Kaotic Oddchild

Dawn of the Braindead

2010-03-24T00:00:00.000-07:00

Have you ever had that sudden attack of think aloud tourette's? It happens to me too frequently, usually because I'm tired or not paying attention, it's that moment where I've regressed to a goldfish in a small bowl, with only some shingle for company and whilst not thinking a small bubble passes over my lips and bursts forth out of my mouth. My internal idiot's dialogue at my most sleep deprived must be what it's like to be John and Edward from the X Factor? Even their mother's egg split in an effort to get away from themselves. But that's another story....

So I'm on the phone to Esporta sports club complaint's line with a cast member from Dawn of the Dead and getting nowhere, when the words that I'm thinking just splurt out "How do you manage to operate the phone with a straitjacket on?"

They don't understand my complaint, which is about how the so-called premium membership means that they then rent the facilities out for parties to non-members in peak time at a lesser cost. oh and guess what muggins here is paying the premium whilst not being able to use the facility.

And that's when they are working, heating of the pool is constantly faulty, hot tub broken, steam room without steam etc etc. Also staff that are phenomenally rude, the "lifeguard" spends most of his time lounging around in the steam room and trying to bore guests to death, meanwhile there are people slipping over in the background without him noticing - I query whether any of this meets health and safety regulations.

Basically put, why pay a premium price for a sub-standard offering, Esporta Norwich is run as if it's a public swimming pool etc and conning member's into paying the overhead.

Also they are incapable of responding to any direct communication about complaints, so I shall have to air my grievances in public via social media. Let's see how viral I can push this, not as viral as the floors in the men's changing rooms that's for sure!

Barry in Romero world, on the other end of the phone doesn't get this, despite the BBC Watchdog expose of their working practices, there are always more mugs out there who get lured into these traps and can never get out. He doesn't care, he's got my money - we're in recession, everyone for themselves, fuck you customer because you're bound to this. But that's the short term view isn't it Barry, eventually the time clause will cease and the recession will end and consumer always wins in the end. Not only that, it's alot easier to shout about your crap attitude because social media can become word of mouth on steroids, and bad news spreads faster than good.

Christ, I can run a search across thousands of platforms and do statistical analysis on how people feel about your brand emotionally, and it's not good. I'll start putting this info out there soon for the other disgruntled customers.

I knew trying to get fit was likely to do me damage.

Mevolution

2010-02-21T09:26:00.000-08:00

Already I've failed in my New Year's resolution of writing more regularly, I feel so, so...let down. Let down by me, here's me trying to blog, tweet, FB, Linkin, Yammer, Ning and work all to promote my own voice and thoughts, because it's all about me, there is no id, it's all ego baby!

In this world that is a constant 360 degree mirror reflecting it all back at you. Your soapbox has to be bigger than anyone else's, contribute to a Twitter campaign against the likes of Trafigura and you to can experience that messianic adrenaline buzz that journalist's and celebs feel when there voice is printed. That power is addictive and us bloggers and tweeters etc all believe that we've tapped into it, we're our own little Howard Beale's shouting out the window. That's it, don't fuck with us, we'll crucify you in social media. Taking down the man like an Austin pilot, but without the commitment.

Except it's all a lie, not a conspiracy lie like Joe Stack believed, but a lie of delusion to ourselves, because nobody really cares what you or I think, because we're essentially the web 2.0 version of "Annoyed in Tunbridge Wells", we're not in a revolution or an evolution, we're in a mevolution. Where the world simply revolves entirely around us each individually in moments of narcissistic joy and we believe we're so important our voices are heard by millions, now that's only going to happen when you construct a blog like this and then follow through. So on reflection and as Roy Castle always said "dedication is all you need", so I promise more dedication in the future.

In the meantime, here's a little music mix for you: Mevolution Playlist

Turkey Soup

2009-12-28T13:45:00.000-08:00

I wish I could devote more time to writing down the blog, but it's been a year of procrastinating and distraction of a high magnitude. Constant small meandering pointless shit that keeps getting in the way of sitting down and writing. I must change this for 2010, because it is only the venting here that is likely to get me through the year.

That said, I'm now finally catching up on all the things I've been missing recently. Finally getting through the stack of programmes that have built up on the HD box.

First up is Flash Forward and 5 eps in, all I want to do is flash forward to the end of the series, I'm as lost as I was in Lost and it is equally as pointless. I just have this nagging sense it's one of those fusilli dramas that twists and turns all over the place to an unsatisfied ending, an ending where you sit slack jawed at the TV as if someone had just spooned out your eyeballs and replaced them with magic eightballs. You have to shake your head to try to retrieve the answer. I also hate Joseph Fiennes, he only has two facial expressions when acting and he looks as if he is the spawn of Ralph Fiennes shagging an Afghan hound.

I'm just wading through the soup of xmas boredom, the turkey soup of boiled carcass and leftovers that is the xmas period, reflecting on the past year and the last decade. The noughties lived up to their name really, does that mean we're entering the tens decade?

Regardless, I'm committing to 4 posts a month minimum this year, whether they're short or uneventful.

Paedophobic

2009-09-28T16:02:00.000-07:00

I've been watching ITV's series To Catch a Paedophile, and whilst a fascinating insight into the work of the specialist police forces that deal with paedophiles, a number of things started to bother me as I watched.

1) The overuse of the word "evil", please name me one occurrence where labelling something "evil" has in any way helped decrease the risk or cure the cause?

2) The graphical profile sheets each time they caught a prospective paedophile. It was like a bizarre stats card you get in American Football during the Super Bowl or Top Trumps, which is the last association you want when making a programme about Paedophiles.

3) It would appear statistically (based on this programme) that the majority of internet grooming paedophiles work in IT and travel by train.

Regardless this is all good work and shining a light on a very important area, but it is a little salacious and tapping into that deep seated fear that all parent's have and one that has been overused by the media to sell that fear.

And I can't help thinking it's all a little too sensationalist because deep down there's a bit of logic that I'm afraid to throw out there (mainly because last time I did someone threatened to kill me), but what the hell, here we go...

As a parent you naturally think your child is special, adorable even and you believe that there are millions of paedophiles out there wanting to, dare I say it, fuck your children, I mean it translates doesn’t it, any wandering paedophile is going to want to fuck your special, adorable, unique, amazing child. I mean from your logic what’s not to like?

And here’s the thought, maybe your child is fucking ugly, maybe a paedophile wouldn’t be attracted to your child? How about that, never thought of it like that did you?

I mean it stands to reason doesn’t it? There’s a lot of fucking ugly people out there, they must have grown from ugly children.
Is it any different to assuming that all gay men want to shag me because I’m a man?
It would be homophobic to assume that wouldn’t it?
Aren’t we being just a little bit paedophobic in our attitudes to this issue?
Should we really be burning down paediatrician’s homes out of fear, which incidentally if you’re going to start a lynch mob, learn to spell!
I think we all need to work towards a proper cure or deterrent, and I have a proposal, some of you seem to be adopting this already.

Feed your kids junk, fuck Jamie Oliver’s school dinners, keep them fat and unattractive, sure they won’t be able to run away but there’s no need as no paedophile is going to want to shag a fat kid.

There, I've vented that appalling thought, but you know it makes sense. I say it as a parent myself, I say it because I strongly believe my children are more at danger of numerous other things (and I can prove it on an etch-a-sketch) than the danger of paedophilia. I'd like these other statistical probabilities that endanger them to get just as much if not more air time than the paedophilia hype, how about To Catch a Bad Teacher? or How to Get Funding for Promised Bypass that would divert artic lorries from driving pass local school etc etc etc.

Come Dine With Me

2009-09-13T13:11:00.000-07:00

We've all been there, that dreaded dinner party where some bright amoeba wants to play the most imaginative conversation piece game known to single cell organisms. Yep, the old "If you could have dinner with any 5 famous people, who would it be?" To then point out the exact ludicrous nature of this parlour game they then quantify that they (the selected) can be alive or dead. I instantly imagine this in my mind's eye a Jeffrey Dahmer dinner party. I often want to ask, if it can be the very same people I'm with, but they're dead instead of alive.

I assume that this game is supposed to be insightful? To somehow psychoanalyse you and your character, a little slice of self analysis that is on a par with the kind of crap that Daisy Goodwin spouts.

The problem is ,and this is the fundamental issue, even if it were possible, it would be a torturous evening because you are still you, you would be the most boring, inane and pointless person at the table. You would stand out a mile. Your slack jawed wonderment would put off the famous guests and you'd sit there drooling over just how special it is to be there. Dribbling like someone post electro-shock therapy and pre-enema mental patient. It's barely worth considering how depressing this situation would be, the table may as well be set with razor blades instead of dessert spoons because you are not going to make it to the final course. So who would I share this moment with, this ritualistic humiliation.

Hmmm, it would have to be this fella and I just pray he's brought the Kool-aid.

Absence Makes The Heart Grow Fonder

2009-09-04T09:50:00.000-07:00

Sorry I have been away so long, I've been very snowed under so far this year. Finishing the script for horror/comedy The Fens, doing some stand-up, preparing a comedy album with FAT Press and lots of incessant tweeting too. Which is where I vent my spleen instantaneously, anyway I was reminded today of the beauty of blogging, so will now return and increase the frequency. That is if I don't keep getting distracted by the fuck nuggets I meet on the train everyday, like this woman:

and I meet them everywhere, society is corrupting every second and Kerri Katona is the barometer, seriously Kerri Katona is the physical embodiment of all that's wrong with our society. The worse it gets, the bigger she'll become. Like some kind of Chav Hulk.

Jade is dead. long live Kerri, Jordan, Jack Tweed, Peter Andre et al.

The Pornography of Celebrity

2009-03-17T02:40:00.000-07:00

I'm flicking through Heat, page after page of grinning morons captured for all eternity by the paparazzo for us to gloat over and try to emulate. They make us strive to be special like them, like Olympus gods gracing us with their presence. Jade Goody with her cod-like lips acting all Athena like, well all the intellectual presence of an Athena poster.

We can't berate Jade Goody anymore, not now she has terminal cancer, it's a no go. She's pulled the ace of spades out of the deck and floored all satirist's. It would be cruel to gloat or mention that she was always the cancer on TV. Even though she herself is benign, the big C within her molecules are not. I pity her, not because she is a celebrity - but because I am human and on a humanistic level I wouldn't wish that fate on anyone, unless in jest of course.

But she has been the pinnacle of my hatred towards our cult of celebrity, our celebration of people so mundane in their existence we thrive on praising or ridiculing them.

Jade may be the queen, but there are plenty of others to fill the inevitable void that will be left by her demise.
As with all Greek mythology, once you cut the head off the monster another will grow in it's place.

So who is the likely candidate, Rebecca Loos according to Heat is off the cards now that she has ceased wanking pigs and settled with a Norwegian doctor. Kerri Katona is more fucked than Iceland and just as barren in celeb stakes.
Has she used up all her woeful tear-laden stories or is there more to milk? Of course there is, not to be out done she now has divorce on the cards, but that doesn't trump cancer in the world of Heat.

It annoys me that Jade Goody has become the face of cancer, so to speak, in this perverse media snuff circus that is taking place. Up until now it had always been people who were courageous and did positive things. Now it's just all about her and in all reality, what did she ever actually bring to the table?

I'm angry because so many better people have fallen prey to this disease that have contributed to society more and their stories are just as tragic. So why make her the poster child? Maybe I'm angry because a dear friend passed recently who was only slightly older than Jade and he was a great teacher and inspiration to many, yet will go fairly unheralded.
We celebrate stupidity far too much in this country and it needs to stop, because it is a fucking distraction from what is really going on.

Moral Dilemma

2008-11-19T13:43:00.000-08:00

I have a dilemma and it's a dilemma of large magnitude that I struggle with everyday. It's about my kids. I look at them and admire their nubile level of innocence, their effervescent zest for life and sense of wonderment at everything that crosses their path. And this is my dilemma, at what point do I burst their bubble and tell them that all people are cunts.
It seems so unfair and so crushing, but to not point this fundamental fact out to them seems irresponsible. Let's assess today:

Woman tutting on train about anyone and everyone even uttering a sound whilst being obnoxiously racist to a helpdesk operative - Cunt.

The man arguing and belittling his wife over spending £2.10 on a sandwich - Cunt.

The 10,000 people outed online as members of the BNP and then moaning about being ostracised for supporting a right wing organisation - cunts.

Paul Dacre trying to argue for a free press because of the Mosley legal precedent - cunt.

Robert Kilroy-Silk being on TV again - cunt and cunts for putting him there.

And that's just the exemplars, we live in a world where cunts thrive and continue to pontificate their ethos to all and sundry because they can. You can't fight them. They outnumber us non-cunts 10 to 1.
Of course I realise this is all in the eye of the beholder and I have an abnormal disdain for the majority of humanity.

I resent life for putting me in this position, I wish I hadn't existed. This journey of awareness is too painful, I've peaked too young. I can't honestly be expected to suffer this existence for another 40 years, to somehow be exposed to this with all my cognitive receptors firing - book me in for a lobotomy now, put me into some Gump like trance, that way I can look my kids in the eyes and tell them life is like a box of chocolates and we live in Disney World.

Call 911

2008-09-11T11:37:00.000-07:00

I'm so sick of 911 or Sept 11th and all it's cottage industry surroundings. Principally the huge number of dire documentaries that make tangible links to the events in 2001. The 911 Hotel, The Man That Predicted 911. We've analysed it from every conceivable angle and we still have learnt nothing about why.

I say this even though I too have a stake in the 911 woefest. My cousin tragically died on that fateful day too, but I do not go on about it. I do not wallow in the personal tragedy as a talking point, because to do so elevates this day to legendary proportions, which is exactly what the terrorists want.

Admittedly my cousin was not a victim of terrorism, he was hit by a tractor down a country lane in Wymondham, but it was on Sept 11th 2001, which is the defining point, the date is far more important than anything else. This has been proven by a recent little PR stunt.

Diverting attention from the point like a Republican Convention, let's centre a little on this issue of Sarah Palin, the new VP elect.

Firstly, is it me or is it deeply cynical to keep re-iterating that your son is going to Iraq on Sept 11th to serve his country?
Amazing that his shipping day happened to be that day and all the connotations and sub psychology attached to it
.
Secondly, is it a severe lack of experience for both security and foreign policy to repeatedly name, show and give rank to where your son is going in Iraq, why not simply paint a target on him - even Prince Charles understands this.

Thirdly, when exactly is she going to outline her politics, rather than spinning faster than a dredel. After all she is quite the advocate of any number of positions.

Drilling for oil in Alaska, pro-life abortion laws, abstinence led sex education (oh the irony) and worse - creationism. That's right, she brings new meaning to the term Palintology. According to Sarah Palin all that lovely oil that was created from compressed jurassic foliage is a gift god put there on the 7th day.

Anyway I digress, the simple fact is the US has allowed the maudling self obsession of 911 to cloud it's thinking on all global politics since it happened and it's rapidly heading towards making the same mistake for another four years. That is the tragedy of 911.

Olympics

2008-08-13T00:29:00.000-07:00

I'm going to start a new Olympic sport in preparation for 2012, it's a sport most people in Britain could excel in, it's called back pedalling and I reckon we could go for gold.

I'm surrounded by some real back pedalling athletes, though they would really have to enter the paralympics as they are spineless back pedallers. Like the Met police, we lack any real conviction in Britain anymore.

Nobody sticks to their ideals, we gradually get watered down like Thatcherite school milk as we get older. Is our timeline just one long transistion into compromise, at the start we're exuberant and effervescent, by the end bitter and twisted? Do we all start off believing in liberalism and socialism and by the end believing nothing more than The Daily Mail?

This is where I refuse to commit to the gradual transistion, I just can't back pedal - I don't have the co-ordination and don't like going backwards. I ripped out my reverse gear years ago after a spate of regressive therapy. I saw it as a pointless exercise, without a DeLorean time machine I wasn't going to change the past, so simply accept it. You either keep living the same story or you write new ones and I prefer to keep writing.

Of course work sometimes forces you to back pedal, usually when you can't win your battle, which is actually a ludicrous proposition, you shouldn't have battles at work - it's just work, save the battles for things that matter in life. Occassionally though things change and you have to change your position, which is really hard when you posess conviction and integrity. I need to be convinced that back pedalling gets you anywhere, from memory as a child learning to ride a bike it just eventually stops you and you fall off.

So I'll keep moving forward and when uncertain, rather than applying brakes or back pedalling, I'll fit some stabilizers - they may slow me down, but I'll get there in the end. I may not win the back pedalling Olympics, but I can still go for gold.

Reasoned Thinking

2008-07-15T00:30:00.000-07:00

Apparently I am too reasonable and it's something I need to work on, I need to put a more concerted effort into being unreasonable. Which in it's self is a slightly odd task as I always thought being reasonable is or was a virtue. Apparently not in this Suralan Sugar inspired world where all good wannabe businessmen and women are in fact all unreasonable cunts.

So how do I start being more unreasonable? It is effectively undoing all my hardwiring, so I feel a little lost. Does it involve shouting a lot or being surly. I know I can do surly with relative ease, but shouting for the sake of it never actually appeals to me, I have a delicate throat that croaks out after one shouted sentence.

Do I just disagree with everyone as an overriding principle and then spout that "I'm just being true" you know, a non-faker. Although me being this way would actually be fake as I'm not naturally like this.

Fuck this is hard, I obviously need to have more multiple personalities than Ted Bundy in order to survive this duplicitous environment.

Do I start being dismissive of all emotions, become more automated in my responses and not show one sign of humanity or empathy?
I could take this to the next level and get one of those speak and spell Tomy toys to bark my orders like a speaking clock. Exterminate, exterminate!

If only it were that simple, I know I am too accomodating. But consolidation shouldn't be a weakness. Maybe I'm right and everyone else is wrong, there is no wisdom of the crowds after all, statistics tell you all that is wrong not a way forward. Maybe the world needs more accomodation, more reason. There certainly isn't any over abundance of it, these virtues shouldn't been seen as weaknesses surely? They should be strengths. To see them as a weakness is surely unreasonable?

My Blogs Bigger Than Yours

2008-06-08T16:23:00.000-07:00

The Importance of Being Honest

2008-05-02T01:16:00.000-07:00

I was presented with an interesting dilemma today, do I rationally argue against a statement and thus respond with a degree of honesty or do I keep my mouth shut and turn the other cheek in that way that only Brits can do and then moan about it later on?

Man on Train: Do you know how important I am?

Me: Hmm, interesting question, and of course a subjective one. With regard to your wife and/ or children I would hazard a guess that you are vastly important, in relation to the human race, not so much.
In relation to me, not at all. Does that answer your query?

Man On Train: (unnerving quiet)

Of course that is the conversation I had with the man on the train after the event and in the comfort of my own imagination. In the moment I just looked skyward and muttered something about the fact that he was sooo important that he didn't travel in first class. Is it dishonest not to vocalise your thoughts in the immediate sense and then play it out later with a different version in your mind or is this all part of how we rationalise communication in today's society? The man was clearly an egotistical twat, the world did not need me to point out such a blinding fact nor would he have been able to take on such a concept. Additionally it's just my opinion based on my value sets and no-one else's.
I wonder about this because we put such weight on "being honest" or to use the parlance of our times "not being fake".

Coupled with this is also an emerging cottage industry of psychotherapy called Cognitive Behavioural Therapy or CBT which capitalises on the notion of rational and balanced thought in such situations. Which seems to be about de-programming all of the crap we have been systematically taught about being fearful, paranoid and neurotic. It promises a reverse trend from The Age of Panic we currently reside in, however it seems nothing more than teaching you how to think normally. The fact that it is so widespread would indicate we are a nation of abnormal thinkers, hence the importance of being honest.

Who Man?

2008-04-28T12:31:00.000-07:00

I don't get this thing called "The Human Condition", it's always stated like an affliction bestowed upon us by a vengeful sentient being. As if being human or displaying humanity was a nasty by-product of our existence as a collection of molecules. Maybe our constant re-iteration of this so-called condition is why we seem to shrug off our humanity with such contempt and why we dismiss all reference to it. Our tabloids always shriek about the absurdity of the Human Rights Act as if it's a stupid notion that humans have rights, that our desire to protect ourselves from inhumanity is wrong.
We always emphasise the resource element of Human Resources and identify those resources as expendable and just whitewash over the human element as it is such a dirty word. We afford batteries more soul than ourselves, we say that batteries die, we never say they are redundant.
I note all of these observations, because we seem to have overlooked some important principles in our lives, we've become so obsessed with other things that we are rapidly overlooking what makes us interesting. We are throwing our humanity onto the bonfire and revelling in our inhumanity, we are obsessing with the value of our houses, cars, bank accounts etc. Obsessing over our status, our competition, our religion.
Do we think that we can cure this condition we call Human by eradicating it with meaningless distractions? Because eventually we will, but the cure is called extinction.

Sprung Spring

2008-04-18T11:15:00.000-07:00

Spring has sprung, as have the guts of the bird that has just hit the fender of my car. The start of spring in my rural retreat is always heralded by roadkill season, a time when new creatures, unaware of roads or cars stagger out and get mown down by speeding idiots desperate to get to work. The road I drive along is like some vista from a Francis Bacon painting or the denouement of a Wes Craven movie. The road is literally littered with severed carcasses of all types of creature great and small, an animal menagerie of intestines, limbs and gore. I keep waiting for the retired fox hunters to come out in droves and revel in the scene, breathing in and bathing in the animal decay to remind them of better times.
Now I'm not sure exactly what type of bird I hit, but already I feel huge pangs of guilt. This is my second kill on the road, and despite what hitman or war film movies tell you, it doesn't get easier the second time. The first kill was a hare, a real Bright Eyes moment, it's arse had become embedded in the grill and as rigor mortis set in became an interesting hood ornament. A few months later I narrowly missed a small deer, swerving round at the last moment and cheating death for both of us, wondering when some preposterous Final Destination cliche was going to catch up with me.
Which it did with a local resident who scooped up a muntjack carcass to cook, not realising that they release a toxin from their hooves upon death that if not hung and dressed correctly will kill you upon consumption. So don't let the roadkill kill you.

Bernard's School Dinners

2008-04-08T10:39:00.000-07:00

I'm sitting on the train with a gang of Belezebub's planning their next devilish task with such amoral panache it's sickening. They pass around their concepts and giggle like a gaggle of school children who are their next intended victims, they are the Chechnyan rebels of marketing.

Packed Munch and Turkey Talk is the newsletter they are devising. It is aimed at kids to be distributed in school canteens and is clearly the counter strike to Jamie Oliver's attack on Turkey Twizzlers. It's only at concept stage at the moment they bray, the copy inserted is all a tongue in cheek commentary on Bernard Matthews problems with meat importing, but will be changed post-concept. Not a soul between them, only a bunch of assholes. Their knowing at the evil they concoct is the most depressing, tossing out arrogant banter like a team of Apprentice hopefuls. If only Alan Sugar was here to fire the lot of them, the world would be safe from their venom.
I hate marketing people, they have such an air of self importance despite the fact the world would be a better place without them. Freud would spin in his grave if he could see the bastardization of his psychoanalysis principles being applied to sell junk food and other crap to kids.

I wonder if we can ever return to a pre-Edward Bernays world, where things were sold based on their function rather than subliminal false desire which is embedded into every hateful message spewed out onto this world from so-called consultants. I don't recall being consulted, I must of missed that meeting?

I want to lean in to the Turkey concept meeting to suggest that they hire Craig Meehan as a mascot, but somehow am too scared that they might actually take me up on the idea.

My Guardians

2008-03-17T11:28:00.000-07:00

I find social gatherings perplexing affairs, unless I know everybody there very closely. So to me, the concept of dinner party soirees are about as appealing as a week under the care of a US Rendition operation. Yet I still find myself being absconded to them against my will.

I think it is my aversion of small talk that has me sweating with anhedonia at the mere thought of "let's get together for dinner". It is the banal witterings of the chattering classes that makes me want to swallow my own tongue and die face first into the gazpacho soup.

"Did you read Lucy Mangan's article, this week?"

"No" I replied.

"Oh you should, she writes these great insightful......"

Don't fucking patronise me with your Sixth Form bleatings about how you've just discovered the fucking Guardian! I know what it is, I sometimes read it, often alongside books, you know those things that the Guardian reviews?

Jesus wept, I'd had about all I could take of The Guardian says this and The Guardian says that and ooohh isn't The Guardian just about the best social commentator since ...... It made me want to start reading The Daily Mail, just to counteract this turgid assault on my sensibilities. To bring some insurgency to the proceedings and skull fuck the vacuous automaton just RSS feeding me the entire contents of today's Guardian.

Am I over-reacting? Am I being over sensitive to the art of conversation?
Maybe.
I like to form my own conversation though and not just cut and paste a load of op-ed pieces from a newspaper and re-iterate them parrot fashion to appear interesting, because ultimately it's not.

I don't like people telling me what is fascinating and interesting, because contrary to popular belief, it is a subjective viewpoint and I don't care about the things you care about. We're different. I don't bother you with fascinating aspects of serial killer profiling or Andrew Keen's theories on Web 2.0 or Chomsky's Modular Approaches To The Study Of The Mind. They are likely to be only fascinating to me and not that interesting to you. See how that works?

So I am destined to spend my time at these events looking on like a Guppy frozen in formaldehyde, only able to affect a slight nod of recognition to what is being said, whilst inside another piece of my soul dies and I wonder where my guardians are to protect me...

A Facebook Plea

2008-03-07T12:11:00.000-08:00

Please look at the picture, read what he has to say, then don't forward this message on. I am a 32 year old man with little patience. As I get older my patience wears even thinner and my time becomes more precious. Maybe if everyone reads this, someone will see my point. That is the great thing about the internet, you can send stuff really easily without any thought. The internet circulates even overseas, South America , and Canada etc. Please do not pass this to everyone in your address book.
With GOD on my side maybe this relentless chain mail on Superwalls and Funwalls will stop. "I am asking you all, begging you to please stop forwarding these begging emails to me or on to anyone and
everyone you know, PLEASE. It is still not too late. Please
help me. All prayers are appreciated! It only takes 2 seconds
to forward this and even longer to delete it, remember that. I am still inundated with Mohammed the travelling bears and Dogs that you forward to see what happens, don't be a moron, nothing happens, and for the real oxygen thieves out there don't send it again because you didn't think it worked the first time. If it was your time, you would want all the help you could get!!
I don't mean to sound bitter, cold, or cruel, but I am, so that's how it comes out.

Additionally every time you forward one of these junk posts you open up your data for mining, noticed an increase in spam recently???

Lustmord

2008-03-03T12:05:00.000-08:00

Serial killers are really making a comeback this month in a mid nineties renaissance type way, let's hope a number of other mid nineties cultural phenomenon don't follow suit such as Carter USM and Snake Bite Black.

Just as Morgan Freeman thought he had finally stopped playing downtrodden police detectives chasing the unseen maniacal beasts, they pop up again in the public consciousness again.

Maybe Steven "The Suffolkator" Wright and Levi "If I Had a Hammer" Bellfield were inspired by the mid to late nineties boom in serial killer TV and films and saw an opening in the job market, after all the killers are always far more interesting than the actual investigation.

Of course drama serial killers are always much more inventive than your actual real life killers, a quick watch of Wire in the Blood or the Saw series just shows that there are more inventive sociopaths in the Writer's Guild than there are on the streets, which is worrying given the recent writer's strike, where has the outlet been for their psychopathic tendencies of late??

Anyway the first real contender in this post-modern serial killer rennaissance is the TV series Dexter, currently screening on ITV. It is a brilliant tongue-in-cheek take on the standard cat and mouse game of detective and killer, because the detective is a serial killer, the titular Dexter. Honing his craft by observing others. It has all the dark humour of American Psycho mixed with a standard of TV Drama paved by The Sopranos. Miss it at your peril...

Super Wednesday

2008-02-06T12:36:00.000-08:00

In the spirit of the US primaries, I am rebranding today as a special day, a day that only great things can happen, why?

Well it's the only way I can engage with it, see how great rebranding is! Got a problem? Just give it another name and it becomes a solution, that's how simple this marketing lark is. I'm thinking of rebranding myself to become a brand consultant, I could sort out the worries of the world, because rhetoric is so much simpler than actual action.

First up is the current economic downturn, far too much negativity in the words recession, downturn or slowdown and sub prime market sounds like an offshoot of Primark, so we need to rebrand it to sublimate the masses. How about houseboom? There is a sudden boom in affordable housing as overpriced homeowners default on their loans and houses are repossesed by the banks and then put back on the market for lower value, suddenly the market opens up for a whole bunch of hapless people who couldn't afford it before, house boom. We could run ads like DFS, was 999 now 399!

Second up is ASBO's, people don't like the connotation of Anti-social or the word order, all sounds so nihilistic and besides what does it actually mean? I mean so much is covered under the term, it has such brand confusion. Most people want it to mean wayward kids, not foul mouthed grannies. Also ASBO's sounds a bit supermarket, as in every little helps. Which we know to be untrue. So how about HALO's (Helping Adolescents Live Optimistically). It's a more positive message and evokes angels, which we hope all wayward kids will become under the scheme.

See how simple this brand marketing is, I'm off to offer my services now to BBC 3, they fucking need it!!!

Ramblings of an Insomniac

2008-02-03T14:56:00.000-08:00

The Point

2008-01-28T09:55:00.001-08:00

January is a time for reminiescing, and I am suddenly reminded of the 1971 animated classic "The Point". In this film Oblio is born into a town of the pointy headed people with a round head. He is outcast from birth and forced to wear a pointed hat to blend in. His only friend is a pointed dog named Arrow. When it is discovered that his head is really round, the evil pointmeister has Oblio thrown out of the town into the wilderness to fend for himself. Here he learns life's lessons and meets some very unusual characters ala 'Wizard of Oz'. He finally returns to the town amid a great uproar, his hat is removed by the evil pointmeister and, to everyone's surprise, his head is pointed. But then a miracle happens and everyones pointed head dissolves away and everyone is round headed.
Now whilst I am sure the allegory intended is one of acceptance, for me Oblio's quest for a point in a world of points resonates. What and where is my point? For I feel slightly lost in a sea of points unable to anchor upon my own. This is not some what is the point of my life as I am perfectly happy that my children and my wife give me purpose and fulfillment, but more what is my point in the sociological sense? Everybody else seems to have points, some even have powerpoints! But it doesn't help me work out mine, despite the clip art visual representations. I also feel a little bit of an outsider, a round headed kid in a world of pointy headed people. Do I just need to conform and then I will find my point or realise that conforming is pointless, along with everyone else eventually. Is it just January being too long a month and this residual sadness being a bi-product of the christmas comedown? I'm not sure and already I am struggling with even my point for this post....

Fuck It

2008-01-24T01:06:00.000-08:00

I don't often proclaim such obvious sentiment, but today really does encapsulate the simple ideology of "Fuck it", what's the point?
There I was bouncing and singing the virtues of human endeavour and enlightenment, day 2 I'm brought down to earth like a Newtonian apple and smacked for being so idealistic.
How so, you ask?
Usually I am a glass is half full kind of person, even if it's a rain gauge in the Sahara, so I generally err on giving a situation the benefit of doubt, believing that inside every single human being is a nugget of goodness, kind of like a finger of fudge from Cadbury's. I would even go as far to say that serial killers, despite their obvious flaws at least have dedication, and according to Roy Castle that's all you need. So everybody has their positives.
Unfortunately, this messianic approach to seeing the good in everyone has not always bode me well.
Not because it is a bad stance to take, but because it is so fucking time consuming. These people will suck your time away like a black hole vortex in the space time continuum, they will pack your bags for you and take you on that around the world guilt trip, their neediness or downright stubborness holds no bounds.
I suppose this makes sense, after all it's hardly going to be their well honed interpersonal skills that prevented them from falling into dysfunctional anti-social dystopia is it?
But why me, why can't I just be surrounded by people that are able but nobody's given a chance to yet, why am I some kind of magnet to the woefully inept? I try and try to see the good, but am constantly left disappointed because my belief in them is misguided and probably arrogant because I believe I can bring the best out of them like some tutor in Dead Poets Society, well I'm not Professor Higgins so maybe I should just give up and direct them to a Bebo chat room where they may find a better solution. The oddchild has given up.

January Blues

2008-01-21T11:51:00.000-08:00

The world is coming apart, well it is if you believe the tabloid hype spiralling around at the moment. We're all going to hell in a hand basket and doom and gloom is the order of the day.
ASBO's, knife crime, shootings, paedophiles, global terrorism...There's a whole pick and mix of things for your January depression.
So as you debate your New Year's Resolutions and how trying to live on Ryvita will be worth it. Maybe we should stop for a moment and just evaluate exactly how bad things are or rather not. Maybe and just maybe, there's a lot more to get excited by, than depressed by. Maybe the mass media has to peddle depression to keep us hooked into believing our lives are controlled and belittled by all these devastating factors, that resistance is futile. Which when evaluated seems pretty stupid, because we can all make the world a better place, one person at a time. So what if a number of politicians make mistakes, think of all those that don't. Think of all the thousands of teenagers that are not mewling rat boy ASBO's and are actively bettering themselves to make a better society, think of all of the pleasant and able immigrants that are contributing to our society both economically and sociologically. The hundreds of trains, planes and other public transport services that manage to get to their destinations on time unheralded. Or the millions of people actively reducing their carbon emissions and actively recycling. Because statistically the positives are out weighing the negatives, we have just become fixated with the negatives and the negatives sell more papers. It's easier to be a critic than proactive, easier to damn than be enlightened, so rather than a crash diet to fulfill a body image. Maybe it's time to feed the soul a little more with the milk of human endeavour?

Ill Communication

2007-12-18T00:33:00.000-08:00

Communication is a lovely concept and one we allude to as the pinnacle of human evolution. But scratch away at the thin veneer and you are faced with something as dysfunctional as the Manson Family annual get together.

We all pontificate about the glories of communication, interaction and technologies ability to put all of this within fingertip reach, but what does it actually mean?

We as a nation are probably the most repressed communicators of the world other than the tongueless tribe of Tonga, we simply can't do it effectively without introducing multiple levels of complexity and nuances of double meaning. Why is that?

I need an enigma machine just to get through most conversations, a babel fish to interpret the difference between what people say and what they mean. It amazes me how often people say one thing whilst all their body language says something else, who are they trying to kid? Is it me or are they trying to lie to themselves?

The one time where the repressed self escapes is when intoxicated with alchohol and at this time of year at a multitude of xmas parties all the true thoughts and feelings come out. It's not that alchohol makes people obnoxious, it just reveals their true nature in the same way that success does. Success doesn't corrupt people, it just reveals who they were all along, unchecked by anyone within their entourage to tell them they are an arsehole. Alchohol creates your own entourage in your head, you see, it allows all the inner voices to tell you how right you are and how great you are, allowing your true oppressed inner twat to speak out.

So have a conversation with your inner twat before imbibing at your upcoming xmas parties, so the rest us don't have to.

Boys In Blue

2007-12-17T11:44:00.000-08:00

I met the Boys from Blue the other night, this is not be confused with the Boys in Blue, which would be the police (although they were involved too).

No I mean the defunct boy band Blue, admittedly it was only half of Blue, which is a kind of Cyan, known as Lee and Simon. Admittedly this is hardly any big Heat gossip scoop, and hardly big celebrities (tiny in fact, like a couple of coiffed Oompa Loompas), but they are known and therefore worth writing about as there is no other currency like celebrity no matter how faded or out of circulation it has been.

So I saw them in a club, probably trying to score some Rohypnol for some star struck lady and they were "rolling deep" with a hefty entourage. Anyway before I knew it they were fighting with another large group of oxygen thieves, a full on brawl that impressed no-one other than themselves. But hey, I got some Blue blood splashed over my shirt, which in our celebrity obsessed culture is akin to the Turin Shroud. Anyway the Boys from Blue ran away from the Boys in Blue, but at least I got this souvenir, e-bay here I come....

Next week Kaotic Oddchild will attempt to get someone from Five's DNA on him and will then clone his own Blue/ Five combo to star in next year's X Factor (he knows an Emo who can write a good sob story for them).

Encounters of an Emo Kind

2007-12-17T11:32:00.000-08:00

I used to think an Emo was a foppish haired narcoleptic 80's comedian or the thing that flapped about at the end of Rod Hull's arm, I now realise how wrong I have been, like an uneducated fool I stumbled around not knowing the truth, until last night that is....

Last night I was initiated into all things Emo, which to be honest, just seemed to me to be a half arsed mix of Goth and Grunge, rebranded for another benign youth group wanting to be cool and individual. Of course I made the mistake of making contact, I was curious and intrigued by this odd Gollum creature sat before me, all sullen and angst ridden.

I looked down at his bag, whilst he touched up his black nail polish, the bag had all manner of statements scrawled across it, the one that took my eye was: Peace is the only battle worth waging.

"So are you working on World Peace then, or are you mainly working on the bag?" I enquired without thought, or rather I thought I said it silently in my head as a thought, where actually I had said it.

"You so don't get it." He exclaimed and he was right, I didn't, I never have gotten sub culture groupings. They seem to defy the very thing they aim to be, which is being individual. How exactly you achieve individualism through dressing exactly like others in a group, seems like fighting for peace or fucking for virginity, counter productive. Punk always seemed lilke armchair anarchism to me, every punk I ever knew ended up working in IT, which if my own IT department is anything to go by, means they finally achieved total anarchy through technology, the cyberpunk offshoot who always know all the lines to Blade Runner and The Matrix.

Anyway, back to the Emo in his self absorbed little world, his so-called emotional hardcore world, where everyone else doesn't get him. Where he is only a razor blade away from showing the world how cruel it is, or he will pass through this phase and in ten years time little Tristram will be managing some hedge fund and fucking the world over because all self absorbtion will eventually metamorphosis into selfish capitalism. Then his only battle will be with his own soul.

Festive Val

2007-09-26T11:02:00.000-07:00

Val was a cheesy quaver of biblical proportions, goose stepping around shouting "ave it" and "safe" with a tourette's like tic.
Nobody really understood Val, but grinned inanely in acknowledgement of her. That was all they could do, how else could you respond to somebody bleeping out such strange script, "sketchy" "itchy, safe, innit". She made as much sense as a twitching R2 D2, with no C3PO to interpret.

She of course couldn't help it, she was a product of her childhood. She had been heavily influenced by computer games as a child. An avid Pac Man player she had finally proved to be the missing link for behavioural psychologist's theory of imitative behaviour. With Val there was a direct correlation, it would transpire that many hours spent running around in dark rooms, munching pills and listening to repetitive electronic music was to be prophetic for her adult life.

What Val didn't realise though, was the simple fact that her "phat" catchphrases were endearing in her early twenties, but now were as irritating as listening to Jonathan King sing I Did It My Way in a Skegness karoke bar.
Rave was as dead as disco and she had become another throwback cliche in a neverending flesh mountain of wannabe reality TV talent. A time capsule that hadn't been buried, causing a retro blip in the delicate space time continuum.
Val had to retire, retreat to the place where old fashions go to die, the only place where hippies, punks, goths, teddy boys and mods could co-exist without the use of a DeLorean. She had to go to Norwich....

Small Tourette's

2007-09-13T00:37:00.000-07:00

I have just spent 2 weeks at home in my rural abode and been the victim of a strange phenomenon, an abundance of small talk. Having lived in London for 10 years I have never had to endure this before, it is a quite disconcerting experience.
I feel like I have been walking around with a neon sign pasted to my back saying "please talk to me about anything you wish" like some kind of conversation samaritan.
It has happened everywhere I go, I first noticed it when I took my son swimming, out of the blue another child started talking to me about Crocodile Dundee, I looked around as I thought he was talking to someone else,the little Robert de Niro in my head "You talkin' to me?" Indeed he was and I soon realised that for the next 10 mins whilst I queued for a water slide I was going to have to listen to his critique of Paul Hogan's blockbuster from the 80's. Each step up the stairway was one step closer to freedom, why had his parents not taught him about talking to strangers, after all I could be Harold Shipman or Fred West for all he knew, though I can't imagine either going to a wet and wild fun park. Thankfully he jumped on the slide and announced "I bet I can go faster than you!" Well let's see if you can, want a push? No sooner had he descended out of view into the spiralling water tunnel, the lifeguard saw an opportunity to have a chat also. What was going on? You're surely confusing me with someone who gives a shit and secondly I have no prepared small talk banter to return, I'm just reduced to nodding saying oh yes and that's right like little bleeps from R2D2.
"I never use the whistle" he suddenly exclaimed, "not me". How am I supposed to respond to this information tourette's? 10 years of London has conditioned me to shuffle away from unsolicited conversation as it is usually a sign of mania, to even look at another human being breaks the whole delicate social fabric. "Me neither, don't even own one" I retort as I quickly jump down my escape chute.

Then it became a constant stream where ever I went, in the supermarket checkout the till operator starts telling me all the countries she has visited, completely unprompted. What happened to being on the phone and just holding out your hand for the money (I never did work out who London shopkeepers were on the phone to at 3am constantly). At the customer services queue a man starts asking me what I do for a living, amazingly he actually knows someone who works for me, though never tells me how. All this information is too much for me to take, I can handle "what about this weather eh" but intimate details of your life and probing questions I cannot, leave me alone.

Is it me? Do I have a face that says "tell me about your day"? Or is it simply that outside of London people are more friendly? I'm not sure, because the worrying thing is I have also had people try to embrace me in their racism, homophobia, xenophobia and BNP dogma too, and how do you respond to racist small talk without getting into a blaring row?

Ironically the one thing that has irritated me more than anything is the woman in my local bakery, who I see very regularly and has never said a single word or even smiled at me, with all this small talk around she could at least say hello, I know it's hypocritical, but I want to have my cake and eat it and a little small talk along the way there wouldn't hurt.

Tony H Wilson RIP

2007-08-20T13:59:00.000-07:00

Lots has been written in the last week or so about the late great Tony Wilson, arguably the architect of the Madchester music scene as detailed in 24 Hr Party People. I suppose all I can say on the matter is that the music created from that time was the soundtrack to my teens and for that I will always be thankful to him. It takes a lot of courage to back something you believe in, there may be the truth, but with Tony the legend will always live on. Below are a few tributes to him from those that knew him.

Suicide is Painless

2007-08-19T23:43:00.000-07:00

Suicide is such an attractive proposition, it's the ultimate get out clause and highly attractive in this day and age of diminished responsibilty. With so many ways to do it too, it is one of life's rare decisions that is not prescriptive.
But is it an actual solution? Sure it gets you out of the moment that is causing all the consternation so you do not have to deal with consequences, but what after that? Is choosing death over life much of a way to solve an issue, it maybe a quick fix or absolution of sorts but never really gets to the nub of the problem. If you do it to show the world you had no option, that life or a situation was so unbearable then the statement is probably wasted.
In the unfolding events of someone's suicide, most people harbour a selfish desire to connect themselves to the tragedy and pontificate about how you seemed so happy and how could we possibly know they were unhappy, it all descends in being about me, me, me at the exact time you were trying to make a statement about you. This is the nature of people, like a conversation where the other person is not listening but merely waiting for their opportunity to speak, your death is merely an opportunity for others to wallow in self pity and self analysis.

As with every other aspect of consumer society, their is so much choice in the suicide arena. Razor blades, pills, bridges, exhaust fumes, noose and trains. It's enough distraction to prevent you from your actual goal. It would appear that the popular choice of today's would be suicide is the trusty old train, guaranteed to knock you off this mortal coil quickly and succinctly, given the evidence of my train journeys this is very popular in the East Anglia region. Please stop it is very inconvenient. Try some of the other methods at your disposal which will give you success and still allow me to get to work on time, that way suicide can truly be painless.

King of the Underworld?

2007-08-17T14:38:00.000-07:00

There is something so wrong about this. I've always had a problem with Jonathan King since Entertainment USA and then all his legal problems. So having served his time I kinda expected he would just slink away, humiliated, now this just seems a rather pathetic and desperate attempt to court controversy. Catchy tune though...

Children of the Revolution

2007-08-10T01:07:00.000-07:00

Looking around at the mewling, scowling rat boy ASBO children that seem to litter our streets and fill our media. I wonder where we went wrong. We live in a society now with more criminality than any other country in Europe, we have created more laws in the last 10 years than the previous 100 to try and deal with it and we constantly debate the reasons behind it. The middle classes will argue that it is deficiencies in education, poverty, opportunity and a culture of incarceration to resolve problems.
Whilst these are contributory factors, it is not the reason. There is one simple reason that most seem to ignore. Parenting.

We have gradually eroded the skills of parenting and ignored it's importance since the sixties and now after several generations are reaping what we sowed.
This is not a debate of beating or not beating your children, but one of knowing how to structure parameters, set boundaries and socialise our children.

Most parents will say, "you don't know how difficult it is to be a parent", I would ask why would anyone think it would be easy. Just because it is easy to create a child, doesn't mean it is easy to raise and nurture one. The first 7 years are draining, exhausting, frustrating but also incredibly rewarding long term.

When watching some programme like Brat Camp or ASBO queens or even Big Brother, it strikes me often that the bad behaviour witnessed is essentially a toddler's behaviour in an adult's body, these are examples of a extreme lack of parenting.

Having a toddler myself, I constantly witness parents negotiating with their 2 year olds, begging them to be good or bribing them. I see parents making excuses for their child's behaviour and not taking responsibility or not willing to accept criticism. These all lead to the problems later on.

So how do we counteract it, many parents admittedly are at their wit's ends dealing with their children or are simply oblivious, but what can we expect when we have eradicated that skillset within society, who is going to pass these skills down? Supernanny?

Maybe instead of spending millions on jails and re-education programmes etc, maybe we should invest in the root cause and provide parenting classes to re-invigorate the notion of socialising and creating a sense of responsibility with our future generations. Because punishing and incarcerating later in life is just too late and behaviour cannot be controlled through pure legislation alone.

Jaws

2007-08-08T23:55:00.000-07:00

I would never need a bigger boat like Roy Schneider in Jaws for one pure and simple reason. You would never get me in the water knowingly or unwittingly with a shark. They would be able to smell my one part fear in the million parts of water in a dash. People have always thought my morbid fear of sharks was irrational, that every brush of seaweed against my foot was just that and not the doll like eyes of a Great White as I predicted.
But now my fears do not seem so inflated as those that taunted me in youth thought. For a 12ft Great White has been spotted in the very water I was swimming and surfing in a couple of weeks ago down in Cornwall.

The sheer thought of what might have happened brings cold beads of sweat to my back like the sound of Robert Shaw's scratching fingernails on a blackboard in the film that gave me my phobia.
It is the reason I have never wanted to got to Australia and never venture far from the shore when swimming.

It is of course an irrational fear, like so many of my fears. But I take consolation that my fears are all generally stupid things like Great White's and planes crashing, because they are not crippling fears or preventative fears.

So many people fear rational things that prevent them from enjoying life, they fear rejection, humiliation, failure, death and strangely success. I am happy that I have or will embrace all of these as a matter of course or as part of what makes me human and continue to only fear those things that are unlikely to ever happen.

Barry Scott

2007-07-27T01:03:00.000-07:00

The concept of amactors (amateur actors)and prosumers (producer/ consumers) is getting on my nerves like Charley Says in the BB house.

I don't care about Barry Scott or all these other bleeding thesps that seem to litter daytime TV with their awful advertorials. There must be hundreds of Butlins this year missing their summer stock entertainers as they have all got jobs presenting get into debt quickly propositions.

Why are we surrounded by so much mediocrity these days? We've gradually slipped into some weird state of apathy about any level of intelligent, well produced or considered entertainment/ advertising. We have given up the ghost. We seem to herald the Howard's of Halifax and Brian's of BB as heroes who defy the the perceived intelligentsia stranglehold, like some civil uprising of the masses. But that's where we are so wrong, because with the carefully applied game theory of allowing you to think this way, control is so much easier. Go back to sleep Britain, we have made your decisions for you.

Vacation

2007-07-17T12:31:00.000-07:00

I'm supposed to be on holiday, but what does holiday mean these days, thanks to the crackberry e-mails can still hunt me down like Woodward and Bernstein, tormenting and teasing me to open them like a 6 year old on Christmas Eve.
It seems easier to just sort through them and eradicate the junk in the evenings of my holiday than deal with the bursting inbox when I get back, but this type of validation is typical of a workaholic and it scares me...

Could I be addicted to working?

45 Minutes

2007-07-11T12:03:00.000-07:00

I've been catching up on Girl With a One Track Mind's blog and watching her meteoric rise as Britain's explicit answer to Carrie Bradshaw and it got me thinking that the only true way to get your blog noticed from obscurity is to write about sex.

Obvious really when you think about it, so in the vein of Alastair Campbell, I think it's time to sex it up a little to get the point across.

And therein lies the problem, what have I got to say? I came from a family that didn't discuss sex, therefore never discussed it myself. It was just something you did and never elaborated upon.
My parents had a whole host of euphemisms for sex, which took me years to work out. I just thought they were surreal in a Monty Pythonesque way when they discussed sex,"I want you to play my pink oboe" seemed like a genuine request from my father to my mother, and he would try to come up with anagrams to disguise sexual words, I eventually broke his enigma code though when I heard my mother pant out "Yeah, lick my solicitor". Now I knew they didn't have a lawyer in there and I realised my dad in his dyslexic logic had thought an anagram of clitoris was solicitor, but it did make sense in a way as a solicitor is a bit of a cunt, as is a clitoris.

So how do I sex up this blog? Do I pepper it with sordid details of sexual encounters? Do I graphically detail techniques such as the guy I knew who created a vagina substitute with a jam jar and a pound of raw liver?

Or do I make up some wildly inflated lie like we could be in danger of attack within 45 minutes? I may need to do some more research and buy Alistair's diaries....(To Be Continued)

Life 3.0

2007-07-10T10:57:00.000-07:00

So do we now live entirely online?

I have been deprived of broadband for 3 days now and already starting to get withdrawal symptoms. When did my life turn into bit rates and xml data?

Thanks to the brilliance of Ofcom de-regulation, offshore call centres and the gradual descent of all customer service into a George A Romero dystopian world. I can't do a bloody thing without a wireless 8gb pipe to the interweb. Fuck electricity and water I need my web 2.0!

It's not that I have a Second Life online, it's that I don't have a life offline. I suddenly realise all my entertainment is online through Last.FM, Finetune, You Tube, Sofa Cinema and Joost. All my communications are through Skype, hotmail, gmail and groupwise. All my financial affairs and accounts are only accessed online and then my social life is kept in touch with Facebook and Blogger!

And somewhere I got conned into all of this, I gradually eradicated all the real tangible things in my life to make my life easier apparently. Why actually talk to people when you can keep in contact from a distance and in the comfort of your own home.
Simply add the mild acquaintances in your life to facebook re-branded as friends and then keep them in the loop to your mundane existence by status updates. Whilst you would never meet them for a drink or pick up the phone to speak to them, you would happily hoarde them in a game of top trumps to your virtual social network. I wonder if when I die I can have just an apple mac at the funeral with all my facebook friends in attendance, who will update my status to say Kaotic Oddchild is...dead.

Will I have a Second mid-Life crisis? Will I be forced to endure another 3hrs of Bach and Shiny Happy People whilst on hold to the telephone banking because I have no internet to bank with?

Or will Talk,Talk do just that instead of Listen, Listen to the thousands of complaints about their piss poor service and put me back online please.

This rant was serviced by the tiny blackberry keyboard and crappy GPRS connection that I have at my disposal.

Dante's One

2007-07-03T15:39:00.000-07:00

So I finally realised where One railway get their name from: level one of Dante's Inferno.
And it's not the delays that get to me or the ludicrous fare structure or lack of customer service.com, but rather the journey it's self...

Tonight is a prime example, creeping through Essex I am subjected to the most odious prick I have had to endure for quite some time. Literally going through his entire address book on his crackberry and calling each one of his Allllriiiight Maaaaate's and going on and on about what a smart little smug cunt he is for getting a job with Lloyd TSB under the nose of his unwitting current employers, but that the deal wasn't final until some référence checks were done. I could see his current employers must be beside themselves for losing such a self serving twat, I wonder if they hired the head hunter themselves and this oxygen thief just hasn't cottoned on yet. But his new team who are "as sweet as" and are "well on his wavelength" will be even sweeter when he fires half of them in his first month just to make a "statement of where he's coming from".
Whilst as interesting as all of this is, the reason I mention it, is that the sheer volume of his conversation echoed throughout the carriage.If he is under the insane delusion anyone is interested in his mundane life, then write a blog and delude yourself that people read it (like me), don't pollute my atmosphere with your Patrick Bateman aspirations. My only consolation was that the time he spent on the phone was probably just long enough to start cultivating a much needed brain tumour.
Then came act 2 in the symphony of the morons, an even louder American women announcing her entire life story to the carriage, and detailing how she was on her way to Surrey for the weekend (the train was going to Norfolk) for a "rampant time", the unlucky beau had obviously had a narrow escape. Eventually after another half hour her pre-pay ran out (which she detailed to everyone, one commuter chimed "There is a god!").
Noticing a moment of silence our likely lad quickly speed dialled another Maaaaattttteee and proceeded to detail how he was going to fiddle the CSA out of having to give his ex-wife child support, after all why should he and his new 18 year old shop assistant be deprived of their holiday to Magaluf? Where they will inevitably embark on a week long exercise of unprotected sex and produce another unwanted child onto the ever growing, mewling, scum mountain of disaffected fatherless youths with a twat dressed as Batman at the summit.
At this point my eyes rolled and drifted to the man opposite and his reading material which compromised of Islamic texts, newspaper cuttings et al. I prayed to God, Allah and Buddha that this was Al Qaeda come to take me away from this recurring hell of a train journey, alas it was a university professor and we click-clacked up the track further to the serene accompaniment of Hello Maaaaatttteee!!!

Tony's Farewell

2007-06-28T06:34:00.000-07:00

Big Niggaz

2007-06-07T11:44:00.000-07:00

Big Brother does it again, this time with a middle class Peaches Geldof wannabe uttering the dreaded "n' word in a blatant display of attempted eubonics and streetcred. Which is probably more offensive than the actual word, West London middle class twats being down wid their niggaz and smoking blunts and drinking 40's. We don't live in LA, although a drive by the BB house wouldn't go unheralded. How much more effluence are we going to have to suffer from this awful programme? Oh the irony that the UK head of BB's production company, Peter Bazalgette's great grandfather invented London's sewer system, history truly does repeat it's self.

Commercial Break

2007-06-05T22:42:00.000-07:00

Time for a nostalgic commercial break....

Lonely Was The Ballad

2007-05-03T13:05:00.001-07:00

It's pretty easy to condemn and vilify the recent shooting spree in Virginia. We can use a multitude of adjectives to construct our tabloid headline sentiments, but why does this keep happening? The NRA will pronounce "Guns don't kill people, I do" and Michael Moore will take the piss "from my cold dead hand" and so it goes...

But the number of fatalities is not the important issue, the guns and bullets are not the issue and the police incompetence is not the issue. The issue is why?

It is to easy to say the individual is warped and evil and it does little to explain the rationale, Brenda Ann Spencer, who killed 2 people and wounded nine others in a school shooting back in 1979, famously gave her reasoning as I Don't Like Mondays. Little else to explain her rationale.

We never got an explanation from Thomas Hamilton, about Dunblane, although speculation surrounds the town's whispers of him being a paedophile and him exacting a Pied Piper of Hamlyn revenge has largely been unfounded. The same is true of Michael Ryan and the Hungerford Massacre, but one common element seems to be true, they were all people tipped over the edge.

Most lone gunmen are your typical Narcissitic Personality Disorder with only the slightest thing required to snap the delicate framework, and I suppose the reason I flippantly mentioned empathising with the Korean guy in South Virginia, is because he left a detailed message as to his reasoning, which was very much being annoyed at being treated so indifferently by the faculty and being spit upon by fellow students, so whilst I don't agree with the outcome I can understand or rather empathise at being really annoyed with someone because of the way they treat you, or alternatively I was maybe just being satirical.

Stalkers

2007-05-03T13:05:00.000-07:00

Mullins and I down at Oddchild HQ have had an interesting week of internet stalking. Two IP viruses lurking around our web presence like a couple of Daily Star reporters. Whilst it's commendable the lengths some people will go to win a game of brinkmanship, it's also a little sad they have nothing else to do. The anonymity of the web brings out our nasty inner cunt sometimes, but we must remember that if we look into the abyss the abyss looks into us and eventually the mask starts to eat into the face and before we know it we are the William Burroughs talking asshole from Naked Lunch.

There is nothing more unattractive than a person with an inferiority complex teaming up with a pathological narcissist to comment on the world.It always ends in disaster and dissapointment.

But as we say at the Fuck All That Press, have a word with yourself.

Oxygen Thieves

2007-04-29T10:57:00.000-07:00

Contempt for humanity is running high this weekend. I'm even starting to empathise with that korean guy in South Virginia at the moment. The moron population just seems to have exploded, it's like Dawn of the Dead out there...

This is not some superior rant or elitist view point, but idiots do seem to be taking over the world en mass. Yesterday I was confronted by a gang of asbo chavs outside a supermarket, today a drunken nugget with a sledge hammer. Please god rain for 40 days and 40 nights and wash away these turds from my life, this waste of flesh that just keeps reproducing. I was watching Children of Men last night and the idea of having a disease that creates infertility throughout Britain does not seem a bad idea at the moment.

I am going to patent a razor blade dispensing machine tomorrow.

WAKE UP!!!!

2007-03-23T14:50:00.001-07:00

Just Like A Mini Mall, apparently...

2007-03-14T05:56:00.000-07:00

Probably the best local TV advert I have ever seen....

A Hicks Perspective

2007-03-08T04:38:00.001-08:00

The 12th anniversary of Bill Hicks death passed last month, vastly unnoticed and I have been consuming books, documentaries and transcripts of his routines recently. The thing that smacks me is how relevant so much of his material still is over a decade later, and how much we have been deprived of his unique take on the world.

What would Bill have made of 911 or the second Iraq War, imagine the mileage he would have gotten from Bush Jnr, or what his rhetoric on the state of TV with American Idol and Big Brother would have been?

When I first discovered Bill Hicks in 1991, I was an impressionable 16 year old interested in all forms of artistic rebellion and Bill was the figurehead for my thoughts. He articulated that internal dialogue swimming around as I raged against the machine. He made me want to be a stand-up, he made me want to get on stage and rant against the world. He was Peter Finch in the film “Network”, the voice in the wilderness.

The comparisons are often made between Bill Hicks and Lenny Bruce, both pushed the envelope in comedy, but for me Bill surpasses Lenny, maybe it’s a generational thing, but Lenny’s comedy seems quite staid now and always seemed more philosophical ruminations rather than comedy, the punch lines don’t sting like the Hicks vitriol. The thing they both have in common is that they have both developed iconic status after their death.

This is an important point, Bill Hicks died on the cusp of recognition, a relative unknown to the uninitiated in the US. People always looked at me weirdly when I quoted lines and preached evangelically about this southern comic called ironically Hicks. They were too busy being amused by catchphrase comedy like the Mary Whitehouse Experience, the school playground was constantly echoing the phrases “Milky, Milky” and “That’s You, That Is”, pure comedy gold for the braying masses. Then you look at today and little has changed, a Bush is in the White House, there’s a war going on in Iraq and we are still watching inane catchphrase comedy with “Little Britain”. Bill would be spinning in his grave like a rotisserie chicken.

I’m going to be the same age this year as Bill was when he died, and though I felt I identified with him as a teenager, I find I get it even more now I’m in my thirties.
My rage at the world as a teenager was one of angst and hormones, now it is more, now it is because I am part of the establishment and still feel a voice in the wilderness and worse feel like I’ve sold out some of my beliefs.

I want to stand up again and rant, I want to shout out all the things wrong with the world, to dissect it and analyse it under a comedy microscope. Maybe psychotherapy would be better, but where’s the fun in that?

I miss Bill Hicks and the small amount of his routines captured for posterity do little to satisfy the cravings, I want him here and now giving his unique perspective on the world, but maybe at 44 his perspective would have changed. Maybe he died young as part of the grand design to protect his integrity. Maybe he is John Lennon instead of Paul McCartney and the world is better for it.

For more info on Bill Hicks please go to My Comedy Channel where some of his routines are shown along with a retrospective documentary.

Tragedy of An Artist

2007-02-05T14:10:00.000-08:00

Norbert Makeshift was an author of our times, rising to prominence in the 1980’s with his first breakthrough novel All Things Come To Those That Wait which topped The Times bestseller lists for minutes, maybe days. He soon embarked on a whirlwind publicity tour, whipping up a storm wherever he went. He truly was the Capote of his time. Then it all went wrong. Struck by writer’s block, he sank into a world of depression and alcoholism. Never to write again and dying in 1992 a broken man. This week his widow finally released a number of unfinished chapters from attempted books, they show in stark detail the tragedy of an artist struck with creative inertia.

Liberty Valance slowly unbuttoned her shirt as the pale moonlight shone against the window pane. Her lips moistened with each breath as she anticipated the evening ahead. Would this be the first time she slept with Blake Darrington, what would his muscular rugged physique feel like as it brushed against her soft slender skin?
She loosened her cotton panties and gently rolled them over her knees until she was in a total state of undress. She admired her gentle curves in the mirror as the light created a seductive silhouette.
She gently glided into the bathroom and inhaled the warm moist steam that pervaded the room, tying back her hair and gently stepping into the bath.
If only she had noticed the 8ft tiger shark poised beneath the bubbles…..

Saliva mixed with saliva, enamel clashed against enamel as the two lovers entwined like snakes amongst the long grass. Her gingham dress hitched up above her knees as he gently caressed her supple flesh and moved his hand between her legs. She flinched as he slipped digits pass the elastic band of her underwear and he pulsed in her hand. They sighed and moaned with pleasure whilst completely oblivious of the 10 tonne Skania truck that was rapidly descending from above….

His pubescent hands gently altered her school tie, loosening it’s vice like grip. His nervousness was betrayed by the beads of sweat that slowly dripped down his forehead, forming a salty pool within his deep set eyes. Their sting added to the pains of embarrassment flooding through his body, mixed with excitement at the thought of relinquishing his virginity. He slowly unbuttoned her blouse, each button popping with anticipation. He was now free to gradually ease his hand in to feel her warm bosom, imagine his surprise to find inside she was made of blancmanche…

One Ring to Wed Them All

2007-02-02T03:24:00.000-08:00

It was different. To attend a Tolkien themed wedding where the attendees looked like extras from a Guy Ritchie film, a sort of Lord of the Two Smoking Barrels. Initially I thought the groom was the vicar in his Celtic type dress and I thought my aunt had come in her dressing gown, I then realised this was all part of the theme as I was chaperoned into the chapel by elf like helpers.

If I sound cynical I don’t mean to be, but it struck me that it is almost a British tradition to knock and criticise the style, venue, food and dress at your standard wedding. Which is weird? Weirder than looking at a seating plan and finding you are sitting in Rivendell with a bloke called Gollum (actually changed by deed poll).

So why do we criticise people’s nuptials, after all they have kindly invited us to their party, which they have paid a hefty penny for. I can’t think of a wedding I’ve been to where somebody hasn’t been bitching about some aspect or other, even my own. My stepmother gave us our fairytale wedding by playing her wicked role beautifully. There’s nothing quite like being told your father shouldn’t be at your wedding as he might keel over of a heart attack and then finding out on your honeymoon your mother has cancer, which your stepmother conveniently uses as an opportunity to criticise her.

I digress; the simple fact seems to be we can’t embrace the joy being felt by the happy couple, a kind of nuptial anhedonia. This seems to be a very British disease, every wedding I have been to abroad is completely different, there is no cynicism just unadulterated joy and less beer. But is that because we are essentially a two faced nation?

We cannot be honest about our feelings and open, you only have to look at every series of Big Brother to see it is endemic within our culture, think of your workplace and how it is actively discouraged to air your open thoughts and feelings. This breeds cynicism and status anxiety, the need to bring others down. We linger around the water cooler dispensing our bile to all that will listen. That new girl in accounts, she thinks she’s so special. Who does she think she is?

And I feel bad, because I realised that this disease had infected me. As I sat there in Rivendell, I could only think how the Tolkien theme didn’t really work when the venue is a bowling alley on an industrial estate, or the mocked up local newspaper front page announcing the wedding wasn’t funny despite the best man reading the entire article and saying “That’s real nice, real special”.
Why couldn’t I just be happy for the couple? They were clearly in love.
Why be so elitist and judgemental?

Because as you look into the abyss, the abyss looks into you and I realised the world around me had made it so easy to behave like this, to be consumed with selfish thoughts and cynicism and it would take real effort to fight this at which point the Tolkien metaphor sunk in and it didn’t seem so trashy anymore.

Jaded

2007-01-26T06:51:00.000-08:00

Let's celebrate ignorance, let's champion stupidity. Let's build a big fucking soapbox, dress it up with stage curtains and point a high def camera at it.
Your world can be a stage if you look like a cod with an IQ to match.

I don't want to debate the Jade Goody racism row because more than enough words have been written about her to keep wikipedians busy for months.

But let's ask ourselves how we got here, how we as a so-called intelligent society have come to celebrate idiocy and all it's iconography. The list is endless of all the oxygen thieves we have deified on so-called "reality" TV. I say so-called because the moronic masses have finally woken up to the fact that behind the scenes a group of middle-class Nathan Barleys are manipulating these vacuous meat puppets for our entertainment. This is merely cyclical.

10 Years ago we condemned daytime chat shows and docu-soaps when we realised they were stage managed and edited to manipulate your emotions. You were disgusted that the realism you thought you were experiencing was a lie. The backlash reponse was "Reality" TV. Why do you want Reality? Surely your own reality is so mundane, a semi or virtual reality, that's why you vegetate in front of this puerile drivel.

You want the truth don't you, that's what Reality TV is about right?
Well, like A Few Good Men, you can't handle the truth!
Look what happens when you're shown how conniving, two faced, bullying, bigoted, racist? people have become. You blub, write letters to Ofcom, burn effigies in the streets, write letters signed annoyed in Woking.

We have become an idiot nation, that's the reality.

Lastly, just to show she's an idiot and bully, pure and simple, but where was the outrage when this screened? See how you're being played again. To quote Johnny Rotten: "Ever Feel Like You've Been Cheated?"

Saddam if we do, Saddam if we don’t

2006-11-20T11:48:00.000-08:00

So the world rejoices over the Saddam Hussein verdict? George Bush sees this as a victory for the Iraqi people and Tony Blair refuses to comment on the sentence.

So is it a victory for the Iraqi people? Is it a victory for anyone?
Everybody agrees that Saddam’s tyrannical rule was an oppressive regime that kept the Iraqi population in a climate of fear, and many of the atrocities cited as evidence of this are always interestingly, crimes committed whilst we supported him with arms, such is our condemnation of the acts.
However, whilst the Iraqi people were living in this climate of fear, they were at least living. Not just in the biological sense, but Iraq was a functioning country, water and electricity flowed, schools operated and people were able to walk down the street without fear or threat of being killed.

This is a simplistic summation of the argument, but one that is at the core of the issue. The reasons we went into Iraq are nothing to do with any of the above, they were not the reasons given, pure and simple. We went in there because Iraq was allegedly a threat to our security; they had an arsenal of weapons destined to wreak havoc on our way of life. Yet the only ones to have used weapons of mass destruction our us, we are the ones who have wreaked chaos and havoc on them, or to use the parlance of the times, shock and awe.

Now when all of the reasoning for the war has been largely discredited, we are justifying the conflict on the basis of tyrannical atrocities. This is easy because once into the conflict nobody can disagree with this assessment of Saddam Hussein, but it is not grounds for regime change and war. Otherwise there are plenty of other countries we could have applied the same principle to. We have also largely forgotten our part in the atrocities and our turning of face when they were occurring.

When Saddam Hussein gassed the people of Halabja, he did so with our knowledge and with weapons provided by us.

The answers to the so-called war on terror often lie in the history of the middle east and our part in keeping all the factions warring against each other. We funded Afghanistan’s mujahideen to fight the Russians as part of the cold war, this ended up creating Al Qaeda. We funded Iraq to fight against Iran. We funded Israel against Palestine. All of these stupid foreign policy decisions are finally coming back to haunt us in a big way, and we cannot fully take the moral high ground, we play a part in this.

So finally we start to see a tipping point, a light at the end of the tunnel. Bush gets blasted at the mid-term elections and the Democrats take the Senate and House of Representatives, essentially neutering Bush’s last two years in office. With the number one factor in voting being Iraq, Rumsfeld, the architect of the neo-con policy gets the axe.

Interestingly, and this will get forgotten with time etc, the intrinsic linking of Hussein and Rumsfeld, firstly through the famous press opportunity that came out embarrassing the Defence Secretary, but more importantly the complete ban on Hussein’s defence team being able to mention or discuss the relationship between Rumsfeld and Hussein in the Reagan administration era.

It will now be interesting to see if America turns round and exits Iraq rapidly, leaving the UK stuck in it’s own policy mess, because if we follow suit, then we truly are America’s poodle.

More Zippy

2006-11-18T12:56:00.000-08:00

The pilot episode for cult kids TV show Rainbow written by 70's entertainer Jonathon King with music by Gary Glitter

Playdohphiles

2006-11-05T01:14:00.000-08:00

There isn't a day goes by, when the papers aren't saturated with stories of paedophiles. It is a phenomenon that seems to sweep through all walks of society. So commonplace is paedophilia, we are almost becoming desensitised to the horrors that exist, we dismiss Jonathon King as a has been clown in the same vein as Michael Barrymore or Les Dennis rather than a degenerate sexual deviant. We question where we draw the line, where does sex with minors become paedophilia? All these questions and very few answers.

However, there is a new phenomenon emerging, that is more depraved than any other form of sexual deviancy...
It is a sexual practice that utilises a childhood toy to simulate sex with a minor and to create sex simulation devices from Playdoh.

These playdohphiles are the ultimate depravity. It first came to people's attention when Gary Glitter was caught in a hotel room with an 8 year old Thai girl made from the favourite childhood plasticine. He was quoted as saying "This Playdoh is very durable and easy to fashion into a mock child sex doll". Police are investigating a sculptor's guide produced and sold by Tony Hart, creator of 80's cult plasticine favourite "Morph". Police believe the guide to breach the Obscene Publications Act.

Naturally this sleazy practice emerged like all sexual deviancies, from the cesspit of the internet, with playdohphiles swapping hints, photos and short plastoporn movies through specialist web portals known as dohholes.

Interestingly, Playdoh have recently reported record profits on their product following near bankruptcy as the toy had been replaced by playstations etc by children. Playdoh spokesperson Julia Twang said "Naturally we do not condone the actions of Playdohphiles, but would like to point out that it is better for these sick individuals to fuck our plasticine, rather than an actual child. Therefore we believe our continued sales should be encouraged to Playdohphiles."

Playdoh have recently made an application for the term "Playdohphile" to be trademarked to the company. Meanwhile playdohphiles continue to meet and have playdoh parties as evidenced below, write to your congress representative or MP to ensure that playdohphilia does not become as common practice as "ponying"...

Give Me Some Space

2006-08-30T14:21:00.000-07:00

Everybody is published these days, long gone are the elitist, closed shop methods of traditional entry into getting your creations published, broadcast or airplay. As any wannabe journalist, author, director, musician or creative will tell you, getting your work commissioned and published is the biggest struggle of all.

But thanks to the global community infrastructure, everybody can publish their thoughts or creations, and we are lead to believe this is a good thing, the ultimate media democracy. But is it as wonderful as we make out?

Let’s first shine our light on My Space.com, the community publishing portal that caters for publishing music, blog articles, video, video blogs etc, etc. If you’ve got something you want to exhibit or show to the world, this is your tool. There are no value judgements attached to what is published, and this is where the rub comes in…

Whilst the concept of everybody having a voice or outlet for expression is very noble, it is also it’s downfall. This is because we are under the insane belief that by having this democracy it will therefore mean everybody has something to say, and the sad truth is most people don’t. Which is essentially my point in the previous blog, with the example of a typical myspace video. Idiotic home movies released upon the world in their droves, what is more worrying about the lovely ice cream and cake fellas is that this has spawned imitations by the bucket load. After searching through hundreds of ice cream and cake vids, along with thousands of You’ve Been Framed clips that would never have received the £200, I gave up.

I really wanted to find something genuinely funny, or thought provoking or just entertaining, but I couldn’t. I really wanted to see work that “traditional” publishers would never get or never publish because of their elitist stances. But without any filtration or editorialising, myspace videos feel like thousands of Big Brother audition tapes, and I can not envision a more terrifying concept.

Myspace music seems a better utilised tool, either there is simply more musical talent out there or musical taste can be more varied. Despite there being thousands of talented musicians publishing their work, there is also a lot of drivel and given that most have cottoned on to the fact that many search by music genre or alphabetically. There is an overwhelming amount of bands called aaaaaaaaaaaa who play every possible musical genre going. This type of behaviour just smacks of fame wannabes, getting noticed is more important than having any credibility.

So is media democracy a good thing? Of course it is, myspace has elements of a living oral history that is fascinating, it truly creates a global local community.
But with having the opportunity to hear the world’s voice, comes the harsh truth that many don’t have anything to say.

FMD the new WMD?

2006-08-23T14:52:00.000-07:00

Following the recent terror alerts in the UK, I can't help thinking that downing planes in the name of terrorism is a little passe. Pretty much for as long as I can remember, planes have been hijacked, blown up and flown into buildings for the variety of causes, surely terrorism should thrive on the element of surprise.
So whilst my fellow Walthamstow residents planned blowing up planes with liquid explosives and promptly stopped me ever taking anything on a plane again (that 9hr flight to Canada is going to be a barrel of laughs without a book or DVD player), I started to think about effective terrorism.

The key is to plan something that people have generally not thought of and where there is a weak security link, hence the plane idea just not taking off.

And the answer is FMD, or Foot and Mouth disease.

Now we brits are well aware of the damage that foot and mouth causes, but it's hardly terror as we know it, is it? But let's have another look at this gem.

When foot and mouth disease spread through the UK, it decimated 6.5 million animals and caused a £3billion hit in the taxpayers pocket. It delayed an election and caused major disruption. My local butcher claims Saddam Hussein introduced it into the country via a contaminated bun, but they haven't asked him to provide evidence at the trial yet.

Anyway, then look at the US, Kansas state has huge industrial farms that hold some 18,000 animals a piece and provide 80% of America's livestock for food. A deliberate outbreak of FMD could seriously destabilise the economy in the US and create mass devastation all round. There is very low level security on farms and FMD is an easy disease to obtain as it does not require weaponizing. It's certainly food for thought.

So much so that the ex US Health Secretary Tommy Thompson said "I, for the life of me, cannot understand why the terrorists have not attacked our food supply, because it is so easy to do,".

And it doesn't stop at FMD, whilst the economic devastation is huge, it still doesn't have the headline grabbing lure of mass death.

Enter the farms again. I currently live in an area surrounded by dairy farms and to say they are not secure is an understatement. But they provide a large quota of the nation's milk. They are probably typical of a British dairy farm. It would be relatively easy for an individual to introduce 10 grams of botulinum toxin into a milk tanker and the effects would be devastating as Prof Wein of Stanford University points out:

"If we didn't realise what was happening, half a million people would drink this milk... most of these would be poisoned, roughly half of them would die,"

So with the overzealous security checks at airports, are we diverting our attention away from easier targets? Apparently not.

Next month, Kansas City will host the second international agro-terrorism conference.
The head of the FBI will be there, as will the US attorney general and senior law enforcement officials from the US and around the world.

Before 11 September 2001, the US never thought about terrorism. Now it can't stop. Agro-terrorism is another fear factor to discuss and debate, besides the US should know more about agro-terrorism than anyone as they invented mass farming techniques and biological warfare on the environment.

I in the meantime will sit on my flight bored stiff, not drinking the milk.

911 Conspiracy

2006-08-21T15:06:00.000-07:00

I'm a sucker for conspiracy theories and first got hooked with Oliver Stone's JFK, therefore you can imagine my disappointment with his latest offering World Trade Center. There seems so much opportunity to wring a conspiracy story out of the facts, but instead we get a rather schmaltzy view on the tragedy.
More compelling and fascinating for conspiracy nuts is the the online doco Loose Change which also recently screened on Channel Five. For those that missed it....

More conspiracy theories to follow.

Loose Change Pt 1

Loose Change Pt2

Loose Change Pt3

Loose Change Pt4

The Peculiar Case of Alfred Cader

2006-05-30T00:34:00.000-07:00

So there was this guy Alfred Cader, a really ordinary guy who went about his business and tried to keep a low profile. He was friendly enough, truly amiable, that song by Paul Simon “You can call me Al” could have been written about him.

But in September 2001, his world collapsed. At 8:46am on Tuesday 11^th, Alfred’s life changed forever, the events that were to unfold would be irreversible.

Alfred had arisen for work on this fateful day, full of exuberance and ready to take the world by both fists, he had seldom felt so invigorated, but today he felt a special purpose. A drive. Today was the day that the world would sit up and listen to Al Cader.

He switched on the radio as he started his car at 8:47 am to go to work, the news was unbelievable, traffic jams left right and centre throughout his journey, he knew his morning was going to be terrible, who else in the world could have this kind of bad luck, 4 traffic routes ruined and no way to know how to get to work.

Al worked for the Office of Special Administrative Management Aid, a small government aid agency that dealt with the administration and management of aid to war torn and under developed countries. Charities raised the funds and Al’s department would manage the funds and set up specialist training for the administration and communication of the aid. Al was a processor.

Knowing he was going to be late today, Al tried to phone work from his mobile whilst stuck in the traffic jam. All he got was a hiss, no dialling tone, nothing. Just interference. His day really was turning out bad, could it get any worse?

At 8:49a.m he decided to turn off the motorway and deviate from his normal route, this was to have major ramifications in the days to follow.

His onboard navigation tool started to go on the fritz, damn he was relying on the computerised tones to direct him to work. He was going to have to work this one out on his own.

Before he knew it, he was downtown driving through skid row. He had never seen this part of town, as he passed numerous down and outs, he felt a strong sense of patriotism and need to stand up and fight for the little guy. This was just plain wrong.

The traffic lights turned red, and before he knew it a man was squeegying his windscreen. Al decided to give him 10 bucks, make his day. He rolled down the window and the Albanian refugee approached.

As Al extended his arm to hand over the tenner, the Albanian suddenly produced a small craft knife or box cutter as they were now known.

Within ten seconds Al was standing on the pavement and seeing the Albanian drive off with his hijacked car. This day was really turning into a shit storm. There was no way Al was ever going to forget September 11^th.

Al finally got a signal and managed to phone O.S.A.M.A (work), government agencies just loved acronyms. Anyway, he explained the situation, but they weren’t too concerned with his problems. They told him to get to a radio or TV as soon as possible, the world was under attack.

Panicked, Al managed to find a radio that a bum was listening to. Something about a terrorist attack, then he heard the details that would make him run for cover.

The government believed the attacks were the work of Al Qaeda, or as Al heard it, Al Cader.

Al soon disappeared into hiding and nobody has been able to find him since.

Cunt

2006-04-26T07:19:00.000-07:00

Due to being surrounded by cunts, I often find myself using the word quite liberally. I'm a firm believer that a single word should never have so much power, but it does and it is so effective at expressing exactly how you feel about someone.
Often after a tirade of expletives, peppered with the "c" word I am usually greeted with faces reflecting absolute shock, but why?

Why does this word have such shock value? It is probably one of the few last swear words that can shock and the only swear word that cannot be aired on television before the watershed or much after it.

So I decided to do some digging into the history of cunt. Having a flick through the old Oxford Dictionary, it noted the earliest citation of the word is a reference to a London street name "Gropecunt Lane" dated to about 1230. Now I've been down many a lane to grope a cunt, but never thought I would see a local planning office actually label a street so literally. Those ye olde world cunts were plain and simple and said it like it was. I wondered what the chat up line would be to a young wench back in 1230, "Alright love, fancy a walk down Gropecunt Lane?"

In fact cunt is an old Germanic word, and appeared as cunte in Middle English and kunta in Old Norse and has a strong thread in Germanic languages in Northern Europe.
Various academics have tried to link the word to Latin cunnus meaning vulva and hence the attribute to female genitalia.
Although cunt has been in common usuage in English language since the 13th Century, it did not appear in any major dictionary of the English language from 1795 to 1961, where it appeared with the comment "considered obscene". However, the word appears several times in Chaucer's Canterbury Tales and didn't seem considered obscene at the time. A notable use is in The Miller's Tale "He caught her by the cunt".

There are also many slang words for cunt, mainly invented by cockneys, the most famous being berk, which is always considered a mild profanity and has no real bite, but is actually short for Berkeley Hunt, which is cockney rhyming slang for cunt.

A more recent slang is "He's a bit of a James", meaning James Blunt - cunt.

The feminist movement has sought to reclaim cunt as an acceptable word for the female genitalia, in the interest of removing the power associated with it's use. Some abhor the word and regard it as degrading and mysogynistic, though it has also been pointed out that vagina is also offensive in this context as it is literally Latin for "a sheath for the sword", the sword being the penis. Some feminists hope to reclaim cunt as an honorific, in much the same way that queer was reclaimed by homosexuals.

The simple fact is that cunt will continue to have it's power whilst we refrain so heavily from it's usuage and put it on a pedestal as the vilest of words, and one word should not have that power. Collections and constructions of words should hold the real power rather than one in isolation.

I suppose I have used cunt to articulate my precise thought quickly and to make light of my anger at people, I remember buying a book called Cunt when I was having problems with an actor on a film set once, it was an elaborate way to embarrass him in front of the crew and take him down a peg. He saw me reading it and saw the title emblazoned across the cover. He enquired what I was reading and I exclaimed "Your biography!". Victory was mine.
But had I read the book - Cunt: A Declaration of Independence by Inga Muscio, I would have learnt that it was this precise bastardization of the word that the author was trying to avoid and I was simply adding to the stigma and power of the word.

Then I think of the simplification of the word by an Australian:

My cock may be small, but it only has to please one cunt, and that cunt is me!

Maybe if we made light of the word more, the power and stigma would evaporate.

Death of the Mix Tape

2006-04-06T13:21:00.000-07:00

I hate albums; I get easily bored listening to the same artist or band. In the past I have had to settle with rudimentary tape to tape systems to make my own compilations and accept the reduction in sound quality and faulty edits (where you’ve pressed the record button at the wrong time).

Not content with just cutting together music, I entered the world of multi-media early and started sampling films that I loved as buffers between the tracks, creating soundtracks for my friends that I freely distributed.

Creating such a mix tape was a pleasure in itself, working out the right tracks to blend with the right quote, I would spend hours crafting these 60 min compilations and revelled in watching my friends listen, awaiting what would come next.

However, despite all the effort that went into creating these tapes, they were always nixed by the low quality of the audio.

Some would argue that added a certain bootleg quality to them, by being lo-fi it some how made them separate from the professionally produced albums available on CD’s, it made them personal. I can see the point slightly; I still cherish all my bootleg video nasties that I picked up at car boot sales despite having now replaced them with official DVD releases once the BBFC saw sense and passed them.

Unintentional lo-fi quality, though, becomes a distraction.

Eventually I was able to buy a mini-disc recorder that enabled me to keep everything digital, I instantly set about trying to recreate my earlier mix tapes. The major downfall was I seemed to be the only one of my friends that had a mini disc player, so I had to revert to playing it all back to tape if I wanted to continue to re-distribute.

Mini-discs never really took off though as they were soon succeeded by MP3 players with the advent of the i-Pod and i-Tunes. Soon anyone with a broadband connection could quickly download any track they wanted and then with a semi decent computer, burn CD’s at full audio quality, my dilemma was sorted. The other great thing about downloads was you could discover lots of new bands or old that previously were not accessible because the record companies had not marketed them widely, now you have the choice. With i-Tunes you can produce i-mixes and publish to the world your ideal mixes, I have looked at other peoples and it has made me investigate new bands to my joy. Another new tool is Pandora.com which enables you to type in a favourite band or artist and it will suggest similar style bands for you to listen to, this has opened my ears to hundreds of new songs, a true musical democracy.

So I bought an MP4 player (plays video as well as audio) and set about loading it with songs, it can hold 40,000 songs so I knew it was going to take some time. The instant thing I discovered though was, I didn’t feel the need to create a mix because the songs were not stored on a linear narrative, I could jumble it up as much as I liked each time I listened. Creating a mix every time. I suddenly realised that I wasn’t ever going to sit down and labour over a compilation again and I felt that whilst I had gained the ability to carry 40,000 songs around with me I had lost the ability to have a crafted piece of entertainment. Whilst I had always sought the technology to improve my mix tapes, I never thought that technology would wipe out the need for it.

So are mix tapes dead or have they just evolved?

The Blair Witch Hunt

2006-03-13T14:35:00.000-08:00

What is it with the name Blair that just seems to attract controversy?
First there was the film that caused all the furore and snuck off with a cool $40 million profit before anyone realised it was all spin and no substance.
Which neatly segues into the infamous Tony with his back Iraq, God told me to do it politics and Campbell soup marketing campaigns. The charitable wife, Cherie who neatly pocketed £100,000 from an Australian Children’s Cancer Charity for speaking at a fundraiser recently, the charity were left with £6,690 loose change after she took the lion’s share.
Next up we have the top rozzer Sir Ian Blair famed for turning the Met into a neo-fascist organisation, firstly shooting an innocent Brazilian on the tube, getting police to lobby politicians on detaining suspected terrorists and then recording telephone conversations with the Attorney General.
Tony and Ian combined are leading us into an Orwellian nightmare, which strangely enough should really be a Blairite nightmare, as George Orwell’s real name was in fact Eric Blair!
Which leaves only one other famous Blair left…type into Google “roasting” and “Lionel Blair” for the truth behind the sneer.

Johnston and the Devil

2006-03-07T16:08:00.000-08:00

So I’m pissed off, one of my musical heroes is making a rare appearance in the UK.
I was all set to attend, but due to re-scheduling I now can’t. Why the re-schedule?
Due to his ongoing illness, the concert has moved two weeks to a time when I’m not going to be in the UK.
Who is at the centre of this disgruntlement?
A little known American called Daniel Johnston. Never heard of him?
Few have, but that is about to change due to a new documentary The Devil and Daniel Johnston which stole a host of awards at last year’s Sundance Film Festival.
I myself have been a fan since hearing his dulcet tones on the soundtrack to Larry Clark’s Kids released in 1995.
What grabbed me was the fractured, disenchanted style that he encapsulated. His heart literally bled into the lyrics and the lo-fi styling of the music added an honesty that I had not heard before.
Instantly I sought out more material and info, which was hard as few record chains stocked his material and the internet was still in it’s infancy regarding multi-media and downloads. Nobody had heard of i-tunes or i-pods yet.
Now the world has moved on and the platform for Daniel exists.

Johnston was born in 1961 in Sacramento, California, the youngest of 5 children in a Christian Fundamentalist household.
As a teenager he started to appreciate music and artists such as John Lennon, Bob Dylan, Elvis Costello, Neil Young, The Sex Pistols and especially The Beatles.

“When I was 19 I wanted to be the Beatles” says Johnston.

Soon after he started to record cassettes and traded them with friends. Unemployed, he spent most of his time in his family’s cellar writing and recording songs, the cassettes he made there formed the album’s Songs of Pain and More Songs of Pain, both of which centred around his unrequited love for a woman called Laurie who married an undertaker.

In 1983 he moved to Texas to live with his brother in Houston. At this point the onset of manic depression kicked in. Whilst in Houston and then San Marcos with is sister, he recorded the seminal cassettes Yip/ Jump Music and Hi, How Are You?
The latter was recorded in the midst of a nervous breakdown. Both were recorded on a $59 Sanyo mono boom box. Although lo-fi and amateurish, the recordings have been heralded as unflinchingly honest yet painfully beautiful.

Daniel then joined a travelling carnival, selling corndogs. His 5 month stint left him in Austin, Texas where he decided to stay. He soon became a local legend as he continued to hand out his cassettes for free. Austin record stores started selling the cassettes and they were soon the best selling local release.

Daniel’s biggest break came when a camera crew from MTV’s Cutting Edge show decided to do a feature on him. His appearance on the show made him a minor celebrity and he started to appear in the music press.
With the success of his homemade cassettes, an independent label re-issued them on CD to a wider audience in the early nineties. It was around this time that grunge bands picked up on his unique lo-fi sound and started name-checking Daniel as an influence.
Kurt Cobain even wore a Daniel Johnston T-Shirt to the 1992 MTV Music Video Awards.

With the music industry sitting up and taking notice, Johnston found himself propelled into the mainstream and signed to Atlantic Records.
The recording of the album moved slowly and under pressure to complete, Daniel drifted deeper into depression. The sessions resulted in the ironically titled Fun album. The sales for the album fell well below the expectations of Atlantic Records.
Daniel was soon plagued by the fear Atlantic would drop him if he didn’t produce another better selling album. What followed were long periods of depression when Daniel struggled to even get out of bed.
As friend Brian Beattie remembered “I’d say it was probably the lowest point in his life”. In 1997, after a chilling performance at South by South West, Johnston screamed at the audience “We’re all going to die!” and abruptly left the stage, Johnston was officially dropped by Atlantic.

Daniel returned to his parent’s home in the Houston suburbs where he still lives today. He didn’t release another album until 2002, Rejected Unknown was produced by his friend Brian Beattie and was a return to form.
In 2003 Mark Linkous of Sparklehorse collaborated with Daniel to produce Fear Yourself which was released on Gammon Records to high acclaim.
In 2004 Gammon released a cover tribute album, with 18 artists on one CD and Daniel’s originals on the second CD, the album Discovered Covered – The Late, Great Daniel Johnston gave Daniel exposure to fans of Beck, Eels, Tom Waits and others. However, it did panic some fans into thinking that Daniel had passed away.

Whilst Johnston’s personal troubles have sometimes overshadowed his music legacy, they have not derailed his prodigious talents.
Daniel will be appearing at the Barbican Theatre on 14th April 2006 along with Mark Linkous, Jason Pierce and Jad Fair. The film The Devil and Daniel Johnston will be screened prior to the concert.
The film will then be released nationally in May by Tartan Films.

I in the meantime will have to remain gutted that I’m missing this rare opportunity.

I have some of Daniel's songs in my music channel section

Parkinson Disease

2006-03-06T12:42:00.000-08:00

So Kevin Spacey moves to one side and our prime minister, Tony Blair, settles in for his cosy chat with Parkinson.
Essentially replicating the time worn tradition started with Roosevelt with his “fireside chats”, Blair is making him self accessible to the electorate in a non-confrontational manner.

It is obvious straight away that they are both well briefed and rehearsed on how the interview will proceed.
Campbell’s ghost hangs in the air of the conversation as they trolley through some history, avoiding numerous contentious issues.
Spacey pulls out some well observed Clinton impressions and we see Blair shift uncomfortably in his seat as he realises that Bush will come. Parkinson goes round the houses first and then puts it to Blair that he understands the connection with Clinton, but how well does he really get on with Bush?
Blair is not going to spill the beans, he stumbles and composes himself.
He likes Bush for his straight talking. That’s all we’re going to get on the matter.
Like the disease that bears his name, Parkinson forgets his interviewer skills and let’s the prime minister off explaining any further.
Spacey physically distances himself by moving his chair away, showing in one simple move the general consensus of the liberal electorate.

Parkinson enquires about Blair’s relationship with his father-in-law, Tony Booth, the rather eccentric socialist British actor. It is part of public record that their relationship is somewhat strained, so Blair once again recalls a well rehearsed anecdote of meeting his father-in-law just after getting married. The two Tony’s chatted, during which Tony Snr interrupted and asked if Tony Jr minded if he sparked up a joint.
It is here that Blair makes his slip; he tries to be jovially down with the kids and explains that this situation was somewhat bizarre and surely it should have been the other way around. It should have been him making the request, not his father-in-law.
There is an awkward pause before the studio audience laughs and as if Campbell had just whispered in his ear, Blair realises the implications of his statement and quickly starts to blurt out that he does not condone….Cut to an advert break.

When we return, we beat around the bushes once more and skim over Iraq; Blair fudges it and states that God and History will judge his decisions. He will not really comment on his personal exit strategy from office or indicate a succession plan. We leave the interview knowing less about the man than when we started.
Or do we?
Whilst no great headlines were raised, many implications were made indirectly and through what wasn’t said.
So let’s look at some key areas for analysis and debate:

1) Bush vs. Clinton:
Whilst Blair did not condemn Bush or criticise when given the opportunity, he clearly could speak higher of Clinton. He seemed perfectly comfortable relaying anecdotes of how Clinton had taught him many political tips, both minor and major; he indicated that he had seen him as an influence.
He could merely say that Bush was a straight talker, no anecdotes, no talk of influence. Even the summation of straight talker could not be seen as indicative of any vague attempt at praise. Simple truth being that he has to put up with him but at least he just says what’s on his mind.

2) Father Figure:
When reminiscing about his father, Blair pointed out that his father had been quite an influence on his desire to go into politics and had been more inspiration than he had realised, he then later pointed out his father was a staunch Conservative. No surprises there then.

3) Decisions:
Blair lightly peppered his conversation numerous times that the worse decisions he had to make were decisions to go into conflict. Strange that he has to wrestle with his conscience and God so much over conflict, when in fact he has been to war five times in six years, surely a record for a British prime minister. It is his conviction of “doing the right thing” that evangelically persuades his conscience over public opinion.

4) I've Got No Strings:
His dropping of his usual histrionic gesticulations in this interview was either indicative that the interview was of no-threat and therefore Parkinson missed some major tricks or he has simply given up. He often referred to the fact that nobody liked him anymore and that he realised it came with “the job”, maybe he is closer to retirement than anyone has given credit to.

For more on the Adventures of Bliar, read the excellent book Blair's Wars by John Kampfner

Television Taught Me Nothing

2006-03-05T12:32:00.000-08:00

I’m in my thirties, it’s late at night, and I’m watching TV and contemplating my mid-life crisis.
Is this what it’s all about? Bills, mortgage, train delays, crap customer service.com and whining kids?
Is this the great dream?
Growing up I was filled with great expectations, the world was my oyster, rather than my oyster card was my world. So why do I feel so dissatisfied?

I’m flicking through the channels trying to deflect my feeling of low self worth, and something catches my attention like a bolt out of the blue, Chantelle – Living the Dream on the high brow channel E4.
What dream is she actually living? The Orwellian dream as outlined in 1984?
For those who do not possess a TV and do possess a brain, the afore mentioned Chantelle is the most recent winner of the long running series “Big Brother”, the irony being that she has won the Celebrity edition when she wasn’t even a celebrity!
Now that she has won Celebrity Big Brother, she is an actual celebrity, are you following the maths? Orwell is spinning in his grave like an Asda rotisserie chicken.

“What the fuck am I talking to a reflection of me for?”
– Alex Sibley, Big Brother 3 2002.

Fifty six years after Orwell’s death, the media has developed with such subtlety that it has incorporated Orwell’s grim vision into a debased form of entertainment. Twisting Room 101 from a place you are forced to confront your darkest fears to a repository you can amusingly banish irritations such as Big Brother contestants. Rather than a screen that you are not allowed to turn off and is watching you against your will, Big Brother becomes people willingly running around naked on screen and making you watch them become celebrities against your will.

It’s not that I have a problem with Chantelle suddenly becoming minted or well known despite her only talent being a brain-alike for Paris Hilton. It’s the culture that feeds it that I have a problem with.
In a recent poll of high school children, 98% of children said they wanted to be famous; the other 2% referred the question to their agent.
We are obsessed with fame and celebrity and have allowed this disease to reach epidemic proportions through the guise of so called “reality TV”.
We have so called “real” people becoming celebrities due to their “character” and so-called celebrities, having to show their “real” sides to be re-instated in the showbiz club. The irony is beautifully balanced.

A further flick through the channels and I start to realise that TV is no longer a source of information and entertainment, it is a lifestyle dictator. Programme titles have taken on a tabloid sensibility now. Pay Off Your Mortgage in Two Years, It’s Me or the Dog, Supernanny, Location, Location, Location, Wife Swap, A Place in the Sun, What Not to Wear, Brat Camp, Property Ladder, the list goes on. Programmes purporting to be How To guides, self help books turned visual.
This would be okay if it were true, but behind the press releases or Radio Times listings is a darker truth, a more sinister reality.
A reality that plays on our worst attributes in society, which feeds a base human desire to ridicule and take an elitist stance above others.
There is no such thing as Reality TV, only contrived TV.
It is not merely crafty editing as so often referred to, it is a complex manipulation of the senses and emotions and we’ve all fallen for it.
Television Producers use the terms “Social Experiment” and “Social Realism” to validate justification for these programmes, whilst in reality rubbing their hands and milking the fact that nothing sells like car crash TV, let’s have a laugh at the plebs and their pathetic attempts at living life.
When challenged, the Producers will say that they are merely supplying a demand, but where is the demand for Chantelle – Living the Dream, other than from Chantelle herself?

Is the dream being famous? Do people need to validate their existence by being famous as this is the only real value society has left?

Which returns me to my original point; here I am debating my midlife crisis and value in society. My status anxiety is high. I take my number and walk into the Big Brother 7 auditions here at the Wembley Conference Centre.
I too can live the dream….