Virtual Downing Street

You can take a virtual tour of the Prime Minister's official residence, 10 Downing Street on a new government site. Mind you when I was a very young boy you could actually go right up to the famous door and have your photo taken with the copper on duty there (please, no age jokes today about how that was when Gladstone was in office, thank you) - today you can't even enter the street and protesters are arrested in the adjacent streets for simply reading out the list of war dead in Iraq without having permission from the Metropolitan plod (since when did the fuzz get to say yay or nay to what a citizen can say in a public space?). So this virtual tour is probably the closest most of us will get to Ten Downing Street these days, unless we have paid a million to a political party to get a peerage (allegedly). I wonder if the tour shows the office where Blair stockpiles the lies he feeds to the British people over Iraq? Or is that now so large he has to keep it in a government warehouse down by the dockside?

three nine



How the hell can I be thirty nine today? How can I be starting my last year as a thirty something? When did I go from Bright Young Thing to Grumpy Old Geezer? Where did the last ten years go? Seems not so long ago I was turning thirty and thinking, eh? How did I get to be thirty one day? Then I thought, hold on, I spent half my twenties at college and there was a lot of, shall we say, 'diversions' along the way, so forgetting some of it was understandable (didn't stop me getting a good degree, mind you, talent will out! Even if half sozzled). But that doesn't explain why I can't quite recollect all of my thirties going past. I have to re-read old blog entries on the Woolamaloo Gazette to remind myself of what I was up to half the time.

I can't be sliding towards a middle aged man,
Because I know secretly I am Peter Pan.
Years go past and my body gets older
But not inside my head,
Friends and family and books
And laughter and delight
Still keep my soul well fed.

Oh well, thanks to a secret combination of Boots moisturiser, virgin's blood, fine malt whisky and the creamy Celtic complexion I got from my mum I can probably pass for 38 :-). Funny, my dad is set to retire on his birthday at the end of February and he was saying how odd it felt because in his head he didn't feel older or like a man who should be retiring; it is one of those things you notice as you get older, you don't feel older inside. Well, I don't at any rate. I know some people do, or else they let society dictate to them to 'act their age' and you can see the result not in the lines on their face but the tiredness in their eyes. I don't. I'm as happy to run through a pile of fallen autumn leaves and kick them in the air as I was when I was ten, I still get excited and roll around laughing at Tom and Jerry cartoons (oftimes with my dad) just as I always did (usually with my dad again, neither of us outgrew that and why should we?), I still grab a stick and draw on the sand when walking on the beach, I still love being taken for an ice cream by my mum and dad. What's wrong with any of that? If you think that is immature then you are probably right but you're also a sad, old, shriveled soul; you need anti-aging cream for your spirit.

That's how you don't get really old, dear chums - bollocks to all those hideously expensive 'anti-wrinkle' creams rich old women buy and face lifts (I know, easy for me to say, you think, since I have lovely Celtic skin and am pretty much perfect already) the real place you get old is inside, but only if you let yourself. You can't do much about the outside because Nature always has her way in the end, but the inner part, that's up to you (harken to me, folks, now I am an Old Man I am Officially Wise! Yeah, you're right, maybe not...). Now if you will excuse me I am off to finish my champagne and dance around the house with the cats to a new Nouvelle Vague CD I was given by Mel. Have a good New Year's everyone and keep on bloggin' in the free world, see you on the other side.

Dame Evelyn

Hurray, one of my favourite musicians, Scottish percussionist Evelyn Glennie has been made a Dame in the New Year's Honours list. Evelyn not only carved out a place in the male-dominated arena of percussion, she created the pretty much unheard of role of solo percussionist, performing around the world to huge acclaim, both with some of the leading orchestras and on her own as well as with many artists, from Sting to Bjork, using everything from drums and cymbals to marimbas (one of the most beautiful sounding instruments) and folk instruments she encounters on her travels. All of which would be damned impressive for a wee lass from Aberdeen, but Evelyn is also deaf; her hearing started to go when she was very young, but didn't stop her making music, both playing and composing. I remember seeing her interviewed on Parkinson years back and she corrected his pronunciation of her name (he pronounced it 'eeeve-lin'); he asked how the hell she knew he mis-pronounced it since she is deaf. You're English, she replied with a smile, they always get it wrong! I've seen her live several times and she is a veritable wee dynamo on the stage, playing barefoot to feel the vibrations of the instruments. Well done, Evelyn - gaun yerself! Alas, no OBE or Knighthood for me in this year's List - oh well...

Let's play Hangman



Hang down your head, Saddam
hang down your head and cry,
hang down your head Saddam,
Poor tyrant, you're wearing a harsh necktie.

I met them on the mountain,
There I killed them all en masse,
Met those Kurds on the mountain
And killed them all with my gas...

This time tomorrow,
Reckon where I'll be,
I'll be one dead Iraqi,
Hanging from the leafless tree.

Hang down your head, Saddam
hang down your head and cry,
hang down your head Saddam,
They'll chop you up and put you in a pie.

(sung to the tune of the old folk classic, Hang Down Your Head, Tom Dooley)

Irish Mary's winter wonderland

Irish Mary is one of my favourites on Fotolog, often posting some gorgeous images - her recent uploads have comprised of some quite gorgeous winter scenes (like the one below) which you just have to go and have a look at.

Incompetent Parcelforce

Exactly a week to the day since I phoned them Parcelforce have actually replied to me about my missing package, the one their incompetent/lazy (or both) delivery person abandoned outside my home and which subsequently vanished. The one I phoned about on Thursday and they were supposed to phone me back about on Friday after speaking to the driver but never bothered to do. I called repeatedly on Friday but couldn't get through so emailed them instead and finally got a reply today, which did offer apologies but unfortunately had bugger all information in it except to say it would be forwarded on to the depot manager for 'training purposes'. I'd think if you have to train delivery drivers not to abandon their packages outside then your company needs more than just some training. The email didn't say a single thing about why it happened, what action they would take concerning the delivery numpty or what options are open to me (am I just supposed to shrug my shoulders and forget about it?). Neither did it tell me who sent the package to me or what the contents were described as on the shipping invoice, which is pretty much the least the incompetent eejits could do - after all, someone has sent me something in time for Christmas and is probably wondering why I haven't been in touch to say thank you.

So if you are sending any packages folks, it looks like it might be best to avoid using the Royal Mail's Parcelforce service - no wonder the Royal Mail struggles to make a profit even with such a commanding position in the UK when it offers such dire service from incompetent delivery staff and customer care staff take a week to reply to complaints they promised to reply to a day later and then fail to to offer any actual information when they do reply (at least they did say sorry, I suppose, but that's all - come on, folks, you are on a customer care team you should know the complainee will want some information for goodness sake). What a pathetic way to run a company - screw up someone's delivery (the sole reason for your company being to deliver packages) then not do much of anything by way of following up their complaint by actually offering information or advice.

Famous stiffs

Quite sad to hear about James Brown dying on Christmas Day (I had to explain to my dad who James Brown actually was - he's a great dad, but he's not the hippest on popular music). It came just a short time after Joseph Barbera, the remaining half of the groundbreaking and incredibly influential Hanna-Barbera animation studio and probably one of the last of the original crew to work on the classic (and Oscar winning) MGM Tom and Jerry cartoons, passed away (I posted an article on him over on the FPI blog). As we all know famous people usually die off in threes, which means another famous personage is probably knocking on heaven's door. I was wondering who it was likely to be then I realised that it was probably Saddam - can you believe they turned down the poor man's appeal? What a travesty of justice, poor wee Saddam, don't you feel sorry for him? Er, no.. And yes, perhaps I should count poor old Gerry Ford as the famous third to die back to back with the others, but I just can't bring myself to put him in a group with James Brown and Joseph Barbera.

The Queen's Speech

This year her glorious majesty Queen Lizzy 2, long may she ... er... long may she... may she... er, what does she actually do again? Oh yeah, long may she pose for Royal Mail stamps. Anyway, this year Her Maj not only recorded her customary Christmas message to be broadcast to the nation and Commonwealth, she recorded a podcast as well, which you can get on the official Lizzy site, British Monarchy (well I suppose German immigrant aristocracy wouldn't have the same ring to it). Can't you just imagine Phil the Greek sitting back with an Ipod listening to his wife's podcast?

I wonder, now she has embraced podcasting, if I can persuade her to do a guest slot on the FPI podcast (latest one up now with my picks of the year on it - apologies for some dodgy sound), get her to pick out some of her favourite recent comics? What I really want to know, though, is now she is embracing digital technology, will next year see the Queen texting to the nation? "1 wood like 2 wish all of 1s subjects a merry xmas and hope 4 peace & understanding among all faiths. Luv, Liz"

There's no place like home...

Yesterday I gave myself a fantastic Christmas treat and took myself off to the Edinburgh Filmhouse (one of my spiritual homes) to see the newly restored print of the evergreen (well, Emerald really) classic The Wizard of Oz. I'd been looking forward to it all week long; it's being screened at the Filmhouse right through to January and after going to see the restored Manhattan print the other week I was tempted to go and see Oz, but then I decided I'd wait till this weekend; finished work for the year on Friday (nice to be in a job where I get to take that week off after all these years), cruising into Xmas, my birthday (start of my last year as a 30-something, blimey) and New Year so as part of the Official Relaxation plan I thought I'd save it till Saturday to mark the start of my break and so yesterday I took myself over the rainbow for a couple of hours.

Yes, I know, some of you are thinking, hold on, this movie is on almost every holiday season, you must have seen it a dozen times. Yes, I have, although I haven't watched it all the way through in years. But watching a lovingly restored print on the big screen? No, I've never seen it on the big screen and the Filmhouse is a lovely place to do it because it is one of the few cinemas that still has curtains, still a cinema theatre; such a little thing and yet it contributes to the magic as the lights dim and the deep, red curtains slowly part and you feel that wonderful sensation of moving into another realm, a magical place outside of your everyday cares and troubles, a fragile place made of ideas and projected light and all the more magical for it. The opening has a dedication to the original books by Frank L Baum, proclaiming it one of the most loved books for 'forty years' (as it would have been when the film was made) and dedicating the film to the book, the writer and to all the readers of all ages who still marvel at it; more than half a century on that seems all the more touching since the film has created that kind of feeling for generations while the book continues to delight readers old and young over a century later.



Watching the whole thing you are reminded how many classic lines are in there; like Casablanca everyone knows some eminently quotable lines from the movie, but really when you watch it again you realise almost the entire film is filled with quotable lines (many uttered by people who may never have seen it, read it or even know where the line comes from, such is the depth to which this story has burrowed into our culture). The effects hold up pretty well, all things considered - yes, sometimes I can see the wire making the Cowardly Lion's tail swish or the flying monkeys fly, but so what? - and the switch from black and white to colour when Dorothy lands in Oz is still something else to behold, especially on a cinema screen (helped by the slightly lurid glow imparted by early, imperfect colouring processes, very different from the more naturalistic colours of modern film stock, which suits the film so well); how much more amazing must it have been to audiences in 1939, as darkness spread across the world and this colourful film glittered in the shadows of war?

Like many a bookseller I am a sarcastic cynic, but this is one of those films that bypasses all that sarcastic armour; I switch off those faculties for a while and simply wallow in delight (and indeed it isn't all that sugary, being laced with more than its share of disturbing undertones too). When Dorothy and the Scarecrow (so fantastically played, walking like a man with no bones) first link arms and start to sing "we're off to see the Wizard..." it is what I call a triple-M - a Movie Magic Moment - and you can't help but smile (and want to sing). And the finale with Dorothy so desperate to get home seems to have more power at this time of year as many of us are actually planning to go home to our families for the holidays. It made me think that today I would be off home to my own mum and dad for a couple of days; lacking ruby slippers I will click together my Snoopy Joe Cool socks and utter "there's no place like home, there's no place like home" (it helps that my dead old dad is picking me up too, of course!).

And you know what? Dorothy is right - there is no place like home when it is a home with the people you love. Gods, but I am still grinning like a loon at the memory of that film. Yes, I know, I am a big kid, but I wouldn't have it any other way. Wishing you all love, peace and warmth of the body and of the heart, folks and remember to always dance over rainbows when you get the chance.

The alternative books of the year

Yes, it is pretty much time for my almost traditional annual look back at some of the books of 2006 which didn’t actually happen, at least not in this dimension:

Sheik: an Arab Word, by Fejj UndarWhere. A fascinating novel written as the memoir of a Muslim mushroom grower in a strange city, annotated by his sister who much preferred potatoes. A heady mixture of family history, civil war, arts and root vegetables.

The Voyage of the Stacey Keach by Meal Smasher. A group of the scientifically resurrected dead travel to a far world in the path of the only man to successfully come back from the other side, Stacy Keach. Can they make their reusirrection permanent or is the truth that only Stacey Keach is tough enough to kick Death in the nuts?

Tar Night by Callen Bellman. A strange city suspended over the world’s largest pothole; a murderous supernatural being, the church of the dark god of the roadworks and the dangerous nocturnal festival where armed groups attempts to patch damaged roads in a few hours, Tar Night.


Lead Feet by Greene Ghroacer. The seventh in the series of excellent books starring the Chicago detective who also happens to be a purveyor of mystical fruit and veg, Barry Hendon.


Smellboy: Strange Hairs by Meek Tombola. At long last a new graphic novel volume of Tombola’s great Smellboy character. After walking away from everything he knows in the previous volume Smellboy is in Africa, trying to work out where his life is going and why strange hairs are growing on different parts of his body.


Victoria and Circle by Meek Hairy. The second prose novel by from the top comics scribe Meek (author of Spoonifer which follows the Fallen Angel of Cutlery and Fellblazer, a comic about a Liverpudlian who moves to the Lakeland hills) featuring his new creation Castor Sugar, a psychic baker of cakes who investigates an outbreak of haunted confectionary between two routes of the London Underground.


Flickback by Stave Flloyd. A cracking new work from the artist of the classic P For Poinsettia, in which the central character, a fast-combing hair stylist on the take, decides to reject the corruption endemic in the city’s hair salons after being betrayed by his curling tongs manufacturer.


Pride of Antarctica by Flyan T Paughn and Kiki Onandon. After an American invasion of the ice continent to search for alleged Icicles of Mass Destruction a group of brave penguins are forced to flee the chaos and bombing of the liberation; based on a true story.


Toblerone by Taya Floor, Alien Floor and Bon Scepticon. An inventive re-working of the eccentric superheroes from Swiss comics of yesteryear in a modern setting, incorporating elements of the War on Chocolate.

Famke

I do like this new Xmas ad from PETA with former X-Men star and Bond babe Famke Janssen (as one comics commentator pointed out, she's gone from Phoenix to Angel, which may mean nothing to some of you but is funny to us comics geeks).The dog in the pic ain't the only one with his tongue hanging out...

Coffee and Comics

We must be gluttons for punishment, but a couple of us from the Edinburgh SF Book Group (not only still going but flourishing with new members long after it and I were kicked out of the old Bookstore-Who-Shall-Not-be-Named) have decided to try our hand an an offshoot meeting focussed on graphic novels, called Coffee and Comics (sounds like a black and white Indy movie, sequel to Coffee and Cigarettes perhaps, be a big hit at Sundance). The first meeting is due for Tuesday 16th of January from 6 to 7pm in the Biblos cafe-bar on the corner of Southbridge and Chambers Street (close to the Edinburgh FPI). As with the book group (which has done a couple of GNs in its three years) it is open to anyone, old hand or new to the field. The first book is Pride of Baghdad, one of my top picks of the year as it happens and also a very suitable starting point for anyone not overly familiar with comics; meeting details are over on the new Coffee and Comics blog.

Walking in the air

Irn Bru - "Scotland's other national drink" - has been almost as smart as Guinness for cool adverts which subvert well known cliches over the years (right back to the 80s when they did a piss-take of the very American Coke ads with breakdancing kids, one of whom does a high five thump on the vending machine, which then lurches forward and gives him a 'Glasgow kiss'), but this new festive offering taking the mickey out of the sickly sweet Raymond Briggs Snowman 'walking in the air' is brilliant:

Mail

Get home tonight to find one of those "we're sorry you were out when we tried to deliver" cards from the Royal Mail's Parcel Force. Okay, no problem, will need to nip out early to the local depot to pick it up in the morning. What's this? Ah, not the local depot but the international depot out on the edge of town. Bugger. Ah, what's this? The postman hasn't ticked the 'pick up from depot' option. No, he has ticked 'left outside your door'. WTF???? How incredibly goddam stupid is that? Why the hell does Parcel Force even have that as a bloody option? I step back out the flat and of course there is nothing there and my neighbouring apartment hasn't seen it and picked it up for me. Phone their help line and they are a little surprised that their delivery guy would so something so bloody stupid too, just dump a parcel outside someone's door and bugger off and leave it.

Now I have to wait till tomorrow till this brain-damaged numpty comes to work so they can ask him about it. I don't even know what the package was or who it was from, but the card was from the international mail depot so I assume someone has sent me something from abroad. If it has been lost because of this incompetent postie I am going to bloody furious. It is also a bit worrying that someone who was in our block may have picked up the abandoned package and walked off with it - of course it could be anyone. There is a secure entryphone on the main door but there would be delivery folks, tradesmen, paperboys etc coming and going all day as well as neighbours or their visitors, any of whom could have helped themselves to it because this frigging idiot postie decided dumping his responsibility was easier than actually doing his bloody job and making a delivery or taking it back to the depot. Sure they are very busy at this time of year but that doesn't excuse being lazy and incompetent. I am not hopeful of good news tomorrow. Meantime I don't even know what this was or who sent it so I can't even let them know.

Happy Hogswatch

I've seen strange things over the years, but I never thought I'd see Sky actually making a decent programme (actually Sky just making any original programming instead of buying in all the time is pretty rare) but I have to hand it to them, they did a great job with a two-part adaptation of Terry Pratchett's Hogfather. I thought Death and his grandaughter Susan looked very much as they do in the Paul Kidby's Art of Discworld while one certain buck-toothed City Watch man was so obviously Nobby. The odd bit wasn't quite right and the occasional special effect looked dodgy (mostly when you saw mini-people like the Verrucca Gnome), but overall it was pretty good, with Terry's mix of a good tale, knowing humour and fun too. And Death is always a good laugh; I wonder how he'd get on with Neil Gaiman's Death? That was good fun (and a nice little cameo from Terry himself); Happy Hogswatch, folks!

Ink

Oh, I'm a happy bookseller today as an early Xmas present arrived from the lovely Emma at Macmillan publishers, an advance copy of Glasgow author Hal Duncan's book Ink, the second in his Book of All Hours. The first book, Vellum, was one of the most extraordinary debuts I've come across - a book, the Book, the one which details all of reality and all that happens. Think Michael Moorcock's multiverse with elements of Bryan Talbot's Luther Arkwright, Neil Gaiman, Alice in Wonderland, ancient myth, history, personal identity, gender, folklore, quantum physics and knowing, cynical humour then take all of that, held together by rich, lush prose and imagine stuffing that into your head then shoving your head through the Looking Glass, but the other side of the Looking Glass isn't Wonderland but a multi-dimensioned view of endless realities varying on the same characters and stories as if you were looking through the compound eyes of an insect while tripping on a mix of Blake's poetry and Coleridge's drugs. It's challenging, pushing the reader to engage and think then rethink, stories built upon stories upon stories, it's a quantum headfuck and I love it; I'm tripping right now on a heady cocktails of intoxicating words rewiring my neural pathways.

Serial killer/blogger?

Tom Stephens, the man arrested by police on suspicion of the murder of five working girls in Ipswich which have horrified people, turned out to have his own MySpace account with his blog on it. Rather creepily the pictures used by online news services including the BBC story all used the photograph of him from his own site. I noticed that the second time I saw the site the number of Friends had gone down and now in the late evening the account is no longer visible, presumably MySpace had realised that the media had pointed out its existence and decided to remove it (or he deleted it himself, but I doubt you can do that while being questioned by police).

Of course I have no idea if this man is guilty or innocent (if he turns out to be innocent he will have a hell of a time since the police and media has plastered his name, address and picture all over the place), but the thought that he might be and that here was his blog is quite creepy. I wonder if he is the first serial murderer suspect to also be a blogger? And I bet if he is guilty the traditional media - wary and scared of new media at the best of time - will discuss the blog as if having one was indeed an indicator of psychological abnormality. All very odd and disquieting, but let's hope they have caught the right person.

Manhattan

The Edinburgh Filmhouse is screening a restored version of Woody Allen's Manhattan, a movie Mel and I have watched many times, but a chance to see it again on the big screen is too good to pass up, so off we went, taking our Norwegian friend Vidar along (he had never actually seen the film before). There is something so different about watching a film in a cinema rather than on DVD; in the case of Manhattan it is most noticeable in some of the loving scenes of New York itself. Shot in black and white the cityscape has the crisp visual allure of a good photograph while the monochrome also imparts a timeless feel to the movie so it feels like a film for any period, not a 70s movie.

And there's something else different about watching it in the cinema, the simple alchemical magic of projected light; the fact that the image is projected rather than interpreted from data on a DVD disc imparts a silver sheen to some of the black and white scenes - that famous opening sequence of New York set to the music of Gershwin becomes luminous while the scene with Diane Keaton and Allen on a bench by the bridge as dawn breaks softly across the river has become an iconic movie image. Mind you, the "she's just a kid, too young for me" dilemma Woody finds himself in over his romance with Mariel Hemmingway takes on other meanings for contemporary audiences familiar with Woody's current spouse; there goes that old life and art doing impressions of one another again...



Also on at the Filmhouse throughout December is a freshly restored print of The Wizard of Oz. Sure, I've seen it a hundred times; it is, (in)famously shown so often at holiday periods on TV, but I've never seen it on the big screen. It's not my favourite movie, but it does have some scenes in it which are pure cinematic gold and some of the most stunning visuals (how much more powerful must they have been when it was first seen decades ago?) and again the chance to see it, cleaned up and restored, on the big screen is too good to pass up - I think I'll go and see it after I finish up at work, be a little holiday treat for me. I will try to restrain my urge to join in the songs. Oh and there are flying monkeys too! Brilliant.

Things we learned this year

The BBC has a list of 100 things we learned this year, including the fact Mohammed is apparently now in the top 20 names for newborn boys in England and Wales (still beat in Scotland by Wullie, while the exotic 'Agnes' is still a big hit for girls),

WD40, the miracle fluid beloved of mechanics, dissolves cocaine (I wonder if Diet Coke dissolves coke?),

Orthodox Jews are the worst jaywalkers, in the USA you can subpoena a dog (presumably cats would treat a court summons with disdain),

around 1, 000 people in the UK are in a persistent vegetative state (40% of them are employed in Railway companies, most of the rest are civil servants),

on a cost to profit ratio Deep Throat is the most profitable movie of all time - $25, 000 to make, took $600 million so far (I know, it's hard to swallow),

Koalas have fingerprints similar to humans, which is why when the Kangaroo Liberation Front (KLF) uses them on a Marsupial's Rights raid they have to wear gloves,

The first traffic cones were used in Preston in the late 50s; students from Lancaster University stole them shortly afterwards and placed them on a statue of Mr Sidney Lumpback, inventor of the portable black pudding stove.

What I learned myself:

For my own part I learned this year that all the extraneous exclamation marks I remove when editing copy from Marvel Comics for the website ("It's! A! New! Comic!!! True Believer!!!) are recycled and sold to Stan Lee, who uses them in his introductions to Marvel Masterworks collections.

I also discovered that if bigots at Scottish football matches stopped bellowing sectarian hate songs they could reduce the nation's carbon footprint by 5%.

Author Mike Carey has access to inter-dimensional technology; he and the alternate Mikes in parallel worlds collaborate to produce his astonishing output of 7, 323 comics, novels, blogs and work on Lucifer - the Opera (probably) each year.

Scarlett Johansen's breasts and lips are so large their gravity has to be taken into account during NASA launches. This also explains why so many men's (and some women's) eyes are drawn to them.

The annual wine consumption of one of my best friends is the main contributor to the economy of the small French village of Vin-du-verreplonk. My cheese consumption powers the rural economy of the neighbouring village of Fromage-sur-le-pong. We both expect to be decorated by the French government for this in 2007. Similarly my consumption of fair trade coffee is paying for a whole school for children in rural Guatemala. Amazing the things you find out.

When they kick at your front door
How you gonna come?
With your hands on your head
Or on the trigger of your gun

When the law break in
How you gonna go?
Shot down on the pavement
Or waiting on death row

You can crush us
You can bruise us
But you'll have to answer to
Oh, the guns of Brixton

The money feels good
And your life you like it well
But surely your time will come
As in heaven, as in hell

You see, he feels like Ivan
Born under the Brixton sun
His game is called survivin'
At the end of the harder they come

You know it means no mercy
They caught him with a gun
No need for the Black Maria
Goodbye to the Brixton sun

You can crush us
You can bruise us
Yes, even shoot us
But oh-the guns of Brixton


"Guns of Brixton", The Clash.

Because I'm in the mood for some Clash and Joe Strummer.

Animator Versus Animation II

My chum Claudia sent me a link to this brilliant piece of animation, which takes an old animation trick, having the animation fight with the animator (been going on since Daffy argued with his cartoonist half a century ago) but gives it a very contemporary spin as the figure in the animation programme soon escapes the software into the Windows XP screen, fighting his way across it, battling the little AOL Messenger man as he does.The description doesn't do it justice, just go and have a look, you'll love it.

Harry Dresden



Jim Butcher's excellent Dresden Files novels (published in the UK by Orbit, (the very nice people who sent me a lovely bottle of Xmas plonk today - thanks, guys!) are being made into a TV show soon. Harry Dresden is a detective; he's also the only wizard in the Yellow Pages ("no potions or love spells") in a series which is now up to seven installments, mixing magical fantasy and horror with down-at-heels gumshoe noir and a very nice combination of thrills with humour (Harry's wizardly robe is actually his tatty bathrobe and he bribes some small faeries with pizza).

Although each book has a main mystery Harry gets mixed up in (his home city of Chicago has an interesting mixture of organised crime and supernatural threats, so he gets called in as a 'consultant' by the Chicago PD a lot) and these are always engrossing, the main thing which keeps pulling me back is that Jim develops not only Harry and his supporting cast in each book but builds up a background tale so there is a real feeling of progress through the series which adds a lot to it.

Mmmm... chocolate...







Choco Latte on Edinburgh's southside - the Malteser Muffin was fan-frigging-tastic. Can't you just feel yourself putting on weight just looking at these pictures? I didn't know this place existed until I was out with some friends who were over last week and who were staying near it. It's a bit further down than I normally go, although by coincidence it is about 5 minutes away from my dentist, so if my next 6-monthly checkup is fine you know where I am going for my little reward.

Pinochettio, a fairy tale

Poor Pinochettio, he was just an unknown general in silly glasses until he asked his CIA Fairy Godmother "can you make me a real dictator?" "Of course, Pinochettio, " replied the kindly CIA Fairy and with the help of his beloved Uncles Richard and Henry Pinochettio grew up to be a real dictator and everything ended happily ever after. And if it didn't no-one found out because he had them kidnapped, tortured, murdered and then 'disappeared'. My what a wonderful fairy tale world you have made, thought other South American national leaders, may we join in your Fascist Garden of Dictatorial Delights, Pinochettio? And so Pinochettio had many, many friends to play with, including the woman from over the seas who was made or iron but who never had a heart.

You know, I don't believe in the Christian view of the afterlife, but at times like this I almost wish there was a Hell and that the old fecker is roasting slowly in it tonight with all his many victims getting a chance to turn the spit's handle. Ill health was the old mass-murdering bastard's ticket to avoid trial (a device referred to in European politics as the Berlusconi Gambit) but why not track down and hold accountable the murderous scum who so happily tortured and killed for this old fiend? And while we're at it, how about getting some of the major members of the US administration of the time who backed him to overthrow a democratic government and replace it with a fascist dictatorship which murdered thousands and set a template for repression across the whole continent? Yeah, that's about as likely as Bush and Blair ending up in the Hague on trial, isn't it?

And isn't is bitterly amusing how many of the old bastard (listen - is that him screaming in Hell right now? I do hope so) were happy to make excuses for the tortures and the disappearances and murders but they can't forgive him for pilfering money from the state for himself? Murdered thousands - ah, it's okay, they were probably not real patriots anyway (how the framers of new anti-terror laws in Britain and America must look longingly at his regime and think, yeah, that's how your protect democracy!). Oh no, you stole money??? How could you??!!??!! Mass murder fine, stealing money, oh no! And the wicked old Witch of the West, Thatcher, is 'deeply saddened' - doesn't that tell you everything you need to know about that dreadful, evil old harridan, that she mourns the death of a fascist dictator who killed thousands. Hope the old iron lady cries and makes herself rust.

Celeb hawkers

Another sign of the impending festive season can be glimpsed in our magazines, TV and cinema as a gaggle of greedy celebrities do their best to hawk their tawdry, over-priced goods on us so they can swell their already overflowing coffers. Perfumes, grills, jewels you name it. If they were honest it wouldn't be so bad - I mean why don't we have adverts for the new scent Great Fat Arse by Jennifer Lopez? Or Pretentious EuroPonce by Gaultier? How about Tasteless Bling by Dolce and Banana? Protruding Nipples by Jennifer Anniston?

Then there is the celebrity endorsement - curl your lashes with this brush and you will look just like Penelope Cruz. Uh-huh. First off you won't. Second, no guys gives a rat's arse about Penny's eyelashes, that isn't where our gaze is going. Or that damned stupid Sony Viao ad for their laptop featuring Daniel Craig in Casino Royale - "get equipped like Bond". WTF? Yeah, a Sony laptop will turn me into the world's greatest British superspy - a new dinner jacket, Sony laptop, Aston Martin and Eva Green sitting on my lap isn't going to make me remotely like James Bond (although it would be fun, especially the Eva Green bit). And what about when they get the celeb totally wrong for the product? Like Bob Dylan for that must-have accessory for folks who can't think for themselves, the Ipod? Yup, the man who went through all sorts of shit for 'going electric' years ago now schills for digital style fiends.

Maybe the whole distasteful business would be more enjoyable if we used fictional celebrities instead of real ones. How about the Jean-Luc Picard Ceramic Hair Curling Tongs? Buffy's Mr Pointy Vibrator? Eric Cartman's Special Diet? Tom Sawyer's River Holidays? Freddy Kreuger's Skin Care Range? Panty Liners by Wonder Woman? Athletic Support Bras by Power Girl? Kitty Litter from Catwoman? Online Dating by Jane Austen? Newspapers from Charles Foster Kane? Count Dracula's Dental Insurance?

Early animation

I love this very early example of movie animation by Emile Cohl I came across on Boing Boing:

Veiled meaning

Channel 4 is to front their alternative to the Queen's Christmas speech with a veiled Muslim woman this year. Hmmm, I wonder if this will also go out on HDTV? Just imagine being able to take in every fine detail in Hi-Def of the speaker's ... er... well, eyes and lots of fabric... Perhaps this might be better on radio... It would be much more interesting if the Queen decided to give her annual speech in a veil. I am thinking on giving the Woolamaloo Christmas speech dressed as a cowboy with a bandana over most of my face while waving a six-shooter about to prove that such facial wear is nothing to fear and that the cowboy way of life is not reliant on guns and violence. Yeehar, pardner!

Significant SF

I picked this list up from Lou Anders' blog via Ariel's new blog The Genre Files:

This is the Science Fiction Book Club's list of the fifty most significant science fiction/fantasy novels published between 1953 and 2002.

The Key:
Bold the ones you've read.
Strike-out the ones you hated.
Italicize those you started but never finished.
Put an asterisk beside the ones you loved.

1. The Lord of the Rings, J.R.R. Tolkien*
2. The Foundation Trilogy, Isaac Asimov
3. Dune, Frank Herbert*
4. Stranger in a Strange Land, Robert A. Heinlein
5. A Wizard of Earthsea, Ursula K. Le Guin
6. Neuromancer, William Gibson*
7. Childhood's End, Arthur C. Clarke
8. Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, Philip K. Dick
9. The Mists of Avalon, Marion Zimmer Bradley
10. Fahrenheit 451, Ray Bradbury*
11. The Book of the New Sun, Gene Wolfe
12. A Canticle for Leibowitz, Walter M. Miller, Jr.
13. The Caves of Steel, Isaac Asimov
14. Children of the Atom, Wilmar Shiras
15. Cities in Flight, James Blish
16. The Colour of Magic, Terry Pratchett
17. Dangerous Visions, edited by Harlan Ellison
18. Deathbird Stories, Harlan Ellison
19. The Demolished Man, Alfred Bester*
20. Dhalgren, Samuel R. Delany
21. Dragonflight, Anne McCaffrey
22. Ender's Game, Orson Scott Card
23. The First Chronicles of Thomas Covenant the Unbeliever, Stephen R. Donaldson
24. The Forever War, Joe Haldeman
25. Gateway, Frederik Pohl
26. Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, J.K. Rowling
27. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams*
28. I Am Legend, Richard Matheson*
29. Interview with the Vampire, Anne Rice*
30. The Left Hand of Darkness, Ursula K. Le Guin*
31. Little, Big, John Crowley
32. Lord of Light, Roger Zelazny
33. The Man in the High Castle, Philip K. Dick
34. Mission of Gravity, Hal Clement
35. More Than Human, Theodore Sturgeon
36. The Rediscovery of Man, Cordwainer Smith
37. On the Beach, Nevil Shute
38. Rendezvous with Rama, Arthur C. Clarke
39. Ringworld, Larry Niven*
40. Rogue Moon, Algis Budrys
41. The Silmarillion, J.R.R. Tolkien
42. Slaughterhouse-5, Kurt Vonnegut
43. Snow Crash, Neal Stephenson*
44. Stand on Zanzibar, John Brunner
45. The Stars My Destination, Alfred Bester*
46. Starship Troopers, Robert A. Heinlein
47. Stormbringer, Michael Moorcock
48. The Sword of Shannara, Terry Brooks
49. Timescape, Gregory Benford
50. To Your Scattered Bodies Go, Philip Jose Farmer

Now there are always problems with this kind of list as readers argue over who was and was not included on the final tally, that's par for the course with these sorts of things. But I think Ariel makes a couple of good points on his blog when he points out the criteria used to select these books is not explained and also that it is a very US-centric list. Not that this invalidates it, but I suspect a list compiled by SF folks in the UK would contain many of these titles but also a number of others - why, for example, is John Wyndham's Midwich Cuckoos not on this list? It dates from 1957 but it ain't made the list. No Iain M Banks as Ariel pointed out, a pretty unlikely omission in a UK-compiled list I'd imagine (as is the lack of David Gemmell - regardless of personal like or dislike he can't be dismissed).

I'm also astonished that Kim Stanley Robinson's Mars trilogy isn't in here since it must be one of the most significant works of the last few decades - we're talking a book that NASA considers good reading for future Martian explorers for goodness sake. And no Jonathan Carroll either, alas (on which note I can't believe he doesn't have a UK deal for his last book, he is simply one of the most gifted writers around in any genre). No Neil Gaiman on this list? How many comics readers has Neil influenced into reading prose novels (and vice versa)? Not to mention his incredibly skill as a teller of multi-layered tales and the way he has been one of the writers of the fantastic who has made the genres respectable in the rarefied pages of the broadsheets (as they slowly realise SF and Fantasy can be - gasp - literature). Hard also to credit the lack of Margaret Atwood's Handmaid's Tale and the lack of any Greg Bear or M John Harrison too.

I have read a number of these - quite a few of the older ones courtesy of Gollanc'z SF Masterworks, a terrific series which has, in my opinion, pretty much become to SF as the black-spined Penguin Classics has to older, more mainstream literature (come to think of it, if you want a good list of classic books simply consult their SF and their Fantasy Masterworks because there isn't a dud among them). And like Ariel there are some here I haven't read but I have read a number of other books by those authors. And as you can infer from the above paragraph there are a lot of writers I think should be on such a list who were not. But to end on a positive note, what this list has done (as most such lists have done) is to encourage people to talk about books. About good books. And that's not a bad thing. I'm looking again at some sitting unread on my shelves and thinking, you know I've been meaning to read that one for so long...

Crazy images

Wow, what a start to the week - I woke up with a seriously nasty headache. I rarely get headaches and was worried it might be a migraine on the way (again, I don't get those often either - my dad does, I don't get them too much, but when I do they are usually nasty). Fear is confirmed when I switch on the bedroom light (since it is still dark here when I get up now) and it feels like someone stuck two hot wires into my eyes (which goes nicely with the hot spike someone is shoving into my brain).

And then the light show begins, with spirals and crazy fractal patterns and zig-zags; reminds me of a hunter gatherer woman in Stephen Baxter's Evolution who suffers migraines and becomes convinced these patterns she sees during them, even with her eyes closed, are messages from the ancestors. If these were messages from my ancestral spirits though I must have pissed them off. My eyes are quite sensitive at the best of times (I often use my prescription sunglasses when working on the computer for hours) but this is overload and all I can do is take a handful of painkillers and hide myself in my little boxroom study which has no windows and so can be almost totally dark. Except for the pretty patterns filling my vision regardless, of course, which take hours to pass and leave me feeling pretty wiped out afterwards. Mind you the images are pretty amazing. Just a shame you can still see them in the dark with your eyes closed.

Of Labyrinths

I seem to be on a hat trick of good movies recently; the last three I caught have all been excellent, as well as quite different from each other. The new Bond movie was a nice, taut thriller-actioner, the Prestige was a serious mind-trip, like Chris Nolan's earlier (superb) picture Memento it is a movie that engages the viewer and forces them to think about what's going on, sorting through the broken chronology, the misdirection, smoke and mirrors which is as much a part of the film's structure as it is a stock-in-trade of the duelling magicians it centres around (and how brilliant a setting is the world of Victorian stage magicians for a tale? By coincidence I am reading a book due next year also in a similar setting, featuring a stage magician, the Sonambulist).

Then came Pan's Labyrinth, the latest film from Guillermo Del Toro who adapted one of my favourite comics characters, Hellboy, as well as his earlier, intriguing works like Cronos and Devil's Backbone. As with those latter two films Pan's Labyrinth is a Spanish-language film and like Devil's Backbone it juxtaposes children adrift in the violence of Spain's Civil War against the supernatural, in this case a young girl normally lost in her books of fairy tales. Taken by her heavily pregnant mother to a remote forest home where her stepfather, a brutal officer in Franco's army, is hunting the last of the Republic's partisans she discovers an ancient labyrinth near the house (labyrinths and spirals being a very ancient device in the human psyche, predating even the earliest Celtic cultures who we often associate with them).



Del Toro never makes it clear if the magical labyrinth within the moss-covered ruin, or the Faun, faeries and other folkloric creations are real or the imagination of a young girl trying to escape a brutal present, or indeed to understand the fact that the world can be cruel, as this is a 'proper' fairy tale, magical but also dark, dangerous and often disturbing, as a true fairy tale should be. This is no sugary Hollywood creation and reminds me of the older, more original versions of our fairy tales, before they were cleaned up for children's picture books. The true fairy tale, like any piece of folklore which last the test of centuries of retelling, does so because it tells us something, even as children - perhaps particularly when we are children - about the world and life.

I love that Del Toro doesn't tell us what is real and what is not; some directors, especially in Hollywood, would have set the film up so we find out it is all in her mind or that she really does see something with her childish innocence that the adults do not (until the end of course). No, he doesn't do that - engage your imagination, use the palette I am giving you he says, then add the final brushstrokes yourself. He mixes Freudian and Jungian dream imagery with ancient folklore and more modern tales; in one scene our girl is dressed like a Gothic version of Alice and she too enters a different realm but instead of falling down a rabbit hole she enters a dark hole (shaped rather like a vagina) in a dying tree, entering into the womb of the earth, but instead of a cave it is damp, muck-filled and inhabited by a vile giant toad she must trick (even more interesting given the young girl is terrified of ever having a child herself because she sees her mother struggling with a bad pregnancy).



I'm not going to say too much more here lest I spoil it (except to say the scene with the mandrake root "the plant which dreamed it was a person" as the Faun tells our heroine, is incredibly creepy and disturbing but also fascinating and magical at the same time). If you are a person who normally doesn't watch subtitled foreign movies make an exception; this is a dark, deep, intoxicating work of mature fantasy, drawing on sources ancient and more modern, visually rich and Gothic (I mean proper Gothic, not skinny girl in black eyeliner Gothic), sometimes like a Goya painting coming to life. And if you have an interest in folklore, world literature and myth you will especially adore it (Yvonne, I'm looking in your direction here). And don't just take my word for it - Guillermo invited Neil Gaiman and his family to a sneak preview a few weeks back and he thought it was excellent too (and apparently Guillermo, unsatisfied with previous translations of his Spanish language work, did the English subtitles himself).

Polonium

As British detectives investigating the alleged radioactive poisoning of Russian opponent of Vladimir Putin, Mr Litvinenko, prepare to fly to Moscow many of our readers have been asking just what is this Polonium material and should they be worried? A popular story in the UK at the moment is that this radioactive material got its name because it is usually produced and stored in small,white, ring-shaped tablets, similar to the popular mint Polos. Of course, this is nonsense.

Actually the name derives from the scientist who discovered it, Erik Ramnelstatder. Ramnelstatderium was considered to unwieldy a name so instead his discovery was named after a popular nick-name his fellow scientists had given to Ramnelstatder, that of Polonius. Ramnelstatder accquired this nick-name because he had a fear of being observed by others and so often conducted his lab work from behind the comforting screen of an arras.

Alligator makes citizen's arrest on junkie

This story from the Orlando Sentinel has to be one of the best weird stories of the week: screams for help in the middle of the night lead locals to call out the police, who arrived by a dark lake to find a naked man who had been smoking crack fighting off an 11-foot alligator. Speaking to the Woolamaloo Gazette later the alligator, Snapper LaCoste, said he had been trying to make a citizen's arrest. "This lake area used to be a great neighbourhood," he remarked, "but these damned junkies come here smoking and shooting up, now running around naked. The whole area has gone downhill, you don't dare take the kids out to the park, litter and drugs detritus lies around the area. When I saw this naked junkie I saw red and decided if the cops wouldn't take action, I would and made a citizen's arrest. When he resisted I was forced to attempt to eat him."

Happy Saint Andrews Day



To mark the day devoted to Scotland's patron saint I've indulged myself in many Scottish activities. I began by releasing a group of wild haggis upon the Esplanade of Edinburgh Castle. I had planned to dance upon a pair of crossed swords as we Scots are want to do (a lot better than Morris Dancing, but there must be easier ways to clip your toenails) but since we are in the 21st century I used a pair of lightsabres instead (with a tartan beam-blade of course), dancing to the sound of the pipes and drums while reciting Burns, drinking whisky, eating shortbread, deep frying my lunch, creating a major new philosophical system, wrote some poetry, made some astonishing scientific discoveries, beat someone to death for wearing the wrong football scarf and finished by abusing passing Englishmen. That was a busy day...

Xmas in Edinburgh



Inside Jenners in Edinburgh this evening, a little Xmas shopping with my mum and dad who were through visiting (off for some nice food as well, poor mum with her arm in a sling still).





We could hear music but weren't sure where it was coming from. Beautiful bit of acoustic guitar, lovely golden chords. As we walked round we spotted the musician playing away, just sitting in front of the clothing department. I liked the two mannequins on the upper right, they look almost like they are leaning forward to listen to him.



The open air Xmas Fair and German market are now open in Princes Street Gardens and the Mound right next to the Royal Scottish Academy. All sorts of lovely things on offer and hot food, mulled wine, Gluhwein... I love when this comes to town, the people, the atmosphere, the light, the smell of food and spiced wines all make such a magnificent contrast with the long, cold, dark winter nights of Scotland.





I wonder if this is the same tilting swing I snapped back during the summer at Fringe Sunday?



Roll up, roll up, all the fun of the fair!!!

Reading against the text

Watching the latest Lynx deodorant for men ad ("spray more, get more" - sounds like an ad for tomcats to me) which starts Baywatch-style with a large-chested woman running in a bikini in glorious slo-mo (there was so much titty bounce I thought at first it might be an ad for sports bras for active girls who need real support). As tens, then hundreds and eventually thousands of bikini clad tall, busty women race irresistibly towards the beach where our man is spraying his Lynx I couldn't help but think of a couple of alternative readings for this ad, somewhat different to the preferred meaning of the makers. My first thought was it would be hilarious if when they ran towards him on the beach they tore him apart with their bear hands because they were a tribe of fierce Amazonian warrior women. The second was it would be hilarious if the ad ended with the women reaching him then punching the crap out of him as he sprayed the deodorant around, yelling "stop destroying the biosphere, you stupid male bastard." Coming up with your own interpretation of the ads is usually more fun than the actual ads themselves.

Retirement

My lovely mum was all set to retire at the ripe age of 60 next month from her part time work but unfortunately it has been brought forward by circumstances: she works in a bakery and on her way to help a colleague she slipped on a bit of foodstuff and had a nasty tumble, injuring her arm quite badly. She's pulled muscles rather nastily but after a couple of days of increasing pain she finally went to the casualty department at hospital and it turns out she chipped the bone and caused more damage than she thought. So now she is in a lot of pain and bound up with a special sling, which is making life very difficult - she isn't sleeping right because of the pain (and being worried about rolling over onto the bad arm in her sleep - major owww!) and simple things like fixing her hair are very hard to do with one hand, so she isn't going out much because she won't go out unless she looks presentable (unlike her son who is a scruff, looks, as she puts it "like something that fell of a flitting" - or 'Bohemian' as I would have it). And since she will be bound up like this for several weeks it will go past her 60th birthday in December when she was to retire, so she missed that.

And she isn't trying to claim for compensation. If it was a small family business I could understand her not wanting to claim in case it ruined their business, but it is a large group of national bakeries; it wasn't a malicious thing, but she slipped and injured herself on something that shouldn't have been there and is in a lot of pain because of it, so that is their responsibility. I'm damned annoyed she won't claim and I'm going to keep pressing her on it. Does seem very funny to think on my mum as retired though (although 60 isn't old these days, is it? Not unless you are 16) - she still has a creamy complexion and her hair is still red, the benefits of a Celtic heritage. I've never been someone obsessed with money (which is just as well as I've never really earned much!); mostly I'm happy to make enough to be comfortable and doing a job you like is worth a lot more.

One of the few reasons I would like to be wealthier is to be able to say to both my folks, here's all your outstanding stuff paid off, now bugger off on a big, long holiday and enjoy yourselves while you're still fit and young enough. Alas I can just about pay my own mortgage, so that isn't going to happen, but it would be nice, wouldn't it? I'd love to be able to take care of them the way they have taken care of me over the years. One thing I've never taken for granted is my parents; so many kids in our world grow up with parents who don't care or no parents at all. Not me, I got the luckiest draw you can get, parents who love you and will do anything for you and a big family of uncles, aunts and cousins into the bargain. That's worth more than money and I know how damned lucky it makes me; anything and everything I ever do in life is built on that foundation. I wish every kid had that, then the world would be a much better place.

Pies

For some bizarre reason a friend and I got on to the topic of pie-shagging (a la American Pie) the other day. Porking a pie - hmmm, is this possibly an alternative source for the name of the pork pie? Not just because it's made of dead piggy, but because of naughty pastry-related bonking in days of old; after all many pork pies do have that curious little circular depression in the top...

Anyway, from there we somehow went on to Cannibal Country (possibly inspired by last week's Torchwood with human-eating yokels) and making pies from people. And somehow it mixed with the previous topic and I found myself wondering about cannibal yokels who cut up nubile teen hitchers and turn them into pies, then shag those pies. And I wondered, would our pie-porkin' cannibal only shag human pies of the opposite sex, unless of course they were gay? I'm just picturing a pair of our happy countryside cannibals indulging in some intimate pastry relations with fresh pies made from their latest chopped up hitchers, one turning to the other and laughing, "man, you is dicking a guy-pie, you fag!"; gay cannibalistic necrophilia (with pies). Kind of American Pie meets Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Sweeney Todd. It would make a great short horror movie or comic; a tale of lust, love, sexual identity and odd fillings for pies.

Yes, odd things do jump into my head; maybe I do watch too many movies...

Double-Oh!!!!

After a fair old wait and lots of speculation over Daniel Craig's suitability for the role and rumblings over the 'rebooting' the new James Bond has arrived, to pretty much universal acclaim from the reviewers. Was I impressed? Damned right I was. Cineaste though I am, I enjoy the Bond movies too (hey, can't always be watching indy and foreign movies) and have been wondering what this would be like. Right from the start with the usual pre-credits sequence Casino Royale sets out its stall as a harder, grittier and more brutal version of Bond, shot in a monochrome (almost like CCTV footage) we see Bond's first two kills, the necessary number to be considered for double-0 status, leading into a pretty cool version of the turn and fire out the screen, blood comes down scene you get at the start of Bond flicks.

The first third of the film is relentlessly action-packed and gripping - the scene in an African construction site using Parkour-style stunts is brilliant. Despite the heroics and stunts, this is a young, inexperienced Bond and he makes mistakes, misjudges things; when he gets into fights they are brutally physical and in the following scene you can see the marks it leaves on him down to bruises across his knuckles (so he's not superhuman). The actual card game (reputedly based on a war-time experience by Ian Fleming in Portugal where he claimed to have tried to fleece some Nazi agents in a casino, although other reports say he lost and more than likely the Nazis were Portuguese businessmen) could have been a slacker third of the film after all that action, but actually it is incredibly tense, although there are nice touches to the past history (reset somewhat by this reboot) such as Bond putting on his first properly tailored dinner jacket somewhat reluctantly until he looks in the mirror and you can see him thinking, hey, I look good in this...


Which left me wondering what they would do for the final third of the movie. I won't blow it for those who haven't been yet, but suffice to say they pulled it off. Not quite as well paced as the first two thirds, but still gripping and you can see events which are going to shape Bond into the character we know later in his career (oh and watch out for Dan finally getting to say the immortal words "Bond. James Bond"). Eva Green is delectable as the main Bond Babe and Dan Craig spends plenty of time in his swimming shorts showing off a very toned body; in fact in a sexual role reversal he emerges from the waves on a tropical beach as Ursula Andress did way back in Dr No (and the gorgeous Halle Berry did in a homage scene in the last Brosnan Bond flick).

I thought Craig was excellent in the role, managing to convey a less experienced Bond but also one confident - sometimes over confident - and much closer to the more brutal, almost public school bully character Fleming wrote and Connery portrayed more in the earliest movies before that edge was lost. Short version of this: Casino Royale rocks; it's tight, gripping and as toned as Dan Craig's abs.

ASCII Star Wars

Got this from a friend - if you are running Windows (commiserations) then click on the Start bar, then click on Run and enter telnet towel.blinkenlights.nl then sit back and watch ASCII Star Wars!

Dizzy in the dark



Dizzy in one of her little hidey-holes, happily curling up in among Mel's clothes partly for comfort and partly to make sure even freshly laundered clothes are still covered in fur. I was surprised this even came out - my wee old camera doesn't have a low light setting so I improvised with the penlight on top of it and it worked.

On reading

BB had this quote from an interview with author Zadie Smith on KCRW:

"But the problem with readers, the idea we’re given of reading is that the model of a reader is the person watching a film, or watching television. So the greatest principle is, "I should sit here and I should be entertained." And the more classical model, which has been completely taken away, is the idea of a reader as an amateur musician. An amateur musician who sits at the piano, has a piece of music, which is the work, made by somebody they don’t know, who they probably couldn’t comprehend entirely, and they have to use their skills to play this piece of music. The greater the skill, the greater the gift that you give the artist and that the artist gives you. That’s the incredibly unfashionable idea of reading. And yet when you practice reading, and you work at a text, it can only give you what you put into it. It’s an old moral, but it’s completely true."

It's interesting because the comics event at the Goethe Institut in Glasow which I transcribed for the FPI blog recently also had several views expressed, that reading (books or graphic novels) is like sitting with a sheet of music. Unlike a film where you are presented with an entire piece - words, music, visuals etc - a book or comic is like an artist giving you the sheet music of their work, bringing the reader into the actual creation process, their mind, their experiences, their imagination taking those notes to complete the work in a way unique to that reader.

It's something I agree with - literature (be it prose fiction, non fiction or the sequential art of comics) in incredibly stimulating to the mind and imagination, a process of interaction between artist and reader in a beautifully intimate dance of fancy and fantasy, symbolism, emotion and magic. However, although the process is not as powerful as it is with books and graphic novels, I don't totally accept that viewing other media like film and television is a completely passive experience. This is a model, often referred to in media studies as the hypodermic needle model, where we the audience are passive receivers being drip fed exactly what the makers want. It's a model rubbished many decades ago (if it were true all propaganda would work and we'd be brainwashed, never disagreeing with authorities; similarly all advertising would work where patently it does not).

Watching a good movie, like the recent Prestige, is for me almost like reading a good book where I feel the artist has pushed me, forcing me to think about the work; I can feel elements of the work swirling around my brain for days afterwards, still considering image, motifs, narrative structure. Watching a TV programme like Attenborough's Planet Earth sparks all sorts of secondary thoughts and images in my brain. Of course there are some TV and films you do just slump there and let them wash over you; sometimes that is actually what you want, similarly some books are also enjoyable pulp, but most people do think about work, even at a low level different people will decode any text in their own way, not always with the 'preferred reading' of the maker.

Ultimately any good art - books, comics, film, paintings, dance, music - will stimulate your imagination; that's probably why I've been a heavy reader of books and comics since before I was old enough to go to school and, if anything, my reading has increased my skills at reading movies and other texts simply because I have accrued more tools to employ (sometimes without thinking about it). There is nothing wrong with being entertained - we all want and need that - but entertainment which makes you think is something precious; books do still have the strongest edge in this field and it may be one reason why, in a multimedia age of film, TV, radio, web and more the book continues to be an object which many people ascribe a special respect and love for.

Iraq a disaster? Yup, sez Blair...

Tony Blair agreed with Sir David Frost's remark that the endless violence in Iraq since the 'liberation' had "so far been pretty much of a disaster". Downing Street spin doctors and other worthless people have already rushed forward to say that the meaning was 'taken out of context' (can't they ever think on a better excuse for these slips?) and that this wasn't exactly what the Prime Minister meant; in fact what he meant to say was the situation was a fucking disaster...

Elsewhere in his troubled government ministers at the MOD have admitted they have been taken by surprise by the level of combat British troops have had to face in southern Afghanistan (while other NATO countries bravely stay well put in the North). Allegations that poor planning has contributed to the large number of casualties have been levelled at the MOD. Some military analysts said the ministers were totally unprepared for serious combat because of a simple error: they confused Hellmand province with Hellman's, a region internationally famous for the production of rich, creamy mayonnaise. Generals and ministers have denied this, but critics point out it would explain why the regiments of the Queen's Own Royal Condiments were initially deployed.

Wikitoons

Boing Boing had this link to comics made using text from Wiki entries by Greg Williams. I think Cory Doctorow on BB was right, the skunk one is brilliant:

Eat Taser, book boy!

Via Boing Boing comes this (literally) shocking tale of a student tasered twice by campus police in the library at UCLA in front of other shocked students. Coming some months after BB reported on another set of campus police who wanted to haul in a student in English who wrote a horror story for DNA testing because if he wrote about gruesome death he obviously must be a murderer himself, then threatened him and supporting tutors when they told the rentacop campus rozzers they had no right, it does make me wonder what campus police are actually for? Certainly doesn't seem to be to serve the interests of the student body. I imagine many have issues because they couldn't make it as real police officers and bossing around students and posing with weapons in front of 20 year old undergrads seemed like a great way to pick up totty...

To show amends for their over-zealous behaviour in twice tasering an unarmed student in a library the officers are then alleged to have threatened other horrified students who asked them to stop or for their badge numbers; perhaps they thought they were all terrorists. Still, it is a real advancement for American campuses - back in the days of protesting Vietnam they'd probably have been shot (I wish that was one of my jokes, but it isn't - Warren Ellis had it spot on in Transmetropolitan). Thank goodness we don't have these over-zealous and incompetent numpties on campuses here; when I worked in the college library the worst that would happen was a librarian tut-tutting when a book was returned late... Nice to see the spirit of freedom of speech is still celebrated in the halls of learning in the Land of the Free and that libraries are still a haven of quiet learning.

In the gutter

As autumn sinks into winter I thought I'd try and show a more positive side to lying in the gutter.



First sign of impending winter has already been: relaxing with a pint in front of a roaring fire in the pub (ahhhhhhhhhhh... sigh of contentment just thinking about it). Now the second sign has come to pass: first glass of hot mulled wine.

Strangely enough many of these leaves were airborne mere seconds after this shot was taken as a mysterious man joyfully kicked his way down the line. Remarked one witness, "I couldn't see him clearly, it was a blur of flying foliage, beard and bandana before he disappeared humming the Peanuts theme and doing what appeared to be the Snoopy Dance."