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."

New Babylon 5

Came across some news that J M Straczynski is going to be making some new Babylon 5 tales for the direct to DVD market, using some of the original actors (alas not Richard Biggs or Andreas Katsulas since they have passed on, Biggs , who played the doctor, shockingly young). I'm cautiously optimistic - I want to see them because it was such an exceptional series, building an incredible, connected story arc over years, but I'm a little worried because earlier sequels to the main five-year series all proved disappointing. This ongoing story approach influenced Trek to produce the much better later seasons (notably the Dominion War arc) which were more satisfying than the normal standalone episodes; arguably the fine new Battlestar Galactica also owes some debt to Bab 5.

Simple pleasures

Out for a meal with some friends last night (always a nice way to keep in touch and catch up, especially with folks you might not see too regularly); that pleasant and contented feeling you have after eating plenty of lovely food (Urban Angel in Edinburgh's Hanover Street, highly recommended for anyone, veggie or carnivore, and one of the only places I have had Guinness ice cream) and spending time with friends. Two of us had tapas so we could swap round food, always fun (the crispy friend halloumi sticks and chargrilled artichokes were especially nice). Eventually we brave the howling wind of a November night and step back out into the New Town; naturally a couple of us decide on a quick 'dessert' course in a nearby hostelry. Down a back street and into a nice little pub, quiet on a cold Monday night, late in the evening.

Dimly lit, warm and most welcome of all an open fire burning away, casting, cheerful flickers of orange light across the room. We parked our bums on the seats right across from the fire, sat back with pints in hand and basked in the firelight, warmth and soft light, shooting the breeze about anything and everything, from what we'd been up to through to who you would pick if you were taken back in time and offered Audrey Hepburn or Marilyn Monroe (a very intellectual discussion, as you can tell. My solution was you would marry Marilyn, knowing it wouldn't last and after the divorce you'd be free to hook up with Audrey).

We didn't actually drink that much, but lulled partly by the fire we found we had lingered there till closing time and came out way late and past the last bus (too cold to wait ages for a night bus, so I was gouged by the usually hideously expensive Edinburgh cabs). Still, it was a nice, relaxing evening; even the wind and winter rain only served to make the warmth of a fireside seat in a quiet pub all the more delightful. Food, drink, warm fire and chatting to some friends, the simple pleasures are so often the most satisfying.

Pacific Vet

I spotted the latest part of this series of YouTube postings with Les Loken, a 94-year old veteran of the war in the Pacific. It seems to suit today's theme since it is Rememberance Day and I also approve of Gingeronymous posting this series. I've always been a reader of history and I really like it when people record the thoughts and memories of the folks who were there. Not the kings, prime ministers and generals, but the 'ordinary' folk (as if there really is such a thing) who actually did the getting the hands dirty side of the history those more well-known leaders are commonly ascribed to have made. With the ability we have with various cheap and easily accessible media it's good to see it being used to record these memories before they are lost to the march of time. It's like when Hamish Henderson, introduced to the then new-fangled tape recorder, saw at once that he could combine it with his own knowledge, background and skill as a poet to travel the Highlands of Scotland and record poetry, song and folklore as it was spoken by the people for generations so that we would always have it.

It's a basic need of humanity, this desire for what communications lecturers would call exo-somatic memory, something held outside the brain of the original person, something which will outlast the flesh mind that once held it. We've been doing it since our ancestors painted on cave walls by the flickering orange firelight, from the heiroglyphics of Egypt, writing on vellum... then Gutenberg and his moveable type making it possible to preserve and share thoughts and memories and ideas further afield and over time, making books our ambassadors, able to travel through time and space in a way which our limited bodies cannot, carrying our thoughts, our memories, our dreams, our ideas, our songs, our sadness, our happiness, our warnings and advice and art... And now we have digital technology available to the masses in a way Gutenberg could never had dreamt of, from blog to flog to youtube. I enjoy the dafter postings on youtube of crazy gerbils tapdancing and the like, but it is warming to see it used in this way too.

European City of the Year

The Academy of Urbanism, a group set up to encourage debate about how to improve city life, has given the 'urban Oscar' to Edinburgh as the nicest city in Europe to live in. As a resident I'm not convinced it is the best city in Europe to live in; the award talks of the balance of old and new, the culture and other facts but, like tourist books, ignores the other side, such as the post-war 'overspill' schemes like Wester Hailes or Craigmillar. They like to pretend places like that occur in 'rough' towns like Glasgow, not in genteel Edinburgh (on which subject, thank you Channel 4 news this week for using a montage of scenes to re-enforce the negative, stereotypical image of Glasgow, all tower blocks and run-down docks, not a single glimpse of the rows of gorgeous Georgian town houses, art galleries, parks...). Those gripes aside though, it is (apart from those not so salubrious areas the tourists don't see) one of the most beautiful cities and it is (to me, anyway) easy to see why it would beat rivals like London. Plus the pubs and the ale here are much nicer.

The day the guns fell silent

The eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, the day the gun fell silent; the cessation of the suffering and carnage of the War to End All Wars. Why then can we still hear those guns, every single night on our television news? Decades after politicians whipped up popular sentiment for war to such a pitch that men (actually many of them really only boys) not only volunteered but happily marched off to war and despite that awful example little has changed; still cold-blooded politicians will manipulate facts to stir up feelings and send out troops not to protect our nation from harm but for their own selfish agendas. And dress it all up in patriotism, while decrying those who oppose or question as unpatriotic.

Sending young folks off to war in a distant land is not patriotism. Taking the goodwill of someone willing to serve their nation (an increasing rarity in our ever more selfish age) and using it for your own ends is not patriotism. Betraying the enormous sacrifices made before many of us were born, lives given so we would never have to know what Wilfred Owen called the 'pity of war', is not patriotism. The spectres of the dead should rise as they did in J'Accuse and stare down the hypocrisy of leaders like Blair, 'honouring' the fallen at public ceremonies while committing more of their comrades to a similar fate. After the slaughter of tens of millions in the wars of the last century, from the mud and blood of Flanders to atomic conflagration of Hiroshima, from the cold waters of the Atlantic to the killing fields of Cambodia, how can any leader worthy of that title be so easily persuaded to war?

Yes, there will always be times when we are called to arms; if someone attacks you, you have to defend yourself, we learned the hard way that isolation or appeasement are not an option. But always, always it must be the choice of last resort, not a tool for personal agendas, political ideas or corporate and economic opportunities. No, that's not patriotism; in fact it is the opposite, it is the betrayal of the nation and its people, the corruption of past sacrifices. Thousands of years of civilisation and we still have leaders willing to bang the drum for the march to war, leaders who will never take the risks of battle or suffer those hardships themselves; it's 2006 - learn another way.

All wars are planned by older men
In council rooms apart,
Who call for greater armament
And map the battle chart.

But out along the shattered field
Where golden dreams turn gray,
How very young the faces were
Where all the dead men lay.

Portly and solemn in their pride,
The elders cast their vote
For this or that, or something else,
That sounds the martial note.

But where their sightless eyes stare out
Beyond life's vanished toys,
I've noticed nearly all the dead
Were hardly more than boys.

Grantland Rice

Contrasts

Princes Street Gardens this morning; on one side of the Gothic rocket of the Scott Monument (which I still think looks like a stone sculpted version of Thunderbird 3) a stack of wooden boards ready to be laid over the grass before the Christmas market is set up shortly, while a large lorry was unloading brightly coloured steel beams to begin assembling the ferris wheel right next to the Monument. Right on the other side of the Monument are rows of little white crosses and a field of poppies for the Armistice Day garden of rememberance. Unusual contrast; I'm not quite sure what to make of it.

Lost in translation

After hours of transcribing I've put up the text of the first part of the Lost in Translation event on European comics I was at in Glasgow last week over on the FPI blog. The first half was a fascinating talk (off the cuff, without notes!) by Paul Gravett, probably one of the few folks who can bring Goethe into a talk about comics (which was very appropriate since it was hosted by the Goethe Institut and the Alliance Française. Working my way through transcribing the second part which was a panel discussion with Paul, German cartoonist Arne Bellstorf, Marc Baines and John and Sandra from Metaphrog, who created one of my favourite strips, the Louis series.

From dusk to dark, Edinburgh to Glasgow



The night falls far earlier now - these were shot the week before the clocks went back for winter just after leaving work, autumn dusk falling as a glowering sky gives way to evening. The floodlit building is the headquarters of the Bank of Scotland on the Mound.





Same sort of time a few days later, after the clocks have gone back and it is now full darkness by the time I leave work. Some find these months depressing, but I love the long nights; the warmth and light of the pub never looks as inviting as it does from outside on a cold, dark winter's eve. And there are other compensations too, such as catching brief glimpses of the stained glass windows at Saint John's on Princes Street from the top deck of a busy bus on the way home. I've said it before: the city gives out little presents in our days like this if we look and listen to it.



Glasgow for a change, the city of my birth, heading up towards Park Circus for an event at the Goethe Institut (first time I've been back there since I was studying German at school, which was so long ago we used slateboards and chalk instead of pen and paper... Check out the first article reporting on the event I've posted over on the FPI blog, after much laborious transcription). This building came into view as I walked up the hill towards Park Circus; I wouldn't even have passed it except the other way which I planned to go was blocked off for demolition work so I had to go the long way round. Saw this outlined against a sky rapidly losing its light to the sinking sun, grabbed the camera and was glad I had come this way.



Another view of the Trinity - it looks light because it is high up on a hill and catching the very last rays of sun warming the sandstone blocks, but in fact the twilight would have faded to night only twenty minutes after this; a large, hazy moon was already climbing the heights and claiming the sky.



Edge of the same building, just loved the way the plants clung to it.



And my favourite picture from my trip to Glasgow and also a wonderful piece of serendipity since I had no need to go round this street at all, but after taking pics of the Trinity I felt compelled to go this way round instead of that and just literally walked over this piece of poetry written on the pavement. To the east, shadows and rising moon, to the west a glowing sun departing over the Atlantic, beneath my boots, chill, gray paving stones and some verse someone had added to the street itself. I'm sure I recognise this from one of my own poetry books, but I can't place who it is by. Doesn't matter - it was an accident I went this way and chance I noticed it at my feet (which is probably how the writer intended it to be, a surprise) but it made my day, so thank you whoever decided to set verse to stone. This is why I learned to look and listen, or I would miss these tiny presents that make life suddenly magical.

What a load of c**p

Italian prosecutors are talking crap, getting all flushed about an installation at the Bolzano Museum of Modern Art. Now we know those of small, conservative minds are quick to take offence at almost anything; in fact they seem to be almost genetically predisposed to be offended and to demand things be banned. This particular case is comical though, with all the makings of an Italian farce since they are up in arms over a toilet which plays the Italian national anthem when flushed. Apparently this is considered a grave national insult to a nation with a proud and courageous heritage (so why is it insulting to Italy???!!!???!!! Sorry, that was a bad dig...).

Got to love the Italian priorities: government corrupt, media corrupt (and largely run by the man who was in charge of the corrupt government and changes the laws to stop corruption charges against himself), even the football is corrupt and these numpties are worried about a cludgie that plays the national anthem when flushed... Just as well they weren't trying to flush away the remains of the flag after burning it... Of course, here in Britain such a case would not happen because a toilet seat playing the national anthem would be pointless; you can't use a loo when you have to stand for the anthem... (assuming you stand for that vile and insulting God Save the Queen nonsense, which I don't). All of which reminds me of the old rhyme:

There was a young Royal Marine,
Who tried to fart God Save the Queen,
He reached the soprano
And out came the guano
And his britches weren't fit to be seen.

(the editor of the Woolamaloo Gazette would just like to affirm that his is indeed a deeply patriotic toilet and he often thinks of the Royal Family and members of the government when taking a big poo)

Exploding paint

There is a video on this site showing the 'making of' the new Sony Bravia advert (the follow-up to the one with the bouncing superballs of all colours set to Jose Gonzales music). I was quite surprised since I thought the exploding fountains of colourful paint across some of the nasty 60s/70s flats on the edge of Glasgow were computer animated, yet here they are showing them as actual physical special effects using mortars and special paint. It's quite something to watch, although a cynical part of me is wondering if it is actually real or yet another layer of stealth advertising posing as a short documentary - hard to believe they would actually be allowed to do this for real (and I am too cynical to believe everything I see, except in the mornings when I try to believe six impossible things before breakfast, especially if dining at Milliways).

Mashuga

I came across Mashuga's flog following random links after posting to my own Fotolog tonight and thought it was so remarkable that I had to post a link to it here. Gary posts a variety of pictures, but is fascinated by urban scenes and has posted a lot of photographs of folks living on the street. It's more than just some striking portraits though, as he talks to them and helps tell a little bit about their stories, a brief glimpse into another's life, putting humanity onto the faces of people we all see on the streets everyday.

Welcome to Planet Earth

Among all the horrible things going on it is nice to be reminded of some of the beauty also to be found; tonight was the return of Planet Earth on the BBC. Beeb digital screened the earlier episodes in advance of the new ones, with a (presumably deliberate) contrast, with the repeat being of desert life and the new episode of life on the ice. I'd seen the former earlier in the year, but the photography is so stunning in these documentaries that they are well worth re-watching. Even knowing what was coming I was still taken aback at the spectacle of mighty elephants crossing the deserts of Africa (I never knew they did this before) and then a pride of lions. The lions must have been filmed late in the day as the sun was casting great elongated shadows across the dunes and eroded rocks; the kings of the jungle padding across burning desert sands instead of veld, huge shadow lions following them along the dunes. Stunning.

And to the new episode tonight (glad to see they are sticking with the Sigur Ros music, it suits the show so well), as far from the burning deserts as you can get, taking us to the Poles. Deserts again but now of driving snow and where the scorched deserts boasted rock sculpted by eternal winds and grains of sand so the Poles astonishing natural sculptures of ice, glittering blue, seemingly so solid and yet so fragile. Mountains of rock, only barely visible, the rest buried beneath a whole mile of ice and snow. And even here, life. Huge ripples and bubbles break the surface of the icy sea; a pod of humpback whales is blowing air beneath to drive their prey before their huge jaws break through the water and surface (some of this was shot from HMS Endurance, the same ice-breaker from the Falklands War, here on a more constructive mission). All narrated by David Attenborough, of course, a national institution in the UK and surely a world treasure himself.


I occasionally moan about the license fee, like most people in Britain I'm sure, but watching such a stunning show about our world reminds me why it is still worth paying (plus it stops the whole of broadcasting ending up like Murdoch's empire). No-one else is making series like this anymore - many broadcasters no longer have a natural history department. Even people like National Geographic just cannot mount such a long-term project which will mean going all over the world, taking years to film - the Beeb are one of the only ones (perhaps the only one) still doing it. Look at the stunning images and tell me honestly it isn't worth it. If you are outside the UK watch for it appearing on BBC Worldwide or check out the web site which is full of pictures, facts, video and links.

Remember, remember, the fifth of November,
Gunpowder, treason and plot...




Although of course Gudio Fakes and his confederates were not actually on some mission to free the citizens from a dictatorship but rather to slaughter James VI (and I), first monarch of the United Kingdoms and his family and Parliament in an attempt to restore the primacy of the Catholic church. Ironic, given that the last Catholic monarch, Mary (who preceded Elizabeth I, who named James of Scotland as her heir), was rather given to burning Protestant 'heretics' alive and today, centuries on, we still burn effigies of Guido, a Catholic conspiracist. I suppose today he and his friends would be classed as a terrorist cell of fundamentalists prepared to martyr themselves for their faith, regardless of any innocents killed along their way to a promised place in heaven. Plus ca change...

When I was a kid I loved Guy Fawke's Night, although our family always had it either just before or after November 5th because we all came together for it and one of my uncles was a fireman and that is the one night of the year they can never have off, so we'd have to go out the garden of my papa's house, me, mum, dad, papa, gran, aunts, uncles, cousins older and younger, the folks from next door and their kids who I was friends with and all the dads present would have picked up boxes of fireworks which would then be pooled so we'd have one big bash, with catherine wheels spinnings and rockets wooshing out of milk bottles (much harder to do today with milk cartons) while we kids drew glowing, ephemeral sketches in the air with sparklers and were spoiled with yummy snacks and pop.

Today it is a pain in the arse; the days running up to and right after the 5th are punctuated by constant BADANG!s as eejits toss bangers around at all hours and wee neds throw them at buses and people thinking it funny, or, as in a hideous case last week here in a less salubrious part of Edinburgh, taping fireworks to a household pet (a cat - it was found by neighbours and is alive, although with nasty burns - if I found the scumbags who did it I'd tie their legs open and shove some fireworks up their arse). Always amuses me America has far stricter rules governing fireworks in public than we have, although they do rather spoil this drive for safety by then saying no fireworks, but sure, you can have your own armour piercing bazooka for hunting...

And tonight, the 5th itself, it is a constant barrage of explosions going off until you start flashing back to a previous life when you served on the Somme. Since I, like thousands of others in cities like Edinburgh and Glasgow, live in a sandstone tenement block the noise is far worse, with the tall, stone walls acting like canyons, sound amplified and reflected, setting off car and shop alarms while sirens are heard rushing past on the nearby road every five minutes - a great British tradition for sure. Luckily the cats are utterly non-plussed by the bangs; the ears twitch, they look up occasionally, but it obviously is not worth interrupting one of their naps for.

Even the troops say Rumsfeld must go

Boing Boing put me onto this story which is going to appear in the Army Times, Navy Times, Air Force Times and Marine Corps Times calling for Donald Rumsfeld to go. Even the troops are calling for this incompetent numpty to be tossed out of office, although unfortunately their commander-in-chimp isn't listening to them. Perhaps if the troops and officers had their own expensive, special interests lobbying group in Washington (who just happen to donate millions to campaign funds) he's listen then... Still, it is incredibly embarassing for Bush and makes interesting reading coming so soon after Britain's top general publically said things were a total mess in Iraq. On which note I loved Blair's comments last week where he re-iterated that we were in this for the long haul. I loved the use of 'we' since I don't see Blair or any of his family actually risking their lives and limbs (not too mention risking years of nightmares and mental breakdowns) serving in Iraq.

Neck stretching

In the last few minutes the new has broken that Saddam Hussein has been found guilty of crimes against humanity and sentenced to death by hanging. A travesty of a sentence - far to quick for this bastard; perhaps we should build a gallows with a spring on the rope so the evil sod bounces up and down. This would prolong his suffering and make him look more ridiculous at the same time. Rotten tomatoes would be issued to all spectators to throw and it would make a fine sport attempting to hit him as he jigged up and down on his spring-loaded.

Actually I'm joking... Well, kind of... I have no doubt that this swine deserves not only death but a long, slow and humiliating demise, but since I solidly believe that capital punishment is one of the most barbaric acts a society can perform I can't support it, much as my emotions would push me to wanting to see him suffer and die. When a psychopathic murder takes lives, be it individually or en masse as dictators like Saddam (and too many others in our shared history), we believe they act out of evil. Whether you believe in religion and that evil is inspired by Lucifer or Djinn or if you hold no religious views but do try to maintain your own moral compass, we all know that there are such things as good and evil in the human society. The deliberate taking of life is evil; most people hold that to be true both morally, spiritually and legally. We do not advance good by adopting one of the most reviled tools of evil, the deliberate, cold-blooded taking of a life.

Yes, I know, he is a hideous creature, a true monster - a human who has allowed his soul to be devoured by the darkness that is always ready to rush in to our beings if we allow it, but we either believe in our principles and apply them equally, even to the worst, or else our principles are meaningless and we let the bastards score another victory over us. I won't weep for Saddam if he is left to dance on air from the tree with no leaves, but neither will I celebrate. Killing is killing and when a society designs death into the structures of the state it perpetuates one of our worst evils and opens the door to let the darkness in. The result is always more evil and more hate and more death; it almost seems to be a human addiction.

Of course, some will say I'm being a bleeding heart liberal. I'm not. I'm trying to listen to the better angels of my nature. And it is damned hard. Those who call people opposed to capital punishment bleeding hearts (ironically, in the US, which executes vast amounts of people - and, hey, hasn't that stopped violence there - many who believe in state execution profess to be fundamentalist Christians. Methinks they would make Christ weep) think they are strong and we're being weak. They have it the wrong way round. We all feel those emotions which demand monsters like Saddam die; it would be all but impossible not to. Trying to rise above that isn't being a bleeding heart or being weak, it is far harder than simply giving in to the desire for revenge and more death and we have more than enough of that in the world from disease, accident and disaster without adding to it. Acknowledge that darkness, but try not to give into it. And don't try to kid yourself by dressing it up and calling it legal justice.

"Whosoever would fight monsters must take care that in the process he does not become one. For when you look long into an abyss, the abyss looks also into you." Neitzche.

“Fear is the path to the dark side. Fear leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. Hate leads to suffering.” Yoda.