Passing gas
How lovely, Scottish Gas has taken out adverts in the papers, television and even emailing customers to tell them they have slashed prices. Great. Only several months after wholesale energy prices came tumbling down and now we are into summer when we don't use it half as much, but I am sure that is just a coincidence... Methinks they can blow it out their gas...
Monday, April 30, 2007
Ciao, Pussycat
I fed my furry girls some kitty food that came with Italian wording as well as English: "Per chi fa la bella vita, per Gatti D'Appartamento." Now Pandora is zipping round the flat on a small moped while Cassie is reclining on the sofa with a glass of Vermouth and muttering "ciao, baby" at regular intervals while watching old Sophia Loren movies.
(all that Italian has tired out Cassie who decides on a mid-afternoon nap in a sunbeam)
I fed my furry girls some kitty food that came with Italian wording as well as English: "Per chi fa la bella vita, per Gatti D'Appartamento." Now Pandora is zipping round the flat on a small moped while Cassie is reclining on the sofa with a glass of Vermouth and muttering "ciao, baby" at regular intervals while watching old Sophia Loren movies.
(all that Italian has tired out Cassie who decides on a mid-afternoon nap in a sunbeam)
Thursday, April 26, 2007
Postcards From Palestine
I came across Moomin's Live Journal "Postcards From Palestine" earlier this week and posted it on the FPI blog since the cartoons were relevant to it, but I had to post a link to it here too; her posts on life in the Occupied Territories are well worth reading. And I thought this cartoon, called The Ever Elusive Diplomatic Horizon did what a good cartoon does best, summed up a complex situation in a few ink lines better than a page of newspaper reportage.
I came across Moomin's Live Journal "Postcards From Palestine" earlier this week and posted it on the FPI blog since the cartoons were relevant to it, but I had to post a link to it here too; her posts on life in the Occupied Territories are well worth reading. And I thought this cartoon, called The Ever Elusive Diplomatic Horizon did what a good cartoon does best, summed up a complex situation in a few ink lines better than a page of newspaper reportage.
Wednesday, April 25, 2007
It's snowing flower petals
The blossoms are out in force on the trees for spring; today has been quite breezy and pink and white petals are fluttering from the blossoms, down from the trees, swirling around on the pavement. The road gutter is full of petals, as if a huge wedding procession had just been by. I pass all the blossoming trees in Princes Street Gardens on the way home and the contrast of the white and pink with the resurgence of deep green as the trees come back to life is gorgeous. A couple of hours later sitting at home and the wind picks up; the blinds rattle near the open window and looking out of my third floor I can see what looks like flakes of snow.
Actually they are petals, blowing from the trees on the other side of the tenements opposite me, being caught and blown up several stories, over the roof then down again into the street. As anyone who has ever lived in a Victorian tenement are knows the long, high stone structures create a criss-crossing urban canyon with swirling wind directions all their own. Tonight it made blossom petals dance outside my windows several floors up in the air as the sun was setting. Beautiful
The blossoms are out in force on the trees for spring; today has been quite breezy and pink and white petals are fluttering from the blossoms, down from the trees, swirling around on the pavement. The road gutter is full of petals, as if a huge wedding procession had just been by. I pass all the blossoming trees in Princes Street Gardens on the way home and the contrast of the white and pink with the resurgence of deep green as the trees come back to life is gorgeous. A couple of hours later sitting at home and the wind picks up; the blinds rattle near the open window and looking out of my third floor I can see what looks like flakes of snow.
Actually they are petals, blowing from the trees on the other side of the tenements opposite me, being caught and blown up several stories, over the roof then down again into the street. As anyone who has ever lived in a Victorian tenement are knows the long, high stone structures create a criss-crossing urban canyon with swirling wind directions all their own. Tonight it made blossom petals dance outside my windows several floors up in the air as the sun was setting. Beautiful
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Edinburgh from the air
At the weekend I did something I haven't done since I was a about seven years old - I climbed the 287 winding steps of the Scott Monument to the uppermost viewing gallery. Built to honour the memory of the famous Scottish writer Sir Walter Scott this great neo-Gothic rocket of Binny sandstone was completed in 1844; designed by George Meikle Kemp. Kemp was the son of a shepherd in the Pentland Hills, reputedly inspired from his rural existence as a boy by a visit to Roslyn Castle and Roslyn Chapel. He seemed to have a knack for the fine arts, but it was an an unknown he entered the public competition to design a memorial to Scott; in fact for the first round he used a pen name rather than his own humble name which at that time had no great reputation, so when his design was ultimately chosen he went from being a respected but not well-known draughtsman and designer to being responsible for one of the major iconic landmarks of the capital of Scotland, an area now designated as a UN World Heritage Site.
Sadly poor old George did not live to enjoy the fruits of his studies and labours; early in 1844, several months before the Monument was completed, he fell into the canal at Fountainbridge, not far from where I live, and was drowned. Citizens of the city lined the streets for his funeral procession as his casket was led to Saint Cuthbert's kirkyard, in the shadow of the Castle and in sight of his construction.
It was very odd to be back at a spot you hadn't been to in decades; last time I went up those stairs was with my mum and dad as a wee boy. One thing that was noticeably different was that the spiral stone staircase seemed a lot smaller and much, much narrower than it was a lad. One way up and one way down, so if you are going one way and other folks coming down the other it is a bit of a problem. The higher you go the more the spire narrows and so does the staircase. On the final segment from the mid gallery to the upper one the staircase becomes very, very narrow; the heavy stone walls are scraping my shoulders and I need to duck as the roof is lower. Hemmed in by dark stone blocks you could swear you are deep inside the lowest dungeon, which is a strange feeling when you know that you are almost 200 feet in the air.
The viewing platforms become smaller too as you ascend. The first one is relatively wide, with a tall, narrow room in the centre with beautiful stained glass windows and carved wood which includes the names of Watty's books carved into the decorations; many scores of feet beneath this is a similarly proportioned, but far plainer chamber, deep beneath the earth, between the massive stone pillars of the Monument which one guide claims go down almost 40 feet into the bedrock (our 19th century ancestors built to last). Up, up and up to the next level, wind blowing through the arrow slit windows of the stone stairwell (no escalator here, kids, you walk 200 feet into the air by foot) and a smaller gallery to look out from, all the time surrounded by dozens of sculptures, large and small, of characters from Scott's many books. That final, tight, narrow climb and out onto a tiny upper gallery barely wide enough for one person.
Wind streaking past you, carrying the sound of the bagpipe player at the gates to Princes Street Gardens up to you even 200 feet above him. I don't suffer from vertigo but leaning over the top still makes my stomach do a wee twirl; 200 feet may not sound much in our age of high-rise buildings but for the mid 19th century it must have seemed staggering. Since there is a limit on how tall a building can be in the centre of Edinburgh to preserve the brilliant skyline the Monument remains towering above most of its neighbours. Right across the road from it the Victorian splendour of Jenners Department Store, the original facade covered in carvings and sculptures. I've admired some of the Caryatid statues on the building many times but how odd to see a building I pass every day, a large and tall building, from above, looking down onto it. Raise your eyes up and the view leads you across the Georgian splendour of the New Town to the River Forth and the hills of Fife on the far side, upriver the great iron shape of the Forth Bridge looms out of the haze.
Walk round, the wind stinging your eyes, trying not to hit your knees against the stone rail in the narrow walkway. There's the expensive grandeur of the Balmoral Hotel, North Bridge striding across the valley between New Town and Old Town past the old Scotsman building; in the background the distinctive modern dome of the Dynamic Earth, the new Parliament next to it, Holyrood Palace and rearing above it the great volcanic rock of Arthur's Seat, nature's way of pointing out She's even better at this monumental architecture than humans are. The skyline of the Old Town with its tall, narrow old buildings and church spires, with the Pentland Hills visible beyond the city, the white marks of the dry ski slope standing out against the grass. And then turn your head past there, past the expensive homes of Ramsay Gardens and there you go, the Castle. I just don't get tired of that view, but how cool to see it from the top of the Monument again after all these years.
At the weekend I did something I haven't done since I was a about seven years old - I climbed the 287 winding steps of the Scott Monument to the uppermost viewing gallery. Built to honour the memory of the famous Scottish writer Sir Walter Scott this great neo-Gothic rocket of Binny sandstone was completed in 1844; designed by George Meikle Kemp. Kemp was the son of a shepherd in the Pentland Hills, reputedly inspired from his rural existence as a boy by a visit to Roslyn Castle and Roslyn Chapel. He seemed to have a knack for the fine arts, but it was an an unknown he entered the public competition to design a memorial to Scott; in fact for the first round he used a pen name rather than his own humble name which at that time had no great reputation, so when his design was ultimately chosen he went from being a respected but not well-known draughtsman and designer to being responsible for one of the major iconic landmarks of the capital of Scotland, an area now designated as a UN World Heritage Site.
Sadly poor old George did not live to enjoy the fruits of his studies and labours; early in 1844, several months before the Monument was completed, he fell into the canal at Fountainbridge, not far from where I live, and was drowned. Citizens of the city lined the streets for his funeral procession as his casket was led to Saint Cuthbert's kirkyard, in the shadow of the Castle and in sight of his construction.
It was very odd to be back at a spot you hadn't been to in decades; last time I went up those stairs was with my mum and dad as a wee boy. One thing that was noticeably different was that the spiral stone staircase seemed a lot smaller and much, much narrower than it was a lad. One way up and one way down, so if you are going one way and other folks coming down the other it is a bit of a problem. The higher you go the more the spire narrows and so does the staircase. On the final segment from the mid gallery to the upper one the staircase becomes very, very narrow; the heavy stone walls are scraping my shoulders and I need to duck as the roof is lower. Hemmed in by dark stone blocks you could swear you are deep inside the lowest dungeon, which is a strange feeling when you know that you are almost 200 feet in the air.
The viewing platforms become smaller too as you ascend. The first one is relatively wide, with a tall, narrow room in the centre with beautiful stained glass windows and carved wood which includes the names of Watty's books carved into the decorations; many scores of feet beneath this is a similarly proportioned, but far plainer chamber, deep beneath the earth, between the massive stone pillars of the Monument which one guide claims go down almost 40 feet into the bedrock (our 19th century ancestors built to last). Up, up and up to the next level, wind blowing through the arrow slit windows of the stone stairwell (no escalator here, kids, you walk 200 feet into the air by foot) and a smaller gallery to look out from, all the time surrounded by dozens of sculptures, large and small, of characters from Scott's many books. That final, tight, narrow climb and out onto a tiny upper gallery barely wide enough for one person.
Wind streaking past you, carrying the sound of the bagpipe player at the gates to Princes Street Gardens up to you even 200 feet above him. I don't suffer from vertigo but leaning over the top still makes my stomach do a wee twirl; 200 feet may not sound much in our age of high-rise buildings but for the mid 19th century it must have seemed staggering. Since there is a limit on how tall a building can be in the centre of Edinburgh to preserve the brilliant skyline the Monument remains towering above most of its neighbours. Right across the road from it the Victorian splendour of Jenners Department Store, the original facade covered in carvings and sculptures. I've admired some of the Caryatid statues on the building many times but how odd to see a building I pass every day, a large and tall building, from above, looking down onto it. Raise your eyes up and the view leads you across the Georgian splendour of the New Town to the River Forth and the hills of Fife on the far side, upriver the great iron shape of the Forth Bridge looms out of the haze.
Walk round, the wind stinging your eyes, trying not to hit your knees against the stone rail in the narrow walkway. There's the expensive grandeur of the Balmoral Hotel, North Bridge striding across the valley between New Town and Old Town past the old Scotsman building; in the background the distinctive modern dome of the Dynamic Earth, the new Parliament next to it, Holyrood Palace and rearing above it the great volcanic rock of Arthur's Seat, nature's way of pointing out She's even better at this monumental architecture than humans are. The skyline of the Old Town with its tall, narrow old buildings and church spires, with the Pentland Hills visible beyond the city, the white marks of the dry ski slope standing out against the grass. And then turn your head past there, past the expensive homes of Ramsay Gardens and there you go, the Castle. I just don't get tired of that view, but how cool to see it from the top of the Monument again after all these years.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
New reviews site
I've changed the blog, Joe's Reviews, which lists links to a bunch of reviews and interviews I've posted over the years and switched it to Word Press - it has easier categorisation, so it should be simpler to find relevant links, sorted out into book reviews for SF, Fantasy, Horror, Younger Readers, Graphic Novels, Movie and DVD reviews and a section covering author interviews and other features from the last few years.
I've changed the blog, Joe's Reviews, which lists links to a bunch of reviews and interviews I've posted over the years and switched it to Word Press - it has easier categorisation, so it should be simpler to find relevant links, sorted out into book reviews for SF, Fantasy, Horror, Younger Readers, Graphic Novels, Movie and DVD reviews and a section covering author interviews and other features from the last few years.
Saturday, April 21, 2007
License to be petty
British Airways proved how mature they were by editing the latest James Bond movie Casino Royale for in-flight screening on their fleet. Why did they make some edits? Well, they edited a tiny blink-and-you'll-miss-it cameo from Richard Branson and also excised the tail fin of an aircraft with logo of Virgin Air glimpsed in the movie. I'm no fan of Branson (especially since his millionaire's pissing contest with Murdoch means I don't get to see certain programmes on cable anymore while he still demands the same amount of money from me for his company for a reduced service) but how damned petty is this? And just think, this is someone's actual job. BA actually pays someone to make petty little cuts like this to in-flight movies. Perhaps if they left that to one side and employed more staff doing proper jobs they wouldn't have the worst record in Europe for losing passenger's baggage? Just a thought.
British Airways proved how mature they were by editing the latest James Bond movie Casino Royale for in-flight screening on their fleet. Why did they make some edits? Well, they edited a tiny blink-and-you'll-miss-it cameo from Richard Branson and also excised the tail fin of an aircraft with logo of Virgin Air glimpsed in the movie. I'm no fan of Branson (especially since his millionaire's pissing contest with Murdoch means I don't get to see certain programmes on cable anymore while he still demands the same amount of money from me for his company for a reduced service) but how damned petty is this? And just think, this is someone's actual job. BA actually pays someone to make petty little cuts like this to in-flight movies. Perhaps if they left that to one side and employed more staff doing proper jobs they wouldn't have the worst record in Europe for losing passenger's baggage? Just a thought.
Filming in the Gardens
I was asked recently to do another interview about blogging for an upcoming TV programme. They wanted to avoid the normal static interview so opted for asking me questions while walking alongside me with a camera in Princes Street Gardens, which was fine, except being a sunny, spring day the place was full and, not unnaturally, everyone was looking at us (is it for the telly? Who is he?). I'm pretty far from shy but neither am I a total extrovert (regardless of what some folks think! I think I am a bit of an introverted extrovert actually, which, if it sounds like a contradiction in terms is fine, because I've always enjoyed being one of those) but jeez, talk about self-conscious! This is why I much prefer doing radio (plus I have a good body for radio) or being on the other side of the camera.
Anyway, it seemed to go well and I managed to forget about everyone watching us as I got onto my High Horse and discussed freedom of expression in blogging and tried to relate it to the growing culture of censorship we seem to be experiencing from governments and corporations alike. How much of it ends up in the cut I have no idea, although the folks making it did tell me they had interviewed someone at the LSE before coming to see me and he had apparently been interested in seeing my interview because that case still comes up; I quite liked the idea of my overly-opinionated blog posts being referenced in an academic essay, it appealed to the part of me that is the Eternal Student (frankly I'd be happy spending half my life studying one degree after the other if it was feasible, purely for the pleasure of learning and applying it). It does all make me wonder what my old computer mediated communications lecturer would make of it all; I'm sure Mad Dog McMurdo would probably find it amusing.
Apart from some mild embarrassment though it seemed to go quite well and they will let me know once it is all put together, etc. Not sure I actually want to see it since frankly I avoid being in pictures for the most part, but I know my mum will want to see her wee boy on the screen; before anyone asks, I am not available to join other Z-list celebs on I'm A Talentless Twat Get Me Out of Here or Big Brother, although I am available to kiss Shilpa Shetty. Talking of which, how mad was that reaction to a very showbiz kiss? I'm told that public kissing is frowned upon in much of India; I know one shouldn't disrespect different cultures, but burning effigies because someone kissed in public? Good grief, get over yourselves you stupid, uptight numpties!!! Can this really be the land that gave us the Kama Sutra?!!? And you just know most of the guy burning those effigies and professing outrage at this kiss would bloody love to get a chance to snog Shilpa, hypocritical tossers.
Funny thing was, as we were setting up to film I got a phone call from my Norwegian friend Vidar; by coincidence he and his friend were lying on the grass in the Gardens enjoying the sun and nursing hangovers and had spotted us, so I went off to join them afterwards. When they asked us what it was I told them we were location scouting for a new Scottish porno movie "Tossing the Caber", but alas these days I suspect I would be relegated to a bit part (mind you, depending what bit it could still be interesting). Since it was a warm, sunny evening I ended up doing the Annual Rite of Spring, which involves paying homage to the return of the Earth Goddess in the time honoured Celtic tradition (we went to the Pear Tree and sat out in the huge, cobbled beer garden for some al fresco drinking).
I was asked recently to do another interview about blogging for an upcoming TV programme. They wanted to avoid the normal static interview so opted for asking me questions while walking alongside me with a camera in Princes Street Gardens, which was fine, except being a sunny, spring day the place was full and, not unnaturally, everyone was looking at us (is it for the telly? Who is he?). I'm pretty far from shy but neither am I a total extrovert (regardless of what some folks think! I think I am a bit of an introverted extrovert actually, which, if it sounds like a contradiction in terms is fine, because I've always enjoyed being one of those) but jeez, talk about self-conscious! This is why I much prefer doing radio (plus I have a good body for radio) or being on the other side of the camera.
Anyway, it seemed to go well and I managed to forget about everyone watching us as I got onto my High Horse and discussed freedom of expression in blogging and tried to relate it to the growing culture of censorship we seem to be experiencing from governments and corporations alike. How much of it ends up in the cut I have no idea, although the folks making it did tell me they had interviewed someone at the LSE before coming to see me and he had apparently been interested in seeing my interview because that case still comes up; I quite liked the idea of my overly-opinionated blog posts being referenced in an academic essay, it appealed to the part of me that is the Eternal Student (frankly I'd be happy spending half my life studying one degree after the other if it was feasible, purely for the pleasure of learning and applying it). It does all make me wonder what my old computer mediated communications lecturer would make of it all; I'm sure Mad Dog McMurdo would probably find it amusing.
Apart from some mild embarrassment though it seemed to go quite well and they will let me know once it is all put together, etc. Not sure I actually want to see it since frankly I avoid being in pictures for the most part, but I know my mum will want to see her wee boy on the screen; before anyone asks, I am not available to join other Z-list celebs on I'm A Talentless Twat Get Me Out of Here or Big Brother, although I am available to kiss Shilpa Shetty. Talking of which, how mad was that reaction to a very showbiz kiss? I'm told that public kissing is frowned upon in much of India; I know one shouldn't disrespect different cultures, but burning effigies because someone kissed in public? Good grief, get over yourselves you stupid, uptight numpties!!! Can this really be the land that gave us the Kama Sutra?!!? And you just know most of the guy burning those effigies and professing outrage at this kiss would bloody love to get a chance to snog Shilpa, hypocritical tossers.
Funny thing was, as we were setting up to film I got a phone call from my Norwegian friend Vidar; by coincidence he and his friend were lying on the grass in the Gardens enjoying the sun and nursing hangovers and had spotted us, so I went off to join them afterwards. When they asked us what it was I told them we were location scouting for a new Scottish porno movie "Tossing the Caber", but alas these days I suspect I would be relegated to a bit part (mind you, depending what bit it could still be interesting). Since it was a warm, sunny evening I ended up doing the Annual Rite of Spring, which involves paying homage to the return of the Earth Goddess in the time honoured Celtic tradition (we went to the Pear Tree and sat out in the huge, cobbled beer garden for some al fresco drinking).
The Eisner Awards 2007
Jeff VanderMeer let me know that the Eisner Awards shortlist was going up this week (Jeff was a judge on the awards this year); I've posted the full list of nominees and the press release up on the FPI blog (if you aren't familiar with it, the Eisners are one of the major comics awards, mostly to the North American published material but with some other works from other countries too). I have that warm feeling booksellers get inside when they see several good books they have been recommending for the last few months turning up on awards shortlists, including the excellent Shooting War for the online comics (hopefully the forthcoming print version will turn up on next year's awards when it comes out this autumn). If you are looking for some decent graphic novels to read you could do much worse than have a browse through some of the nominees.
Jeff VanderMeer let me know that the Eisner Awards shortlist was going up this week (Jeff was a judge on the awards this year); I've posted the full list of nominees and the press release up on the FPI blog (if you aren't familiar with it, the Eisners are one of the major comics awards, mostly to the North American published material but with some other works from other countries too). I have that warm feeling booksellers get inside when they see several good books they have been recommending for the last few months turning up on awards shortlists, including the excellent Shooting War for the online comics (hopefully the forthcoming print version will turn up on next year's awards when it comes out this autumn). If you are looking for some decent graphic novels to read you could do much worse than have a browse through some of the nominees.
Neil writes
Nice post on Neil Gaiman's journal showing the rather lovely notebooks he writes some of his stories in by hand after taking himself off to a quiet location.
Nice post on Neil Gaiman's journal showing the rather lovely notebooks he writes some of his stories in by hand after taking himself off to a quiet location.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Penn and Teller are full of bullshit
I found this link to one of Penn and Teller's 'Bullshit' programmes today via Boing Boing today, posted among various pieces on the awful gun massacre in Virginia. Among the usual cries from the "I want to marry my gun" fraternity (already some gun groups have been saying, see, if every student carried a gun they could have stopped this - yeah, that will work, lots of teens with guns, how could that go wrong? And of course high gun ownership has really cut violent crime in the US, hasn't it?!?! Smeg heads). Anyway I watched this video; before it I liked Penn and Teller, now I think they are a pair of arrogant, foolish sods, showing an argument so one-sided and riddled with factual inaccuracies it might as well have been a bloody Fox news programme. Penn and Teller, you are full of it and after watching this I can't help but think how bitterly funny it would be if they were both accidentally shot by Chuck Heston...
I found this link to one of Penn and Teller's 'Bullshit' programmes today via Boing Boing today, posted among various pieces on the awful gun massacre in Virginia. Among the usual cries from the "I want to marry my gun" fraternity (already some gun groups have been saying, see, if every student carried a gun they could have stopped this - yeah, that will work, lots of teens with guns, how could that go wrong? And of course high gun ownership has really cut violent crime in the US, hasn't it?!?! Smeg heads). Anyway I watched this video; before it I liked Penn and Teller, now I think they are a pair of arrogant, foolish sods, showing an argument so one-sided and riddled with factual inaccuracies it might as well have been a bloody Fox news programme. Penn and Teller, you are full of it and after watching this I can't help but think how bitterly funny it would be if they were both accidentally shot by Chuck Heston...
Monday, April 16, 2007
Books for kids
B3TA has a competition for alternative self-help books for kids, some of which are just rude while others are rude and funny. Having sold more than a few of the real books these are riffing on some of them really tickled me, especially since at least 2/3 of these bloody awful self help books are a useless bunch of utter wank scribbled by unqualified people and flogged to someone desperate to tell them what to do so they don't need to think themselves. Okay, there are a few which are actually useful and good, but the vast bulk are designed to shear money from idiots.
B3TA has a competition for alternative self-help books for kids, some of which are just rude while others are rude and funny. Having sold more than a few of the real books these are riffing on some of them really tickled me, especially since at least 2/3 of these bloody awful self help books are a useless bunch of utter wank scribbled by unqualified people and flogged to someone desperate to tell them what to do so they don't need to think themselves. Okay, there are a few which are actually useful and good, but the vast bulk are designed to shear money from idiots.
"God does not care about our mathematical difficulties. He integrates empirically"
This was on an attempted spam comment to be moderated on the FPI blog this morning. A bit more creative than the usual nonsense and attempts; I thought it seemed familiar, so after a spot of Googling it turns out to be a quote from Albert Einstein. Looking around the web for some more Einstein quotes I found one which was more to my taste:
"A human being is a part of a whole, called by us _universe_, a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as something separated from the rest... a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty"
This was on an attempted spam comment to be moderated on the FPI blog this morning. A bit more creative than the usual nonsense and attempts; I thought it seemed familiar, so after a spot of Googling it turns out to be a quote from Albert Einstein. Looking around the web for some more Einstein quotes I found one which was more to my taste:
"A human being is a part of a whole, called by us _universe_, a part limited in time and space. He experiences himself, his thoughts and feelings as something separated from the rest... a kind of optical delusion of his consciousness. This delusion is a kind of prison for us, restricting us to our personal desires and to affection for a few persons nearest to us. Our task must be to free ourselves from this prison by widening our circle of compassion to embrace all living creatures and the whole of nature in its beauty"
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Bye-bye Kurt
Dammit, we lost a brilliant writer this week when Kurt Vonnegut slipped away, exchanging mortal body for immortal words. Of the many good writers we've been lucky to have it is given to only a select few of them to become that rare thing, the immortal, a writer who has books which are read and re-read across the years by a whole range of people, from the SF fan to the purveyor of 'serious' literature (here's a shock, those two can often be the same). As long as people are reading they will still be picking up books like Slaughterhouse Five; they'll still be teaching it in schools and college students will still be doing papers on it. Very few writers achieve that level of cultural penetration. Kurt took something awful, the fire bombing of Dresden which he saw as a POW during WWII, and took something of those fires within himself to fuel his writing (Slaughterhouse remains one of those books you should read. I know I've said that about a lot of books, but it is; there's a good reason it comes up as one of the most important novels of the 20th century).
Just the other year at 83 Kurt stirred himself out of retirement (does a writer ever really retire? I doubt the urge to put words together to express yourself ever truly dies) with a short story collection A Man Without A Country, driven by anger at Bush and the dire effects on America and the world that odious chimp has had. I hope I'm still feeling the urge to stick it to the man when I reach that age (although it would be preferable if by then we all learned to be nice to one another and I didn't have anything to have a go at; gladly would I hang up my sarcastic barbs for that to happen). In an interview I found on In These Times he express his disgust with Bush's policies: “I myself feel that our country, for whose Constitution I fought in a just war, might as well have been invaded by Martians and body snatchers. Sometimes I wish it had been.” Cool and clever to the end. By curious coincidence some of the folks in the book group were just talking a few days ago about how we should cover one of Kurt's books; he is one of those writers that a lot of people think that about - why not just do it? Pick yourself up a copy of Cat's Cradle or Slaughterhouse Five, sit down, read it. Then pass it on and spread the words.
On a related not Ariel and I were discussing how odd Kurt would die from 'brain injuries' a few weeks after an accident which came after this respected elder statesman of American letters (and a veteran who actually served unlike the current chimp-in-chief) so publically attacked Bush's government. Natural causes or a sinister, shadowy conspiracy... Okay, probably not, but I'm sure somewhere right now it is being written up as such on some conspiracy blogs.
Dammit, we lost a brilliant writer this week when Kurt Vonnegut slipped away, exchanging mortal body for immortal words. Of the many good writers we've been lucky to have it is given to only a select few of them to become that rare thing, the immortal, a writer who has books which are read and re-read across the years by a whole range of people, from the SF fan to the purveyor of 'serious' literature (here's a shock, those two can often be the same). As long as people are reading they will still be picking up books like Slaughterhouse Five; they'll still be teaching it in schools and college students will still be doing papers on it. Very few writers achieve that level of cultural penetration. Kurt took something awful, the fire bombing of Dresden which he saw as a POW during WWII, and took something of those fires within himself to fuel his writing (Slaughterhouse remains one of those books you should read. I know I've said that about a lot of books, but it is; there's a good reason it comes up as one of the most important novels of the 20th century).
Just the other year at 83 Kurt stirred himself out of retirement (does a writer ever really retire? I doubt the urge to put words together to express yourself ever truly dies) with a short story collection A Man Without A Country, driven by anger at Bush and the dire effects on America and the world that odious chimp has had. I hope I'm still feeling the urge to stick it to the man when I reach that age (although it would be preferable if by then we all learned to be nice to one another and I didn't have anything to have a go at; gladly would I hang up my sarcastic barbs for that to happen). In an interview I found on In These Times he express his disgust with Bush's policies: “I myself feel that our country, for whose Constitution I fought in a just war, might as well have been invaded by Martians and body snatchers. Sometimes I wish it had been.” Cool and clever to the end. By curious coincidence some of the folks in the book group were just talking a few days ago about how we should cover one of Kurt's books; he is one of those writers that a lot of people think that about - why not just do it? Pick yourself up a copy of Cat's Cradle or Slaughterhouse Five, sit down, read it. Then pass it on and spread the words.
On a related not Ariel and I were discussing how odd Kurt would die from 'brain injuries' a few weeks after an accident which came after this respected elder statesman of American letters (and a veteran who actually served unlike the current chimp-in-chief) so publically attacked Bush's government. Natural causes or a sinister, shadowy conspiracy... Okay, probably not, but I'm sure somewhere right now it is being written up as such on some conspiracy blogs.
Aquarium
With all the stress of modern life and the constant stream of bad news I thought a nice restful look a a video aquarium might be restful. These are the fish in the pool in the Royal Museum of Scotland in Edinburgh; I get the impression the pale one is trying to send a Morse Code message with its lips...
With all the stress of modern life and the constant stream of bad news I thought a nice restful look a a video aquarium might be restful. These are the fish in the pool in the Royal Museum of Scotland in Edinburgh; I get the impression the pale one is trying to send a Morse Code message with its lips...
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Blogging anniversary
Bobbie Johnson wrote a feature in the Guardian at the weekend celebrating the tenth anniversary of blogging (ironically just as I was celebrating the fourth birthday of the Woolamaloo blog), running through various events, from the first blogs, to the appearance of Boing Boing, politicians joining the blogosphere, blogs from inside Iraq, regimes trying to censor blog and imprison their writers, the first high profile 'doocing', the recent case in France with Petite Anglaise (who I'm glad to see won her case against her employers) and hey, what do you know, a mention of myself and a certain sandal-wearing Evil Boss at the Bookstore That Shall Not Be Named. Funny old world. The Guardian, along with the Scotsman, was one of the first print newspapers to pick up on that case, here it is a couple of years on still being mentioned there.
Bobbie Johnson wrote a feature in the Guardian at the weekend celebrating the tenth anniversary of blogging (ironically just as I was celebrating the fourth birthday of the Woolamaloo blog), running through various events, from the first blogs, to the appearance of Boing Boing, politicians joining the blogosphere, blogs from inside Iraq, regimes trying to censor blog and imprison their writers, the first high profile 'doocing', the recent case in France with Petite Anglaise (who I'm glad to see won her case against her employers) and hey, what do you know, a mention of myself and a certain sandal-wearing Evil Boss at the Bookstore That Shall Not Be Named. Funny old world. The Guardian, along with the Scotsman, was one of the first print newspapers to pick up on that case, here it is a couple of years on still being mentioned there.
Monday, April 9, 2007
Free historic Scotland
Historic Scotland's free weekend is coming up, where visitors can enjoy a number of our historical sites which normally cost for entry for free, including Edinburgh Castle on April 21st and 22nd. Looking on the HS site which has a list by region of attractions is a nice reminder of some of the history which is still physically with us (a lot which I haven't seen yet) literally covering not mere centuries but millennia, from Maeshow and Skara Brae to the dramatic remains of Tantallon Castle perched on the rugged, rocky cliffs looking out over the Forth (very Castle Dracula in the right lighting and weather). The RH site has details and individual entries even give OS map references and travel guides including information on going there using the National Cycle Network. Why do I have the troubling worry I will forget about this and remember on the following Monday and realise there was something I meant to do...
Historic Scotland's free weekend is coming up, where visitors can enjoy a number of our historical sites which normally cost for entry for free, including Edinburgh Castle on April 21st and 22nd. Looking on the HS site which has a list by region of attractions is a nice reminder of some of the history which is still physically with us (a lot which I haven't seen yet) literally covering not mere centuries but millennia, from Maeshow and Skara Brae to the dramatic remains of Tantallon Castle perched on the rugged, rocky cliffs looking out over the Forth (very Castle Dracula in the right lighting and weather). The RH site has details and individual entries even give OS map references and travel guides including information on going there using the National Cycle Network. Why do I have the troubling worry I will forget about this and remember on the following Monday and realise there was something I meant to do...
Traquair murals
The BBC news site pointed me to this mural on the walls of the Mansfield Traquair Centre in Edinburgh (formerly the Catholic Apostolic Church), where the murals by Phoebe Anna Traquair (a leading exponent of the Arts & Crafts movement in Edinburgh) have been restored as part of a renovation of the church. Since it is Easter Monday it seems as good a time as any to post this Biblical mural, showing the Expulsion from Paradise (Adam and Eve failed to pay their council tax and their landlord, God, had them evicted). Don't worry, folks, I'm not having a road to Damascus conversion here (I'd be more the Road to Bali), you don't have to be religious to enjoy this sort of art; besides on a mythological level it is quite fascinating.
The BBC news site pointed me to this mural on the walls of the Mansfield Traquair Centre in Edinburgh (formerly the Catholic Apostolic Church), where the murals by Phoebe Anna Traquair (a leading exponent of the Arts & Crafts movement in Edinburgh) have been restored as part of a renovation of the church. Since it is Easter Monday it seems as good a time as any to post this Biblical mural, showing the Expulsion from Paradise (Adam and Eve failed to pay their council tax and their landlord, God, had them evicted). Don't worry, folks, I'm not having a road to Damascus conversion here (I'd be more the Road to Bali), you don't have to be religious to enjoy this sort of art; besides on a mythological level it is quite fascinating.
Buy a real-life story, guv?
Funny how quickly national relief at the safe release of the Navy and Marines personnel after the Iranian kidnapping has soured in the face of Mammon and his bosom mate, Instant Celebrity (two unsavoury gods of modern society that often go together) rearing their ugly heads. Yes, thanks, I will sell you my shocking true story that was so traumatic to me and my family I have to demand a six figure sum to tell it to commercial TV and one of the most odious of Murdoch's red-top tabloid rags. The Scum paper treated the Fay Turney's story with the respect it deserved, splashing huge bold type on the front page with the words "rape" and "knickers" prominently displayed. I wanted to tell my story, she whined - well, Faye, well done for taking such a fine and upstanding way to do it and not just cashing in on the biggest offer from the most vulgar paper (and in this day of equality why is the media put more emphasis on the one woman in the group, both during and after their ordeal? Gee, I thought we were all equal now and women had struggled to be allowed into active front line service like this...). I see now the MOD has belatedly put a temporary ban on such story-selling (bit late) but really, is anyone over surprised by all of this?
Consider the society these young service folks are growing up in, one obsessed with tell-all exposes, instant celebrity whipped up by manufactured media frenzies (easier than making real programmes or doing real journalism) and the trappings of success and wealth. We have Big Brother, I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here and others feeding this desire for anyone and everyone to demand fame while the press media fuel and feed this demand by doing articles and photospreads, true-life, inside story exclusives and more (then later on gleefully run 'where are they now?' items showing a 15-minute fame former celeb being denied entry to a posh nightclub). Everyone agrees this is all tasteless and awful and yet millions buy the papers and mags with these articles in them; just as the same bleating numpties yelled how horrid it was the media hounded Princess Diana literally to death and ignored the fact that media jackal pack only did so because those same outraged citizens bought and read this crap by the barrel.
It does make you wonder where we are going though when even serving forces personnel are allowed to do this sort of thing (write an Andy McNab style book after you leave the forces, fine, that's your call, but while you are on duty and comrades are dying in the field?). What next? OK, Grazia, Heat and other dreadful publications running centre spreads on who you should know in the Navy this season, what the latest look is for the well-dressed hostage (grey suits have been done, darling). Maybe the broadsheets can get in on the act with a know-your-hostages wallchart, followed by a know-your true-life-story's-worth wallchart. Meantime we can sit back and enjoy I'm a Royal navy Sailor, Get Me Out of Here and Big Battalion. In fact why not go the whole hog and start using these other empty, dull endlessly repetitive on the same bloody theme reality shows where the winner becomes a singer in a West End show and the like? Strictly Come Soldiering or how about Any Air Force Will Do? This week's lucky winner joins the celebrity-studded ranks of 15 Commando, Royal Marines!!
Maybe we can call up Davina to do her bit for the War On Terror (WOT?) effort, if she isn't too busy trying to convince gullible women that she and her mum really love Garnier Nutrisse and often spend hours on the phone discussing their colouring regime (since her BB show is so full of crap wouldn't it be more relevant for her to be advertising Arse Painting? Colour those cheeks with Davina's new Arse Paints, girls, it's the latest thing! Now available in desert cammo for the celebrity forces gal on the move!). Meantime the Iranians must be laughing their arse off at this whole pathetic farago and smeg knows what it all does to the moral of troops still out there or the relatives of troops who came home in body bags to be planted in the cold earth rather than to open checkbooks from media jackals (that includes you, Trevor McDonald - you used to be one of our quality broadcasters, but with your show taking part in this I'm thinking I won't bother watching your show again since I am likely to be watching people you paid to appear). You guys wanted to tell your story? That's fine. Start a blog. You want to make thousands out of an ordeal like this while your comrades are still in the firing line? Bugger off.
Funny how quickly national relief at the safe release of the Navy and Marines personnel after the Iranian kidnapping has soured in the face of Mammon and his bosom mate, Instant Celebrity (two unsavoury gods of modern society that often go together) rearing their ugly heads. Yes, thanks, I will sell you my shocking true story that was so traumatic to me and my family I have to demand a six figure sum to tell it to commercial TV and one of the most odious of Murdoch's red-top tabloid rags. The Scum paper treated the Fay Turney's story with the respect it deserved, splashing huge bold type on the front page with the words "rape" and "knickers" prominently displayed. I wanted to tell my story, she whined - well, Faye, well done for taking such a fine and upstanding way to do it and not just cashing in on the biggest offer from the most vulgar paper (and in this day of equality why is the media put more emphasis on the one woman in the group, both during and after their ordeal? Gee, I thought we were all equal now and women had struggled to be allowed into active front line service like this...). I see now the MOD has belatedly put a temporary ban on such story-selling (bit late) but really, is anyone over surprised by all of this?
Consider the society these young service folks are growing up in, one obsessed with tell-all exposes, instant celebrity whipped up by manufactured media frenzies (easier than making real programmes or doing real journalism) and the trappings of success and wealth. We have Big Brother, I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here and others feeding this desire for anyone and everyone to demand fame while the press media fuel and feed this demand by doing articles and photospreads, true-life, inside story exclusives and more (then later on gleefully run 'where are they now?' items showing a 15-minute fame former celeb being denied entry to a posh nightclub). Everyone agrees this is all tasteless and awful and yet millions buy the papers and mags with these articles in them; just as the same bleating numpties yelled how horrid it was the media hounded Princess Diana literally to death and ignored the fact that media jackal pack only did so because those same outraged citizens bought and read this crap by the barrel.
It does make you wonder where we are going though when even serving forces personnel are allowed to do this sort of thing (write an Andy McNab style book after you leave the forces, fine, that's your call, but while you are on duty and comrades are dying in the field?). What next? OK, Grazia, Heat and other dreadful publications running centre spreads on who you should know in the Navy this season, what the latest look is for the well-dressed hostage (grey suits have been done, darling). Maybe the broadsheets can get in on the act with a know-your-hostages wallchart, followed by a know-your true-life-story's-worth wallchart. Meantime we can sit back and enjoy I'm a Royal navy Sailor, Get Me Out of Here and Big Battalion. In fact why not go the whole hog and start using these other empty, dull endlessly repetitive on the same bloody theme reality shows where the winner becomes a singer in a West End show and the like? Strictly Come Soldiering or how about Any Air Force Will Do? This week's lucky winner joins the celebrity-studded ranks of 15 Commando, Royal Marines!!
Maybe we can call up Davina to do her bit for the War On Terror (WOT?) effort, if she isn't too busy trying to convince gullible women that she and her mum really love Garnier Nutrisse and often spend hours on the phone discussing their colouring regime (since her BB show is so full of crap wouldn't it be more relevant for her to be advertising Arse Painting? Colour those cheeks with Davina's new Arse Paints, girls, it's the latest thing! Now available in desert cammo for the celebrity forces gal on the move!). Meantime the Iranians must be laughing their arse off at this whole pathetic farago and smeg knows what it all does to the moral of troops still out there or the relatives of troops who came home in body bags to be planted in the cold earth rather than to open checkbooks from media jackals (that includes you, Trevor McDonald - you used to be one of our quality broadcasters, but with your show taking part in this I'm thinking I won't bother watching your show again since I am likely to be watching people you paid to appear). You guys wanted to tell your story? That's fine. Start a blog. You want to make thousands out of an ordeal like this while your comrades are still in the firing line? Bugger off.
Doggy social club
On the long beach stretching from the Fidra Lighthouse along to North Berwick, a favourite spot for Bruce the greyhound/lurcher/something hairy dog who not only loves galloping along the sands and running into the nearby dunes to chase rabbits, he loves the fact that everyone and their dog goes there too. Meaning he has a multitude of other dog's bums to sniff, it's a veritable dog social club.
On the long beach stretching from the Fidra Lighthouse along to North Berwick, a favourite spot for Bruce the greyhound/lurcher/something hairy dog who not only loves galloping along the sands and running into the nearby dunes to chase rabbits, he loves the fact that everyone and their dog goes there too. Meaning he has a multitude of other dog's bums to sniff, it's a veritable dog social club.
Sunday, April 8, 2007
Easter symbols
As we celebrate the festival of Easter (or the Pagan New Year) and the symbol of our Lord and Saviour who died so that we may have a good excuse to eat chocolate eggs I notice that the chocolate Jesus sculpture I mentioned last week didn't get exhibited when the gallery cravenly gave into the rabid cries of the Catholic church in America that it was insulting to them. Obviously the broke, tortured and mutilated Jesus they show in every one of their churches nailed to a cross is so much more tasteful. Assuming of course he was the Messiah and not just a very naughty boy.
And on the whole cross thing anyway, I am reminded of the wise words of another prophet who walked among humanity for a short time before being taken away, Saint Bill of Hicks, who observed sagely that should Jesus prove to the the son of God and actually come back as promised, you think he ever, ever wants to see another cross? "Christians wearing a crucifix is kinda like remembering JFK by wearing a rifle pendant..."
As we celebrate the festival of Easter (or the Pagan New Year) and the symbol of our Lord and Saviour who died so that we may have a good excuse to eat chocolate eggs I notice that the chocolate Jesus sculpture I mentioned last week didn't get exhibited when the gallery cravenly gave into the rabid cries of the Catholic church in America that it was insulting to them. Obviously the broke, tortured and mutilated Jesus they show in every one of their churches nailed to a cross is so much more tasteful. Assuming of course he was the Messiah and not just a very naughty boy.
And on the whole cross thing anyway, I am reminded of the wise words of another prophet who walked among humanity for a short time before being taken away, Saint Bill of Hicks, who observed sagely that should Jesus prove to the the son of God and actually come back as promised, you think he ever, ever wants to see another cross? "Christians wearing a crucifix is kinda like remembering JFK by wearing a rifle pendant..."
Kill yourself - the game!
I got this link for an online game via Chris at the Canadian Comics212 blog (good spot for material on comics and animation) - it's a quick game where you are in a Dilbert-type universe, being a terminally bored cubicle worker who can't take it anymore. The aim is to kill yourself using a variety of office equipment or by insulting co-workers; each item only takes so much from your health, so you need to be creative and move around. Fun little distraction and the inverse of most games where you normally try to keep your character alive. I wonder how long before some church busybody declaims this for 'glorifying' suicide' and encouraging mortal sin? I managed to top my player with 55 seconds to spare on my third bash.
I got this link for an online game via Chris at the Canadian Comics212 blog (good spot for material on comics and animation) - it's a quick game where you are in a Dilbert-type universe, being a terminally bored cubicle worker who can't take it anymore. The aim is to kill yourself using a variety of office equipment or by insulting co-workers; each item only takes so much from your health, so you need to be creative and move around. Fun little distraction and the inverse of most games where you normally try to keep your character alive. I wonder how long before some church busybody declaims this for 'glorifying' suicide' and encouraging mortal sin? I managed to top my player with 55 seconds to spare on my third bash.
Saturday, April 7, 2007
Happy fourth birthday, Woolamaloo!
Yes, friends, today marks the fourth anniversary of the Woolamaloo Gazette, the blog they couldn't hang, a blog with a mouth too big to shut (a mouth so big it still spews out words even when having its own foot in said mouth, which happens on occassion). Well, the fourth anniversary of this incarnation, for although the 7th of April 2003 saw the commencement of the Woolamaloo blog, the Gazette goes back to the early 90s, the name a homage to the University of Woolamaloo from Monty Python (also a track by Jean Michel Jarre and a real place in Australia). I've always been outspoken and an opinionated bugger (commenting on my firing a couple of years back Neil Gaiman commented he thought I was opinionated, but in the good way, which I took as a huge compliment and a real morale boost when I really needed it), right back to school where I spent years on the Academy's debating team (nope, didn't win them all, but I won a lot more than I lost) and when I was introduced to email in the 90s at college the opinionated bugger met Communications Technology and saw that It Was Good.
In '91 only a few faculties had email and the web didn't exist - it was the internet, mostly text, lots of discussion forums which I signed up for, mostly chatting to folks in other universities round the globe, debating, discussing, chatting, swapping jokes. Very soon I was sending out emails of spoof newspaper articles to friends, lampooning public figures, trends and satirising the hell out of stories in the news that were bugging me. To my surprise people liked them; in fact some folks who weren't receiving them asked to be added to the list, others already on the list were forwarding it to their friends - my first taste of the interconnected nature of the net came when a friend told me she had forwarded it to her friend, who forwarded it to her husband in the US Air Force (there is nowhere the subversive Woolamaloo cannot go!) who forwarded it to a bunch of friends on more bases round the world.
By the 2000s I was still doing the Woolamaloo emails, but my good mate Ariel, then a fellow bookseller (I think we first got in touch when he was editing the Guide to SF for a certain book supermarket who we don't mention here these days, but this was back when it was still a real bookstore and professional booksellers like us were encouraged to work on literature guides like this). Ariel kept saying I should do them in blog form, especially since the blog would allow me to do other things too as the fancy struck me. Some other friends were blogging by then, so with Ariel's help (thanks, mate) we set up the new blog and a new era in cheeky and opinionated nonsense began in April 2003 with me having a go at the war in Iraq and pastiching the SARs outbreak that was the End Of The World plague in vogue at that time (later I would post that for a laugh I would stand next to Asian tourists in the shop and pretend to sneeze while SARs was going about, just to watch their startled reaction. At my firing they even brought that up and asked, do you think that is funny, what would a customer reading that think? Yes, I did think it was mildly amusing, it was what we advanced beings with A Sense Of Humour call A Joke. They didn't, but since they ended up being publically humiliated for what they did I'd say I came out on top there).
I found I loved the blog form - I did indeed still post pastiches of news stories (or sometimes just a rant I needed to get out), but other things leaked in - unsurprisingly discussing books and authors and movies (at this point I was submitting a ton of reviews to the Alien Online, edited by Ariel), but I was adding in poetry, photographs, life in Edinburgh and, well, just everything really - life, love, cats, chocolate and whisky; the fun stuff and the stuff that hurt like hell. And work. Work got mentioned a few times (relatively few compared to the amount of other stuff and far outweighed by the amount pushing books and authors and reading events) and the worse the job became as the company turned into a Professional Retailer rather than a Bookseller (and struggled with sales and profits and higher staff turnover at the same time - connected?) and they seemed unwilling to listen to the opinions of experienced staff the blog became a place to let off a little steam. Several years later they suddenly pretended to be grossly offended at this and fired me (it would later turn out that senior management had known about it long before this and weren't bothered - in fact they asked me to help set up a brand new branch from scratch. Later they would suddenly 'discover' it - well, I suspect a certain vindictive person did - and it was used against me.)
Of course, by firing me they removed any obligation I had to be relatively quiet on the subject; Cory Doctorow and the Boing Boing guys picked up on it and splattered it all over the web, as did the online journals while Ariel and my fellow reviewers on the Alien Online organised support - the mainstream media picked it up from there and within a couple of days the Guardian and Scotsman had me posing for photographs for an article (right outside the old bookstore, much to the amusement of some of the staff who hadn't been told much of what had happened) and a rapid snowball effect took place that utterly surprised me - four radio spots in one day at one point, asked to do interviews for radio shows in Ireland and New York, enquiries from journalists in France, Norway, Italy, Germany, clippings of the story being sent by folks from as far afield as Chile and Australia, it was simply amazing. I think the fact that a bookstore, which has always professed to stand for freedom of speech (without which there is no booktrade) would try to gag a staff member this way really infuriated a lot of folks. I still get approached by media types from time to time even now.
The amount of emails I had from people all over was a huge morale boost when I was seriously down and a reminder, again, of how connected web users are on a global scale (and again, thanks to everyone who took time to write to me offering support and also emailing their disgust to the Bookstore Which Shall Not Be Named, I really can't tell you just how much the support of so many folks, mostly total stranger, meant to me when I really needed it). That was something my former employers didn't realise, they thought they were the Big Company and they could do what they wanted to One Little Guy; boy did that blow up in their faces (and deservedly so). Amazingly some companies continue to repeat this mistake, still not cottoned on to the interconnected nature of the web.
Another front was opened up when some of the many writers I had worked with over the years also came to my defence, publically damning the former employers for their actions and pointing out just how much work I had done to promote books over the years. Highly embarrassing to be the biggest bookstore in the nation and find some of the bestselling authors in the country decrying you in public (Richard Morgan's incredibly eloquent open letter, Ken MacLeod and Iain Banks and others writing letters to the press, Charlie Stross standing up for me on his blog and more). I've spent years promoting good writers and books and I can't tell you how good it felt to realise that a lot of those authors remembered that support and were willing to step forward to help me when I needed it; so much support from friends and strangers had the oddest effect, it made you feel ten feet tall and at the same time so damned humble that people would do this for you.
It had a happy ending though - the appeal hearing, ironically held in the new branch I had helped to create (as I gleefully pointed out), turned out in my favour. They still didn't like me mentioning work on the blog but agreed they had rather over-reacted. By this time FPI had read about all of this and I'd been approached by them because they wanted someone to work on their online business who would also be into the books and graphic novels they were selling, rather than just treating it as a job. And in the supreme irony I pitched the idea of a blog for the company to compliment the major webstore and they liked it; now the FPI blog has grown far bigger, gets hits from round the world and I still get to promote good books, graphic novels and authors (thanks, Kenny!) from interviewing big names to helping push the new small press guys (who in turn mention us and so that interconnected thing all still goes round and we all win from it). And I'm still blogging on the Woolamaloo as well; blogging for personal reasons and blogging at work too (god, but that still makes me giggle after all that happened, that part of my job is running a blog) and no intention of stopping (I should probably say thanks to Former Employers because their short-sighted attack turned a little-heard of site into one read by far, far more folks, so well done! I award you the Shot Yourself In The Foot Award!). Another nice spin off is my union, the RBA, a smaller union, got some good publicity (well deserved) from this and picked up a raft of new members on the back of it (actually they told me they go someone in touch the very night I posted links to them on the blog).
I intend to go on being a cheeky and irreverent bugger and the Woolamaloo is an intrinsic part of that; a friend who is heavily into Second Life was asking why I didn't join him there. I pointed out that the blog (and Flog and Flickr) were already a second life for me and I can't imagine not doing it. So yes, I fully intend to go on lampooning hypocritical public figures, pastiching events, talking about good books, quoting poetry when I feel like it and, well, basically talking about whatever the hell I want to, when I want to, because it is my (and every other person's) right to damned well do just that and winning that case makes me feel like doing it all the more. So happy anniversary to my sometimes troubled child, the Woolamaloo Gazette, the blog they couldn't hang.
Yes, friends, today marks the fourth anniversary of the Woolamaloo Gazette, the blog they couldn't hang, a blog with a mouth too big to shut (a mouth so big it still spews out words even when having its own foot in said mouth, which happens on occassion). Well, the fourth anniversary of this incarnation, for although the 7th of April 2003 saw the commencement of the Woolamaloo blog, the Gazette goes back to the early 90s, the name a homage to the University of Woolamaloo from Monty Python (also a track by Jean Michel Jarre and a real place in Australia). I've always been outspoken and an opinionated bugger (commenting on my firing a couple of years back Neil Gaiman commented he thought I was opinionated, but in the good way, which I took as a huge compliment and a real morale boost when I really needed it), right back to school where I spent years on the Academy's debating team (nope, didn't win them all, but I won a lot more than I lost) and when I was introduced to email in the 90s at college the opinionated bugger met Communications Technology and saw that It Was Good.
In '91 only a few faculties had email and the web didn't exist - it was the internet, mostly text, lots of discussion forums which I signed up for, mostly chatting to folks in other universities round the globe, debating, discussing, chatting, swapping jokes. Very soon I was sending out emails of spoof newspaper articles to friends, lampooning public figures, trends and satirising the hell out of stories in the news that were bugging me. To my surprise people liked them; in fact some folks who weren't receiving them asked to be added to the list, others already on the list were forwarding it to their friends - my first taste of the interconnected nature of the net came when a friend told me she had forwarded it to her friend, who forwarded it to her husband in the US Air Force (there is nowhere the subversive Woolamaloo cannot go!) who forwarded it to a bunch of friends on more bases round the world.
By the 2000s I was still doing the Woolamaloo emails, but my good mate Ariel, then a fellow bookseller (I think we first got in touch when he was editing the Guide to SF for a certain book supermarket who we don't mention here these days, but this was back when it was still a real bookstore and professional booksellers like us were encouraged to work on literature guides like this). Ariel kept saying I should do them in blog form, especially since the blog would allow me to do other things too as the fancy struck me. Some other friends were blogging by then, so with Ariel's help (thanks, mate) we set up the new blog and a new era in cheeky and opinionated nonsense began in April 2003 with me having a go at the war in Iraq and pastiching the SARs outbreak that was the End Of The World plague in vogue at that time (later I would post that for a laugh I would stand next to Asian tourists in the shop and pretend to sneeze while SARs was going about, just to watch their startled reaction. At my firing they even brought that up and asked, do you think that is funny, what would a customer reading that think? Yes, I did think it was mildly amusing, it was what we advanced beings with A Sense Of Humour call A Joke. They didn't, but since they ended up being publically humiliated for what they did I'd say I came out on top there).
I found I loved the blog form - I did indeed still post pastiches of news stories (or sometimes just a rant I needed to get out), but other things leaked in - unsurprisingly discussing books and authors and movies (at this point I was submitting a ton of reviews to the Alien Online, edited by Ariel), but I was adding in poetry, photographs, life in Edinburgh and, well, just everything really - life, love, cats, chocolate and whisky; the fun stuff and the stuff that hurt like hell. And work. Work got mentioned a few times (relatively few compared to the amount of other stuff and far outweighed by the amount pushing books and authors and reading events) and the worse the job became as the company turned into a Professional Retailer rather than a Bookseller (and struggled with sales and profits and higher staff turnover at the same time - connected?) and they seemed unwilling to listen to the opinions of experienced staff the blog became a place to let off a little steam. Several years later they suddenly pretended to be grossly offended at this and fired me (it would later turn out that senior management had known about it long before this and weren't bothered - in fact they asked me to help set up a brand new branch from scratch. Later they would suddenly 'discover' it - well, I suspect a certain vindictive person did - and it was used against me.)
Of course, by firing me they removed any obligation I had to be relatively quiet on the subject; Cory Doctorow and the Boing Boing guys picked up on it and splattered it all over the web, as did the online journals while Ariel and my fellow reviewers on the Alien Online organised support - the mainstream media picked it up from there and within a couple of days the Guardian and Scotsman had me posing for photographs for an article (right outside the old bookstore, much to the amusement of some of the staff who hadn't been told much of what had happened) and a rapid snowball effect took place that utterly surprised me - four radio spots in one day at one point, asked to do interviews for radio shows in Ireland and New York, enquiries from journalists in France, Norway, Italy, Germany, clippings of the story being sent by folks from as far afield as Chile and Australia, it was simply amazing. I think the fact that a bookstore, which has always professed to stand for freedom of speech (without which there is no booktrade) would try to gag a staff member this way really infuriated a lot of folks. I still get approached by media types from time to time even now.
The amount of emails I had from people all over was a huge morale boost when I was seriously down and a reminder, again, of how connected web users are on a global scale (and again, thanks to everyone who took time to write to me offering support and also emailing their disgust to the Bookstore Which Shall Not Be Named, I really can't tell you just how much the support of so many folks, mostly total stranger, meant to me when I really needed it). That was something my former employers didn't realise, they thought they were the Big Company and they could do what they wanted to One Little Guy; boy did that blow up in their faces (and deservedly so). Amazingly some companies continue to repeat this mistake, still not cottoned on to the interconnected nature of the web.
Another front was opened up when some of the many writers I had worked with over the years also came to my defence, publically damning the former employers for their actions and pointing out just how much work I had done to promote books over the years. Highly embarrassing to be the biggest bookstore in the nation and find some of the bestselling authors in the country decrying you in public (Richard Morgan's incredibly eloquent open letter, Ken MacLeod and Iain Banks and others writing letters to the press, Charlie Stross standing up for me on his blog and more). I've spent years promoting good writers and books and I can't tell you how good it felt to realise that a lot of those authors remembered that support and were willing to step forward to help me when I needed it; so much support from friends and strangers had the oddest effect, it made you feel ten feet tall and at the same time so damned humble that people would do this for you.
It had a happy ending though - the appeal hearing, ironically held in the new branch I had helped to create (as I gleefully pointed out), turned out in my favour. They still didn't like me mentioning work on the blog but agreed they had rather over-reacted. By this time FPI had read about all of this and I'd been approached by them because they wanted someone to work on their online business who would also be into the books and graphic novels they were selling, rather than just treating it as a job. And in the supreme irony I pitched the idea of a blog for the company to compliment the major webstore and they liked it; now the FPI blog has grown far bigger, gets hits from round the world and I still get to promote good books, graphic novels and authors (thanks, Kenny!) from interviewing big names to helping push the new small press guys (who in turn mention us and so that interconnected thing all still goes round and we all win from it). And I'm still blogging on the Woolamaloo as well; blogging for personal reasons and blogging at work too (god, but that still makes me giggle after all that happened, that part of my job is running a blog) and no intention of stopping (I should probably say thanks to Former Employers because their short-sighted attack turned a little-heard of site into one read by far, far more folks, so well done! I award you the Shot Yourself In The Foot Award!). Another nice spin off is my union, the RBA, a smaller union, got some good publicity (well deserved) from this and picked up a raft of new members on the back of it (actually they told me they go someone in touch the very night I posted links to them on the blog).
I intend to go on being a cheeky and irreverent bugger and the Woolamaloo is an intrinsic part of that; a friend who is heavily into Second Life was asking why I didn't join him there. I pointed out that the blog (and Flog and Flickr) were already a second life for me and I can't imagine not doing it. So yes, I fully intend to go on lampooning hypocritical public figures, pastiching events, talking about good books, quoting poetry when I feel like it and, well, basically talking about whatever the hell I want to, when I want to, because it is my (and every other person's) right to damned well do just that and winning that case makes me feel like doing it all the more. So happy anniversary to my sometimes troubled child, the Woolamaloo Gazette, the blog they couldn't hang.
Of silence and music
Channel hopping while munching lunch I accidentally came across a programme on Ruth Montgomery, a young musician preparing for solo performances with the Saint Petersburg Philharmonic. The solo spot is a tremendously stressful role for any musician - indeed being the person standing out there in front of everyone else on a stage for any kind of performance is pretty stressful. I've done that a few times myself and it really does put the frighteners on you; first time I had to do it was a largely last minute addition to the school opera when I was about 16. Walk out from behind that curtain, light in your face, dark auditorium, the feel of two or three hundred people looking expectantly at you; mouth goes dry, confidence bids you adios and genuine shivers go down your spine. Then you do what you rehearsed to do and if it works the stress and fear vanishes to be replaced with elation. That doesn't make it any easier the next time you have to do it though, you still go through the stress and fear and cotton mouth thing everytime, but that early experience paid dividends much later when I would have to walk in front of a few hundred folks and introduce a major author.
So yes, I can empathise how stressed she would be, at least to a certain extent. Ruth has another level of worry to add to what would be a worrying time already for any musician about to do their solo spot - Ruth is deaf. She has problems with an early rehearsal because the piano is in the wrong place so she can't get close enough to the violins to feel them and can't see the conductor's movements clearly enough, something they simply hadn't considered when setting up the stage. On hand was one of my favourite musicians and a personal heroine, Evelyn Glennie, one of the most famous soloists in classical music and again, a performer who is completely deaf. Watching both of them was a reminder, if any really be needed, that the real artist creates from within; deafness doesn't stop feeling and it doesn't silence that inner voice, a part that speaks without words in an inner dialogue with the artist, a dialogue they then translate into music, words, dance, paintings that other can share with. It's not the physical abilities, its that inner dialogue and the feelings it creates; if you don't have that then how can you communicate it to anyone else, regardless of whether you are a musician, a poet, a dancer?
And in one lovely little scene, as Evelyn is rehearsing her own spot you could see a wee deaf girl, just about 6 or 7, totally enraptured, her hands moving to copy Evelyn's (anyone who has been to one of Eveyln's performances will know she is pretty dynamic on stage, she doesn't just play, she moves to the music she is making). It was just the most gorgeous scene, this little deaf lassie copying the deaf musician; it wasn't just cute it was the realisation that this might be opening a door to a world this child had never really encountered before. And isn't that one of the effects any artist longs to make on someone?
Channel hopping while munching lunch I accidentally came across a programme on Ruth Montgomery, a young musician preparing for solo performances with the Saint Petersburg Philharmonic. The solo spot is a tremendously stressful role for any musician - indeed being the person standing out there in front of everyone else on a stage for any kind of performance is pretty stressful. I've done that a few times myself and it really does put the frighteners on you; first time I had to do it was a largely last minute addition to the school opera when I was about 16. Walk out from behind that curtain, light in your face, dark auditorium, the feel of two or three hundred people looking expectantly at you; mouth goes dry, confidence bids you adios and genuine shivers go down your spine. Then you do what you rehearsed to do and if it works the stress and fear vanishes to be replaced with elation. That doesn't make it any easier the next time you have to do it though, you still go through the stress and fear and cotton mouth thing everytime, but that early experience paid dividends much later when I would have to walk in front of a few hundred folks and introduce a major author.
So yes, I can empathise how stressed she would be, at least to a certain extent. Ruth has another level of worry to add to what would be a worrying time already for any musician about to do their solo spot - Ruth is deaf. She has problems with an early rehearsal because the piano is in the wrong place so she can't get close enough to the violins to feel them and can't see the conductor's movements clearly enough, something they simply hadn't considered when setting up the stage. On hand was one of my favourite musicians and a personal heroine, Evelyn Glennie, one of the most famous soloists in classical music and again, a performer who is completely deaf. Watching both of them was a reminder, if any really be needed, that the real artist creates from within; deafness doesn't stop feeling and it doesn't silence that inner voice, a part that speaks without words in an inner dialogue with the artist, a dialogue they then translate into music, words, dance, paintings that other can share with. It's not the physical abilities, its that inner dialogue and the feelings it creates; if you don't have that then how can you communicate it to anyone else, regardless of whether you are a musician, a poet, a dancer?
And in one lovely little scene, as Evelyn is rehearsing her own spot you could see a wee deaf girl, just about 6 or 7, totally enraptured, her hands moving to copy Evelyn's (anyone who has been to one of Eveyln's performances will know she is pretty dynamic on stage, she doesn't just play, she moves to the music she is making). It was just the most gorgeous scene, this little deaf lassie copying the deaf musician; it wasn't just cute it was the realisation that this might be opening a door to a world this child had never really encountered before. And isn't that one of the effects any artist longs to make on someone?
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
Floating heads
The 'floating heads' sculptures hanging in one of the wings of the newly refurbished Kelvingrove Art Gallery & Museum in Glasgow. Gordon and I spent hours going round here recently; it re-opened last summer after a huge refurbishment and is, I am happy to say, even more popular than ever before. Edinburgh has the vast bulk of the national galleries and museums, but Glasgow, in true Glaswegian style, simply created large museums and galleries for themselves, all designed from their inception to be accessible to all the people of the city regardless of wealth or status.
We both grew up in Glasgow so we were in and out of this emporium of delights dozens of times as kids - the upper floors hold galleries, the lower ones the museum, so you can see everything from a Matisse to a mummy to a suit of armour to artefacts from Saint Kilda to dinosaurs and even, in one wing, an actual Spitfire fighter plane hanging from the ornate ceiling like the world's biggest kid's model on a string. We both found that same child-like fascination was still engendered by this magical place and spent hours going round it; still one of my favourite places in the whole world and so, so happy to find a place that enchanted, amazed and educated me as a child still did the same now.
The 'floating heads' sculptures hanging in one of the wings of the newly refurbished Kelvingrove Art Gallery & Museum in Glasgow. Gordon and I spent hours going round here recently; it re-opened last summer after a huge refurbishment and is, I am happy to say, even more popular than ever before. Edinburgh has the vast bulk of the national galleries and museums, but Glasgow, in true Glaswegian style, simply created large museums and galleries for themselves, all designed from their inception to be accessible to all the people of the city regardless of wealth or status.
We both grew up in Glasgow so we were in and out of this emporium of delights dozens of times as kids - the upper floors hold galleries, the lower ones the museum, so you can see everything from a Matisse to a mummy to a suit of armour to artefacts from Saint Kilda to dinosaurs and even, in one wing, an actual Spitfire fighter plane hanging from the ornate ceiling like the world's biggest kid's model on a string. We both found that same child-like fascination was still engendered by this magical place and spent hours going round it; still one of my favourite places in the whole world and so, so happy to find a place that enchanted, amazed and educated me as a child still did the same now.
Messing about on the water
Sunny (but cool) spring-like day down at North Berwick, Scotland, not far from Edinburgh, watching as some sailors bring in a small yacht and take it out the water.
Sunny (but cool) spring-like day down at North Berwick, Scotland, not far from Edinburgh, watching as some sailors bring in a small yacht and take it out the water.
Sunday, April 1, 2007
Birds
Gorgeous, clear blue skies and spring sunshine today to mark the start of April, although being Scotland the temperatures were cruelly more winter-like in stark contrast to the sunshine. Gordon was taking Bruce the greyhound off to the beach for a good chance to run around like a loon and sniff as many other doggy bottoms as he could (the beach is essentially a dog social club) so I tagged along. Part way down we saw a bird of prey - neither of us is very good a ornithological matters and so we had no idea if it was a kestrel or whatever, but we could tell is was clearly a bird of prey. It was a stunning silhouette soaring effortlessly over a field, elegant dark shape against a luminous blue sky, only the occasional beat of those powerful wings, the rest of the time it simply glided with a grace no human aircraft can ever match, confident, powerful, assured, monarch of its realm of air. Simply stunning. I wonder what our earthbound world below looked like to its razor sharp eyesight?
Just a little later we came round a bend on a country road and a grouse ran right across the road in front of us, paused for a moment at the edge of the road, looked at us, then vanished through a fence. Most of the time the birds I see, living in the city, are pigeons (pooing everywhere) and those raucous seagulls, making a dreadful racket and raiding the bins (although to be fair they look amazing when they seem to hover almost motionless in a stiff sea breeze). I do sometimes see some bats flying around Mel's garden (which I love) as dusk falls, although they, of course, aren't birds (bit they are so darned cool - Mel hates them, I love them). So to see one unusual (for us) bird was one thing, but to see two was a real treat. And whatever that bird of prey was that soared over us, passing like a lord of the air, ignoring the assembled crows picking at freshly ploughed fields with a regal disdain, it was an amazing sight. Just for a few seconds the world stops and you see something amazing.
Gorgeous, clear blue skies and spring sunshine today to mark the start of April, although being Scotland the temperatures were cruelly more winter-like in stark contrast to the sunshine. Gordon was taking Bruce the greyhound off to the beach for a good chance to run around like a loon and sniff as many other doggy bottoms as he could (the beach is essentially a dog social club) so I tagged along. Part way down we saw a bird of prey - neither of us is very good a ornithological matters and so we had no idea if it was a kestrel or whatever, but we could tell is was clearly a bird of prey. It was a stunning silhouette soaring effortlessly over a field, elegant dark shape against a luminous blue sky, only the occasional beat of those powerful wings, the rest of the time it simply glided with a grace no human aircraft can ever match, confident, powerful, assured, monarch of its realm of air. Simply stunning. I wonder what our earthbound world below looked like to its razor sharp eyesight?
Just a little later we came round a bend on a country road and a grouse ran right across the road in front of us, paused for a moment at the edge of the road, looked at us, then vanished through a fence. Most of the time the birds I see, living in the city, are pigeons (pooing everywhere) and those raucous seagulls, making a dreadful racket and raiding the bins (although to be fair they look amazing when they seem to hover almost motionless in a stiff sea breeze). I do sometimes see some bats flying around Mel's garden (which I love) as dusk falls, although they, of course, aren't birds (bit they are so darned cool - Mel hates them, I love them). So to see one unusual (for us) bird was one thing, but to see two was a real treat. And whatever that bird of prey was that soared over us, passing like a lord of the air, ignoring the assembled crows picking at freshly ploughed fields with a regal disdain, it was an amazing sight. Just for a few seconds the world stops and you see something amazing.
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