The World is Your Oyster

Congratulations to the happy couple, may they live happily ever after... blah blah blah. This weekend past Great Britain and the world came together to celebrate a Royal Wedding. A wedding caked... caked in splendour and money. Although it could have been more extravagant, both the bride and groom looked the part (although little chance of parting Duke William's locks...) and they seemed happy. Hell, I would be happy if I was able to get married and have a nation of people that I would never get to know or meet to pay for it! Granted not all of it, but still. Oh for some historical precedent allowing one to charge my weekly shopping on one's nation... Oh, don't worry about the tab, the mugs have got it...

Picture the country as a company, and the Royals as silent partners. They are not involved in the actual running of the place, but at some point centuries ago their relatives invested in the place (apparently...) allowing them to quietly put expenses through the company: a castle here, a Bentley there - oh and an entire wedding!

Which is funnier? The fact that they can do it, or that they can broadcast it AND have crowds of "well wishers" line the streets and cheer their money away! Although what interests me more is that whenever the cost of the wedding is mentioned, the question is not whether it should be paid for at all, but whether it should be paid for during these tough economic times. Well, as much as I would like to blame the Royals for the state of the current global economy, I think that we have already established the extent of their influence... holding a party (but not paying for it), sanctioning a holiday day or two and generally just swanning around.

So hurrah! Huzzah and whooppee! Let's not judge them too harshly, just think again before paying for their lavishness in these modern, "fair" times.

Think about the evolution of servitude: butlers were sometimes more educated (scratch that - knowledgable - there are idiots from Oxbridge) than their Lordly patrons, but were unable to advance their station due to social convention and societal constraints. These rules have been broken, anyone can be anything (birther rules notwithstanding) with just a bit of effort. Okay, a lot of effort. So with those days of social constraint gone why do we chose to pay for individuals who already have so much?

It is really less about the wedding, and more about the path to becoming a modern nation. Traditions need to fit in with modern society, and when they involve money - the pressure really is on... If the possibility of classless individual progress is allowed to continue, then something has got to give... back the money... and the land, or the oyster is gonna get it!

Individualism - like a lonely biscuit...

Individuals are fantastic. We love individuals, all of them special and unique like snowflakes (non-interracial-prison-sex snowflakes)...

The only problem is that snowflakes by themselves simply melt away into the night; whereas in their masses they can be seen to cripple entire cities, form dubious shaped "men" with carrot noses and piss off drunk homeless people trying to find a warm place to sleep. Being an individual snowflake means that you have a fantastic view of the world around you, but ultimately will lead to your own demise. Sometimes you need the padding and comfort of others to surround you, comfort you and, in most cases, take a shit kicking or two aimed in your direction...

Growing up we are taught to be ourselves, taught that there is a specific and amazing destiny that awaits each an every one of us. We are taught to think for ourselves.... in possessive and obsessive terms... me me me. As we grow, so does the obsession, until as fully fledged adults we are almost completely besotted with ourselves and how unique and special we are. Who could possibly share their food with a princess, or a lord... or (God forbid) a knight? Because everyone wants to be the bloody knight in bloody shining bloody armour (a bloody contradiction in bloody terms, I know...) No one can know the pain of a tortured soul following in the footsteps of every individual that has ever made a difference, oh my over-coifed jerry curl, can't we all just get along?

The sooner that everyone realises that dreams are exactly that, dreams, designed to be lived out whilst we are asleep and (more importantly) are not real. Goals are what we need, not dreams. Ultimately, the world requires the realisation that we are each cogs (unique cogs... not bloodied) in the timepiece that is our existence on this dirt patch and the more that we fight the need for collectivise action the more time we waste. The more life we waste in the pursuit of our vanity. Until, like the last biscuit on the plate, we crumble and fade into oblivion..... a special unique oblivion, designed with each of us in mind, not shared with anyone else.... the first class of oblivions if you will.... comes in different colours.... requires an upgrade every year.... will cost you a pancreas..... a special and unique bloody pancreas ....an iOblivion.

The Anti-Social Dog... what a bitch.

I have always wondered what happens to socially inept dogs. What if they don't possess the power of smell, and as such don't bother with the common "ass sniff" as is customary when greeting your fellow bitches? What if they choose to shun the "let's pee on everything we see" policy that has ruled over the canine nation since time immemorial...?

In reality, nothing.... they get along fine.

In Lala Land (Britain) the answer is the ASBO (the anti social bitch order) which the British Government is proposing to bring into effect very very soon. All in all a stupid waste of time and legislation, because as anyone who cares to walk the streets of Britannia (that includes the morbidly obese who take mental walks to the shops from the couch) will testify that ASBOs are working.... to bring the concept of law and order to its knees.

ASBOs are about as effective as using olive oil as suntan lotion on your privates whilst on holiday in a nudist colony in the Sahara Desert.... blistering will occur. In the gangsta streets of London ASBOs have become like badges to the Scouts - picture "da yoof" meeting under street lights discussing whether one for a Noise Offence is equal in measure to one for Graffiti....

All that ASBOs need now to become ingrained in modern culture is some form of company sponsorship.... ASDA maybe...?

Never Mind The Jonas'

Every week I receive an IT trade magazine at work (which is ironic seeing as I don't even work in the IT business....) and in it the publishers try to promote their wares. This magazine contains a lot of computer game promotion and one of the ones that I stumbled across and raced past was for a group called the "Jonas Brothers"..... oh brother....

Is it all just a big joke? Are we all just players in this game that is rigged and produced for television called "Life"? Everywhere I look there are "natural" acts such as these curly-haired celibate freaks... they are not freakish because of the celibacy, but the supreme look of self satisfaction that adorns their make up air brushed pasted faces and their "natural" curled super conditioned locks... It is not possible to look at them and think that this is a good thing. They are clearly money making puppets of the descendants of Walt...

It would be unfair to state that they are the only ones, but the rest of the players in the "game" are too numerous to mention. What worries me is whether or not the general public see acts like them and thinks, "Oh wow, that sounds fantastically bland, but I am choosing to buy into everything that they sell, say and do in the full knowledge that it is completely fake and produced." And in doing so they buy into the slow sinking ship that is quality and integrity....

Or maybe I am getting old and just don't get the music/game/television/brainwashing industry....

The Irreverent Passing of Time

Why does time pass so quickly? Is it just that by wishing for a tomorrow your life turns into nothing more than a conveyor belt of tomorrows leading to the final today....

Depressing, it is. And that is what winter can do: push the light of our lives to the extreme reaches of the dark, unmoving shadows that dominate large stretches of our time (at least 50%) on this rock. We will spend most of our lives chasing some semblance of Summer. All we need is to think of "The Summer of 69," "The Boys of Summer," and the other endless positive references that surround this life-giving season. I very much doubt that there are people out there that lay awake at night hoping against hope that the "Winter of our Discontent" will freeze over (Hell-like) and chase that annoying-round-hot-thing out of the sky.

In all honesty I need the winter months.... their lack of life... the dreariness and grey, indescribable dullness for the simple reason that if life was one long hot summer we would all die of skin cancer - not really - it is because if we lived in constant summer we would fail to appreciate it. The summer would not hold it's mystique, it's allure... it's heat. Time would simply pass and life itself would cease to have significance (a bit strong, but you get the point).

So, we shall all just have to grin and bear it (or just bitch about it constantly, and feign surprise when the public transport system grinds to a halt at the slightest indication of precipitation, for instance dew...)

Life: it is the pain that makes the pleasure, and the pleasure that makes the cancer....

Don't shoot the messenger...

This week the British Government fired a scientific advisor because they felt that his advice was far too scientific.

They feel that although the man is an "expert" (a vacuous and awe-sapping title) in his particular field of psycho-pharmacology (nutters+drugs+blender=), his ranking of uppers and downers that we can legally or otherwise partake is just plain wrong. Well, not "wrong" per se, just not the answer they foresaw in their crystal ball (not to be confused with crystal meth...)

The chain of events has probably gone a little something like this: the government, in the grips of an epiphany regarding a "perceived social issue," (a sort of hunchey-thingey about people and stuff; the origins of which can probably be traced back to a doodle on a cocktail napkin somewhere) decided that they needed to do something to tackle the issue. So they decided to: construct a policy, pass some legislation, gather some evidence to support it and have a smoke (in the only room in which it is legal to do so within the borders of the United Kingdom, which just so happens to be situated inside the Houses of Parliament... enchanté). At some point in the political machinations the evidence is gathered: a "committee" is formed, complete with a set of large rubber stamps, whose job it is to analyse existing data or undertake "studies" relating to their given subject and report back their findings to the government by way of a sixties style rubber stamp collage. It's all very official. Only this time the government stupidly decided to send the rubber stamps First Class (First in, last out) with the Royal Mail instead of the "guaranteed next millennium" Special Delivery. The reason for this massive oversight probably being that the Home Secretary realised he wouldn't be able to claim back for the postage, or the stamps...

Without the rubber stamps the committee is forced to do the only logical thing, construct a report based on the actual findings. Now the head of the advisory committee (being a Professor I'll have you know) has realised that with the Royal Mail striking the only way that he can get his message to the government is through the media, hoping that they will pass it directly to the government (in the public sphere) in a graceful and non-shit-sturring manner, (which they duly f%&ed up) he had mused about Twittering it but his acute fear of things avian wouldn't let him.... they asked for his opinion, he gave it, and they gave him a boot up the arse (shoe, not the back end of a car, yikes)

It was not as if he was asking the government for anything (a hit from the proverbial bong maybe?), merely doing his job, as a scientist, assessing the current social and psychological effects of drugs in Blighty, in a scientific way, and reporting this scientific view point. If you are not going to base your policy on scientific evidence then don't bother asking a bunch of scientists to advise you, and then fire one of them because his advice was too scientific. If you hire a comedian to comment on people looking at themselves in the back of spoons and give their opinion as to whether their face looks proportional (or attractive), surely you are not going to fire him for stating what is plain for all the world to see? Some people need to chill out.....

I am not questioning the government's drug policy as I don't have the time and they don't have the sense. I am questioning the need to fire somebody for doing their job, which is always going to be a redundant waste of tax payer's money if your policy is based on the Sun's astrology section... This "opinion" is not one man standing up and saying that he wants to open a "Coffee House" in Trafalgar Square, this is a viewpoint carried by the majority of the "experts" on the soon-to-be-made-redundant committee.

It's time for us all to grow up a little and if it's a spoon, call it a bloody spoon....

Cult de Celebrité

Once again an individual has been selected to be shoved down the throats of the British public. It is amazing how the media tend to treat the general public like babies, depicting these "celebrity" snacks as lovely, yummy and wholesome treats, all the while making aeroplane noises as they prepare the "goop" and head for the jugular..... ur I mean oesophagus.

It is bad enough that we had to sit through a crap girl band (Spice Girls/Girls Aloud), followed by a dire "Footballer's Wives" romance and marriage (David Beckham/Ashley Cole) now we have to sit through the dreaded Solo Album..... Yes, Cheryl Cole has been basted and battered (in the deep fried way - not the spousal abuse way) in the manner of Victoria Beckham, and is just about ready to be served to the public on a platter with a basket of chips.... It is only a matter of time before her inevitable shift to the US menu and she is repackaged as a nutritious Burger and Fries.....

But at least we can be happy in the knowledge that when large media organisations, such as the BBC, choose to interview the new "Darling of the British Public" (or as I like to think of her, the next course in a long unappetising meal), they do so with only the purest of intentions. It is not because she has been chosen as the latest and greatest pre-packaged widget that will bring home the bacon because she is pretty, and people will buy her shit. And of course people will buy her shit, because if the only thing that that they can hear is her shit, and the only thing that they can see is her shit, then shit it is. The gentlemen tending to the garden have selected this "British Rose" for flowering, and the rest of us are up to mouths in shit, and boy are we lapping it up....

Open wide America, your shit burger is on it's way....

The Path of Rebellion

When was the last time that you saw a good old fashioned rally/riot/display of public outcry (by old fashioned I mean not populated by a bunch of anarchistic skinheads hell bent on throwing something through a window.)? Was it the eighties? Maybe there is nothing left to fight for....

As far as social movements go, well, they've gone! They've gone digital.... or so I imagine, for people have been protesting since time began (all the way back to when Ugg was pissed that Blurg didn't respect his cave enough to not take a dump in it) and I don't see us all of a sudden burying our heads in the sand like some crazy ostrich family reunion. So there has to be a social movement taking place somewhere (but like a bowel movement I am not quite sure where the smell is emanating from)...

So how does one find out... it is not as if Google will list the top ten social movement web pages just like that... because invariably if they were to do so that would probably invalidate the movement itself.... or something like that...

Like all good paths, this one is poorly lit, bumpy, steep and winding, with no sign posts and not a map in sight. And who says that the internet is just for porn....

The Shiny Side

Has anyone seen the dark side of the moon? Of course not, because we only have one view point with which to admire it from. Even if scientists were to provide me with pictures of the dark side I would remain unconvinced, as I suffer from that oh-so-typical "seeing is believing" mentality.

Of late I started to realise that we will never know the truth, merely believe points of view. For instance when I was growing up I listened to a lot of Heavy Metal, without knowing much about its roots, but was convinced that it was the most hardcore hetero-male thing that anyone could be involved in. Having grown up in a country in which it was (and still is) illegal to be gay definitely makes me cringe to my core about the way that things were (and are). There was this perceived mental connection between leather and hardcore, bloodlust inducing, hair growing manliness! I knew some people that didn't wash.... ever.... not even dishes.... And I recently discovered that the connection between leather and heavy metal was down to one man, Rob Halford - the lead singer of Judas Priest.

Now the really interesting thing to note is that his penchant for leather relates to his ties to the gay scene in the 60s, as he is gay. This little revelation shocked me to the core, as these two scenes are extremely far apart in my mind, my how I chuckle to think how in a homophobic little country like mine there are groups of hairy, leather-clad sweat-barons, walking around in the belief that they are affirming their "straight guy" personas when they are in fact flying the rainbow flag for gay rights!

So I guess that it doesn't really matter whether or not I see the dark side of the moon... because the moon is a sphere without any sides. Except for that shiny one that keeps me awake a night...

Just keep ducking...

Wake up. Travel. Work. Travel. Sleep.

I just love how life works in a cycle... always just going round and round and round. Some cycles start, some end, whilst others just keep on going. This is just another one of those "unspoken life lessons" that you are sure you slept through... or maybe you were looking out the window wondering where all of the time ACTUALLY goes to... space?

There are times when I wish that someone had sat me down and listed out "Life Lessons" in a sequential format. Lessons about love, learning (yes, that's right - learning about learning, bloody cyclical shit!). I realised for the first time the other day that all we ever spend our lives doing is learning, be it watching TV (social behavioural patterns), gardening (well... gardening...), making tea (perfecting the art of the dipped bag...) or reading (depends on the subject matter). Now obviously some of the activities that we undertake and lessons that we learn depend on how old we are, for as we progress in the journey the lessons that we learn from going to the toilet can become quite important... Trivial, cyclical, yet important...

So, choose your activities well, for the cycle will end sometime, and when it does do you really want to look back and be able to say that you have learned everything that there is to know about the social interactions of the inhabitants of a square in the EastEnd.... or a house where the inhabitants can't leave until enough strangers have requested for them to do so telephonically, or textually (SMSly if you will)....

Let's just say that the University of Life might ask for it's diploma back...

The end of the Wild West

It is official: The West is no longer Wild, or gay...

Yesterday the Supreme Court in California banned the practice of Gay Marriage, raising more than one eyebrow (which really makes it more of a look of surprise than a disapproving one-eye-brow-lift). The irony is that California is where the gay rights movement really kicked off, where gay people really felt comfortable and confident enough to gather in large numbers and fight for their rights... Not to mention the ironic destruction of the concept of the West of America (specifically California) being "Wild, Liberal and Free". Although truth be told the Wild West was named so because of the lawlessness and general disdain for order that tippified the excitement of discovery at the time... A brave new world battling against the stereotypes of an old one...

So maybe this is not the end of the Wild West at all, merely a new era of lawlessness. The only difference being that the law is now going to broken in the sincerest of forms... love.

Look who's not talking now...

Conversation n.

The spoken exchange of thoughts, opinions, and feelings; talk.

This troubles me somewhat.... the idea that a conversation is all about the spoken exchange of "blah blah blah." It is not the idea that troubles actually, but the lack of traditional conversation we encouter on a day-to-day basis. Now don't get me wrong, one cannot go through the day without speaking to people (that is, unless that person is: a) mute b) undertaking a vow of silence c) a monk [see b)] or d) David Beckham) But it is the type of conversation that we partake in, as well as those individuals that we converse with. This change in socialization has been borne out of the boom of "online networking," which is the brainchild of every man, woman and child that cannot string together an audible, coherent or meaningful sentence in real time.

It turns out that socializing is nothing more than a battlefield between the speechmakers and the letter writers, and the ball is rapidly flying into the court of the latter, for as popular as "Skype" and "youtube" are they are not scoring any killer blows in the networking stakes.

The reason in my opinion is that now that spelling has officially been thrown off the edge of a very high building, and is reaching terminal velocity we are no longer being judged when it comes to the written word.

Whereas, if you sound like a dick... well, there's no fakin' it. Innit....

A Spot of Chicken Hunting

Well... well... well...

I do love a good scandal. Especially one that is so well covered by the media, I mean it is almost as if... the media broke the scandal and are now circling like vultures at the feast of the 5000 (surely there must have been some leftovers...). Which isn't exactly correct, seeing as in most mass media driven events it is pretty much like going chicken hunting: chickens hardly run about in the wild anymore so you tend to have to bring your own... All of the old cliches: "fish in a barrel" etc. would also apply...

I am talking about Peter Andre and Katie Price's split of course.... nothing to do with government expense claims at all...

In both cases methinks that the chickens are coming home to roost.... and they're packin heat!

The wonderful thing is that 98% of the world couldn't give a shit, as they would rather spend their days foraging for food, digging for drinkable water or fighting against a system that doesn't care... they could definitely murder a chicken or two....

Tough at the Top

I really pity politicians.

Their lives are under constant inspection, their affairs constantly being rustled through like a skip filled with unwanted crap that might turn out to be media gold... In many ways politicians have attained "celebrity" status, meaning that the mainstream media have deemed their "worthwhile" existance worthy of intrusion and publication.

Funnily enough I pity "celebrities" too, as these individuals are constantly trying to find ways to justify their inclusion in the intrusion.... their status as a "person-that-a-schmuck-has-deemed-people-must-read/hear-about-everyday." This has led to the ridiculous notion of paparazzi chasing, with the hunter becoming the hunted, the prey becoming the mullet on a moped as the talentless fame-aholics prostitute and flagelate themselves in the pursuit of acknowledgement of their mere existence on this planet.

But at the same time I have no sympathy for either camps: politicians or celebrities, as these portions of society are really above the rules. They may not be above criticism, but can criticism really be considered an adequate price for:

(a) trying to adopt babies from around the world, without having any real assessment on feasibility or suitabilty of the potential parent(s) in question

(b) claiming back expenses for every personal acquisition/ escapade over the course of your life., and not possessing a background in basic arithmetic, claiming fictional amounts.

The problem is that if you are a member of the public you have someone above you that will smack you in the face if you step out of the predermined lines, and gladly say no to your outlandish and selfish requests. Be it a boss, parent, teacher, policeman, lawyer, gang leader, priest... there is someone to discipline you.

Oh, it is tough to be in the public eye, in the public pocket, but not in reach of the public's killer left hook... On second thoughts, I really hate politicians.

The Shape of Things

I think that to be interested in the shape of objects as opposed to their detail is both a blessing and a curse. It is through the basic "look and feel" approach that we truly see beauty for what it is: gut feeling. I don't think that if you stare at a painting or sculpture for hours that you will discover some kind of hidden feeling that your sub conscious has under lock and key. Either your eyes/brain perceives beauty, or it doesn't. To stare will merely allow you to grow used to the image before you, and this familiarity will breed comfort.

Go with the gut, enjoy the taste. It is our need to delve deeper that will bring us closer to a perceived "ugly truth." The devil is in the detail, they say.

But does that mean that we should take life at face value?

Maybe I am confusing beauty with prettyness.... The shallowest of all descriptions.

I guess the key is that beauty is in both the immediate, and the delayed and detailed....

The Golden Path

Should I really care that someone has not called me by my given name? Is it sexist that I take offense when I am called by a girl's name? If someone was to call me by a common name in Finland that has a funny meaning in English and I was to get offended, am I just being culturally insensitive?

If I am "insulted" by someone, should I really give a damn? If someone calls me a monkey and I am a black man (not that it matters whether I am or am not), is this deemed as being racist? And if so, why? Surely that is just further propogating this age-old racist sterotypical propoganda?

It is all bullshit. The only things that allow insults to take root are pride and power games. Socially, it is seen as some kind of a challenge. But a challenge with what prize? Why do we always look for reasons to hate, to dislike, to seperate?

I guess the reasons that we do are the same reasons that I am bothering to type this out - we love to bitch, and we are all narcisistic monkeys...

The only true Golden Path is through the frontal lobe - lobotomies all round... because ignorance truly is bliss...

The Real Blog is a Slog....

What is the point of blogging? Okay, I realise that to ask this question within a blog is ironic, as I am sure that deep down I want as many people as possible to read this and then answer the question themselves.....possibly within a blog....

I guess to me blogs are like diaries, only without the privacy and racy details as most blogs that I have encountered are just a record of people's lives... And in many cases they are the most boring, dreary and repetitive pieces of work since the art world thought that it would be a great idea to repeat Andy Warhol's style of repetition in an attempt to recreate originality... or whatever.

The point that I am trying to make is that in order to be taken seriously in this whole blog-world that we live in you need to fit into a box. I choose not to label the blog, and so no one reads it. I label the blog (e.g. scooters, holidays, autumn - these really are the suggested options below) and that means that I have to write about the aforementioned - boringly repetitive isn't it....

So, what is the point of blogging again?

The Real Difference between Lamb and Beef

Sheep, I tell you... Sheep!

Well, possibly cattle, actually. It all depends on where you are, and whether you are being led around by a bloke with a stick or prodded in the rump by a bloke with, erm, an electric stick...

It is amazing what we as humans will allow ourselves to be put through, or indeed put ourselves through. Be it travelling in large containers of steel with rails to grasp a hold of and barely legible safety maifestos from the 70's hurtling to work at the speed of a zimmerframe; or choosing to absorb the constant barrage of drivel that "those in the know" feel we really "need" or even "want" to know: playing their pipes of glamour filled pages as we follow, powerless to the tune of our mental demise.

The really unfortunate thing is that we have not necessarily chosen the path of human development, merely fallen into line as we herd ourselves with sticks and carrots into the uneviable torture that is our future...

Well at least it will all be covered in sleek "free paper"style - complete with inane gossip about who will be the first over the cliff, and what shitty club-cum-shack-stroke-toilet they went to last night....

Content

I love this word. Its dual meaning and purpose bring me endless joy, especially as I flip through the top ten movies currently at the box office (either side of the big blue thing in the middle that we feel content dumping shit into), and realise that I am not content with content.

Maybe it is the mediocre nature of the content that causes me such discontentment, or possibly it is the bubble gum chewing contentment of the intended recipients that causes my folicles to desire death... oh to be a bald old man with grandchildren to belittle....

I love user-generated content as much as the next guy (as let's be honest we are all users, and I am currently in the process of generating, so hey!), the problem is when big business tries to dress itself up and generate some contentment content... just don't...ever... Going to the movies should be an experience - if WE want to watch clips of dogs farting then WE will go to a place where WE filmed it, and WE will be content. However, if YOU choose to parade Zack "I'm-definitely-going-to-get-some-work-done-when-I'm-older" Sing and Dance Man in front of me again I will either: projectile vomits pieces of my small intestine all over the movie theatre OR not bother watching another movie EVER!

You know it is bad when there isn't even a decent movie for your flatmate to download for you...

I say bring back Alfred, God rest his soul, even his decomposed corpse could make me more content... content.

In the land of the blind, some people get by...

It turns out that the media in most countries do not have the time, nor the resources, to churn out the constant dirth of "information" required to fill pages and pages of print, screen and telecaster every day. It also turns out most of the companies/individuals that are being reported on have at some point hired some form of "Public Relations Officer"....

This was probably the kid at school that kept on bragging that he/she had met the Hoff in real life, and that he/she was going on a cruise with said curly-haired ninja (less the actual training/skills).

So what we read is shit.... in a bag.

Well, at least it is shit that can be recycled...