pick someone they actually like, not necessarily someone they enjoy watching. It's Joe, all the way.
The best televisual moment of the weekend came from X-Factor. Somehow G-4 have managed to survive and the British public ejected Tabby, the Butlins Brian Molko. This frees up the "something different" votes. I predict the unlikeliest of wins for G-4 in the final next week. I can't recommend them strongly enough. Their performance of Bohemian Rhapsody was jaw-dropping, truly one for the archives*.
* I can't remember if I've explained this before, but I'm not using "one for the archives" as a turn of phrase. Getting drunk with Marty once, he mentioned that he had an old episode of TFI Friday knocking around. This prompted a full, and ultimately fruitless, search. So, remembering how sweet that feeling is when you chance upon some old tv programme you've forgotten you've recorded, two years ago I took to taping the occaisonal night of programmes. Nothing particularly special or out of the ordinary - bits of The Games, Back to Reality, I'm a Celebrity - that sort of thing. Each tape is then sealed and hidden, ready to give of its riches when we are most in need of it.
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The best televisual moment of the weekend came from X-Factor. Somehow G-4 have managed to survive and the British public ejected Tabby, the Butlins Brian Molko. This frees up the "something different" votes. I predict the unlikeliest of wins for G-4 in the final next week. I can't recommend them strongly enough. Their performance of Bohemian Rhapsody was jaw-dropping, truly one for the archives*.
* I can't remember if I've explained this before, but I'm not using "one for the archives" as a turn of phrase. Getting drunk with Marty once, he mentioned that he had an old episode of TFI Friday knocking around. This prompted a full, and ultimately fruitless, search. So, remembering how sweet that feeling is when you chance upon some old tv programme you've forgotten you've recorded, two years ago I took to taping the occaisonal night of programmes. Nothing particularly special or out of the ordinary - bits of The Games, Back to Reality, I'm a Celebrity - that sort of thing. Each tape is then sealed and hidden, ready to give of its riches when we are most in need of it.
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Sunday, December 05, 2004
Yes, it's that time of the year again. This Saturday is the annual Alistair showing of the Muppets Christmas Carol at my house. It'll be late afternoon, I guess. Mulled wine, mince pies, you know the drill. If I know you, why not come round? In fact, if I don't know you but you fancy a mysterious day out, why not come round? You could email me and I'll tell you where I live. The m. the m.
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Friday, December 03, 2004
I can sympathise, of course, but everything in this article is just build-up to what the writer imagines is a killer final line.
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THE GREEN ROOM – Celebrities behind closed doors.
Footballer Wayne Rooney uses Ralph Lauren skin care products to look good in photo shoots. 'I like how they make my skin feel,' he admitted. 'It all pays off in the end.'
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Footballer Wayne Rooney uses Ralph Lauren skin care products to look good in photo shoots. 'I like how they make my skin feel,' he admitted. 'It all pays off in the end.'
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Oh, and this site's seems to have gone a bit crazy this morning. I posted earlier about there being a pea-souper outside today. That's now disappeared, and probably for the best.
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Thursday, December 02, 2004
When I was younger Irish jokes were commonplace.
- What did the Irishman say to the dog?
- Something stupid no doubt.
Does anyone still tell them? They seem to have died out. No great loss. I’d guess it’s the same in the US with Polack jokes. Hopefully Pollak jokes will survive this political correctness.
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- What did the Irishman say to the dog?
- Something stupid no doubt.
Does anyone still tell them? They seem to have died out. No great loss. I’d guess it’s the same in the US with Polack jokes. Hopefully Pollak jokes will survive this political correctness.
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Oh. This article rather steals the thunder that was brewing on my forthcoming "Why I hate the Tate Modern" post.
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Has there ever been a more shameless piece of cynical political point-scoring than Michael Howard insinuating that this one-off, horrific event is Tony Blair's fault? Surely the shock at such an event is a consequence of how rare they are.
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Why I hate the Notting Hill Carnival
It seems to be impossible to talk about race without people thinking you racist. Still, here goes...
I don’t, actually, it just makes for a more arresting title. Yet, it…unsettles me somehow. Right at the beginning, let’s make this clear: I do not think that anyone else shouldn’t go, that it is somehow “a bad thing” or that people having fun is wrong. I just don’t quite see what’s in it for me or what, indeed, it represents. Originally it was an expression of West Indian culture, and a demand to be recognised. So far so laudable. But it is the representation of culture which is the important thing, not the location. If the carnival was an expression of community, then as the make-up of the area changed you would expect the carnival to reflect these changes. If it is a Caribbean thing, you would expect it to move with the Afro-Caribbean populations of London. A procession representing Notting Hill’s current residents would be of young-ish families with disturbingly confident children: less colourful and with more i-pods.
So what’s in it for me? Received wisdom is that the carnival (or just “Carnival”, if you must) is a reflection of London’s wonderful multi-cultural nature. Now the visitors might be from different cultures, but the spirit of the thing is profoundly Caribbean. A multi-cultural festival would reflect Indian, Korean, Somali, “Anglo” (do we have a word for white English people yet? You know what I mean, even if you disagree with the term) and all the other dozens of communities in this city. I’m not dissing the West Indians, but I don’t listen to Soca all the year round, so not quite sure why I’d bother going and checking it out on August Bank Holiday weekend. And yes, I’m sure it’s just supposed to be fun and all the rest of it, but I’m not going to dance at a sound system to Elephantman, and would look ridiculous if I did. I guess it’s the same as gay clubs. Having been to these with gay friends I have sometimes felt a bit awkward. Not through any homophobic squeamishness, you understand, just that they’re not there for me. I’m a guest, and am using up space that a real life gay man could stand in. So yes, going in a group of white people to the Notting Hill Carnival is a bit like going to a gay club with a load of straight people. Why are you here? It’s not for you!
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It seems to be impossible to talk about race without people thinking you racist. Still, here goes...
I don’t, actually, it just makes for a more arresting title. Yet, it…unsettles me somehow. Right at the beginning, let’s make this clear: I do not think that anyone else shouldn’t go, that it is somehow “a bad thing” or that people having fun is wrong. I just don’t quite see what’s in it for me or what, indeed, it represents. Originally it was an expression of West Indian culture, and a demand to be recognised. So far so laudable. But it is the representation of culture which is the important thing, not the location. If the carnival was an expression of community, then as the make-up of the area changed you would expect the carnival to reflect these changes. If it is a Caribbean thing, you would expect it to move with the Afro-Caribbean populations of London. A procession representing Notting Hill’s current residents would be of young-ish families with disturbingly confident children: less colourful and with more i-pods.
So what’s in it for me? Received wisdom is that the carnival (or just “Carnival”, if you must) is a reflection of London’s wonderful multi-cultural nature. Now the visitors might be from different cultures, but the spirit of the thing is profoundly Caribbean. A multi-cultural festival would reflect Indian, Korean, Somali, “Anglo” (do we have a word for white English people yet? You know what I mean, even if you disagree with the term) and all the other dozens of communities in this city. I’m not dissing the West Indians, but I don’t listen to Soca all the year round, so not quite sure why I’d bother going and checking it out on August Bank Holiday weekend. And yes, I’m sure it’s just supposed to be fun and all the rest of it, but I’m not going to dance at a sound system to Elephantman, and would look ridiculous if I did. I guess it’s the same as gay clubs. Having been to these with gay friends I have sometimes felt a bit awkward. Not through any homophobic squeamishness, you understand, just that they’re not there for me. I’m a guest, and am using up space that a real life gay man could stand in. So yes, going in a group of white people to the Notting Hill Carnival is a bit like going to a gay club with a load of straight people. Why are you here? It’s not for you!
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THE GREEN ROOM – Celebrities behind closed doors.
Jennifer Aniston and Courteney Cox are to team up again - in a horror comedy. "I loved the idea of working together again," said Jen.
With this occaisonal strand I am sharing this hot gossip - meat and drink to us city dwellers - with you, our country cousins. It is not fair that you should be kept away from such earth-shattering revelations.
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Jennifer Aniston and Courteney Cox are to team up again - in a horror comedy. "I loved the idea of working together again," said Jen.
With this occaisonal strand I am sharing this hot gossip - meat and drink to us city dwellers - with you, our country cousins. It is not fair that you should be kept away from such earth-shattering revelations.
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Wednesday, December 01, 2004
My thoughts a moment ago:
Hmmm... I wonder if "passport" is a corruption of the French, "passe partout"...
... Idiot. Of course passing ports!
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Hmmm... I wonder if "passport" is a corruption of the French, "passe partout"...
... Idiot. Of course passing ports!
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Good article here. All too true, I think. Thanks again to Marty, it seems like he's doing all my work for me these days.
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Just as I was about to descend into Piccadilly Circus tube last night (I had been wined and dined by a bunch of tedious traders at this restaurant. It wasn’t as bad as I’d feared. The food was excellent, and the banter less excruciating than usual. Refusing to get wasted, I skipped rounds and drank water, my enjoyment declined as everyone else’s increased. I say everyone, the girl I work with didn’t particularly relish the increasingly insistent queries about her sex life from two drunken, married men in their thirties. Ratio of men to women in this industry? 25:1.), I heard a man actually say to his girlfriend, “Here we are, right in the heart of London’s Theatre Land.” I laughed out loud.
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If these boys don't have the X-factor then I don't know who does.
Time to mobilise the vote. Remember, the heinous Tabby might win.
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Time to mobilise the vote. Remember, the heinous Tabby might win.
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More guns; fewer textbooks
Not the most popular opinion, this one. Less government money should be spent on education, as people who receive it reap most of the benefit themselves. The younger the student, the more efficient the investment so public money should be focussed on infants. Grown ups can look after themselves. The defence budget should be increased for these reasons:
1) It’s demand management and gives the government a way to stabilise the business cycle.
2) Research and development will have knock-on effects in other high technology industries.
3) It allows an independence from US policy. You can’t complain about the US sticking its oar in everywhere then demand action from them in Dafur. Other countries (I'm looking at you, Europe) could go their own way more if they could back it up.
Just trying this one out.
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Not the most popular opinion, this one. Less government money should be spent on education, as people who receive it reap most of the benefit themselves. The younger the student, the more efficient the investment so public money should be focussed on infants. Grown ups can look after themselves. The defence budget should be increased for these reasons:
1) It’s demand management and gives the government a way to stabilise the business cycle.
2) Research and development will have knock-on effects in other high technology industries.
3) It allows an independence from US policy. You can’t complain about the US sticking its oar in everywhere then demand action from them in Dafur. Other countries (I'm looking at you, Europe) could go their own way more if they could back it up.
Just trying this one out.
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THE GREEN ROOM – Celebrities behind closed doors.
Nicole Kidman wants to make a film with Tom Hanks. “He is vastly underrated,” she said.
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Nicole Kidman wants to make a film with Tom Hanks. “He is vastly underrated,” she said.
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I’m a Celebrity – Update
I missed this last night so I’ll pass you over to a text from Marty, my remote correspondent:
Top stuff again tonight. Joe hanging from a helicopter etc. Vic’s out. Quote: ‘I think Paul’ll be down Old Compton St when he gets out…'
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I missed this last night so I’ll pass you over to a text from Marty, my remote correspondent:
Top stuff again tonight. Joe hanging from a helicopter etc. Vic’s out. Quote: ‘I think Paul’ll be down Old Compton St when he gets out…'
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