Lack of light
In an incredibly stupid and retrograde move some pinty-haired boss type in Simon and Schuster had decided to dissolve their excellent Earthlight SF imprint and move the authors over into their general fiction area. Coming so soon after S&S's humiliating loss of award winning SF author Christopher Priest - who had his book so ineptly marketed by their general fiction imprint instead of being handled by their spot-on SF team - and the ever-increasing sales of SF and Fantasy this decision beggars belief. John Jarrold how founded and built up this excellent and well run and marketed stable of authors has made his displeasure known on the Alien Online, while Mike Cobley, who has taken part in a two pronged attack on the Edinburgh Book Festival with me for their lack of SF, has been discussing this blow on his Shadowjournal. I've sent a very angry letter to the Bookseller and will have to consider one to write to S&S's MD.
My own experience tells me major publishers who don't have a dedicated team to oversee their genres don't get reviews and don't sell as many books. Why anyone would throw away all that they had built to overcome this is beyond me. I wonder if they have some of the Waterstone's senior management team on loan to them?
Saturday, July 26, 2003
Give 'er the gun
New firearm certificates reached an all time low in Scotland. Texas, you could learn something from us.
New firearm certificates reached an all time low in Scotland. Texas, you could learn something from us.
Eat me
Cannibal killer stories are bizarre enough, but a cannibal who has a willing victim is even odder. However that’s what happened in this rather disturbing case in Germany. Using internet chat rooms a man with a fetish for eating human flesh actually sought out a willing victim who had a matching desire to be devoured.
In fact he found two - the first went as far as being stripped, wrapped in plastic and having the meat joints marked out for butchering before deciding he didn’t actually want to be eaten and leaving. Second time round a volunteer took a day off work, put his affairs in order and went on over for a most unusual dining experience.
Apparently the victim - if that is the correct term considering he volunteered - also had a desire for some flesh consumption. So his obliging host - with his permission - lopped of his penis and cooked it for both of them. Then he stabbed him to death, butchered him and put the joints in the freezer so he could use his books on human cooking at his leisure. Shade of the bad guy in Frank Miller’s Sin City who cuts of a victim’s hand then makes them watch him have it for dinner.
Killing someone to eat them is horrid enough - unless you are a starving, ship-wrecked sailor and you need something to go with your own urine. But someone who actually wants to be eaten? Now there is a use for the internet that most of the futurists never came up with. I am so glad to be a vegetarian.
Cannibal killer stories are bizarre enough, but a cannibal who has a willing victim is even odder. However that’s what happened in this rather disturbing case in Germany. Using internet chat rooms a man with a fetish for eating human flesh actually sought out a willing victim who had a matching desire to be devoured.
In fact he found two - the first went as far as being stripped, wrapped in plastic and having the meat joints marked out for butchering before deciding he didn’t actually want to be eaten and leaving. Second time round a volunteer took a day off work, put his affairs in order and went on over for a most unusual dining experience.
Apparently the victim - if that is the correct term considering he volunteered - also had a desire for some flesh consumption. So his obliging host - with his permission - lopped of his penis and cooked it for both of them. Then he stabbed him to death, butchered him and put the joints in the freezer so he could use his books on human cooking at his leisure. Shade of the bad guy in Frank Miller’s Sin City who cuts of a victim’s hand then makes them watch him have it for dinner.
Killing someone to eat them is horrid enough - unless you are a starving, ship-wrecked sailor and you need something to go with your own urine. But someone who actually wants to be eaten? Now there is a use for the internet that most of the futurists never came up with. I am so glad to be a vegetarian.
Monday, July 21, 2003
The Eagle has landed
Today marks the 34th anniversary of the first moon landing. Only a handful of years since President John F. Kennedy made a historic speech in which he committed NASA to the goal of landing a man on the moon and returning him safely to the Earth, Apollo 11 blasted off, riding the back of a massive Saturn V booster. Werner von Braun and other former Third Reich scientists designed this multi-stage monster to carry a vessel into lunar space. Less than 25 years after those same scientists had been designing and launching V2 missiles for Hitler, less than a decade since Yuri Gagarin had immortalised himself with the first ever voyage of mankind into space. Fewer than 70 years since Orville and Wilbur Wright had sputtered into the air for a few precious seconds at Kittyhawk - that’s less than a human lifetime.
Think on that for a moment; a person who was a child when the newspapers broke the news that humanity had broken the chains that held them to the earth in 1903 may have, as an elderly person, have watched the first man to walk on the moon on television. Another astounding invention we mostly take for granted and one which didn’t figure in most SF visions of the first moon walk. As Arthur C Clarke pointed out, the first lunar landing had been described by countless SF writers as far back as mathematician Johannes Keppler, yet none of them predicted that millions upon millions of humans would watch it happen in their own homes.
I was barely two years old when Neil Armstrong walked on the moon. As I grew up, playing in my little astronaut suit, I read books on astronomy, cosmology, SF and I dreamed of the future. It seemed so limitless; we were on the cusp of mass space travel. Everyone would get to try this shiny new future world - holidays in space would be as common as air package holidays already were. The moon would be colonised and we’d be on Mars by the start of the 21st century. And I grew up as the Space Age, the age that had spawned me, faded into paler shades and the new age of the Information Revolution. Recently looking back through some old 2000AD annuals from the 70s I read again articles on hotels in orbit and the sub-orbital, hypersonic planes which would take us there, all designed to follow the fantastic Concorde.
The future was amazing, we could - we would - be able to do almost anything. Now it is the 21st century - the science fiction century I dreamed of - and I’m 35. What happened? No space hotels, no chance of ever flying into space - even the Concorde about to be retired. Disease, starvation, poverty and war - Bush and Blair take note because you’re directly responsible for these horsemen - are still rampant. We were going to use space age technology to feed the world and cure disease, as well as go on holiday to the moon. Those Space Age dreams now look to be as accurate in the predictive area as an episode of the Jetsons. Even what little is left of the space programme hangs by a thread.
It’s the 21st century and it seems like every other one sometimes. I’m 35 and stuck in a depressing job with a crush on a girl who ain‘t interested. I’m starting to worry that I’ll never get to be an astronaut. I’m starting to wonder just how depressing the rest of this tarnished future is going to be. I can only hope that somewhere there is another quantum reality out there where it all went right for the world and for me.
Today marks the 34th anniversary of the first moon landing. Only a handful of years since President John F. Kennedy made a historic speech in which he committed NASA to the goal of landing a man on the moon and returning him safely to the Earth, Apollo 11 blasted off, riding the back of a massive Saturn V booster. Werner von Braun and other former Third Reich scientists designed this multi-stage monster to carry a vessel into lunar space. Less than 25 years after those same scientists had been designing and launching V2 missiles for Hitler, less than a decade since Yuri Gagarin had immortalised himself with the first ever voyage of mankind into space. Fewer than 70 years since Orville and Wilbur Wright had sputtered into the air for a few precious seconds at Kittyhawk - that’s less than a human lifetime.
Think on that for a moment; a person who was a child when the newspapers broke the news that humanity had broken the chains that held them to the earth in 1903 may have, as an elderly person, have watched the first man to walk on the moon on television. Another astounding invention we mostly take for granted and one which didn’t figure in most SF visions of the first moon walk. As Arthur C Clarke pointed out, the first lunar landing had been described by countless SF writers as far back as mathematician Johannes Keppler, yet none of them predicted that millions upon millions of humans would watch it happen in their own homes.
I was barely two years old when Neil Armstrong walked on the moon. As I grew up, playing in my little astronaut suit, I read books on astronomy, cosmology, SF and I dreamed of the future. It seemed so limitless; we were on the cusp of mass space travel. Everyone would get to try this shiny new future world - holidays in space would be as common as air package holidays already were. The moon would be colonised and we’d be on Mars by the start of the 21st century. And I grew up as the Space Age, the age that had spawned me, faded into paler shades and the new age of the Information Revolution. Recently looking back through some old 2000AD annuals from the 70s I read again articles on hotels in orbit and the sub-orbital, hypersonic planes which would take us there, all designed to follow the fantastic Concorde.
The future was amazing, we could - we would - be able to do almost anything. Now it is the 21st century - the science fiction century I dreamed of - and I’m 35. What happened? No space hotels, no chance of ever flying into space - even the Concorde about to be retired. Disease, starvation, poverty and war - Bush and Blair take note because you’re directly responsible for these horsemen - are still rampant. We were going to use space age technology to feed the world and cure disease, as well as go on holiday to the moon. Those Space Age dreams now look to be as accurate in the predictive area as an episode of the Jetsons. Even what little is left of the space programme hangs by a thread.
It’s the 21st century and it seems like every other one sometimes. I’m 35 and stuck in a depressing job with a crush on a girl who ain‘t interested. I’m starting to worry that I’ll never get to be an astronaut. I’m starting to wonder just how depressing the rest of this tarnished future is going to be. I can only hope that somewhere there is another quantum reality out there where it all went right for the world and for me.
Hot lips
I’ve been watching some repeats of M*A*S*H on Paramount. I loved the show when I was younger. Unlike most things which appear better in the fuzzy glow of hindsight I was pleased to see that this was still a damned good show with some wonderful characters.
I also realised for the first time that Major Margaret ‘Hot Lips’ Hoolihan (Loretta Switt) looks remarkably like one of my closest chums, Melanie. Well, now I know what to suggest to her next time we’re going to a fancy dress party.
I’ve been watching some repeats of M*A*S*H on Paramount. I loved the show when I was younger. Unlike most things which appear better in the fuzzy glow of hindsight I was pleased to see that this was still a damned good show with some wonderful characters.
I also realised for the first time that Major Margaret ‘Hot Lips’ Hoolihan (Loretta Switt) looks remarkably like one of my closest chums, Melanie. Well, now I know what to suggest to her next time we’re going to a fancy dress party.
Sunday, July 20, 2003
A legend continues
Once upon a time there were two little boys. One followed his father on amazing adventures, the other watched entranced at strange new worlds being revealed by them. One was Jean Michel Cousteau, son of the legendary Jacques Cousteau. The other was, of course, me. I loved watching Cousteau’s programmes of deep sea exploration. Many people did, even people who didn’t read books on science and exploration marvelled at the worlds he revealed beneath the blue blanket that cradles our Earth. He had that ability, to enthuse millions with one of the most glorious gifts anyone can have - a sense of wonder.
The alien worlds he revealed were awe inspiring, beautiful, fragile. He also campaigned tirelessly to conserve our marine environment. As he pointed out the oceans are the source of all life on Earth - to pollute and poison them is to kill ourselves. It is billions of years since simple life forms dragged themselves from the ancient seas and began the long evolutionary march that would create birds, otters, tigers, snakes, monkeys, and people. And as another legend, the great Arthur C Clarke, once pointed out we still carry that marine evolution within us. Our bodies are mostly water, our skin like a spacesuit to allow an aquatic creature to move freely on the land. Marvelling at the images the BBC’s Blue Planet revealed I couldn’t help but remember those Cousteau films I watched a kid.
So I was very interested - not to mention happy - to see this article on Jean Michel Cousteau on the ENN - Environmental News Network. Carrying on the family name and the exploration, as well as the same call for more research and the cry to battle for conservation of our remarkable environment. The five year old in me who wanted to dive the depths and find submerged cities and mighty krakens is delighted that new generations will experience the wonders of the deep brought to them by the Cousteaus.
Which links very neatly to the fantastic science history I read recently, Monturiol’s Dream. A mid 1800s Catalonian socialist revolutionary who designs and builds the first proper submarine in the world. The review is, as ever, on the Alien Online.
Once upon a time there were two little boys. One followed his father on amazing adventures, the other watched entranced at strange new worlds being revealed by them. One was Jean Michel Cousteau, son of the legendary Jacques Cousteau. The other was, of course, me. I loved watching Cousteau’s programmes of deep sea exploration. Many people did, even people who didn’t read books on science and exploration marvelled at the worlds he revealed beneath the blue blanket that cradles our Earth. He had that ability, to enthuse millions with one of the most glorious gifts anyone can have - a sense of wonder.
The alien worlds he revealed were awe inspiring, beautiful, fragile. He also campaigned tirelessly to conserve our marine environment. As he pointed out the oceans are the source of all life on Earth - to pollute and poison them is to kill ourselves. It is billions of years since simple life forms dragged themselves from the ancient seas and began the long evolutionary march that would create birds, otters, tigers, snakes, monkeys, and people. And as another legend, the great Arthur C Clarke, once pointed out we still carry that marine evolution within us. Our bodies are mostly water, our skin like a spacesuit to allow an aquatic creature to move freely on the land. Marvelling at the images the BBC’s Blue Planet revealed I couldn’t help but remember those Cousteau films I watched a kid.
So I was very interested - not to mention happy - to see this article on Jean Michel Cousteau on the ENN - Environmental News Network. Carrying on the family name and the exploration, as well as the same call for more research and the cry to battle for conservation of our remarkable environment. The five year old in me who wanted to dive the depths and find submerged cities and mighty krakens is delighted that new generations will experience the wonders of the deep brought to them by the Cousteaus.
Which links very neatly to the fantastic science history I read recently, Monturiol’s Dream. A mid 1800s Catalonian socialist revolutionary who designs and builds the first proper submarine in the world. The review is, as ever, on the Alien Online.
On the Edge…
Just echoing what Ken MacLeod said recently on his blog: well done on BBC Digital for repeating the excellent 1980s dark political thriller, Edge of Darkness. It’s the first time in years I’ve seen it and, although in some ways it is very much of its time, it still has a strong contemporary message too - depleted uranium stories being buried anyone?
Bob Peck was excellent as the dogged detective investigating the death of his environmental activist daughter, digging (literally) into the murky world of nuclear waste (guided by the ghost - or hallucination - of his daughter), while Joe Don Baker as the mad CIA agent with a fixation for the TV show Come Dancing is fab. One of the strongest images to me however was of a freight train hauling a cargo of radioactive waste through the night past British cities. It reminds me of the quiet, nocturnal convoys carrying nuclear weapons to and from Faslane, the prime naval base on Scotland’s west coast for Royal and US Navy submarines. Dark trucks trundling along on the motorways through Glasgow as the city slept; transporting nuclear weapons right through the middle of the most heavily populated area in the country.
Perhaps that is why those of us who remember those days take the terrorist threats our governments want us to believe in so much (why not? Gives them more power over us after all) with a pinch of salt. It’s not that we aren’t concerned - we have, after all, the tragic proof of what can happen. But when you lived with the fact that at two minutes notice all life on Earth could be annihilated very little else will scare you that badly. Or at least that’s how I try to comfort myself whenever I watch the news and see the blank, vacant, empty gaze of George Bush’s eyes and remember the awful arsenal this idiot wields without thought. And then realising, as with those night-time convoys of quiet death, that there was far more evil lurking in the shadows that we barely glimpse, going on all around us, all the time. Where is Codename V when we need him?
Just echoing what Ken MacLeod said recently on his blog: well done on BBC Digital for repeating the excellent 1980s dark political thriller, Edge of Darkness. It’s the first time in years I’ve seen it and, although in some ways it is very much of its time, it still has a strong contemporary message too - depleted uranium stories being buried anyone?
Bob Peck was excellent as the dogged detective investigating the death of his environmental activist daughter, digging (literally) into the murky world of nuclear waste (guided by the ghost - or hallucination - of his daughter), while Joe Don Baker as the mad CIA agent with a fixation for the TV show Come Dancing is fab. One of the strongest images to me however was of a freight train hauling a cargo of radioactive waste through the night past British cities. It reminds me of the quiet, nocturnal convoys carrying nuclear weapons to and from Faslane, the prime naval base on Scotland’s west coast for Royal and US Navy submarines. Dark trucks trundling along on the motorways through Glasgow as the city slept; transporting nuclear weapons right through the middle of the most heavily populated area in the country.
Perhaps that is why those of us who remember those days take the terrorist threats our governments want us to believe in so much (why not? Gives them more power over us after all) with a pinch of salt. It’s not that we aren’t concerned - we have, after all, the tragic proof of what can happen. But when you lived with the fact that at two minutes notice all life on Earth could be annihilated very little else will scare you that badly. Or at least that’s how I try to comfort myself whenever I watch the news and see the blank, vacant, empty gaze of George Bush’s eyes and remember the awful arsenal this idiot wields without thought. And then realising, as with those night-time convoys of quiet death, that there was far more evil lurking in the shadows that we barely glimpse, going on all around us, all the time. Where is Codename V when we need him?
Friday, July 18, 2003
Gaiman-McKean movie!
Mirror Mask, the movie Neil Gaiman and his long-time collaborator, the wonderful artist Dave McKean, has been greenlighted by Hensons. Full story in Neil's diary page.
Mirror Mask, the movie Neil Gaiman and his long-time collaborator, the wonderful artist Dave McKean, has been greenlighted by Hensons. Full story in Neil's diary page.
Land of the Free?
I picked this disturbing story up from the Guardian via Ken MacLeod's blog. So nice to know that the UK-USA special relationhsio is indeed so very special... Centuries of invaders have assaulted these Sceptred Ilses and always been repelled. But the Bush administration realises that there are far more indisious ways to gain control of another nation than invading them (save that for those pesky Third World nations).
I picked this disturbing story up from the Guardian via Ken MacLeod's blog. So nice to know that the UK-USA special relationhsio is indeed so very special... Centuries of invaders have assaulted these Sceptred Ilses and always been repelled. But the Bush administration realises that there are far more indisious ways to gain control of another nation than invading them (save that for those pesky Third World nations).
Editor denies assault
Ariel, star editor of the Alien Online has denied attacking one of the scumbag perps who burgled his home (see his recent blog). In shades of the case of farmer Tony Martin, who shot a burglar in the back twice, rumour has it that Ariel used his Next Generation phaser on one robber while his wife struck the other with a light sabre whilst whistling the Cantina Band theme from Star Wars. They deny all, saying the robbers ‘fell down the stairs’. A story that a third robber had been locked in the basement with a huge pendulum swinging over his head while a voice from behind a brick wall cried ‘for the love of god, Monstressor’ are apparently without foundation.
Still, it would be nice to get the no-good little bastards and do some horrid things to them, wouldn’t it? Staking them out on the lawn, naked, with tuna smeared over their genitals and their cat, Hobbes for company? I have a fine set of thumb screws you can borrow if you want, mate.
Ariel, star editor of the Alien Online has denied attacking one of the scumbag perps who burgled his home (see his recent blog). In shades of the case of farmer Tony Martin, who shot a burglar in the back twice, rumour has it that Ariel used his Next Generation phaser on one robber while his wife struck the other with a light sabre whilst whistling the Cantina Band theme from Star Wars. They deny all, saying the robbers ‘fell down the stairs’. A story that a third robber had been locked in the basement with a huge pendulum swinging over his head while a voice from behind a brick wall cried ‘for the love of god, Monstressor’ are apparently without foundation.
Still, it would be nice to get the no-good little bastards and do some horrid things to them, wouldn’t it? Staking them out on the lawn, naked, with tuna smeared over their genitals and their cat, Hobbes for company? I have a fine set of thumb screws you can borrow if you want, mate.
Film time
I’ve had something of a return to form this week, going to see three movies inside of six days. Due to too many late shifts and weekends at the bookstore (which we don’t get paid extra for, thank you) I haven’t been to many recently. So on Sunday I went off with my chum Melanie to see Charlie’s Angels. Pretty much what I thought it would be - a very silly froth of OTT action scenes and bizarre dance interludes, peppered liberally with shots of Cameron Diaz’s knickers and Lucy Lui’s pert bum. Some reviewers have said it lacked heart and wasn’t as good as the first one. Personally I think they just feel they have to say something like that. I thought it was just as silly but equally just as enjoyable as the first outing. You know what to expect here, it isn’t Shakespeare after all, but if you go in expecting ridiculously extravagant goings on then you will be entertained.
Bad Guy is part of the Tartan Asia Extreme season going on at the UGC. A violent gangster takes a shine to an innocent student and contrives to have her framed for pick pocketing in order to drive her into a life of vice, which he watches from behind a two-way mirror in the bordello. It sounds like a recipe for a piece of violence and sexual exploitation cinema, but surprisingly it wasn’t really. The gangster (silent almost all the time) is a conflicted mixture of tenderness and violence - after seeing one john force himself onto the weeping girl he follows him and beats him - even although the whole situation is his fault. The girl is seen before all of this stealing money and books from a store, so she isn’t actually an innocent angel either. The mirror, his silence (partly caused by a throat wound, partly because of his inability to articulate himself), her repression all become symbols of differing types of isolation and repression. It can be disturbing but was also fascinating, refusing to go completely down the roads you would have expected.
Lastly I went to see the Hulk today. Really enjoyed it (although the ending was a bit OTT, but hey). I loved the fact that Ang Lee made a film that was mostly about characters, using the effects and action sequences only towards the end, letting the narrative drive things instead of the normal blockbuster model of minimal storyline and lots of action scenes strung together as eye candy. Expect the review on the Alien shortly.
I’ve had something of a return to form this week, going to see three movies inside of six days. Due to too many late shifts and weekends at the bookstore (which we don’t get paid extra for, thank you) I haven’t been to many recently. So on Sunday I went off with my chum Melanie to see Charlie’s Angels. Pretty much what I thought it would be - a very silly froth of OTT action scenes and bizarre dance interludes, peppered liberally with shots of Cameron Diaz’s knickers and Lucy Lui’s pert bum. Some reviewers have said it lacked heart and wasn’t as good as the first one. Personally I think they just feel they have to say something like that. I thought it was just as silly but equally just as enjoyable as the first outing. You know what to expect here, it isn’t Shakespeare after all, but if you go in expecting ridiculously extravagant goings on then you will be entertained.
Bad Guy is part of the Tartan Asia Extreme season going on at the UGC. A violent gangster takes a shine to an innocent student and contrives to have her framed for pick pocketing in order to drive her into a life of vice, which he watches from behind a two-way mirror in the bordello. It sounds like a recipe for a piece of violence and sexual exploitation cinema, but surprisingly it wasn’t really. The gangster (silent almost all the time) is a conflicted mixture of tenderness and violence - after seeing one john force himself onto the weeping girl he follows him and beats him - even although the whole situation is his fault. The girl is seen before all of this stealing money and books from a store, so she isn’t actually an innocent angel either. The mirror, his silence (partly caused by a throat wound, partly because of his inability to articulate himself), her repression all become symbols of differing types of isolation and repression. It can be disturbing but was also fascinating, refusing to go completely down the roads you would have expected.
Lastly I went to see the Hulk today. Really enjoyed it (although the ending was a bit OTT, but hey). I loved the fact that Ang Lee made a film that was mostly about characters, using the effects and action sequences only towards the end, letting the narrative drive things instead of the normal blockbuster model of minimal storyline and lots of action scenes strung together as eye candy. Expect the review on the Alien shortly.
Wednesday, July 16, 2003
Windy
At last a poltician is planning to issue forth hot air for a good cause - wind power. Okay, feeble link, but I've had a long day (see below). Blair is trying to salvage some of his shattered image as a good guy and has turned his attention to alternative energy sources for the UK, in this case wind power. More from the Environmental News Network.
At last a poltician is planning to issue forth hot air for a good cause - wind power. Okay, feeble link, but I've had a long day (see below). Blair is trying to salvage some of his shattered image as a good guy and has turned his attention to alternative energy sources for the UK, in this case wind power. More from the Environmental News Network.
Fun the Waterstone's way
Oh what a fun day at work today. Three of my staff didn’t turn up on time for the early shift. Three publishers to see in the morning and three staff (including me) to work two sales floors. Then even more fun when we discovered our phones were down. Then we noticed the email was down as were the lines which connect the tills to the bank computers to authorise credit card purchases. Hmmm, a pattern forming here. So I can’t even phone the staff that didn’t turn up to find out if they were ill or just late and they couldn’t call us. Can it get any worse? Well, yes, because then someone reports a burning smell…
Turns out on inspection that some arsehole had set fire to the bundled up cardboard outside our rear door that was waiting for recycling. Big pile of boxes, set alight in the back alley with the side effect of melting cables nearby which had within - yes you guessed it, our phone lines and computer lines. Woohoo! We had to use a mobile to phone our other branch to call maintenance for us! Oh the fun. To add to the fun our management neglect to tell me (the person in charge of opening) that two key members of staff are coming in late this day. Nothing like communication, and this was nothing like communication.
Still it meant a day with no constantly ringing phones, which was actually a pleasure. We tried alternative communications. I dug out the old telegraph system but discovered to ma annoyance that our newer staff no longer come with a qualification in Morse code, quite what they will do if they ever go back in time and have to send an SOS from a stricken liner (or indeed stricken iceberg) I don’t know. So we turned to semaphore to signal our branch at the West End of Edinburgh, but fat Italian tourists blocked the line of sight. In the end we took two plastic cups from the water cooler, attached a long piece of string to them and used these to keep in touch. Always nice to put some of that concentrated knowledge we booksellers accumulate to practical use.
As for the fire - I suspect it wasn’t a drunken arsonist - I suspect Australian backpackers. There is a hostel in that alley above the bar. Hot evening, drunken Ozzers, sudden desire for a backyard Barbie - well you can imagine how it all came about.
Oh what a fun day at work today. Three of my staff didn’t turn up on time for the early shift. Three publishers to see in the morning and three staff (including me) to work two sales floors. Then even more fun when we discovered our phones were down. Then we noticed the email was down as were the lines which connect the tills to the bank computers to authorise credit card purchases. Hmmm, a pattern forming here. So I can’t even phone the staff that didn’t turn up to find out if they were ill or just late and they couldn’t call us. Can it get any worse? Well, yes, because then someone reports a burning smell…
Turns out on inspection that some arsehole had set fire to the bundled up cardboard outside our rear door that was waiting for recycling. Big pile of boxes, set alight in the back alley with the side effect of melting cables nearby which had within - yes you guessed it, our phone lines and computer lines. Woohoo! We had to use a mobile to phone our other branch to call maintenance for us! Oh the fun. To add to the fun our management neglect to tell me (the person in charge of opening) that two key members of staff are coming in late this day. Nothing like communication, and this was nothing like communication.
Still it meant a day with no constantly ringing phones, which was actually a pleasure. We tried alternative communications. I dug out the old telegraph system but discovered to ma annoyance that our newer staff no longer come with a qualification in Morse code, quite what they will do if they ever go back in time and have to send an SOS from a stricken liner (or indeed stricken iceberg) I don’t know. So we turned to semaphore to signal our branch at the West End of Edinburgh, but fat Italian tourists blocked the line of sight. In the end we took two plastic cups from the water cooler, attached a long piece of string to them and used these to keep in touch. Always nice to put some of that concentrated knowledge we booksellers accumulate to practical use.
As for the fire - I suspect it wasn’t a drunken arsonist - I suspect Australian backpackers. There is a hostel in that alley above the bar. Hot evening, drunken Ozzers, sudden desire for a backyard Barbie - well you can imagine how it all came about.
Tuesday, July 15, 2003
Fishy tale
As we blister in the unexpected heat wave hitting the normally wind and rain lashed British isles spare a thought for our animal chums. While we homo sapiens have evolved sophisticated techniques such as sweat glands to deal with bpdy temperature control our furry friends are less fortunate. Except for these otters of course, who as temperatures reached between 28 to 32 C in the UK (hotter than many Spanish islands) these lucky aquatic mammals were treated to fish-flavoured ice lollies. No, this isn't me doing one of my tall tales, it's on the up and up!
As we blister in the unexpected heat wave hitting the normally wind and rain lashed British isles spare a thought for our animal chums. While we homo sapiens have evolved sophisticated techniques such as sweat glands to deal with bpdy temperature control our furry friends are less fortunate. Except for these otters of course, who as temperatures reached between 28 to 32 C in the UK (hotter than many Spanish islands) these lucky aquatic mammals were treated to fish-flavoured ice lollies. No, this isn't me doing one of my tall tales, it's on the up and up!
Sunday, July 13, 2003
True Believers
The octagenerian comics god Stan 'the man' Lee is surfing the media waves yet again with Ang Lee's Hulk about to smash the cinemas in the UK (and already taking $62 million on an opening weekend in the US). With the success of X-Men and Spider-Man at the movies the man who built Marvel and brought super-heroes into a more realistic world Stan has been much sought after for itnerviews and comments - even achieving the accolade of a guest slot on the Simpsons. The BBC webpage has a nice little feature, with pretty pictures too.
The octagenerian comics god Stan 'the man' Lee is surfing the media waves yet again with Ang Lee's Hulk about to smash the cinemas in the UK (and already taking $62 million on an opening weekend in the US). With the success of X-Men and Spider-Man at the movies the man who built Marvel and brought super-heroes into a more realistic world Stan has been much sought after for itnerviews and comments - even achieving the accolade of a guest slot on the Simpsons. The BBC webpage has a nice little feature, with pretty pictures too.
Faith versus evidence
Now the row over what evidence was genuine and what intelligence was ‘sexed up’ to drive public opinion towards war - and possibly mislead Parliament and Congress respectively - has become a trans-oceanic scandal in the making and now Hans Blix has said Blair made a serious mistake with his forty five minute speech. As Blair’s government foolishly continues its attacks on the BBC for airing the concerns in the first place (which is after all their job) and leaders on both sides of the Atlantic ignore demands for independents judicial enquiries I was reminded of this timely quotation from that great Scottish philosopher of the Enlightenment:
"A wise man, therefore, proportions his belief to the evidence."
David Hume
While perusing the Quotations Finder website I also found this rather pertinent line from the winner of the Nobel Prize for Peace (and possibly the last decent man to sit in the Oval Office), Jimmy Carter:
“War may sometimes be a necessary evil. But no matter how necessary, it is always an evil, never a good. We will not learn how to live together in peace by killing each other's children."
Now the row over what evidence was genuine and what intelligence was ‘sexed up’ to drive public opinion towards war - and possibly mislead Parliament and Congress respectively - has become a trans-oceanic scandal in the making and now Hans Blix has said Blair made a serious mistake with his forty five minute speech. As Blair’s government foolishly continues its attacks on the BBC for airing the concerns in the first place (which is after all their job) and leaders on both sides of the Atlantic ignore demands for independents judicial enquiries I was reminded of this timely quotation from that great Scottish philosopher of the Enlightenment:
"A wise man, therefore, proportions his belief to the evidence."
David Hume
While perusing the Quotations Finder website I also found this rather pertinent line from the winner of the Nobel Prize for Peace (and possibly the last decent man to sit in the Oval Office), Jimmy Carter:
“War may sometimes be a necessary evil. But no matter how necessary, it is always an evil, never a good. We will not learn how to live together in peace by killing each other's children."
Happy Birthday Tinsel Town
The Hollywood sign in the hills above LA is 80 years old this very day. How nice.
The Hollywood sign in the hills above LA is 80 years old this very day. How nice.
Shake the Spear
I’ve been watching the excellent new series In Search of Shakespeare on the BB of C (the government’s favourite broadcaster). It’s presented by the excellent Michael Wood (steady now girls, we know he gets you excited) who brought us In the Footsteps of Alexander the Great and Conquistadors amongst others - excellent documentaries of the sort the BBC is rightly praised for creating. Apparently after years of globe trotting to often remote locations for his series he decided to make this one closer to home because his kids asked why he always had to go abroad for months to research and film the shows - hence Shakespeare.
It’s been fascinating, all interspersed with performances of some of the bard’s works in the only inn still equipped with a gallery from the period. The Elizabethan and early Stewart period are fascinating times, as anyone who has read Starkey’s Elizabeth will agree, the cusp of the modern era, the changing of religion, world power shifts and the birth of the modern theatre.
I first came across Woods way back in the 1980s when he presented In Search of the Trojan War. I enjoy all history, but Classical history has always been a passion since I was a young boy and I lapped up this excellent series (hopefully it will get repeated like his other shows on UK History). I loved reading about the towers and walls of lofty Ilium in Homer then finding that it was a real place. Mythical for centuries then Schliemann actually finds it and begins to excavate it (famously he was put on the scent by examining an old coin that he could discern the fine details on due to his myopia).
Some of the graphics on Shakespeare seemed familiar in style to me - beautifully constructed, multi-layered designs. Watching the credits I found that they were familiar - they were the work of the wonderfully talented Dave McKean, who created all of the gorgeous cover art for each issue of Neil Gaiman’s Sandman series as well as illustrating several books with Neil (and a new one on the way). And so, in a lovely little co-incidence two of the creative people who have had a huge influence on me over the last 15 years become enmeshed in one series. Nice.
I’ve been watching the excellent new series In Search of Shakespeare on the BB of C (the government’s favourite broadcaster). It’s presented by the excellent Michael Wood (steady now girls, we know he gets you excited) who brought us In the Footsteps of Alexander the Great and Conquistadors amongst others - excellent documentaries of the sort the BBC is rightly praised for creating. Apparently after years of globe trotting to often remote locations for his series he decided to make this one closer to home because his kids asked why he always had to go abroad for months to research and film the shows - hence Shakespeare.
It’s been fascinating, all interspersed with performances of some of the bard’s works in the only inn still equipped with a gallery from the period. The Elizabethan and early Stewart period are fascinating times, as anyone who has read Starkey’s Elizabeth will agree, the cusp of the modern era, the changing of religion, world power shifts and the birth of the modern theatre.
I first came across Woods way back in the 1980s when he presented In Search of the Trojan War. I enjoy all history, but Classical history has always been a passion since I was a young boy and I lapped up this excellent series (hopefully it will get repeated like his other shows on UK History). I loved reading about the towers and walls of lofty Ilium in Homer then finding that it was a real place. Mythical for centuries then Schliemann actually finds it and begins to excavate it (famously he was put on the scent by examining an old coin that he could discern the fine details on due to his myopia).
Some of the graphics on Shakespeare seemed familiar in style to me - beautifully constructed, multi-layered designs. Watching the credits I found that they were familiar - they were the work of the wonderfully talented Dave McKean, who created all of the gorgeous cover art for each issue of Neil Gaiman’s Sandman series as well as illustrating several books with Neil (and a new one on the way). And so, in a lovely little co-incidence two of the creative people who have had a huge influence on me over the last 15 years become enmeshed in one series. Nice.
Just finished writing a review of Jennifer Government for the mighty Alien. Trading on SF staples of the dystopian future run by mega corporations - like recently republished The Space Merchants - it is a fun, contemporary satire on everything the anti-globalisation movement are against.
Everyone in this near future takes their corporation for their surname, so we have John Nike, Buy Matsui and others. Government is only a tiny agency with no income - there are not taxes to fund it because everything is privatised, even the police (like RoboCop). The whole world is almost entirely Americanised by these corporations, facing each other in two power blocks represented by their reward card schemes. Marketing becomes murder and Rupert Murdoch and Newt Gingrich must be having wet dreams thinking about this type of future.
Maybe not the most original idea, but told in a fun way with a good sense of humour and without getting preachy. Basically if you enjoyed No Logo, Fast Food Nation or Stupid White Men then this is a novel for you to read on holiday this year. There is something ironically amusing in the fact that best-selling anti-globalisation books make huge profits for multi-national corporations who own the major publishers. But I suppose they can indulge these authors in biting the hand that feeds them because these corporate bodies have more hands than a hydra has heads, and like that mythical creature they grow back again and again. Gee it’s enough to make you want to nip over to one of my favourite writer’s blogs and see just what nice pub-based sermon Comrade Ken has for us this week from the People’s Popular Front for Socialist Responsible SF (splitters!). Only kidding, Ken, you know we love you really.
Everyone in this near future takes their corporation for their surname, so we have John Nike, Buy Matsui and others. Government is only a tiny agency with no income - there are not taxes to fund it because everything is privatised, even the police (like RoboCop). The whole world is almost entirely Americanised by these corporations, facing each other in two power blocks represented by their reward card schemes. Marketing becomes murder and Rupert Murdoch and Newt Gingrich must be having wet dreams thinking about this type of future.
Maybe not the most original idea, but told in a fun way with a good sense of humour and without getting preachy. Basically if you enjoyed No Logo, Fast Food Nation or Stupid White Men then this is a novel for you to read on holiday this year. There is something ironically amusing in the fact that best-selling anti-globalisation books make huge profits for multi-national corporations who own the major publishers. But I suppose they can indulge these authors in biting the hand that feeds them because these corporate bodies have more hands than a hydra has heads, and like that mythical creature they grow back again and again. Gee it’s enough to make you want to nip over to one of my favourite writer’s blogs and see just what nice pub-based sermon Comrade Ken has for us this week from the People’s Popular Front for Socialist Responsible SF (splitters!). Only kidding, Ken, you know we love you really.
Thursday, July 10, 2003
Byatt pooh-poohs Potter
A.S. Byatt, respected writer and winner of Booker Prize - the most sought-after award in the British literary community - has launched a scathing attack on J.K. Rowling and the Harry Potter series of novels. According to Byatt they are dreadful books with little in the way of redeeming qualities. She also accused the vast adult audience who read these books of enjoying them simply because it allows them to regress back to a child-like state.
Now anyone who reads this blog knows that I really dislike the Potter series as well (although I am interested to see what me old mucker Ariel made of book 5). To be fair I only ever read the first novel. It seemed to me to be an incompetent cut and past job, borrowing liberally from many other fantasy staples and joining them up on the basic narrative skeleton of Neil Gaiman’s Books of Magic (something he himself has commented upon). I’m told by some that the later books do improve, but I’ve never pursued them, preferring to go after the huge pile of books that I do want to read.
However I find this attack by Byatt to be counterproductive and - as with last summer’s Edinburgh Book Festival attacks by certain ‘literary’ authors on popular writers - it smacks not a little of sour grapes. Booker Prizes may bring great accolades but not necessarily sell millions of books for you, nor make your characters cultural icons worldwide. No, I am not revising my opinion of the HP novels, but I do admire the fact that they have helped to bring more kids than ever into reading and brought more adults back to it, as well as raising the profile of fantasy, and I've no gripe with them enjoying it - each to their own tastes after all.
I’ve been an avid reader since before I went to school. I loved the gorgeously crafted fantasies which filled my childhood. I also loved books on art, science, history, archaeology and philosophy which also filled me with wonder. I loved the fact that I can connect all of these books whenever I read a good new title. I feel a little glow when those seemingly disparate pieces of knowledge and ideas come together and I realise I have just illuminated another little piece of the world for myself. And when that happens I feel the same wonderful feeling I had as a child. I am eternally grateful that I never lost the ability to have those feelings. I can’t but wonder how empty and barren the soul of anyone is who would denigrate this in any person. For a writer - especially one who gave us novels such as Possession - to complain of readers taking one of the simplest and most wonderful pleasures form a book, the child-like sense of wonder, is unbelievable. I agree with her that the Potter books aren’t in the same league as many other kid’s fantasies, such as the Earthsea series. But many adults read these too yet do not provoke her ire, only Rowling does - a bit hypocritical methinks. What's wrong with adults enjoying kid's books? Why should they read and enjoy some but be dingrated by literary snobs for reading others?
A.S. Byatt, respected writer and winner of Booker Prize - the most sought-after award in the British literary community - has launched a scathing attack on J.K. Rowling and the Harry Potter series of novels. According to Byatt they are dreadful books with little in the way of redeeming qualities. She also accused the vast adult audience who read these books of enjoying them simply because it allows them to regress back to a child-like state.
Now anyone who reads this blog knows that I really dislike the Potter series as well (although I am interested to see what me old mucker Ariel made of book 5). To be fair I only ever read the first novel. It seemed to me to be an incompetent cut and past job, borrowing liberally from many other fantasy staples and joining them up on the basic narrative skeleton of Neil Gaiman’s Books of Magic (something he himself has commented upon). I’m told by some that the later books do improve, but I’ve never pursued them, preferring to go after the huge pile of books that I do want to read.
However I find this attack by Byatt to be counterproductive and - as with last summer’s Edinburgh Book Festival attacks by certain ‘literary’ authors on popular writers - it smacks not a little of sour grapes. Booker Prizes may bring great accolades but not necessarily sell millions of books for you, nor make your characters cultural icons worldwide. No, I am not revising my opinion of the HP novels, but I do admire the fact that they have helped to bring more kids than ever into reading and brought more adults back to it, as well as raising the profile of fantasy, and I've no gripe with them enjoying it - each to their own tastes after all.
I’ve been an avid reader since before I went to school. I loved the gorgeously crafted fantasies which filled my childhood. I also loved books on art, science, history, archaeology and philosophy which also filled me with wonder. I loved the fact that I can connect all of these books whenever I read a good new title. I feel a little glow when those seemingly disparate pieces of knowledge and ideas come together and I realise I have just illuminated another little piece of the world for myself. And when that happens I feel the same wonderful feeling I had as a child. I am eternally grateful that I never lost the ability to have those feelings. I can’t but wonder how empty and barren the soul of anyone is who would denigrate this in any person. For a writer - especially one who gave us novels such as Possession - to complain of readers taking one of the simplest and most wonderful pleasures form a book, the child-like sense of wonder, is unbelievable. I agree with her that the Potter books aren’t in the same league as many other kid’s fantasies, such as the Earthsea series. But many adults read these too yet do not provoke her ire, only Rowling does - a bit hypocritical methinks. What's wrong with adults enjoying kid's books? Why should they read and enjoy some but be dingrated by literary snobs for reading others?
Wednesday, July 9, 2003
Scots Wahae!
Crikey, just reaslised the Scottish Parliament has now added Scots to the 'other languages' options on their website. However, they are still not about to have signage in the new building in Scots. They will be in English and Gaelic, but not BroadScots. Now I am perfectly happy for my tax money to be used to promote Gaelic language and culture and for all parliamentary documentation and signage to be bilingual English and Gaelic. But why do they refuse to have Scots? Galeic, much as I support it, now only has a little over 60,000 native speakers in Scotland. For about a millenium now it has been the language of the western Isles and Highland region, whereas Scots is the primary language for the bulk of the nation. Why therefore is it not given equal prominence? Seems odd to give (much needed and deserved) support to one native language spoke by a minority while largely ignoring the majority language. Reminds me too much of my school days when - with the exception of studying Burns or Dunbar - our English classes were designed to make us all write and talk BBC English and destroy regional diversity in language. Thanks goodness for ItchyCoo publishing Scots language books for kids to help keep our language alive. Try their site on the Black & White Publishing web page. As well as details of some of their braw books there is a pop-up with a Scots word of the day. Cool.
Crikey, just reaslised the Scottish Parliament has now added Scots to the 'other languages' options on their website. However, they are still not about to have signage in the new building in Scots. They will be in English and Gaelic, but not BroadScots. Now I am perfectly happy for my tax money to be used to promote Gaelic language and culture and for all parliamentary documentation and signage to be bilingual English and Gaelic. But why do they refuse to have Scots? Galeic, much as I support it, now only has a little over 60,000 native speakers in Scotland. For about a millenium now it has been the language of the western Isles and Highland region, whereas Scots is the primary language for the bulk of the nation. Why therefore is it not given equal prominence? Seems odd to give (much needed and deserved) support to one native language spoke by a minority while largely ignoring the majority language. Reminds me too much of my school days when - with the exception of studying Burns or Dunbar - our English classes were designed to make us all write and talk BBC English and destroy regional diversity in language. Thanks goodness for ItchyCoo publishing Scots language books for kids to help keep our language alive. Try their site on the Black & White Publishing web page. As well as details of some of their braw books there is a pop-up with a Scots word of the day. Cool.
Monday, July 7, 2003
Ouch
Nothing like throwing your back out a bit to remind you just how important spinal columns are. Personally I blame the crap work stations at the bookstore, all of which are at the wrong hieght for prologned use. Fine on Saturday, couple of hours of standing at a work station which has the computer to high up to use properly and my back muscles start spasming. Keyboard at the wrong height for use, spotlights in the ceiling right up above the till so they glare off the monitor and strain you eyes. Oh yeah, nice design. Our pervious owners, W H Smith, once sent an inspector out when a former colleague claimed these designs gave her RSI in her wrists. Their own inspector damned all the work points as accidents waiting to happen. Years later they are still the same. Guess it is cheaper to be sued one in a while than to fix the desks in every Waterstone's in the country. If I thought I could prove it successfully I'd sue the fuckers.
Nothing like throwing your back out a bit to remind you just how important spinal columns are. Personally I blame the crap work stations at the bookstore, all of which are at the wrong hieght for prologned use. Fine on Saturday, couple of hours of standing at a work station which has the computer to high up to use properly and my back muscles start spasming. Keyboard at the wrong height for use, spotlights in the ceiling right up above the till so they glare off the monitor and strain you eyes. Oh yeah, nice design. Our pervious owners, W H Smith, once sent an inspector out when a former colleague claimed these designs gave her RSI in her wrists. Their own inspector damned all the work points as accidents waiting to happen. Years later they are still the same. Guess it is cheaper to be sued one in a while than to fix the desks in every Waterstone's in the country. If I thought I could prove it successfully I'd sue the fuckers.
Ariel sent me an interesting link on my employer’s latest plans. Apparently they are trying to reverse some of the incredibly foolish plans they have run in the last couple of years (hatched by people who mostly know nothing about books, refer to book selling as ‘retail’ and books as ‘units’ to be shifted - gee wonder why they fuck up so much?). Anyone who is an expert bookseller knows range is the key to a good bookstore. Range comes not from constant special offers but from having motivated and knowledgeable staff who can run sections, know what folk want, experiment with differing titles and authors and know how to promote and support new writers to book buyers.
And you don’t give away masses of your profit margin in big discounts on backlist. Of course, why would our head office ever ask me or my colleagues about this? Obviously some twat with a degree in marketing who used to work for Boots the Chemist knows more about selling books than someone who has sold books for over a decade, reads link a medieval monk and has run dozens of events with more authors than I can recall? Dilbert’s Pointy Haired Boss is everywhere, in every business - even the book trade.
And you don’t give away masses of your profit margin in big discounts on backlist. Of course, why would our head office ever ask me or my colleagues about this? Obviously some twat with a degree in marketing who used to work for Boots the Chemist knows more about selling books than someone who has sold books for over a decade, reads link a medieval monk and has run dozens of events with more authors than I can recall? Dilbert’s Pointy Haired Boss is everywhere, in every business - even the book trade.
Saturday, July 5, 2003
It's enough to make you sick...
I just found this site through BBC News 24’s Click Online IT programme. SICKSACK.COM. Documenting collections of airline barf bags! And people think I’m weird because I collect penguins…heh.
I just found this site through BBC News 24’s Click Online IT programme. SICKSACK.COM. Documenting collections of airline barf bags! And people think I’m weird because I collect penguins…heh.
Fag Hag
This week there was consternation on the streets of Halifax as plain clothes litter enforcers took to the streets. One woman complained because she was fined for dropping her cigarette butt on the pavement. A similar occurrence was in the local Edinburgh paper a few weeks ago when someone complained about being fined by litter wardens for dropping their fag butt at their lazy arse. Now I have to say bollocks to these folk and not just because I loathe smoking (disgusting and bloody selfish of you to inflict it on everyone around you).
Some people are lazy and drop litter, even when - as was the case with the woman busted in Halifax - there is a bin right next to them. The doorway to our bookstore in Edinburgh is choc-a-bloc every single morning when I unlock the doors with bloody cigarette butts. All thrown away by lazy ass motherfuckers by the dozen. Well fuck you; I’m glad you got fined 50 quid! Why do you think dropping these cancerous death sticks on the pavement is any different form dropping any other form of litter?
And let’s face it, a lot of smokers are lazy gits who do drop their butts anywhere - I have a neighbour who drops them in our block’s stairwell. Why can’t he wait until he gets into his flat? Lines of folk waiting to get on to the bus puffing pathetically to the last second before getting on board (the habit owns them so much they need every second of it) and then they flick it away as they get on the bus. Why bother with the litter bin next to every bus stop when you have a street or pavement handy? As a cyclist and pedestrian in Edinburgh I have had to watch out for stupid motorists who flick their fag butt out of their window instead of into their car’s ashtray. Do they look to make sure they’re not about to flick it out right into a cyclist or passing pedestrian’s face? Do they buggery. So fine all of the fuckers along with the other lazy ass, disgusting, dirty, selfish bastards who litter our streets and ruin our environment. More on Alistair Campbell’s favourite web site, BBC Online. Goddam I'm feeling blue AND self righteous!
This week there was consternation on the streets of Halifax as plain clothes litter enforcers took to the streets. One woman complained because she was fined for dropping her cigarette butt on the pavement. A similar occurrence was in the local Edinburgh paper a few weeks ago when someone complained about being fined by litter wardens for dropping their fag butt at their lazy arse. Now I have to say bollocks to these folk and not just because I loathe smoking (disgusting and bloody selfish of you to inflict it on everyone around you).
Some people are lazy and drop litter, even when - as was the case with the woman busted in Halifax - there is a bin right next to them. The doorway to our bookstore in Edinburgh is choc-a-bloc every single morning when I unlock the doors with bloody cigarette butts. All thrown away by lazy ass motherfuckers by the dozen. Well fuck you; I’m glad you got fined 50 quid! Why do you think dropping these cancerous death sticks on the pavement is any different form dropping any other form of litter?
And let’s face it, a lot of smokers are lazy gits who do drop their butts anywhere - I have a neighbour who drops them in our block’s stairwell. Why can’t he wait until he gets into his flat? Lines of folk waiting to get on to the bus puffing pathetically to the last second before getting on board (the habit owns them so much they need every second of it) and then they flick it away as they get on the bus. Why bother with the litter bin next to every bus stop when you have a street or pavement handy? As a cyclist and pedestrian in Edinburgh I have had to watch out for stupid motorists who flick their fag butt out of their window instead of into their car’s ashtray. Do they look to make sure they’re not about to flick it out right into a cyclist or passing pedestrian’s face? Do they buggery. So fine all of the fuckers along with the other lazy ass, disgusting, dirty, selfish bastards who litter our streets and ruin our environment. More on Alistair Campbell’s favourite web site, BBC Online. Goddam I'm feeling blue AND self righteous!
Feelin' blue
“I don’t pretend to understand women’s quirks, there’s just one thing I know for sure - chicks dig jerks… You’re sooooo sweeeeeetttt, can’t we just be friends? I think of you as a brother… Oh man, what do I have to offer you, baby? Poetry and true love… Tired of being a good guy, such a lonely life - I’m gonna be a JERK.”
Bill Hicks and Marblehead Johnson,
“Chicks Dig Jerks”
The official Bill Hicks website is here. IF you haven't heard of this much-missed comedian you need to get the hell out and buy some of his tapes or discs NOW! His rants on some of his final tours in the early 90s about Bush and the "Gulf War Distraction" could be now.
“I don’t pretend to understand women’s quirks, there’s just one thing I know for sure - chicks dig jerks… You’re sooooo sweeeeeetttt, can’t we just be friends? I think of you as a brother… Oh man, what do I have to offer you, baby? Poetry and true love… Tired of being a good guy, such a lonely life - I’m gonna be a JERK.”
Bill Hicks and Marblehead Johnson,
“Chicks Dig Jerks”
The official Bill Hicks website is here. IF you haven't heard of this much-missed comedian you need to get the hell out and buy some of his tapes or discs NOW! His rants on some of his final tours in the early 90s about Bush and the "Gulf War Distraction" could be now.
Friday, July 4, 2003
Independence Day
Looking back over some of my posts I worry that I may be taken for indulging in America bashing. Now this is simply not the case, as my many American chums would confirm. I bash US policies run by foolish US politicians or ridicule foolish or excessive actions and remarks by US citizens. But then I do this in a most equitable manner to all nations, including (and often especially) my own. Besides the freedom to employ withering sarcasm and political satire is one of the freedoms America was founded on. But today is Independence Day so as my US chums settle down for a holiday weekend which I hope they get to enjoy peacefully I thought I'd be positive for once and look at some of the fine things to come from the events of 1776.
Without America there would have been no Wright Brothers at Kittyhawk. Scottish inventor Alexander Graham Bell may never have finished his telephone if he had not emigrated. No moon walk. No Marylin Monroe, no Elvis Presly and rock and roll. No Snoopy and Charlie Brown, no Simpsons! And personally - and more importantly to me - I'd be missing some very good friends from that remarkable land.
No Gettysburg address, a history that would have been bereft of the special wisdom of Abraham Lincoln. No Declaration of Independence. Yes, I know that the ideals embodied in that document are very often fallen short of. Ideals often are, it does not mean we should abandon them. Yes it was written by men who owned slaves while espousing freedom, equality while they looked down on the lower class masses and ignored the rights of women (despite the calls of more than one of the signatories wives). Still it is for the time an utterly remarkable document, ahead of it's time in the way that the Declaration of Arbroath was in 1320 (several signatories were thought ot be inspired by this document in 1776). Yes both were a form of propoganda but they were also the affirmation of a tenous dream. "We hold these truths to be self evident... That all men are created equal, endowed by their creator with certain inalienable rights... Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness."
Perhaps these sentiments have been honoured rather less than they should have and greedy individuals often usurp the American Dream. That is not the fault of the Dream however and the words of Tom Paine and Jefferson and others are still stirring and inspiring. George Bush and his ilk do no honour to that fine document that they are pledged to serve. But this simply means that the citizens need to dream harder and strive increasingly to meet those lofty goals. Happy birthday, Sam.
Looking back over some of my posts I worry that I may be taken for indulging in America bashing. Now this is simply not the case, as my many American chums would confirm. I bash US policies run by foolish US politicians or ridicule foolish or excessive actions and remarks by US citizens. But then I do this in a most equitable manner to all nations, including (and often especially) my own. Besides the freedom to employ withering sarcasm and political satire is one of the freedoms America was founded on. But today is Independence Day so as my US chums settle down for a holiday weekend which I hope they get to enjoy peacefully I thought I'd be positive for once and look at some of the fine things to come from the events of 1776.
Without America there would have been no Wright Brothers at Kittyhawk. Scottish inventor Alexander Graham Bell may never have finished his telephone if he had not emigrated. No moon walk. No Marylin Monroe, no Elvis Presly and rock and roll. No Snoopy and Charlie Brown, no Simpsons! And personally - and more importantly to me - I'd be missing some very good friends from that remarkable land.
No Gettysburg address, a history that would have been bereft of the special wisdom of Abraham Lincoln. No Declaration of Independence. Yes, I know that the ideals embodied in that document are very often fallen short of. Ideals often are, it does not mean we should abandon them. Yes it was written by men who owned slaves while espousing freedom, equality while they looked down on the lower class masses and ignored the rights of women (despite the calls of more than one of the signatories wives). Still it is for the time an utterly remarkable document, ahead of it's time in the way that the Declaration of Arbroath was in 1320 (several signatories were thought ot be inspired by this document in 1776). Yes both were a form of propoganda but they were also the affirmation of a tenous dream. "We hold these truths to be self evident... That all men are created equal, endowed by their creator with certain inalienable rights... Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness."
Perhaps these sentiments have been honoured rather less than they should have and greedy individuals often usurp the American Dream. That is not the fault of the Dream however and the words of Tom Paine and Jefferson and others are still stirring and inspiring. George Bush and his ilk do no honour to that fine document that they are pledged to serve. But this simply means that the citizens need to dream harder and strive increasingly to meet those lofty goals. Happy birthday, Sam.
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