In a change to previously-advertised arrangements, I will now not be attending the performance of my Urban Myth at the Urbis centre in Manchester tonight.
'Tis a pity - I was looking forward to seeing what the performers do with it, but … well, to be frank, the organisers kind of dropped the ball in terms of letting we finalists know who won; there were ten of us, and the winner would have their hotel room paid for, which is a pleasing notion, but one that would certainly have affected my plans to travel there. I can't afford to take this afternoon off work and tomorrow morning as well (I get paid on a daily rate), so if I was going to be given a hotel room, then I could arrange to stay there overnight and travel back to London in time for work on Friday. If not, however, I needed to arrange to get to Manchester for the 6pm performance, then home again before the trains stop running, or before it gets so late it's actually early.
To that end, I called the organisers the other week, and asked if they knew when the result would be announced, as it would make a difference to my plans to attend; the lady I spoke to was very friendly, but didn't know, though she gave me an e-mail address to send the query to. I did so, and after a day or so of waiting for a reply I resent the e-mail, this time to a general address on their website. After another day or two had passed, I got a reply stating that the winner had been chosen - it's 'Pencil Suicide' by Daniel Gent (click here to read it, along with the other finalists). My congratulations to Daniel on winning, and for a sharp bit of writing. I like it.
However, the cost of getting the train to Manchester and back in one day (so as to only lose a half-day of paid work) would have been something in the region of £60, and I really can't afford that, so I won't be attending tonight. The Urban Myths performance is a multimedia event, though, so there's a possibility of related material being uploaded on the Web Pages of the Interactive Arts course whose students who are performing. I'll let you know if I hear anything.
Of course, if you’re going to the event, please let me know how it went, and yes, if you could tell me what the 'Light' myth was like, I'd be very grateful. I'm very chuffed indeed to have been one of the finalists, and really not worried about not winning, but I do feel slightly thwarted in my attempts to attend, if that makes any sense. Still, even if I don't get to see my work performed, I can only hope the audience like it, and that the performers have some fun with it.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
And I'm A Registered Voter, So If You're An MP, Please At Least Pretend That What I'm Saying Might Have Some Validity
There's a semi-fuss running in the media at the moment, which runs pretty much along this chronology:
1. Gordon Brown takes over as Prime Minister of the UK
2. Opinion polls are pretty favourable for Brown and his party
3. There's some suggestion that Brown might call a general election sooner rather than later
4. Opposition parties, anticipating the start of an election campaign, state a couple of policies which they'd put in place if they were in power
5. Opinion polls show increased support for the opposition parties
6. Gordon Brown states he won't be holding a general election
7. Media and opposition parties accuse Brown and his party of bottling it
8. Brown's ministers announce new policies, which appear to echo those suggested by the opposition parties
9. Media and opposition accuse Brown and colleagues of stealing policy ideas
I think that about covers it, in essence. To look at the papers or listen to the news today, you'd think that this whole series of events was one of the major political events of recent times.
However, let me tell you something startling but entirely true: Nobody, repeat nobody, I know is talking about any of this.
This is anecdotal stuff, of course, but I like to think it's an accurate reflection of public opinion, grassroots feeling, whatever you want to call it. As I say, no-one I have conversations with has even mentioned this 'burning issue'. The whole brouhaha appears to have been manufactured, stirred up, and perpetuated by the media and MPs themselves (and, of course, their spokesfolks). It has little or no bearing on reality - none of the policies in question have actually come into effect, if indeed they ever will.
I find it a little like turning on the TV, and the channel happens to be showing two characters in a show you don't follow having an argument; there's an implied suggestion that I should care, but I really don't. In fact, the soap opera comparison works pretty well for me, in that - like a soap opera or other form of entertainment - party politics has long been something which I've observed with a sense of detachment, and none of the emotional involvement which the various parties involved would probably like me to have.
The various political parties seem to be behaving as if they feel cheated in various ways, and there's a weird tone of annoyance from the media (I can only assume they'd already started working on their 'Election 2007' graphics, only to find they've been wasting their time), but outside of the Fourth Estate and MPs, nobody I know has been talking about the possibility of a general election, of inheritance tax rules changing, or whether one party has nicked policy ideas from another. I'd like to think that says something about the degree to which people believe that day-to-day political events actually affect them, but that could be my cynicism about this subject over-riding the evidence.
I'm aware that posting this could arguably be pointed to as an example of talking about the items in question, but I think it's a very different thing to point to the absence of something than to produce that thing itself. It's a distinction which has been rather lost in recent times, I know (especially in relation to Iraq, where absence of evidence became seen as evidence of absence - duh), but I like to think that my audience is smart enough to be able to make that distinction (despite the title of this post).
1. Gordon Brown takes over as Prime Minister of the UK
2. Opinion polls are pretty favourable for Brown and his party
3. There's some suggestion that Brown might call a general election sooner rather than later
4. Opposition parties, anticipating the start of an election campaign, state a couple of policies which they'd put in place if they were in power
5. Opinion polls show increased support for the opposition parties
6. Gordon Brown states he won't be holding a general election
7. Media and opposition parties accuse Brown and his party of bottling it
8. Brown's ministers announce new policies, which appear to echo those suggested by the opposition parties
9. Media and opposition accuse Brown and colleagues of stealing policy ideas
I think that about covers it, in essence. To look at the papers or listen to the news today, you'd think that this whole series of events was one of the major political events of recent times.
However, let me tell you something startling but entirely true: Nobody, repeat nobody, I know is talking about any of this.
This is anecdotal stuff, of course, but I like to think it's an accurate reflection of public opinion, grassroots feeling, whatever you want to call it. As I say, no-one I have conversations with has even mentioned this 'burning issue'. The whole brouhaha appears to have been manufactured, stirred up, and perpetuated by the media and MPs themselves (and, of course, their spokesfolks). It has little or no bearing on reality - none of the policies in question have actually come into effect, if indeed they ever will.
I find it a little like turning on the TV, and the channel happens to be showing two characters in a show you don't follow having an argument; there's an implied suggestion that I should care, but I really don't. In fact, the soap opera comparison works pretty well for me, in that - like a soap opera or other form of entertainment - party politics has long been something which I've observed with a sense of detachment, and none of the emotional involvement which the various parties involved would probably like me to have.
The various political parties seem to be behaving as if they feel cheated in various ways, and there's a weird tone of annoyance from the media (I can only assume they'd already started working on their 'Election 2007' graphics, only to find they've been wasting their time), but outside of the Fourth Estate and MPs, nobody I know has been talking about the possibility of a general election, of inheritance tax rules changing, or whether one party has nicked policy ideas from another. I'd like to think that says something about the degree to which people believe that day-to-day political events actually affect them, but that could be my cynicism about this subject over-riding the evidence.
I'm aware that posting this could arguably be pointed to as an example of talking about the items in question, but I think it's a very different thing to point to the absence of something than to produce that thing itself. It's a distinction which has been rather lost in recent times, I know (especially in relation to Iraq, where absence of evidence became seen as evidence of absence - duh), but I like to think that my audience is smart enough to be able to make that distinction (despite the title of this post).
Tuesday, October 09, 2007
A Typo That Spices Up An Otherwise Rather Dull News Report
Second paragraph down.
Given that D and K are several keys apart, either a subeditor's being mischievous or someone's decided to suggest that the reunion's not for entirely music-based reasons...
Given that D and K are several keys apart, either a subeditor's being mischievous or someone's decided to suggest that the reunion's not for entirely music-based reasons...
Ah, It's Ages Yet - Loads Of Time To Train...
Before I did the London Marathon this year, I said to my lovely bride-to-be that after it was over, I'd probably never run again in my life - not even for a bus. "Uh-uh," I predicted I'd say, "I've done a lifetime's worth of running, thanks very much."
She disagreed.
And she is, of course, right: today I've signed up to do the London 10K next May. As I've commented before, I've gained a lot of weight in recent months (I know, the idea that I'm celebrating completing the Marathon is a bit of a lame excuse six months down the line), so this is a perfect excuse for me to lose some of the lard.
Right now, of course, May 2008 seems very distant indeed, but I know full well it'll come hurtling round the corner with shocking speed... something I'm unlikely to do if I don't shed my excess weight, so I'd better start thinking about a training plan.
If you're a Londoner, or even if you're not, why not consider entering? It does costs a bit of money (£25, to be exact), but the atmosphere at the Marathon was terrific, and of course you get to run in what I, as I've said before, genuinely believe to be one of the finest cities in the world...
She disagreed.
And she is, of course, right: today I've signed up to do the London 10K next May. As I've commented before, I've gained a lot of weight in recent months (I know, the idea that I'm celebrating completing the Marathon is a bit of a lame excuse six months down the line), so this is a perfect excuse for me to lose some of the lard.
Right now, of course, May 2008 seems very distant indeed, but I know full well it'll come hurtling round the corner with shocking speed... something I'm unlikely to do if I don't shed my excess weight, so I'd better start thinking about a training plan.
If you're a Londoner, or even if you're not, why not consider entering? It does costs a bit of money (£25, to be exact), but the atmosphere at the Marathon was terrific, and of course you get to run in what I, as I've said before, genuinely believe to be one of the finest cities in the world...
Monday, October 08, 2007
LINK : Feist For The Eyes
All too often on this blog, I fear I come over as a jaded curmudgeon, instead of the cheery optimist I actually am (stop snickering at the back).
Which is why I want to share this with you - a charmingly fun video, it made me smile at the sheer amount of joy that they seemed to be having. It seems to be in one take, though if that was the case, I have no idea how they achieved that trick at the end.
Not that it matters: I love the grins and whoops of delight.
Which is why I want to share this with you - a charmingly fun video, it made me smile at the sheer amount of joy that they seemed to be having. It seems to be in one take, though if that was the case, I have no idea how they achieved that trick at the end.
Not that it matters: I love the grins and whoops of delight.
Yes, I Am Evolved Enough That I Don't Feel The Need To Pretend That Something Is Inherently Good Just Because I Enjoy It
Well, now that The X Factor judges have chosen the finalists, and the series moves to the point where semi-competent singers are singing all the time, my interest has completely dissolved, and I won't bother watching it any more.
I've heard this called 'ironic watching' of such programmes, but make no mistake, there's no irony at all about my stance: I like to watch the terrible and freakish performances of the horribly deluded, some of whom are staggeringly arrogant and/or rude when told they're not that good. There's no irony or archness in it, I'm straightforwardly laughing. Though if schadenfreude is ironic, then maybe I'm guilty.
The only fun-dampener for me, though, has been the way that they've started milking the moment when contestants find out if they're in or not. Instead of just padding it out with reaction or ambient shots or whatever, they've made the judges say ridiculously redundant and tortuous lines. To the extent that I wonder if they've had to reshoot because of exchanges like:
Judge: " Well, as you know, we only have three places…and so… we've had a very difficult decision to make about you… and we have … not… decided that you … will… not… be going… to have to stay… at home…"
Contestant: "Um, so am I in, or out?"
I've heard this called 'ironic watching' of such programmes, but make no mistake, there's no irony at all about my stance: I like to watch the terrible and freakish performances of the horribly deluded, some of whom are staggeringly arrogant and/or rude when told they're not that good. There's no irony or archness in it, I'm straightforwardly laughing. Though if schadenfreude is ironic, then maybe I'm guilty.
The only fun-dampener for me, though, has been the way that they've started milking the moment when contestants find out if they're in or not. Instead of just padding it out with reaction or ambient shots or whatever, they've made the judges say ridiculously redundant and tortuous lines. To the extent that I wonder if they've had to reshoot because of exchanges like:
Judge: " Well, as you know, we only have three places…and so… we've had a very difficult decision to make about you… and we have … not… decided that you … will… not… be going… to have to stay… at home…"
Contestant: "Um, so am I in, or out?"
Saturday, October 06, 2007
LINK: A Better Writer Than I
There's a poem which we read at school; embarrassingly, its name and/or author escapes me now, but basically it was in praise of a dictionary, saying that there is little that the author could say because every word he might use was in the dictionary already. All books, I seem to remember he said, were dwarfed when placed next to the dictionary.
It's not quite that extreme, but I feel a slightly sense of threat, that I (and many others) might rapidly be outclassed and out-talented in the blogging stakes by the fact that Stephen Fry has recently started blogging.
So far he's posted two long essays, and I hope he gets the time to post more...
It's not quite that extreme, but I feel a slightly sense of threat, that I (and many others) might rapidly be outclassed and out-talented in the blogging stakes by the fact that Stephen Fry has recently started blogging.
So far he's posted two long essays, and I hope he gets the time to post more...
A Public Service Announcement
Given that the Post Office are currently striking (those of us who've been subject to their rather interesting interpretations of 'delivery' might say it's hard to spot the difference), it's been announced that South West Screen will be adopting a pragmatic approach to applications for their Digital Shorts deadline (12th Oct). Which is a good and sensible thing, if you ask me.
Thanks to Martin Adams for letting me know this, and asking me to pass it on.
Thanks to Martin Adams for letting me know this, and asking me to pass it on.
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Besides, It Might Actually Be Covertly Advertising 'Drumsticks', The Lollies Made By A Rival
There's been a lot of 'excitement' about a recent advert featuring a drum-playing gorilla. It's an advert for chocolate, so I can't really claim disdain for the product, but…
…well, the thing is, it's kind of unusual as an ad, but given the fuss made about it online (which, granted, may well be that 'viral marketing' I occasionally hear about) you'd think it was the funniest thing in the history of the world, and let's be honest, it really isn't.
Oh, sure, it features an ape - and I know a lot of people find apes inherently funny, for reasons I can't begin to fathom - but if it was in a comedy programme, it wouldn't hold up that well, would it? It’s the sort of thing which, in and of itself, isn’t actually that funny, and I can imagine it as one of those slightly odd end-of-show items you'd get in a programme like Big Train - imagine it with the credits rolling along the bottom of the screen. A sort of half-notion for an item, but not fully fleshed out beyond the initial premise.
I've long held that we expect different levels of comedy or humour in different circumstances; jokes made by MPs, for example, are often startlingly humour-free, as was brilliantly demonstrated some years ago by the cast of the BBC2 programme 'The Friday Night Armistice', when they took jokes which had been made by MPs (and laughed at by their colleagues) and performed them in a comedy club. The result, unsurprisingly, was a total lack of laughter from the audience. Whilst comedians often seem to know a lot about politics, it seems the reverse is not the case.
Similarly, a lot of people seem to laugh out loud at text message jokes, compared with people laughing at books, magazines or comics. I think it's probably something to do with the immediacy of the means of delivery - whilst you have to seek out the printed page, if a friend decides to send you a text joke, it's there in your hand, on the screen, through the eyes and into the brain. And the element of the unexpected may come into play - when you get a text, it could well be 'how r U, m8?', so when it's a joke and it comes as a surprise, I suspect that has added impact. Back in the days when I used to do stand-up comedy, I occasionally used to lament that I couldn't do the act by text, as people seem to laugh more readily at those, which lowers the bar somewhat (though my critics might argue that the bar would have to be subterranean before I could count on getting any laughs).
Mind you, I'm not necessarily knocking the fact that in certain circumstances, the audience is more tolerant than in others; within the next twelve months, I have a Groom's Speech and a Best Man's Speech to make (no, not at the same event), and a part of me is already relying on the fact that the crowd will be 'on my side' in that situation. Especially when I'm the Groom, as I'm buying the audience dinner. In fact, perhaps I shall make their dinner contingent on the amount of applause and cheers my speech garners…
Anyway, to conclude: the Drumming Gorilla advert? Mildly diverting, but not the great thing so many people are claiming it to be File it, I think, next to 'Vindaloo' by Fat Les or 'Road to Amarillo' by Tony Christie and Peter Kay. Which is to say that in the not-too-distant future, people I know might feel slightly embarrassed to have got so giddy about it. Though I shall, in my evil way, take great pride in reminding them of the fact.
Mwhoohahahahaaaah.
…well, the thing is, it's kind of unusual as an ad, but given the fuss made about it online (which, granted, may well be that 'viral marketing' I occasionally hear about) you'd think it was the funniest thing in the history of the world, and let's be honest, it really isn't.
Oh, sure, it features an ape - and I know a lot of people find apes inherently funny, for reasons I can't begin to fathom - but if it was in a comedy programme, it wouldn't hold up that well, would it? It’s the sort of thing which, in and of itself, isn’t actually that funny, and I can imagine it as one of those slightly odd end-of-show items you'd get in a programme like Big Train - imagine it with the credits rolling along the bottom of the screen. A sort of half-notion for an item, but not fully fleshed out beyond the initial premise.
I've long held that we expect different levels of comedy or humour in different circumstances; jokes made by MPs, for example, are often startlingly humour-free, as was brilliantly demonstrated some years ago by the cast of the BBC2 programme 'The Friday Night Armistice', when they took jokes which had been made by MPs (and laughed at by their colleagues) and performed them in a comedy club. The result, unsurprisingly, was a total lack of laughter from the audience. Whilst comedians often seem to know a lot about politics, it seems the reverse is not the case.
Similarly, a lot of people seem to laugh out loud at text message jokes, compared with people laughing at books, magazines or comics. I think it's probably something to do with the immediacy of the means of delivery - whilst you have to seek out the printed page, if a friend decides to send you a text joke, it's there in your hand, on the screen, through the eyes and into the brain. And the element of the unexpected may come into play - when you get a text, it could well be 'how r U, m8?', so when it's a joke and it comes as a surprise, I suspect that has added impact. Back in the days when I used to do stand-up comedy, I occasionally used to lament that I couldn't do the act by text, as people seem to laugh more readily at those, which lowers the bar somewhat (though my critics might argue that the bar would have to be subterranean before I could count on getting any laughs).
Mind you, I'm not necessarily knocking the fact that in certain circumstances, the audience is more tolerant than in others; within the next twelve months, I have a Groom's Speech and a Best Man's Speech to make (no, not at the same event), and a part of me is already relying on the fact that the crowd will be 'on my side' in that situation. Especially when I'm the Groom, as I'm buying the audience dinner. In fact, perhaps I shall make their dinner contingent on the amount of applause and cheers my speech garners…
Anyway, to conclude: the Drumming Gorilla advert? Mildly diverting, but not the great thing so many people are claiming it to be File it, I think, next to 'Vindaloo' by Fat Les or 'Road to Amarillo' by Tony Christie and Peter Kay. Which is to say that in the not-too-distant future, people I know might feel slightly embarrassed to have got so giddy about it. Though I shall, in my evil way, take great pride in reminding them of the fact.
Mwhoohahahahaaaah.
Tuesday, October 02, 2007
As They Used To Say In 'Nemesis The Warlock' in 2000AD, Spread The Word
Lucy of Write Here, Write Now has asked me to pass on the fact that, and I quote from her e-mail, "The winner of SW Screen's Screenwriter Development Competition has been delayed and will now be announced on October 16th instead."
Please amend your diary accordingly.
Okay, Lucy, I've done what you asked. Now can I have my money?
Please amend your diary accordingly.
Okay, Lucy, I've done what you asked. Now can I have my money?
Friday, September 28, 2007
Trailer Bash
Let's get this straight: I have seen neither of the programmes I'm about to ramble about. But I have seen the trailers, and I'm going to comment on whether or not I think they work in making one want to watch them…. No, that's not true; I'm going to explain why both trailers fail to make me want to watch the programmes.
Secret Diary Of A Call Girl (ITV2)
Based on the blog-turned-book by Belle de Jour, the trailer - and indeed the press advertising - makes much of the fact that the star of this show is Billie 'Rose Tyler' Piper. In fact, all the promotional stuff seems very much geared towards making you want to see Billie Piper in underwear, bondage gear, or maybe less. I don't know if she takes her clothes off for the camera, and frankly I'm so uninterested that it’s almost interesting on a psychological level.
Belle's a prostitute, that much is clear from the title, but the trailer tells us little else. Given that several of my friends said the book wasn't much cop, and I have little interest in seeing Billie Piper nude (well, using that phrase should help with the Google hits on my blog), the trailer fails to get me to watch. And this I can prove empirically, as the programme was on last night, and I didn't watch. Q., as they say, E.D.
The Life And Times Of Vivienne Vyle (BBC2)
A new comedy series written by and starring Jennifer Saunders, she plays a talk-show host who seem to live up to her surname once the camera stops rolling. For my money, the name of the show is a bit weak - yes, it's a semi-joke on Jeremy Kyle, but that's about it. As for the premise, we've seen this set-up previously in The Larry Sanders Show, and as the trailer suggests that Saunders is using the same delivery and mannerisms as her Edina Monsoon character in Absolutely Fabulous, it doesn't look like anything we haven't seen before elsewhere.
Bit of a pity, really, as Saunders can be a versatile comedy actor (see her Comic Strip work) and writer (she invariably gave the best lines in Absolutely Fabulous to other characters), but this looks like a distinctly missable show.
Incidentally, the Vyle show is one of a number of shows being trailed on BBC2 under the heading of 'Thursdays Are Funny', a themed strand beginning next Thursday evening. Presumably this is a tacit admission by BBC2 that the current shows in these slots - Mock The Week and Saxondale - are not funny?
Secret Diary Of A Call Girl (ITV2)
Based on the blog-turned-book by Belle de Jour, the trailer - and indeed the press advertising - makes much of the fact that the star of this show is Billie 'Rose Tyler' Piper. In fact, all the promotional stuff seems very much geared towards making you want to see Billie Piper in underwear, bondage gear, or maybe less. I don't know if she takes her clothes off for the camera, and frankly I'm so uninterested that it’s almost interesting on a psychological level.
Belle's a prostitute, that much is clear from the title, but the trailer tells us little else. Given that several of my friends said the book wasn't much cop, and I have little interest in seeing Billie Piper nude (well, using that phrase should help with the Google hits on my blog), the trailer fails to get me to watch. And this I can prove empirically, as the programme was on last night, and I didn't watch. Q., as they say, E.D.
The Life And Times Of Vivienne Vyle (BBC2)
A new comedy series written by and starring Jennifer Saunders, she plays a talk-show host who seem to live up to her surname once the camera stops rolling. For my money, the name of the show is a bit weak - yes, it's a semi-joke on Jeremy Kyle, but that's about it. As for the premise, we've seen this set-up previously in The Larry Sanders Show, and as the trailer suggests that Saunders is using the same delivery and mannerisms as her Edina Monsoon character in Absolutely Fabulous, it doesn't look like anything we haven't seen before elsewhere.
Bit of a pity, really, as Saunders can be a versatile comedy actor (see her Comic Strip work) and writer (she invariably gave the best lines in Absolutely Fabulous to other characters), but this looks like a distinctly missable show.
Incidentally, the Vyle show is one of a number of shows being trailed on BBC2 under the heading of 'Thursdays Are Funny', a themed strand beginning next Thursday evening. Presumably this is a tacit admission by BBC2 that the current shows in these slots - Mock The Week and Saxondale - are not funny?
Yes, I'm Advocating You Join the Kit-Kat Club
Many years ago, I was helping an ex-girlfriend (those of you who know me well can readily guess who I'm talking about) to type up her final college dissertation. I'm quite a fast typist to this day, and was certainly one of the faster typists in my circle of friends at the time, and as she was struggling to get it done on time (and probably in some pathetic attempt to make her re-consider my ex- status; I hadn't grown a spine or self-respect at that point in my life), I offered to help out.
Helping out involved not only typing in the contents of the dissertation, but also staying late into the night (well, the early morning really) and helping her move great chunks of text around in order to restructure the work to increase its comprehensibility (it was an English Literature dissertation, so I'll leave you to make your own remark about whether that effort meant I was inherently on a hiding to nothing). Anyway, this meant I was there until about 3am, by which point my eyes were stinging with screen burn, my hands were aching, and of course, I was tired (never a good thing for me; my judgment goes wonky when I'm excessively tired or hungry). I said we should stop and take a break - get a cup of tea, or whatever - but she insisted we ploughed on.
It's a dilemma you often come across in work situations, I find: you have to get X done by a set time, and you've been slogging at it as the deadline approaches, but you really fancy a cup of tea or coffee or a biccie or similar, but that'll take ten mins and you really don't have the time. What to do?
The answer, simply, is: For God's Sake, Take A Break. Take ten minutes away from whatever it is that's eating your time (and very possibly your mind), and you will work far better afterwards. A cup of tea, a nap, a visit to the loo, or just staring out of the window can be just the thing to pep you up a bit, and that'll mean that the work you do thereafter will be much better. In fact, in the same way that I maintain that if you're thinking about staying up all night, your thought processes are clearly frazzled and you ought to go to bed, I'd say that if you're unsure if you should just 'power through' and try to meet that deadline, the answer is almost certainly no.
All this came to my mind because I've been working quite hard the past few days (hence the absence of posting) to make sure that my entry for the Red Planet Prize is ready for the start of October. But on Wednesday morning I was feeling (in much the same way that I'd been concerned my characters are spending too much time in one location) that I’d been spending too much time in the minor details of the story and was losing sight of the overall arc of it, and so I decided to take the evening off.
Lo and behold, when I clicked the Red Planet site on Thursday morning to see if there was any news on the competition, there was a note there (see previous link above) saying about how they'd be contacting people in mid-October. So as well as feeling better about the screenplay, I have a couple of extra weeks to fine-tune, polish and tweak it, should they want to see more.
Incidentally, the ex- got a very good mark for her dissertation, and when I said something like "I like to think my contribution played a small part in that", she denied that I'd been involved at all in it, the ungrateful wretch. Still, we all know what happens to people who are rude on their way up, don't we?
Helping out involved not only typing in the contents of the dissertation, but also staying late into the night (well, the early morning really) and helping her move great chunks of text around in order to restructure the work to increase its comprehensibility (it was an English Literature dissertation, so I'll leave you to make your own remark about whether that effort meant I was inherently on a hiding to nothing). Anyway, this meant I was there until about 3am, by which point my eyes were stinging with screen burn, my hands were aching, and of course, I was tired (never a good thing for me; my judgment goes wonky when I'm excessively tired or hungry). I said we should stop and take a break - get a cup of tea, or whatever - but she insisted we ploughed on.
It's a dilemma you often come across in work situations, I find: you have to get X done by a set time, and you've been slogging at it as the deadline approaches, but you really fancy a cup of tea or coffee or a biccie or similar, but that'll take ten mins and you really don't have the time. What to do?
The answer, simply, is: For God's Sake, Take A Break. Take ten minutes away from whatever it is that's eating your time (and very possibly your mind), and you will work far better afterwards. A cup of tea, a nap, a visit to the loo, or just staring out of the window can be just the thing to pep you up a bit, and that'll mean that the work you do thereafter will be much better. In fact, in the same way that I maintain that if you're thinking about staying up all night, your thought processes are clearly frazzled and you ought to go to bed, I'd say that if you're unsure if you should just 'power through' and try to meet that deadline, the answer is almost certainly no.
All this came to my mind because I've been working quite hard the past few days (hence the absence of posting) to make sure that my entry for the Red Planet Prize is ready for the start of October. But on Wednesday morning I was feeling (in much the same way that I'd been concerned my characters are spending too much time in one location) that I’d been spending too much time in the minor details of the story and was losing sight of the overall arc of it, and so I decided to take the evening off.
Lo and behold, when I clicked the Red Planet site on Thursday morning to see if there was any news on the competition, there was a note there (see previous link above) saying about how they'd be contacting people in mid-October. So as well as feeling better about the screenplay, I have a couple of extra weeks to fine-tune, polish and tweak it, should they want to see more.
Incidentally, the ex- got a very good mark for her dissertation, and when I said something like "I like to think my contribution played a small part in that", she denied that I'd been involved at all in it, the ungrateful wretch. Still, we all know what happens to people who are rude on their way up, don't we?
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
You Don't Hear About Agrarian Myths Very Often, Do You?
Regular readers may recall that I'm one of the finalists in the Manchester Literature Festival Urban Myths Event.
Well, for those of you who can't make it to the city on the night in question to see the event, and for the couple of you've who've asked to see my urban myth, you can now see the entries here - if you click the link, mine is the eighth one down.
I'd be interested to hear what you think of it, so please feel free to post a comment. Oh, and I don't know yet which is the winning entry, but I'll be sure to let you know either way.
Well, for those of you who can't make it to the city on the night in question to see the event, and for the couple of you've who've asked to see my urban myth, you can now see the entries here - if you click the link, mine is the eighth one down.
I'd be interested to hear what you think of it, so please feel free to post a comment. Oh, and I don't know yet which is the winning entry, but I'll be sure to let you know either way.
"We Don't Do, Never Have Done, Never Will Do Conflict Resolution!"*
As you may have heard, a judge has criticised The Jeremy Kyle Show.
My favourite quote in the report : 'District Judge Alan Berg said the ITV1 daytime programme was "trash" and existed to "titillate bored members of the public with nothing better to do".'
But surely the clues are there: A programme on ITV1 during the daytime? If you're watching a programme that falls into both those categories, you really do have to be bored, with nothing better to do.
*From 'Jerry Springer - The Opera'. Ignore the ill-informed criticisms, it's actually a very funny, musically accomplished, and rather wise piece of work. Get the DVD and see what I mean.
My favourite quote in the report : 'District Judge Alan Berg said the ITV1 daytime programme was "trash" and existed to "titillate bored members of the public with nothing better to do".'
But surely the clues are there: A programme on ITV1 during the daytime? If you're watching a programme that falls into both those categories, you really do have to be bored, with nothing better to do.
*From 'Jerry Springer - The Opera'. Ignore the ill-informed criticisms, it's actually a very funny, musically accomplished, and rather wise piece of work. Get the DVD and see what I mean.
Monday, September 24, 2007
Pause For Thought
Ferociously busy today, so very little time to post, but wanted to share a quote which I'm led to believe is from the Aitareya Upanishad, a Hindu text:
"We are like the spider. We weave our life and then move along in it. We are like the dreamer who dreams and then lives in the dream. This is true for the entire universe."
Rather astute, I'd say. I shall leave you to mull it over until normal service (or what passes for it) resumes tomorrow.
"We are like the spider. We weave our life and then move along in it. We are like the dreamer who dreams and then lives in the dream. This is true for the entire universe."
Rather astute, I'd say. I shall leave you to mull it over until normal service (or what passes for it) resumes tomorrow.
Friday, September 21, 2007
I'm A Vegetarian, So Getting Enough Iron Is A Challenge For Me. Irony, On The Other Hand, Seems Plentiful These Days.
"I'm so bored with everything I've heard in the last two years. It's just been so repetitive, so borrowing from the past." - John Lydon, quoted on the BBC News Entertainment website
That's John Lydon of the Sex Pistols, who've just agreed to play a reunion gig in November.
It's not just me, is it ? I mean, you see it, right? Right?
Oh dear, I might be having one of my moments again, seeing irony where there is none. I blame Alanis.
That's John Lydon of the Sex Pistols, who've just agreed to play a reunion gig in November.
It's not just me, is it ? I mean, you see it, right? Right?
Oh dear, I might be having one of my moments again, seeing irony where there is none. I blame Alanis.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Nicely Phrased, But In The End It's a 'No'
Clever bit of wriggling from Sainsbury's there.What they really should have put was:
'Paying by cheque?
Oh no you're not!'
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
A Winner ! And, Er... A Non-Winner
Congratulations are due to David Bishop for winning the 2007 PAGE Screenwriting Awards with his script 'Danny's Toys'. I won't pretend to have read the script in question, but I've met David once or twice and he's always been a friendly chap, and if you read his blog on a regular basis it's painfully obvious that he's one of those smart cookies who is able to apply his mind both to the creative and the practical side of writing. Well done to him, I say!
I, on the other hand, have been notified that I didn't win the Acid Theatre Monologue Writing Competition , which I entered recently. Still, they were good enough to let me know swiftly, and of course it means I now have a 30-minute stage monologue in my portfolio, and I learned a few things both whilst writing and researching it, so it was far from wasted time.
I, on the other hand, have been notified that I didn't win the Acid Theatre Monologue Writing Competition , which I entered recently. Still, they were good enough to let me know swiftly, and of course it means I now have a 30-minute stage monologue in my portfolio, and I learned a few things both whilst writing and researching it, so it was far from wasted time.
"Wenn ist das Nunstück git und Slotermeyer?"
"Ja! ... Beiherhund das Oder die Flipperwaldt gersput."
Monty Python's Funniest Joke in the world there, safely translated into German, in tribute to the fact that Blogger is currently showing various items onscreen auf Deutsch. Very odd.
'Sie können HTML-Tags verwenden', apparently.
Monty Python's Funniest Joke in the world there, safely translated into German, in tribute to the fact that Blogger is currently showing various items onscreen auf Deutsch. Very odd.
'Sie können HTML-Tags verwenden', apparently.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Let Me Take You By The Hand
… and lead you through the streets of London, where, within 48 hours, I saw the following people of varying note:
Michael Portillo at a tube station in a bow tie and dinner suit
Helen from Big Brother 2 outside Sainsburys in Central London
Russ Spencer (also known as the rather burly blonde-haired chap) from Scooch walking near Embankment
John Simpson, Broadcaster and Writer, boarding a train at Waterloo
Didn't speak to any of them, didn't feel the urge to, or anything like that. Just like the fact that I live in a city where people I see onscreen are also the people I pass in the street.
Michael Portillo at a tube station in a bow tie and dinner suit
Helen from Big Brother 2 outside Sainsburys in Central London
Russ Spencer (also known as the rather burly blonde-haired chap) from Scooch walking near Embankment
John Simpson, Broadcaster and Writer, boarding a train at Waterloo
Didn't speak to any of them, didn't feel the urge to, or anything like that. Just like the fact that I live in a city where people I see onscreen are also the people I pass in the street.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
REVIEW: 'Lost Girls' by Alan Moore and Melinda Gebbie
Probably a good thing my parents don't read this blog (or at least I don't think they do), as Lost Girls is, by its creators' cheerful admission, a work of pornography. It's an unusual format - three hardcover volumes in a slipcase, making it unsuitable for one-handed reading) - and the medium it's presented in - comics - is hardly the obvious choice either.However, Alan Moore (writer) and Melinda Gebbie (artist) have more in mind here than the clichéd 'woman answering the door to the plumber in a babydoll nightie' stuff, as the Lost Girls of the title are Alice, Wendy and Dorothy, whose names you may well recognise from other works of fiction. The three characters meet in a Swiss hotel on the brink of World War I, and, as well as various encounters with other guests (and the staff) at the hotel, they share tales of their pasts - most of which are, yes, sexual, but which are also re-tellings of their stories in a sexual way; for example, Dorothy's experience of being whisked away by a tornado is revealed to have been the afternoon she first had an orgasm.
The artwork by Gebbie is interesting; to my untrained eye, a lot of it resembles a mixture of pastels and watercolour paint work, which frequently makes it look like the paintings in a children's book (appropriate given the origins of the characters and the format), and adds a slightly dream-like quality to things. There are pages with clear, solid linework, but these are rare, as if reality's the exception and not the rule. There are differing panel shapes and art styles too, depending on whose tale is being told, and this works pretty well, and even when the panels are filled with tangled limbs and fleshtones, there's rarely any problem knowing what's going on, or who's speaking, which is something a lot of comics without pornographic intentions could benefit from.
You're probably wondering about the sexual stuff (though this is hardly a work likely to be bought solely on the basis of its potential for arousal) - wonder no more: there's a whole stack of sex in this book, between men and women, women and women, men and men, and pretty much every other variation - voyeurism, orgies, incest, bestiality, and almost anything else you can think of. Some bits of it might float your boat, others might not, as what is and isn't sexy or arousing is very much a personal thing. Still, there's pretty much something for everyone here - and of course, that means there's a lot of stuff which won't be everyone's bag.
Now we're past that pressing issue, I can comment on the story; for me, it was clever, though flawed - the main flaw being that all the stories effectively amount to ones of sexual awakening, as Alice, Wendy and Dorothy are all young in the original texts; we get three women of varying ages in the story's present telling tales of their youth. To my mind, this is rather limited, and I would have been interested to see stories spanning more of the women's lives. And whilst the sex stuff is kind of interesting and diverting (and occasionally slightly challenging, on the level of “okay, I'm not really into that particular activity”), it sometimes seems a bit of a hindrance when it comes to the telling of the tales - indeed, most of the third volume is comprised of the three women in a variety of sexual situations and costumes and roles, telling each other their tales whilst having it away, and sometimes the little 'present day interruptions' to the storytelling feel kind of jarring.
The story's set in the run-up to the First World War, and there's quite a good sense of something looming, that this rather carefree time at the Hotel will soon be gone, though to be honest I felt the end was a little unclear on what was being said; there's a good point made earlier in Book 3 about how war is just the opposite of sex (all that energy expended on something horrific and destructive as opposed to enjoyable and potentially creative), and I think the final page or so is making the same point again, though in visual terms (I have a sneaking suspicion that I may have missed something painfully obvious here though, so feel free to e-mail me or post a comment). It reminds me slightly of the end of Blackadder Goes Forth in tone, however, which isn't a bad thing at all.
For me, Lost Girls was more interesting than arousing, and more ambitious than successful, but I think it was worth reading, and certainly worth the creators' time - as if anticipating a possible media fuss about the book (which is currently not on general release in the UK, ostensibly for copyright reasons) and its depictions, there's a clever comment about artists' rights to say whatever they want, and the difference between reality and fiction: "Only madmen and magistrates cannot discriminate between them", says one character, in the same way that the South Park film contained a pre-emptive strike at the obvious criticisms.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
As For My Own Appearance… Well, It Must Be A Face - It's Got Ears
Are any other writer-types going to the Writer's Guild BBC Event on Thursday evening ?
I am, and if you want to say hello, please don't be shy - I'll be the tallish one in the suit (yes, going there straight from work).
If you are going, please feel free to leave a comment here, or drop me a line at john@johnsoanes.co.uk. It'd be good to put faces to some of the names I see onscreen so regularly.
I am, and if you want to say hello, please don't be shy - I'll be the tallish one in the suit (yes, going there straight from work).
If you are going, please feel free to leave a comment here, or drop me a line at john@johnsoanes.co.uk. It'd be good to put faces to some of the names I see onscreen so regularly.
Didn't 'Frantic' Magazine Claim It Was "Number Two In A Field Of One"?
You may recall I mentioned that I've sent off an entry to the Red Planet Prize a couple of weeks ago.
Well, unsurprisingly, there's been a lot of interest - indeed, Red Planet head honcho Tony Jordan says "We've had around two thousand entries to the competition…"
If you entered and are feeling a bit glum about the odds of you winning, or even making it through to the next round, then think about how this lady must feel.
Well, unsurprisingly, there's been a lot of interest - indeed, Red Planet head honcho Tony Jordan says "We've had around two thousand entries to the competition…"
If you entered and are feeling a bit glum about the odds of you winning, or even making it through to the next round, then think about how this lady must feel.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
"I remember where I was when I heard the news. I was watching the news."*
When people remember news events, they often claim to have been in notable places at the time they found out about them. This isn’t always accurate – and indeed I think that there was research done which found that a lot of people claimed to have been ‘on the beach’ or similar when they heard Kennedy had been shot, but simple research showed that this wasn’t true; often, it seems, we rewrite events in the past to meet present emotional needs.
However, for me, ‘where I was when I heard the news’ is often quite mundane – I found out my Degree results in the Boston Dining Room of Butlins in Skegness, for example – or even dull: if asked where I was when I heard a certain news event, chances are the honest are will be that I was at my desk, be it at school, college or home. I wish it was more dramatic, but as you may have gathered by now, I try to be as accurate and honest in my recollections of events as possible.
Anyway, six years ago today, I was at work when I heard about the terrorist attack on the World Trade Centre. There was a lot of uncertainty, partly brought about by the fact we couldn’t get the news up online (everyone else had the same thought, it seems), and this was amplified by the fact we were in a government building in the heart of Westminster.
Various bits of information came in via e-mails and phone calls from the outside world, but I distinctly recall being fascinated by the way that people's worst fears were given voice, and upgraded from notion to rumour.
"I've just got off the phone to my daughter in America," my boss said. "She says there are fifty planes in the air which the authorities can't account for."
"Are you sure about that?" I asked, not wanting to be rude about her daughter - this was my boss talking, after all. "We haven't heard anything like that from anywhere else…"
"Heard anything like what?" said a colleague who'd just entered the room.
"There are fifty planes unaccounted for in the sky over America," my boss said, and with the mere act of dropping a few words off the front of that sentence - the key ones about where she'd heard this and from whom - it jumped up the ladder to near-fact (helped, of course, by her status in the office).
What happened on September 11 six years ago was, obviously, a very bad thing indeed. But lying about it - whether it be about the terrorists being linked to Iraq (a commonly-held belief, it seems, and one for which there is no evidence at all), or about what we were doing and with whom when we heard the news - or otherwise allowing rationality and intelligence to slip does the memory of those who died a disservice. There's enough sloppy thinking and even sloppier talking in relation to this subject, and we don't need any more; in fact, it's loose thinking that led to the events in question, and I think we need to be better than that.
*The ever-quotable Stephen Fry, in 'A Bit Of Fry And Laurie'
However, for me, ‘where I was when I heard the news’ is often quite mundane – I found out my Degree results in the Boston Dining Room of Butlins in Skegness, for example – or even dull: if asked where I was when I heard a certain news event, chances are the honest are will be that I was at my desk, be it at school, college or home. I wish it was more dramatic, but as you may have gathered by now, I try to be as accurate and honest in my recollections of events as possible.
Anyway, six years ago today, I was at work when I heard about the terrorist attack on the World Trade Centre. There was a lot of uncertainty, partly brought about by the fact we couldn’t get the news up online (everyone else had the same thought, it seems), and this was amplified by the fact we were in a government building in the heart of Westminster.
Various bits of information came in via e-mails and phone calls from the outside world, but I distinctly recall being fascinated by the way that people's worst fears were given voice, and upgraded from notion to rumour.
"I've just got off the phone to my daughter in America," my boss said. "She says there are fifty planes in the air which the authorities can't account for."
"Are you sure about that?" I asked, not wanting to be rude about her daughter - this was my boss talking, after all. "We haven't heard anything like that from anywhere else…"
"Heard anything like what?" said a colleague who'd just entered the room.
"There are fifty planes unaccounted for in the sky over America," my boss said, and with the mere act of dropping a few words off the front of that sentence - the key ones about where she'd heard this and from whom - it jumped up the ladder to near-fact (helped, of course, by her status in the office).
What happened on September 11 six years ago was, obviously, a very bad thing indeed. But lying about it - whether it be about the terrorists being linked to Iraq (a commonly-held belief, it seems, and one for which there is no evidence at all), or about what we were doing and with whom when we heard the news - or otherwise allowing rationality and intelligence to slip does the memory of those who died a disservice. There's enough sloppy thinking and even sloppier talking in relation to this subject, and we don't need any more; in fact, it's loose thinking that led to the events in question, and I think we need to be better than that.
*The ever-quotable Stephen Fry, in 'A Bit Of Fry And Laurie'
Monday, September 10, 2007
LINK: Well, Six Of Them, But Hey, Who's Counting?
Back in July, I posted about my friends Martin and Mathew and how they were performing at the Edinburgh Fringe, in a show they'd written, called Half Life Crisis.
Well, the show took place - and went rather well, by all accounts - but unlike those people whose achievements are writ in water, this internet age and the availability of video facilities means that those of us who couldn't make it to Scotland to see it can still see some bits of it.
And so, laydeez and gennelmen, without further ado, I give you...
How consultancy could have helped the Cree Nation
and
What 2001 would look like if Windows had been used
If you like it so much you want to donate to the chaps' choice of charity, please do so here.
Well, the show took place - and went rather well, by all accounts - but unlike those people whose achievements are writ in water, this internet age and the availability of video facilities means that those of us who couldn't make it to Scotland to see it can still see some bits of it.
And so, laydeez and gennelmen, without further ado, I give you...
How consultancy could have helped the Cree Nation
and
What 2001 would look like if Windows had been used
If you like it so much you want to donate to the chaps' choice of charity, please do so here.
Friday, September 07, 2007
Um, Maybe He Will Have To Give Up The Day Job
So, I hear that 50 Cent has said he'll give up his solo work if Kanye West's album sell more than his (they're both released on Monday).
I don't think Mr West has made a similar bargain, but here are some lyrics from 50 Cent's latest single, co-performed with Justin Timberlake:
"Aayooh
I'm tired of using technology, why don't you sit down on top of me
Aayooh
I'm tired of using technology, I need you right in front of me
Ooh, she wants it, uh uh, she wants it
Ooh, she wants it, uh uh (soo), I got to give it to her
Your hips, your thighs, they got me hypnotized, let me tell you
Your hips, your thighs, they got me hypnotized, let me tell you
Your hips, your thighs, they got me hypnotized, let me tell you
Your hips, your thighs, they got me hypnotized, let me tell you"
Marvellous.
I don't think Mr West has made a similar bargain, but here are some lyrics from 50 Cent's latest single, co-performed with Justin Timberlake:
"Aayooh
I'm tired of using technology, why don't you sit down on top of me
Aayooh
I'm tired of using technology, I need you right in front of me
Ooh, she wants it, uh uh, she wants it
Ooh, she wants it, uh uh (soo), I got to give it to her
Your hips, your thighs, they got me hypnotized, let me tell you
Your hips, your thighs, they got me hypnotized, let me tell you
Your hips, your thighs, they got me hypnotized, let me tell you
Your hips, your thighs, they got me hypnotized, let me tell you"
Marvellous.
It Is A Truth Universally Acknowledged, That A Single Man In Possession Of Stray Thoughts, Must Be In Want Of A Wife*
1. I've recently discovered, and thoroughly like, Word Magazine. Each issue has a free CD, but that doesn't mean it's all music - there are features on film, TV and books, and I like the general approach they take. Well worth your time and money, and their free weekly podcast is a lot of fun too (have a look for it on iTunes).
2. Speaking of things musical, is it just me, or does Robyn (with that song about - and possibly even titled - 'Every Heartbeat') sound a lot like Kate Bush?
3. And speaking even more of musical things, I note that once again whoever's doing the incidental music for X-Factor appears to be doing so by breaking into my home at night and using my CDs as the source material. Granted, that mainly involves the CDs by Craig Armstrong and Rob Dougan, but still…
4. Had another eye test (post-laser surgery) this morning, and my vision is better than 20-20. Am vaguely disappointed that the improvement hasn't led me to develop X-ray vision and the like, but I guess that's only fair as it wasn't covered by the paperwork.
5. The London Tube strike this week, since you ask, did affect me (and my beloved) a bit, though it could have been worse. One trick which many people seem to miss is that there are boats which run east and west along the Thames, and which you can pay to travel on. Not exactly the vaporetti of Venice, granted, but beats a crowded bus or train. But shh, don't tell anyone I suggested it.
6. I've never had a go on one of the current trend of 'Brain Training' devices, but I'm moderately sceptical; the whole idea of 'brain age' sounds a bit arbitrary to me, and if the idea is to try to get as low an age (that is, a low-number score) as possible, won't that mean that you're looking to emulate an age at which you had fewer pathways connecting the bits of the brain, and therefore are less able to recall items or make connections? I think they've made a boo-boo on the scoring system here. I wouldn't want to get a really 'good' (that is, low) score and then be told that I have the brain agility of someone who toddles around with a nappyful of excreta.
7. I firmly believe that the current elevation of Elton John to 'national treasure' status is a ghastly misjudgement, perhaps brought about by his eyebrow-waggling antics as he sang doggerel at the funeral of the Princess of Wales. I feel he is a man of limited talent, who seem to have released an appalling number of 'best of' albums, and that the way he's currently venerated is an embarrassment. Given this, I'm sure you can imagine that I find this very, very funny indeed.
8. I don't know if you use iTunes v7, but the User Agreement for it (and don't ask how I know this, but it's true) states in section 8 that 'Licensee also agrees that Licensee will not use the Apple Software for … the development, design, manufacture or production of nuclear, [sic that comma] missiles, or chemical or biological weapons". Maybe I'm just a negative type, but it seems to me that if you're involved in that kind of thing, you're probably not too worried about Apple setting their lawyers on you.
*I've found one, thanks. And she's fab.
2. Speaking of things musical, is it just me, or does Robyn (with that song about - and possibly even titled - 'Every Heartbeat') sound a lot like Kate Bush?
3. And speaking even more of musical things, I note that once again whoever's doing the incidental music for X-Factor appears to be doing so by breaking into my home at night and using my CDs as the source material. Granted, that mainly involves the CDs by Craig Armstrong and Rob Dougan, but still…
4. Had another eye test (post-laser surgery) this morning, and my vision is better than 20-20. Am vaguely disappointed that the improvement hasn't led me to develop X-ray vision and the like, but I guess that's only fair as it wasn't covered by the paperwork.
5. The London Tube strike this week, since you ask, did affect me (and my beloved) a bit, though it could have been worse. One trick which many people seem to miss is that there are boats which run east and west along the Thames, and which you can pay to travel on. Not exactly the vaporetti of Venice, granted, but beats a crowded bus or train. But shh, don't tell anyone I suggested it.
6. I've never had a go on one of the current trend of 'Brain Training' devices, but I'm moderately sceptical; the whole idea of 'brain age' sounds a bit arbitrary to me, and if the idea is to try to get as low an age (that is, a low-number score) as possible, won't that mean that you're looking to emulate an age at which you had fewer pathways connecting the bits of the brain, and therefore are less able to recall items or make connections? I think they've made a boo-boo on the scoring system here. I wouldn't want to get a really 'good' (that is, low) score and then be told that I have the brain agility of someone who toddles around with a nappyful of excreta.
7. I firmly believe that the current elevation of Elton John to 'national treasure' status is a ghastly misjudgement, perhaps brought about by his eyebrow-waggling antics as he sang doggerel at the funeral of the Princess of Wales. I feel he is a man of limited talent, who seem to have released an appalling number of 'best of' albums, and that the way he's currently venerated is an embarrassment. Given this, I'm sure you can imagine that I find this very, very funny indeed.
8. I don't know if you use iTunes v7, but the User Agreement for it (and don't ask how I know this, but it's true) states in section 8 that 'Licensee also agrees that Licensee will not use the Apple Software for … the development, design, manufacture or production of nuclear, [sic that comma] missiles, or chemical or biological weapons". Maybe I'm just a negative type, but it seems to me that if you're involved in that kind of thing, you're probably not too worried about Apple setting their lawyers on you.
*I've found one, thanks. And she's fab.
A Sudden Veer Into Seriousness. Don't Worry, It Probably Won't Last.
A good friend of mine died recently, and though it wasn't entirely a shock as she'd been ill, it rattled me a bit. You know that feeling, when you get an unpleasant bit of news mid-afternoon and it leaves you feeling slightly out of phase with things for the rest of the day? Well, it was like that (Hmm, typing that reminds me of that line in the 'Sunscreen' song: "The real troubles in life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind; the kind the blindside you at 4pm on some idle Tuesday").
Anyway, a memorial service was held (I couldn't attend, which is a pity, as the lady in question led a full and interesting life: a member of one of the first all-female bands, an astrologer, an employee of Her Majesty's Government, tarot card reader, with grown-up children who - if memory serves - were in different countries much of the time doing a variety of intriguing-sounding jobs. Would have been a fittingly lively service, I suspect), though for me it's more often in the little moments that I remember my friend, and feel a pull in my stomach at the thought that she's not around any more.
This morning, I was looking for something in my notebook, and I came across her address; it was there and not in my address book because when she'd been diagnosed she'd decided to leave London and move to a cleaner environment (close to where my parents live, as it turns out), to be in the countryside and eat fruit and vegetables grown close by and without chemicals. A decision, I rather suspect, which added months to her life. But now I find that I have that address in my notebook, her number programmed into my phone, and her e-mail in my list of friends, but she's not there any more.
And it's on those occasions, when I see her name or details, that I realise my friend's gone. And I miss her.
Anyway, a memorial service was held (I couldn't attend, which is a pity, as the lady in question led a full and interesting life: a member of one of the first all-female bands, an astrologer, an employee of Her Majesty's Government, tarot card reader, with grown-up children who - if memory serves - were in different countries much of the time doing a variety of intriguing-sounding jobs. Would have been a fittingly lively service, I suspect), though for me it's more often in the little moments that I remember my friend, and feel a pull in my stomach at the thought that she's not around any more.
This morning, I was looking for something in my notebook, and I came across her address; it was there and not in my address book because when she'd been diagnosed she'd decided to leave London and move to a cleaner environment (close to where my parents live, as it turns out), to be in the countryside and eat fruit and vegetables grown close by and without chemicals. A decision, I rather suspect, which added months to her life. But now I find that I have that address in my notebook, her number programmed into my phone, and her e-mail in my list of friends, but she's not there any more.
And it's on those occasions, when I see her name or details, that I realise my friend's gone. And I miss her.
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
Stop Right There, Thank You Very Much
As I've probably mentioned before, I'm looking at soaps (or, if you prefer, 'continuing drama series') with a writerly eye nowadays - looking for plot developments, characterisation tricks, and the like. In watching Emmerdale and EastEnders, though, merely from a viewer's perspective, I've noticed that there are a couple of storylines which have dragged on rather too long - or at least, too long for my interest level (if you watch the shows, you might have guessed the ones I'm talking about, but if not, they are the King Murder plotline, and the whole Bradley-Stacey-Max thing).
As I say, I feel they've gone on longer than is interesting (the King murder has been running since the start of the year, I think, and I think the 'love triangle' has been going on for much the same time), though others may disagree. But it set me to thinking about the extent to which TV shows can run stories before they become uninteresting. Friends, for example, had a lot of favourable audience reaction (not to mention ratings success) with the whole Ross-and-Rachel will-they-won't-they thing, but I think most people would admit that they exhausted that goodwill by the time the series ended. The X-Files, similarly, kept going long after the 'conspiracy' aspects of it had ceased to engage the audience (by which I mean catching either interest or ratings). Because I could guess what was going to happen when Daphne and Niles got together in Frasier, and thought it was the wrong direction for the show to go, I bailed out at that stage, and I think other people have told me I was wise to do so.
Other programmes come to mind, too - Moonlighting and Cheers both had the will-they-or-won't-they romance storyline, as did Lois and Clark (though for me they dealt with the loss of that plotline well, immediately introducing another, utterly logical, element when Clark proposed to Lois: her answer, if memory serves, was "Who's asking - Clark or Superman?", which kicked off a different plotline). According to rumour, my favourite TV series of all time, Twin Peaks, was not intended to reveal who killed Laura Palmer; that was to be the hook which drew the audience in, with David Lynch apparently not intending for the killer to be revealed at all. The revelation of the killer, even the most rabid fan (and by that I mean me) would cheerfully admit, wasn't necessarily followed by the immediate replacement of a similarly compelling storyline (I think co-creator Mark Frost has conceded this).
I'm not pretending I have any kind of answer or conclusion on this, though I remember Joss Whedon (creator of Buffy and Firefly), in relation to keeping the audience interested, said something like 'I need to give [the fans] what they need, not what they want', and he does seem willing to kill off popular characters (even, famously, ones shown in the title sequence) to keep things from getting stale. And thinking about it, Alan Moore, comic writer, magus and possibly possessor of one of the finest creative minds on the planet, says (in the documentary 'The Mindscape Of Alan Moore'*) that the creator shouldn't give the audience what they want, because they don't KNOW what they want - if they did, they wouldn't be in the audience, they'd be a creator. Good points both, I think. Maybe the best route is to respond to audience feedback only insofar as it doesn't involve milking a plotline or playing to the gallery?
Of course, many of the above notions are frankly staggeringly subjective, and tricky to define. Anyone have any more defined measurements of such things? Please post them in the comments if you do...
*I say this with conviction, as I watched the sequence in question just last night.
As I say, I feel they've gone on longer than is interesting (the King murder has been running since the start of the year, I think, and I think the 'love triangle' has been going on for much the same time), though others may disagree. But it set me to thinking about the extent to which TV shows can run stories before they become uninteresting. Friends, for example, had a lot of favourable audience reaction (not to mention ratings success) with the whole Ross-and-Rachel will-they-won't-they thing, but I think most people would admit that they exhausted that goodwill by the time the series ended. The X-Files, similarly, kept going long after the 'conspiracy' aspects of it had ceased to engage the audience (by which I mean catching either interest or ratings). Because I could guess what was going to happen when Daphne and Niles got together in Frasier, and thought it was the wrong direction for the show to go, I bailed out at that stage, and I think other people have told me I was wise to do so.
Other programmes come to mind, too - Moonlighting and Cheers both had the will-they-or-won't-they romance storyline, as did Lois and Clark (though for me they dealt with the loss of that plotline well, immediately introducing another, utterly logical, element when Clark proposed to Lois: her answer, if memory serves, was "Who's asking - Clark or Superman?", which kicked off a different plotline). According to rumour, my favourite TV series of all time, Twin Peaks, was not intended to reveal who killed Laura Palmer; that was to be the hook which drew the audience in, with David Lynch apparently not intending for the killer to be revealed at all. The revelation of the killer, even the most rabid fan (and by that I mean me) would cheerfully admit, wasn't necessarily followed by the immediate replacement of a similarly compelling storyline (I think co-creator Mark Frost has conceded this).
I'm not pretending I have any kind of answer or conclusion on this, though I remember Joss Whedon (creator of Buffy and Firefly), in relation to keeping the audience interested, said something like 'I need to give [the fans] what they need, not what they want', and he does seem willing to kill off popular characters (even, famously, ones shown in the title sequence) to keep things from getting stale. And thinking about it, Alan Moore, comic writer, magus and possibly possessor of one of the finest creative minds on the planet, says (in the documentary 'The Mindscape Of Alan Moore'*) that the creator shouldn't give the audience what they want, because they don't KNOW what they want - if they did, they wouldn't be in the audience, they'd be a creator. Good points both, I think. Maybe the best route is to respond to audience feedback only insofar as it doesn't involve milking a plotline or playing to the gallery?
Of course, many of the above notions are frankly staggeringly subjective, and tricky to define. Anyone have any more defined measurements of such things? Please post them in the comments if you do...
*I say this with conviction, as I watched the sequence in question just last night.
Tuesday, September 04, 2007
And Lo, They Did Hack At The Monster
As you might have heard, the online jobsearch site Monster has been hacked into, and around a million jobseekers' personal details were obtained by the people responsible. Tut. And double Tut to Monster for not noticing, and it falling to Symantec to point it out to them.
I put my CV on Monster a very long time ago - back when the internet was still powered by coal, I think - and as I'm still on their mailing list I've received an e-mail from Monster; presumably it's part of their PR damage limitation work in relation to this incident, but I have to say it does little to reassure me... the following are genuine quotes, slightly edited but in the correct chronological order, cut-n-pasted from the e-mail:
MONSTER SAY:
"As you may be aware, the Monster CV database was recently the target of malicious activity that involved the illegal downloading of information such as names, addresses, phone numbers, and email addresses for some of our job seekers with CVs posted on Monster sites. Monster responded to this specific incident by conducting a comprehensive review of internal processes and procedures, notified those job seekers that their contact records had been downloaded illegally, and shut down a rogue server that was hosting these records."
I SAY:
Er, not in that order, I hope? You switched off the problem server first, then told people what had happened, and then started to look into it with an eye to prevention of further occurrences, yes? Come on, reassure me here...
MONSTER SAY:
"The Company has determined that this incident is not the first time Monster's database has been the target of criminal activity."
I SAY:
No, no, no! You're meant to be putting my mind at rest here, not making me think that your service is like a warehouse with a nightwatchman with a dodgy leg! I want to know how safe and resilient your security measures are, not how often people target you! Still, I'm sure your PR people will have swung into action, e-mailing those whose data's been nicked, right?
MONSTER SAY:
"Due to the significant amount of uncertainty in determining which individual job seekers may have been impacted, Monster felt that it was in your best interest to take the precautionary steps of reaching out to you and all Monster job seekers regarding this issue."
I SAY:
Well, that's not very good, is it? Despite the fact you've got lots of personal details of the punters on record, you decided not to go the personal route, but to do an 'en masse' mailing? Hmph, makes me glad I'm not on your Christmas Card list, it'd probably contain one of those unseemly 'this year Monsterette has passed her GCSEs' letters. Still, you're probably about to tell me about the steps you've taken to beef up your processes, right?
MONSTER SAY:
"We want to inform you about preventive measures you can take to protect yourself from online fraud. While no company can completely prevent unauthorised access to data, we believe that by reaching out to job seekers like you, the Company can help users better defend themselves against those who have attacked Monster as well as other databases."
I SAY:
Hey, hang on a mo, isn't this the wrong way round? why are you telling me how to avoid my information falling into the wrong hands? Pot calling Kettle and all that here, I think. I'm reminded of the observation the comedian Rob (later Robert) Newman made about the Freddie Mercury Tribute Concert taking place to alert us all to the dangers of HIV/AIDS: "Us. Not Freddie. Us." And this e-mail feels the same way, really. Surely the responsibility lies with Monster?
Whilst I appreciate it's a huge kick in the PR groin for Monster, I think that they could have been a lot more specific about what they'll be doing to protect data in future. I mean, I'm not a techie, but ... well, not having servers in the Ukraine might be a step, and indeed relying on third parties to notice that you've been breached seems less than impressive.
Oh, and just in case you're worrying that I might ruin a good working relationship with Monster with this post, I think I'm pretty safe; I don't think I've ever actually got a job as a result of applying via Monster. So it doesn't feel like much of a bridge to burn.
Besides, the bridge has probably already been nicked while they were looking the other way.
I put my CV on Monster a very long time ago - back when the internet was still powered by coal, I think - and as I'm still on their mailing list I've received an e-mail from Monster; presumably it's part of their PR damage limitation work in relation to this incident, but I have to say it does little to reassure me... the following are genuine quotes, slightly edited but in the correct chronological order, cut-n-pasted from the e-mail:
MONSTER SAY:
"As you may be aware, the Monster CV database was recently the target of malicious activity that involved the illegal downloading of information such as names, addresses, phone numbers, and email addresses for some of our job seekers with CVs posted on Monster sites. Monster responded to this specific incident by conducting a comprehensive review of internal processes and procedures, notified those job seekers that their contact records had been downloaded illegally, and shut down a rogue server that was hosting these records."
I SAY:
Er, not in that order, I hope? You switched off the problem server first, then told people what had happened, and then started to look into it with an eye to prevention of further occurrences, yes? Come on, reassure me here...
MONSTER SAY:
"The Company has determined that this incident is not the first time Monster's database has been the target of criminal activity."
I SAY:
No, no, no! You're meant to be putting my mind at rest here, not making me think that your service is like a warehouse with a nightwatchman with a dodgy leg! I want to know how safe and resilient your security measures are, not how often people target you! Still, I'm sure your PR people will have swung into action, e-mailing those whose data's been nicked, right?
MONSTER SAY:
"Due to the significant amount of uncertainty in determining which individual job seekers may have been impacted, Monster felt that it was in your best interest to take the precautionary steps of reaching out to you and all Monster job seekers regarding this issue."
I SAY:
Well, that's not very good, is it? Despite the fact you've got lots of personal details of the punters on record, you decided not to go the personal route, but to do an 'en masse' mailing? Hmph, makes me glad I'm not on your Christmas Card list, it'd probably contain one of those unseemly 'this year Monsterette has passed her GCSEs' letters. Still, you're probably about to tell me about the steps you've taken to beef up your processes, right?
MONSTER SAY:
"We want to inform you about preventive measures you can take to protect yourself from online fraud. While no company can completely prevent unauthorised access to data, we believe that by reaching out to job seekers like you, the Company can help users better defend themselves against those who have attacked Monster as well as other databases."
I SAY:
Hey, hang on a mo, isn't this the wrong way round? why are you telling me how to avoid my information falling into the wrong hands? Pot calling Kettle and all that here, I think. I'm reminded of the observation the comedian Rob (later Robert) Newman made about the Freddie Mercury Tribute Concert taking place to alert us all to the dangers of HIV/AIDS: "Us. Not Freddie. Us." And this e-mail feels the same way, really. Surely the responsibility lies with Monster?
Whilst I appreciate it's a huge kick in the PR groin for Monster, I think that they could have been a lot more specific about what they'll be doing to protect data in future. I mean, I'm not a techie, but ... well, not having servers in the Ukraine might be a step, and indeed relying on third parties to notice that you've been breached seems less than impressive.
Oh, and just in case you're worrying that I might ruin a good working relationship with Monster with this post, I think I'm pretty safe; I don't think I've ever actually got a job as a result of applying via Monster. So it doesn't feel like much of a bridge to burn.
Besides, the bridge has probably already been nicked while they were looking the other way.
Monday, September 03, 2007
Urban Or Urbane? That Is For Others To Judge...
Much to my delight, one of my recent bits of writing has made it into the final stages of a competition.
I wrote a 'Flash Fiction' (that is, under 250 words) version of an urban myth for the Manchester Literature Festival Urban Myths Project (more information here), and was notified over the weekend that I'm into the final ten.
All rather pleasing, and I shall be intrigued to see how the Interactive Arts students from Manchester Metropolitan University decide to bring it to life. Because I've been invited to go and watch, and as this is the first (though hopefully not the last) time my words have been performed by other people, I'm keen and eager to see how that looks.
Oddly enough, it turns out that the cliché is true - whether I win or not (an idea which only occasionally skitters across my mind), it is, as the old saying goes, nice to be nominated.
And to be a part, howsoever small, of a Literature Festival. That's real writing, isn't it ? Crikey, I might be out of my league a bit...
I wrote a 'Flash Fiction' (that is, under 250 words) version of an urban myth for the Manchester Literature Festival Urban Myths Project (more information here), and was notified over the weekend that I'm into the final ten.
All rather pleasing, and I shall be intrigued to see how the Interactive Arts students from Manchester Metropolitan University decide to bring it to life. Because I've been invited to go and watch, and as this is the first (though hopefully not the last) time my words have been performed by other people, I'm keen and eager to see how that looks.
Oddly enough, it turns out that the cliché is true - whether I win or not (an idea which only occasionally skitters across my mind), it is, as the old saying goes, nice to be nominated.
And to be a part, howsoever small, of a Literature Festival. That's real writing, isn't it ? Crikey, I might be out of my league a bit...
Friday, August 31, 2007
And I'm Bored Of Headlines Playing On The Whole 'Rehab/No, No, No' Thing As Well
Something which I've probably referred to here before, and have certainly tried to capture in writing I've done in the past, is what I like to think of as 'sickening inevitability'. I liken it to the experience of being in a car on an icy surface, slamming on the brakes, and having no option but to sit and watch as you slide towards another vehicle. Nothing you can do, or say, to avoid the inevitable. Not just on terms of driving, of course - in life generally.
Which brings me to the recent media coverage of Pete Doherty and Amy Winehouse. Firstly, let's be honest and admit that the press coverage of these musical artistes is in vast disproportion to their importance to the world of music - the way the press give them column inches, you'd think that Doherty was the new Jacques Brel and Winehouse the new Marion Montgomery or something, and that both of them are selling albums in volumes that are making Beyonce Knowles jealous. They're not, and I'm hard pressed to decide whether the excessive coverage is due to them being UK-based (the British press tends to exaggerate in such cases) or simply because it's summer and the papers are in the midst of the 'silly season' (a phrase which is often thrown around by papers as they write about other papers, in a definite plank-in-your-own-eye scenario). Either way, the last few weeks, if not months, have seen loads of reports about these two individuals as they flounder from drink to drugs to rehab and back again.
And yet, when/if either or both of them is found dead with a needle hanging out of their arm or a dozen empty vodka bottles next to the body, I have the slightly bored suspicion that the media and their fans alike will feign surprise, shock, dismay and other such synonyms that Pete or Amy, the spokesperson for a generation, should be so cruelly cut down in the prime of their life, and during such a prolific period of their creativity.
People - me included - often talk about TV programmes such as Big Brother and The X-Factor as being 'car crash TV', where you know it's somehow wrong to look but you somehow can't stop yourself, but the current fascination with these two individuals, who seem to be sorely in need of a decent friend to take them aside and point out what's wrong with their life, seems more like (oh, look, I've cleverly linked back to the opening of this post) watching the slide before the impact.
I wish them both no ill-will at all (I'm utterly unmoved by their music, but the world's big enough for music I don't care for), and I'm happy to be proved wrong by events, but it all just seems … well, as I say: sickening inevitability.
Which brings me to the recent media coverage of Pete Doherty and Amy Winehouse. Firstly, let's be honest and admit that the press coverage of these musical artistes is in vast disproportion to their importance to the world of music - the way the press give them column inches, you'd think that Doherty was the new Jacques Brel and Winehouse the new Marion Montgomery or something, and that both of them are selling albums in volumes that are making Beyonce Knowles jealous. They're not, and I'm hard pressed to decide whether the excessive coverage is due to them being UK-based (the British press tends to exaggerate in such cases) or simply because it's summer and the papers are in the midst of the 'silly season' (a phrase which is often thrown around by papers as they write about other papers, in a definite plank-in-your-own-eye scenario). Either way, the last few weeks, if not months, have seen loads of reports about these two individuals as they flounder from drink to drugs to rehab and back again.
And yet, when/if either or both of them is found dead with a needle hanging out of their arm or a dozen empty vodka bottles next to the body, I have the slightly bored suspicion that the media and their fans alike will feign surprise, shock, dismay and other such synonyms that Pete or Amy, the spokesperson for a generation, should be so cruelly cut down in the prime of their life, and during such a prolific period of their creativity.
People - me included - often talk about TV programmes such as Big Brother and The X-Factor as being 'car crash TV', where you know it's somehow wrong to look but you somehow can't stop yourself, but the current fascination with these two individuals, who seem to be sorely in need of a decent friend to take them aside and point out what's wrong with their life, seems more like (oh, look, I've cleverly linked back to the opening of this post) watching the slide before the impact.
I wish them both no ill-will at all (I'm utterly unmoved by their music, but the world's big enough for music I don't care for), and I'm happy to be proved wrong by events, but it all just seems … well, as I say: sickening inevitability.
As Russell Brand Might Put It, "'Citing!"
I've been working away on it for a while now, and this week has seen me thrashing at it with some vigour (hence the lack of posts), but I'm pleased - to say the least - to be able to honestly say that I've just e-mailed off my entry to the Red Planet Prize, a screenplay competition.
The prizes are very good indeed - £5000, representation and a commission - and as I've said before, I'm trying to get into film/TV/radio writing, so I was spurred on to submit the first ten pages (as required under the rules) of my first screenplay 'Broken Glass'. Hopefully not my last screenplay, though.
I e-mailed it, along with a synopsis and a mini-biography of me, about an hour ago, and receipt has been acknowledged. So now all I have to do is wait.
Well, that and make sure I've got the other 80-odd pages of 'Broken Glass' ready to hand over if I get to the next round (notification is in October, I think).
But don't be fooled by the measured and sedate tone of this post: basically, my feelings about the subject boil down to one word running through my head: Yeeeeeeeeeeeee!
The prizes are very good indeed - £5000, representation and a commission - and as I've said before, I'm trying to get into film/TV/radio writing, so I was spurred on to submit the first ten pages (as required under the rules) of my first screenplay 'Broken Glass'. Hopefully not my last screenplay, though.
I e-mailed it, along with a synopsis and a mini-biography of me, about an hour ago, and receipt has been acknowledged. So now all I have to do is wait.
Well, that and make sure I've got the other 80-odd pages of 'Broken Glass' ready to hand over if I get to the next round (notification is in October, I think).
But don't be fooled by the measured and sedate tone of this post: basically, my feelings about the subject boil down to one word running through my head: Yeeeeeeeeeeeee!
LIST: Words My Phone Knows But I Don't
This might turn out to be the first entry in a series, not sure; words which predictive text offers me, along with the word I was aiming for.
DUNADRY (for 'dunno')
LONDRINA (for 'London')
FUZHOU (for 'fuzzy')
I have no idea what these three words mean. None whatsoever. Remind me never to challenge my phone to a game of Boggle.
DUNADRY (for 'dunno')
LONDRINA (for 'London')
FUZHOU (for 'fuzzy')
I have no idea what these three words mean. None whatsoever. Remind me never to challenge my phone to a game of Boggle.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Rare Sighting I Thought I'd Share With You
As these are so rarely seen in real life, I thought it was only fair that I share: behold, the lesser-spotted Parcelforce card.According to Parcelforce's own procedures, they drop these off when they've knocked on the door to deliver an item, but you weren't in.
However, given that Parcelforce claim that they've tried to deliver a parcel to m'lady five times recently and on none of these occasions has a card been left, I have but one thing to say about Parcelforce's claim that this is their standard operating procedure: REALLY, PARCELFORCE? I MEAN, REALLY?
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
One Does Indeed Learn A New Thing Every Day
Hearing 'Waterloo' by Abba the other day, I idly wondered what kind of score France had awarded it in the Eurovision Song Contest taht year (1974). Given the Napoleon-related theme and all, I mean.
So I looked it up online, and it turns out that France had withdrawn from the Eurovision that year, scant days before it took place, because their President had died. Though the single was a Top 10 hit in France, so one could cheerfully conclude that the whole Napoleon thing was irrelevant.
Anyway, what did grab my attention was that the Portuguese entry in the same year was the signal to launch the Carnation Revolution, an essentially pacifist uprising against the authoritarian regime of the time (which was successful - yay!).
So, quite the year for Eurovision, 1974. The UK entry this year, by Scooch, somehow looks rather lightweight and rubbish in comparison, doesn't it?
Oh, hang on, that song would look lightweight and rubbish in and of itself, regardless of any comparison. But in comparison to launching a revolution and Abba, even more so.
So I looked it up online, and it turns out that France had withdrawn from the Eurovision that year, scant days before it took place, because their President had died. Though the single was a Top 10 hit in France, so one could cheerfully conclude that the whole Napoleon thing was irrelevant.
Anyway, what did grab my attention was that the Portuguese entry in the same year was the signal to launch the Carnation Revolution, an essentially pacifist uprising against the authoritarian regime of the time (which was successful - yay!).
So, quite the year for Eurovision, 1974. The UK entry this year, by Scooch, somehow looks rather lightweight and rubbish in comparison, doesn't it?
Oh, hang on, that song would look lightweight and rubbish in and of itself, regardless of any comparison. But in comparison to launching a revolution and Abba, even more so.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
LINKS: oder rechts, ich weiss es nicht
I promised here that I’d provide a link to some photos done by ‘Gromit Lad’, who’s a close personal showbiz friend of mine, and twist my nipples if I haven’t been utterly remiss in doing so. So, brace yourself for a sudden influx of class, and remind yourself that this talented man is the official wedding photographer for my and Jules’s nuptials next year. Here, then, is his virtual gallery…
This is deeply immature. I approve heartily.
Mark Steel writes clearly on a rather thorny subject I’ve kind of avoided blogging about, and I think he makes a good point. More than one, in fact…
Boy, talk about your tricky-to-enforce laws!
Free on Bank Holiday Monday? Why not be a Zombie?
And finally, in non-news, do you get the feeling that some of these ‘complaints’ were typed or dialled with only one hand? I know it’s the silly season, and this ‘story’ is in a pathetic excuse for a paper, but this is hardly a possibly a new low: basically, ‘Woman Has Legs Shock’. Pass the tissues – er, I mean the Basildon Bond - I feel a letter of complaint coming on…
This is deeply immature. I approve heartily.
Mark Steel writes clearly on a rather thorny subject I’ve kind of avoided blogging about, and I think he makes a good point. More than one, in fact…
Boy, talk about your tricky-to-enforce laws!
Free on Bank Holiday Monday? Why not be a Zombie?
And finally, in non-news, do you get the feeling that some of these ‘complaints’ were typed or dialled with only one hand? I know it’s the silly season, and this ‘story’ is in a pathetic excuse for a paper, but this is hardly a possibly a new low: basically, ‘Woman Has Legs Shock’. Pass the tissues – er, I mean the Basildon Bond - I feel a letter of complaint coming on…
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Mark*! Lard!
When I went for an eye check-up last week, I was faintly concerned to see that the second line down on the chart (which was not, I hasten to add, the extreme of my post-laser vision) spelled the word LARD. I commented on this to the optometrist, and she assured me that the charts were made in Japan, and that there was no significance to it. Fair enough, I believed her.
But… there's no escaping it, I have put on a considerable amount of weight in the last year or two. It's not been without resistance on my part - I did the London Marathon this April, after all - but I have to face the fact that since I turned 30, my metabolism has slowed down, and I can no longer chuck down a cinema-size bag of Galaxy Minstrels without it having some kind of calorific impact. Cause and, inevitably, effect.
If nothing else, I'm determined that as I approach 40 I shan't just become the cliché of the chap who gives up on health concerns, any more than I intend to fall into any of the other mid-life behaviour (sports car, cringe-inducing attempts to flirt with the babysitter, that kind of nonsense).
I won't turn this blog into some running commentary on my intake of food or anything like that, or on the exercise I do, though I may post sporadic updates; after all, between now and the end of the year, I will be scuba diving in exotic climes, and as I walk along the beach, I'd prefer to resemble Daniel Craig in 'Casino Royale' than a whale which has been washed ashore.
Not to mention how I'll look in my wetsuit (shudders at the thought of how bad that could be).
*In the Shakespearean sense of the word, that is - ie: 'look!'
But… there's no escaping it, I have put on a considerable amount of weight in the last year or two. It's not been without resistance on my part - I did the London Marathon this April, after all - but I have to face the fact that since I turned 30, my metabolism has slowed down, and I can no longer chuck down a cinema-size bag of Galaxy Minstrels without it having some kind of calorific impact. Cause and, inevitably, effect.
If nothing else, I'm determined that as I approach 40 I shan't just become the cliché of the chap who gives up on health concerns, any more than I intend to fall into any of the other mid-life behaviour (sports car, cringe-inducing attempts to flirt with the babysitter, that kind of nonsense).
I won't turn this blog into some running commentary on my intake of food or anything like that, or on the exercise I do, though I may post sporadic updates; after all, between now and the end of the year, I will be scuba diving in exotic climes, and as I walk along the beach, I'd prefer to resemble Daniel Craig in 'Casino Royale' than a whale which has been washed ashore.
Not to mention how I'll look in my wetsuit (shudders at the thought of how bad that could be).
*In the Shakespearean sense of the word, that is - ie: 'look!'
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
People Seem To Say It's Advertised Earlier Every Year Earlier Every Year, Don't They?
Last week, Cancer Research UK sent me a copy of their 2007 Christmas Gift Catalogue. Yesterday in the supermarket, m'lady pointed out that there were Christmas Puddings on the shelf, available to purchase.
I can deny it no longer: it must be August.
I can deny it no longer: it must be August.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Please Note This Was In The Days I Needed Glasses (And I Wasn't Wearing Them At The Time)
Sauntering through Soho a couple of weeks ago, I spotted a chap who looked familiar.
"Oh," I thought, "that's Kevin Godley of Godley and Creme and 10CC. Perhaps I should go over and say how much I admire his work, particularly the video for Frankie Goes to Hollywood's 'Two Tribes'."
Then he drew closer and I realised it was in fact writer and TV presenter Howard Jacobson, who always seems an intelligent chap, but to whom I honestly have nothing to say.
One of the very rare occasions in my life when I actually avoided an embarrassing situation for everyone concerned.
Friday, August 17, 2007
For Some Unfathomable Reason, Private Eye Usually Change His Surname To 'Moron' (Talent Shows: Post 2 of 2)
Whilst I'm unable to source the exact details of the incident, I'm led to believe that whilst judging the TV Talent Show 'America's Got Talent', David Hasselhoff had a disagreement with fellow judge Piers Morgan and called him 'a wanker'. Morgan allegedly responded by saying, 'If you said that in Britain, you'd be beheaded'.
Leaving aside - despite the fun it would involve - the issue of whether or not The Hoff was right in what he said, isn't it just a little odd that a man who, as editor of Daily Mirror, published a front-page story featuring faked photos of Iraqi prisoners being abused by members of the British Army, seems to think that beheading is currently a punishment for calling someone a wanker?
What an odd legal system he must think we have, with major punishments for minor social infractions. Best we keep him away from news reporting, then.
Leaving aside - despite the fun it would involve - the issue of whether or not The Hoff was right in what he said, isn't it just a little odd that a man who, as editor of Daily Mirror, published a front-page story featuring faked photos of Iraqi prisoners being abused by members of the British Army, seems to think that beheading is currently a punishment for calling someone a wanker?
What an odd legal system he must think we have, with major punishments for minor social infractions. Best we keep him away from news reporting, then.
Then Again, What With The Phone Voting Hoo-ha, I Thought She Might Be Deliberately Keeping Her Head Down (Talent Shows: Post 1 of 2)
From a Press Release issued this week:
"Leona Lewis's long awaited first single, set for release in the UK on October 29th is called BLEEDING LOVE and was written and produced by Ryan Tedder in LA. She is putting the final touches to the album this week in LA and then jets back to the UK. The album (as yet untitled) is set for release on the 5th November in the UK and early 2008 in the US."
Interesting approach; given how the vast majority of people who've won these shows have faded from public view within a year or so, she seems to have left herself a window of something like four months to capitalise on winning X-Factor last year.
Could be a zany marketing move, or a disastrous assumption that the people who voted for her last December will be bothered to re-validate their actions almost a year later. We shall see...
"Leona Lewis's long awaited first single, set for release in the UK on October 29th is called BLEEDING LOVE and was written and produced by Ryan Tedder in LA. She is putting the final touches to the album this week in LA and then jets back to the UK. The album (as yet untitled) is set for release on the 5th November in the UK and early 2008 in the US."
Interesting approach; given how the vast majority of people who've won these shows have faded from public view within a year or so, she seems to have left herself a window of something like four months to capitalise on winning X-Factor last year.
Could be a zany marketing move, or a disastrous assumption that the people who voted for her last December will be bothered to re-validate their actions almost a year later. We shall see...
Thursday, August 16, 2007
"Careful Now" / "Down With This Sort Of Thing"*
Spotted in Holborn, a rather extreme bit of graffiti.As a Vegetarian, I often worry that I look a bit half-hearted by not being a Vegan, but on the basis of this it looks as if Veganism's all gone a bit hardcore, so I'll continue to eat dairy products, I think...
*As Fathers Ted and Dougal put it in 'The Passion of St Tibulus'
A Welcome Break From The Usual Discarded Free Papers
Spotted on a Central Line train recently - alongside some discarded newspapers - a copy of a slim book, left (I like to think) for someone to find and read.Which book is it, you ask? Well, it was none other than the Tao Te Ching by Lao-Tse, a frankly terrific read if you're looking for a more meaty read than the usual papers dished out to London commuters.
I'd like to think this was my first encounter with the BookCrossing phenomenon, though as I didn't peek at the book itself (I already have a copy), I can neither confirm nor deny...
I Can See Clearly Now The Laser's Done
So, quite a few people have asked me what the laser eye surgery was like. Some in person, and one - bless his sibling heart - by e-mail, urging me to post the full story online. And as I am little more than a whorish blogging jukebox, and am at a little bit of a pause between writing things (five bits of 'flash fiction' and a 30min stage monologue done this week, and a screenplay to kick off in the next day or so, I'm being startlingly productive at the mo), who am I to say no?
All right then, the background; before the treatment (look - foreshadowing! You can tell I take this writing lark seriously), my eyes were slightly short-sighted (a -1.25 prescription, I think) and with astigmatism in the left eye (which is less painful than it sounds). As a result, it was recommended that I have LASIK treatment on them, with Infralase. What does this mean? Well, I'm glad you asked. LASIK treatment is where they cut the surface of the eye itself, flip it up like the top of a boiled egg, and then use lasers to burn at the inside of the eye to make it the right shape (as you may remember from school, people are short- or long-sighted because their eyes are wrongly shaped, meaning that the focal point falls in front of, or behind, the correct point in the eye). There's another treatment, called LASEK, which is the slightly older version of the surgery, I think, which seems to involve using a contact lens-type arrangement instead of the flap process, but I'm not certain. Check elsewhere on the interweb if you want to know. Oh, and the Infralase thing is advisable for astigmatism, as it means that an eye-recognition system is involved, tracking the eye if you move it during the procedure, and making sure the laser continues to reshape things correctly.
Right, that's the science part, let me tell you about what happened on Friday afternoon. I went down to Ultralase (that's who I had it with, as they offer a Lifetime Guarantee, as opposed to some of the other firms, whose impressively low prices could be offset by it, I dunno, being performed by a wild-eyed man with a potato peeler and a souped-up laser pointer), and sat and waited. And waited. And… you get the idea. They were running late. Hmph, a bit.
Anyway, later than it should have been, they took me for another eye check, just to ensure that the procedure I was about to undergo was still suitable for me. And it was, so they put anaesthetic drops into my eyes, and painted around my eyes with some kind of sterilising thing, apparently a bit like the iodine they paint onto the abdomen before performing a caesarean (usually a female abdomen, though I have gained weight in recent years, so perhaps I look a bit pregnant? Anyway, my shirt remained buttoned up). As I was the canvas for this daubing, I couldn't see what this looked like, but the woman doing it assured me I looked a bit like I'd been in a fight, and probably lost. Oh good, glad I didn't miss an opportunity to look ridiculous.
I sat for about ten minutes or so looking like Soo the Panda, and noticed I was able to blink and move my eyes without any hassle, but they did feel a bit heavy, as if I'd been wearing contact lenses and had stayed up all night or similar (hey, it's not a hollow comparison, I used to be a bit of a wildman, but that's a tale for another time). They reapplied the drops a few more times, then put some of those elasticated anti-germ plastic 'shoes' over my shoes, and an anti-germ shower cap on my head. Oddly enough, I don't recall them putting a gown over the rest of my clothes, but maybe that's Crap Memory Syndrome on my part.
They led me into a room with scary signs on the door, saying 'BEWARE - LASER' and with pictures of pacemakers with red diagonal lines through them, and being one of the finest minds of my generation, I guessed this must be the room where it all took place, and narrowed my eyes and nodded like Holmes when my suspicions were confirmed. They asked me to lie down on an elevated bed thing. If you've ever seen someone on a TV programme like House having a PET scan (I think that's the name), then you'll know the kind of bed-table thing I mean. And looming over it was the laser, which looked more like the business end of a Moulinex than something out of Star Wars.
I hopped up onto the table and they pivoted me into the appropriate position, then put in some more drops and did some fiddling with the machine to make sure it was pointing at the right place (so it would burn my eyes, and not, say, burn out my septum, as much as that would be useful in the future should I decide to develop a cocaine habit), and then they put a bandage over one eye (the left, as the right was the first burn-ee) and the doctor came in and started clamping my eyes into place so I wouldn't go blinking and ending up with a laser-ventilated eyelid or anything like that.
This was probably the strangest part of the whole process; it didn't hurt because the eye had been anaesthetised, but … well, if you've ever accidentally poked yourself in the corner of the eye and made it move so that it dealigns from the other eye, leaving you with a weird stereo-image effect, or if you remember the image that the 3-D ViewMaster toy offered when you'd half-pressed down the little black lever… well, then you're getting an idea of what it looked like. One eye, covered by the bandage, was open and looking at the inside of the bandage, whilst the other was being moved around by someone else, and seeing all sorts of things around me as he got the eyeball ready to have a flap made.
Probably fortunately, because he was so very close, I couldn't focus on what he was doing, so didn't see him slice across the surface of my eye with a Swiss army knife (or possibly some other implement), but then things went very blurry all of a sudden in that eye (because he'd flipped up the top surface of it - mmm, lovely), and then after a bit more fiddling about I was under the laser, and they were telling me how many bursts of light there'd be (three for the right eye, four for the left - I guess the astigmatic eyeball needed more work done), and once that was done, they flipped the flap back closed, like putting down the toilet seat, and then repeated the process for the other eye.
It wasn't - let me state this for the record - painful at all. But it was a little odd picking up a strange smell and realising it was the smell of my own eyes burning. Let me say that again: I could smell my eyes burning.
It was probably over in about five minutes, if not less, and when I sat up afterwards, I could see… fuzzily. It was like I'd been swimming underwater too much in a chlorinated pool, as things were a bit grey and indistinct. But I'd been warned to expect this - frankly, things were a lot more clear than I thought they'd be, I was expecting it to look all streaky and strange.
They took me out to the stylish waiting room, where my stylish fiancée was waiting, and then I was led to a darkened room to let my eyes rest a bit. They rested, and then they gave me another quick eye test - no major change from before the process, really, but no damage done, which is reassuring, gave me a bag full of after-care goodies, and told me to come back the next day for a check-up.
Getting home was okay-ish - sunglasses helped, but my eyes kept wanting to close; I'm guessing they were objecting to their treatment and refusing to stay open if they were likely to be sliced and fried again. Fortunately, my lovely companion saw me to the door, and fed me food, and was very tolerant when I suggested an early night (not like that, you perv - they advised against 'contact sports' for a week or two. Or was it a month? Anyway, get out of the gutter, you filthmonger).
You'll be pleased to know that one aspect of the aftercare is that, when sleeping, you have to tape little plastic covers over your eyes - being who I am, they put me in mind of the eyes of the Spider-Man costume as worn by Nicholas Hammond in the old TV show; that is, they're like sunglass lenses, though made of clear plastic, and with holes in to allow air to circulate. So I did that on Friday night, and as I'm sure you can imagine, the sight was ridiculous enough to ensure any amorous feelings m'lady might have had were well and truly cold-showered.
And so to bed. Despite it being a Saturday, I woke the next morning at work-time ("so," any colleagues reading this will think, "around 10, was that, John?"), and … well, to continue the Spider-Man comparisons (and I will), it was like that bit in the first Raimi Spider-Man film where Peter Parker realises that he doesn't need his glasses any more. I could see across the room, and the details were sharp. Unlike Mr Parker, I didn't find that my midsection had suddenly become a clearly-defined six-pack, though (my midriff probably looks more like the contents of a six-pack. Of chocolate cakes. Fried. In chocolate batter), but that wasn't a predicted side-effect of the LASEK anyway, so let’s not feign surprise or dismay, folks.
I went off for my day-after check-up, and the lady there seemed faintly surprised by the speed with which my eyes were recovering, but I wasn't complaining, especially when she gave me an eye test again, and this time I was able to read to the bottom line of the chart (and no, that's not because I'd done it so often I'd learned the letters). Which makes my vision pretty much 20/20, apparently. And the slightly bloodshot nature of the eyeballs is clearing up as the days go by.
Obviously, I'm very pleased, and whilst I'm delighting in being able to see stuff without glasses or contact lenses, it's often in the little moments that it hits home; when it started raining the other day and I instinctively reached up to take off the glasses which weren't there (to stop them getting wet), or when I pat my pockets as I leave home and remember no, I don't need to take the specs along any more. That kind of thing.
So, if you have the money lying around - or you'll pass the credit test for the Interest Free Credit payment scheme - and your eyes are suitable for laser treatment, I'd recommend it, but of course some people like the style aspect of glasses - different frames, etc. That was never the case for me, and what with the whole running / diving / mountain-climbing thing, they were becoming more of a nuisance hence the decision to get them fried. Er, I mean, 'professionally laser-treated'.
Any questions about any of it, feel free to e-mail me at MyEyesBurningLikeFire@johnsoanes.co.uk - so many people know someone who knows someone who's had their eyes done, but rather than relegate it to the status of an urban myth or other 'foaf' tale, why not get genuine first-generation info from me?
(Bro, I'm looking at you… and my eyes see you now!)
All right then, the background; before the treatment (look - foreshadowing! You can tell I take this writing lark seriously), my eyes were slightly short-sighted (a -1.25 prescription, I think) and with astigmatism in the left eye (which is less painful than it sounds). As a result, it was recommended that I have LASIK treatment on them, with Infralase. What does this mean? Well, I'm glad you asked. LASIK treatment is where they cut the surface of the eye itself, flip it up like the top of a boiled egg, and then use lasers to burn at the inside of the eye to make it the right shape (as you may remember from school, people are short- or long-sighted because their eyes are wrongly shaped, meaning that the focal point falls in front of, or behind, the correct point in the eye). There's another treatment, called LASEK, which is the slightly older version of the surgery, I think, which seems to involve using a contact lens-type arrangement instead of the flap process, but I'm not certain. Check elsewhere on the interweb if you want to know. Oh, and the Infralase thing is advisable for astigmatism, as it means that an eye-recognition system is involved, tracking the eye if you move it during the procedure, and making sure the laser continues to reshape things correctly.
Right, that's the science part, let me tell you about what happened on Friday afternoon. I went down to Ultralase (that's who I had it with, as they offer a Lifetime Guarantee, as opposed to some of the other firms, whose impressively low prices could be offset by it, I dunno, being performed by a wild-eyed man with a potato peeler and a souped-up laser pointer), and sat and waited. And waited. And… you get the idea. They were running late. Hmph, a bit.
Anyway, later than it should have been, they took me for another eye check, just to ensure that the procedure I was about to undergo was still suitable for me. And it was, so they put anaesthetic drops into my eyes, and painted around my eyes with some kind of sterilising thing, apparently a bit like the iodine they paint onto the abdomen before performing a caesarean (usually a female abdomen, though I have gained weight in recent years, so perhaps I look a bit pregnant? Anyway, my shirt remained buttoned up). As I was the canvas for this daubing, I couldn't see what this looked like, but the woman doing it assured me I looked a bit like I'd been in a fight, and probably lost. Oh good, glad I didn't miss an opportunity to look ridiculous.
I sat for about ten minutes or so looking like Soo the Panda, and noticed I was able to blink and move my eyes without any hassle, but they did feel a bit heavy, as if I'd been wearing contact lenses and had stayed up all night or similar (hey, it's not a hollow comparison, I used to be a bit of a wildman, but that's a tale for another time). They reapplied the drops a few more times, then put some of those elasticated anti-germ plastic 'shoes' over my shoes, and an anti-germ shower cap on my head. Oddly enough, I don't recall them putting a gown over the rest of my clothes, but maybe that's Crap Memory Syndrome on my part.
They led me into a room with scary signs on the door, saying 'BEWARE - LASER' and with pictures of pacemakers with red diagonal lines through them, and being one of the finest minds of my generation, I guessed this must be the room where it all took place, and narrowed my eyes and nodded like Holmes when my suspicions were confirmed. They asked me to lie down on an elevated bed thing. If you've ever seen someone on a TV programme like House having a PET scan (I think that's the name), then you'll know the kind of bed-table thing I mean. And looming over it was the laser, which looked more like the business end of a Moulinex than something out of Star Wars.
I hopped up onto the table and they pivoted me into the appropriate position, then put in some more drops and did some fiddling with the machine to make sure it was pointing at the right place (so it would burn my eyes, and not, say, burn out my septum, as much as that would be useful in the future should I decide to develop a cocaine habit), and then they put a bandage over one eye (the left, as the right was the first burn-ee) and the doctor came in and started clamping my eyes into place so I wouldn't go blinking and ending up with a laser-ventilated eyelid or anything like that.
This was probably the strangest part of the whole process; it didn't hurt because the eye had been anaesthetised, but … well, if you've ever accidentally poked yourself in the corner of the eye and made it move so that it dealigns from the other eye, leaving you with a weird stereo-image effect, or if you remember the image that the 3-D ViewMaster toy offered when you'd half-pressed down the little black lever… well, then you're getting an idea of what it looked like. One eye, covered by the bandage, was open and looking at the inside of the bandage, whilst the other was being moved around by someone else, and seeing all sorts of things around me as he got the eyeball ready to have a flap made.
Probably fortunately, because he was so very close, I couldn't focus on what he was doing, so didn't see him slice across the surface of my eye with a Swiss army knife (or possibly some other implement), but then things went very blurry all of a sudden in that eye (because he'd flipped up the top surface of it - mmm, lovely), and then after a bit more fiddling about I was under the laser, and they were telling me how many bursts of light there'd be (three for the right eye, four for the left - I guess the astigmatic eyeball needed more work done), and once that was done, they flipped the flap back closed, like putting down the toilet seat, and then repeated the process for the other eye.
It wasn't - let me state this for the record - painful at all. But it was a little odd picking up a strange smell and realising it was the smell of my own eyes burning. Let me say that again: I could smell my eyes burning.
It was probably over in about five minutes, if not less, and when I sat up afterwards, I could see… fuzzily. It was like I'd been swimming underwater too much in a chlorinated pool, as things were a bit grey and indistinct. But I'd been warned to expect this - frankly, things were a lot more clear than I thought they'd be, I was expecting it to look all streaky and strange.
They took me out to the stylish waiting room, where my stylish fiancée was waiting, and then I was led to a darkened room to let my eyes rest a bit. They rested, and then they gave me another quick eye test - no major change from before the process, really, but no damage done, which is reassuring, gave me a bag full of after-care goodies, and told me to come back the next day for a check-up.
Getting home was okay-ish - sunglasses helped, but my eyes kept wanting to close; I'm guessing they were objecting to their treatment and refusing to stay open if they were likely to be sliced and fried again. Fortunately, my lovely companion saw me to the door, and fed me food, and was very tolerant when I suggested an early night (not like that, you perv - they advised against 'contact sports' for a week or two. Or was it a month? Anyway, get out of the gutter, you filthmonger).
You'll be pleased to know that one aspect of the aftercare is that, when sleeping, you have to tape little plastic covers over your eyes - being who I am, they put me in mind of the eyes of the Spider-Man costume as worn by Nicholas Hammond in the old TV show; that is, they're like sunglass lenses, though made of clear plastic, and with holes in to allow air to circulate. So I did that on Friday night, and as I'm sure you can imagine, the sight was ridiculous enough to ensure any amorous feelings m'lady might have had were well and truly cold-showered.
And so to bed. Despite it being a Saturday, I woke the next morning at work-time ("so," any colleagues reading this will think, "around 10, was that, John?"), and … well, to continue the Spider-Man comparisons (and I will), it was like that bit in the first Raimi Spider-Man film where Peter Parker realises that he doesn't need his glasses any more. I could see across the room, and the details were sharp. Unlike Mr Parker, I didn't find that my midsection had suddenly become a clearly-defined six-pack, though (my midriff probably looks more like the contents of a six-pack. Of chocolate cakes. Fried. In chocolate batter), but that wasn't a predicted side-effect of the LASEK anyway, so let’s not feign surprise or dismay, folks.
I went off for my day-after check-up, and the lady there seemed faintly surprised by the speed with which my eyes were recovering, but I wasn't complaining, especially when she gave me an eye test again, and this time I was able to read to the bottom line of the chart (and no, that's not because I'd done it so often I'd learned the letters). Which makes my vision pretty much 20/20, apparently. And the slightly bloodshot nature of the eyeballs is clearing up as the days go by.
Obviously, I'm very pleased, and whilst I'm delighting in being able to see stuff without glasses or contact lenses, it's often in the little moments that it hits home; when it started raining the other day and I instinctively reached up to take off the glasses which weren't there (to stop them getting wet), or when I pat my pockets as I leave home and remember no, I don't need to take the specs along any more. That kind of thing.
So, if you have the money lying around - or you'll pass the credit test for the Interest Free Credit payment scheme - and your eyes are suitable for laser treatment, I'd recommend it, but of course some people like the style aspect of glasses - different frames, etc. That was never the case for me, and what with the whole running / diving / mountain-climbing thing, they were becoming more of a nuisance hence the decision to get them fried. Er, I mean, 'professionally laser-treated'.
Any questions about any of it, feel free to e-mail me at MyEyesBurningLikeFire@johnsoanes.co.uk - so many people know someone who knows someone who's had their eyes done, but rather than relegate it to the status of an urban myth or other 'foaf' tale, why not get genuine first-generation info from me?
(Bro, I'm looking at you… and my eyes see you now!)
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
As X: The Man With The X-Ray Eyes (Apocryphally) Put It, "I Can Still See!"
And indeed I can. This has been independently verified by people with certificates on their walls.
Full post about the eye surgery coming soon, but am currently on a deadline re some writing stuff, and (unlike blogging) that might, y'know, bring in some money, so bear with me.
In the meantime, why not visit one of the fine blogs listed in the column to the right? Or, should you need to, you could just do a web search on the title of this post to see what the hell I'm on about this time.
Full post about the eye surgery coming soon, but am currently on a deadline re some writing stuff, and (unlike blogging) that might, y'know, bring in some money, so bear with me.
In the meantime, why not visit one of the fine blogs listed in the column to the right? Or, should you need to, you could just do a web search on the title of this post to see what the hell I'm on about this time.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Yes, It May Well Resemble The Ludovico Treatment Apparatus
Well, today I go to get my eyes lasered to (according to the write-up) "remove my reliance on glasses" - or, as I prefer to see it, sort out my short-sightedness. I'm hoping it'll go straightforwardly, as I have things to do in the next few weeks. I'm a busy man, dammit! Get me the Montreal Office on the phone!
Ahem.
Anyway, as the vast majority of people seem to know someone who knows someone who's had their eyes burnt this way, let me hereby volunteer to be your first-generation teller of the tale after I'm done. As well as the inevitable blog post about what it was, how it went, and whether it seems to have worked, etc, you can also e-mail me with any specific questions and the like.
Speaking of e-mail, if it all goes horribly wrong, these next few hours might be the last time you can send me e-mails, so send them now! Now, I say! To the keyboard with you, with all haste!
(So, in summary; might be a bit blog-quiet in the immediate future, but don't lose heart - I shall return with tales of lasers, as well as pictures of rude graffiti, strange books lying on tube seats, and links to classy photos taken by the talented chap who'll be photographing our wedding [yes indeed, you SHOULD be impressed], and, no doubt, the usual drivel.)
Ahem.
Anyway, as the vast majority of people seem to know someone who knows someone who's had their eyes burnt this way, let me hereby volunteer to be your first-generation teller of the tale after I'm done. As well as the inevitable blog post about what it was, how it went, and whether it seems to have worked, etc, you can also e-mail me with any specific questions and the like.
Speaking of e-mail, if it all goes horribly wrong, these next few hours might be the last time you can send me e-mails, so send them now! Now, I say! To the keyboard with you, with all haste!
(So, in summary; might be a bit blog-quiet in the immediate future, but don't lose heart - I shall return with tales of lasers, as well as pictures of rude graffiti, strange books lying on tube seats, and links to classy photos taken by the talented chap who'll be photographing our wedding [yes indeed, you SHOULD be impressed], and, no doubt, the usual drivel.)
Thursday, August 09, 2007
I Myself Personally
It occurs to me that perhaps in recent times I've slightly depersonalised this blog, and on a number of days it's been little more than a place for me to post links to interesting things (not that I'm knocking interesting things, you understand) or to pontificate about subjects (the vast majority of which, we all know, I have a limited knowledge about, but that's rarely stopped me in real life either). So I thought it was about time I posted something a bit more personal.
I have, for much of my life, confused being a decent chap with being a bit of a doormat. Particularly when it comes to women (historically, that is), I've been inclined to equate a willingness to let other people get what they want with being 'a good guy'. Obviously, I want to be one of the good guys - and hope that in the main part I am - but it does mean that on many occasions I've allowed my own desires to be secondary, or permitted people to be rude to me and not said anything back, in order to keep the peace.
This is partly a result of my upbringing (too much reading of superhero comics and wanting to be the hero, I fear), and also of my previous work in Customer Service (where you have to pretend that The Customer Is Always Right - you don't have to actually believe it, just act accordingly), and almost certainly of the strange political air when I was at college in the late 1980s (a subject I keep starting blog entries on, but which I can't quite get the right words for… yet. I will), and no doubt other experiences and relationships.
It's certainly had a knock-on effect in my life, meaning that I haven't pursued things which I've wanted, or spoken out in my favour when I could have done, lest I should offend or in some way prevent someone else getting what they want. I wouldn't rule out the possibility that it's actually a self-reinforcing behavioural pattern, in that if people think I'm likely to let them have what they want, they'll be more likely to push their luck, and so on.
But as Seymour Krelbourne in 'Little Shop Of Horrors' sings (in 'The Meek Shall Inherit'), "No! No! There's only so far you can bend", and for me that happened on a fairly major level in January of this year.
I won't go into the details, but suffice to say someone did something which pissed months of my time away and hurt my feelings, and when I pointed out what they'd done, they refused to take responsibility or show any remorse, and generally wheedled and lied about it - to me and people close to me. And whilst people close to me have said they understand my position, I think they've been faintly surprised that I've maintained my position on this - that is, that a wrong has been done and that I will never again speak to the person responsible - in the face of quite a lot of pressure, both explicit and implied.
This hasn't necessarily been an easy thing for me to learn to do - though it's abundantly clear to me that I needed to learn how to do it - and it's been by turns upsetting and frustrating, and it's frequently shown how I'm tacitly expected to drop the issue and effectively let the wrongdoer off the hook (and please, don't think that this was the first time this person has behaved like this towards me or those close to me, because it really wasn't). I've been fortunate in that my soon-to-be-wife Jules has had more experience of standing firm in such situations, because at the slightest sign of wavering on my part, she's been there to remind me of the wrong done, and what I need to do.
And I have to say that I feel better for having stood my ground. I think I've written before of how moving from the South of England to the North led to me feeling like a bit of an outsider, or a weirdo, and whilst I have no problem at all with that status (see Colin Wilson's excellent book 'The Outsider' for numerous examples of why this is an important position socially and creatively), it's perhaps telling that I have, more times than not, let other people have what they want for fear of appearing unreasonable or causing offence. Hardly, I realise, the behaviour of a wide-eyed loner who doesn't care if he travels the road to oblivion alone.
This post is, as I say, in the spirit of candour, and as it isn't an essay or argument, I don't have any direct conclusion to share or point to make, other than to suggest that, if you find yourself faltering when you know you're in the right (and in the situation I'm alluding to above, I can provide solid factual evidence that the other person was lying), I heartily recommend that you take a moment to consider whether that faltering comes from a wish to gain approval - and if so, whether approval from the person in question is actually worth having, if they're willing to ignore your side of things. And if course, there are the people who could suffer similar treatment if you let it pass - rewarding or permitting bad behaviour in a so-called adult is just as misplaced as with a child, as they too will carry on behaving that way.
Final thought: I used to work with a chap who would come into work two or three days a week, and frequently announce that he was working from home on Friday at about 4.45 on Thursday afternoon, often inconveniencing other people, and yet there was something about the way he did it which made it seem perfectly normal and reasonable. I commented on it to a friend, saying that his manner made it sound as if he was doing the logical thing, and that any suggestion to the contrary was sheer madness, and I noted that it was as if his words were rewriting reality as we perceived it to bring us into line with his thinking. My friend agreed, though like most people who aren't me, she found a much more succinct way to describe it: "Piss-taking with panache".
So, I say, let's not let people take the piss, be it with panache or not. And if they try, let them know you know what they're doing, and that you won't accept it. You can be pretty sure they won't try it again.
I have, for much of my life, confused being a decent chap with being a bit of a doormat. Particularly when it comes to women (historically, that is), I've been inclined to equate a willingness to let other people get what they want with being 'a good guy'. Obviously, I want to be one of the good guys - and hope that in the main part I am - but it does mean that on many occasions I've allowed my own desires to be secondary, or permitted people to be rude to me and not said anything back, in order to keep the peace.
This is partly a result of my upbringing (too much reading of superhero comics and wanting to be the hero, I fear), and also of my previous work in Customer Service (where you have to pretend that The Customer Is Always Right - you don't have to actually believe it, just act accordingly), and almost certainly of the strange political air when I was at college in the late 1980s (a subject I keep starting blog entries on, but which I can't quite get the right words for… yet. I will), and no doubt other experiences and relationships.
It's certainly had a knock-on effect in my life, meaning that I haven't pursued things which I've wanted, or spoken out in my favour when I could have done, lest I should offend or in some way prevent someone else getting what they want. I wouldn't rule out the possibility that it's actually a self-reinforcing behavioural pattern, in that if people think I'm likely to let them have what they want, they'll be more likely to push their luck, and so on.
But as Seymour Krelbourne in 'Little Shop Of Horrors' sings (in 'The Meek Shall Inherit'), "No! No! There's only so far you can bend", and for me that happened on a fairly major level in January of this year.
I won't go into the details, but suffice to say someone did something which pissed months of my time away and hurt my feelings, and when I pointed out what they'd done, they refused to take responsibility or show any remorse, and generally wheedled and lied about it - to me and people close to me. And whilst people close to me have said they understand my position, I think they've been faintly surprised that I've maintained my position on this - that is, that a wrong has been done and that I will never again speak to the person responsible - in the face of quite a lot of pressure, both explicit and implied.
This hasn't necessarily been an easy thing for me to learn to do - though it's abundantly clear to me that I needed to learn how to do it - and it's been by turns upsetting and frustrating, and it's frequently shown how I'm tacitly expected to drop the issue and effectively let the wrongdoer off the hook (and please, don't think that this was the first time this person has behaved like this towards me or those close to me, because it really wasn't). I've been fortunate in that my soon-to-be-wife Jules has had more experience of standing firm in such situations, because at the slightest sign of wavering on my part, she's been there to remind me of the wrong done, and what I need to do.
And I have to say that I feel better for having stood my ground. I think I've written before of how moving from the South of England to the North led to me feeling like a bit of an outsider, or a weirdo, and whilst I have no problem at all with that status (see Colin Wilson's excellent book 'The Outsider' for numerous examples of why this is an important position socially and creatively), it's perhaps telling that I have, more times than not, let other people have what they want for fear of appearing unreasonable or causing offence. Hardly, I realise, the behaviour of a wide-eyed loner who doesn't care if he travels the road to oblivion alone.
This post is, as I say, in the spirit of candour, and as it isn't an essay or argument, I don't have any direct conclusion to share or point to make, other than to suggest that, if you find yourself faltering when you know you're in the right (and in the situation I'm alluding to above, I can provide solid factual evidence that the other person was lying), I heartily recommend that you take a moment to consider whether that faltering comes from a wish to gain approval - and if so, whether approval from the person in question is actually worth having, if they're willing to ignore your side of things. And if course, there are the people who could suffer similar treatment if you let it pass - rewarding or permitting bad behaviour in a so-called adult is just as misplaced as with a child, as they too will carry on behaving that way.
Final thought: I used to work with a chap who would come into work two or three days a week, and frequently announce that he was working from home on Friday at about 4.45 on Thursday afternoon, often inconveniencing other people, and yet there was something about the way he did it which made it seem perfectly normal and reasonable. I commented on it to a friend, saying that his manner made it sound as if he was doing the logical thing, and that any suggestion to the contrary was sheer madness, and I noted that it was as if his words were rewriting reality as we perceived it to bring us into line with his thinking. My friend agreed, though like most people who aren't me, she found a much more succinct way to describe it: "Piss-taking with panache".
So, I say, let's not let people take the piss, be it with panache or not. And if they try, let them know you know what they're doing, and that you won't accept it. You can be pretty sure they won't try it again.
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Behold, I Am Indeed Become An Old Fart Who Just Doesn't Get It
Lyrics from the single currently at Number 2 in the youth-beat music charts, 'Foundations' by Kate Nash:
"Your face is pasty 'cause you've gone and got so wasted, what a surprise.
Don't want to look at your face 'cause it's makin' me sick.
You've gone and got sick on my trainers,
I only got these yesterday.
Oh, my gosh, I cannot be bothered with this."
Poetry, sheer poetry, it speaks to the spirit deep inside of me.
And, I suspect, all of us.
(It was a close-run thing; I almost posted something by Mike Skinner, but the repetition of the word 'sick' was what tipped it for me.)
"Your face is pasty 'cause you've gone and got so wasted, what a surprise.
Don't want to look at your face 'cause it's makin' me sick.
You've gone and got sick on my trainers,
I only got these yesterday.
Oh, my gosh, I cannot be bothered with this."
Poetry, sheer poetry, it speaks to the spirit deep inside of me.
And, I suspect, all of us.
(It was a close-run thing; I almost posted something by Mike Skinner, but the repetition of the word 'sick' was what tipped it for me.)
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Excess In Moderation, Moderation In Excess
As I may have mentioned, I'm having laser eye surgery at the end of this week, and by way of being a good patient, I'm making sure I've done all the background reading and the like.
However, I'm slightly at a loss as to how, afterwards, I'm supposed to 'avoid using my eyes excessively' - I mean, I use them from pretty much the moment I wake up until ... well, the moment I go to sleep.
Any ideas as to what the jiggins this means, please send them in. Before the end of the week, obviously, as after that time I'll be trying to avoid unnecessary wear and tear on my eyeballs.
However, I'm slightly at a loss as to how, afterwards, I'm supposed to 'avoid using my eyes excessively' - I mean, I use them from pretty much the moment I wake up until ... well, the moment I go to sleep.
Any ideas as to what the jiggins this means, please send them in. Before the end of the week, obviously, as after that time I'll be trying to avoid unnecessary wear and tear on my eyeballs.
Monday, August 06, 2007
Serve The Ego*
It's a Monday, and which of us doesn't feel a certain lassitude every now and again at the start of the week?
Join me in rampant egotism by getting yourself a Hollywood sign of your name here (link nicked from David Bishop's ever-interesting blog, Vicious Imagery).
Join me in rampant egotism by getting yourself a Hollywood sign of your name here (link nicked from David Bishop's ever-interesting blog, Vicious Imagery).
*A song by Jewel, whose music sells in vast quantities in the USA, but she's barely-known here. I heartily recommend her stuff (except for the album '03/04', which I felt was a bit of a misjudged departure in style, to be honest).
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Not Quite Lovely Spam, Wonderful Spam, But A Step In The Right Direction
Is it just me, or is anyone else finding that the tone of spam e-mails has taken a turn for the more friendly recently?
Over the years, I've become accustomed - indeed, almost numb - to e-mails trying to incite me to buy v1@gra and c1ali$ by offering me startling amounts of ejaculate*, or the ability to perform as if I were an actor in an adult straight-to-DVD feature, or even (less enticingly) to have a member capable of breaking wood, if not harming one's partner on some level.
But now, after a strange transitional phase when many spam e-mails appeared to be doing some kind of Burroughs-meets-Joyce cut-up text merge thing (frequently including long passages of text which, even more bizarrely, featured religious references), the majority of spam I receive now seems more polite, more positive, and in places, even literary.
For example, my spam filter this morning caught uninvited items with the following titles trying to sneak into the exclusive party that is my inbox:
To be or not to be. To be… (x3)
I show you how far the rabbit hole goes
You can…
Take a pride with Cial!s!
Wanna be like me?
Be happy! :)
Are you insecure?
You see? It almost feels as if they care about me, or at least want to engage in a genuine dialogue with me.
I mean, they've got a long way to go before they seem even remotely as friendly as those nice chaps from Nigeria who want to give me the money which is rightly owed to me by the fallen regime there, but it's good to know that the people who are willing to fulfil all my sex-chemical needs read Shakespeare and Lewis Carroll, and want to ensure that my mind is as free of insecurity and unhappiness as it is from thwarted sexual desires.
*That's the noun there, not the verb. Pronounced as if 'twere rhyming with "consulate".
Over the years, I've become accustomed - indeed, almost numb - to e-mails trying to incite me to buy v1@gra and c1ali$ by offering me startling amounts of ejaculate*, or the ability to perform as if I were an actor in an adult straight-to-DVD feature, or even (less enticingly) to have a member capable of breaking wood, if not harming one's partner on some level.
But now, after a strange transitional phase when many spam e-mails appeared to be doing some kind of Burroughs-meets-Joyce cut-up text merge thing (frequently including long passages of text which, even more bizarrely, featured religious references), the majority of spam I receive now seems more polite, more positive, and in places, even literary.
For example, my spam filter this morning caught uninvited items with the following titles trying to sneak into the exclusive party that is my inbox:
To be or not to be. To be… (x3)
I show you how far the rabbit hole goes
You can…
Take a pride with Cial!s!
Wanna be like me?
Be happy! :)
Are you insecure?
You see? It almost feels as if they care about me, or at least want to engage in a genuine dialogue with me.
I mean, they've got a long way to go before they seem even remotely as friendly as those nice chaps from Nigeria who want to give me the money which is rightly owed to me by the fallen regime there, but it's good to know that the people who are willing to fulfil all my sex-chemical needs read Shakespeare and Lewis Carroll, and want to ensure that my mind is as free of insecurity and unhappiness as it is from thwarted sexual desires.
*That's the noun there, not the verb. Pronounced as if 'twere rhyming with "consulate".
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
And Finally…
You’d hope that the length of this post would mean I’d exhausted all I had to say on the topic, but here’s a related link I couldn’t resist sharing: A Postmodern Essay Generator.
Just click ‘Refresh’ (or equivalent) on your browser to create a new essay. Worryingly convincing, aren’t they?
Just click ‘Refresh’ (or equivalent) on your browser to create a new essay. Worryingly convincing, aren’t they?
Mind You, If This Wish Was Granted, Writing Would Be Even More Competitive…
One of my favourite stand-up comedians, as I may well have mentioned before, is the late Bill Hicks. As with many things, the fanbase surrounding Hicks and his work can often get a little over-zealous, proclaiming him as a comedy messiah or preacher, and reciting his lines to the extent that a lot of people frown at the acolytes and understandably feel a bit wary of looking at the work in question. I've often averred that fans are the worst advert for their passions, and I think that this is pretty easily demonstrated - your average Rocky Horror Show fan, or the chap who quotes Monty Python sketches in the pub (as John Hannah does in 'Sliding Doors' much to the delight of those around him, which is at odds with anything I've ever seen) is unlikely to attract people to the subject matter.
But I digress, as the reason I refer to Hicks is that, probably a couple of decades ago now, he said "I've noticed a certain anti-intellectualism in this country", and as a fan of both Hicks and the idea that we should use our brains wherever possible, I always feel a little uncomfortable when saying things which have the ring of anti-intellectualism about them. And the following definitely has that, so please bear in mind it's written with a distinct feeling of 'is it just me, or ..?' about it.
So.
For a while now, I've been wondering about things like literary theories and critical approaches, and keep coming to the semi-conclusion that, well, really, they don't add a great deal to the sum of human knowledge. There seem to be a variety of ways of analysing a 'text' (and this word appears to apply to films as well as the printed word, oddly enough), many of which seem to relate to the issue of Cognitive Relativism - a theory which basically suggests that the veracity of something is relative to an individual or group. One theory, known as the Intentional Fallacy, states that the author's intention is irrelevant when it comes to assessing the literary or aesthetic merits of a text. These are simplistic examples, I'll freely admit, and you can easily find much more involved theories and approaches – here’s an example - but I want to be honest and admit that I've only dabbled in the shallowest ends of this big pool of thought; possibly because - see above - a lot of the advocates of these theories frankly scare me with their choices of words and ferocity of conviction.
The problem I have with all these approaches is one which can be summed up in another quote from Bill Hicks, and which sums up my feelings in four words: "Yeah, and so what?"
I know that sounds simplistic, but … well, if I take a modernist, post-modernist, or most-modernist approach to Hamlet and publish an essay about it, am I necessarily adding anything to the sum of human knowledge? Probably not. The original work still stands, hundreds of years after its first performance, and still speaks to people as a story, regardless of whether it has an oedipal subtext or whatever. And this, for me, is the problem for me with much criticism and theorising - it dwells on subtext or metaphor or possible interpretation, whilst seeming less keen on the actual stated narrative content. Yes, you could say that Hamlet wants to sleep with his Mum or that Iago wants to snog Othello, but it's not there on the page. It might be implied or vaguely alluded to or whatever, but it's faintly insulting to Shaky or any other author to suggest that they didn't put in everything that was important or relevant to the story. It also feels a lot like making a job for oneself - literally - if you're going to spend the rest of your life pumping out papers analysing other people's work.
My feelings on this clearly go back a long way, as I recall a conversation at college where my then-girlfriend told me about her English course:
But I digress, as the reason I refer to Hicks is that, probably a couple of decades ago now, he said "I've noticed a certain anti-intellectualism in this country", and as a fan of both Hicks and the idea that we should use our brains wherever possible, I always feel a little uncomfortable when saying things which have the ring of anti-intellectualism about them. And the following definitely has that, so please bear in mind it's written with a distinct feeling of 'is it just me, or ..?' about it.
So.
For a while now, I've been wondering about things like literary theories and critical approaches, and keep coming to the semi-conclusion that, well, really, they don't add a great deal to the sum of human knowledge. There seem to be a variety of ways of analysing a 'text' (and this word appears to apply to films as well as the printed word, oddly enough), many of which seem to relate to the issue of Cognitive Relativism - a theory which basically suggests that the veracity of something is relative to an individual or group. One theory, known as the Intentional Fallacy, states that the author's intention is irrelevant when it comes to assessing the literary or aesthetic merits of a text. These are simplistic examples, I'll freely admit, and you can easily find much more involved theories and approaches – here’s an example - but I want to be honest and admit that I've only dabbled in the shallowest ends of this big pool of thought; possibly because - see above - a lot of the advocates of these theories frankly scare me with their choices of words and ferocity of conviction.
The problem I have with all these approaches is one which can be summed up in another quote from Bill Hicks, and which sums up my feelings in four words: "Yeah, and so what?"
I know that sounds simplistic, but … well, if I take a modernist, post-modernist, or most-modernist approach to Hamlet and publish an essay about it, am I necessarily adding anything to the sum of human knowledge? Probably not. The original work still stands, hundreds of years after its first performance, and still speaks to people as a story, regardless of whether it has an oedipal subtext or whatever. And this, for me, is the problem for me with much criticism and theorising - it dwells on subtext or metaphor or possible interpretation, whilst seeming less keen on the actual stated narrative content. Yes, you could say that Hamlet wants to sleep with his Mum or that Iago wants to snog Othello, but it's not there on the page. It might be implied or vaguely alluded to or whatever, but it's faintly insulting to Shaky or any other author to suggest that they didn't put in everything that was important or relevant to the story. It also feels a lot like making a job for oneself - literally - if you're going to spend the rest of your life pumping out papers analysing other people's work.
My feelings on this clearly go back a long way, as I recall a conversation at college where my then-girlfriend told me about her English course:
SHE: Basically, we're being trained to be critics.
ME: But … but we don't need any more critics. We need creators.
ME: But … but we don't need any more critics. We need creators.
And I believe that; we need people making films and books and music and buildings and art and sculptures and plays much more than we need another person trained to analyse it from a post-structuralist angle or whatever. I think it was Colin Wilson (a man whose huge body of work spans both creation and analysis) who said that the reason various critical approaches have been seized upon so readily is because, when you use a specific approach to analyse a piece of art, you almost feel like you're doing something. This, to me, seems to be what it's all about - keeping yourself busy analysing how things are made, which is all very well and good, but we don't need the ratio of critics to creators to be so heavily weighted in favour of the former, especially when some clearly very good minds are effectively being wasted (I'm particularly thinking of the French literary theorists and philosophers here) when they could be, y'know, actually making something.
Subtext and metaphor and irony and the like are all very well indeed, but they have to be the cream on the cake or the sizzle on the steak; there needs to be a story (or, at the very least, series of events) for these to rest on. I've nothing against considering the possibility that Hamlet fancies his Mum as the reason for his hatred of his uncle, but that has to be a side issue compared with analysis of actual, specified events within the play. The danger of Cognitive Relativism is that, taken to its logical conclusion, it allows pretty much any interpretation of any piece of art to have equal merit and weight when compared with the opinions of the creator, which is odd at best, and strangely rude at worst.
Theorising run amok - and on this occasion overlapping with the world of science - was flagged up (and to my mind brilliantly skewered) by the physicist Alan Sokal in 1996. He felt that a lot of modern critics and philosophers were quoting scientific material (especially in relation to quantum physics) sloppily, and without regard to whether it actually made any sense. So, to see how true this might (or might not) be, he wrote a paper called ``Transgressing the Boundaries: Toward a Transformative Hermeneutics of Quantum Gravity'', basically cobbling together a whole load of science and philosophy to lead to a daft conclusion, albeit one phrased convincingly.
Sokal submitted it to a cultural studies journal, Social Text, who published it, despite it containing bizarre assertions such as "It has thus become increasingly apparent that physical ``reality'', no less than social ``reality'', is at bottom a social and linguistic construct" (as Sokal commented when revealing the hoax, "anyone who believes that the laws of physics are mere social conventions is invited to try transgressing those conventions from the windows of my apartment. [I live on the twenty-first floor.]").
Suffice to say, when revealed, Sokal's prank was not entirely popular with the people he was parodying and poking fun at, and I suspect this is more than partly because he pointed out to them that much of what they do is, essentially, of limited value. Indeed, there's an old - and surprisingly knowing - joke that the politics of the university are so intense because the stakes are so low. Though if someone's effectively pointed out (as Sokal did) that your academic stance is bogus, it might put your livelihood in jeopardy, which does make the stakes rather more real, and substantially higher.
(Aside: Sokal's book following the inevitable brouhaha, Intellectual Impostures, is an even more comprehensive demolition of sloppy theorising, but I must admit my brain started aching after several chapters, mainly because of the insanity of the ideas that Sokal and his co-writer were dismantling; if you want a more readable book on this theme, I highly recommend How Mumbo-Jumbo Conquered The World by Francis Wheen.)
As one who's keen to make his living from the written word, I may well be slightly jealous of those people who are able to do so more as a result of commenting on or theorising about existing works, but I truly and sincerely believe that the time and effort expended in training the next generation of critics would be much more profitably pointed in the direction of the creation of new material.
Simply put, would you rather be Samuel Johnson or James Boswell?
Subtext and metaphor and irony and the like are all very well indeed, but they have to be the cream on the cake or the sizzle on the steak; there needs to be a story (or, at the very least, series of events) for these to rest on. I've nothing against considering the possibility that Hamlet fancies his Mum as the reason for his hatred of his uncle, but that has to be a side issue compared with analysis of actual, specified events within the play. The danger of Cognitive Relativism is that, taken to its logical conclusion, it allows pretty much any interpretation of any piece of art to have equal merit and weight when compared with the opinions of the creator, which is odd at best, and strangely rude at worst.
Theorising run amok - and on this occasion overlapping with the world of science - was flagged up (and to my mind brilliantly skewered) by the physicist Alan Sokal in 1996. He felt that a lot of modern critics and philosophers were quoting scientific material (especially in relation to quantum physics) sloppily, and without regard to whether it actually made any sense. So, to see how true this might (or might not) be, he wrote a paper called ``Transgressing the Boundaries: Toward a Transformative Hermeneutics of Quantum Gravity'', basically cobbling together a whole load of science and philosophy to lead to a daft conclusion, albeit one phrased convincingly.
Sokal submitted it to a cultural studies journal, Social Text, who published it, despite it containing bizarre assertions such as "It has thus become increasingly apparent that physical ``reality'', no less than social ``reality'', is at bottom a social and linguistic construct" (as Sokal commented when revealing the hoax, "anyone who believes that the laws of physics are mere social conventions is invited to try transgressing those conventions from the windows of my apartment. [I live on the twenty-first floor.]").
Suffice to say, when revealed, Sokal's prank was not entirely popular with the people he was parodying and poking fun at, and I suspect this is more than partly because he pointed out to them that much of what they do is, essentially, of limited value. Indeed, there's an old - and surprisingly knowing - joke that the politics of the university are so intense because the stakes are so low. Though if someone's effectively pointed out (as Sokal did) that your academic stance is bogus, it might put your livelihood in jeopardy, which does make the stakes rather more real, and substantially higher.
(Aside: Sokal's book following the inevitable brouhaha, Intellectual Impostures, is an even more comprehensive demolition of sloppy theorising, but I must admit my brain started aching after several chapters, mainly because of the insanity of the ideas that Sokal and his co-writer were dismantling; if you want a more readable book on this theme, I highly recommend How Mumbo-Jumbo Conquered The World by Francis Wheen.)
As one who's keen to make his living from the written word, I may well be slightly jealous of those people who are able to do so more as a result of commenting on or theorising about existing works, but I truly and sincerely believe that the time and effort expended in training the next generation of critics would be much more profitably pointed in the direction of the creation of new material.
Simply put, would you rather be Samuel Johnson or James Boswell?
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