I only ever watch TV online these days. Most often I use catch-up services like iPlayer, but sometimes I will use bit-torrent to get something that is unavailable on catch-up - which, as a Linux user, is quite a lot.
This means that, for the time being, I don't own a television set and so I don't have to buy a TV licence.
Not that this stops the Licensing Authority from bombarding me with threatening letters full of harsh language telling me how I may be breaking the law and will be prosecuted. It tells me that I will have to pay a large fine if I'm caught.
I sent them a letter a few years ago telling them that I do not own a television set, but that doesn't seem to have helped. It seems that it is my responsibility to prove that I DO NOT have a television. They want to send an unprincipled (I know this because of what they do for a living) pen pusher to check.
Well fuck them. There is no chance of my allowing their agent to snoop around my home looking for contraband. It's just not an option. What point is there? I could easily hide a television in a cupboard or a drawer - I assume they won't insist on searching my pants-drawer? - or I could have a TV card in my PC for all they know. Are they gonna bring a screwdriver and check inside my pooter?
So basically, there is no practical need for them to snoop around my home so they will be, politely, refused permission to do so.
If they really really want to check then they will need to go to court. And if they do that I'll kick up a shit-storm.
I might even share my story with the Daily Mail.
You see what you are pushing me to the BBC? Do you see?
If they want my licence fee then they have to make it worth my while to own a fucking TV, and that's not going to happen when all they seem capable of coming up with is shite like Strictly Come Dancing and Two Pints of Lager and a Packet of Crisps.
Having said that, I might send Stewart Lee, Bruce Parry and Charlie Brooker a fiver each towards their budgets since I do watch and enjoy their stuff.
Tuesday, 31 March 2009
Monday, 30 March 2009
Oi! Me!
I wrote a diary in my mid to late teens and very early twenties.
I still have one of the volumes somewhere, and to anyone who happened to read it it would be nothing more than the petty and inane drbblings of an idiot. Which is exactly what it is.
I know the character it portrays very well though. I used to be him, and I still share many of his traits, so I have a special insight into him. I remember the circumstances of all of the entries extremely clearly, simply because I wrote them down and periodically read through them again over the years.
I also left little dated annotations as I re-read entries, mainly criticisms of my younger self which serve to highlight the prejudices, broader attitudes and increasing wisdom (gained via the cunning use of hindsight) of various older selves.
Here's the thing though; I can clearly recall that I felt the emotions and believed in the world-view that I expressed in those diaries (and the annotations) but I can't really say that I can recreate that mental state in my present self; I can only remember it. Not in the way that I would remember a third party from the past as such because, apart from anything else, I was party to the motivations and immediate emotional context of my actions and feelings, but I still feel strangely detached from that version of me from half a lifetime ago.
So this is for the me in ten years who might not be able to fully appreciate what it was like to be the me of 2009.
It's OK I suppose.
Better than being the me of 1990.
I still have one of the volumes somewhere, and to anyone who happened to read it it would be nothing more than the petty and inane drbblings of an idiot. Which is exactly what it is.
I know the character it portrays very well though. I used to be him, and I still share many of his traits, so I have a special insight into him. I remember the circumstances of all of the entries extremely clearly, simply because I wrote them down and periodically read through them again over the years.
I also left little dated annotations as I re-read entries, mainly criticisms of my younger self which serve to highlight the prejudices, broader attitudes and increasing wisdom (gained via the cunning use of hindsight) of various older selves.
Here's the thing though; I can clearly recall that I felt the emotions and believed in the world-view that I expressed in those diaries (and the annotations) but I can't really say that I can recreate that mental state in my present self; I can only remember it. Not in the way that I would remember a third party from the past as such because, apart from anything else, I was party to the motivations and immediate emotional context of my actions and feelings, but I still feel strangely detached from that version of me from half a lifetime ago.
So this is for the me in ten years who might not be able to fully appreciate what it was like to be the me of 2009.
It's OK I suppose.
Better than being the me of 1990.
Jerry Springer the Opera
Yeah, I know, this is in danger of becoming some fawning fansite, but I wanted to share with you (by 'you' I mean the future me) the slightly passive-aggressive email I sent to Stephen, (who I assume is Stephen Green, the National Director) at Christian Voice who objected to the play quite vociferously:
"I have just finished watching the DVD version of this musical and having already heard your objections to it, I was somewhat taken aback by the difference between your interpretation and the opera itself. In fact, the disparity between your description and the reality of the piece is, in my opinion, the most shocking thing about this whole affair and it seems to me that you have engaged in spiteful straw-man building in your criticisms.
Perhaps because one of the writers is an outspoken atheist?
It simply DOES NOT show Christ wearing a nappy! Not at any point does it do that. Never.
The character depicted as Christ only appears in a dream for one thing, and for another, he is clearly wearing a loincloth. The whole of the second half of the play is a criticism of the egotism of celebrity and frailty of man using biblical and poetic imagery. The fact that Springer is dreaming it is why the same actors are portraying the biblical figures in the second half. Therefore, the character in the nappy IS NOT a depiction of Christ and thus the accusation you make regarding the depiction of Christ as a sexual deviant is false. These are the facts.
The part where the Christ character (who, remember, is being imagined by the Springer character) says "I'm a little bit gay" is open to massive theological debate. I'm sure you've heard - and, may I be so presumptuous to assume - ignored them all, so I won't trouble you with them again. If you really want to hear my views on this then you only have to ask. I'll certainly share them with you, however you have to promise not to picket my house if you don't agree.......
I agree, it has a lot of swearing. That, I believe, is a matter of personal taste. Again, I have my own views on the artistic merit of this and if you want to hear them then, please, with the above caveat in mind, ask. I'll be only to happy to tell you.
Thank you for taking the time to read this.
With brotherly love,
Mark."
I had to go through a spam filter and verification process to get my email sent but hopefully Stephen will read and respond to it. I think, however, that it would be unethical of me to publish any reply he might give: so I would advise anyone who is interested in finding out Stephen's views to email him yourself and ask. I'd prefer you to keep it civil, after all he is a real person. I bet he loves having his views questioned.
The address is in the 'About Us' section of the C.V. website.
Sunday, 29 March 2009
Saturday, 28 March 2009
The Man (or Woman) From the Daily Mail.
I'm getting pissed off with all the feverish straw man building that's going on at the Daily Mail.
The most recent example of this (that I'm aware of - I don't read it very often) was their coverage of the Frost
bloke (you know, David, David Frost, the guy who played that thingy guy in "Long live Hooky Street", the one who isn't not called Dave and also isn't called Dave, you know that one that fell over in the pub and that dropped a light-thingy on the floor in a hotel , you know, the one who's Catherine Zeta Jones's dad?) who told a joke.
The joke was:
"What do you call an Indian Cloakroom attendant?
Ma hat an' ma coat."
A rubbish joke and a stupid pun, but not racist.
No rational person would call that joke racist and none did.
A rational person would simply call that joke piss-poor.
Which is why the Mail's story doesn't hold water when you investigate a bit. They tend not to say very much directly, prefering instead to phrase everything in a way which is clearly designed to allow people who want to think like fascists the excuse to do so, whilst anything that they do actually say is incredibly vague and/or opinion from stupid people in stupid pressure groups and/or simply complete shite.
Let's start with the headline:
"Sir David Jason forced to say sorry after making a 'racist' joke on live radio"
The quotes around the word 'racist' are key. This is The Mail saying "some people have called it racist, those people are stupid, but not us - see how we distance ourselves from these idiots".
Yet no-where in the article do they tell you WHO called the joke racist. The only time the word 'racist' appears in a quote in the article is when it's David's publicist who is being quoted. So, no matter how hard the Mail tried to find someone, no matter how far they dug below the level at which a sane person would normally expect a barrel to stop, no-one was willing to call it racist. But that didn't stop them from claiming people did and from getting all worked up about it whilst at the same time deriding imaginary others for getting worked up over nothing.
Also, Mr Del-Boy was forced to apologise was he? Who forced him? The Mail didn't mention that either; instead it goes into ape-shit-stirring straw man-building overdrive. Shouting off (under their breath) about Muslims and Political Correctness Goooorrrrrn Maaaaahhhhyyyyd and all that other toss they dribble on about. Whenever anything stupid like this happens they're there, waiting. Waiting to twist it out of all proportion and maybe wind a few fascists up into a frenzy. Get them hating brown people even more than they already did. Lovely jubbley.
They give an obscure pressure group, in the shape of The Ramadhan Foundation, a voice, linking the story to Islam, and then they give the bloke from the Campaign Against Political Correctness thing a say, linking it to the PC-Brigade.
To give them their due they did allow a Muslim minister the opportunity to tell them to shut it and grow up.
This misdirection has worked for the Mail for a few years now (since the mid-30s and the article “Hurrah for the Blackshirts” at least) and the comments below the article give an indication of how well it works. The Mail has got a wee bit clever since the 1930s. It no longer prints editorials praising fascism; it simply tries to influence the reader's thought process as they read the article. The sneaky fuckheads. Not really. It's hardly sneaky, it's really fucking obvious; but, like I said, some people want to believe it. Because, like I said, they are idiots. Stupid idiots.
"Time these P.C'S Got a Life and have a laugh because the more you start say jokes a raciest the more they will be heard. But all the joke about English , Scots, Welsh, Irish, Aussie, etc have been around for years and will continue. Just grow up and live with it."
Indeed, Richard, England. You seem like a clever boy. Stick in at nursery and they might let you into big school one day.
"What a great joke. Well done David - stuff the PC brigade how can that possibly be racist in any way shape or form, it was just funny."
No, Dave, PLYMOUTH, England, it fucking wasn't, it was fucking stupid.
"Why should Jason, (or anyone else) who was brought up when a spade was called a spade change his outlook to appease the loony left?"
Since when was a Muslim organisation and/or a Family Values pressure group inspired by Mary Whitehouse (Mediawatch) the 'loony left'? Both are clearly the 'loony right' if anything. Seems to me, David Baker, Reading, that you're willing to call a spade a 'pedally manipulated excavation implement' if it suits your agenda. You idiot.
"Nothing wrong with that joke, apart from it not being particularly funny. Leave Del boy alone! the PC brigade are definitely picking on the wrong cuddly character now."
No, Sarah, Mids, the mythical PC-Brigade are not picking on DJ. Or at least the article doesn't say that, it wants idiots to think it though, which is probably why you fell for it - you idiot.
"Indeed I do think Mr Jason should apologise, but only because that joke wasn't funny."
At last, someone with some real humour. Thanks, Dave, Edinburgh, Uk. Pity the Mail's idiot demographic have rated your comment at -512.
The Campaign Against Political Correctness has a website which features - on their faq - a photo of the Daily Mail's cover from a year or two ago which bemoaned the PC-brigade for forcing nurseries to change Ba-ba Black Sheep to 'Ba-ba Rainbow Sheep'. I did a bit of investigating into this story at the time and I might talk about that one day. Needless to say, it's fuck all like the Mail story suggests. If you are really interested (which I doubt) then it's not to difficult to find the Mail's story or the forum reaction to the Mail's story from idiots, but it's harder to find the truth. It's not that difficult though. Have a look. Their nerve is fucking stunning. As is the stupidity of those who choose to believe it, the fascist cunts.
"The well-established tolerance of the British is rapidly being eroded by these immigrants who want to impose their own practices and values on us." howardinmk (a racist), Milton Keynes Bucks. (my brackets (and contents))
PS- I posted non-sweary, non-threatening comments on The Mail and CAPC sites, I questioned the Raimbow Sheep story on the CAPC site and I asked who called DJ's joke racist on the Mail site. Not surprisingly, neither was published. Which is ironic when they bang on about free speech so fucking much!!
EDIT: I read this again a week later and realised that I'd told the 'proper' joke instead of DJ's version. The DJ version is, of course, the same but with Pakistani instead of Indian. Oops!
The most recent example of this (that I'm aware of - I don't read it very often) was their coverage of the Frost
bloke (you know, David, David Frost, the guy who played that thingy guy in "Long live Hooky Street", the one who isn't not called Dave and also isn't called Dave, you know that one that fell over in the pub and that dropped a light-thingy on the floor in a hotel , you know, the one who's Catherine Zeta Jones's dad?) who told a joke. The joke was:
"What do you call an Indian Cloakroom attendant?
Ma hat an' ma coat."
A rubbish joke and a stupid pun, but not racist.
No rational person would call that joke racist and none did.
A rational person would simply call that joke piss-poor.
Which is why the Mail's story doesn't hold water when you investigate a bit. They tend not to say very much directly, prefering instead to phrase everything in a way which is clearly designed to allow people who want to think like fascists the excuse to do so, whilst anything that they do actually say is incredibly vague and/or opinion from stupid people in stupid pressure groups and/or simply complete shite.
Let's start with the headline:
"Sir David Jason forced to say sorry after making a 'racist' joke on live radio"
The quotes around the word 'racist' are key. This is The Mail saying "some people have called it racist, those people are stupid, but not us - see how we distance ourselves from these idiots".
Yet no-where in the article do they tell you WHO called the joke racist. The only time the word 'racist' appears in a quote in the article is when it's David's publicist who is being quoted. So, no matter how hard the Mail tried to find someone, no matter how far they dug below the level at which a sane person would normally expect a barrel to stop, no-one was willing to call it racist. But that didn't stop them from claiming people did and from getting all worked up about it whilst at the same time deriding imaginary others for getting worked up over nothing.
Also, Mr Del-Boy was forced to apologise was he? Who forced him? The Mail didn't mention that either; instead it goes into ape-shit-stirring straw man-building overdrive. Shouting off (under their breath) about Muslims and Political Correctness Goooorrrrrn Maaaaahhhhyyyyd and all that other toss they dribble on about. Whenever anything stupid like this happens they're there, waiting. Waiting to twist it out of all proportion and maybe wind a few fascists up into a frenzy. Get them hating brown people even more than they already did. Lovely jubbley.
They give an obscure pressure group, in the shape of The Ramadhan Foundation, a voice, linking the story to Islam, and then they give the bloke from the Campaign Against Political Correctness thing a say, linking it to the PC-Brigade.
To give them their due they did allow a Muslim minister the opportunity to tell them to shut it and grow up.
This misdirection has worked for the Mail for a few years now (since the mid-30s and the article “Hurrah for the Blackshirts” at least) and the comments below the article give an indication of how well it works. The Mail has got a wee bit clever since the 1930s. It no longer prints editorials praising fascism; it simply tries to influence the reader's thought process as they read the article. The sneaky fuckheads. Not really. It's hardly sneaky, it's really fucking obvious; but, like I said, some people want to believe it. Because, like I said, they are idiots. Stupid idiots.
"Time these P.C'S Got a Life and have a laugh because the more you start say jokes a raciest the more they will be heard. But all the joke about English , Scots, Welsh, Irish, Aussie, etc have been around for years and will continue. Just grow up and live with it."
Indeed, Richard, England. You seem like a clever boy. Stick in at nursery and they might let you into big school one day.
"What a great joke. Well done David - stuff the PC brigade how can that possibly be racist in any way shape or form, it was just funny."
No, Dave, PLYMOUTH, England, it fucking wasn't, it was fucking stupid.
"Why should Jason, (or anyone else) who was brought up when a spade was called a spade change his outlook to appease the loony left?"
Since when was a Muslim organisation and/or a Family Values pressure group inspired by Mary Whitehouse (Mediawatch) the 'loony left'? Both are clearly the 'loony right' if anything. Seems to me, David Baker, Reading, that you're willing to call a spade a 'pedally manipulated excavation implement' if it suits your agenda. You idiot.
"Nothing wrong with that joke, apart from it not being particularly funny. Leave Del boy alone! the PC brigade are definitely picking on the wrong cuddly character now."
No, Sarah, Mids, the mythical PC-Brigade are not picking on DJ. Or at least the article doesn't say that, it wants idiots to think it though, which is probably why you fell for it - you idiot.
"Indeed I do think Mr Jason should apologise, but only because that joke wasn't funny."
At last, someone with some real humour. Thanks, Dave, Edinburgh, Uk. Pity the Mail's idiot demographic have rated your comment at -512.
The Campaign Against Political Correctness has a website which features - on their faq - a photo of the Daily Mail's cover from a year or two ago which bemoaned the PC-brigade for forcing nurseries to change Ba-ba Black Sheep to 'Ba-ba Rainbow Sheep'. I did a bit of investigating into this story at the time and I might talk about that one day. Needless to say, it's fuck all like the Mail story suggests. If you are really interested (which I doubt) then it's not to difficult to find the Mail's story or the forum reaction to the Mail's story from idiots, but it's harder to find the truth. It's not that difficult though. Have a look. Their nerve is fucking stunning. As is the stupidity of those who choose to believe it, the fascist cunts.
"The well-established tolerance of the British is rapidly being eroded by these immigrants who want to impose their own practices and values on us." howardinmk (a racist), Milton Keynes Bucks. (my brackets (and contents))
PS- I posted non-sweary, non-threatening comments on The Mail and CAPC sites, I questioned the Raimbow Sheep story on the CAPC site and I asked who called DJ's joke racist on the Mail site. Not surprisingly, neither was published. Which is ironic when they bang on about free speech so fucking much!!
EDIT: I read this again a week later and realised that I'd told the 'proper' joke instead of DJ's version. The DJ version is, of course, the same but with Pakistani instead of Indian. Oops!
Friday, 27 March 2009
You know how you sometimes get a song stuck in your head?
I like singing, it makes me feel carefree and joyful, which is why I'm so annoyed by the fact that I am properly rubbish at it. I'm not annoyed because I want to be a great singer as such, it's more that I'm annoyed the realisation that people will often object to tuneless but joyful singing.
Which is why I enjoy secret singing. You know, where you put on headphones and play out your incredible gusto-heavy performance in your own head.
You can do this anywhere which makes it even better.
I like doing it on the bus, secretly singing and secretly smiling to myself. I know, I probably look quite mad, but if I was openly singing I'd be sectioned so, really, society has got itself a bargain; instead of yet another pissed-off libertarian nutter to contain in the loony-bin it merely has to deal with a slightly strange looking bloke swaying, bobbing his head and occasionally mouthing something like 'baby I've been fucked already' when I get carried away during the loud bits. I chastise myself if I get carried away like this. People might notice and it's a secret remember.
Then I tell myself to lighten up, which makes myself angry with me and I have to calm myself down and make it clear to myself that I don't want to argue.
Which is why I enjoy secret singing. You know, where you put on headphones and play out your incredible gusto-heavy performance in your own head.
You can do this anywhere which makes it even better.
I like doing it on the bus, secretly singing and secretly smiling to myself. I know, I probably look quite mad, but if I was openly singing I'd be sectioned so, really, society has got itself a bargain; instead of yet another pissed-off libertarian nutter to contain in the loony-bin it merely has to deal with a slightly strange looking bloke swaying, bobbing his head and occasionally mouthing something like 'baby I've been fucked already' when I get carried away during the loud bits. I chastise myself if I get carried away like this. People might notice and it's a secret remember.
Then I tell myself to lighten up, which makes myself angry with me and I have to calm myself down and make it clear to myself that I don't want to argue.
Thursday, 26 March 2009
Calm a llama down.
I am of the opinion that it is inherently funny to successfully ignore the rules.
I think that mocking convention is both big and clever. That's not to say that the consequences of this shouldn't be taken into account mind you. I mean, the famous Star Trek infinitive split never did anyone any harm did it? And it sounded more poetic than 'go boldly' because the word 'go' has an 'open' sound at the end which signifies movement for a start.
My split infinitive in the first line of this blog is less poetic (indeed it is somewhat clunky) but serves to cheaply illustrate the point.
Had I not used it deliberately then would I have been ignoring the rules? Can you ignore something if you are ignorant of its existence? Even if you know the Star Trek example, but you don't know what an infinitive is?
Well, the infinitive is usually 'to' followed by the simple form of a verb (there is no information given about subject, context or time or any of that stuff that verbs often give) but it is not a verb: it can act as a noun, adjective or adverb. 'To boldly go' (or even 'to go boldly') is an adverb (I think) because it tells us why the Enterprise is in space.
It's not always so easy though;
When I heard my alarm clock ring I threw the fucking thing across the room.
If you can spot the infinitive then you are ready to break the rules. Go forth and undermine.
Good luck.
I think that mocking convention is both big and clever. That's not to say that the consequences of this shouldn't be taken into account mind you. I mean, the famous Star Trek infinitive split never did anyone any harm did it? And it sounded more poetic than 'go boldly' because the word 'go' has an 'open' sound at the end which signifies movement for a start.
My split infinitive in the first line of this blog is less poetic (indeed it is somewhat clunky) but serves to cheaply illustrate the point.
Had I not used it deliberately then would I have been ignoring the rules? Can you ignore something if you are ignorant of its existence? Even if you know the Star Trek example, but you don't know what an infinitive is?
Well, the infinitive is usually 'to' followed by the simple form of a verb (there is no information given about subject, context or time or any of that stuff that verbs often give) but it is not a verb: it can act as a noun, adjective or adverb. 'To boldly go' (or even 'to go boldly') is an adverb (I think) because it tells us why the Enterprise is in space.
It's not always so easy though;
When I heard my alarm clock ring I threw the fucking thing across the room.
If you can spot the infinitive then you are ready to break the rules. Go forth and undermine.
Good luck.
Wednesday, 25 March 2009
Linux
It's created by what could pass for a free collective of all humanity and it's better than anything any commercial organisation has ever cobbled together to do the same job.
Try it; it's good for your PC and good for your soul.
Try it; it's good for your PC and good for your soul.
Tuesday, 24 March 2009
Stewart Lee's Comedy Vehicle.
I first heard about the likelihood of this a few years ago when Stewart mentioned making the pilot on one of his live DVD performances, and I remember being a tad excited by the prospect of the return of hard-hitting, cerebral and innovative standup comedy to UK television.
This alone could make it the best year for TV comedy since 2004 (Garth Marenghi's Darkplace, Mighty Boosh and Green Wing all in one sweet sweetyear! Ahhh, the good old days....). Ahhhhh!
Then, in another DVD (recorded the following year) the entire 'entomologists' piece relies on the notion that the series was not commissioned. And it wasn't. But, it seems that a recent kull in BBC management resulted in the series being recommissioned. Ace!
The titles are hilarious to anybody familiar with Stewart Lee's comedy persona. To anyone who is not, they are just a fat bloke failing to look childish then looking bemused instead. Which is funny.
The peogram itself is hit and miss though. I'd rather it was just a straight half hour of standup which I think would suit his style which is based on a slow build up and repetition. His standup is beautifully crafted that it seems a shame to break it up with sketches - even if they do mean he can give his mates (such as The Actor Kevin Eldon, The Curious Orange and The-Bloke-Who-Wrote-The-Joke-'People often say to me me...')-Which-Joe-Pasquali-Stole. (He's called Michael Redmond). The sketches are funny enough and the Channel 4 series were especially good in episode two; but I still think that they get in the way and can sometimes feel a bit clunky and spoil the flow. The Delboy sketch was a good example of this. It looked expensive as well!
There is a wee smidgen of a cheeky 'fuck you' to the medium which ignored him for ten years and good for him, they fucking deserve it. Ignorant fuckers.
All in all it's still great to see a standup being given this sort of opportunity for the first time since (I think) Dave Allen and hopefully the sketches will improve or else I'll grow into them, because I'd hate for them to spoil it.
PS- Lee's old mucker Herrin can be found here playing Andrew Collings's sidekick.
(It is dead good, my favourite podcast by a long way)
This alone could make it the best year for TV comedy since 2004 (Garth Marenghi's Darkplace, Mighty Boosh and Green Wing all in one sweet sweetyear! Ahhh, the good old days....). Ahhhhh!
Then, in another DVD (recorded the following year) the entire 'entomologists' piece relies on the notion that the series was not commissioned. And it wasn't. But, it seems that a recent kull in BBC management resulted in the series being recommissioned. Ace!
The titles are hilarious to anybody familiar with Stewart Lee's comedy persona. To anyone who is not, they are just a fat bloke failing to look childish then looking bemused instead. Which is funny.
The peogram itself is hit and miss though. I'd rather it was just a straight half hour of standup which I think would suit his style which is based on a slow build up and repetition. His standup is beautifully crafted that it seems a shame to break it up with sketches - even if they do mean he can give his mates (such as The Actor Kevin Eldon, The Curious Orange and The-Bloke-Who-Wrote-The-Joke-'People often say to me me...')-Which-Joe-Pasquali-Stole. (He's called Michael Redmond). The sketches are funny enough and the Channel 4 series were especially good in episode two; but I still think that they get in the way and can sometimes feel a bit clunky and spoil the flow. The Delboy sketch was a good example of this. It looked expensive as well!
There is a wee smidgen of a cheeky 'fuck you' to the medium which ignored him for ten years and good for him, they fucking deserve it. Ignorant fuckers.
All in all it's still great to see a standup being given this sort of opportunity for the first time since (I think) Dave Allen and hopefully the sketches will improve or else I'll grow into them, because I'd hate for them to spoil it.
PS- Lee's old mucker Herrin can be found here playing Andrew Collings's sidekick.
(It is dead good, my favourite podcast by a long way)
Monday, 23 March 2009
Amazing Things.
This one could get a bit rambley.
You don't have to bear with me if you can't be arsed, so this is just a wee advance warning. If you are anything like me and hate reading rambley stuff you'll have stopped reading by now, which is why I find it amusing to address this entire useless, rambling paragraph - which, as we have already established, they are not going to read - to them.
There. After that, anyone who is left isn't going to mind a bit of ramblingness.
Humans are cool. We really are.
Which is why it's a shame that so many of us have to live in fear of starvation so that the rest of us can write blogs and read rambling shite about poverty.
But what do we do?
I have no idea. What I do know is that none of what we are currently doing is working. It's not working even a little bit, and in fact it's making it much much worse. The gap between the richest and poorest is increasing, the numbers of poor are rising (relatively and in real terms) and the avenues for social mobility are being closed off.
Now none of this applies to anyone in the West, not because we have a Social Welfare system, but because we exported our poverty to other countries. Now our cheap goods are manufactured by cheap labour abroad. The low wages and the subsequent mass scale hand to mouth existence means that entire countries often have little cash to invest in infrastructure at any level.
This is our fault. We buy whatever the fuck we want and we never consider the consequences.
This is business' fault because they lie to us or allow themselves to become so big and cumbersome that they are incapable of ensuring their responsibilities are properly carried out; i.e. they don't know what the truth is.
It is ultimately our fault though. We want stuff because we do. We want it cheap and we want it easy but we probably won't want it any more soon, because times have moved on; there'll be new stuff to want and wanting the old stuff is now considered stupid and a bit weird.
So maybe we need to be a bit fairer. The humans we lock in factories all day so we can have the latest style of (say) cheap crockery are also amazing, so maybe we should buy less crockery but pay more for it, take better care of it give the amazing creatures who make it a reward in keeping with his/her sacrifice of time and freedom so that they can do some amazing things for themselves for a change - because as it it they are working to support our lifestyle and that's not fair.
You don't have to bear with me if you can't be arsed, so this is just a wee advance warning. If you are anything like me and hate reading rambley stuff you'll have stopped reading by now, which is why I find it amusing to address this entire useless, rambling paragraph - which, as we have already established, they are not going to read - to them.
There. After that, anyone who is left isn't going to mind a bit of ramblingness.
Humans are cool. We really are.
Which is why it's a shame that so many of us have to live in fear of starvation so that the rest of us can write blogs and read rambling shite about poverty.
But what do we do?
I have no idea. What I do know is that none of what we are currently doing is working. It's not working even a little bit, and in fact it's making it much much worse. The gap between the richest and poorest is increasing, the numbers of poor are rising (relatively and in real terms) and the avenues for social mobility are being closed off.
Now none of this applies to anyone in the West, not because we have a Social Welfare system, but because we exported our poverty to other countries. Now our cheap goods are manufactured by cheap labour abroad. The low wages and the subsequent mass scale hand to mouth existence means that entire countries often have little cash to invest in infrastructure at any level.
This is our fault. We buy whatever the fuck we want and we never consider the consequences.
This is business' fault because they lie to us or allow themselves to become so big and cumbersome that they are incapable of ensuring their responsibilities are properly carried out; i.e. they don't know what the truth is.
It is ultimately our fault though. We want stuff because we do. We want it cheap and we want it easy but we probably won't want it any more soon, because times have moved on; there'll be new stuff to want and wanting the old stuff is now considered stupid and a bit weird.
So maybe we need to be a bit fairer. The humans we lock in factories all day so we can have the latest style of (say) cheap crockery are also amazing, so maybe we should buy less crockery but pay more for it, take better care of it give the amazing creatures who make it a reward in keeping with his/her sacrifice of time and freedom so that they can do some amazing things for themselves for a change - because as it it they are working to support our lifestyle and that's not fair.
Sunday, 22 March 2009
A Pair of Fucking Idiots.
I spelt 'Appalachian' wrong the other day.
I noticed this when I was browsing in Coda (a record shop specialising in traditional music).
The way this is going it will turn out that my imaginary mountain-man actually lives in the Adirondack Mountains, which are often considered a part of the Appalachians, but they're not. All the other mountains on the northern part of the east of the USA are, but the Adirondacks are part of the Canadian Shield apparently.
My imagined self-sufficient gentleman with a beard definitely lives in the Appalachians though.
Specifically, he lives in the Green mountains of Vermont, where he grows haricot beans and jute, but still can't make an axe.
So he's still a fucking idiot.
I bought 'Arc Light', the new album from Lau; a fiddle band, or 'a formidable union of three of the finest and most
innovative exponents of modern traditional music in Scotland today; Kris Drever (guitar and vocal), Martin Green (piano accordion) and Aidan O’Rourke (fiddle).'
Anyway, the man in the shop asked if I wanted a signed copy or a sealed copy. Having never been asked the question before, and not caring either way, I was having trouble not looking a bit confused by the question.
I was also aware that modern traditional music scene in Scotland is probably somewhat close-knit community and that by appearing to disparage the symbols of the personalities who created the music I might be offending friends of the shopkeeper.
With that in mind I said 'I'm only interested in the music'.
Because I too am a fucking idiot.
I noticed this when I was browsing in Coda (a record shop specialising in traditional music).
The way this is going it will turn out that my imaginary mountain-man actually lives in the Adirondack Mountains, which are often considered a part of the Appalachians, but they're not. All the other mountains on the northern part of the east of the USA are, but the Adirondacks are part of the Canadian Shield apparently.
My imagined self-sufficient gentleman with a beard definitely lives in the Appalachians though.
Specifically, he lives in the Green mountains of Vermont, where he grows haricot beans and jute, but still can't make an axe.
So he's still a fucking idiot.
I bought 'Arc Light', the new album from Lau; a fiddle band, or 'a formidable union of three of the finest and most
innovative exponents of modern traditional music in Scotland today; Kris Drever (guitar and vocal), Martin Green (piano accordion) and Aidan O’Rourke (fiddle).'Anyway, the man in the shop asked if I wanted a signed copy or a sealed copy. Having never been asked the question before, and not caring either way, I was having trouble not looking a bit confused by the question.
I was also aware that modern traditional music scene in Scotland is probably somewhat close-knit community and that by appearing to disparage the symbols of the personalities who created the music I might be offending friends of the shopkeeper.
With that in mind I said 'I'm only interested in the music'.
Because I too am a fucking idiot.
Saturday, 21 March 2009
Mexican Food.
It's Mothers' Day tomorrow.
Or is that Mother's Day?
I mean is it for all Mothers or just one's own Mother?
Or is it a conspiracy by florists and restaurants to shift product at an otherwise quiet time of year?
I know it's proper title is 'Mothering Sunday' but nobody calls it that. For a start it sounds like it should refer to the one Sunday of the year when some Mothering gets done.
Anyway, I'm taking my Mum out for lunch today instead.
So stick that in your pipe and smoke it.
Or is that Mother's Day?
I mean is it for all Mothers or just one's own Mother?
Or is it a conspiracy by florists and restaurants to shift product at an otherwise quiet time of year?
I know it's proper title is 'Mothering Sunday' but nobody calls it that. For a start it sounds like it should refer to the one Sunday of the year when some Mothering gets done.
Anyway, I'm taking my Mum out for lunch today instead.
So stick that in your pipe and smoke it.
Friday, 20 March 2009
The Venerable Bean.
I spelt 'haricot' wrong the other day.
I noticed this later when I was reading Jane Grigson's classic 'Vegetable Book'.
This is how a cookery book should be written - good descriptions of the ingredients including their history, storage, cultivation and cultural importance. It then tells you how to cook them and gives a few recipe ideas. In other words, it shows you how to understand your ingredients rather than simply giving you a formula to follow blindly. I could now go on to show how this could be a lesson for other areas of life, but I'm keen to discuss beans so I'll leave you all with that one to contemplate fr yourselves!
Haricot beans are confusing. It seems that there are a great many varieties for a start, each of which can be harvested and prepared in a variety of ways (picked young and whole they can be served as a green bean, a bit like the string-bean for instance). It also seems that what we call haricot beans are not the same as the beans the French give that name, but I could be wrong; like I said, it's confusing!
Like the tomato, beans have even suffered prejudice in the past. The ancients saw beans as containing the souls of the dead and the Romans ate them only at funerals. Lucien introduced a philosopher in hell by saying that he didn't know which was the greater crime; eating beans or eating your father's head! It should be noted that Lucien was a satirist so that's not meant literally. He was probably making some clever point about the whole 'beans containing human souls' thing. Yet here we are, eating beans with ne'er a care.
So, baked beans eh? Mr Heinz? Can you hear me?
Before Heinz baked and tinned beans they were used mainly be the middle and upper classes (for some reason) until Mr Heinz realised their potential and decided to put them in a can.
The recipe which inspired Heinz beans (Boston baked beans) is close to the French Cassoulet de castelnaudaray according to Ms Grigson, and she gives an example (she says it's much closer to the Boston dish than the French dish since it would be far too sweet for the French tastes) which she calls simple, but then it assumes you have a potted duck handy! It contains stuff like pork, bay, beer, mustard, molasses and candied ginger.
A tin of Heinz beans contains (from memory) beans, water, tomato, sugar, vinegar, cornstarch and 'spices'.
I didn't find any tasty looking recipes which have Heinz beans as an ingredient, which didn't surprise me: 200 years of culinary evolution and we are left with a 'dish' who's second largest ingredient is water.
Oh, and you could probably grow haricot beans in the Appellation mountains. Probably not in the forest, but the beardy man could find a clearing and grow them there.
He could probably grow a jute plant or two as well.
He's working on that axe and tells me he'll get started on it as soon as he's built his foundry.
I noticed this later when I was reading Jane Grigson's classic 'Vegetable Book'.
This is how a cookery book should be written - good descriptions of the ingredients including their history, storage, cultivation and cultural importance. It then tells you how to cook them and gives a few recipe ideas. In other words, it shows you how to understand your ingredients rather than simply giving you a formula to follow blindly. I could now go on to show how this could be a lesson for other areas of life, but I'm keen to discuss beans so I'll leave you all with that one to contemplate fr yourselves!
Haricot beans are confusing. It seems that there are a great many varieties for a start, each of which can be harvested and prepared in a variety of ways (picked young and whole they can be served as a green bean, a bit like the string-bean for instance). It also seems that what we call haricot beans are not the same as the beans the French give that name, but I could be wrong; like I said, it's confusing!
Like the tomato, beans have even suffered prejudice in the past. The ancients saw beans as containing the souls of the dead and the Romans ate them only at funerals. Lucien introduced a philosopher in hell by saying that he didn't know which was the greater crime; eating beans or eating your father's head! It should be noted that Lucien was a satirist so that's not meant literally. He was probably making some clever point about the whole 'beans containing human souls' thing. Yet here we are, eating beans with ne'er a care.
So, baked beans eh? Mr Heinz? Can you hear me?
Before Heinz baked and tinned beans they were used mainly be the middle and upper classes (for some reason) until Mr Heinz realised their potential and decided to put them in a can.
The recipe which inspired Heinz beans (Boston baked beans) is close to the French Cassoulet de castelnaudaray according to Ms Grigson, and she gives an example (she says it's much closer to the Boston dish than the French dish since it would be far too sweet for the French tastes) which she calls simple, but then it assumes you have a potted duck handy! It contains stuff like pork, bay, beer, mustard, molasses and candied ginger.
A tin of Heinz beans contains (from memory) beans, water, tomato, sugar, vinegar, cornstarch and 'spices'.
I didn't find any tasty looking recipes which have Heinz beans as an ingredient, which didn't surprise me: 200 years of culinary evolution and we are left with a 'dish' who's second largest ingredient is water.
Oh, and you could probably grow haricot beans in the Appellation mountains. Probably not in the forest, but the beardy man could find a clearing and grow them there.
He could probably grow a jute plant or two as well.
He's working on that axe and tells me he'll get started on it as soon as he's built his foundry.
Thursday, 19 March 2009
Bring on The Falkirk!
Yet another trip to Hampden (the home of Scottish Football) for my team after we (well, they)
beat Aberdeen on penalties in a replay last night to set up a semi-final showdown with our arch rivals Falkirk.
I needed a wee cheer-up as well. Thank you The Pars!
I think that's the eighth visit in five years (they must have played there more than nearly every other team recently) and since there is a good chance that they could make the final that would be the fourth final in five years! Not bad for a wee team who are in danger of relegation for the second time in three years!
I'm over the moon, not sick as a parrot and and at the end of the day I have to be pleased with how the lads done.
Lilly Allen said she was now an Aberdeen fan when she played there recently.
Consider my cake well and truly iced.
beat Aberdeen on penalties in a replay last night to set up a semi-final showdown with our arch rivals Falkirk.I needed a wee cheer-up as well. Thank you The Pars!
I think that's the eighth visit in five years (they must have played there more than nearly every other team recently) and since there is a good chance that they could make the final that would be the fourth final in five years! Not bad for a wee team who are in danger of relegation for the second time in three years!
I'm over the moon, not sick as a parrot and and at the end of the day I have to be pleased with how the lads done.
Lilly Allen said she was now an Aberdeen fan when she played there recently.
Consider my cake well and truly iced.
Wednesday, 18 March 2009
Misanthropy.
I want to like humanity, I really do.
It's a great idea in my opinion; self aware creatures, what a fabby concept! They'll question stuff. They might even work out how the universe works! That is so fucking cool!
The problem is that they have a practical need to work together because they don't really have the individual wherewithal to survive.
Even the beardy fella in his shack in the woods can't make metal tools - he simply doesn't have the time to build and maintain the rather specialised infrastructure needed for mining, quarrying, smelting and smithing never mind collecting the materials and working them.
He can't even make his own axe the fucking useless idiot.
And he's probably got a gun. where did he get that?
And that sack of beans look suspicious too! Surely Jute and yummy harricot beans won't both grow in the middle of the Appellation mountains? Anyway, I don't see a loom.
He got them because - whether he likes it or not - his existence relies on others. Loads of others.
Same with us. Our lifestyle relies on hoards of undernourished kids in the Third World making cheap party-frocks for wages of pennies a day so that they can afford to buy the food produced by undernourished farmers. The farmers might rely on overnourished petrochemical fertiliser companies (and the folk they employ), Who rely on overnourished oil companies and their (probably) amoral people.
And all of them rely on each other and many more besides. None of those ones know how to make an axe either.
It's simple, but crucial to human existence, and it is often overlooked - or even denied - which is why I hate people.
People are fucking idiots who depend, for their very existence, on other fucking idiots.
All of us.
It's a great idea in my opinion; self aware creatures, what a fabby concept! They'll question stuff. They might even work out how the universe works! That is so fucking cool!
The problem is that they have a practical need to work together because they don't really have the individual wherewithal to survive.
Even the beardy fella in his shack in the woods can't make metal tools - he simply doesn't have the time to build and maintain the rather specialised infrastructure needed for mining, quarrying, smelting and smithing never mind collecting the materials and working them.
He can't even make his own axe the fucking useless idiot.
And he's probably got a gun. where did he get that?
And that sack of beans look suspicious too! Surely Jute and yummy harricot beans won't both grow in the middle of the Appellation mountains? Anyway, I don't see a loom.
He got them because - whether he likes it or not - his existence relies on others. Loads of others.
Same with us. Our lifestyle relies on hoards of undernourished kids in the Third World making cheap party-frocks for wages of pennies a day so that they can afford to buy the food produced by undernourished farmers. The farmers might rely on overnourished petrochemical fertiliser companies (and the folk they employ), Who rely on overnourished oil companies and their (probably) amoral people.
And all of them rely on each other and many more besides. None of those ones know how to make an axe either.
It's simple, but crucial to human existence, and it is often overlooked - or even denied - which is why I hate people.
People are fucking idiots who depend, for their very existence, on other fucking idiots.
All of us.
Tuesday, 17 March 2009
God Hates Fags.
Smoking is one of my favourite things.
It's wonderful. It makes you look cool and it has nihilist connotations which make you BE cool as well.
That's clearly rubbish. I wish I could stop.
Every time I get a sore throat or chest I think I'm going to die, and if I happen to sleep in a funny position so that I wake up with a sore arm I'm googling 'heart disease' within five minutes.
Obviously I have my morning ciggy hanging from my mouth while I do so.
It's wonderful. It makes you look cool and it has nihilist connotations which make you BE cool as well.
That's clearly rubbish. I wish I could stop.
Every time I get a sore throat or chest I think I'm going to die, and if I happen to sleep in a funny position so that I wake up with a sore arm I'm googling 'heart disease' within five minutes.
Obviously I have my morning ciggy hanging from my mouth while I do so.
Monday, 16 March 2009
Hypocrisy
The thing about writing rubbish on the internet is that it is far too easy.
In theory.
But what do I write about? I mean, what is there really to say that hasn't already been said a million times? What boring detail of my life is mundane enough for this blog? Should I tell you about the restaurant booking I made today? About the train tickets I bought this morning? About the drunk lads I saw on my way to the supermarket at lunchtime?
The drunk lads. I'm going to write about the drunk lads, because there isn't enough written about cheery drunk people and too much about aggressive or stupid drunk people.
I was walking towards an underpass near my house when I became aware that I could hear a familiar scene behind me. I thought nothing of it for a second or two, then I realised that it wasn't all that familiar for a Monday lunchtime at all. It went a little like this:
"YEEEAAAARRAAAHHHH"
"chuckle!"
"FAMINAFRAMINNNAAAAMAAA"
[slight scuffle]
[silly giggling]
I was a little perturbed by this and decided to 'tie my shoelace' to allow them to pass by before going down into the subway, in case I was forced to interact with an unknown number of unpredictable drunks for a reasonably prolonged stretch of time.
So, having tied - and untied, then retied; the drunkards were unpredictable remember... - both of my shoelaces, they eventually passed.
They were older than I'd assumed.
They must have been in their late twenties/early thirties, which to me is far to old to be pissed on a Monday afternoon.
They were also in higher spirits than I'd imagined.
Rather than behaving like threatening adolescents who were all trying to prove their dominance to passers by because they had anaesthetised all but the basest of brain function, they were behaving like 8-year-olds on their way home from school.
They were clearly celebrating something very important (to them) and I felt bad for thinking that they were in any way threatening. Not bad because I'm a prejudiced idiot (I've come to terms with that) but because my attitude seemed like a slight on their good nature.
Then one of them walked up to a truck at a junction and calmly opened the driver's door before offering the driver his hand to shake. Audacious, but simple!
And do you know what the driver did?
He scowled and shut his door.
And I thought "what a joyless fucker" and walked on.
In theory.
But what do I write about? I mean, what is there really to say that hasn't already been said a million times? What boring detail of my life is mundane enough for this blog? Should I tell you about the restaurant booking I made today? About the train tickets I bought this morning? About the drunk lads I saw on my way to the supermarket at lunchtime?
The drunk lads. I'm going to write about the drunk lads, because there isn't enough written about cheery drunk people and too much about aggressive or stupid drunk people.
I was walking towards an underpass near my house when I became aware that I could hear a familiar scene behind me. I thought nothing of it for a second or two, then I realised that it wasn't all that familiar for a Monday lunchtime at all. It went a little like this:
"YEEEAAAARRAAAHHHH"
"chuckle!"
"FAMINAFRAMINNNAAAAMAAA"
[slight scuffle]
[silly giggling]
I was a little perturbed by this and decided to 'tie my shoelace' to allow them to pass by before going down into the subway, in case I was forced to interact with an unknown number of unpredictable drunks for a reasonably prolonged stretch of time.
So, having tied - and untied, then retied; the drunkards were unpredictable remember... - both of my shoelaces, they eventually passed.
They were older than I'd assumed.
They must have been in their late twenties/early thirties, which to me is far to old to be pissed on a Monday afternoon.
They were also in higher spirits than I'd imagined.
Rather than behaving like threatening adolescents who were all trying to prove their dominance to passers by because they had anaesthetised all but the basest of brain function, they were behaving like 8-year-olds on their way home from school.
They were clearly celebrating something very important (to them) and I felt bad for thinking that they were in any way threatening. Not bad because I'm a prejudiced idiot (I've come to terms with that) but because my attitude seemed like a slight on their good nature.
Then one of them walked up to a truck at a junction and calmly opened the driver's door before offering the driver his hand to shake. Audacious, but simple!
And do you know what the driver did?
He scowled and shut his door.
And I thought "what a joyless fucker" and walked on.
Sunday, 15 March 2009
Going to London
I'm in the process of booking a trip to London so that I can visit some family and friends.
I've seen rather a lot of my London based relatives recently, unfortunately it's been at funerals so it wasn't the best of circumstances.
Anyway, back to the travel booking conversation:
The train was my first 'port' of call. It's my favourite way to travel, having, what I consider to be, a good balance between convenience and environmental considerations.
It is also the most expensive by quite some way.
Even flights with BA to London City airport (probably the most expensive carrier going to probably the most expensive airport?) is a fair bit cheaper. How can this be? It's simply NOT cheaper to run an aeroplane to London than it is a train. It can't be - air travel is massively less efficient than train travel, so what's going on? Even with all the surcharges levied against the airlines and all the subsidies given to the train operators, why can't the train companies compete?
So, having decided that my financial concerns were trumped by my immediate financial problems, I decided to take a BA flight to City. This would be my first short-haul flight in 25 years so I didn't feel TOO bad.
But it turns out I need a passport or some other official ID to board the flight. I have a provisional driving license (the photo type) but no passport.
Actually, ignore all that - I just phoned BA and no ID is required for domestic travel. D'oh!
In my defence, I'm not a fan of air travel and my sister fibbed to me. Ho-hum, I live and learn.
Now to see if I can manage to book a flight on-line. With my luck (well, with my stupidity) I'll end up booking a flight to Marrakesh.
Or the moon.
Wish me luck :)
(Oh, and the 'flight' part of the cost for a return flight booked a month in advance is twelve pounds - the rest (£79.40) is fees - how can BA afford to sell seats for six pounds?!)
I've seen rather a lot of my London based relatives recently, unfortunately it's been at funerals so it wasn't the best of circumstances.
Anyway, back to the travel booking conversation:
The train was my first 'port' of call. It's my favourite way to travel, having, what I consider to be, a good balance between convenience and environmental considerations.
It is also the most expensive by quite some way.
Even flights with BA to London City airport (probably the most expensive carrier going to probably the most expensive airport?) is a fair bit cheaper. How can this be? It's simply NOT cheaper to run an aeroplane to London than it is a train. It can't be - air travel is massively less efficient than train travel, so what's going on? Even with all the surcharges levied against the airlines and all the subsidies given to the train operators, why can't the train companies compete?
So, having decided that my financial concerns were trumped by my immediate financial problems, I decided to take a BA flight to City. This would be my first short-haul flight in 25 years so I didn't feel TOO bad.
But it turns out I need a passport or some other official ID to board the flight. I have a provisional driving license (the photo type) but no passport.
Actually, ignore all that - I just phoned BA and no ID is required for domestic travel. D'oh!
In my defence, I'm not a fan of air travel and my sister fibbed to me. Ho-hum, I live and learn.
Now to see if I can manage to book a flight on-line. With my luck (well, with my stupidity) I'll end up booking a flight to Marrakesh.
Or the moon.
Wish me luck :)
(Oh, and the 'flight' part of the cost for a return flight booked a month in advance is twelve pounds - the rest (£79.40) is fees - how can BA afford to sell seats for six pounds?!)
Saturday, 14 March 2009
Blog #1
This is an exercise for me. It's not so much about putting my thoughts 
down as it is about writing something every day in the hope that I might improve my writing skills. Part of the plan is to write it out as it comes to me so there will be no redrafting or editing (unless someone threatens to sue me; which seems unlikely since that would require that somebody reads it...)
So, to begin on a downbeat, my cat died on Thursday.
she was euthenised by the vet because she had a cancerous brain lesion and I have to admit that I have taken it quite badly.
She had been unwell for about a year and despite various visits to the vet and close observation the vet was unable to determine what the problem was. This, I suspect, is because they weren't paying attention.
MyI first noticed that she wasn't herself last April and took her to the vet, where I explained that she was hiding herself away, not grooming herself properly, was dribbling and seemed a little unsteady on her feet. I suspected that she had had a stroke or something. The vet gave me something that amounted to prozac for cats; which she was happy to take and it seemed to bring her back towards to her old self again for a time. But it was a surface thing - she just didn't care so much that she was terminally ill and for a week or two I thought she was improving - these 'mini recoveries' where quite frequent over her final year although each one would be short and far from complete.
So for 11 months she would make, what was for her, the stressful visit to the vet (on the bus because driving is a filthy habbit - what makes you think I want to breath in all those disgusting fumes?) where she would be in such a state of agitation that proper diagnosis was difficult, until, eventually, the vet conceded that proper extensive (and expensive) investigatory procedures where required and she was booked in for x-rays, blood tests and a throat exam. Clearly this would be dangerous because she would require a general anesthetic and in her condition she could fail to recover conciousness.
So I took her in at 8am and was told to expect a call to collect her at 4pm.
At 4.30pm I was a wee bit worried, so I called the vet and after a delay the receptoinist said that she was still under the anasthetic and the vet would call me soon. This made me more worried so I found a distraction and waited.
At 5.15pm the vet called and told me that she was dieing and asked permission to put her to sleep, and I consented.
It's strange, but on the phone to the vet I was fairly together and unemotional - I was dealing with very serious business and wanted to keep my thinking straight I suppose. But as soon as I out the phone down I started blubbering like a two year old and didn't stop for four hours.
Remember the distraction when I was waiting for the vet to call? Well that consisted of writing a facetios email about Buckminster Fuller to my friend R, which soon descended into me discussing my worries about my pet, which in turn meant that I couldn't send it before I found out what was happening otherwise R (who is a fellow feline fan) will have been worried.
Needless to say, I didn't send it once I received the news; I sent a shorter, less playful one instead.
The original email is shown below:
Title:Bucky
"The balls of carbon, not the "wine".
I saw you had new stuff up so I had a wee rummage around your page (no, that's not stalkerish at all, shut up!) and saw the Buckminster Fuller group.
On wikipedia they quote him as describing the Model T Ford as an example of ephemeralization.
Oops.
Not such a visionary after all are we Mr Dome bloke! :oD
Also, Alvin Tollfer (the guy what writed a book that is called 'Future Shock') says it could lead to an over complication of society; and what would that do to everyone's chakras?
Bad things, that's what.
So, maybe, thinking about it, ephemeralization is stupid and so is my initial enthusiasm!
The group's love of triangles (which, as you may know, I share) is rather charming though so I might still join.
And I'm gonna find out more about this Tollfer bloke - he might not have invented any domes made out of triangles or inspired any hollow balls of carbon, but, unlike me, he knows a silly, short-termist idea when he sees one.
Also, how are you guys? :)
Jezebel is very poorly :(
I had to ram antibiotics down her throat against her will for a week and now I'm not her friend any more.
She's with the vet today for x-rays and stuff and they said that, in her condition, she might not react well to the general anaesthetic. So I'm extremely worried. I went to check on her when I got home from the vet, forgetting that I just left her with the vet. That made me feel lonely.
I went to the supermarket after the vet's and I went to buy catfood and thought I better wait and see. That very nearly had me blubbering in the isles.
Hence the manic, but fruitless, distraction hunting.
I've just realised that this might make you worried about her too, so I'm going to wait until the vet 'phones before I send it.
Meanwhile, if you don't mind, I'll keep wittering on about whatever's on my mind right now.
[time passes]
I only have the cat on my mind. I'm going to have to find something else to do. Besides, this email is far too long relative to the information content (see! I should have just said 'rambling', but no! I have to say all that stuff about information and then chastise myself for rambling verbosity (using the written word for some reason) which doesn't really help.)
I'd be rubbish at Twitter, wouldn't I :oD"
down as it is about writing something every day in the hope that I might improve my writing skills. Part of the plan is to write it out as it comes to me so there will be no redrafting or editing (unless someone threatens to sue me; which seems unlikely since that would require that somebody reads it...)
So, to begin on a downbeat, my cat died on Thursday.
she was euthenised by the vet because she had a cancerous brain lesion and I have to admit that I have taken it quite badly.
She had been unwell for about a year and despite various visits to the vet and close observation the vet was unable to determine what the problem was. This, I suspect, is because they weren't paying attention.
MyI first noticed that she wasn't herself last April and took her to the vet, where I explained that she was hiding herself away, not grooming herself properly, was dribbling and seemed a little unsteady on her feet. I suspected that she had had a stroke or something. The vet gave me something that amounted to prozac for cats; which she was happy to take and it seemed to bring her back towards to her old self again for a time. But it was a surface thing - she just didn't care so much that she was terminally ill and for a week or two I thought she was improving - these 'mini recoveries' where quite frequent over her final year although each one would be short and far from complete.
So for 11 months she would make, what was for her, the stressful visit to the vet (on the bus because driving is a filthy habbit - what makes you think I want to breath in all those disgusting fumes?) where she would be in such a state of agitation that proper diagnosis was difficult, until, eventually, the vet conceded that proper extensive (and expensive) investigatory procedures where required and she was booked in for x-rays, blood tests and a throat exam. Clearly this would be dangerous because she would require a general anesthetic and in her condition she could fail to recover conciousness.
So I took her in at 8am and was told to expect a call to collect her at 4pm.
At 4.30pm I was a wee bit worried, so I called the vet and after a delay the receptoinist said that she was still under the anasthetic and the vet would call me soon. This made me more worried so I found a distraction and waited.
At 5.15pm the vet called and told me that she was dieing and asked permission to put her to sleep, and I consented.
It's strange, but on the phone to the vet I was fairly together and unemotional - I was dealing with very serious business and wanted to keep my thinking straight I suppose. But as soon as I out the phone down I started blubbering like a two year old and didn't stop for four hours.
Remember the distraction when I was waiting for the vet to call? Well that consisted of writing a facetios email about Buckminster Fuller to my friend R, which soon descended into me discussing my worries about my pet, which in turn meant that I couldn't send it before I found out what was happening otherwise R (who is a fellow feline fan) will have been worried.
Needless to say, I didn't send it once I received the news; I sent a shorter, less playful one instead.
The original email is shown below:
Title:Bucky
"The balls of carbon, not the "wine".
I saw you had new stuff up so I had a wee rummage around your page (no, that's not stalkerish at all, shut up!) and saw the Buckminster Fuller group.
On wikipedia they quote him as describing the Model T Ford as an example of ephemeralization.
Oops.
Not such a visionary after all are we Mr Dome bloke! :oD
Also, Alvin Tollfer (the guy what writed a book that is called 'Future Shock') says it could lead to an over complication of society; and what would that do to everyone's chakras?
Bad things, that's what.
So, maybe, thinking about it, ephemeralization is stupid and so is my initial enthusiasm!
The group's love of triangles (which, as you may know, I share) is rather charming though so I might still join.
And I'm gonna find out more about this Tollfer bloke - he might not have invented any domes made out of triangles or inspired any hollow balls of carbon, but, unlike me, he knows a silly, short-termist idea when he sees one.
Also, how are you guys? :)
Jezebel is very poorly :(
I had to ram antibiotics down her throat against her will for a week and now I'm not her friend any more.
She's with the vet today for x-rays and stuff and they said that, in her condition, she might not react well to the general anaesthetic. So I'm extremely worried. I went to check on her when I got home from the vet, forgetting that I just left her with the vet. That made me feel lonely.
I went to the supermarket after the vet's and I went to buy catfood and thought I better wait and see. That very nearly had me blubbering in the isles.
Hence the manic, but fruitless, distraction hunting.
I've just realised that this might make you worried about her too, so I'm going to wait until the vet 'phones before I send it.
Meanwhile, if you don't mind, I'll keep wittering on about whatever's on my mind right now.
[time passes]
I only have the cat on my mind. I'm going to have to find something else to do. Besides, this email is far too long relative to the information content (see! I should have just said 'rambling', but no! I have to say all that stuff about information and then chastise myself for rambling verbosity (using the written word for some reason) which doesn't really help.)
I'd be rubbish at Twitter, wouldn't I :oD"
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)