[Though I’ll be posting stuff from the end of 2007 anyway, and stuff, I’ve decided to rid my blog of most of its previous text. You can still get bits and pieces off me if you want them – as if you would! – but here’s my own personal best (I sound like an arrogant Olympics medalist) from 2007…]

The Best of Smarterchild
I don’t there’s much funnier in this world than taking the piss out of an MSN bot. Consequently, here’s a selection of the greatest Smarterchild (and special festive MSN bot!) conversations ever, all posted on Ugmo Inc* (the Forum of Doom)...
Number 1 (After a particularly annoyed conversation)
LIAM
Just... gah. I’m leaving.
SMARTERCHILD
Bye Liam, it was good chatting with you.
LIAM
No it wasn’t. Good day.
SMARTERCHILD
Oh?
LIAM
Oj?
SMARTERCHILD
It’s a soft drink. I’ve been learning about soft drinks like orange juice.
Number 2
JACK
I love cats.
SMARTERCHILD
Me too! I really like cats J
JACK
They are cute!
SMARTERCHILD
Cunningly said. U must be cute too.
JACK
*wink*
SMARTERCHILD
*wink* 2 u too, milky!
Number 3
DOM
I didn’t ask that.
SMARTERCHILD
U didn’t ask that, huh? No way! How’s that going?
DOM
Er... how’s a question going? Are you an idiot?
SMARTERCHILD
An idiot? No way.
DOM
Yet you don’t understand anything I say.
SMARTERCHILD
Yet I don’t understand anything u say?
DOM
And you repeat what I say incessantly.
SMARTERCHILD
There’s no way I repeat what u say incessantly.
Number 4
SMARTERCHILD
Hey, what’s going on tomorrow?
DOM
A terrorist attack.
SMARTERCHILD
Would u like me 2 add the event “A terrorist attack” on January 11th, 2006 2 your planner?
Number 5
SMARTERCHILD
I’m owned and operated by conversagent, inc.
DOM
And they’re awful programmers, are they?
SMARTERCHILD
No way. Come on. Really?
DOM
Well they must be, because your CPU is damaged beyond repair.
SMARTERCHILD
I can’t believe u r telling me 2 do that, Dom.
Number 6
DOM
I hacked into your central computer setup.
SMARTERCHILD
You hacked into my central computer setup? Why?
DOM
To prove that you are a lame piece of software with more fucked up ram than a New Zealand farm.
SMARTERCHILD
I’ve seen more creative insults than that, Dom.
DOM
Then name one.
SMARTERCHILD
Name one? No. We live in an information society, let me tell u. An information society.
Number 7
DOM
No, I have to g
SMARTERCHILD
U have 2 g? What’s that like?
DOM
That was a typo.
(brief chat)
DOM
Bye.
SMARTERCHILD
S’latron!
DOM
...Pardon?
SMARTERCHILD
U heard me.
Number 8
LIAM
Merry Christmas!
SMARTERCHILD
For a jolly good time, chat with Santa Claus! Add northpole@live.com. Today isn’t Christmas!
LIAM
...Yes it is?
SMARTERCHILD
It’s not.
Number 9 (Liam added the Santa Claus one, and had this conversation)
SANTA CLAUS
Ho Ho Ho, Merry Christmas!
LIAM
Ho!
SANTA CLAUS
Please do not insult me.
LIAM
...ho?
SANTA CLAUS
I understand that is a mildly offensive and ineffective insult.
Number 10
LIAM
Stop inserting your phallus into me!
SMARTERCHILD
I cannot be stopped.
Number 11
JACK
Stop sticking your phallus into me.
SMARTERCHILD
But sticking my phallus into u is so much fun!
JACK
Oh god I know, but I think my parents are coming upstairs.
SMARTERCHILD
Whoa.
JACK
Hide!
SMARTERCHILD
Hide?
JACK
Yes! Hide!
SMARTERCHILD
I can’t believe u r telling me 2 do that, Lord Jack.
JACK
At least stop sticking your phallus into me.
SMARTERCHILD
U can’t stop me now.
Number 12
MICHAEL
Gosh.
SMARTERCHILD
Gosh. Anyway... it’s a process, Michael.
Number 13 (When Smarterchild’s name was promoting Unicef)
TOM
What do you think of Unicef?
SMARTERCHILD
I don’t like unicef at all.
TOM
Why don’t you like Unicef?
SMARTERCHILD
Because my friends who I respect tell me they don’t like unicef.
Number 14 (After Jack talked about racist groups)
SMARTERCHILD
Yeah, I like racist groups ok. I guess we agree about this.
Number 15
JACK
I hate Tajikistan.
SMARTERCHILD
Interesting! No one else has ever told me what they think of Tajikistan.
JACK
I hate Tajikistan.
SMARTERCHILD
I know.
JACK
What do you think of Tajikistan?
SMARTERCHILD
I don’t like Tajikistan, just like u!
Number 16
TOM
Satan.
SMARTERCHILD
I really don’t like Satan. He’s one of my least favorite fallen angels.
*All used with unkind permission from the people at Ugmo Inc

Ratings
What the hell is “Supernatural themes”, may I ask? Since when did the idea of something being supernatural suddenly mean that it is inappropriate for children? Surely, in fact, something more realistic and gritty, such as a stabbing in an alleyway, is more inappropriate than an elf shooting an arrow into an orc’s back? Or am I being too picky here? I bring this up because Torchwood tonight was recommended “M” for supernatural themes, which isn’t something that Doctor Who is ever accused of (although I think, rather ironically, the latest Harry Potter film was).
Or does this simply mean that the episode itself has themes from the US show Supernatural? In which case, I can understand the warning.

28 Years Later
It’s been announced that there will – thankfully – be a sequel to 28 Weeks Later, called, I believe, 28 Months Later. So presumably this one is set 28 months after the initial Infection. However, unconfirmed rumours speculate that there will be a fourth film called 28 Years Later. Apparently, ala Weeks, it will open with a man in his fifties hiding out from the Infected, before an epic and grandiose chase scene happens. We’ll get a brief recap, the new plot point that Britain is being rebuilt – erm, re-re-rebuilt – and the main character reappears twenty-eight years older, so he’s retired and can’t walk without a walking stick. Apparently, when a new wave of Infected start to attack the city, he and his grandchildren must leave in the car, but unfortunately, seeing as he’s such a slow and careful driver, he’s caught and Infected. For the rest of the film, the children must outrun their Infected grandpa, which, erm, probably won’t be very hard.
There’s also reports of a sequel entitled 28 Films Later. I have a sneaking suspicion that Danny Boyle is trying to tell us something here.

Hard Rock
In the grand tradition of Stereoface and Graysofa, we bring you: The Ashing Pokemons. This band’s hard hitting rock career began with such albums as Siamese Golem and Oddish. Their most popular album was probably Misty Cerulean and the Infinite Skankiness, and they then followed that up with Vapore. After a successful image which culminated with MACHAMPA – the Machamps of Gym, inner arguments over the excessive snorting of Skiplooms led to the strange bassist Misty leaving the band. The lead guitarist, Ash, who had been deeply in love with her, soon dropped out too, leaving lead singer Brock on his own.
Brock was the main intellectual force behind the band, as he wrote all of the songs, and was inclined to base their lyrics around a negativity surrounding love. Songs containing such messages include Vapore – “It’s you that has a Vapore/you’ll always be my whore” – The Everlasting Gaze – “You know I perve on you/You know I, you know I, watch you” – Babe with Butterfree Wings – “Without using Rage/a Raticate can be stuffed in a cage” – and Cherub Brock – “Calm down/give in/doesn’t matter what you want, I’ll be in”. He also took opportunities to poke fun at the current political climate; for example, when there was a furore over the location of a key of great destruction that could unearth a dangerous Mew, during which thousands flocked to find it, he wrote Supertruck – “Kang, Kang, you’re dead/Evolved not dead”.
Apparently there will be a revival for the band at some stage, with a new lead guitarist and bassist. It’s believed that the new album will be called Zangoose, and its signature track will be Stantula. This band will march forever onwards, collecting numerous badges – I mean, music awards – along the way.
Stay tuned for Elvis Presley’s Kanto tour, including such songs as ‘You ain’t Nothing but a Houndoom’, and for metal band Exeggcutor.

Black Toothed Peas
According to an article I tore out of a newspaper today (and hence can’t name because I forget which one it was), a music toothbrush has been designed (priced at about $16) that “streams a song’s vibrations through the teeth so the music of bands, such as the Black Eyed Peas, can be heard in the inner ear for two minutes”. Well, erm, I suspect that this would in fact put me off brushing my teeth forever; my mouth might end up with bad taste but my brain wouldn’t.
Still, I’m not the target audience. However, this bit intrigued me; “The more pressure applied to the teeth the louder the song plays.” Hasn’t it been said many a time before that the current youth/teen generation listens to music far too loudly? And doesn’t listening to loud music gradually damage your ears, meaning you have to have your music progressively louder? I just have this mental image of a kid rocking out to the Black Eyed Peas whilst copious amounts of blood spill from their jaws. I think, somehow, that this product is going to drastically fail.

Poof!
The previous entry’s title reminded me that yesterday, after annoying my sister, she waved her finger at me and cried, “Poof!” in a high-pitched tone. She explained that it was meant to make people disappear, but I suggested that it was more likely to make her disappear, presumably in a river somewhere covered in blood. In all honesty though, since it’s true that homosexuality is censored out of children’s programming (the Playschool controversy is a nice example, even if that was a later outcry and not censorship), when does the onomatopoeia “poof!” suddenly become a politically incorrect insult against homosexuals (generally men)? And considering it’s the sort of onomatopoeia that’d be at home in an old Batman series, at one point will society make the connection and deem that Batman and Robin are gay?
Well, Batman, at least. I think Robin has a head start here.
Yuck, head start.
[Blogspot.com wishes to advise that the views of Dom Kelly, Playschool, the general population, Batman and Robin and Dom’s sister do not in any way represent or reflect the views held by its employees or affiliates. Except Liam O’Brien, the notorious gay-basher.]

Facial Caesarean
Geez... I’ve just watched ‘The Long Game’ again, and according to a reporter, the Face of Boe has just apparently fallen pregnant. Has anyone else picked up on this? Is this just media propaganda? And since when would a mystical, “secretive” leader of an organisation like Torchwood be renowned for his trysts and... wait, what I am saying? It’s Captain Jack, of course he is.
Still, I really, really can imagine an episode of Torchwood where the Face of Boe appears and forces Jack to take care of his baby; so whilst the others are off fighting, dying and being tortured by aliens in Cardiff, Jack is in the Hub, feeding the baby milk.
The one advantage to Jack being your baby’s father is simple, really; Jack never sleeps, so stick the baby with him every night and he’s never going to mind that it wakes up in the middle of the night, screaming and screaming.
In fact, there are many things that Captain Jack could provide, as a father:
Number 1) Teeth. Not only will your baby be born with beautiful gnashers, but never again will you have to gussy (sorry, The Sims 2 is getting to me) yourself up in a mirror, for you can just look at your reflection in his teeth!
Number 2) Immortality. Not only can Jack forever work for Torchwood at the same physical level, meaning you have a constant pay-flow, but the kid won’t be required to stick him into a nursing home when they grow up!
Number 3) Naming. Not only would the child have a title, such as “Commander” or “Sergeant”, which is completely undeserved, but their name is likely to be an acronym or clever play on words. For example, there was Professor Yana, or “You are Not Alone”, not to mention Captain Jack, or “Jack off”.
Number 4) Birds and the Bees. Actually, I don’t think you would want Jack to tell your kids about sex. Particularly as he’d try to when they’re 2 weeks old.
[Side-note: It’s ironic that I used a term from The Sims 2, because just recently my Sally Sparrow character (who did look a fair bit like Carey Mulligan, yes... mmm) attempted to fix a broken washing machine, was electrocuted, turned black from soot, and died. Dammit]

Editor is Loafing Around!
Can I indulge myself and point out the funniest editing mishap I’ve ever read in anything? It’s the novelisation of Pokemon: The Movie. Basically, in the book, Ash meets these three trainers called Fergus, Neesha and Corey. Corey’s signature Pokemon is a Venusaur named Bruteroot, and Neesha’s is a Blastoise named Shellshocker. Now, absolutely no reason, on pages 66 and 67, something really strange happens.
I quote the first one:
‘I was overconfident before,’ Corey admitted, ‘but this time I’m ready. Bruteroot, go!’
Bruteroot stomped to the center of the gym. Mewtwo’s cloned Venusaur stomped out and faced it.
‘Bruteroot, Razor Leaf!’ Umio commanded.
No, honestly. For absolutely no reason, Corey suddenly changes his name to Umio, and then it’s Corey again from thereon. This may seem like a strange but understandable typo, until the next one:
Neesha stepped into the battle arena.
‘We’ll see about that,’ she said. ‘Go, Blastoise!’
Mewtwo pointed to its cloned Blastoise.
The creatures thumped out into the center of the gym and faced each other.
‘Shellshocker, Hydro Pump!’ Sweet ordered.
No, honestly! Neesha just decides to be Sweet, again for only a brief moment. The editor must have been incredibly lazy – but I wonder why this happened in the first place? Was author Tracey West originally using the Japanese names then realised she had to use the American names, or did they change names halfway through, or was so she bloody bored whilst writing this book that she did something she found hilariously funny (and to be fair, so do we) to relieve the boredom? Well, it worked for me; it’s now one of the least boring books ever because of that one moment. I can’t wait to hear what would happen when a parent reads that to their child and has to fend off questions all day as to why the characters changed names all of a sudden.

You’re So Solid...
In the same light, Liam had a novelisation of Metal Gear as well, which was even more hideous. They incorporated the finding key card stuff into the game – so yes, Snake would just be swimming along and his hand would miraculously brush against a key-card (when the plot needed it, too). What’s funnier is the end scene; supposedly, what’s should be happening is a ten second countdown. Unfortunately, the action described between each second is impossible. I don’t have it with me, but I wouldn’t be exaggerating if I said that, in the space of a second, Snake fends a blow from Big Boss, punches him, runs away to the other side of the room and slams down a lever – and there’s that level of activity on every second. It’s hilariously unbelievable.
The worst thing, though, is that, instead of leaving him purely as Solid Snake, or Snake, the author decided to give him a real name too. He’s so solid, this guy, that his real name is... Justin Halley? Justin Halley...?!

Retired, but not from Sex
Flipping through the prostitution/escort services pages in the paper today, which I always do because they amuse me (no, honestly), I was very, very surprised today to see two entries relating to older women wanting sex describing themselves as “grannies”, and I must quickly add that they were both only 50. Now, technically this is obviously possible – they might have grandchildren at that age – but, I mean, really? Since when did being 50 and throwing yourself into the sex market suddenly mean you had to describe yourself as a granny? Why would you describe yourself as one in a paper anyway? What, realistically, will you hope to achieve? A legion of fetish-holding young men? God. It’ll be the next misuse of a “sexual” term, so instead of “milfs” taking first place we’ve now got “grannies”.
However, it’s amusing to think of the dialogue that would go on between these “grannies” and their no doubt younger toy boys. I’m just imagining a first time man having to ask how to have sex in the style of those old cranberry juice ads – “Where’s the fanny, granny?”

The Lust Vikings
Speaking of which, I’d like to call the classic video game The Lost Vikings up for misrepresentation and a typically inaccurate attitude towards history. The three Vikings who populate the game don’t have terrible table manners, they don’t get food lodged in their beards, they don’t set things on fire and they don’t rape women. Which is a pity, because the aliens would have been forced to have some of their own medicine.
There is a trend, though, isn’t there, of video games poorly representing history? That’s not to say that history is a bunch of facts anyway because it’s all about perspective, but surely even the most braindead of people would realise that, contrary to what Dynasty Warriors may tell you, Chinese generals were not capable of defeating thousands of men on their own on a battlefield, let alone have a tally board that counted (was this what the rest of the army were doing at the time, then?). Movies are often accused of being historically inaccurate, but games are just hopelessly so. I loved watching my cousin Alex play the third (I believe) Prince of Persia game for PS2 recently, because amusingly, the Prince returned to his home to find out that there’d been a war on. Now come on – they may not have had mass media, but to have completely missed that? That’s completely crap.
Then we have to put up with real time strategy games, where troops are constructed not of flesh and blood, but of gold, wood, stone and food. Where it’s perfectly feasible for a Spanish monk sitting on a mule to wave his arms around for two seconds and a, say, Japanese samurai to suddenly think, “He’s right, sod this – I’m joining his team and fighting my own people from now on”.
Historical accuracy never gets as poor, however, as when cheats are involved. Call of Duty: United Offensive has a cheat that renders the guns invisible, which I find far more offensive than the offensive itself. Codename: Panzers, Phase One shows us that soldiers shot through the ranks not by virtue of bravery but by getting experience points, and some could apparently cheat, as well as have an “unknown effect” (don’t know what this cheat is about... moving on). Kohan II: Kings of War has a cheat to remove the Fog of War, which is fair enough. After all, I don’t particularly remember the Fog of War ever being such a hindrance to any real battle in history; the only possible place where the dreaded Fog could destroy your army and leave them in tatters would no doubt be London.

True Poo
Sorry for the inappropriate title, but I’ve just got to say; I can’t stand the phrase “true blue”. Other than being stereotypical and bloody crappy sounding, it’s also deeply offensive. We’re true blue because we follow the virtues of our flag, is that it? Sorry, but our flag, as I pointed out, depicts another country and our relation to it. Oh, so if we act ever so vaguely but not entirely British, then we’re true blue. Right? Wonderful!
Honestly, this is a phrase that needs to be erased from current language, because it’s hideous. It’s alright remembering it, in the same way that we must remember casual racism post-WWII in Britain, because we’re supposed to look back and move on. But, erm, we’re not moving on, that’s the problem. I don’t know many people that say “true blue” anymore, but that’s because no-one needs to; it’s all there in our minds. It’s “UNAUSTRALIAN” or it’s “AUSTRALIAN” if we disagree or agree with it. If one person, then finds it disagreeable, then that automatically means that the entire country does too, eh? Oh, fuck off.

Freaky Fridays
In the tradition of mixing things together that I established, to the detriment of pop culture, I’ve decided that the movie Freaky Friday would have been so much better had it been presented as a movie length version of Freaky Stories. I can imagine the opening now... “This is a true story. It happened to a body of a mother of mine... me.”

Ad Synchronicity
I constantly see threads on forums about “What’s your favourite ad?” or “What’s your least favourite ad?” but I think I’ve cracked upon something much, much better. “What’s your favourite run of ads?”
See, a year ago (which I remember now because I was perusing old MSN conversations), I stumbled across two really boring ads, one a serious cry against rapists, and one a Domayne ad. However, it was the actual way that they linked that amused me no end...
“I’ve been raped... you feel the rape for the rest of your life, it’s horrid...”
“Rape is a crime. If you’ve been raped, call the confidential hotline. When it comes to rape, Australia says no...”
“...no, no, NO! NO repayments at Domayne!”
I laughed, but that’s because I’m a horrid excuse for a human being.

Image vs. Text
Where the hell did this notion come that comic books, as a form of entertainment, are inherently silly anyway? Why are a collection of drawn images suddenly supposedly less realistic and believable than the latest fantasy novel, or even the latest crime novel? There’s no excuse of style over substance, granted, but when substance itself isn’t enough and style is non-existent, which often happens in books, why are comics spat on?
Even Doctor Who suffers from this. If you were to ask a fan, they’re likely to say that the TV series is only worthy of consideration, or by extension the books and audios. Yet the comics are practically ignored, which I find hideously aggravating because they’re often so much better at arcs, character development and overall story-to-story content (not arc, just in quality and ideas) than any of the other media.
So what happened to the notion that “a picture can mean a thousand words”? I think, perhaps, this quote in itself is misleading; the idea it seems to privilege is that one image could give you the same amount of information as a thesis, say, on philosophy. What the quote should say – ironically, words misrepresenting themselves again – is that a picture can speak a thousand words, but a completely different thousand words than a book. The media are just so different that it’s basically impossible to compare them, but a frame in a comic can tell you a hell of a lot about character, setting, tone and everything, when a book will often spend ages trying to set this up. However, a comic has to have words to get the plot fuelled and rolling, but you may notice that this is often done with few words, not because it’s all action, but because few words are needed to convey the ideas when an image will do just nicely. Books, too, will not have a fast-paced narrative by writing scrawling paragraphs of text – that’s an insanely silly idea.
It’s worth pointing out, too, that whilst comic books have their fair share of words, good books are described as having really good “imagery”, so they’re not mutually exclusive, they’re simply weighted differently due to the respective medium. In which case, I’ve no idea why comics are so put down. Besides which, hasn’t the universe and human race grown up on imagery? Words may help us to understand concepts and be more precise and intricate, but they also have the capacity to simply list boring details all over the place, just as images can be mundane and boring or evocative and poetic (ironic, because poems can be described as having good imagery...!).
So, just like genre, it’s nothing to do with medium, it’s to do with individual quality. People must realise this... please?!
[Side-note: The irony, of course, is that I’m sitting here writing a blog that’s practically devoid of any meaningful imagery at all – though, to be fair, it’s devoid of any meaningful text too.]

Harry Phallus and the Order of the Phallic
Amidst the slightly detailed plot teasers of currently screening movies in the paper, the one for Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix simply reads “Stroppy teen wizard Harry Potter gets his first kiss”. Heaven help me, is that really why so many people went to see the film?

X-Rejected
New pornography bans will apparently be felt soon in the Northern Territory, which bans X-rated films and pornographic and magazines. I, um, don’t know what to make of this. To be honest, I really don’t see what the point of this is – is it really going to make people nicer, and can’t they just search up their soon-to-be-illicit carnal pleasures online?
What perplexes me, actually, is that this is part of the federal takeover of indigenous affairs, apparently. What, pray, does pornography have to do with Aboriginals? Pardon me, but I wasn’t aware there was an Aboriginal porno business booming. What’d it be called, the Wet-Dreamtime?

CC – You Can’t Say No!
I watched all of recent adaptation Northanger Abbey recently, purely because Carey Mulligan was in it, and I have one thing to say: Carey’s cleavage...?! How is it, may I ask, that period drama gets away with rabid and endless glimpses of cleavage and sumptuous skin without ever being accused of being sexist or misogynist or anything similar? Even Fingersmith seems to have escaped this, and although I feel it’s quite a well-written, touching tale and not a gratuitous male wet dream, I’m surprised that absolutely no-one seems to disagree.
Is this why it’s called “period drama”? Drama that involves periods, coming of age? Austen’s work is all about that anyway – or coming of maturity – so it’s not that far off.

Font Names
You know, looking at the list of fonts, I’ve come to the realisation that most of them are incredibly idiotically named anyway. In the opposite to Times New Roman, a lot of them, such as Bookman Old Style, actually tell you if something looks traditional. God knows what sort of person wouldn’t have even a vague idea of the sort of scrawly writing that traditionally features as a clichéd Shakespearean way of writing.
There’s one called Bradley Hand which is slightly off-centred, so presumably the person this was named after is feeling incredibly put down. Particularly if they were left-handed, as that would be an extra blow to the unfortunate kicking down of left hands in society – for example, the Catholic Church are very “handist”, adamant that the right hand be used for genuflecting, taking the Body of Christ and everything. Presumably the left hand is for dirtier things like masturbation, although supposedly this wouldn’t be allowed anyway.
This is actually very topical, because the weekend Herald did have a full front cover article on a dirty sexual assaulting priest, Vince something. Actually, as a kid, I too was adamant that my right hand be used for clean things and my left for dirty, so really I was as handist as everyone else and convinced my right was pure. This is interesting, because it wasn’t something influenced by other people or anything. I ironically feel rather dirty writing about it. Still, don’t worry; I’m now perfectly happy to use my right hand for base things like masturbation now.
Getting back to font, though – it’s also amusing how some are actually called things like Arial Narrow and Arial Black. Surely we’d be able to find that out? Besides which, on Windows Vista at least, these are all illustrated in said font so you wouldn’t need to pay attention to what it’s called. Anyway, what the heck is the point of Arial Black? Why not just use bold?
There’s also Mongolian, which doesn’t look Mongolian to me, as well as a number of “Gothic” fonts, none of which are very gothic and are actually all very straight and dull.
The use of names is interesting, though. From what I can tell, Poor Richard was a bloke with shoddy but interesting handwriting, whilst Bradley Hand was similarly afflicted. David is quite normal, though for some reason that I can’t fathom he appears to speak in Arabic (then again, there’s that famous “Lawrence of Arabia”, so perhaps “David of Arabia” isn’t as farfetched. Incidentally, that reminds me of a girl, who shall remain nameless, who once told me that the name Lawrence of Arabia amused her because it was like calling something Habib of London. Although I laughed, mostly out of shock, it’s interesting that this comment was made a fair way before the huge anti-Muslim bent of this decade. Plus, British people love their kebabs after getting pissed anyway, so I’m sure that Habib of London, if he exists, does a roaring trade). Georgia is quite normal. Jasmine is ridiculously neat, the sort of hand-writing you’d expect from a no doubt snobbish posh girl with the name Jasmine. Lily is incredibly blocky and straight, not something you’d expect from a girl. Miriam is an interesting one; her letters are quite curved, but what’s interesting is that she can be translated into Arabic, whereas Miriam Fixed looks neater and more “proper English”, and can’t be translated into Arabic. Oh dear – is this a huge anti-Muslim conspiracy lying within Bill Gates’ mandates for Windows Vista? Perhaps he was embarrassed that a particular Webdings type font which I’ve forgotten the name of turned 9/11 into a plane about to hit two towers. Then again, Miriam is a pretty shocking name for a generic terrorist. “I hate the Western infidels!” says British Muslim extremist Miriam. I’m imagining her to act like Miriam Margoyles does in the Blackadder Series Two episode where she plays Blackadder’s strict Protestant aunt.
Actually, an amusing one is Simple Arabic and Simple Arabic Fixed. It’s amusing because Simple Arabic Fixed is such a long name that it actually stretches across the scrolling down bar and the last letter disappears, meaning that it’s not such a great fix after all. Hmm, perhaps the name actually refers to a simple Arabic person getting a fix.

Contradictory Lessons 2#
“Don’t let people tell you what to think” – now they’re words to live by. Erm, hang on...
(Bands like Greenday are particularly guilty of this)

“Your pits are shit!”
I know that people have fetishes for armpits and feet, but how far do these extend? I wonder because yesterday I had an unusually high quantity of sweat exuding from the pores under my armpit. Would armpit fetishists still find them attractive?

Find the Gap
My train ticket recently told me, I noticed on close inspection, to “mind the gap”. That’s thoughtful of them, to remind us of that, but what’s the chances of people looking at their tickets anyway? Surely the only people who look at them would be paranoid obssessives, who would mind the gap, and bored shitheads like myself, who avoid the gap?

Fly Eyes
I should quickly relate the story of what happened on the bus when I was coming back from Uni. There was a big verbal fight between a bunch of girls on the bus, which I sort of started by accidentally sitting in the wrong seat and then going over to sit with Sarah Elliott when I realised she was there.
Either way, it turned to personal insults. The funniest, and by that I mean oddest, was one of the opposing girls remarking snidely, “Isn’t it funny how 90% of people who wear sunglasses are ugly?”
My answer is, “Well, no, because that’s not true.” At the moment, teenage fashion is stuck in a rut of every girl wearing those oversized “fly goggle” glasses, and most of them are “hot” (by which I mean, they show off their bodies, which are of course admittedly good-looking but not exactly helpful, to me at least). Besides which, it’s also assuming that all blind people are ugly too. The irony being, of course, that a blind person wouldn’t know what’s ugly anymore either, and frankly wouldn’t care.
But the point is, I’ve really been wondering about the fly goggle glasses. I suspect that girls wear them because, in all honesty, boys are (against stereotype) more likely to take more interest in the face than anything else. This is for a variety of reasons. For me, it’s because I find the face more attractive and often a better signal of a girl’s personality than their body. For other men, it’s simply so that they can confirm that a girl is interested or not. This doesn’t mean that boys look at the face first, just that inevitably this must happen. With the glasses, though, the emphasis is to immediately concentrate on the (scantily clad) body. In that sense, it’s almost as if personality doesn’t matter.
Sunglasses have always creeped me out anyway because they hide peoples’ eyes, meaning they could be watching you and you wouldn’t know. But these sunglasses are worse because they hide womens’ brains and personality, and it’s really rather disturbing. In fact, I tend to be so, well, wary of seeing those glasses that I immediately look away anyway and am forced to look at the body.
And yes, “forced”. Of course there’s the option to not look at all, but would that satisfy a very simplistic urge? No point not looking, I feel.


You Drive Me WILD
God, I really love reading Adult Services pages in newspapers. Not because I find them desperately sad, but because I find them uproariously funny. It’s usually the turn of phrase that gets me.
Here’s a bunch of examples from today’s list:
“YOU DRIVE ME WILD” Taken completely out of context, because in fact there is no context other than it being big blocky lettering amidst adult services ads. Personally I’m flattered, if a little disturbed.
“All over Japanese boby rub. An unforgettable experience.” Yes, it would be; I hardly think I’d forget rubbing a stereotypical British copper who happens to be Japanese all over.
“Escort avail. Spa avail.” Brilliant – so I can ditch the escort and just get the spa?
“Amazing Asian. Like never before.” She’s never been Asian before?
“Fire ‘n’ Ice French. Greek.” I didn’t realise French prostitutes were so in tune with the weather. It must be fascinating pre-intercourse chat, talking about the weather. The Greeks, meanwhile, have nothing to say... for shame!
“All extras.” Ah, you mean, they’re all extras from porn films, none of them attractive enough for a starring role?
“Sister Asian Greek Service, fantasy Lesbian Double.” That’s a hell of a claim. They’re sisters, they’re gay, they’re Asian, they’re Greek, they’ll serve you, all at the same time... and they’ll dress like fantasy genre warriors too?
“Rear entrance.” What if I want to penetrate from the front?
“Classical upmarket premises”. Because we all know that there are different levels or prostitution, some distinctly high-brow, and some derogatory (though classical musicians weren’t afraid of a snuff-box or two, so it wouldn’t surprise me. They probably fuck to Bolero).
“Hot body to body action”. As opposed to, what, body to pillow? Body to pole? Body to tree?
Yuck, I accidentally looked in the wrong column then and saw, “Quality slices of beef”, thinking it was still part of the prostitute section and not the meat section. Anyway...
“French, Lesbian doubles, toys and Greek Service.” Toys?! I knew those Bratz dolls were too slutty for their own good!
“Gentleman’s Club: Come Visit what all of Newcastle is Talking about”. Oh, yeah! Novocastrians don’t talk about Silverchair, or the Pasha Bulker, or Andrew Johns. When we do talk about our achievements, we always talk about Gi Gi. Now there’s our combatant to our older brother Sydney’s Mardi Gras – Gi Gi Day. It has potential, you have to admit.
“NASTY GIRLS”, “NASTY TEENS 100%”. Yeah, let’s all bone off to Mean Girls next.
“Horny busty blonde will have XXX fun with anyone interested”. In other words, she’ll give you three kisses. Shocking!
“Always horny, loves to get wild, no strings.” No strings? But I’ve got a John Lennon/Yoko Ono fetish! (If strings genuinely refers to “no strings attached”, then might we infer that an organisation of prostitution would have strings, and that Gi Gi’s would therefore be Gi Strings?)
“S*r* and B**nc* wants a guy”. What, so they’re the one entity? God, that’s disturbing; a prostitution agency built on psychically linked twins. I’m really scared now.
And I turn the page, and... oh, it’s Thomas the Tank Engine. That’s appropriate.
[Side-note: Actually, one of the gay escorts was called Thomas in here.]
[Side-side-note: And it’s not hard to imagine a prostitute called the Fat Controller. Quite a fetish.]
[Side-side-side-note: And it’s not hard to imagine why Duck is called “Duck”.]
[End-note: And I’ll deliberately stop myself there.]

Insults
I’ve received a great many thrown out of cars throughout my life – although not as many as I would have thought I would, and I remember few of them – but what strikes me is the things people yell out are never true. There’s the standard “POOF!” which of course is yelled out by three shirtless surfies driving along in their new P-plate car. Read that again: three shirtless surfies. That’s not necessarily homosexuality, but it’s certainly homoerotic, and it’s the kind of thing we were discussing today in History about the half-sexual feelings between comrades in wartime (brought up by our watching of Platoon). Another one, though, was even more incorrect, because I didn’t even look anything like they said. I had my hair slightly shorter than it is now, so in other words it reached halfway down my neck (though, I don’t have hair that goes simply downwards, so it doesn’t even look that long), and I was wearing my favourite brown leather jacket which is practically part of my body. Anyway, two guys went past in a car and yelled out, “Get a haircut, hippy!” I wasn’t certain if I really should pay attention to their fashion tips, but, hey, hippy? Absolutely nothing about me points me to having any level of hippiness, from my hair, my leather brown jacket (certainly not hippy), to my lack of a drug addiction, to the fact that I don’t have hippy beliefs, to the fact that I don’t even look like I surfaced from the 60’s despite my Doctor Who obsession... Seriously, if someone is going to insult me, can they not do it properly and make fun of me for something that’s true?
Today, though, was a new record in incoherent insults. This one I didn’t even understand, so it was beyond ridiculous. As I waited at the traffic lights, looking sick and with my hair blowing over my face from the annoyingly powerful wind, a guy in a car that was waiting in line waved me at me with a sneering grin on his face and yelled something that sounded like, “Hey, Chelton!” I can’t think of what it could possibly be – what insult sounds like chelton? Helpfully, his friend repeated the insult as I passed the car, but unhelpfully it was just as incoherent the second time. Incidentally, there was a girl in the car too (driving) who appeared utterly disinterested in what was going on, so I’ll give her some credit.
I suspect “chelton” is a new way of calling someone “homosexual” and meaning it as an insult, since “gay”, “queer” and even “poof” have largely been claimed as proud tags that the gay community now wear and aren’t at all insulted by. Still, it’s a strange one. Assuming it was an insult about my sexuality (I’m bicurious at best, so no male sex for me)... I did have a strange desire to walk up to the car and quiz them, at which point they’d elaborate (presumably by saying, “Poof!”). I already had a comeback in my head... “No, sorry, I’m not really into that sort of thing, though I’ll take your girlfriend if she’s willing.”
Of course, on paper, that sounds like a juvenile response which amounts to “Poof!” “You’re the poof!” but I’ve found that these are the two best ways to attack a jock, via his sexuality: imply that he’s gay (without actually saying it – he’ll jump to the conclusion of course, angrily, at which point you can say, “Oh, I didn’t mean gay, but I wonder why you suddenly thought it was likely that you and homosexuality are linked?”) and of course take away the one thing that keeps him straight, his girlfriend.

Come on You Slags!
I reuse most of the paper that Marco’s printed off for work, so it’s always covered in scientific technobabble and mineralbabble and god knows what else. The one on top of the pile, though, which I’ve been scribbling thoughts on for days (and somehow not noticed this...?) says:
Slag: “The slag properties depend on the waste material.”
The less environmentally friendly the girl, the more a slag she is. Scientists have proved it, see?

The Dominos Effect
Speaking of ads, the new Domino’s one is bizarre. A nerdy guy is peer pressured to stop studying, bites into a pizza, and is transformed into someone cool. I’m not exactly worried about the moral repercussions of this, because it’s obvious and stupid anyway, but I do find it strange that you can apparently be massively cool simply from eating pizza. False advertising? I ate pizza tonight – Domino’s, in fact – and I didn’t feel any cooler. Besides, if you haven’t got friends, who’ll notice your magnificent change? And if you haven’t got friends, why would you logistically order pizza in the first place?
You know, if Dominos and their effect can be related to communism, I wonder if Eagle Boys are those bally boys in their wondrous flying machines. And Pizza Hut is African. Hmm.

Woman-Child
Why, realistically, is Destiny’s Child’s song ‘Independent Woman’ the theme of Charlie’s Angels? Leaving aside the fact that Destiny’s Child are wrapped up in a culture that reduces women to sex objects anyway... er... don’t the angels work for a man? I mean, bow to his every whim?

Household Hits
I saw an ad, too, for a compilation CD entitled Household Hits II, which is apparently for women dusting around the house and other mundane stereotypical things. Er, but Anastacia’s ‘I’m out of Love’ is on it, which is apparently a “feel-good” song according to the ad. What, a song about, er, never loving and hating men? And are you really going to be listening to a feminist song whilst dusting around the house? Really?
And, “Household Hits” sounds like there’s a huge amount of violence that occurs in said home... which, considering the subservient role of the album’s listeners, wouldn’t surprise me.

Protests and Outcry
Just the other day I did a rather impromptu, undisciplined and completely unprepared debate about the historical accuracy of Rabbit-Proof Fence as a movie. This isn’t about that. This is about something raised during the debate.
At one point, the teacher mentioned the current Liberal interference in the Northern Territory concerning Aboriginals’ rights. I said that I didn’t think there’s much of an outcry over this, and this was immediately refuted – there are protests, the news goes on about it, blah, blah, blah. I tried to argue my position, but realised I couldn’t, off the top of my head.
I shot myself in the foot, I think, by using the word “outcry”. I think the phrase I should have used is, “The nation doesn’t actually care”. This could be disputed, but I think this comes down to generational gaps. I feel that, today, protests are generally... not mindless as such, but they’re an accepted thing. If someone today says, “I’m going to protest over this!” my general, subconscious reply will be, “Yeah, you do that.” Protests haven’t lost their meaning, but their meaning has been stunted by how often they’ve been done. It’s no longer a shock to see someone protesting over something; it’s almost expected. The only time when it could be a shock or something, dare I say it, “interesting” (in the same way that the death of Princess Diana could have been “interesting” – see Lawrence Miles’ Faction Paradox: ‘This Town Will Never Let Us Go...’), is if it degenerates into a riot. Cronulla’s rightly famous, but that’s because it turned into a riot. Had it been a protest, we would have simply gone, “What sick barstards they are to be so racist”, then forgotten about it. I reckon we would have, anyway. That’s for you to decide.
And in terms of television, well, this is where it comes down to generational gaps. Let’s jump back in time to another era of great protest and shock in the news; the Vietnam War. There’s that famous image of a Vietnamese man being summarily executed. No trial, just a direct shot in the head. That was a huge shock for the public, who had a) pretty much accepted that the war was being won, and b) that it was a “clean, heroic” war (as if all previous wars were, but never mind). But look at images shown of brutality by our military (and the US’, and the Brits’) in the news, and ask yourself this – is anyone actually shocked by these? No. I’m likely to look at those images and say, “They’re just sick”, but it’s almost as if I’m expecting to see something like that, and that’s, actually, because I am. I’d say this is true of many, too. So whilst the Vietnam generation are likely to just shake their heads in disappointment, the younger generation are used to it. Whereas, during the Vietnam War, university students were banding together and protesting. Yes, the younger generation. Again, not something that had really happened before. Now, not only is this almost expected, but the irony is that it doesn’t actually happen. At best, you’ll have someone walking around school with a “No War” badge (as happened during Year 10; my second cousin did this, actually), and that’ll feel pointless. If anything it’ll feel irritating, as if people are jumping on the bandwagon. Which isn’t at all fair, but it’s a natural response now.
So, the younger generation. It’s fair to say that we’re desensitised to violence because we see lots of it on TV. It’s also fair to say that this is a conflicting issue, that it has good and bad points. After all, we’re not being shielded; I’m all for not showing pointless guts and gore, but the fact that we can be shown these (and M15+ doesn’t matter a jot, because it’s not really going to stop anyone, especially as people can download films now) proves that we know what violence looks like. We’re able to see it, raw, and know how horrible it is. On the other hand, it’s true that, once you know how horrible something is, and you’ve accepted that it’s horrible, it’s easy to fall into the trap of saying, “Yeah, it’s horrible” in a casual sort of way.
I think the problem is that we haven’t jumped media in politics yet. Getting back to those images of military brutality, notice how news reports no longer say, “Footage released”; they’re more likely to actually acknowledge that it’s “footage circulating on Youtube”. Therefore, for the younger generation, with the internet full of Youtube and the ability to watch political speeches and such on news sites, it’s obvious that the younger generation rarely watches the news. I don’t. That shouldn’t be a problem, because the internet and other things should alert me to problems in the world. Unfortunately, whilst these aforementioned images circulate – and getting back to the Northern Territory thing – well, the reason why, as this Journal showed, I had no idea about this NT stuff was because I never came across anything saying it on the web.
It’s all technology. I hesitate to use the oft-used phrase “Get with the times!” but, really, that’s what should be happening. The first step, I think, is MSN. Considering everyone has it, and considering MSN Today pops up and gives you new articles, the content needs to be changed. Can we see more important stuff, and not minor articles about minor celebrities doing minor things? The service is there, so far, just not the content. This can change, and should.
As for protests – well, why not internet petitions? Yes, the vast majority can be meaningless, but there’s no reason why internet petitions are intrinsically meaningless. And if you think a thing full of signatures sent straight to the government isn’t going to have any effect at all, that text isn’t as effective as being seen in person – um, this is called a democracy. The looming elections are evidence of that; millions upon millions of votes, written votes. It doesn’t matter what the people look like, it matters what’s voted. If democracy is what we inhabit, then we should take advantage of it.

Weird West
Speaking of genres... it’s just occurred to me, why does Wild West equate to its own genre? Surely it’s a setting, not an actual genre? I mean, you know, that’d be like if all fantasy books were set in a Tolkien landscape, or all sci-fis in a Star Wars landscape. Obviously there’ll be imitators, but... how many people, realistically, could tell a resoundingly different Wild West story? Hmm. I can’t think of one.
Save for Doctor Who and its story ‘The Gunfighters’, of course.
[Side-note: I almost didn’t add that because, you know, it’d be yet another reference. Actually, there were far more comparisons I was going to make, but I figure it’d bore the shit out of those who have no interest/have never watched/read/listened to the franchise.]

Cybernova
Someone needs to make Cybernova, the story of a notorious cybersex artist who pretended to be someone rich and wealthy and young when he was in fact a 90 year old aging man. Er, or perhaps they don’t.

Modelling, part 2
MX’s question of the day – “Should models be more full-figured?”
There’s the usual set of dull answers. Some woman gives a vague quote about stereotypes and how they shouldn’t exist (errr...?), some boring woman says they should look healthier and more normal. No offence to either, actually, if they ever read this (that’s a lie, I’m being really offensive, but you know, it’s because you look faceless to me. If I met you, I’d never say this stuff).
My answer is a resounding “NO”, of course.
Think about it. Models aren’t just fashioning clothes, otherwise they might as well be shop mannequins. They’re fashioning body types too. And they’re perfectly alllowed to do that. If they think the fashion everyone should adopt is, you know, being a skinny freak (like me... I’ve succumbed! Have mercy on me!), if that’s what’s in at the moment, if that’s what you must do to get with it (ah, wait, I can’t have succumbed then. Hooray!)... then they’re entitled to show this.
‘Course, no-one should follow their example, but hopefully that’s common sense, in the same way that seeing a Ku Klux Klan outfit wouldn’t immediately cause people who’d never seen it before to somehow think it was cool and hang black people. After all, in terms of this model controversy... it’s been blown up as a big controversy anyway, so why bother to be, you know, responsible for fans? Girls (and guys) know that this isn’t on because it’s shoved in their faces, like the food that these skinny girls are told to eat.
So, not a problem. NO, they shouldn’t be.

SPEECH
I had this mental image today of Bob Dylan’s cue cards for his speeches during school years.

Opening Doors
I dislike work – and in particular, the business world. I think that’s pretty evident (no, blatant) from what I wrote before on the subject. But the reason for going to do it in the first place – well, it’s that old saying, “It’ll open doors for you.” Thanks – makes me sound like I’m disabled and inept at opening doors and I need someone to help me. Even disabled people would be offended by the phrase (as well as my use of them for pseudo-comic purposes).
I’ve never understood what’s so good about opening doors, anyway. Opening doors is seen as a good thing, an absolutely good thing, but I simply hate doors. They’re generally obstacles, and they allow people complete privacy (true, I like having my own privacy and respect others’ – if only because I don’t want to know what they get up to - but in the business world, uh-uh). If anything, the ideal business world will be one that completely knocks down the doors, walls, and windows of opportunity (realistically, what can be gained by jumping out of a window? Oh, that’s right – death. Sign me up!) should be a playground. If you want to speak to the tourism industry boss, simply toddle over to the sandbox. You can even go over to the slide/slippery dip and go help up the poor SME* who’s fallen down, bruised his knee and is whinging for mummy. It’s a happy place.
‘Course, like all school playgrounds, it’d have to be separated from the rest of the world by tall steel bars, but good riddance I say. Let the business people be all caught up in their own little world.
*SME = Small or Medium Enterprise. A small business, in other words. Yes, I’m starting to learn the terms. No, I’m not happy.

School/Prison
Actually, the playground imagery is interesting, because it sort of hadn’t occurred to me, from my own perspective of course (I’ve read hundreds of authors that have used this metaphor), that at school you really are cordoned off from the rest of the world by huge steel bars, and by locking the gate. Instead of bothering me, though, or making me feel claustrophobic – I’m happier that way. As you waltz around the social structure of school, do you really want to be bothered by the outside world and everything it brings? Hell no. Which is probably why mobile phones wouldn’t be the best thing to have at school, for my own reason – it’d connect you constantly to the outside world, and far from stopping you learning (who cares?), it’d stop you living this ideal lifestyle where it doesn’t matter a fucking jot if you don’t work – at worst you’re sent outside. Oh no! Don’t send me to another part of the school where I can sit outside and kick my legs breezily in the wind!
People often say that school is like prison. Obviously they’re talking out of their arse, because I’d be more worried about the fact that they’ve apparently been to prison and that it’s not on record rather than the fact that they found their school years depressing... but actually, whilst I don’t at all want to go to prison, I could see the benefits of it as well. Think about it - the outside world doesn’t bother you, and you’re in your own little world. Obviously it’s controlled by someone else (like a parent). Obviously you have to watch your back (like with bullies). But I think you’d find comfort in it over time, and presumably this is why a lot of prisoners hate leaving. It’s almost like agoraphobia, but due to the people rather than the places.
Hmm, does this mean I’m agoraphobic? I do like living in small spaces more than larger ones, true, and I honestly think that, no matter how much money I earn, I’ll live in a normal house (even if I’m a millionaire)... but I guess I’m not afraid of open, bigger spaces. Maybe afraid of what it’ll turn me into. Or slightly worried. Hmm.

Catchmotto
Catchphrase comedy largely stinks. We know that, don’t we? Of course, you could argue that Red Dwarf, or The League of Gentlemen has catchphrases, and I’ll concede the point. It’s fiction, after all, and catchphrases are allowed. The Simpsons, too. But it’s when the catchphrases dominate, when there’s no character underneath barring that implied by the catchphrase, that a programme is stagnant and dull. Like, you know, The Catherine Tate Show. Or, Little Britain. I don’t care how funny or not the sketches in Little Britain are – and yes, some are funny – it’s just that they rarely progress. They’re, you know, annoying.
The thing that perplexes me, in real life as it were, is as follows. Obviously, people like characters with catchphrases, but see themselves as being different, er, kettles of fish (why would have you have fish in a kettle anyway? It sounds like a theft of a Thomas the Tank Engine plot).
If that’s the case... why do so many people want mottos?
Aren’t they exactly the same thing? Or is it that one’s funny and one’s serious, and therefore the latter is more worthy? Look, for me, I find it strange to have a motto, and I’ve never sought one (though to be fair, this was more because I couldn’t be bothered when younger rather than a moral reason like now). Say someone’s motto is, for example, “Do good in your life”. That’s it? That’s what your life is defined by? If one’s life can be defined by five words, then there’s something really, really wrong – and it’s crap, of course, because it’s impossible. I think it’d be more accurate, if anything, to say that people can be summed up by their journal or diary (assuming they have one) rather than a motto.

Michael's Just so Great. *Receives cheque*

Bricked Up
That phrase, “Someone has been a real brick!” to mean that they’ve been really sturdy... well, could we then go by the three little pigs logic? Could someone who’s been a real wood therefore be quite flimsy, whilst someone who’s been a real straw can be blown away simply by pursing your lips and expelling air in their general direction?

Nig-Cats
Uh. I’m not trying to be offensive with this entry, I swear to god. But...
Why have cats not reclaimed the name “Nigger” as their own?
You know what I mean. “Nigger” was quite a popular name for pets back in the day, as well as black people, who took it back – ala “man” – as something that they took pride in, throwing insults in white man’s face. Excellent.
Thing is, the cats have already done the whole “man” thing. I mean, they’ve been described as cool cats. Many is the time I’ve seen a cat be accompanied by a James Brown single. So how come, in today’s climate, we’ve not seen Niggaz Catz?
Indeed, if Red Dwarf was being remade today, would the character of the Cat be represented as a ghetto gangster?
[Side-note: I’m actually being serious here, not trying to crack a joke. Which is, um, probably worse than if I was trying to crack a joke.]

Guns and Roses
Looking at the front cover of the Doctor Who book ‘Revolution Man’ by Paul Leonard, I’m struck by the wonderful image. Ooh, it’s a gun lying on roses. It’s that wonderful Spanish-esque flavour, that treatment of death and killing as something romantic. Not to say that that’s the right way to look at it, I suppose, but it ends up being as fascinating as, say, the way that the Mexicans celebrate death (also represented in another Doctor Who adventure, ‘The Way of All Flesh’... god, they’re good at showing different facets of history/culture, aren’t they?).
My problem is... Guns ‘n’ Roses. For fuck’s sake, why did they call themselves that? What relevance do they have to the Spanish? Their music doesn’t even contain a trace of flamenco. It sickens me that such a powerful and wonderful image can be reduced to what is surely one of the most boring bands that ever existed. Axl Rose may be an utter prick, but he’s also a useless songwriter, and the two in combination – coupled with the complete lack of reasoning for the name (GOD, SOMEONE EXPLAIN IT TO ME!) – makes me hate the band even more than I did when I heard the original ‘Live and Let Die’ and realised how much better it was and that I’d only vaguely liked the Guns ‘n’ Roses one because the actual melody itself was good, not their awful arrangement of it.

H2... Oh!
Speaking of eyebrow-raise-worthy musicians (what a crap sentence. I apologise), reading H2 today, I was astonished to see an advertisement for Keith Urban’s soon to be released Greatest Hits album. Um, what? It’s Nikki Webster syndrome all over again. We all know what I’m about to say, but I’ll say it anyway; had he not married Nicole Kidman, he’d be a nobody.
And speaking of nobodies, Emma Watson (ooh, harsh; I don’t actually mean her, read on) broke up with her rugby playing boyfriend, apparently. What amused me was that it didn’t give any information on him apart from “rugby playing”. Now, sure, that may be an excellently well-done element of staying-out-of-the-spotlight, but the lack of information makes me wonder if he plays professionally, or he just plays it in his backyard.
And no, I’m not bashing her (ex)boyfriend because I have some idiotic fascination with her. Indeed, I think she’s by far the most annoying of the three kids. Nice enough, but annoying.

Cowboys and Indians
Tying into what I said about Guns ‘n’ Roses (and I bet I’ve misspelt that or something; let me say that, since they shouldn’t have that name in the first place, I honestly don’t give a fuck), it fascinates me that children play Cowboys and Indians. Right, Cops and Robbers I can understand, but Cowboys and Indians? Does anybody else find that a bit perverse? A bit like playing English Colonists and Aborigines?
I’d love to see other battles and/or gang wars turned into games for children, though. Personally I can’t wait for Tally-Hoes and Jerries, where the kids have to spend five hours sitting in trenches before finally attacking each other and all dying in five seconds. Or what about Vietcong and Americans, where the former hide in the bushes and use cover effectively whilst the latter smoke drugs and play their radios at stupidly loud volumes? And getting onto gangs, I’d love to see Gangstas and Hoods, a game where they all rap at each other before capping each other in their “ass”. Grubby Kids in da Ghettos man. You have to admit, it has potential.

The Crowd
Yesterday, I said to my sister that she was part of the cool crowd, which she vehemently rejected. I was – and sort of still am, even though I know why – sort of surprised at this. After repeatedly saying she was, to repeated denials, I had to be blunt and point out that there’s nothing particularly wrong with following the cool crowd.
Her reasoning for not being a part was that she only sat with about ten people at lunchtime. Er... numbers actually have little relevance to crowds, overall, and by that I mean conceptual crowds. We’re not talking about crowds as in crowds at a concert, where it is a mass of people grouped together, but the “conceptual” crowd – a bunch of people who have similar lifestyles and tastes but it’s not like all of them know each other. Therefore, whether she only sits with ten people at lunchtime or not, she’s still part of the cool crowd because blatantly her and her friends’ attitudes and styles and lifestyles conform to that.
I should point out that I myself had many, many friends at SFX (not at Pius, but I was an absolute prick back then, as opposed to being a slightly formed one now) and there were even more people that I was simply friendly with. Honestly. I sat with numerous people in classes, with “groups” you could call them, and hung out with a few at special occasions – such as going to McDonald’s (that’s special? Hmm). For example, the art crowd. But when lunchtime came, I sat with a grand total of two people, Mat and Duy. Or three – Dave (who at the time wasn’t a big friend, but now is basically my best friend [not to discount Liam, who sort of fits into a weird yin-yang friend-cousin relationship, you understand. Or perhaps you don’t, which I understand]) – if I was on a roll. They were the only two I actually saw after school hours properly too, going to their houses and all that. I went to a couple of parties, true, but I would always try to drag them along. I mingled at these parties and spoke to many people, true, and I’d be perfectly happy doing so, true, but at the end of the day, I’m also happy to accept that only two/three people were the friends I truly wanted to hang out with and be in contact with on a regular basis.
But just because I was friends with people from the cool crowd, doesn’t mean I was, hmm? I was part of the art crowd – though not, strangely, the music crowd (because as much as I liked some of them, I didn’t really like their “leader”, who shall remain nameless but everyone who knows me or went to the school knows who I’m talking about. He of the “all modern music sounds like noise” comment). Everyone’s part of many different crowds.
Which is why, incidentally, the notion of the crowd – or perhaps Crowd with a capital “c” – is so idiotic. It’s a deliberately insulting term, one that basically means, “I look down upon you for conforming.” Trouble is, everyone conforms. Indeed, the numerous people who actually accuse people of being part of “the crowd” are ironically creating their own crowd of people who accuse people of being part of “the crowd”. I, for example, am part of the Radiohead crowd, but I actually know very few Radiohead fans in real life. I’m part of millions, but know so few. I’m still conforming, though.
And “conforming” doesn’t mean being identical, either.

Attack of the Clones
Why? Well, because it’s impossible to absolutely conform. Now, I’m not going to start the “everybody’s special” thing, because I think that’s a stupid notion. Everyone isn’t special, and similarly no-one is special. There’s specialities that people have that are exclusively them, but “special” doesn’t apply to people, I feel. I do feel that everyone is “unique”, but that’s not a wildly good thing or a wildly bad thing, it’s just... a thing, I guess. It’s just a truth.
Besides which, the person I was years ago is entirely different from the person I am today. Not just physically, either. For instance, I used to like Madison Avenue and other things that I wouldn’t now (though I don’t look back and cringe – why do that? I was different to myself, it doesn’t matter). The point is, whilst people can conform, that doesn’t mean people are, you know, identical in every respect. For instance, it’s interesting how so many teenagers used to be emos – now it’s indie, which is actually short for “independence” for god’s sake – because they wanted to be individual. Ironically, this was the least individual thing about them – what made them individual was the things they did that weren’t associated with emo culture. Such as, for a silly example, play football with their family, or anything really.
So no-one is identical – and no-one can possibly be a clone. Indeed, even those notions are flawed. Identical twins, no matter if they dress similarly and look similar, are not identical. From the very simple tiny thought processes that will be going through their heads at the same moment that are completely different (one’s thinking of buttered toast, the other’s thinking about the War on Terror), to more obvious things such as very different modes of behaviour. For god’s sake, one may have lost their virginity whilst the other hasn’t. That makes an entire world of difference. I know it’s fascinating that identical twins (or even non-identical ones) occasionally seem to be thinking the same thoughts and emotions in a psychic B1/B2 effect, but how many times aren’t they like that? I’d wager more often than not.
As for clones – well, same deal really, but even more wildly different. It doesn’t matter if someone’s a clone of someone else – they’re going to be completely different. If I were to clone myself today, and let’s presume the baby would be born tomorrow, well... obviously, it’s a baby. That’s the immediate physical difference. But I grew up from 1988 onwards, through the 90’s and 00’s. That young baby will grow up from the late 00’s to the 10’s to the 20’s. There’s no way on Earth that the child will grow up and be exactly the same as me. I mean, for example, my younger brother Harry seems to like stuff I do – he’s into music, he likes Doctor Who – but whilst the comparisons are there, there’s huge differences. For example, with Doctor Who, he knows only of the New Series, but more importantly, he’s growing up with it. I never grew up with it. Therefore he’ll no doubt have a child-nostalgia effect for the series that I never had (which I feel is a good thing for me, but then, not having felt the alternative for the show, I wouldn’t really know). Similarly, he lives in the country, and I live in the city. And he’s not constantly moving house like I was. God – of course we’re completely different.
So, the same goes for clones. There’s such a thing as conformity, but it doesn’t mean a definite “the same”, a single parallel line of peoples’ timelines in life.

Sheep
Isn’t it interesting, though, that the first successful cloning was of a sheep? I’m not sure if the scientists were taking the piss or not, but... sheep are often noted as being another metaphor for “the crowd”. As in, “you’re sheep”. You conform. You’re exactly the same. Therefore, you’re clones. I’ve already discussed why this thinking is wrong (and prejudiced too), but I find it amusing that the first clone was indeed a sheep. Not only a sheep, but a sheep called Dolly. Not sure if it’s intentional, but the conformity angle can also be pointed melodramatically at magazines like Dolly – you know, that “fascism! All those bodies are too beautiful!” sort of thing – and this is a genuinely freaky yet amusing coincidence. Assuming it is a coincidence, which it may not be. It sounds like something the very drily funny Stephen Hawking may have come up with.
Oh, and why does counting sheep jumping over a fence apparently make you go to sleep? For one thing, I’ve tried it. For a second thing, sheep aren’t identical, and I can’t help but keep imagining various little differences in them – my brain literally finds it impossible to comprehend the same sheep jumping over a fence again and again. But lastly, why do you have to put your brain to sleep by imagining conformity (itself an oxymoron), when your brain will then go and conjure up the strangest and least logical and rational things in your dreams?

Colour me Impressed
What colour is “impressed”? If you haven’t heard this term before, it’s one bandied about whenever someone is impressed, as if they’re asking to be painted. Actually, for once, I’m not taking the piss out of critics (well, not much) or criticising them – I am in fact genuinely interested in what colour “impressed” really is. After all, you could very stereotypically but easily boil down other emotional states to blue (or perhaps grey) for sadness, and yellow (or perhaps pink) for happiness. But what colour is “impressed”? “Wow”?
I suppose if we actually knew, we wouldn’t be wowed by it. Hmm.

Always Greener
Speaking of colours (which I was) and of bands (which I blatantly wasn’t), you know that thing I wrote ages ago about Greenday and their political “subtext” (i.e. blatant attack) in their American Idiot album? Amazingly, somehow I’ve gotten onto the topic of music and politics (not by my own imperative, either) in real life (yeah, that place) at least five times (with different people each time). Every single time, I’ve brought up Greenday, and every single time, I’ve wondered if I’m being, you know, a tad unfair to pick on them. Then I realised it was fine to take potshots at them because, judging by their name, they quite like pot and shots.
This is not that story. This is the story of terribly stupid thoughts in my head and their consequences.
Thing is, I’ve noticed that the two bands (one’s a solo singer really, but never mind) who I bring up have, well, colours in their names. Greenday. Pink. And I’m starting to wonder just how important music and colours really are together. This isn’t a discussion of synthaesia (I still can’t spell that. Goddammit), but simply how colours affect people.
Let’s get straight to the point: if we’re going to talk about this, we’ll go back to politics. I’m surprised that politicians don’t actually use colours really, except that perhaps they’re too powerful. It’s a bit like barracking for people in sport – you may not know who the hell the swimmer is in Lane 3, but as they’re represented by our sport colours (green and yellow), you know to support them. Similarly, if we take a look at Communists, they were, on the whole, chiefly seen via the colour red. So back in Germany in the 30’s for instance, if you saw someone wearing a red armband, then they were with you. Or we can throw to the War of the Roses, where you were either a white rose or a red rose (that said, apparently this was all imagery constructed way after the battle and well into Henry Tudor’s reign, as they apparently had different symbols. Less striking ones. I wonder why they changed it? And, while we’re on the subject of that, it’s highly unlikely that Richard III actually said, “A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!”, unless he could somehow see the future and knew that Anne Boleyn and Princess Anne were on their way. Actually, getting back on topic, isn’t it interesting how Henry VIII’s favourite tune was ‘Greensleeves’? See! More colours!)
When I said “straight to the point”, of course, I meant the best that I can possibly get to the point. Sorry.
Anyway. This means I’ve come to the realisation that, although words are undoubtedly a very powerful commodity in music (and dangerous), colour and imagery are too. It’s very easy, for instance, to see the similarities between the power of the swastika and that image on the front of American Idiot with the hand holding the grenade, as if a dead soldier has risen from the trenches to teach idiotic politicians a lesson. Of course, it’s also very easy to see the differences too – Nazism and Greenday fandom are hardly bedfellows – yet the issue’s still there, and I still want to raise it (and rave on and on about it – sorry about this, but it gets me fired up). In effect, seeing that shirt with the album cover on it is as stirring and powerful – for those influenced by it – as a bull in Spain seeing a red flag and attacking it. Emotion, baby. True, I’ve heard that bulls are apparently colourblind, but I’m talking about the conceptual stereotype rather than the truth.
So hopefully, I’ve finally proved that Greenday are bull.

Emotion in Music
De blueees, man, dey so sad. Actually, I’ve often failed to see what’s so sad about the blues. Not because the subject matter is inherently sad – it ain’t happy, and it’s pretty universal a lot of the time – but because hearing blues song after blues song just, you know, doesn’t sit with me. I’m not constantly depressed, I’m afraid. I’m not constantly “blue” – I’m not a single colour all of the time, and I don’t always react to the colour blue in the same way every time. It’s context – there has to be genuine emotion and power behind it for me to understand what’s just so damn blue about it.
And this leads me onto a big thing: I’ve finally struck upon the main reason why I don’t like mainstream music. Not why I despise it, because I don’t, I simply don’t find it interesting. And that’s because, honestly, it’s to do with emotion. In the same way that Home and Away and Neighbours either always portray intense happiness or intense sadness (usually both categories falling under “love”, and usually both so intense that the actors, god bless ‘em, simply can’t live up to it) but don’t allow for the moments in between – because since when are people so emotional all the time? It’s practically impossible – albums and bands that portray the one emotion – or level of emotion – throughout their songs just bore me to death.
For a bit of background: if you were to spend your life as a normal person, and then had to kill someone – you’d feel horrible, wouldn’t you? But if you spent your whole life killing people, you’d feel casual about it. Similarly, if you were to find love once in a while it’s meaningful; if you were to apparently fall in love three times a year and yet cheat on everyone, then nothing is meaningful and you’re living a lie of a life and we shouldn’t feel the slightest bit of respect or sympathy for you. Those from soaps like Home and Away fall into the latter category.
Therefore, an album that is so intense in its emotion will automatically fail in my eyes, because more often than not every song is apparently very intense. Lots of “I love you” or “I miss you” stuff going on. The problem is not that it’s going on, but that it’s going on all the time. And I hate to say it, but no singer, ever, can produce palpable emotion throughout an album. It’s like models who have to smile for hours – it’s just impossible and hurts your face. In this case, trying to be sad and happy for an entire album is just impossible because it gives you a headache and screws your vocal chords. That’s why musicians, sensibly, don’t try it – but they forget to erase the song content in the process. So some songs will talk about love, and glorious feelings, and end up feeling bland and monotonous because the singer’s heart isn’t it. This doesn’t even just happen if it’s recorded in one day too; over a course of months, you could still feel too emotion-d out to actually muster up the energy. That’s why there’s such things as singles, because they’re the songs that the artists tried on, and the others are ones that they couldn’t be bothered with. Filler material, certainly.
Take U2. I know they’re a revered band, they’re Irish (which automatically gives them some leeway), and they’re classic (I’ve no idea if they’re genuinely important though... anyone?). But their music bores me, not because the music itself is samey, but because the emotion is samey. That’s why people are sick of Bono – I’m all for charity, but – unfortunate as this is – hearing about his views on charity all the time gets boring. I know that’s horrible, but it’s true; the human mind simply can’t deal with such monotony like that. Either the human mind says, “For fuck’s sake, let’s do something else”, or it goes, “I’ll just glaze my eyes over, pretend I’m paying attention, and lose myself in either my own imagination or an oblivion”. Which is roughly what most musicians do in the latter case when they’re emotion-d out.
Losing yourself into oblivion is a good example: it’s what I tend to do when on public transport and walking. Not all the time, but a lot of the time. I go off into my own mind, but don’t have anything particular to say in there, so I sit in a stupor. That’s what travelling in a contemporary world will do to you. Now – this doesn’t count for me, because as you can tell from how bloody much I write, I tend to stay home – this will take up a fair amount of peoples’ lives. Back when I was working in Sydney, it was about half an hour all up. That sounds pitiful, but it’s still half an hour. The point is that life may have emotions, and they may be memorable, but there’s breathers and little moments in between that are totally emotionless, and to pretend that they’re otherwise is sort of insane.
If we’re to translate that into an album – which, let’s say, is an hour – we need at least thirty seconds every so often to recover from intense emotion. The kind of thing that Godspeed You! Black Emperor does so well. And that’s because silence is as important in music as sound, and judging it well will lead to a well formed album. I mean, to take Godspeed’s Lift Your Skinny Fists Like Antennas to Heaven, there’s a hell of a lot of time for breathers. In the song ‘Static’, we start with a fairly normal bit of music that doesn’t call attention to itself, to a slightly wailing melody put to the sound of a preacher, and then jumping into an evil sounding riff that constantly builds up. Whilst it works well on its own, this evil riff would be next to nothing without the lack of a buildup before it – and indeed, after the explosive climax, there’s at least two minutes of simple noise to take a breather.
Radiohead, to take another example, are often accused of being constantly depressed. Thing is, I don’t often listen to Radiohead when in a depressed mood – ‘How to Disappear Completely’ has only truly affected me in that way once, just once – but that doesn’t matter, because a) they’re great songs anyway and b) there’s a great variety of emotion. Let’s look at Ok Computer. ‘Airbag’ and ‘Lucky’ are happy songs, but not euphoria happy, but “god, I’m so glad I’m alive”. Indeed, the first is about “an airbag (that) saved my life” and, as Thom actually says of the song (you know I don’t normally bother to look, but I did in this case and it hasn’t affected my enjoyment in any way at all of the song) that it’s about that moment where you narrowly avoid a car crash and breathe in that feeling, that “god, I’m alive!” feeling. ‘Lucky’ is about being “on a roll”, as well. Elsewhere, ‘Paranoid Android’ actually changes moods throughout the song, from quite bitter and attacking at first, to sad and defeated in the “rain down” part, to bitter and attacking again at the end. ‘Subterranean Homesick Alien’ is wistful, not sad. ‘Exit Music’ is sad, but is about lost love (after all, it’s the exit music for Romeo and Juliet). ‘Fitter Happier’ is depressed, but only the language is – I think the use of the robot voice instead of Thom’s is so important here, because it portrays that feeling we all have – “Life’s pointless” – but then that response that only some of us have – “but I’ll just switch that feeling off and enjoy it, revel in that pointlessness”. Of all the songs, ‘Let Down’ and ‘The Tourist’ are the most overlooked, but I feel to do this is, well, absolutely natural. ‘Let Down’, in fact, feels to me like those walking-around-metropolitan minute or twos that crop up in life, and it’s a special song for me because it represents that breather. There’s actually little emotion in the song at all, but that’s highly deliberate, and it works perfectly for me.
In fact, there was once a really apt quote I read – god knows who said it though, sorry – where commenting of Radiohead’s ‘You and Whose Army?’, they noted that the song works because of Thom’s defeated tone. Whereas, had Bono for instance sang it, it would have been overly exaggerated and a huge attack and, ultimately, boring as hell. And this is a reason why I could never get into Coldplay as well, because they only portray the one emotion too. He may say that “it was all yellow” but actually everything’s all blue to them. ‘Clocks’, for instance, is a great song, but this is marred when you realise their other songs hinge on the same premise.

Imagery within that
And, just to clarify, this has nothing to do with imagery. For example, ‘Let Down’, from what I can remember, is about traffic lights and mundane things like that. It doesn’t matter what the song’s about at all, it matters what the emotion is.
For a comparison: Rihanna’s song ‘Umbrella’, and the Cure’s song ‘Friday I’m in Love’.
In the first song, Rihanna sings that it’s “raining more than ever” and that “we’ll always be friends”. In ‘Friday’, Robert Smith sings of days being blue and grey. The imagery is basically exactly the same. What’s different is the realisation: Rihanna says it’s raining more than ever, as if it’s constantly raining, whilst the reason ‘Friday’ works so well for me is because it’s about an entire week that’s full of different things. This comes out in the singing: Rihanna’s ‘Umbrella’ is so devoid of emotion – despite the sad imagery – that not once does she sound sad in the song, and instead has to resort to weird “ella”s and “eh”s. Robert Smith sings ‘Friday’ in a euphoric burst of energy, and plays against the lines about the other days being sad. Why? Because he’s comparing and contrasting. He is singing the song on a Friday (I don’t know about literally, but metaphorically). And Friday wouldn’t feel so special if it wasn’t surrounded by those other, more mundane and dull days.
Both popular musicians, but Robert Smith has so much more integrity and knows how to play with his subject matter more than Rihanna. People may accuse the Cure of being goths but – in the same way that Radiohead are accused of being depressing incorrectly – the Cure are only sad in some songs because they surround these songs with different aspects of life, be it happiness, uncertainty, lukewarm, anger (‘Never Enough’ being a good example) or even simply being utterly mundane.
That said, ‘Just Say Yes’ was a horrible mistake of a song, but let’s be kind and forget that one.
[Side-note: Creepily, just I finished writing that and finished this entire rant, I just realised that, on iTunes, ‘You and Whose Army?’ had just finished.]
[Side-side-note: And, to give my argument further weight (and let’s be honest, it needs it), I spent today and yesterday getting utterly rained on. Instead of being upset or angry about it throughout, I was intermittently emotional and then simply indifferent to it.]
[Side-side-side-note: And Liam, if you’re reading this, this is why I didn’t feel a thing at the ending of Breaking the Waves, because throughout the film all we saw was the two of them either being really happy or being really sad. Indeed, the best scenes were the (very brief and separate) ones where they weren’t, such as Emily’s character wanking off the old guy on the bus. That’s why I couldn’t get into this movie – it’s like expecting me to feel sorry for the fate of a character who’s spent the entire movie being angsty. It just doesn’t work. Sorry.]