Lest We Forget...

The year is 1972 - Five years before I was even born. Northern Ireland falls under the complete control of the British Government. In the US, Nixon begins his second term, declaring the first "War on Drugs", while withdrawing from another one in Vietnam. In Kenya, Dr. Richard Leakey makes the historic finding of a humanoid skull that is over two million years-old.

In other news, Atari releases an arcade game by the name of PONG. After one night in a bar, the unit is so full of money that change is literally spilling out the coin slot.

A new era begins...

Before PONG's incarnation, the public had never seen anything like it before. Imagine, for a moment, the reaction of someone who, for the first time, realizes that the on-screen action in front of them can be manipulated and controlled with the pressing of a few buttons. It seems commonplace to us, but to them it was revolutionary.

So let's all raise a glass to PONG, because even though most of us don't play the game on a daily basis, we are indebted to it eternally.

Clearly Canadian... No. 2

Just to let you all know, the (long-awaited) photos from our recent trip to Canada and the US are now online and can be viewed from my website:

http://web.mac.com/product1977

Please note, for those of you who do NOT speak fluent Latin (imbeciles!) I will be adding English text to the site shortly... It's not the same, and I do regret having to pander to the lowest common denominator on this one, but there you go...

Age. Fac ut gaudeam...

1000th Post!!!

It is with great pleasure that I announce my 1000th post on this blog! To all my friends and relatives who have read my (often thrice-daily) accounts with joy, bemusement and, let's face it, literary jealousy, I extend my warmest and most heartfelt thanks!

May the next 1000 posts be as interesting, pertinent and free from libel as the last.

M xxx

On reading various accounts of my learned friend's encounters with James Joyce and Ulysses...

CREATIVE-WRITING 402 WORKSHOP
Student: Joyce, James
Title of exercise: Ulysses
Comments:

Jim,

Great opening hook, but do you need 96-point Garamond for the S? Kind of feels like you're padding the page count.

Truly felt I got to know Leopold (Poldy?). Nitpicky, logistical question: Is this really how people think?

"Snotgreen" = hyphenated.

Show us how these characters process memory, language, abstractions, and the urban landscape through stream of consciousness, don't just tell us.

More commas, please.

Stephen comes off a little unsympathetic. I remember you used him in a previous story—maybe you could integrate some of that material here?

Unclear where and when this is set.

Caught some allusions to The Odyssey. Nice.

Proper punctuation for dialogue is double quotes, not em dashes.

Balked a bit at some of Molly's "sexier" thoughts, which read like male fantasy. You can do better than this, Jim.

Think you accidentally stapled in something from your playwriting workshop for Ch. 15.

The voice reminds me of the story "Which Is More Than I Can Say About Some People" from Lorrie Moore's Birds of America. Read it?

"History is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake." So true.

Everything Buck said had me LOL—hilarious character! Where do you come up with this stuff?

Kick-ass work, JJ, but way too long. Have you considered turning this into a short-short?

Noticed schematic chapter variations in literary technique, bodily organ, artistic subject, color, and symbol—really complex stuff. It's obvious you spent a while on this one.

I normally appreciate your extravagant wordsmithing, but got the sense here that you wore out the Shift+F7 keys (i.e., thesaurus). "Honorificabilitudinitatibus"? What, are you trying to impress that girl Nora?

I think you can push the experimentation even further in your next exercise. Remember last week after workshop, when we got trashed on Guinness and came up with the ludicrous idea of a 700-page novel that puns every few words on the name of a river? Maybe there's something to that.

Typo: last word capitalized

Nihilist Job Resume...

...by Eric Feezdell

David, Candice, whatever
EndlessMurk512@aol.com
This Abject World(555) 555-5555

Objective:
I have no objective. What's the point when cold death is the final destination for us all? Can you explain that to me? I know I'm supposed to put something here, though, so here goes: Your objective is to hire me into a challenging position in a computer-applications-based field within which you feel I can "make a difference" and "contribute" in a team environment...
Imbecile.

Education:
Bachelor of "Science" in Computer Applications, University of Washington.
B.S., all right. It tickles me greatly that vapid, hornswoggled employers place so much emphasis on scholastic aptitude and higher education, as if knowing the Pythagorean theorem could shield me from the stygian pointlessness of mortality or the lurid abyss of imminent nonexistence. Of course, I use the word "tickles" figuratively, since I feel absolutely nothing.

Skills:
Skills are valueless and only serve temporarily to bolster the trembling egos of the sheeple of this wretched world. I eschew all so-called personal development, instead dying under the premise that, when I'm a biodegrading mess of worm feed hopelessly buried beneath a fathom of dark earth, being able to type 70 words a minute really won't do me a modicum of what you so ignorantly refer to as "good."
Microsoft Excel, PowerPoint, Access; UNIX; Lotus 1, 2, 3.

Work Experience:
Lead Sales Representative, Howard Brothers Trucking Co. (June 2003 to present)
As the leading sales representative at Howard Brothers, I implemented a new invoicing database lauded by my maudlin, foolhardy management team as "wonderfully efficient and surprisingly self-explanatory." Why any of this mattered, I don't know or care.
As far as being a "leader" goes, I wasn't leading anyone or anything. Death is the great leveler, leading us all. Or not. Again, who cares, really?
Sales Clerk, Hot Topic (January 2001 to June 2003)
Employee of the month 29 consecutive times.

Interests:
It pains me (again, being loose with the language here) to think that one could be so ridiculous as to maintain any sort of attachment to this-worldly tangibles, concepts, or other such contemptible ephemera. I'll admit I play tennis, although I don't keep score and insist that when my deluded partner does he use the terms "zero" or "nothingness" instead of "love," a superfluous notion.
I also read a bit of Baudelaire, for what it's worth, which is nothing.

Honors/Awards:
Mankind, in its self-congratulatory revelry, will finally come to realize that all forms of kudos simply blind us from the solitary incontrovertible truth: life is a hollow shell of nil.
Once, during my younger days, in an ultimately nugatory proclamation (is there any other kind?) of my desensitized attitude toward accolades and gifts, I coined the phrase "He who dies with the most toys ... still dies." A bumper-sticker company then offered me a large sum of money for the rights to this phrase. I told them to keep it and give it to someone or something that mattered, which I guess was my way of making a joke (back before I realized how asinine and fruitless such a thing was).

References:
This section seems a bit silly. But not like ha-ha silly. I mean ineffectual, obviously.

The Most Horrible of Segues...

...with local anchorman, Clive Rutledge

"... Authorities are investigating if the alleged beating constitutes a hate crime. I don't know about that, but earlier this evening I was ready to pull a hate crime of my own on the heavy traffic out there. Let's go to Julie in the Action News chopper to see if it's thinned out. How 'bout it, Julie?"

"... Well, folks, that last story proves yet again how emotionally damaging incest can be. Thankfully, Mr. Food is here with an artichoke-dip recipe that proves yet again how emotionally satisfying a tasty appetizer can be."

"... Thanks, Liz, for that poignant profile of that sweet little orphan boy. As always, viewers, if you'd like to find out more about our Wednesday's Child, you can visit the Action News website. And if you'd like to find out more about Thursday's Survivor: Exile Island event, which I host every week at the Applebee's on Route 38, just visit my brand-new page on MySpace. I have 57 friends already!"

"... Speaking of date rape, the 23rd Annual Cat Show is under way and it's as popular as ever."

"... The fire left 19 people homeless and took over seven hours to burn out. If only my gonorrhea burned as long. Ouch! It keeps going and going! Just kidding. It's pretty much all cleared up. Mostly. Regardless, Dr. Tim is here with a report about the best new prescription drugs for sexually transmitted diseases. Take it away, Dr. Tim. Please!"

"... Last night a tractor-trailer jackknifed across the median near the junction of Route 38 and Interstate 95. Nobody was seriously injured. Too bad it didn't happen on a Thursday, because then they could have walked over to the Route 38 Applebee's where I host the weekly Survivor: Exile Island viewing party. Last week was crazy. I totally outplayed, outwitted, and out-body-shotted everybody!"

"... Experts say speed dating's popularity continues to rise. After seeing that clip featuring the hottie in the halter-top, something else is rising, too, heh-heh, if you catch my drift—that's right: interest rates. Today the Federal Reserve recommended they be upped by half a percent."

"... The teachers' strike shows no sign of ending. Neither does my drinking problem. Hey, since we're on the subject of problems, check out this footage of a German baby born with two heads. Yeesh!"

"... Studies show that one in every seven women will suffer from breast cancer during her lifetime. Phew. Thank God I'm not a woman. But if I were, I'd be a lesbian, 'cause I am all about the ladies. That brings us to our next headline: Four Maimed at Ani DiFranco Concert."

"... Rescuers admit they hold little hope of finding the missing mountain climbers. It's been over a month since they disappeared somewhere in the Andes. That means they've missed five—count them, five—Survivor: Exile Island events at the Applebee's on Route 38. Remember: girls dressed in Survivor buffs get their first drink on the house, so be there or be square! The Clive has spoken!"

Obsessive personality disorder #1

The very strangest thing has happened recently. I couldn’t tell you why, but almost overnight, I have become the world’s newest Morrissey fan. I’ll try and explain, but I can’t promise anything…

Part of my survival technique of getting through my day at work is listening to music. I am very fortunate that my department have no problem with us listening to music through the computer or generic MP3 player. And since I do occasionally tire of the vast selection available to me via CD or 20 gig MP3 player, I have started downloading music from the internet. Not only that, I have started buying CDs that I wouldn’t have considered for a millisecond a year ago. For instance, at Christmas, I bought 3 CDs: Beastie Boys – To the 5 Boroughs, The Best of the Clash and Neil Young's Greatest Hits. This spending spree was fuelled by the fact that I was feeling a bit trapped in terms of my own musical tastes. While they seem to stretch far – from Aerosmith to Nick Cave to Portishead – I was eager to start learning about historically important musical figures. First on my list was Neil Young. I knew Heart of Gold, doesn’t everyone – and what a fine, fine song that is. But his greatest hits are quite astounding. Ignoring the interesting fact that Neil Young actually sings the way he speaks (it works) his guitar music is moving and instantly attention grabbing in the way that (deep breath) Bob Dylan never really was to me (sorry Dave!). Like a Hurricane becomes a hurricane of guitars and vocals, Southern Man has harmonising like you wouldn’t believe and Cowgirl in the sand takes you on a journey to the deep south via lazy guitar solos that go on for several minutes, often leaving you to fill in the gaps yourself.

So Neil Young became a very important musical step. Real music. The Clash left me a bit cold and the Beastie Boys, while as great as ever, failed to really surprise me, as they are are a band you want blasting out of your stereo while you turn the skewers on a BBQ, not while you correct someone’s grammar for the 67th time in an office.

So moving onto The Smiths – or Morrissey. I can’t actually recall which came first or why. The Smiths seemed a logical progression in my journey of discovery across the undulating sands of British pop music of the 20th century. Here’s a fact: I only knew This charming man and How soon is now. After those 2 songs, my familiarity with this particular musical movement jumps to Irish Blood, English Heart. So I started there. Three songs with just one thing in common. Morrissey. This is a man with a voice who for whatever reason stops you in your tracks. I can’t explain it (nor can the millions of fans I have read about) but there is something about this man, as I found out soon after…

About a week after this, I was channel surfing on the radio on my way home and came across a song whose lyrics and title I mistakenly thought were You half killed me. It was absolutely magnificent (and that was before I picked up on the references to Italian film directors – who does that in a pop song??!) There was something vaguely familiar about the song, and I couldn’t put my finger on it - until the end of the song when the DJ enlightened me. It was Morrissey and the song was You have killed me. It stayed in my head for days and I was absolutely determined to get the album, which I did - on the day of its release. I listened to the whole thing, uninterrupted, at work, on a Friday afternoon. I can’t remember the last time I was so moved by music. The album Ringleader of the Tormentors is a masterpiece. I was practically in tears by the end of Dear God, please help me, which is so intensely personal it almost feels like an intrusion to listen to it. Over the last week or so I have listened to the album about 20 times, with particular emphasis on the first 4 songs.

And so I joined the strange world of Morrissey reverie. I would really like to be able to explain to non-Morrissey fans (there’s no in between, you either are or you aren’t) what exactly it is about his music that is so attractive, intriguing, beautiful, moving… As my co-blogger (and co-incidentally, boyfriend) will tell you, I have something of an obsessive personality. Once I get into something, whether it be music, musician, film, actor, actress, TV series, I have to find out everything about it. Step forward Mr Google... What I read about Morrissey just intrigued me even more, and I have been working my way through his back catalogue, watching old music videos and interviews. He is fiercely intelligent, takes no prisoners in interviews and liberally takes the piss out of anyone who tries to get a straight answer out of him regarding his sexuality. Edith Bowman interviewed him recently on the television (I can’t think of a DJ less suited to interviewing him) and he ended up coaxing her through the interview, rather like a professor does a student. As an (not so) elder statesman of music, he guided her around her many slips and insipid questions, which I found rather moving and gentle.

So I can safely say that I am addicted, and loving every moment. Someone pointed out that The Smiths (I’m working on them – doing the whole thing backwards!!) are a marmite band – you love them or you hate them, and the same can be said about Morrissey. I hope his new album converts those who dismissed him, because a journey through his music is one of the most gratifying and enlightening I have ever been on.

Bugbear #2

My, my… It has been a long time, hasn’t it? I could blame work, I suppose… but I’m not going to. Fact is, I’m lazy at heart, and lose interest in things soon after the initial novelty has worn off. My girlfriend has already had to take over all my Nintendog duties, for example, for fear that Flo and CJ (our two puppies) might die of neglect and malnutrition.

I’m focusing on Animal Crossing: Wild World at the minute instead– a game so vast in scope and so detailed in its intricacies that I’ll save it for a separate posting… except to say that it might just be the most addictive, compelling and fascinating game ever conceived!

Onwards, however… and out of the world of video games (which harbour many of their own bugbears – not least the RPG, which never managed to float my boat). I want to talk to you today about the English language.

No, this isn’t going to be an essay, or a preachy tract. I simply want to make it known that I am worried. I fear for the future of the language that I have studied and the language that I love. In my applicant interview for my PGCE in English and Drama, I was asked what made me apply to be a teacher of English. My response was something along the lines of the following:

“I believe in the sanctity of the English language. I believe in the rules of grammar. I believe that language can be, and ought to be, more than a mere tool for communication. I look ahead, and I see a terrible future where language is less an art and more a communicative device – where it is stripped of its beauty and grace and replaced by a constantly devolving style of ‘text-speak’ - where letters and syllables come together, not in polished onomatopoeic union, but to form words that are torn apart and truncated in order to convey simple and uncomplicated meaning from one user to the next. I want to do nothing less than help to prevent the gradual demise of one of the most beautiful forms of communication and expression ever conceived.”

OK, so it was something along these lines… I could never hope to speak this way in an interview – who could?! And anyway, it was a long time ago…

The point is, I was then, and still am, deeply concerned about the way the language we use is gradually deteriorating. I’ve been browsing internet forums recently and marvelling at the way people – adult people – are writing! It’s not even a matter of bad grammar or spelling; these people are creating a whole new language of their own! Short, clipped words, acronyms galore, vowels discarded to increase typing speed. It's messy and uncontrolled, with no rules of use or syntax.

As a teacher, I found myself constantly marking work that read like expanded text messages. "Your" became "ur", "sorry" became "soz" and capitalisation became an antique grammatical contrivance from a bygone era.

Bored of this topic now, though... See what I mean? I just lose interest and wander away... It's like I always tell my mate, Dave...........

The Management

The owners of this blog - bright and shiny!

Resignation? Ennui? Ironic detachment?

Jim Jarmusch's Notes for a Possible Ghostbusters Sequel
by JACK PENDARVIS

Bill Murray moves into haunted apartment. Sits in chair, impassive. What is he thinking? Possibly about dead friends. He almost gets up. He doesn't. His face is blank, unreadable. Sounds offscreen. Flying plates? Bleeding walls? Ghosts? Perhaps. We never find out. Slow fade to black.

Bill Murray goes to an Indian restaurant. He engages in non sequiturs with his waiter. (Backstory, NOT FOR USE IN FILM: Waiter has learned English from advertisements on the benches at bus stops.) Disturbance in kitchen. Bill Murray does not go to investigate. Looks at place mat, lost in indecipherable reflections. Something bursts forth from the kitchen. Bill Murray finds himself "slimed" (offscreen) by the lovable little slime monster from the original film. An emotion flickers over Bill Murray's face. Resignation? Ennui? Ironic detachment? Gentle bemusement? Despair? It is impossible to say. Bill Murray gazes at nothing. His eyebrow starts to move, but then it doesn't. Overhead shot of a bowl of rice. Xylophone/Hammond organ music. Slow fade to black.

Some young Ghostbusters come to seek the advice of the old pro, Bill Murray. They tell him of bizarre happenings in upstate New York. He listens, completely immobile, in a long continuous take. At last, he leans forward, slowly, and whispers something into the ear of a young man. What does he say? Who knows? It is between him and the young man. Slow fade to black.

Sigourney Weaver cameo. She's possessed again. What can Bill Murray do about it? He chooses to do nothing. They part. Is that a hint of regret on his face? Could be. Or maybe he is thinking of something else. Is that the devil himself turning her eyes a lurid red? Or is it an allergy? Either interpretation is valid. Slow fade to black.

Bill Murray in a ceremony at the governor's office. It seems as if he has saved the entire state from an attack of ghosts. The details are not clear. The governor makes a speech. Fade from the speech into reverb-drenched strains of Mahler as Bill Murray's reflection shivers in a black window, framed by falling snow. Bill Murray is not listening. He gazes out the window, musing over lost time. Or it could well be that he is thinking of a kind of cake he enjoys. One corner of his mouth curls upward. Or, just as likely, downward. The movement is so subtle, perhaps it did not happen at all. Snow. Slow fade to black.

Bill Murray brushing his teeth. The ghosts have been quelled, apparently. Then all of a sudden a ghost pops out of the bathtub! Bill Murray gets a look on his face like "Here we go again!" Freeze-frame. Ghostbusters theme.

http://www.mcsweeneys.net/

Lebowskifest '06

A celebration of all things "lebowski", 2006's first Lebowskifest event is being held on Saturday 4th March in Los Angeles.

This movie saw me, and my filmic comrades-in-arms, through the final years of the 1990s. It seemed, at the time, a fun way to end a millenium; on reflection, however, the movie has lingered for a lot longer than any of us anticipated during that first viewing...

Little did I know then, that almost a decade later, I would be standing, on Halloween night, in a South London Tesco's, engaged in my own personal homage to 'The Dude', may he abide in all of us.

I don't know 'bout you, but I take comfort 'n that...

Virtual Unreality

Mike: I had drinks last night with a friend who is currently studying law. His preferred field is media and entertainment law, and he was telling me of a very specific legal issue that, in the last few years, has achieved a prominence

Online Roleplaying games are more popular now than ever before. These virtual creations are magnificent, both in scale and beauty. Every square inch meticulously designed, rendered and uploaded for the pleasure of millions who pay to enter these worlds under various guises. The small, friendless boy in South-East Asia becomes, with just a few clicks, a warrior in some distant land, desperate for a saviour. The boy immerses himself in this world, gradually attaining, for his chosen warrior avatar, virtual wealth, skills and experiences that strengthen his position in this problematic distant land. But, just as in the real world, people get lost in these places, beautiful though they may be.

Virtual wealth, it seems, is not so virtual. When avatars become available to buy on auction sites such as eBay, they fetch huge sums of real-world money. People who have neither the time, nor the inclination, to invest large amounts of their time playing the game, are willing, it seems, to spend large amounts of cash to purchase the sign-in details of another person's character.

And it isn't even the characters that are selling; an island in one virtual world recently sold for $30,000! That kind of money attracts a great deal of attention. "Digital sweatshops" are real-world businesses where Third World laborers play online games 24/7 in order to create virtual goods that can be sold for cash. One such 'business', Blacksnow Interactive, actually sued a virtual world's creator in 2002 for attempting to crack down on the practice. The first of its kind to center on virtual goods, the case was eventually dropped.

When the concept is explored, other legal issues come teeming from the woodwork. Imagine a person (perhaps our small South-East Asian friend) investing time and money (via a monthly subscription) into a virtual world. He's made friends, built a reputation and spent a fair amount of time collecting and creating virtual goods. All of a sudden, his work disappears when the game creator, faced with a losing business, pulls the plug.

"Time to get a life," may be the easy response. But for many, the virtual world is their life. According to Nick Yee, a virtual world anthropologist who has been documenting MMORPG's since 1999, the average player spends 22 hours a week online... So who is responsible when this time, effort and work are lost? The company responsible for hosting the game? The power company whose outage might have been responsible for the loss? Is anyone even legally responsible, assuming that virtual products are, from a legal standpoint, non-existent?

And when in these worlds, existing as people do, eating food, socially interacting with one another, our avatars are as susceptible to corporate dealings as the rest of us, despite their 'warrior' status. Virtual advertising and branding take several forms, from ad campaigns and contextual product placements within themed worlds, to entire worlds created solely to promote a brand or organization. Some residents of virtual worlds even create their own unique brands and ads to promote original virtual products produced and sold to other residents.

Reactions to corporate sponsorships in online environments vary widely. Teenagers are generally more receptive to in-world advertising than adults, often bringing elements of corporate branding into the worlds themselves. In fact, many of the fully branded worlds are targeted to teens and children. As of early 2004, companies experimenting with virtual worlds as sites for advertising include Coca-Cola, McDonald's, Intel, Levi's, Nike, and Daimler Chrysler.

Two stories to close on: In a space-based virtual world, a character spent a great deal of money (upwards of $20,000) to purchase a space station. This, he turned into an exclusive nightclub, hosting fashionable events for the elite avatars within that gaming world. The person even enlisted the help of top real-world DJs to play at the club, drawing in avatars from all over this world and charging them, via PayPal, a fee for entry.

In another game, when a popular player died in the real-world, the avatars with whom he had spent so many hours interacting and, supposedly, fighting side-by-side with, joined together on the morning of his funeral and made the weary pilgrimage to the in-game temple, where they held a brief moment's silence and hosted a remembrance service.

It seems that, when real-life is replicated, in whatever form or format, reality continues to creeps in through the gaps... Life finds a way

Good Night, and Good Luck

My Brother

Mike: My big brother Philip, who I love very much and respect in more ways than he, or anyone, will probably ever know. This is him winning a race at the special Olympics in 2001 – one of the best photographs I have of him. I’ve always been extremely proud of him and his accomplishments in life, despite what he’s had to put up with. In every way, I couldn't have asked for a better - or a cooler - brother!

My thumbs have gone weird....

Isn't it funny how when you sit down in front of a computer with the absolute intention of writing something, anything, that you dry up, much like an actor on stage? And while there might not be 500 people waiting for me to produce words of wonder, it certainly feels as though I am letting people down, pretty badly... My writer's block exists on several levels. It's been about five years since I wrote anything, creatively speaking and I simply can't seem to advance myself. Last year, I arranged to have Wednesdays off from my unutterably dull day job so that I could write. And have I written? Have I hell. The last bit of writing I did was in the stalls of a theatre, scribbled on the back of a piece of paper, when I really should have been paying attention. Every Wednesday, I sit in front of this PC and try to write, but nothing comes. This blog has been through seven drafts already and I'm still not happy with it.

High expectations are the problem, I think. When you immerse yourself in good quality film and TV, your standards for your own writing are raised, even though you don't realise it. I watched Withnail and I the other day. The dialogue is still as perfectly funny as it was 10 years ago, when I first saw it. With Marwood's mini-logue about speed, ringing in my ears, I just sit here, trying to locate the bit of me that could come up with something as poetic and moving. I think that part of me is hibernating at the moment...

Perhaps I am to come to the conclusion that I am indeed, as this blog states, shallow and inconsequential. The grind of working life has taken its toll on my creative instincts and I shall never write anything of note again. I don't mean this to sound so dreafully maudlin, but writers will understand how ghastly it is to be blocked. I shall leave it to my honourable co-blogger to give you all something upbeat and interesting to read later today... Apologies to Bruce Robinson and Paul McGann.

Speed is like a dozen transatlantic flights without ever getting off the plane. Time change. You lose, you gain. Makes no difference so long as you keep taking the pills. But sooner or later you've got to get out because it's crashing, and then all at once the frozen hours melt out through the nervous system and seep out the pores.

The 'Difficult' Second Post

Mike: One post in, and already I'm driving to work in the morning with thoughts of blog topics. I can see how some find this addictive, others merely therapeutic. I am personally aquainted with one newspaper journalist who spends at least 3 hours on his blog first thing in the morning when things are quiet. Read through his archives and it's like strolling round some vast, marble-halled library - book titles jumping off the shelves, random topics screaming for attention... a swirling mist of disassociated memes. It's truly wonderful to walk those halls, seeing, perhaps for the first time, the true breadth and depth of this man's knowledge.

I wish I could tell you his name, but he's also a top-level MI5 agent, and I'd have to kill you afterwards...

It's humbling to have to admit that what we write defines us in some way. When I sit with a blank screen in front of me, willing the words to flow, I have to filter out so much mind-junk before I settle on a topic that I think might be slightly less... inconsequential... than the others. For instance, I could write page after page on the Legend of Zelda, aspect ratios, the West Wing, the Buffy phenomenon... but would anyone actually be interested? Or is that even the point? Perhaps those who find blogging therapeutic have long since learned to disregard the opinions of others and write purely for their own entertainment? Perhaps the true purpose of a blog is to write that which you personally would want to read - an exercise in self-indulgence...

I have come to a decision of sorts, then... actually, I came to this decision when I decided to write this blog: What I find fascinating, others will too - what makes me tick will interest others also. If what I write about isn't generally considered to be edifying or of general artistic significance, I will elevate it, through my writing, to such a lofty position that it will be difficult to ignore. If that sounds a little pretensious and gradiose, so be it. If, as I have said, this blog is really, at heart, for me and for me alone, then what's wrong with a little indulgence now and again..?

Good night, and good luck

Bugbear #1

Mike: Petty grievances - We all have 'em. I just seem to have a great deal more than most. Actually, that's not quite true - I have started my life as a blogger with a filthy lie. I'm actually a reasonably well-rounded individual, with the patience of a saint, the stamina of a thoroughbred and the looks to match...

More lies... DAMN! Let's start again...

When I was at Yale, I...

By Zeus! I can't seem to stop myself! If what I write is nothing but a tissue of lies, then this whole exercise becomes somewhat redundant, doesn't it? OK, so back to the topic at hand. Put down your bags, children, and take out your books. You're going to have to take notes this period. Parker - it's your own time you're wasting. I can stand up here all day, you know.

Here goes... Now where were we? Oh yes! Bugbear #1...

For those that know me well (by which I mean, those people who have shared coffee, and therefore their soul, with me on occasion in the past), this first grievance will not elicit any gasps of astonishment. This is, after all, my first post - there will be no comings out or dark, brooding secrets being revealed... at least not yet. Maybe when I get bored sharing with you the minutiae of my life, noose-makingly dull that it is, I will concoct a rich, eccentric uncle who collects Nazi memorabilia... or a painful childhood kidnapping by Opus Dei cultists... For now, though, you'll have to trawl through the boring, introductory stuff... I mean, we have only just met...

What's that? The dot-dot-dot? I know, and I'm sorry... There it is again. It's a condition - a medical one - similar to the guy that starts every other sentence with the word "actually". I loath myself for doing it, but cannot for the life of me think of another way to write that little pause that comes in between a comma and a colon. You'll have to forgive me this petty foible, or switch to another blog... I'm not gonna change for you, for goodness sake! You're a complete and utter stranger...

So, onwards and upwards... We're entering the main body of the piece now. The introductory stuff has almost been dispensed with. Now comes true wit, insight and substance. Hold on to your hats, folks, and prepare to be enlightened...!

Filter coffee is as pure a thing as any other substance on God's most wonderful earth. The blackness at it's heart, the silver tendrils of steam, the rich crema floating atop it's majesty like a supernova drifting in endless space... Before you even drink a sip, the thing itself, the mug, the handle the smell, the small drip snaking it's way down the side, astounds the senses.

I know people for whom a morning mug of black coffee has become ritual. They clasp their hands together around their cup, as if at prayer, eyes closed in silent contemplation of the sacrament. A friend at university used to drink coffee like it was going rapidly out of style. If, for some reason, he found there was no time for a morning drink before leaving the flat for lectures, he would mix a teaspoonful of instant with a tiny drop of cold water, forming a brown, sludgy, coffee-smelling paste that he would gulp down in one, eyes watering.

I’m not that bad, but I am a purist. I understand, unlike many London coffee-makers, that a proper filter coffee is made, not with espresso and hot water, but with pure boiling water filtered directly through the ground beans. I cannot tell you the number of times I have been served an Americano having asked specifically for a filter coffee.

“Do you have any filter coffee?”

“Why yes! Would you like some?” (enthusiasm has been artificially added at this point)

“Yes please. Are you sure it’s filter coffee?”

“Why of course, you dear dear man…! Your suspicion is both endearing and saddening”

“You’re sure it’s not just an espresso with hot water added?”

“Well, yes… That’s exactly what it is. A filter coffee, my friend! Just what you requested!”

“No. [voice trembling here – even breaking with rage] That’s an Americano. I want a filter coffee.”

“Why do you hurt me so? You have cut me to the quick… I see now what it is to die of a broken heart. [clasps my hand in theirs] I must away, dear friend. The look in thine eye makes a cadaver of me…”



OK, OK… so the melodrama and Shakespearian sentiment slightly overdo my point… but the point remains. When you ask for one thing and receive another, you are justified in any action, should that involve severe physically violence against an unarmed barista… well, violence is so very subjective, don’t you think?

Now, I must go and clean my tools…

Good Night, and Good Luck

How bored was I at work today?

ALEX: Sorry to start on a downer, but it's the plain and simple truth. You know when your eyes glaze over and everything you look at resembles a corrupted document? THAT'S how bored I was at work today. I was slightly uplifted at around 10am by the news that David Irving is in court, but then I got yelled at by the lady in the post room for not packing my parcel properly. She actually said "Are you taking the mick or something?"

When you work for a charity, your life is a haze of oxymorons and contrariness. Part of you thinks, "Ya boo, I can sleep at night because my working day was dedicated to helping people, what did YOU do today?" But the other part of you, the part that wanted to write the great British novel and sing with Jon Bon Jovi and hike up the bits of New Zealand you see in Lord of the Rings, that part thinks, "What am I doing with my life?"

Anyway, the good news is that it's Monday today, I'm off to see "Goodnight and good luck" tonight, it's Tuesday tomorrow, which means that it's Wednesday the day after (bear with me on this), which is my day off, then it's Thursday, which means it's almost Friday! And that can only be a good thing!

Oh, and I just started my first ever blog. It's very exciting... reminiscent of my first ever ebay purchase. The title of this blog refers to my (and my co-blogger's) shared love of all things pop culture-y. TV, films, pop music, short term plans for extravagent trips and shopping sprees, all the things that everyone secretly loves but prefers not to mention, instead pulling out an authentically dog eared copy of Ionesco's plays on the train home and mouthing the lines silently, just like Marwood does in "Withnail and I", with "Journey's End". Of course, Marwood isn't shallow or inconsequential, but the man sitting next to me on the train most certainly was. Can't make me feel uncultured by reading groundbreaking playwrights while I listen to Sheryl Crow on my iPod. Nick Cave, Beth Orton and Bach are on my iPod, I'll have you know...