Tuesday, May 31, 2005

Things that really .. really make my day: part V


There I am, working away. My mind divided in two. One side in auto-pilot, churning through copy for web pages. The other side drifting into some random recess, looking some feel-good memory...

It's late some Saturday night and I get a text message. I read the message and smile: "Will you come out? Please! I want to see you."

I'm not going to reply.

I get a shower, I get dressed and get in my car and drive into town.

I have to stop for some petrol. As I walk across the forecourt, I feel my mobile phone buzz in my pocket. I have a message: "Are you coming out?"

I'm not going to reply.

I nod to door man as I make my way into the nightclub and pay the girl at the door.

As I pass through the people milling around, the lights begin to dim and the music starts to get louder.

I walk around the nightclub, looking onto the dance floor.

I see her dancing, she doesn't see me.

For a while, I just watch her moving to the music knowing that's she's my girlfriend.

I watch some guy amble up and try his luck with her. She's having non of that and with a brief, false smile she turns away.

The guy stands there, looking awkward. He looks around as he wipes his sweating hands on his jeans. His friends point and jeer as they laugh at him.

I laugh to myself and with some degree of stealth, I make my way through the dancing crowd and step up behind her, taking her hips in my hands, moving her hair to one side and kissing her neck as I draw closer to her body with mine. Moving in motion together.

I'm sober, she's less sober.

She sighs, I smile.

For the next hour or so we dance. We just dance.

Her friends disappear into the nightclub.

We don't say a word. We just hold each other and dance to the pulsing music.

I have some pretty amazing memories .. just thought I'd share one with you, that's all.

Hope you don't mind?

Thursday, May 26, 2005

Me, me, me .. you, you, you!


We're all selfish.

Don't agree?

Tough .. you are, whether you like it or not.


Put simply, some living organism must die so that you might live.

And no, vegetarianism doesn't buy you out of this argument.

Just because a pan full of lentils or a cabbage, or sprouting green broccoli doesn't squeal or scream when slaughtered for the plate doesn't mean that death is somehow less inhumane.

The very first thing you did in life was an act of wanton selfishness.

In that viscous soup of spermatozoa shot into the warm folds of life-giving tissue, you fought off your siblings to be the one to take the grand prize.

And what of your contenders?

They died.

Ultimately, you are selfish.

There are no rules that bind you towards sharing & caring. We do these things not for the feeling of enormous well-being, we do these things because we have calculated that in all likelihood, our acts of kindness will be reciprocated.

Now that's not just selfish, it's down right cunning.

You're selfish .. live with it. Accept it. You'll feel much better...

Wednesday, May 25, 2005

As I type...


... I consider the sudden and premature bought of joggers nipple I had earlier.

Usually an entirely expected treat as I make my way into my village on the last leg of my run.

Not this time.

Only four miles into my run and there we are.

Never mind, though. I stressed my right foot and was spared the delight of jogging through the neighbouring village clutching my chest like some A-cup amateur.

Instead, I limped the rest of the way home.

Right now, I'm listening to the album Glow by Reef, which is an unusual choice of music for this hour, but .. ah, Robot Riff has just come on. So that's alright.

A thought occurred to me earlier.

There's such a thing as Rambling. If you're English, then your mental image of the common-or-garden variety Rambler is made up of marching armies of old people thundering about the countryside like some sentinels of the Earth goddess.

But, there's also such a thing as nekkid Rambling, or extreme Rambling as I imagine some might call this god-forsaken pursuit.

The very thought of gravity-stricken old coffin-dodgers letting it all 'ang out as they cut across hill & dale gives me the heebie-jeebies.

But then I took time to consider this phenomena, such that it is.

What's the protocol for crossing a barbed-wire fence?

Please note: more serious considerations will no doubt pop into my head within the next week or two, so please try to be patient...

Tuesday, May 24, 2005

Things that really .. really piss me off: part XI


So I thought I'd mix things up a little and put the question to you, the great unwashed who traipse through my 'blog like some invading army of blind diarrhetic elephants.

What really .. really pisses you off?

Discuss...

Monday, May 23, 2005

On the other hand...


Rejoice! For the month of May has been designated National Masturbation Month with May 28th being National Masturbation Day, no less.

National Masturbation Month Reaches Climax On May 28
SAN FRANCISCO (Wireless Flash) – May has been declared "National Masturbation Month" by the Good Vibrations sex toy company.

But the annual event really reaches a climax on May 28, which is National Masturbation Day.

That's when touchy-feely people all across America will be coming together for a good cause called the "Masturbate- A-Thon," where they ask for pledges based on the length of time they pleasure themselves.

This year marks the 10th anniversary of National Masturbation Month and while most people will "celebrate" in private, organizer and sex expert Dr. Carol Queen expects at least 100 self-proclaimed self-lovers will gather in San Francisco for a hands-on charity event benefitting the Center for Sex and Culture.

Participants will have to provide their own toys, but Queen says there will be plenty of "lube and latex" for those who need them as well as a special "voyeur's room" for the media.

Because it is a public event, participants shouldn't ask others for "assistance" but Queen says it is permissible to ask for "support" or "inspiration."

What more is there to say? Other than knock yourself out and knock one off, but be sure to wash your hands afterwards.

If you want to be kept abreast of the latest and weirdest news, make your way on over to Human Under Construction.

Quite easily one of the most invaluable source of quality time-wasters in the entire 'bloggersphere...

Things that really .. really make my day: part IV


It's those little things that make your day.

But to put things in their proper perspective, there aren't all that many big things that make your day. But if you get enough of the little things and spread them liberally over the course of say a week, it's probably just as good or arguably better than one big good thing.

Some time ago, I got a call from someone asking me if I wanted to partake in a business questionnaire.

I get this kind of thing all of the time, and most of the time I usually decline.

Well this time, for what ever reason, I said yes.

At the end of the brief questioning about the functioning of me and my business, I was surprised to be told that I had qualified for a free gift and would I like £30 of HMV vouchers or £30 for some clothes shop that I've since forgot.

Of course, I asked for the HMV vouchers.

Anyway, for a couple of days I kept an eye out, looking for said gift in and amongst all of the junk mail that I receive, but there were no vouchers.

So, I gave up on 'em.

There I am, Saturday morning just checking my email and my dad walks into the room with a letter.

He leans against the wall as I tap away, acknowledging him with a shift in my posture.

Dad: "I was going to throw this away with all the other crap."

He presents a letter in one hand.

I scan over the brief letter and just as I was about to say, 'why didn't you?'

He holds out three £10 HMV vouchers in his other hand.

Needless to say, that made my day.

With that £30, I bought three DVD's which were on offer; buy 3 DVD's for £20, and I bought a music CD double-disc which was also on offer and a new release, no less.

On top of all of that, I qualified for a free music CD of all of the latest artists currently making a mark for themselves.

Quite an eclectic mix of artists for sure, but not the sort of stuff that floats my boat.

So while that didn't exactly blow wind up my skirt, so to speak, it was a welcome surprise.

That little lot really did make my day...

Friday, May 20, 2005

Truisms


You can describe a shape, a colour, a sound or even a taste. But why is it you can't fully describe a smell?

Having pondered this for a while, I'm sure there's a very real link between a scent and an emotion.

Some emotions can be described very clearly; such as anger, empathy, sorrow et cetera. But then sometimes, you have a feeling or a sensation that just defies proper explanation.

A certain smell can sometimes evoke a series of very vivid memories. And in turn, disturb the silted basin of the ocean of your mind and spew forth those emotions that defy explanation.

The human mind is a truly amazing thing and make no mistake.

Not satisfied with a simple entry of an event, an avalanche of sensations, emotions, feelings, sounds and scents are added to this rich mix to create a snapshot of a moment that is only ever as precise as your forever bias mind will allow.

When all is said and done, when you have lived the full course of your life and there are less years in front of you than there are behind, you will recall these moments.

No matter if you are the fashion victim who's life is a wasteland of materialism, those memories dearest to you will be those sensations, those emotions, those feelings, those sounds and those scents.

In those fleeting moments when words fail to describe those emotions, take some solace in the fact that those indescribable emotions are the very thing that define you as an individual...

Thursday, May 19, 2005

Much drollery to be had...


When the word 'No' is either not fully understood or has since ceased being part of their broader vocabulary, the telephone call which purports to be a too-good-to-be-true offer is obviously too good to be true:
"Ah, right. Now I understand the problem. You're after a very different Wayne Smallman all together. I'm the older version. Clearly you're after the one that was born yesterday. Goodbye!"

Reading the various comic strips in the Daily Mirror has served me very well indeed...

Monday, May 16, 2005

3rd World War


As is usual with British television, most of the best films and documentaries and driven into the wee small hours by the soap operas and fly-on-the-wall docu-dramas, gardening programs, house make-over shows and Z-list celebrity challenges.

So yesterday was no different, and because of the popularist scheduling, the premiere of The Fog of War was pushed back to ten at night.


Rather than the regular film style, this film instead was from the same stable as Fahrenheit 911, albeit slightly differently as the basis of this particular extended documentary was the retelling of a slice of American history from the point of view of a Robert Strange McNamara, a man of Irish stock who has lived a truly fascinating and eventful life.

Now, I didn't get to see all of the film, but for those who prefer some cerebral edification every now & then, I couldn't recommend this film more highly.

In this film, you're invited into an oddly voyeuristic journey into the recent past through the eyes of man who I consider to be a great objective viewer and thinker.

I'll spare you any kind of potted biography, much of that you can find for yourself, but what is worth mentioning at this point is his role during the 2nd World War.

He was essentially a statistical analyst, and as such, he was charged with making the American military war machine more efficient.

In doing so, through the power of numbers -- which was so graphically illustrated in the film -- he indirectly recommended the near total destruction of literally every major city in Japan, and latterly, the use of the infant atom bomb.

By his own admission -- he and the military hierarchy above him -- were, for all intents and purposes, war criminals.

Now, this got me thinking. We look at the likes of Saddam Hussein, and we see someone who is clearly a war criminal because of his actions not only against his enemies and his neighbours, but also certain sections of his own populous.

The list of these so-called war criminals goes on and on and on. Most recently hitting the headlines, we now have Robert Mugabe committing acts of untold violence against his own people.

But then I'm reminded of a saying that in many ways has become somewhat of a truism; to the victor, the spoils of war.

And inside that kernel of new truth, we see that those who win are often beyond reproach. And that we ourselves justify their actions by our complicity in those actions. After all, can we attach a price to freedom?

Now I'm just going to come out and say it, but I think that we have already entered into the first stages of a 3rd World War.

So the obvious question is, what do I know?

Well it's pretty simple, and hidden amongst the rhetoric being echoed from America to Europe and across the whole of the Middle East is the truth.

The politicians talk of a war on terror, and they're actually right for a change.

And the interesting thing is, the Americans were probably the first victim of this when they were driven from Vietnam. There you had not just a war of ideologies, but a war of strategies.

On the one hand, you had young conscripts and veterans alike being sent to fight a conventional war somewhere in Asia. To fight a war with access to a near limitless supply of weapons, field equipment, armourment and ammunition.

While on the other side, you had a poorly armed populous of people who knew nothing of admitting defeat, who knew nothing of being demoralized or of being ashamed. Who knew the terrain intimately and who knew how to survive on meager resources and to fight a war of attrition.

In essence, they were everything the Americans were not.

Fast forward to the present day, and we see that the conflict in Vietnam was a template for a style of conflict that has been used many, many times over since.

After the 2nd World War, the military hierarchy in Britain wanted to disband the Special Air Service. The belief was that such a focused fighting force simply wasn't relevant anymore.

In 1984 the Libyan embassy siege came to a close in dramatic style when the SAS stormed the building. For the first time, the world got a glimpse of the way in which we were to respond to the new enemy.

Gone are the days of mighty forces lurching towards one another like drunken ogres, tearing fields and mountains with their rain of fire.

We will now see highly-focused campaigns being fought out in living rooms across the world. The new war is a war on terror, and the news media will be the delivery mechanism of this new payload. And prize is the defeat of one ideology by another.

No one could see the beginning of this war because no one nation drew a line in the side.

No one people were affronted by another race or creed.

No one border was overrun by armed forces.

No one person could truly comprehend the scale and scope of this new war.

This is a war that transcends racial differences, that is blind to boundaries and regions and that will ultimately include every one of us to a greater and lesser degree.

This war began decades ago, and both sides have already suffered considerable losses...

Thursday, May 12, 2005

Things that really .. really piss me off: part X


To mark the tenth in this series of well-honed rants, I thought a special tirade was in order.

The pill-popping generation

What the hell is it with people, eh?


They have a head ache, so a blind panic ensues while they rummage around in bags and bedside draws looking for a packet of pain killers.

They have a stomach upset, so they pounce on the telephone and badger their doctors' receptionist into giving them an early appointment.

They get a cold or influenza and suddenly, they are the last of our species. One to be feted and waited upon in their stricken state. Meanwhile, a multitude of salves, tablets and sweet-smelling solutions are imbibed above & beyond the recommended daily allowance, usually complicating what is essentially a mild illness with severe diarrhea.

Of course, by this time they're convinced they're dyeing from some tropical disease like West Nile virus or Haemorrhagic fever. Death is surely only hours away?

If only, then the surplus population of these whinging wankers of the great hypochondrium might be trimmed to a more manageable number .. like none.

People don't want to sleep. Riddled with the fear of a child at christmas, scared to miss good ol' Santy Claus, they want see everything and not miss a single hour.

So they take a tablet to induce some kind of waking delirium. But one tablet doesn't bring about the desired effect fast enough. So they take one more .. then another, and another.

Soon, they are swept up into a leg-twitching state of hyperactivity that usually leaves them buzzing around like a blue-arsed fly in a blaze of unintelligible incoherence.

People want to get a high. Wanting to be the centre of attention and be the epicenter of mirth and congeniality. So they take a pill .. given to them by a friend of a friend who knows someone who's just come back from holiday in one of those strange countries you've never heard of that borders nations like Libya or Kazakhstan.

Now, rather than be the source of merriment, they're transformed into a blathering, sweating, beady-eyed blur of activity. Talking so fast and with such clear and unequivocal meaninglessness that you think that you're in their head and that they imagined you.

Fear not. This burst of energy won't last. Come two in the morning and they're reduced to a bleary-eye, arched-backed sack of molasses, sodden in their own drug-induced pool of cold sweat .. a bit like Peter Doherty.

People want a pill for every ill.

People are getting fatter. Why? Because they eat too much.

No great mystery there, then.

The very thought of having their stomach stapled makes them wince. The very idea of eating less is to them not even a consideration.

So what is a lard arse supposed to do about it? Well, there's only one logical solution; they want a pill.

Never thinking that actually getting off their more than ample arses and getting out & about might not only improve their health, but actually get some much-needed fresh air into their largely prosaic lives.

A bitter pill to swallow indeed...

Thought of the day


"The greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its animals are treated."
~ Mahatma Ghandi

Wednesday, May 11, 2005

No regrets


I'm not the kind to feel guilt or to regret.

While I am impulsive, in the fleeting milliseconds between thought & deed, I've already gone through all of the things that could go wrong.

So while being impulsive, I'm not reckless or stupid.


I can honestly say that from the many and various events of my life, I have only one regret, and this one regret only came to me years after the event took place.

But more frustratingly, the events that led up to this one regret were largely beyond my control.

Even when my mother died, I had no regrets. I knew that everything that I wanted to say to my mother had been said.

The only disappointment is that she will never see any children I might have.

But that's a disappointment, not a regret.

Anyway, when I look at guilt, I see people who say & do things that they ought not to have.

I often say & do things that people wish I hadn't, but I meant them all the same. So there's no room for guilt in my world.

Envy is another strange emotion.

I don't feel envious of anyone.

If I see someone with something that I would like, then I set about working towards that goal. I would never begrudge someone having that one thing.

If they acquired that one thing by either luck or effort, then good on them!

But this isn't to say all of these emotions aren't good. They've all got survival value.

Thing is, I don't need them...

Monday, May 09, 2005

In memoriam...


60 years on, and we again commemorate those who died.

While this is a worthy affair, it’s also a somewhat painfully somber one. So I'm not sure why this should be the case.

I think the Irish have things right when they have a Wake, which I feel is much more appropriate.

I'd like to think that if I had died for my country all those years ago, people would remember my sacrifice with a laugh, a smile and a drink.

Let's face it, that's what these people were fighting for...

Wednesday, May 04, 2005

Things that really .. really piss me off: part IX


Fashion fascism.

I loathe the expectations of people for conformity and that you should adopt some kind of consistent theme to your attire.


When I was at school, I had to wear a uniform; shirt, tie, trousers, shoes.

I hated this with a vengeance.

Even as a teenager, I was very much aware that the 'adult logic' behind school uniforms was deeply, deeply flawed.

Being the son of my mother, I spoke my mind and this would cause endless problems for me with my teachers.

If I know that I'm right, I simply will not back down. So I made several trips to the headmasters' office on the strength of my convictions.

So the idea is this: if all children wear a uniform then .. well, they look uniform. That way, no one knows who's poor and who's rich.

Uh ohh! Adult logic alert!

So the parents who condoned this very idea are the first ones to break it because they wanted little Timmy & Tamara to look the tidiest with all of the best shirts, shoes, trousers, skirts, ties et cetera, et cetera.

Meanwhile, little Johnny & Jenny Backstreet didn't get all of the branded stuff, their mum & dad had to give them hand-me-downs or clothes bought on income support from the school clothing suppliers.

So the very idea of a school uniform was self-defeating. Instilling and propagating the idea of regimented tedium, stifling individuality and perceptibly drawing out and throttling all notion of being your own person.

Needless to say, I bided my time.

College came and college went, and what I saw was basically the same principle, only this time, the custodians of dress rule were the student collective, broken down into factionalized clans.

So for those like me who'd survived school and yearned a little latitude when it comes to what can & cannot be worn, the survivors blindly forfeited their right to choose the moment they aligned themselves with one musical taste or another, and thus the cycle continued.

This might sound like I'm stating the obvious, but you might have guessed that I did not fit in with any one clan.

The level of outright intolerance you could expect for wearing a certain pair of trainers / sneakers, or for wearing a leather jacket was just laughable.

The situation had got to the point where there was no cross-over between the various clans and woe betide those who dared infringe the regimen.

So in the mad, desperate dash to look different, the over-riding need to fit in and be a part of something largely undid whatever ideas and aspirations most people had of individuality and they all ended up looking the same.

All except me, that is.

To me, this wasn't just about what you wear on your back, on your arse or on your feet, this was about what's happening inside your head.

If you can't think as an individual, then there's no hope of dressing like one.

Being an individual doesn't mean looking wild and garish. Being a Goth or a Neo Hippie and wearing certain clothes doesn't mean that you're an individual. All that means is you're an acolyte, or a follower.

Dress is the outward method of assessing the character of a person.

Some use stealth and diversion to avoid letting slip their individuality. They're usually the more interesting people.

Then there are those who would hope that dressing a certain way and being the brightest / gaudiest / grungiest must surely mean that they're an individual. They're usually the most boring people...