Loved this decaying, dancing Death figure, right on the wall of the Kirk itself, just a few feet from the burial plot of Greyfriar's Bobby (which was surrounded by Japanese tourists with massive cameras bigger than their heads).
Wednesday, March 31, 2004
This was one of the crumbling mausoleums I photographed in Greyfriars today. I was playing with it in Photoshop and gave it this over-contrasted and false colour enhancement which I thought looked cool. And I just loved this - one of many little skull and bones sculptures dotted around the boneyard.
Virtual Vamps
Cool! Good news item from our news editor Sandy (does she stand in front of her desk when doing the news like the trendy TV newsfolk?) about a new page on the BBC's BBCI for Vampire material. Cool! Can never get enough of that Gothic neck-biting action - thanks for the link, Sandy.
Cool! Good news item from our news editor Sandy (does she stand in front of her desk when doing the news like the trendy TV newsfolk?) about a new page on the BBC's BBCI for Vampire material. Cool! Can never get enough of that Gothic neck-biting action - thanks for the link, Sandy.
I hate everything about...
Watching the Kerrang channel while typing away here and on came a blast from my past: Ugly Kid Joe and Everything About You. By the great grizzled gods of heavy rock, I ain't heard that one in ages. Instant nostalgia trip as I used to dance my heavy metal socks off to that one regularly with my college chum Metal Mel (who had pics of herself abckstage with just about everyone in rock and roll). We used to headbang till the sun came up every weekend at Madison's in Edinburgh (alas now a bloody restaurant!) back in our student days in the 90s. Earsplitting fun as we'd rock our hearts out together in biker boots, leathers and bandanas (so not a big style change for me today really, eh?), long hair flying to Ugly Kid Joe, Nirvanna, Pearl Jam, AC/DC, Aerosmith, Rage Against the Machine... Soooo much fun, best club I ever visited, we had so many good nights there with the metal and Goth crowds, stomped and moshed at rock gigs then reviewed them for the college rag (yes, reviewing is something I've done in one form or another for a long time - one day some bugger will pay me for it - I can do it better than most of the divits in half the newspapers and mags I read, he said modestly (but it's true)). Ah, back when life was carefree and fun and I had long flowing locks and there were no problems that couldn't be alleviated by a good doobie and a headbanging dance with a hot rock babe.
And yes, before you ask, I did dance around the flat to it, much to the amusement of the cats. Fortunately for my downstairs neighbour I didn't have my cowboy boots on - those Cuban heels on a wooden floor; noisy! Ah, sweet nostalgia. What was it dear old Spike Milligan once said of nostalgia? With the present so disturbing, the future so unsure and frightening no wonder the past often looks so inviting to us. Nice memories of those times, but the me of that time would be looking at the me of today and thinking, fuck, this isn't where you're supposed to be, what happened? Good question - I don't know and have even less idea how to change it. Like Homer once said "I used to rock and roll every night and part every day. Now I'm lucky if I can find half an hour a week in which to get funky."
Still, right after that was the new video from the Offpsring, with digital animation over the faces of the lead singer and his dog - totally fucking cool song and superb video. Moral to this tale: ignore the real world and live in books, films and rock and roll fantasy land. Peter Pan with thrash guitar and pounding drums (and lots of alcohol and doing rude things to Wendy after our dance, oh yeah, baby).
Watching the Kerrang channel while typing away here and on came a blast from my past: Ugly Kid Joe and Everything About You. By the great grizzled gods of heavy rock, I ain't heard that one in ages. Instant nostalgia trip as I used to dance my heavy metal socks off to that one regularly with my college chum Metal Mel (who had pics of herself abckstage with just about everyone in rock and roll). We used to headbang till the sun came up every weekend at Madison's in Edinburgh (alas now a bloody restaurant!) back in our student days in the 90s. Earsplitting fun as we'd rock our hearts out together in biker boots, leathers and bandanas (so not a big style change for me today really, eh?), long hair flying to Ugly Kid Joe, Nirvanna, Pearl Jam, AC/DC, Aerosmith, Rage Against the Machine... Soooo much fun, best club I ever visited, we had so many good nights there with the metal and Goth crowds, stomped and moshed at rock gigs then reviewed them for the college rag (yes, reviewing is something I've done in one form or another for a long time - one day some bugger will pay me for it - I can do it better than most of the divits in half the newspapers and mags I read, he said modestly (but it's true)). Ah, back when life was carefree and fun and I had long flowing locks and there were no problems that couldn't be alleviated by a good doobie and a headbanging dance with a hot rock babe.
And yes, before you ask, I did dance around the flat to it, much to the amusement of the cats. Fortunately for my downstairs neighbour I didn't have my cowboy boots on - those Cuban heels on a wooden floor; noisy! Ah, sweet nostalgia. What was it dear old Spike Milligan once said of nostalgia? With the present so disturbing, the future so unsure and frightening no wonder the past often looks so inviting to us. Nice memories of those times, but the me of that time would be looking at the me of today and thinking, fuck, this isn't where you're supposed to be, what happened? Good question - I don't know and have even less idea how to change it. Like Homer once said "I used to rock and roll every night and part every day. Now I'm lucky if I can find half an hour a week in which to get funky."
Still, right after that was the new video from the Offpsring, with digital animation over the faces of the lead singer and his dog - totally fucking cool song and superb video. Moral to this tale: ignore the real world and live in books, films and rock and roll fantasy land. Peter Pan with thrash guitar and pounding drums (and lots of alcohol and doing rude things to Wendy after our dance, oh yeah, baby).
Book clubbing
The March meeting of the SF Book Group went very well, with a bigger turnout. I think word is getting round - new faces there and we’re acquiring a good number of regular participants which is great. Everyone seems happy to participate - no-one just sitting there too shy to have at least a little say, which is terrific ‘coz Alex and I don’t want to do all the talking.
Last night was the turn of the great Alfred Bester and the Stars My Destination (originally published as Tiger!Tiger!) and was the choice of Fiona, our Geeklette who has since escaped the evil tentacles of Waterstone‘s (everyone gets out but me, I get Steve McQueened on the barbed wire each time I try). I was very glad I had to re-read this _ I last read it nearly 20 years ago and only recalled a few broad strokes and none of the wonderful detail. Despite being written mid-50s it’s still a very fresh and relevant read. In the Orion SF Masterworks edition (a damned good series of classic SF re-issues) Neil Gaiman writes an introduction, noting how influential this book had been especially on the 80s Cyberpunk generation of writers such as Bill Gibson, especially with it’s corporate-run future.
Actually there were so many little details that been mined (or reworked as a homage or just plain ripped off) by other works over the decades since its publication. The starship which smuggles illegal immigrants for a huge fee then dumps them out of the airlock was reused as Chump Dumping by perps in Judge Dredd’s Mega City One. The blind woman who sees in infra-red and sonar seems a little too close to the way Daredevil ‘sees’ for comfort. The central character, Gully Foyle is a real anti-hero with pretty much no moral compulsions, just his burning desire for revenge (which makes the finale all the more unexpected and fascinating) - obviously a character distilled from the violent anti-heroes of 40 and 50s noir detective fiction (hell, he makes Richard Morgan’s Kovacs look like a softie). One of the few places Bester (who is honoured by having Walter Koenig’s character named after him in Babylon 5) got his very believable future society wrong is in the plastic surgeon’s reaction to Foyle’s facial tattoos - he has heard of such things but never seen them. No body art of augmentation? Boy, he got that one wrong, big time! But I guess we can let him go for that since an American author writing such a critical novel of arch-capitalist society in the 1950s is pretty amazing (no wonder he wrote it in the UK, probably worried McCarthy would have had him up in front of the House Un-American Committee - today we are far more civilised and would Ashcroft would just arrest him without charge). Followed by a few jars with some of the group in the enjoyable Victorian environs of the Guildford Arms sipping Bitter and Twisted.
The March meeting of the SF Book Group went very well, with a bigger turnout. I think word is getting round - new faces there and we’re acquiring a good number of regular participants which is great. Everyone seems happy to participate - no-one just sitting there too shy to have at least a little say, which is terrific ‘coz Alex and I don’t want to do all the talking.
Last night was the turn of the great Alfred Bester and the Stars My Destination (originally published as Tiger!Tiger!) and was the choice of Fiona, our Geeklette who has since escaped the evil tentacles of Waterstone‘s (everyone gets out but me, I get Steve McQueened on the barbed wire each time I try). I was very glad I had to re-read this _ I last read it nearly 20 years ago and only recalled a few broad strokes and none of the wonderful detail. Despite being written mid-50s it’s still a very fresh and relevant read. In the Orion SF Masterworks edition (a damned good series of classic SF re-issues) Neil Gaiman writes an introduction, noting how influential this book had been especially on the 80s Cyberpunk generation of writers such as Bill Gibson, especially with it’s corporate-run future.
Actually there were so many little details that been mined (or reworked as a homage or just plain ripped off) by other works over the decades since its publication. The starship which smuggles illegal immigrants for a huge fee then dumps them out of the airlock was reused as Chump Dumping by perps in Judge Dredd’s Mega City One. The blind woman who sees in infra-red and sonar seems a little too close to the way Daredevil ‘sees’ for comfort. The central character, Gully Foyle is a real anti-hero with pretty much no moral compulsions, just his burning desire for revenge (which makes the finale all the more unexpected and fascinating) - obviously a character distilled from the violent anti-heroes of 40 and 50s noir detective fiction (hell, he makes Richard Morgan’s Kovacs look like a softie). One of the few places Bester (who is honoured by having Walter Koenig’s character named after him in Babylon 5) got his very believable future society wrong is in the plastic surgeon’s reaction to Foyle’s facial tattoos - he has heard of such things but never seen them. No body art of augmentation? Boy, he got that one wrong, big time! But I guess we can let him go for that since an American author writing such a critical novel of arch-capitalist society in the 1950s is pretty amazing (no wonder he wrote it in the UK, probably worried McCarthy would have had him up in front of the House Un-American Committee - today we are far more civilised and would Ashcroft would just arrest him without charge). Followed by a few jars with some of the group in the enjoyable Victorian environs of the Guildford Arms sipping Bitter and Twisted.
Burning Bush
Which brings me neatly to the latest book which arrived in the mail from me from Granta - the Bush Hater’s Handbook (he says lovely things about that warm and fuzzy man Ashcroft too). Jack Huberman has thoughtfully arranged his compendium of reasons why Bush is evil in a handy A-Z order, so you can pick a subject to rant about easily (obviously he had to select subject areas or it could have been a book the size of the Paris telephone directory). Started reading it this afternoon while munching some lunch al-fresco in front of an 18th century crumbling tomb in Greyfriar’s Kirkyard.
I was having some fun wandering around one of my favourite Boneyards (sorry just read and reviewed volume two of the wonderful Boneyard graphic novel and am in humorous gothic mode) and taking pictures of some of the excellent - and macabre - carvings on some of the larger tombs and monuments. Dancing skeletons, skulls, angels - no I am still describing the funerary carvings, not the tattoos on a biker’s arm. Most of them crumbling away which makes them all the more atmospheric.
Greyfriars is, of course, home to the Mackenzie poltergeist, situated around the tomb of ‘bluidy MacKenzie’, which is ironically next to the Covenanter’s Prison, a group he persecuted mercilessly, earning his sobriquet. I noticed the gleaming new padlock on the doors to his family tomb after the theft of a skull last week (see earlier blog) which lead to two kids being charged (and now found guilty) with a law not used in over a century - violating a sepulchre. Cool. I also passed the family tomb of the great architectural family of the Adams (Adams Family, geddit?) before paying my respects to the much simpler tomb of Hutton, the Scottish Enlightenment scientist and father of modern geology. I removed no body parts from anyone present, living, dead or in-between. Not that anyone can prove anyway, moo hoo hah hah. Then off to visually catalogue more pubs of Edinburgh with my digital camera (work in progress, not just a pub crawl).
Which brings me neatly to the latest book which arrived in the mail from me from Granta - the Bush Hater’s Handbook (he says lovely things about that warm and fuzzy man Ashcroft too). Jack Huberman has thoughtfully arranged his compendium of reasons why Bush is evil in a handy A-Z order, so you can pick a subject to rant about easily (obviously he had to select subject areas or it could have been a book the size of the Paris telephone directory). Started reading it this afternoon while munching some lunch al-fresco in front of an 18th century crumbling tomb in Greyfriar’s Kirkyard.
I was having some fun wandering around one of my favourite Boneyards (sorry just read and reviewed volume two of the wonderful Boneyard graphic novel and am in humorous gothic mode) and taking pictures of some of the excellent - and macabre - carvings on some of the larger tombs and monuments. Dancing skeletons, skulls, angels - no I am still describing the funerary carvings, not the tattoos on a biker’s arm. Most of them crumbling away which makes them all the more atmospheric.
Greyfriars is, of course, home to the Mackenzie poltergeist, situated around the tomb of ‘bluidy MacKenzie’, which is ironically next to the Covenanter’s Prison, a group he persecuted mercilessly, earning his sobriquet. I noticed the gleaming new padlock on the doors to his family tomb after the theft of a skull last week (see earlier blog) which lead to two kids being charged (and now found guilty) with a law not used in over a century - violating a sepulchre. Cool. I also passed the family tomb of the great architectural family of the Adams (Adams Family, geddit?) before paying my respects to the much simpler tomb of Hutton, the Scottish Enlightenment scientist and father of modern geology. I removed no body parts from anyone present, living, dead or in-between. Not that anyone can prove anyway, moo hoo hah hah. Then off to visually catalogue more pubs of Edinburgh with my digital camera (work in progress, not just a pub crawl).
Monday, March 29, 2004
Sleep of the just
What smegging sadist decided to hold National Sleep Week at the same time as the bloody clocks went forward for British Summer Time and we all lost an hour in bed? That's just sick! Well, I have a week off and I will do my national duty and have nice, long snoozes until the cats insist that I get up to feed them and pay attention to them (before they go back to sleep of course).
Went off this afternoon to watch the remake of Dawn of the Dead. Enjoyable enough bit of old-fashioned horror, but added nothing new whatsoever to the original story or the genre - in other words a remake for the sake of a remake. Sure there is an implied criticism of capitalism and of suburbia as another form of voluntary zombie-ism, but not as much as the original contained. The only new thing is the zombies being speeded up - fast, ferocious and dangerous. But Danny Boyle already did this a few years back with 28 Days, so... Still, the rapid - and unxeplained, like the original - collapse of normal life into utter chaos is well done. Being a horror purist I obviously prefer the original Romero version, but this was diverting enough for a couple of hours and will kill some time for me until Shaun of the Dead comes out. Coming from the team behind the fantastic Spaced series it promises much more than this remake offered. A trailer for it this afternoon was fun - Simon Pegg arguing over which of his vinyl albums could be used as a deadly frisby to slice through zombie heads. No, not that one! Oh, it looks great!
The trailer for Van Helsing looked good too - very silly but enjoyable stuff by the sound of it. Big feature in Empire this month although I think Hugh Jackman's Van Helsing looks far more like Quincey Morris than Van Helsing. But it has Dracula, the WolfMan and the Frankenstein monster plus Kate Beckinsale in tight corsets (killing rather than playing vampires this time round after the limp Underworld). The pictures of Dracula showed Frears using someof his imagery from The Mummy in respect of the jaw opening the mouth far wider than a human should be able to. Since his Dracula has a whole row of big, sharp teeth and not just fangs this makes him look like a shark. Or, pretty much like the vampires in the stonkingly good 30 Days of Night graphic novel.
Anyway, midly entertained by the chainsawing of appendages, shooting of skulls and general cannibalism I toddled off for a long, slow couple of pints (guest ale: Rocketeer - how could a geek resist and ale with that kind of name?), feet up, watching the world go by and reading (or re-reading actually, but it was 20 years ago) Alfred Bester's classic Stars my Destination (published under the name Tiger! Tiger! years back) for this month's SF Book Group tomorrow night at work.
What smegging sadist decided to hold National Sleep Week at the same time as the bloody clocks went forward for British Summer Time and we all lost an hour in bed? That's just sick! Well, I have a week off and I will do my national duty and have nice, long snoozes until the cats insist that I get up to feed them and pay attention to them (before they go back to sleep of course).
Went off this afternoon to watch the remake of Dawn of the Dead. Enjoyable enough bit of old-fashioned horror, but added nothing new whatsoever to the original story or the genre - in other words a remake for the sake of a remake. Sure there is an implied criticism of capitalism and of suburbia as another form of voluntary zombie-ism, but not as much as the original contained. The only new thing is the zombies being speeded up - fast, ferocious and dangerous. But Danny Boyle already did this a few years back with 28 Days, so... Still, the rapid - and unxeplained, like the original - collapse of normal life into utter chaos is well done. Being a horror purist I obviously prefer the original Romero version, but this was diverting enough for a couple of hours and will kill some time for me until Shaun of the Dead comes out. Coming from the team behind the fantastic Spaced series it promises much more than this remake offered. A trailer for it this afternoon was fun - Simon Pegg arguing over which of his vinyl albums could be used as a deadly frisby to slice through zombie heads. No, not that one! Oh, it looks great!
The trailer for Van Helsing looked good too - very silly but enjoyable stuff by the sound of it. Big feature in Empire this month although I think Hugh Jackman's Van Helsing looks far more like Quincey Morris than Van Helsing. But it has Dracula, the WolfMan and the Frankenstein monster plus Kate Beckinsale in tight corsets (killing rather than playing vampires this time round after the limp Underworld). The pictures of Dracula showed Frears using someof his imagery from The Mummy in respect of the jaw opening the mouth far wider than a human should be able to. Since his Dracula has a whole row of big, sharp teeth and not just fangs this makes him look like a shark. Or, pretty much like the vampires in the stonkingly good 30 Days of Night graphic novel.
Anyway, midly entertained by the chainsawing of appendages, shooting of skulls and general cannibalism I toddled off for a long, slow couple of pints (guest ale: Rocketeer - how could a geek resist and ale with that kind of name?), feet up, watching the world go by and reading (or re-reading actually, but it was 20 years ago) Alfred Bester's classic Stars my Destination (published under the name Tiger! Tiger! years back) for this month's SF Book Group tomorrow night at work.
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