This post is horribly late, but what it is about remains a significant event, so here it is.
(This post requires a bit of background information and I am nowhere near the skilled writer I would like to be, and can't work it all seemlessly into the post)
Back in May last year there was the big slam at Hammer and Tongue. Taylor Mali won by some distance. Subsequently at Hammer and Tongue there has become a bit of a tradition where the winner on the night has dinner cooked for them by a volunteer from the audience. This volunteer volunteers before the slam, so it's a bit of a lottery as to how winner and chef match up. I did this last December for Sophia and it was fun. In January, myself and Anita met and had dinner (by accident) with Taylor before he performed at Alchemy. We talked a bit about H and T and explained the dinner for the winner thing.
End of background.
I'm a person who does a bit of travelling for my job and it can be an overrated experience, lots of eating and drinking by yourself, and the delights of Travel Lodges, Ring Roads and business parks. I imagine that to some extent performing and travelling is a bit like that. I could be wrong. In response to those thoughts Anita and I decided to invite Taylor to dinner, part of an overdue dinner for the winner, but also to give him a warmer environment. Taylor replied ok, but asked if the rest of the US team, plus Jim and Steve could come. Seeing as it wasn't my house, but at the Slug, I said yes. Thanks girls.
So, the night before the four nations slam, myself and the girls (Kate, Emily, Caroline and Anita) cooked dinner for three quarters of the American team, plus Jim Thomas. I fear that Beau Sia and Danny Solis had no idea what they were getting themselves into when they came through the door! Taylor made the introductions, and we plied them with organic beer, New Zealand wine, lasagna, and these little things that were four cheeses wrapped in eggplant (I hate eggplant, but we'll let that go for the time being, suffice to say that this was a form of eggplant I could eat). Because Taylor kept running off to answer his phone (probably strategising for the event itself, or creating an excuse to pore through the girl's bedrooms - he did make the odd comment about the relative tidyness of them...), for a large part of the evening it was just Jim, Danny, Beau, the four girls and myself. Jim, Danny and Beau seem to get more comfortable as the evening wore on. They were such good company. I think Caroline's Septagon of Unfortunate Love was a useful catalyst... Later on Justice and Sophia joined the party. I guess to some degree some of us at hOME have idolised Taylor. (A bad word to use, but like I say, I'm not a skilled writer and can't think of a better one, although having said that I do do crosswords, so that excuse is not exactly watertight. Maybe senile dementia is kicking in. There, that's a better excuse.) We were mesmerised by his big slam performance, and we loved his Silver Lined Heart poem. I think fascinated by him is a better expression of our response to him, so it was good to hang out with him and the others and see them just be, just as we were just being too. It felt good to provide that environment. I wish someone would do that for me when I'm travelling for work!
I could hang out with those guys anytime. So... thanks Danny, Beau, Taylor, Jim and Sophia for your company.
It was a beautiful evening.
Monday, February 21, 2005
Thursday, February 17, 2005
Smoking Gun
I was in Dublin over the weekend. I went to a pub on Saturday and it felt quite odd. I couldn't work out why, and then I realised that it was because Dublin is now smoke-free. It made for a very different pub experience. Somehow less enjoyable. Or familiar?
Later that night I was watching music tv. There was a video that featured a half naked woman simulating sex. No problems there. The next video was Blur's Beetlebum. In the video bassist Alex James (I think) is smoking a cigarette. This, of course, has been blurred out.
Later that night I was watching music tv. There was a video that featured a half naked woman simulating sex. No problems there. The next video was Blur's Beetlebum. In the video bassist Alex James (I think) is smoking a cigarette. This, of course, has been blurred out.
An Ultimate Gig
Radio 6 and Jane Gazzo are playing my ultimate gig next week. This is where you get to email in the three bands you would have liked to see at your ultimate gig.
Me, I chose the following and for the following reasons (call me sad if you like):
Me, I chose the following and for the following reasons (call me sad if you like):
The Band. Sadly I was only two and living in New Zealand when they split, which made seeing them a little tricky. And now most of them are dead... Thank goodness for the Last Waltz and The Festival Express so I can pretend to have seen them live.
Dire Straits. It might be just a little uncool, but there is something about a five minute song followed by a self indulgant five minute outro. Brothers in Arms was the first album I bought and the first gig I ever went to was to see them in Auckland.
Pulp. Just because.
Time Management
There is a very interesting article from the Seattle Times about how we are increasingly becoming victims of our own technology. (I found the article while linking from Jon's blog to some guy called Stephen and his blog...).
Essentially the gist of the article is that we are increasingly susceptible to having our life being manipulated by the amount of information we receive:
"Some are concerned that the need for speed is shrinking our attention spans, prompting our search for answers to take the mile-wide-but-inch-deep route and settling us into a rhythm of constant interruption in which deadlines are relentless and tasks are never quite finished."
There's an interesting statistic about attention spans:
"Gloria Mark, a UC-Irvine professor, has been studying attention overload and multitasking among workers in a financial-services office. So far, she's found that the average employee switches tasks every three minutes, is interrupted every two minutes and has a maximum focus stretch of 12 minutes"
My first thought when reading that last statistic was "it's that long? Wow". What I do remember is that when I was studying for my Geography degree in the early nineties, I did most of research from text books, and I could go literally hours at a time without moving. When I did my engineering degree in the late nineties, at a time when I had far greater access to computers, I spent an awful lot of time fretting about emails, surfing the web etc. I got higher marks in my engineering degree, but twelve years later I tend to remember a lot more of the first degree.
I'm finding myself increasingly becoming a victim of both the information highway and my addiction to it. I completely resonate with this:
"Some of us get obsessed, checking e-mails while on vacation or late at night. We will e-mail to avoid talking and expect prompt reply, or fire off text-messages or gab on cellphones not because we have something to say, but because we can. (What? Am I interrupting?)"
I feel naked if I leave my house house without my Blackberry, and if I leave without my phone? I'll go home to get it. Although I do take comfort in that I do spend a lot of time with friends on a one to one basis. My housemates, however, tend not to get to enjoy such time with me. That's my fault!
It's a long article, but one that is worth the read. You may even read it all in one sitting (I couldn't) and it may take longer than twelve minutes.
There is a final observation about blogging too:
"Blogs — personal Web sites where people share information, commentary and feelings — have filled part of the void, keeping their audience current on topics of specific interest. But as Brown says, if all your information is tailored to what you want to know, you may miss that which you don't know you want to know, and should."
Essentially the gist of the article is that we are increasingly susceptible to having our life being manipulated by the amount of information we receive:
"Some are concerned that the need for speed is shrinking our attention spans, prompting our search for answers to take the mile-wide-but-inch-deep route and settling us into a rhythm of constant interruption in which deadlines are relentless and tasks are never quite finished."
There's an interesting statistic about attention spans:
"Gloria Mark, a UC-Irvine professor, has been studying attention overload and multitasking among workers in a financial-services office. So far, she's found that the average employee switches tasks every three minutes, is interrupted every two minutes and has a maximum focus stretch of 12 minutes"
My first thought when reading that last statistic was "it's that long? Wow". What I do remember is that when I was studying for my Geography degree in the early nineties, I did most of research from text books, and I could go literally hours at a time without moving. When I did my engineering degree in the late nineties, at a time when I had far greater access to computers, I spent an awful lot of time fretting about emails, surfing the web etc. I got higher marks in my engineering degree, but twelve years later I tend to remember a lot more of the first degree.
I'm finding myself increasingly becoming a victim of both the information highway and my addiction to it. I completely resonate with this:
"Some of us get obsessed, checking e-mails while on vacation or late at night. We will e-mail to avoid talking and expect prompt reply, or fire off text-messages or gab on cellphones not because we have something to say, but because we can. (What? Am I interrupting?)"
I feel naked if I leave my house house without my Blackberry, and if I leave without my phone? I'll go home to get it. Although I do take comfort in that I do spend a lot of time with friends on a one to one basis. My housemates, however, tend not to get to enjoy such time with me. That's my fault!
It's a long article, but one that is worth the read. You may even read it all in one sitting (I couldn't) and it may take longer than twelve minutes.
There is a final observation about blogging too:
"Blogs — personal Web sites where people share information, commentary and feelings — have filled part of the void, keeping their audience current on topics of specific interest. But as Brown says, if all your information is tailored to what you want to know, you may miss that which you don't know you want to know, and should."
Tuesday, February 15, 2005
Dublin Bound
This entry is being sent from my Blackberry. These little devices have been in the news a bit recently, mostly because Alastair Campbell didn't know how to use one and sent an abusive email from his. Apparently these things are a status symbol and only the top tier of management are supposed to get one. How I've got one is a mystery to me. Go MyCompany!
I'm being sent to Dublin to teach, and due to the course being Monday and Tuesday, I've decided to make a weekend of it. And I get to catch up with a friend I haven't seen in many years.
Last night Chris Langston and I went down to the Zodiac to see three bands; Pure Reason Revolution, Ambulance LTD and the Dears. I'm pretty sure I'd seen PRR before, I think they might have opened for the Boxer Rebellion at the same venue last year. They were loud, clearly influenced by Pink Floyd and really good. I think they've even performed at Greenbelt. Those who came late missed out.
Next on the bill were a band I've discovered on BBC Radio 6, the Beebs indie rock station, Ambulance LTD. These guys are good. Hard to say what they sound like. Indie. Rock. You can listen to a lot of their stuff on their website. The opening track is a six minute instrument, which is a bit gutsy, and they started the show with the same track. The tragically short half hour set also featured the devine Heavy Lifting and Primitive (the way I treat you).
Finally we had the Dears. These guys come from Montreal and to me sound a whole lot like Blur. Others have said the Smiths. I don't see it. Or should that be hear it. I went to the gig on the basis of having heard the single Lost the Plot on Radio 6. In that song, lead singer Murray definitely sounds like Damon Albarn. In order to be more informed, I went out on thursday and did some research. The research essentially involved wandering down to Astleys, one of Wallingfords two record shops (it also sells appliances) and buying the album, along with a few others (some Bob Marley, some Joy Division and, scarily enough, I don't remember the fourth one. Clearly it meant a lot to me.). The research then moved on to the "I've got a new album and I'm going to play it over and over again till I'm sick of it and then I'm never going to listen to it again" stage. I go through this stage a lot. I suspect that I will be repeating the exercise just before Jim and I go off to see the Wedding Present at the end of the month. And I still don't remember the names of most of the songs...
Half way through the gig we sang happy birthyday to Georgie, the Chilean drummer. They finished the set with, I believe, the Last Romantic, or something like that. We cried out for more, they duly obliged and by 10.15 my night out had come to an end. Just as well as I got up at 4.30 this morning...
Now we will get the muddled auto signature that the Blackberry adds on.
See?
Sent from my Handheld Blackberry device
Friday, February 11, 2005
An Appropriate Response
I work in the water industry. My job has a slightly academic bent, and as part of the deal I belong to something called the 'Rivers List', which is an open forum for discussing ideas, questions etc relating to water resources and coastal processes.
Part of the discussion has inevitably turned to the Asian Tsunami. A couple of days ago, a member on the list sent an email saying that he had summarised a lot of the information. Amongst his email, he wrote: "New valuable informations include :
Which prompted the following from another member: " Through the rivers list I received your email about the tsunami. I think your remark about the highest recorded runup height was 35m in western Aceh (with 3 '!'s.) is totally misplaced. it is almost like you are talking about a world record in sports that we should be proud of, or so. I do not suggest that we should not look into the hydrodynamic aspects of this tsunami, but realising that almost 300,000 people were killed by this tsunami (many of them in Aceh) and many more suffered severe losses, I think the tone of the message should be very different."
Over the past few days these two emails have prompted a lot of healthy discussion about how we as an engineering and academic body should be responding to this disaster. Engineers spend an awful lot of time studying, interacting and modifying our environment. Sometimes it can be useful to remember who we doing this for and why we are doing, rather than treating it as an academice exercise. One of the more astute comments came this morning: "Obviously, cutting edge research and achievements are always interesting and necessary. But, at the same time, our responsibility is to implement our scientific intuition to have an influence on the system and the people as well. We should not stand apart." In addition to that, I would add the observation that we also need to understand the real nature of the problem we are attempting to solve. At engineering school we were taught theat we should usewhat became known as 'appropriate technology' when working on any project. Essentially that means we don't build a hydroelectric dam in an Indian village when all they need is a well. An extreme example, but I'm sure you get the idea.
As an engineer, I am immensely proud of my profession. OK, so some of the time we build the occasional monstrosity (we blame the architects when this happens), and in the past we have been guilty of a 'bulldozers and wrecking ball' approach to environmental management, but we have the power to create a lot of very positive change in this world. Increasingly this has become more evident, and we have got a lot better at wielding that power.
I'm encouraged by the simple fact that we in the Rivers List are having this discussion.
Part of the discussion has inevitably turned to the Asian Tsunami. A couple of days ago, a member on the list sent an email saying that he had summarised a lot of the information. Amongst his email, he wrote: "New valuable informations include :
Which prompted the following from another member: " Through the rivers list I received your email about the tsunami. I think your remark about the highest recorded runup height was 35m in western Aceh (with 3 '!'s.) is totally misplaced. it is almost like you are talking about a world record in sports that we should be proud of, or so. I do not suggest that we should not look into the hydrodynamic aspects of this tsunami, but realising that almost 300,000 people were killed by this tsunami (many of them in Aceh) and many more suffered severe losses, I think the tone of the message should be very different."
Over the past few days these two emails have prompted a lot of healthy discussion about how we as an engineering and academic body should be responding to this disaster. Engineers spend an awful lot of time studying, interacting and modifying our environment. Sometimes it can be useful to remember who we doing this for and why we are doing, rather than treating it as an academice exercise. One of the more astute comments came this morning: "Obviously, cutting edge research and achievements are always interesting and necessary. But, at the same time, our responsibility is to implement our scientific intuition to have an influence on the system and the people as well. We should not stand apart." In addition to that, I would add the observation that we also need to understand the real nature of the problem we are attempting to solve. At engineering school we were taught theat we should usewhat became known as 'appropriate technology' when working on any project. Essentially that means we don't build a hydroelectric dam in an Indian village when all they need is a well. An extreme example, but I'm sure you get the idea.
As an engineer, I am immensely proud of my profession. OK, so some of the time we build the occasional monstrosity (we blame the architects when this happens), and in the past we have been guilty of a 'bulldozers and wrecking ball' approach to environmental management, but we have the power to create a lot of very positive change in this world. Increasingly this has become more evident, and we have got a lot better at wielding that power.
I'm encouraged by the simple fact that we in the Rivers List are having this discussion.
Monday, February 07, 2005
The Truth
From Homer Simpson in the 'Hungry, Hungry Homer episode:
Homer: I don't mind being called a liar when I'm lying, or about to lie, or just finished lying. But not when I'm telling the truth!
Homer: I don't mind being called a liar when I'm lying, or about to lie, or just finished lying. But not when I'm telling the truth!
Information Schminformation
I've written before about information overload, and information addiction. I'm pretty sure I've written about information being a substitute for action. Now someone at the BBC has put into words a wonderful observation about the first two. Now, read the highlights below, then turn your computer off and never visit my blog, or anybody elses, again.
(The full article is here.)
(The full article is here.)
Spending an inordinate amount of time at my computer, using my broadband, I'm developing what I can only term an information habit.
Sit down to work. Ten minutes in, the new mail icon tempts me from the bottom of the screen. I'll just check. Nothing like a few juicy new e-mails. Click a few links. Scan a few websites. Oh 20 minutes has just passed. Better get back to work. Now where was I? Start work again. Feel like a reward. I'll just check news.bbc.co.uk. See if anything's happened in the three minutes since I last looked. Follow a few 'related links'...
Half an hour has passed. I feel like I've done something, but actually I haven't. All that's happened is that I've been distracted by constantly rising info urges. I spend most of my day like this, divided between what I need to do and what the internet wants me to do - which is look at it. Constantly.
Friday, February 04, 2005
A Prague Slam
Patrick Seguin of the Alchemy literary group in Prague is going to put on his first poetry slam in the spring. He's never done this before and is looking for some assistance. If anybody out there can give him some tips, drop him a line at patrick@prague-spot.com.
Thursday, February 03, 2005
An Ocean of Information
Ok, I still need to process the slam, but I'm hoping that as I write I'll do some of that. I am giving myself twenty minutes. At 6pm, The Simpsons are on.
One of the things I've been desperate to avoid in this blog is have entries that run something like "I did this. It was good. Then I did that. I liked it." I pray that this blog entry doesn't do that. If it does, I'm sorry.
(This line was inserted part way through me writing this - I don't think this is a good entry. I fear it's a bit dull... it's a bit shit. Sorry. It kinda reads like I reviewed every song at a gig. But seeing as pretty much every poem was by a different poet, you can't really leave anybody out. You know what, if you feel inclined, and you actually make it all the way through this entry, you could give me some tips on writing. Go on, I'm open to criticism! For a short time only.)
But firstly, I'm going to list those that performed. Just so I don't leave anybody out...
(Drum roll and Michael Buffer calling out the names, please.......)
From the US we have....
Beau Sia
Taylor Mali
Queen Sheba
Danny Solis
And from Canada...
Barbara Adler
Brendan McLeod
Mark Berube
C. R. Avery
And from Ireland...
Barney Sheehan
Sonja Broderick
Robin Parmar
Rose O'Shea
And lastly the home team, the UK Team
Elvis McGonagill
Rachel Pantechnicon
Kat Francois
The brilliant Bard Of Bridlington: Niall Spooner-Harvey
Plus sacrifical poet, the de-fi-nite-ly b-e-a-u-ti-ful Sophia Blackwell, and MC's Rob Gee, Steve Larkin, who's just some guy. Providing the sounds in between was DJ Aeroplane Man. What fine sounds they were too.
Ok, there's your list. All of them quality. Nineteen poets and a DJ. Could be a good name for a band.
(Ten minutes till The Simpsons)
If you've read the blog before, you will know that I am a fan of these things. They float my boat, they rock my block and move my groove. And you will know that I have waxed lyrical about waxed lyrics in the past. So this time I am going to try a slightly different approach. It springs from the fact that I wrote a review for the Taylor Mali gig in January for the Hammer and Tongue Journal, the Nail.
Actually, I have no idea what the slightly different approach will be, which makes me deeply suspicious that what I write will be exactly the same as every other bloody entry.
The slam was organised like so:
(Note there was no dinner for the winner, although I did host the winning team for dinner the night before, see a later entry that I haven't yet written... It will hopefully make sense! And who says it was rigged??)
The four teams were divided into two semifinals, the US v Ireland and the UK v Canada. The winners of each heat played off in the final. The heat losers started drinking and relaxed.
(It's time for The Simpsons)
(Ad break. It's the Snake Whacking Day episode with Barry White)
To warm up the audience, Sophia sacrified herself and read a poem, and got a tasty score for her trouble. MC Rob Gee spat out one of his own, and then we were off. There was a toss, which the US won and the Irish were forced to go first. Barney was up first with a poem called Cry, my Belfast, cry. In reply, Taylor Mali, the US captain gave us What teachers make. Now, I've seen him three times before, but I have never seen him peform like he did on Tuesday. Normally he's a bit laid back, but he was aggressive, he had one foot up on the speakers, and he demanded that we as an audience know, no, understand, just what a difference teachers make. Seeing as I was in the corner where all the poets were gathered, it was fascinating to watch him after the peformance. He was always watching, always scheming and plotting, and, you'd have to say, masterminding the slam. This was clearly a man who knew what he was about. Seeing as he has won the US title six times, this shouldn't really come as a surprise... Rose O'Shea was next up for Ireland with a beautiful poem about her daddy. I had the priviledge of driving her back to the accomodation at the evening and what a lovely and warm person she is. When I get to Limerick, I am going to look her up. Queen Sheba was the second US poet, with Poetry does not belong to you. They say she is royalty, and whom am I to disagree. Third up for the Irish was Robin Parmer and then we had the amazing Beau Sia for the US. I spent a great deal of time with him on Monday night and he came across as a quiet man, quietly listening and wanting to help out round the house. But... not when he is peforming. "I'm so deep, that I am the iceberg that let the other iceberg sink the Titanic". Man, did he sweat when he was at it. He was breathtaking and hilarious. I really don't remember the last Irish poem, but I do remember the last US poem. Danny Solis was another person I got to hang out with on Monday night. He is a beautiful man with a great deal of depth. This wasn't revealed in his poem, which essentially was a play on the old 'size matters' myth, except he used a backyard fire as the metaphor for penis size. I know I'm a sucker for a bit of puerile talk, but this was genuinely funny. There was a marked difference between the two sides. The US team were all about the delivery, the Irish were all about the content. It's a tricky thing to delineate the merits of both approaches. I know what I would pay to see again, but I also know what I would pay to read.
After all that, it was time for a break.
One of the resounding reflections of the evening is that in four hours I listened to between 30-35 poems. Most of which were rapid fire. Granted that the material, the poets and the performances were top drawer, that is a hell of a lot of information to take in. I can't even pretend to do half of them justice. I guess this is where the performance comes into it. The poems I remember were the ones I knew, the ones where I knew the poet, and the ones with the large performance. I know that as I listened to some of the others, especially the one by Rose O'Shea, that it was important, but two days later, I fear that it had got itself drowned in a sea of information.
DJ Aeroplane then lay down some slamming tracks.
The second semi-final was between the UK and Canada. It began with a poem by Tony Blair. Sorry, Elvis McGonagill. Then we had something truly different. We had a group poem by the whole Canadian team, which was a first for a H&T slam. These Canadians are all from Vancouver, and they are slick. Pity the fool that has to follow that. Next in line was, at least in my opinion, the rather disappointing Niall Spooner-Harvey. I suspect that I found him disappointing partially because he followed the Canadians, but also his list of things that he is intolerant of didn't really sit well with me. It might have been self-effacing in places, but I was left with a rather uneasy feeling about it. This observation does make me wonder if I even remembered it correctly... Maybe it's one of the half I'm not doing justice. Second up for the Canadians was Brendan McLeod, with a poem about fighting ants. I think this one also falls into the bracket of not really remembering it well. I do remember the next three, however. The stunning Rachel Pantechnicon was, in terms of performance, my outright winner on the night. She can put garden gnomes on my 'elf shelf' anytime. The next poem, I am informed by it's author,Barbara Adler, and is simply called Music. There was a line in it with a reference to just being me being perfection. It resonated with what I heard Buddy Wakefield perform at the December H&T slam, where he asked had I ever dreamt about living for a living. Barbara, if you ever read this, please don't forget to send me the words! Third in the set, was Kat Francois with a poem about wanting a man who understood women. Kat, again, if you ever read this, can I have the title and/or the words? Please? The semi-final was finished by CR Avery. Now, amazingly talented is a brace of words that gets bandied about a lot, especially by me. So I'm going to preface this by putting the word 'outrageously' in front of it. A man who can be his own beat box while rapping has talent. As Tom Waits once said, "hunt this man out".
With the semi-finals wrapped up (pun intended - ka boom cha), it was time for another break with more slamming tunes from the Aeroplane.
doopy-do-she-whop...
....
....
Before Steve Larkin could announce the finalists he had to one of his own; the Midas touch in reverse. This was bullshit. He does not have the Midas touch in reverse. Everything he touched on Tuesday night was gold. Not the cliched kind, either.
It was not exactly a huge surprise to see that it was a US - Canada final. As good as the Irish and the British were, the North Americans were better. Now we got to see if Taylor Mali could strategise a win. The two teams took very different approaches in the final. With the exception of the two group pieces, Canada seemed to favour, and I really hesitate to say this, substance over style. Brendan McLeod and Barbara Adler kicked it off with a joint poem about friendship. The poem was wonderfully read, and the warmth and understanding between the two of them was very evident... which was riposted in outrageous fashion by Beau Sia with The Asians are coming. Loud, funny and delivered with bucketloads of sweat! Mark Berube was the second Canadian finalist with a poem that I think was entitled Scarred by Nuclear Heat and was a powerful look into the effects of Hiroshima upon his family and beyond. His grandfather had been a POW in Japan just down the road at the time the bomb was dropped. Danny Solis was the exception to the style rather than substance approach of the US. Danny spoke about holding his godson in his arms while recounting the story of a Palestinian boy dying in the arms of his father, and wondering if the father sang to his boy amidst the suffering. Brendon McLeod was next up for the Canadian with a moving poem about passing an HIV test, but the implications that someone else has got it for him, and then taking this metaphor to other aspects of life. If there is another poem I'd like to get my hands on, this would be a prime candidate. There's some stuff in there I'd like to think about. Mr Mali had obviously decided that there'd been enough gentle stuff, and brought the audience roaring again with his Voiceover America. The last Canadian poem of the night was a group effort led by CR Avery about child abuse. To finish the competition, Beau Sia accompanied Queen Sheba with a poem that sadly I really don't remember. Does that make me a bad person? Probably not. Beau barely had time to sit down before he was right back up with a set (by this stage it was 12.15am) while the scores were totalled. Twenty sweat-filled minutes later we had heard our final poetry for the evening, and we knew our winner. The US had triumphed by a gnat, and Beau, the Queen and Danny had all tied for highest overall scores, with 29.8/30. Not bad, really. Nadia whatsherface (that gymnast), move over.
It has to be said that when the poetry finished a large sigh of relief washed over me. It was an excellent evening, but my brain was fill... Without being I don't know what, I think it's going to be nice to talk about something else for a while. The next slam is a month away (1st of March) and I think I'm quite ready to go a month without one! Three poetry evenings in a month has been enough.
The last observation I'm going to make is that when I first started going to these about a year ago, it was a bit of a mystery to me. Then I discovered the big slam and Taylor Mali. That was something else, and his sheer performance really opened up my eyes to this stuff. Since then, I have also had the priviledge of hearing a whole host of overseas and local poets. There is a whole lot of talent out there, and I suspect that there is a whole lot more I haven't found. My point is this: imagine if you'd never heard music before and all of sudden you were taken to a Blur concert. You discover you really like it, and then find that there is also Oasis, Radiohead, Suede, Pulp, Ride, Supergrass, Blue Aeroplane and a whole bunch of other BritPop artists. Then you discover that there is also rock, rock and roll, jazz, rap, the blues, heavy metal, manufactured pop, classical, swing.... In some small and very badly articulated way, that is what the explosion of slam poetry has been like to me.
Here endeth the rant.
One of the things I've been desperate to avoid in this blog is have entries that run something like "I did this. It was good. Then I did that. I liked it." I pray that this blog entry doesn't do that. If it does, I'm sorry.
(This line was inserted part way through me writing this - I don't think this is a good entry. I fear it's a bit dull... it's a bit shit. Sorry. It kinda reads like I reviewed every song at a gig. But seeing as pretty much every poem was by a different poet, you can't really leave anybody out. You know what, if you feel inclined, and you actually make it all the way through this entry, you could give me some tips on writing. Go on, I'm open to criticism! For a short time only.)
But firstly, I'm going to list those that performed. Just so I don't leave anybody out...
(Drum roll and Michael Buffer calling out the names, please.......)
From the US we have....
Beau Sia
Taylor Mali
Queen Sheba
Danny Solis
And from Canada...
Barbara Adler
Brendan McLeod
Mark Berube
C. R. Avery
And from Ireland...
Barney Sheehan
Sonja Broderick
Robin Parmar
Rose O'Shea
And lastly the home team, the UK Team
Elvis McGonagill
Rachel Pantechnicon
Kat Francois
The brilliant Bard Of Bridlington: Niall Spooner-Harvey
Plus sacrifical poet, the de-fi-nite-ly b-e-a-u-ti-ful Sophia Blackwell, and MC's Rob Gee, Steve Larkin, who's just some guy. Providing the sounds in between was DJ Aeroplane Man. What fine sounds they were too.
Ok, there's your list. All of them quality. Nineteen poets and a DJ. Could be a good name for a band.
(Ten minutes till The Simpsons)
If you've read the blog before, you will know that I am a fan of these things. They float my boat, they rock my block and move my groove. And you will know that I have waxed lyrical about waxed lyrics in the past. So this time I am going to try a slightly different approach. It springs from the fact that I wrote a review for the Taylor Mali gig in January for the Hammer and Tongue Journal, the Nail.
Actually, I have no idea what the slightly different approach will be, which makes me deeply suspicious that what I write will be exactly the same as every other bloody entry.
The slam was organised like so:
(Note there was no dinner for the winner, although I did host the winning team for dinner the night before, see a later entry that I haven't yet written... It will hopefully make sense! And who says it was rigged??)
The four teams were divided into two semifinals, the US v Ireland and the UK v Canada. The winners of each heat played off in the final. The heat losers started drinking and relaxed.
(It's time for The Simpsons)
(Ad break. It's the Snake Whacking Day episode with Barry White)
To warm up the audience, Sophia sacrified herself and read a poem, and got a tasty score for her trouble. MC Rob Gee spat out one of his own, and then we were off. There was a toss, which the US won and the Irish were forced to go first. Barney was up first with a poem called Cry, my Belfast, cry. In reply, Taylor Mali, the US captain gave us What teachers make. Now, I've seen him three times before, but I have never seen him peform like he did on Tuesday. Normally he's a bit laid back, but he was aggressive, he had one foot up on the speakers, and he demanded that we as an audience know, no, understand, just what a difference teachers make. Seeing as I was in the corner where all the poets were gathered, it was fascinating to watch him after the peformance. He was always watching, always scheming and plotting, and, you'd have to say, masterminding the slam. This was clearly a man who knew what he was about. Seeing as he has won the US title six times, this shouldn't really come as a surprise... Rose O'Shea was next up for Ireland with a beautiful poem about her daddy. I had the priviledge of driving her back to the accomodation at the evening and what a lovely and warm person she is. When I get to Limerick, I am going to look her up. Queen Sheba was the second US poet, with Poetry does not belong to you. They say she is royalty, and whom am I to disagree. Third up for the Irish was Robin Parmer and then we had the amazing Beau Sia for the US. I spent a great deal of time with him on Monday night and he came across as a quiet man, quietly listening and wanting to help out round the house. But... not when he is peforming. "I'm so deep, that I am the iceberg that let the other iceberg sink the Titanic". Man, did he sweat when he was at it. He was breathtaking and hilarious. I really don't remember the last Irish poem, but I do remember the last US poem. Danny Solis was another person I got to hang out with on Monday night. He is a beautiful man with a great deal of depth. This wasn't revealed in his poem, which essentially was a play on the old 'size matters' myth, except he used a backyard fire as the metaphor for penis size. I know I'm a sucker for a bit of puerile talk, but this was genuinely funny. There was a marked difference between the two sides. The US team were all about the delivery, the Irish were all about the content. It's a tricky thing to delineate the merits of both approaches. I know what I would pay to see again, but I also know what I would pay to read.
After all that, it was time for a break.
One of the resounding reflections of the evening is that in four hours I listened to between 30-35 poems. Most of which were rapid fire. Granted that the material, the poets and the performances were top drawer, that is a hell of a lot of information to take in. I can't even pretend to do half of them justice. I guess this is where the performance comes into it. The poems I remember were the ones I knew, the ones where I knew the poet, and the ones with the large performance. I know that as I listened to some of the others, especially the one by Rose O'Shea, that it was important, but two days later, I fear that it had got itself drowned in a sea of information.
DJ Aeroplane then lay down some slamming tracks.
The second semi-final was between the UK and Canada. It began with a poem by Tony Blair. Sorry, Elvis McGonagill. Then we had something truly different. We had a group poem by the whole Canadian team, which was a first for a H&T slam. These Canadians are all from Vancouver, and they are slick. Pity the fool that has to follow that. Next in line was, at least in my opinion, the rather disappointing Niall Spooner-Harvey. I suspect that I found him disappointing partially because he followed the Canadians, but also his list of things that he is intolerant of didn't really sit well with me. It might have been self-effacing in places, but I was left with a rather uneasy feeling about it. This observation does make me wonder if I even remembered it correctly... Maybe it's one of the half I'm not doing justice. Second up for the Canadians was Brendan McLeod, with a poem about fighting ants. I think this one also falls into the bracket of not really remembering it well. I do remember the next three, however. The stunning Rachel Pantechnicon was, in terms of performance, my outright winner on the night. She can put garden gnomes on my 'elf shelf' anytime. The next poem, I am informed by it's author,Barbara Adler, and is simply called Music. There was a line in it with a reference to just being me being perfection. It resonated with what I heard Buddy Wakefield perform at the December H&T slam, where he asked had I ever dreamt about living for a living. Barbara, if you ever read this, please don't forget to send me the words! Third in the set, was Kat Francois with a poem about wanting a man who understood women. Kat, again, if you ever read this, can I have the title and/or the words? Please? The semi-final was finished by CR Avery. Now, amazingly talented is a brace of words that gets bandied about a lot, especially by me. So I'm going to preface this by putting the word 'outrageously' in front of it. A man who can be his own beat box while rapping has talent. As Tom Waits once said, "hunt this man out".
With the semi-finals wrapped up (pun intended - ka boom cha), it was time for another break with more slamming tunes from the Aeroplane.
doopy-do-she-whop...
....
....
Before Steve Larkin could announce the finalists he had to one of his own; the Midas touch in reverse. This was bullshit. He does not have the Midas touch in reverse. Everything he touched on Tuesday night was gold. Not the cliched kind, either.
It was not exactly a huge surprise to see that it was a US - Canada final. As good as the Irish and the British were, the North Americans were better. Now we got to see if Taylor Mali could strategise a win. The two teams took very different approaches in the final. With the exception of the two group pieces, Canada seemed to favour, and I really hesitate to say this, substance over style. Brendan McLeod and Barbara Adler kicked it off with a joint poem about friendship. The poem was wonderfully read, and the warmth and understanding between the two of them was very evident... which was riposted in outrageous fashion by Beau Sia with The Asians are coming. Loud, funny and delivered with bucketloads of sweat! Mark Berube was the second Canadian finalist with a poem that I think was entitled Scarred by Nuclear Heat and was a powerful look into the effects of Hiroshima upon his family and beyond. His grandfather had been a POW in Japan just down the road at the time the bomb was dropped. Danny Solis was the exception to the style rather than substance approach of the US. Danny spoke about holding his godson in his arms while recounting the story of a Palestinian boy dying in the arms of his father, and wondering if the father sang to his boy amidst the suffering. Brendon McLeod was next up for the Canadian with a moving poem about passing an HIV test, but the implications that someone else has got it for him, and then taking this metaphor to other aspects of life. If there is another poem I'd like to get my hands on, this would be a prime candidate. There's some stuff in there I'd like to think about. Mr Mali had obviously decided that there'd been enough gentle stuff, and brought the audience roaring again with his Voiceover America. The last Canadian poem of the night was a group effort led by CR Avery about child abuse. To finish the competition, Beau Sia accompanied Queen Sheba with a poem that sadly I really don't remember. Does that make me a bad person? Probably not. Beau barely had time to sit down before he was right back up with a set (by this stage it was 12.15am) while the scores were totalled. Twenty sweat-filled minutes later we had heard our final poetry for the evening, and we knew our winner. The US had triumphed by a gnat, and Beau, the Queen and Danny had all tied for highest overall scores, with 29.8/30. Not bad, really. Nadia whatsherface (that gymnast), move over.
It has to be said that when the poetry finished a large sigh of relief washed over me. It was an excellent evening, but my brain was fill... Without being I don't know what, I think it's going to be nice to talk about something else for a while. The next slam is a month away (1st of March) and I think I'm quite ready to go a month without one! Three poetry evenings in a month has been enough.
The last observation I'm going to make is that when I first started going to these about a year ago, it was a bit of a mystery to me. Then I discovered the big slam and Taylor Mali. That was something else, and his sheer performance really opened up my eyes to this stuff. Since then, I have also had the priviledge of hearing a whole host of overseas and local poets. There is a whole lot of talent out there, and I suspect that there is a whole lot more I haven't found. My point is this: imagine if you'd never heard music before and all of sudden you were taken to a Blur concert. You discover you really like it, and then find that there is also Oasis, Radiohead, Suede, Pulp, Ride, Supergrass, Blue Aeroplane and a whole bunch of other BritPop artists. Then you discover that there is also rock, rock and roll, jazz, rap, the blues, heavy metal, manufactured pop, classical, swing.... In some small and very badly articulated way, that is what the explosion of slam poetry has been like to me.
Here endeth the rant.
Wednesday, February 02, 2005
Belief
I'm not really sure why, but a couple of verses of songs by Steve Taylor (eighties and nineties Christian satirist and musician) have been floating around in my head. The first is from Harder to believe than not to :
They shiver with doubts that were left unattended
then they toss away the cloak that they should have mended
you know by now why the chosen are few
it's harder to believe than not to...
and the other is in the song Hero
when they ain't as big as life
when they ditch their second wife
where's the boy to go?
gotta be a hero
....
When the house fell asleep
from a book I was led to a light that I never knew
I wanna be your hero
and he spoke to my heart from the moment I prayed
here's a pattern I made for you
I wanna be your hero
They shiver with doubts that were left unattended
then they toss away the cloak that they should have mended
you know by now why the chosen are few
it's harder to believe than not to...
and the other is in the song Hero
when they ain't as big as life
when they ditch their second wife
where's the boy to go?
gotta be a hero
....
When the house fell asleep
from a book I was led to a light that I never knew
I wanna be your hero
and he spoke to my heart from the moment I prayed
here's a pattern I made for you
I wanna be your hero
Watch this space
Last night was the Hammer and Tongue Four Nations Poetry Slam. Held in the zodiac, some four hundred punters were exposed to four hours of some of the best slam poetry you could hope to find. I loved every minute of it. But it exhausted me and it's gonna take some processing.
Suffice to say, the US won, the Canadians came second (much to Meredith's pain) and while the UK and the Irish finished third and fourth, they were worthy contenders. As far as poems went, the ones by the UK's Kat Francois and Ireland's Rose O'Shea were beautiful and moved me, and for sheer peformance, the UK's Rachel Pantechnicon (the elf shelf) was nothing short of magnificent.
To say I have been blown away wouldn't be too far from the truth and that's why I need some time to process it. So watch this space.
But... if you were there, and you wanna say something, my comments page can be your scratchpad. Or does that just make me a lazy blogger??
Suffice to say, the US won, the Canadians came second (much to Meredith's pain) and while the UK and the Irish finished third and fourth, they were worthy contenders. As far as poems went, the ones by the UK's Kat Francois and Ireland's Rose O'Shea were beautiful and moved me, and for sheer peformance, the UK's Rachel Pantechnicon (the elf shelf) was nothing short of magnificent.
To say I have been blown away wouldn't be too far from the truth and that's why I need some time to process it. So watch this space.
But... if you were there, and you wanna say something, my comments page can be your scratchpad. Or does that just make me a lazy blogger??
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
A humbling
Every now and again I get reminded of how generous people can be. Last night, the wonderful inhabitants of The Slug (not somewhere you will find in a pub guide to Oxford) allowed me to host five poets for dinner. And they did the cooking too! My thanks of a bunch of flowers seemed horribly inadequate.
So to Anita, Kate, Emily and Caroline (especially for allowing us to dissect the Septagon of Unfortunate Love), my heartful thanks. As the pumkins sang, "today is the greatest day...".
Then the generosity got a little overwhelming. Beau Sia, one of the poets above is going to Auckland next month and asked me to come up with a list of twenty things to do in Auckland. I asked some friends in Auckland to help me. Top of the list from Craig was this:
(1) and definitely worthy of top place: a 1-hour scenic helicopter flight over Auckland's CBD, with your friendly pilot/tourguide, Craigo! Seriously, I'd be really happy to do this. If your friend were willing to offer a small donation, it'd be greatfully accepted, but by no means compulsary.
What can you possibly say to that? I mean really?
I feel like having a wee cry.
So to Anita, Kate, Emily and Caroline (especially for allowing us to dissect the Septagon of Unfortunate Love), my heartful thanks. As the pumkins sang, "today is the greatest day...".
Then the generosity got a little overwhelming. Beau Sia, one of the poets above is going to Auckland next month and asked me to come up with a list of twenty things to do in Auckland. I asked some friends in Auckland to help me. Top of the list from Craig was this:
(1) and definitely worthy of top place: a 1-hour scenic helicopter flight over Auckland's CBD, with your friendly pilot/tourguide, Craigo! Seriously, I'd be really happy to do this. If your friend were willing to offer a small donation, it'd be greatfully accepted, but by no means compulsary.
What can you possibly say to that? I mean really?
I feel like having a wee cry.
Climbing the Ladder
My mother has been promoted from vicar to arch-deacon. I had to look up exactly what an arch-deacon does (apparently they are in charge of temporal and other affairs in the diocese, and have special powers designated from the bishop), but I figure any job title with the word 'arch' in it has got to be cool.
I wonder if it means she is also the arch-nemesis of somebody?
Anyways, well done my mum.
I wonder if it means she is also the arch-nemesis of somebody?
Anyways, well done my mum.
Friday, January 28, 2005
A good world view
Skype. I like it. Dunno how it works, exactly. But... I do like a piece of software that refers to New Zealand as New Zealand (Aotearoa). Maybe they should have gone with Aotearoa (New Zealand) mind...
Only to be with you two
They've all gone and I've got one! Mwahahahaha!!!
U2 tickets for UK dates went on sale today. And then they went off sale. All of them, gone. Just like that. Thank goodness (or Tim Berners-Lee) for broadband and the F5 button.
There is a small sense of "I'm doing this kinda out of obligation" but I figure best to see them than not to. You never know when they'll be gone. And that nice Mr Bono does do ever so much for charity.
U2 tickets for UK dates went on sale today. And then they went off sale. All of them, gone. Just like that. Thank goodness (or Tim Berners-Lee) for broadband and the F5 button.
There is a small sense of "I'm doing this kinda out of obligation" but I figure best to see them than not to. You never know when they'll be gone. And that nice Mr Bono does do ever so much for charity.
Advertising
(Please read to the end....)
Next Tuesday is Hammer and Tongue's Four Nations Slam. This will be an incredible night of slam poetry featuring some of the best poets in the word. And in the world. You will laugh, and you will also likely cry as well. It is being held at the Zodiac on Cowley Road at 8pm and will cost you less than a tenner. I am willing to concede that I am somewhat biased when it comes to these sorts of things, but at the last local slam there were 200 people in the audience. And they can't all be wrong.
And who and what will you get for your money?
CR Avery the amazing beat box blues artist
UK Allcomers Slam champion Elvis McGonnagill
Taylor Mali, four times US slam winner and great guy.
plus 14 other poets from the US, the UK, Ireland and Canada.
Plus, you get to say you were there at the biggest poetry event in the UK this year. Ok, that's a little naff.
So if you're reading this, and you can conceivably get to Oxford on Tuesday night, then get your ass there!
And one other thing.... If you are in oxford and have any spare mattresses and bedding, the folk at Hammer and Tongue are putting up all the poets for free, but could use the bedding. if you have stuff you could lend, make a comment on my blog and I shall be in touch.
Next Tuesday is Hammer and Tongue's Four Nations Slam. This will be an incredible night of slam poetry featuring some of the best poets in the word. And in the world. You will laugh, and you will also likely cry as well. It is being held at the Zodiac on Cowley Road at 8pm and will cost you less than a tenner. I am willing to concede that I am somewhat biased when it comes to these sorts of things, but at the last local slam there were 200 people in the audience. And they can't all be wrong.
And who and what will you get for your money?
CR Avery the amazing beat box blues artist
UK Allcomers Slam champion Elvis McGonnagill
Taylor Mali, four times US slam winner and great guy.
plus 14 other poets from the US, the UK, Ireland and Canada.
Plus, you get to say you were there at the biggest poetry event in the UK this year. Ok, that's a little naff.
So if you're reading this, and you can conceivably get to Oxford on Tuesday night, then get your ass there!
And one other thing.... If you are in oxford and have any spare mattresses and bedding, the folk at Hammer and Tongue are putting up all the poets for free, but could use the bedding. if you have stuff you could lend, make a comment on my blog and I shall be in touch.
Sunday, January 23, 2005
Driving
I use my car too much. Mostly because it is too convenient. I have a goal, which I both challenge you all to match, as well as hold me accountable to. I want to reduce my driving by one trip a week. For example, I drive to and from work every day. If I didn't do that, and, say, took the bus one day a week, I could reduce my own emissions by 20%. And I would gain some more time in my life, by taking the bus I could spend some more time reading, which I can't do when I drive.
From the we are what we do site, I am challanged by this:
Consider this: A double-decker bus carries the same number of people as 40 cars. And it’s going there anyway.
From the we are what we do site, I am challanged by this:
Consider this: A double-decker bus carries the same number of people as 40 cars. And it’s going there anyway.
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
A list
As I said below, I've been in Prague these past four days. Here are some observations:
- Czech food needs more vegetable matter
- Czech pubs need to sell more than one variety of beer
- Prague public transport is great. Any city with trams is a winner
- Prague is a fun city to walk around. Having little random nooks and crannies to get you between streets makes life interesting
- Capitalism has too greater hold on Wenceslas Square. I shouldn't be able to have Marks and Sparks at my back and Debenhams at my front if I'm not on a UK high street.
- Czech airlines is an underrated airline. Better food than BA. And cheap.
- Czech is a very difficult language to read, let alone speak.
- Old Czech women in their fur coats and big hair are very funny
- Czechs like their dogs
- Czechs don't clean up after their dogs
- I don't like Grog. Grog is a mix of cheap rum and hot water.
- The best brownies can be found in the Globe cafe.
- Where have all the communists gone?
Bad Community
Note:
I wanted to rename this 'Community' but it buggers up some links. So I can't. And also note that there has been some discussion over this entry, and I want to state that these observations were based on a one night only visit. As a result, some of them are probably not fair and I have changed the entry as a result. It has been a valuable lesson in humility for me. And I want to acknowledge both Patrick and Ken for their work at Alchemy. End of note.
I've been in Prague these past four days to see the city and to catch a poetry reading by one of my favourite poets, Taylor Mali at the Alchemy club.
Prague is a beautiful city.
The Alchemy club is an english literature group who meet once a month in the cafe to here performers and to read their own work. Essentially it feels like it's one of those 'expat communities in a foreign language city'.
The reading was held in the Tulip Cafe, and it had two parts. The first part was Taylor's reading, most of which I had heard before, but he did offer to Anita and myself over dinner (yes, we had dinner with the talent) to read a couple we hadn't heard. Gotta like that about the man. Anyway. The second part was an open mic session where anybody could read work, so long as they had registered with the organiser. The vast majority of the work, most of which was poetry, but also included a letter, a couple of songs, an instrumental guitar piece and a synopsis of a novel, seemed totally hopeless. Which is not to deny the talent of the writers, but it seemed there was no hope. The notable exceptions was Jeff who played songs. He was very talented and seemed to sing of something he had lived.
And it made me wonder. How does a bunch of people get together and lose hope? Human experience is about highs and lows, but I believe that one of the most valuable experiences of the low is the hope that arises from and because of it. I don't want to deny the writers pain, but I did want to scream "move on with your life" at one person. The other thing I wondered about was the sense of community. It seemed to me that the only thing these people had in common were the English language and an interest in literature. But it seemed that the literature aspect was secondary. Expat communities seem to me to be a dangerous thing, they don't really encourage the members to move beyond their comfort zone. They always have their uses - in terms of developing contacts and sharing information. Maybe I'm missing something here, but I figure a key thing is to know when to move on from them.
Hammer and Tongue, which isn't an expat community, on the other hand has a sense of joy that is attractive. There are real expressions of pain and sorry and hate, but there is also hope and the joy of life in more than equal measure.
But then I guess you could also make a similar comparison when looking at different churches...
I wanted to rename this 'Community' but it buggers up some links. So I can't. And also note that there has been some discussion over this entry, and I want to state that these observations were based on a one night only visit. As a result, some of them are probably not fair and I have changed the entry as a result. It has been a valuable lesson in humility for me. And I want to acknowledge both Patrick and Ken for their work at Alchemy. End of note.
I've been in Prague these past four days to see the city and to catch a poetry reading by one of my favourite poets, Taylor Mali at the Alchemy club.
Prague is a beautiful city.
The Alchemy club is an english literature group who meet once a month in the cafe to here performers and to read their own work. Essentially it feels like it's one of those 'expat communities in a foreign language city'.
The reading was held in the Tulip Cafe, and it had two parts. The first part was Taylor's reading, most of which I had heard before, but he did offer to Anita and myself over dinner (yes, we had dinner with the talent) to read a couple we hadn't heard. Gotta like that about the man. Anyway. The second part was an open mic session where anybody could read work, so long as they had registered with the organiser. The vast majority of the work, most of which was poetry, but also included a letter, a couple of songs, an instrumental guitar piece and a synopsis of a novel, seemed totally hopeless. Which is not to deny the talent of the writers, but it seemed there was no hope. The notable exceptions was Jeff who played songs. He was very talented and seemed to sing of something he had lived.
And it made me wonder. How does a bunch of people get together and lose hope? Human experience is about highs and lows, but I believe that one of the most valuable experiences of the low is the hope that arises from and because of it. I don't want to deny the writers pain, but I did want to scream "move on with your life" at one person. The other thing I wondered about was the sense of community. It seemed to me that the only thing these people had in common were the English language and an interest in literature. But it seemed that the literature aspect was secondary. Expat communities seem to me to be a dangerous thing, they don't really encourage the members to move beyond their comfort zone. They always have their uses - in terms of developing contacts and sharing information. Maybe I'm missing something here, but I figure a key thing is to know when to move on from them.
Hammer and Tongue, which isn't an expat community, on the other hand has a sense of joy that is attractive. There are real expressions of pain and sorry and hate, but there is also hope and the joy of life in more than equal measure.
But then I guess you could also make a similar comparison when looking at different churches...
Friday, January 14, 2005
I buy to feel better
I'm not so sold on the lactation comment, but the rest of it rings a little true...
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
.............
A few years ago I attended a church called Cityside Baptist in Auckland, and I guess losely (it's a right bugger of a commute, though) I still do. There is a fairly set order of service, with one of the first things being a 'Call to Worship', which can take pretty much any form, and which can be done by anyone (so long as they are on the ubiquitous church rota). Quite often it can be a chant, a poem, or a piece of music. I had recently bought Groove Armada's Back to Mine album, which contains, in my just opinion, the second most perfect song I've heard; that being the last track, Pharaohs. The only truly perfect song is Fake Plastic Trees by Radiohead. Pharaohs is a track that is a combination of a gently rolling drum, some discordant piano, some guitar and some spoken word. It's only after a while that you realise that the spoken word is the UK shipping forecast and the guitar is the riff from 'Everybody Wants to Rule the World' by Tears for Fears. It is possibly the most relaxing song I know. So I decided to volunteer for the call to worship with the intention of playing this song. I stood up and introduced it as an extremely relaxing song, pressed play and went to the back and lay down (Cityside doesn't 'do' chairs). Was I relaxed? Was I bollocks. I was streesed throughout as I felt as if I had laid myself wide open, as if to say, this is something really important to me, and um, I hope you like it. I think they did. At least one person in the congregation went out and bought the album. One of the great things about Cityside, those who stand up at the front get to indulge themselves....
Last night Hammer and Tongue (the Oxford poetry people) had 'An evening with Taylor Mali'. Most people who know me in Oxford know that I am a big fan of his, and I kinda spread the word round hOME, selling it as a great night out and that they'd be fools to miss it. Surprisingly, my promotional skills succeeded, and a sizeable bunch of homies turned up. What I experienced was a very similar feeling to that morning in Auckland. I sat there fretting about how the others were liking it, how they would respond to it.... I like this guy, and I like those H&T people and I like what they do and how they do it, and I like the audience... This matters to me it felt like I was leaving myself just a little bit exposed. Granted, there were others who knew, Kate, Justice, Nita, Jim, Naomi etc, but I still stressed. But then, I can't not stress.
This morning I wear a contented, but very tired smile. They all loved it and most of 'em plan to come to the big slam.
Evangelism is a word that both frightens and repulses me. But this morning I feel like an evangelist.
Sigh......
Last night Hammer and Tongue (the Oxford poetry people) had 'An evening with Taylor Mali'. Most people who know me in Oxford know that I am a big fan of his, and I kinda spread the word round hOME, selling it as a great night out and that they'd be fools to miss it. Surprisingly, my promotional skills succeeded, and a sizeable bunch of homies turned up. What I experienced was a very similar feeling to that morning in Auckland. I sat there fretting about how the others were liking it, how they would respond to it.... I like this guy, and I like those H&T people and I like what they do and how they do it, and I like the audience... This matters to me it felt like I was leaving myself just a little bit exposed. Granted, there were others who knew, Kate, Justice, Nita, Jim, Naomi etc, but I still stressed. But then, I can't not stress.
This morning I wear a contented, but very tired smile. They all loved it and most of 'em plan to come to the big slam.
Evangelism is a word that both frightens and repulses me. But this morning I feel like an evangelist.
Sigh......
Monday, January 10, 2005
It's just Cricket
Sometimes I just love my world. Today an Asian XI played a Rest of the World XI in cricket at Melbourne to raise money for the victims of the Tsunami. The RotW won handsomely, but $A15 million was rasied. The game was played in great spirit and with competition. Most of the time sport really shouldn't matter, but today it sent shivers down my spine.
Friday, January 07, 2005
The Gospel according to Luke
I'm still trying to swear less. I have a bigger vocabulary than one limited to the usual suspects.
Moreover (see) I am trying to swear at less provocation and to swear less when I am trying to be contrary.
Moreover (see) I am trying to swear at less provocation and to swear less when I am trying to be contrary.
Clutter
There is too much clutter in my world. I try to do too much, I have too many books to read, too many CD's to listen to, to many things I am involved with, and too much information to process. As a result several things happen. Firstly, I neglect the things that I really enjoy. Secondly, I deny myself by drowning myself things. Things that I think I will like, or worse, things that I think other people will like in me. It's like I'm plastering over myself sometimes, and smothering the stuff that I'm scared to find out. Sometimes it's the fear of liking something or someone too much. If I throw myself at something too much, then there is the risk I will get sick of it. So I start taking an interest in something else. It leaves a sense of knowing a little about a lot but not knowing a lot about anything. (A bit like a Geography degree I once did...) Then clutter becomes an addiction.
This year I am aiming to live a simpler life. To live with and enjoy what I already have.
I am reminded of a story and a song. The story is told to me by my friend Justice, which was told to him by a monk at Taize. The story goes that a man has 100 university courses to choose from, but he can only choose one of them. The man is told that until he makes a choice, he has nothing. And when he makes the choice he has not lost 99 others, but instead he gained something. It's about making a choice and not being paralysed by information.
The song I am reminded of is Gone Fishing by Chris Rea. The words end with:
I’m gone fishing
Sounds crazy I know
I know nothing about fishing
But just watch me go
And when the time has come
I will look back and see
Peace on the shoreline
That could have been me
You can waste a whole lifetime
Trying to be
What you think is expected of you
But you’ll never be free
May as well go fishing
I'm no fisherman, but I love the sentiment of going to the river or the sea and doing nothing.
On my wall at work I have a picture of a staircase in the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek in Copenhagen. The picture below doesn't do it justice, but the staircase is a comprised of simple gently rising white stairs, with no artwork anywhere. To add anything would be to detract from it. It beautifully encapsulates simplicity for me.
This year I am aiming to live a simpler life. To live with and enjoy what I already have.
I am reminded of a story and a song. The story is told to me by my friend Justice, which was told to him by a monk at Taize. The story goes that a man has 100 university courses to choose from, but he can only choose one of them. The man is told that until he makes a choice, he has nothing. And when he makes the choice he has not lost 99 others, but instead he gained something. It's about making a choice and not being paralysed by information.
The song I am reminded of is Gone Fishing by Chris Rea. The words end with:
I’m gone fishing
Sounds crazy I know
I know nothing about fishing
But just watch me go
And when the time has come
I will look back and see
Peace on the shoreline
That could have been me
You can waste a whole lifetime
Trying to be
What you think is expected of you
But you’ll never be free
May as well go fishing
I'm no fisherman, but I love the sentiment of going to the river or the sea and doing nothing.
On my wall at work I have a picture of a staircase in the Ny Carlsberg Glyptotek in Copenhagen. The picture below doesn't do it justice, but the staircase is a comprised of simple gently rising white stairs, with no artwork anywhere. To add anything would be to detract from it. It beautifully encapsulates simplicity for me.
Wednesday, January 05, 2005
Oxymorons
Tottenham played Manchester United. The result was 0-0. Towards the end of the game there was a shot at goal from over halfway that the United goalkeeper dropped, Roy Carroll, over the line and knew it, but because the referee and linesmen were unsighted, no goal was awarded. You can see the photo below:
The referee and linesmen have been rightly bollocked for this. However, there is someone else who should be bollocked for this, Roy Carroll, and not just for being a useless goalkeeper. The man is a cheat. He knew the ball had crossed the goal line, but said nothing. Now there is a school of thought that he was being a good servant to his employer, his club, as he saved them a point. To which I say, bullshit. He was being dishonest. If I don't disclose information to a client, I am cheating them and I am breaking the law. Where is the difference? If, by chance, Tottenham miss out on qualifying for the Champions League by two points, this act will have cost them potentially tens of millions of pounds. In the same vein, diving, deliberate handballs in the penalty area etc are all cheating. When was the last time you saw an 'honest footballer'. They can be immensely talented, but I think also many are morally bankrupt.
Maybe I'm being a bit naive, and that I want people to be honest etc, but I see that as a faded thing of the past. I do accept that there is room for honesr mistakes, I do them all the time, but cheating is cheating.
When I play cricket, I am a big believer in walking when you know you are out, rather than waiting for the umpires decision. And for the most part, this happens, and nor is it restricted to club cricket. The Australian opening batsman and keeper, Adam Gilchrist, walked in the World Cup Final when only on about a half dozen. About twenty years ago, another aussie keeper claimed a catch he knew he hadn't caught. It cost him his place in the team, and he was forever afterwards labelled a cheat.
From my mind, Roy Carroll missed a great opportunity to stand up and be counted. I know I am not the only one who thinks this. Lashias Ncube at ITV obviously thinks the same.
Honest politicians and footballers? A bunch of oxymorons.
The referee and linesmen have been rightly bollocked for this. However, there is someone else who should be bollocked for this, Roy Carroll, and not just for being a useless goalkeeper. The man is a cheat. He knew the ball had crossed the goal line, but said nothing. Now there is a school of thought that he was being a good servant to his employer, his club, as he saved them a point. To which I say, bullshit. He was being dishonest. If I don't disclose information to a client, I am cheating them and I am breaking the law. Where is the difference? If, by chance, Tottenham miss out on qualifying for the Champions League by two points, this act will have cost them potentially tens of millions of pounds. In the same vein, diving, deliberate handballs in the penalty area etc are all cheating. When was the last time you saw an 'honest footballer'. They can be immensely talented, but I think also many are morally bankrupt.
Maybe I'm being a bit naive, and that I want people to be honest etc, but I see that as a faded thing of the past. I do accept that there is room for honesr mistakes, I do them all the time, but cheating is cheating.
When I play cricket, I am a big believer in walking when you know you are out, rather than waiting for the umpires decision. And for the most part, this happens, and nor is it restricted to club cricket. The Australian opening batsman and keeper, Adam Gilchrist, walked in the World Cup Final when only on about a half dozen. About twenty years ago, another aussie keeper claimed a catch he knew he hadn't caught. It cost him his place in the team, and he was forever afterwards labelled a cheat.
From my mind, Roy Carroll missed a great opportunity to stand up and be counted. I know I am not the only one who thinks this. Lashias Ncube at ITV obviously thinks the same.
Honest politicians and footballers? A bunch of oxymorons.
Saturday, January 01, 2005
Supermarkets
And they also published this:
In one of Alan Bennett's Talking Heads dramas, someone exposes themselves in a branch of Sainsbury's. "Tesco's you could understand," says an elderly woman tartly. It's a remark that neatly sums up both the British obsession with class and our almost tribal attachment to specific supermarket brands. Tesco, the implication goes, is for commoner people who are slightly more likely to drop their trousers in public than Sainsbury's shoppers. By extension, Waitrose is for those more likely to have second homes in Chiantishire than the first two; Asda is for people who aspire to have a second home anywhere but probably never will; Lidl is for people who have never heard of Chiantishire; Marks & Spencer for those who affect to have never heard of Lidl. That kind of thing ...
I've never heard of Lidl...
In one of Alan Bennett's Talking Heads dramas, someone exposes themselves in a branch of Sainsbury's. "Tesco's you could understand," says an elderly woman tartly. It's a remark that neatly sums up both the British obsession with class and our almost tribal attachment to specific supermarket brands. Tesco, the implication goes, is for commoner people who are slightly more likely to drop their trousers in public than Sainsbury's shoppers. By extension, Waitrose is for those more likely to have second homes in Chiantishire than the first two; Asda is for people who aspire to have a second home anywhere but probably never will; Lidl is for people who have never heard of Chiantishire; Marks & Spencer for those who affect to have never heard of Lidl. That kind of thing ...
I've never heard of Lidl...
Too close to the bone
Last week the Guardian published this. It's a little close to my bones...
He has given up on Radio 1 and listens to Radio 4 more than any music station, though he likes the less cosy bits of Radio 2, such as Jonathan Ross on Saturday morning. If he had a digital radio, he would love BBC6 Music, with its slogan "the great, the new and no fill" and its habit of playing Franz Ferdinand alongside the Clash. He adores DVD: "It's impossible to overestimate what a transformational medium DVD is in all this," Hepworth says. "Videos seemed like a waste of money. DVDs are investments."
... On a hot day at County Hall in London, [David] Hepworth [of Development Hell, an independent magazine company] stood up and gave Britain's record-company bosses a lecture about their own customers, concentrating on "the 50-quid guy", a term he had picked up from friends in retail. "This is the guy we've all seen in Borders or HMV on a Friday afternoon, possibly after a drink or two, tie slightly undone, buying two CDs, a DVD and maybe a book - fifty quid's worth - and frantically computing how he's going to convince his partner that this is a really, really worthwhile investment."
He has given up on Radio 1 and listens to Radio 4 more than any music station, though he likes the less cosy bits of Radio 2, such as Jonathan Ross on Saturday morning. If he had a digital radio, he would love BBC6 Music, with its slogan "the great, the new and no fill" and its habit of playing Franz Ferdinand alongside the Clash. He adores DVD: "It's impossible to overestimate what a transformational medium DVD is in all this," Hepworth says. "Videos seemed like a waste of money. DVDs are investments."
The 50-quid bloke probably has an iPod but uses it as a radio rather than a substitute for his CDs. His favourite recent film is Lost in Translation, in which Bill Murray shows his own 50-quid tendencies by crooning a karaoke version of the Roxy Music song More Than This.
He has been in love with music all his life - "He's got the High Fidelity chip embedded in his brain," says Jerry Perkins, publisher of Word magazine - but his interests have broadened along the way. He is university-educated, reads a broadsheet, of whatever size, and raved about Anthony Beevor's Stalingrad. He is not a great telly-watcher but loves The Simpsons and The Office and will miss Friends. And yes, he may be a she. Women bought 41% of albums in 2002, up from 38% the year before. "But frankly," says Hepworth, "blokes get the same giddy rush from buying CDs and DVDs that most women get from shoes. It's a spiritual thing." ...
Friday, December 31, 2004
Impotence
Words just aren't enough. I can't even begin to comprehend the misery enveloping Asia at the moment.
I feel inadequate and impotent. But then, I'm lucky that's all I have to worry myself about.
And it feels hollow to wish the world a happy new year.
So I wish it peace instead.
I feel inadequate and impotent. But then, I'm lucky that's all I have to worry myself about.
And it feels hollow to wish the world a happy new year.
So I wish it peace instead.
Garden State
I've not seen so many movies this year. Maybe I've been selective about them. Or just not inclined. However, the movies that I've seen include The Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (on DVD, I confess, but it was so DAMN good - I saw it twice in a row), The Incredibles, Festival Express, Shrek 2, The and Bourne Supremacy. Without feeling too smug (a difficult propostion for me), I think I have chosen well. But all of them fade when compared with Garden State. Jim told me it was good, but I had no idea how good. I would love to explain it, but I would struggle. I am just not that good with my first language. Suffice to say that it has elements of Rom Com, Gen X (or Y, or whatever), slapstick, a World War 2 motorbike with sidecart, Natalie Portman, an amazing soundtrack featuring Coldplay, Simon and Garfunkel and Frou Frou, a knight in somewhat tarnished armour, a big hole, a man with 'Balls' written on his forehead, and a dead hamster. It is extremely funny and very moving. How funny? I actually slapped my thighs with laughter several times.
This is one of the best movies I have ever seen. I know it's a comment we make a lot, especially when we have only seen it yesterday, but this time I mean it.
This is one of the best movies I have ever seen. I know it's a comment we make a lot, especially when we have only seen it yesterday, but this time I mean it.
Thursday, December 23, 2004
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
Testing, 1, 2, 3.. Check
It was about a year ago I stood in St Gemain and had this photo taken. I only put it up to see if I could get images up onto me blog. It turns out I can.
A Tosser in Paris
A Tosser in Paris
Monday, December 13, 2004
A Great Man has died
Arthur Lydiard, an athletics coach in New Zealand has died, aged 87. You've probably never heard of him, but in NZ in the sixties, he came up with a new coaching technique that resulted in four gold medals for men in the black singlet.
You can read a lot more about him at the New Zealand Herald's website.
A genuinely great man.
You can read a lot more about him at the New Zealand Herald's website.
A genuinely great man.
I'd like to meet this man
The Observer Magazine has a regular feature called 'These Things I Know' where someone is 'interviewed' but where the interviewer remains anonymous. This week's interview has been one of the best. You can find it here, but highlights include:
What do I really want for Christmas? Nothing. It's not that I don't want anything. There's always going to be some stupid object I think I can't live without. But, at the core, nothing is what I most need. Do you get me? I need nothing - the sense of nothingness. Wouldn't everyone be happy with a little nothing in their lives?
and:
There's no mystery left in sex. It's shown so much, discussed so much, and every woman's shuffling off for a shave. I say to hell with the Brazilian and bring back the Bolivian. Let's have a bit of mystery
and:
When I was about nine, I really wanted an Action Man for Christmas. One that had a big hair on his chest that, when pulled, provoked him into barking, 'Awaiting further commands!' and similar daredevil nonsense. Instead I got a huge set of encyclopedias. Who wants to swot up on the digestive habits of antelopes when they've got a bedroom full of Nazi stormtroopers that need immediate quelling with extreme prejudice? You'd probably surmise that now - with time and experience, the onset of maturity, my temper tempered - I would appreciate the encyclopedias. But if I had the choice today, I'd still go for the Action Man.
and:
If there is such a thing as a God, he's one hell of a joker.
What do I really want for Christmas? Nothing. It's not that I don't want anything. There's always going to be some stupid object I think I can't live without. But, at the core, nothing is what I most need. Do you get me? I need nothing - the sense of nothingness. Wouldn't everyone be happy with a little nothing in their lives?
and:
There's no mystery left in sex. It's shown so much, discussed so much, and every woman's shuffling off for a shave. I say to hell with the Brazilian and bring back the Bolivian. Let's have a bit of mystery
and:
When I was about nine, I really wanted an Action Man for Christmas. One that had a big hair on his chest that, when pulled, provoked him into barking, 'Awaiting further commands!' and similar daredevil nonsense. Instead I got a huge set of encyclopedias. Who wants to swot up on the digestive habits of antelopes when they've got a bedroom full of Nazi stormtroopers that need immediate quelling with extreme prejudice? You'd probably surmise that now - with time and experience, the onset of maturity, my temper tempered - I would appreciate the encyclopedias. But if I had the choice today, I'd still go for the Action Man.
and:
If there is such a thing as a God, he's one hell of a joker.
Thursday, December 09, 2004
An open blog to radio DJs (especially you, Wogan)
Dear Radio DJs
I don't like to moan.
I like to accentuate the good things in life.
But would all of you stop talking over the end of songs? I would much rather hear the song than your bloody voice. I've noticed that you encroach further and further into songs at the beginning (here's a rough guideline, if the singer has started, you should have stopped by then), and as for the end, at least have the decency for the last verse to finish and the chorus to start before talking at us again. After a stressful day, I happened to be listening to Oxford's Fox FM on the way home, and they played the rather beautiful 'Don't Dream it's Over' by Crowded House, and it was making me a little bit more at peace with the world, except one of you started talking before the third verse had even started. What's that about? I mean, really? It wasn't even close to the news, so that couldn't have been it.
If I wanted to listen to people speak I'd listen to Radio 4. At least what I'd be hearing would be intelligent, rather than the verbal diarrhoea you lot spit out.
And Wogan, I like the music you play on your show, but hearing you do bird whistling in the middle of a song tends to make me turn off. That is after all, my choice. That's not all. Playing a song that starts at 7.55, then cutting it out at 7.56.33 so the song you play next fits exactly into the gap before the 8.00 chimes isn't exactly demonstrating a masterery of music programming.
You've all been mourning the passing of John Peel and holding him up as an inspiration as a DJ, and rightly so. But he could hold his tongue, why can't the rest of you?
Regards,
Richard
I don't like to moan.
I like to accentuate the good things in life.
But would all of you stop talking over the end of songs? I would much rather hear the song than your bloody voice. I've noticed that you encroach further and further into songs at the beginning (here's a rough guideline, if the singer has started, you should have stopped by then), and as for the end, at least have the decency for the last verse to finish and the chorus to start before talking at us again. After a stressful day, I happened to be listening to Oxford's Fox FM on the way home, and they played the rather beautiful 'Don't Dream it's Over' by Crowded House, and it was making me a little bit more at peace with the world, except one of you started talking before the third verse had even started. What's that about? I mean, really? It wasn't even close to the news, so that couldn't have been it.
If I wanted to listen to people speak I'd listen to Radio 4. At least what I'd be hearing would be intelligent, rather than the verbal diarrhoea you lot spit out.
And Wogan, I like the music you play on your show, but hearing you do bird whistling in the middle of a song tends to make me turn off. That is after all, my choice. That's not all. Playing a song that starts at 7.55, then cutting it out at 7.56.33 so the song you play next fits exactly into the gap before the 8.00 chimes isn't exactly demonstrating a masterery of music programming.
You've all been mourning the passing of John Peel and holding him up as an inspiration as a DJ, and rightly so. But he could hold his tongue, why can't the rest of you?
Regards,
Richard
Wednesday, December 08, 2004
Buddy's List
Last night at Hammer and Tongue Buddy Wakefield referred to a list of documentaries that he recommends. These are:
Swimming to Cambodia
Life & Debt
The Corporation
Manufacturing Consent
Power and Terror in Our Times
Roger & Me
The Big One
Bowling For Columbine
Fahrenheit 911
Outfoxed
Control Room
Bush Family Fortunes: The Best Democracy Money Can Buy
Hearts and Minds
Uncovered: The Truth about the Iraq War
Going Upriver: The Long War of John Kerry
There is more on these films here
Swimming to Cambodia
Life & Debt
The Corporation
Manufacturing Consent
Power and Terror in Our Times
Roger & Me
The Big One
Bowling For Columbine
Fahrenheit 911
Outfoxed
Control Room
Bush Family Fortunes: The Best Democracy Money Can Buy
Hearts and Minds
Uncovered: The Truth about the Iraq War
Going Upriver: The Long War of John Kerry
There is more on these films here
The rest of the Fred Dagg Lyrics
Because I live a long way away from home, it's good to be reminded of my roots.
Fred Dagg is defined in New Zealand as a 'kiwi icon'.
We don't know how lucky we are. The New Version.
By Fred Dagg.
(Thanks to these people)
At the dawn of the day, in the great Southern Ocean
Where the world’s greatest fish was being landed
And the boat they were pulling it into was sinking
And the sea was quite lumpy, and the weather was foul
And the bloke with the map was as pissed as an owl
And the boys called out “Maui, ya clown, let it go”
In the noise he reached down for his grandmother’s jawbone
and he winked at his mates and he said
“Boys, we don’t know how lucky we are”
“I have a feeling I have stumbled on something substantial.”
We don’t know how lucky we are
We don’t know how lucky we are
We don’t know how lucky we are
We don’t know how lucky we are
I was speaking to a mate of mine, just the other day
A bloke called Bruce Bayliss who, lives up our way
He’s been round the world on an 8th army do for a year, more or less
I said “Describe the global position, Bruce”
He said “Fred, it’s a mess.
We don’t know how lucky we are in this country.
We don’t know how lucky we are.
We don’t know how lucky we are
We don’t know how lucky we are
There’s a guy I know who lives in town
I see him about once a year I suppose
He’s had a coronary since Easter
He’s got a haemorrhage in his ear
He went bankrupt a couple of weeks back
And now his wife’s left him too
I said “You’re looking hot mate, You’re looking clear, what are ya gonna do?”
He said “We don’t know how lucky we are
To live in this joint mate"
We don’t know how lucky we are
We don’t know how lucky we are
So when things are looking really bad
And you’re thinking of giving it a way
Remember, New Zealand’s a cracker
And I reckon come what may
If things get appallingly bad
And we’re all under constant attack
Remember, we want to see good clean ball
And for god’s sakes, feed your backs
We don’t how fortunate we are to have that place
We don’t know how propitious are the circumstances.
We don’t know how lucky we are, mate
We don’t know how lucky we are
We don’t know how lucky we are, get it right
We just don’t realise how fortunate we are
We have no idea, the luck, we possess, collectively
We just don’t know how lucky we all are.
Full stop.
Fred Dagg is defined in New Zealand as a 'kiwi icon'.
We don't know how lucky we are. The New Version.
By Fred Dagg.
(Thanks to these people)
At the dawn of the day, in the great Southern Ocean
Where the world’s greatest fish was being landed
And the boat they were pulling it into was sinking
And the sea was quite lumpy, and the weather was foul
And the bloke with the map was as pissed as an owl
And the boys called out “Maui, ya clown, let it go”
In the noise he reached down for his grandmother’s jawbone
and he winked at his mates and he said
“Boys, we don’t know how lucky we are”
“I have a feeling I have stumbled on something substantial.”
We don’t know how lucky we are
We don’t know how lucky we are
We don’t know how lucky we are
We don’t know how lucky we are
I was speaking to a mate of mine, just the other day
A bloke called Bruce Bayliss who, lives up our way
He’s been round the world on an 8th army do for a year, more or less
I said “Describe the global position, Bruce”
He said “Fred, it’s a mess.
We don’t know how lucky we are in this country.
We don’t know how lucky we are.
We don’t know how lucky we are
We don’t know how lucky we are
There’s a guy I know who lives in town
I see him about once a year I suppose
He’s had a coronary since Easter
He’s got a haemorrhage in his ear
He went bankrupt a couple of weeks back
And now his wife’s left him too
I said “You’re looking hot mate, You’re looking clear, what are ya gonna do?”
He said “We don’t know how lucky we are
To live in this joint mate"
We don’t know how lucky we are
We don’t know how lucky we are
So when things are looking really bad
And you’re thinking of giving it a way
Remember, New Zealand’s a cracker
And I reckon come what may
If things get appallingly bad
And we’re all under constant attack
Remember, we want to see good clean ball
And for god’s sakes, feed your backs
We don’t how fortunate we are to have that place
We don’t know how propitious are the circumstances.
We don’t know how lucky we are, mate
We don’t know how lucky we are
We don’t know how lucky we are, get it right
We just don’t realise how fortunate we are
We have no idea, the luck, we possess, collectively
We just don’t know how lucky we all are.
Full stop.
Sarah and Craig and Alice
You are loved. More than I could hope to put into words. And I wish I could make your life easier, as you have so often made mine.
Hammer and Tongue - They're the people that you meet, when you're walking down the street
We don’t know how lucky we are, mate
We don’t know how lucky we are
We don’t know how lucky we are, get it right
We just don’t realise how fortunate we are
We have no idea, the luck, we possess, collectively
We just don’t know how lucky we all are.
Full stop.
(Fred Dagg)
A week or so ago I wrote about how much I was struggling. And to some extent that is true. I still don't like being single. Last night I was talking to my flatmate Emma and recounting a story that involved my ex-girlfriend, and I thought that I have so few stories that involve a girlfriend. The story has to do with a battleship and a girl. If you want to know more you have to ask me. But my point is that I don't like being single, and most days I am not prepared to live with that. Desperate, desperate man. But, to paraphrase Mel Gibson/William Wallace/whoeverthehellsaiditfirst, not this day.
Tonight I have come from a Hammer and Tongue poetry slam (look to your right - it says links there somewhere and then when you've finished here, click on where it says Hammer and Tongue Poetry Slams. Oh, to hell with it. Stop now and click there. You won't regret it.) and it has made me realise just how blessed I am. In Oxford alone I have communities based around Home, my flat, my cricket team, my street and Hammer and Tongue. And these are communities that are so astounding that just one would be enough, and yet I have five. FIVE!! Or just one bloody great community I call Oxford.
Crickey Dick.
The Hammer and Tongue slam tonight was as good as it has ever been. And not just for the poetry, although that was really good. And Abe, I am so sorry you went over time and I had to deduct a point, but we'll all be bastards together. It was more for the sense of community and the love there. No, not the bullshit love you find under the Argos Christmas Tree (TM) or the equally bullshit love that Elton (TM) spits out, but the warmth and the belonging that sits in a community where no matter where you come from and no matter what you believe, you are accepeted. Having just written that, I do wonder if Mr Bush or Mr Howard would have felt so welcome there tonight. And in the spirit of me ranting and thinking without speaking. Sorry, speaking without thinking, Steve, as much as I love you and your work, and as much as I love what you've done, I didn't like your poem about the human race being a parasite, but then, that's just me and I believe we're bigger and better than that. Fuck it, if we're all gonna be parasites, stop the world, I want to get off.
Where was I? Oh yes, the love. Tonight it was as if the spirit was flowing through the place. We Christians will probably put it down to the Holy Spirit, the rest of you can call it what you like. But whatever you wanna call it, it moved me. Sometimes it picked me up and slammed me against the wall (like, when, like Buddy Wakefield asked, like, if I'd ever dreamt about living for a living - and yes, it did feel like he was asking me, rather than a hundred other people), and other times when I watched an American girl in front of me completely lose it with laughter as Steve Larkin talked about fat sex. Or what provoked me to ask the guy I deducted points from 'cos he went overtime if I could make him dinner (he turned me down, but he did hug me), and let me call myself a cunt (he amended that to Mr Cunt). Or when the last post, Angela, was shaking with nerves as she read out her two poems. Whatever, I have never so badly wanted to embrace a hundred people at once. Hammer and Tongue is just an embodiment of my sense of community, but I know that it's not limited to the firsttuesdayofthemonthattheZodiac, just like church is not limited to evenings at the Phoenix bar
or the secondthursdayofthemonthatStAldates. It's more than that.
I dunno how they've done it, but by jimminy, it is a Good Thing.
Ok, the lyrics are waxed now but I believe that if you believe in something and it's that good, damnit you're obliged to tell the world. And you're especially obliged to tell the people who put it together. You see, Steve, whe're not bloody parasites, we are so much more than that.
I didn't even mention the other communities that I count special, the people in London, Edinburgh, Auckland, Dallas, and my beloved, but never told, family. And my God.
Tonight, this morning, whenever, I am still single, but with what I have, it is more than enough.
We don’t know how lucky we are
We don’t know how lucky we are, get it right
We just don’t realise how fortunate we are
We have no idea, the luck, we possess, collectively
We just don’t know how lucky we all are.
Full stop.
(Fred Dagg)
A week or so ago I wrote about how much I was struggling. And to some extent that is true. I still don't like being single. Last night I was talking to my flatmate Emma and recounting a story that involved my ex-girlfriend, and I thought that I have so few stories that involve a girlfriend. The story has to do with a battleship and a girl. If you want to know more you have to ask me. But my point is that I don't like being single, and most days I am not prepared to live with that. Desperate, desperate man. But, to paraphrase Mel Gibson/William Wallace/whoeverthehellsaiditfirst, not this day.
Tonight I have come from a Hammer and Tongue poetry slam (look to your right - it says links there somewhere and then when you've finished here, click on where it says Hammer and Tongue Poetry Slams. Oh, to hell with it. Stop now and click there. You won't regret it.) and it has made me realise just how blessed I am. In Oxford alone I have communities based around Home, my flat, my cricket team, my street and Hammer and Tongue. And these are communities that are so astounding that just one would be enough, and yet I have five. FIVE!! Or just one bloody great community I call Oxford.
Crickey Dick.
The Hammer and Tongue slam tonight was as good as it has ever been. And not just for the poetry, although that was really good. And Abe, I am so sorry you went over time and I had to deduct a point, but we'll all be bastards together. It was more for the sense of community and the love there. No, not the bullshit love you find under the Argos Christmas Tree (TM) or the equally bullshit love that Elton (TM) spits out, but the warmth and the belonging that sits in a community where no matter where you come from and no matter what you believe, you are accepeted. Having just written that, I do wonder if Mr Bush or Mr Howard would have felt so welcome there tonight. And in the spirit of me ranting and thinking without speaking. Sorry, speaking without thinking, Steve, as much as I love you and your work, and as much as I love what you've done, I didn't like your poem about the human race being a parasite, but then, that's just me and I believe we're bigger and better than that. Fuck it, if we're all gonna be parasites, stop the world, I want to get off.
Where was I? Oh yes, the love. Tonight it was as if the spirit was flowing through the place. We Christians will probably put it down to the Holy Spirit, the rest of you can call it what you like. But whatever you wanna call it, it moved me. Sometimes it picked me up and slammed me against the wall (like, when, like Buddy Wakefield asked, like, if I'd ever dreamt about living for a living - and yes, it did feel like he was asking me, rather than a hundred other people), and other times when I watched an American girl in front of me completely lose it with laughter as Steve Larkin talked about fat sex. Or what provoked me to ask the guy I deducted points from 'cos he went overtime if I could make him dinner (he turned me down, but he did hug me), and let me call myself a cunt (he amended that to Mr Cunt). Or when the last post, Angela, was shaking with nerves as she read out her two poems. Whatever, I have never so badly wanted to embrace a hundred people at once. Hammer and Tongue is just an embodiment of my sense of community, but I know that it's not limited to the firsttuesdayofthemonthattheZodiac, just like church is not limited to evenings at the Phoenix bar
or the secondthursdayofthemonthatStAldates. It's more than that.
I dunno how they've done it, but by jimminy, it is a Good Thing.
Ok, the lyrics are waxed now but I believe that if you believe in something and it's that good, damnit you're obliged to tell the world. And you're especially obliged to tell the people who put it together. You see, Steve, whe're not bloody parasites, we are so much more than that.
I didn't even mention the other communities that I count special, the people in London, Edinburgh, Auckland, Dallas, and my beloved, but never told, family. And my God.
Tonight, this morning, whenever, I am still single, but with what I have, it is more than enough.
Wednesday, December 01, 2004
Out my window
Today one of these evil bastards flew past my window. Being the liberal lefty I am, I know I shouldn't be excited, but I was and I am.
Last year it was one of these and one of these.
I plead 'I'm a boy, your honour'.
Last year it was one of these and one of these.
I plead 'I'm a boy, your honour'.
Monday, November 29, 2004
That dinner
On Saturday I had my dinner with Sophia (see 'A Dinner Invite' below). The winner of November's Hammer and Tongue poetry slam.
It went really well. There was enough to talk about, I got to drink half a bottle of wine, I got to meet someone new, and I don't think I gave her food poisoning. Well, my body is doing ok, I'm assuming her body is too. The evening didn't seem forced, and neither of us seemed to have any problem with calling it a night around 9-ish.
Would I do it again? Definitely. Would I recommend it to a friend? Hell, yes.
The levels of intimidation were also low. It was nice...
So, if you're out there, Sophia, thanks. It was good. And you folk from H and T, keep up the good work. I hear that someone there has found me...
It went really well. There was enough to talk about, I got to drink half a bottle of wine, I got to meet someone new, and I don't think I gave her food poisoning. Well, my body is doing ok, I'm assuming her body is too. The evening didn't seem forced, and neither of us seemed to have any problem with calling it a night around 9-ish.
Would I do it again? Definitely. Would I recommend it to a friend? Hell, yes.
The levels of intimidation were also low. It was nice...
So, if you're out there, Sophia, thanks. It was good. And you folk from H and T, keep up the good work. I hear that someone there has found me...
Sometime it's just not as good as it might be
One of my favourite movies is The Princess Bride. Full of very witty quotes... One of the more memorable exchanges is as follows:
BUTTERCUP: You're the Dread Pirate Roberts; admit it.
MAN IN BLACK: With pride. What can I do for you?
BUTTERCUP: You can die slowly cut into a thousand pieces.
MAN IN BLACK: Hardly complimentary, Your Highness. Why loose your venom on me?
BUTTERCUP: You killed my love.
MAN IN BLACK: It's possible; I kill a lot of people. Who was this love of yours? Another Prince, like this one, ugly, rich, and scabby?
BUTTERCUP: No. A farm boy. Poor. Poor and perfect, with eyes like the sea after a storm. On the high seas, your ship attacked, and the Dread Pirate Roberts never takes prisoners.
MAN IN BLACK (explaining as a teacher might): I can't afford to make exceptions. Once word leaks out that a pirate has gone soft, people begin to disobey you, and then it's nothing but work, work, work, all the time.
BUTTERCUP: You mock my pain.
MAN IN BLACK: Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something.
And without sounding too pathetic/angsty/whateverthehellathirty
yearoldmanshouldhavegrownoutofbynow
becausehe'sthirtyandamanand it'sallbullshitanyway 'cosbuggritI'mnothappy, life is hard. Well, at the moment it is for me. One of the scary aspects about this is that I am not entirely sure why this is. I am undergoing a bit of 'crisis of confidence' at work now (that's what a two page letter of complaint to your boss will do for you), but I think there is more to it than that. Some of it's also got to do with being thirty and still being single.
And it's a bit shit really. Because I also have around me some of the most important people in the world, people who mean more to me than I can put into words. And there are other things in my world that are unequivocably good, and for which I am grateful and which I treasure. Yet at the moment, somehow it is simply not enough. And without starting all my sentences in this entry with the word 'and', quite frankly I don't know what is enough.
One of the observations I have had about all this is that I know that to many degrees I am doing the right things in trying to deal with - I talk to my friends, I focus on the better things in my world, and try to make good decisions. And I know that for the most part I am a good person. There are characteristics about me that are noble and worthy. But my observation is that I put a plaster over the wounds that stem the immediate crisis, but I don't actually deal with the underlying infection. And this seems to present me with two choices: the first choice is to seek therapy for this now and the second choice is to let it get so bad that I am forced to deal with it. I'll probably go with the first option, 'cos damnit all I tend to make wiser choices.
It probably sounds a bit depressing, but then, fuck it, I have no shame in hiding what I feel. And I believe that you've simply got to talk about the shit that is affecting your life. You also need to talk about the good stuff too.
And I reserve the right to delete this, but...
BUTTERCUP: You're the Dread Pirate Roberts; admit it.
MAN IN BLACK: With pride. What can I do for you?
BUTTERCUP: You can die slowly cut into a thousand pieces.
MAN IN BLACK: Hardly complimentary, Your Highness. Why loose your venom on me?
BUTTERCUP: You killed my love.
MAN IN BLACK: It's possible; I kill a lot of people. Who was this love of yours? Another Prince, like this one, ugly, rich, and scabby?
BUTTERCUP: No. A farm boy. Poor. Poor and perfect, with eyes like the sea after a storm. On the high seas, your ship attacked, and the Dread Pirate Roberts never takes prisoners.
MAN IN BLACK (explaining as a teacher might): I can't afford to make exceptions. Once word leaks out that a pirate has gone soft, people begin to disobey you, and then it's nothing but work, work, work, all the time.
BUTTERCUP: You mock my pain.
MAN IN BLACK: Life is pain, Highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something.
And without sounding too pathetic/angsty/whateverthehellathirty
yearoldmanshouldhavegrownoutofbynow
becausehe'sthirtyandamanand it'sallbullshitanyway 'cosbuggritI'mnothappy, life is hard. Well, at the moment it is for me. One of the scary aspects about this is that I am not entirely sure why this is. I am undergoing a bit of 'crisis of confidence' at work now (that's what a two page letter of complaint to your boss will do for you), but I think there is more to it than that. Some of it's also got to do with being thirty and still being single.
And it's a bit shit really. Because I also have around me some of the most important people in the world, people who mean more to me than I can put into words. And there are other things in my world that are unequivocably good, and for which I am grateful and which I treasure. Yet at the moment, somehow it is simply not enough. And without starting all my sentences in this entry with the word 'and', quite frankly I don't know what is enough.
One of the observations I have had about all this is that I know that to many degrees I am doing the right things in trying to deal with - I talk to my friends, I focus on the better things in my world, and try to make good decisions. And I know that for the most part I am a good person. There are characteristics about me that are noble and worthy. But my observation is that I put a plaster over the wounds that stem the immediate crisis, but I don't actually deal with the underlying infection. And this seems to present me with two choices: the first choice is to seek therapy for this now and the second choice is to let it get so bad that I am forced to deal with it. I'll probably go with the first option, 'cos damnit all I tend to make wiser choices.
It probably sounds a bit depressing, but then, fuck it, I have no shame in hiding what I feel. And I believe that you've simply got to talk about the shit that is affecting your life. You also need to talk about the good stuff too.
And I reserve the right to delete this, but...
Thursday, November 25, 2004
I'd like to thank...
...Anita, Justice, Naomi, Kate, (a somewhat disturbed and revealing) Jim, Jules, Sarah, Sophia, Emily, Caroline, Anna and Eddie. Izzard. And these people. And a cat that miaowed at a completely appropriate moment while some of the above were praying.
Yesterday I was still a grumpy numpty, although getting better. All of the above people contributed to me laughing myself silly last night, through various methods. Most of which I should not repeat. It made me feel so much more at ease with myworld and myself.
Sometimes it is the best medicine.
Yesterday I was still a grumpy numpty, although getting better. All of the above people contributed to me laughing myself silly last night, through various methods. Most of which I should not repeat. It made me feel so much more at ease with myworld and myself.
Sometimes it is the best medicine.
Adversity
Business trips are not what they're cracked up to be. Below is a rant about what happened to me over the weekend. But first, an observation about me.
I have a theory about nice people. Nice people are people who are nice to people they don't like, and people they don't know. They are nice to people because that is what is the right thing to do. People who are not nice to people they don't know or like, are not nice people. I like to think I belong in the earlier group, but I am acutely aware that I very easily fall into the latter. Last week I was not a nice person.
I don't cope very well in adversity. Last week I was very stressed about the work I had to do. Unfortunately I started snapping at people. Including my friends. Anyway, on with the story.
Friday. My colleague Idris started moving things around my desk for gentle amusement. My response was to tell him quite vehemently to 'Fuck off, I'm not in the fucking mood for this, now put the bloody thing back and piss off.' Idris stopped and made some snarky comment and wandered off. Idris is one of the more fun people to work with so my response was totally out of order. Arrived at heathrow at 2.30 for a 5.55 departure. A little early. Don't like being late. Hate being late. Unlike BA. Sent Idris a text message and apologised. Plane left HR at 9.00pm. Managed to forget my pin for my phone. Tried three times and locked it. The less said the better. Wanted to get a phone number off it for my cousin who was meeting. effectively goosed. tried to use the time wisely by finishing the research for my paper. Battery life was 30 minutes. tried to get into BA lounge to work. they said no and gave me a £4 light refreshment voucher. this got me a pint of stellar and a packet of crisps. Got to Amsterdam at 11.30pm their time. had to walk up four flights of narrow steps with a display case the size and weight and ease of carrying of an office cubicle divider. Great start.
Saturday woke up with a health issue, which I won't be going into but thank the good lord (and some people who didn't pray, thanks, I appreciated it and you know who you are. It's an in- joke) it went away. Still had my research to do and no way of getting in contact with my cousin. So went to some amsterdam cafes (no, not those kind) and drank beer and looked at canals. Eventually managed to get my cousions number and then went to a music shop and bought an album by the Frausdots. Who aren't dutch but from LA. And here
Sunday, had lunch with my cousin and wandered amsterdam with her some more. Went to Delft. Found out my hotel was only booked for one night. was remarkably philosophical about this. Found a new hotel. A better one. Ate with colleagues for a change and flirted with a waitress. fell in love with Holland. Again.
MOnday. Phone now unblocked. Got a text from Idris where I am called a grumpy numpty. Got bored silly at the conference hearing about research from people who have or a doing phds in all sorts of infinitely higher mathes than I will ever comprehend. Decided that I was ok with this as at least I have a life. Went to dinner with the rest of them and talked to some folk from Manchester, Delft and Bristol. wandered the streets and canals of Delft and shared what I could see with Justice, Meredith and Wendy. Had a great time telling them what I was looking at. there are no ugly dutch cities that I've found. Actually, there are no cities with less than stunning city centres. remain in love with Holland.
Tuesday. Start to full my trousers as I wait for my paper. Which is the last one in the conference. flirt some more. give paper and deflect awkward questions to my senior author. down beer and then run for train. then 'run' with above display stand down several platforms to catch connecting trains. Actually, run down one platform and then discover that the train was simply on the other side of the one I got off, so 'run' back up the platform. Sweat. Sweat profusely. Finish sweating and then start again. fly back on time and arrive in Oxford. Still love holland. But feel like I had an affair with it behind oxford's back. Decide to forgive BA.
If i ever see the display stand again I'll run it over.
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
A Plea
I am going to Holland on Friday for work. I have two days of a conference where I am presenting a paper.
The conference is here. Scroll to the bottom. That R.Body presenting the last paper of the conference is me.
Between now and then I have to research, write and make up some findings. Due to my workload most of this has not happened. Now, to complicate things, the simulations on which the model is based are failing.
The fear is mounting.
If you love me, pray for me.
If you really love me, do my work for me.
The conference is here. Scroll to the bottom. That R.Body presenting the last paper of the conference is me.
Between now and then I have to research, write and make up some findings. Due to my workload most of this has not happened. Now, to complicate things, the simulations on which the model is based are failing.
The fear is mounting.
If you love me, pray for me.
If you really love me, do my work for me.
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
More is Less
At the risk of being a scrooge, I've just heard the new Band Aid song, and I don't like it. Band Aid, for the people who lived in a cocoon in the eighties was a collection of pop stars who made a record called 'Do they know it's Christmas' to raise money for starving people in Ethiopia. And it was all very successful. Twenty years later, the musical world has taken it upon themselves to re-record it and raise more money. Which is a good thing. Except that the record itself is now rubbish. Lots of pop stars trying to sound passionate (which, I guess they are), but it all sounds a little trite. It's one of those times where the sum of the parts is a lot less than the whole. The only fun in listening is trying to work out who is who, and wondering how Bono managed to take his original line from the eighties version and make it sound like he's had a few down at his local and decided that 'Hey, I can sing!, here, listen to this'. The Dizzee Rascal part, however, I quite like.
I'm not trying to piss on it too much - I like what they're trying to do, but sometimes the ends and means should be a little closer together. And I'm not just picking on the pop stars of today because I'm a boring old eighties rock man. On of my favourite live albums is The Band's 'The Last Waltz', where the Band got together with a whole bunch of seventies music icons such as Neil Young, Muddy Waters, Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan, Dr. John, Van Morrison and Ronnie Wood. The individuals sing great songs by themselves, but when they get together at the end to all sing 'I shall be redeemed', it just sounds altogether too self-indulgent and, frankly, bloody awful.
You can tell I've been here a while when songs become 'records'.
I'm not trying to piss on it too much - I like what they're trying to do, but sometimes the ends and means should be a little closer together. And I'm not just picking on the pop stars of today because I'm a boring old eighties rock man. On of my favourite live albums is The Band's 'The Last Waltz', where the Band got together with a whole bunch of seventies music icons such as Neil Young, Muddy Waters, Joni Mitchell, Bob Dylan, Dr. John, Van Morrison and Ronnie Wood. The individuals sing great songs by themselves, but when they get together at the end to all sing 'I shall be redeemed', it just sounds altogether too self-indulgent and, frankly, bloody awful.
You can tell I've been here a while when songs become 'records'.
Sunday, November 14, 2004
I hear Edmund Hillary was from Wollongong
I followed a link on Cricinfo.com which was advertising an album of Australian Music Legends. Amongst the legends were Crowded House/Split Enz. Thieving bastards. They are from New Zealand, get your own bloody legends.
However, in a spirit of generosity, I've decided that Australia can keep Russell Crowe.
However, in a spirit of generosity, I've decided that Australia can keep Russell Crowe.
God Bless Him
Jim, what a guy. He opened his house and cooked dinner for thirty of his friends last night. A very generous man.
God bless him.
God bless him.
Shouldn't this be getting easier as you get older?
Generally speaking, I live a very contented life. I'm listening to me Dire Straits album, I have a great group of friends, I get to live in Oxford and I've had me dinner. All should be well. So why is it that a single bad/awkward interaction with a friend makes me feel very stressed? Consequently when someone asks me how I'm doing my first reaction is say 'I'm quite down'. Clearly this is bull shit, as I am actually doing just fine, thank you very much, and that only a small part of my world is 'in tatters'. This is not to deny the pain, and not to deny that human relations are important, but shouldn't this be getting easier by now? I'm thirty for goodness sake!
Interesting Fact: 1
This weekend I learnt what temperature actually is. It is a measure of the activity of molecules. As they bang together as a consequence of an energy source, they release energy of their own. This is why it gets colder as you rise. There are less molecules (the air is less dense) so they are less likely to bang into each other, so less heat is released, so it is colder.
There's still nothing wrong with me
Two weeks ago I went and saw the Finn Brothers at the New Theatre in Oxford. They are a brace of kiwis and in true antipodean style I went to support them. And have a bloody good sing along. You could spot the true fans in the audience. They were the ones who knew the obscure tracks, ie the ones that didn't come from the Crowded House album, Woodface. I did go expecting some favourites, and was ultimately dissapointed (no 'There goes God', 'I walk away', 'Karekare' or Better be home soon'), but then it occur to me that these guys have been making music for about as long as I have been alive.
It was a lot of fun. They showed a surprising amount of energy given that they are both 50 plus.
The most surprising element of the evening was that they were opened by actress-cum-singer Minnie Driver (which cannot be her real name), and she was actually rather good. Although I was aware that her slot of half an hour was about as much as she could do before she started to deteriorate.
And I dint just like her because she's pretty.
It was a lot of fun. They showed a surprising amount of energy given that they are both 50 plus.
The most surprising element of the evening was that they were opened by actress-cum-singer Minnie Driver (which cannot be her real name), and she was actually rather good. Although I was aware that her slot of half an hour was about as much as she could do before she started to deteriorate.
And I dint just like her because she's pretty.
Another Outing From My Closet
Yesterday I bought that greatest live album I know. It's Dire Straits' first live album, Alchemy. No question, it's as good as it gets. The inside cover does not bear to much scrutiny (a worse collection of hairdos and eighties clothing would be hard to find). But it comes down to this, I've bought music by bands and people such as Fat Boy Slim, Massive Attack, the Corrs, Radiohead... and most of those I haven't listened to in over three years. Yet every now and then I get a desire, no a NEED, to listen to Mark Knopfler belt out a five minute outro from an already eight minute long song. I've been listening to them ever since I was aware of music, and twenty years later I still go back to it. I couldn't give a toss about how cool they aren't, I just know what I like. And there's something about knowing EVERY note on the album. That something might be a navy blue anorak.
Wednesday, November 03, 2004
A Dinner Invite
One of the things that I do with my time in Oxford is go to poetry slams. These are like battle of the bands, but using the medium of poetry rather than music. Well, d'uh.
The poetry slams in Oxford are organised by Hammer and Tongue (I can never spell tongue right the first time - always toung... oh, bollocks...). They cam up with this great idea whereby the winner of the slam on any given night will have dinner made for them by a volunteer from the audience. I have always thought this to be a great idea. It helps get the community flowing. And food is involved. So to out my kitchen where my heart was, last night I offered to be that person.
So now I am cooking dinner for someone I talked to for two minutes after the slam last night. Her name is Sophia and she's rather good at what she does, which makes me just a little intimidated. But I'd much rather do it than not.
There's something about these slams, that I can't quite put my finger on. Not somat I would have signed up for very long ago but now I'm a believer. They suck you in and leave you musing about lots of stuff. Good to go out at night and engage your brain.
The poetry slams in Oxford are organised by Hammer and Tongue (I can never spell tongue right the first time - always toung... oh, bollocks...). They cam up with this great idea whereby the winner of the slam on any given night will have dinner made for them by a volunteer from the audience. I have always thought this to be a great idea. It helps get the community flowing. And food is involved. So to out my kitchen where my heart was, last night I offered to be that person.
So now I am cooking dinner for someone I talked to for two minutes after the slam last night. Her name is Sophia and she's rather good at what she does, which makes me just a little intimidated. But I'd much rather do it than not.
There's something about these slams, that I can't quite put my finger on. Not somat I would have signed up for very long ago but now I'm a believer. They suck you in and leave you musing about lots of stuff. Good to go out at night and engage your brain.
Tuesday, November 02, 2004
What's a man to do
I work in computer support. I trained someone in Belgium last month. Today they sent me the following support enquiry:
"I wanted to run a storm to look at the flooding but when I try to copy the storm from Excel into MySoftware, MySoftware doesn't get the numbers after the comma. I don't want to input it by hand because that would take a week's work, but how can I copy it correctly?? I made a picture of the situation. By the way, I think I haven't told you yet that I'm pregnant? I already was when you were here, but it was far too early to tell anyone."
I can solve the first problem, but I am not sure what she wants me to do about the second one. I also noted that she didn't send me any pictures of the problem.
"I wanted to run a storm to look at the flooding but when I try to copy the storm from Excel into MySoftware, MySoftware doesn't get the numbers after the comma. I don't want to input it by hand because that would take a week's work, but how can I copy it correctly?? I made a picture of the situation. By the way, I think I haven't told you yet that I'm pregnant? I already was when you were here, but it was far too early to tell anyone."
I can solve the first problem, but I am not sure what she wants me to do about the second one. I also noted that she didn't send me any pictures of the problem.
Thursday, October 28, 2004
Extinction
And while I am slagging off rubbish pop singers, here's my current favourite joke:
First the dodo died. Then Dodi died. Then Di died. And Dando died... Dido must be shitting herself.
Thanks to Colin and Fergus at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival.
First the dodo died. Then Dodi died. Then Di died. And Dando died... Dido must be shitting herself.
Thanks to Colin and Fergus at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival.
Wednesday, October 27, 2004
There's nothing wrong with me
The following are lyrics from the new Finn Brothers Album:
Let the sound come in
From the world outside
You just keep on singing
When they tell you filthy lies
All the mud in this town
All the dirt in this world
None of it sticks on you
(You shake it off)
Cause you're better than that
And you don't need it
There's nothing wrong with you
As my friend Rhys points out, there's something quintessentially Kiwi about singing a song that declares there's nothing wrong with you. Alanis Morissette, these boys aren't. Which reminds me of my favourite Alanis Morrisette story by an Irish Comedian by the name of Ed Byrne who enjoyed taking the piss out of her song Ironic. For example, when she sings 'It's like rain on wedding day', he retorts that that is just plain unlucky, it might be ironic if you're marrying a weatherman... After pulling apart several verses of the song, someone in the audience, who was obviously an Alanis fan shouted out "it's a metaphor". Quick as a flash, Byrne responded, "it's 'like' and 'as', it's a fucking simile".
Let the sound come in
From the world outside
You just keep on singing
When they tell you filthy lies
All the mud in this town
All the dirt in this world
None of it sticks on you
(You shake it off)
Cause you're better than that
And you don't need it
There's nothing wrong with you
As my friend Rhys points out, there's something quintessentially Kiwi about singing a song that declares there's nothing wrong with you. Alanis Morissette, these boys aren't. Which reminds me of my favourite Alanis Morrisette story by an Irish Comedian by the name of Ed Byrne who enjoyed taking the piss out of her song Ironic. For example, when she sings 'It's like rain on wedding day', he retorts that that is just plain unlucky, it might be ironic if you're marrying a weatherman... After pulling apart several verses of the song, someone in the audience, who was obviously an Alanis fan shouted out "it's a metaphor". Quick as a flash, Byrne responded, "it's 'like' and 'as', it's a fucking simile".
Tuesday, October 26, 2004
Itocracy
Itocracy. Government by the IT department.
I don't like to rant about things I don't like. Taylor Mali says I shouldn't.
In my job I teach people how to use the fine software made by the company I work for and I also answer techincal questions about it. Increasingly I have noticed that a lot of British companies are severely restricting how much their staff can access their computers. Many staff cannot see or write to their C drives. Most cannot receive executable files, pictures etc. This is a vital part of the support that I offer as it helps solve the problems they are having. The reason that users cannot see or write to their C drives is about a lack of trust that the management have in their staff to be honest with their time. I also think that a part of it is how IT departments here justify their existence. They've got to be seen doing something.
And because they've got to be seen doing something, they effectively create problems for the user by limiting what they can do. Thus the IT department can look busy by being seen to fix the problem, when really, the user should be able to do everything themselves.
Don't get me wrong, IT people do provide a valuable service, but it's important for them to realise that they provide support to the people who bring in their wages. I would like to point out that in the case of my company, the IT person and management are complete stars, and I have complete freedom. And then there was that IT friend of mine in NZ by the name of Leigh. She was great. And lovely... Yep, feeling the need to acknowledge the good IT people out there. I guess I'm just grumbling about the times that common sense is diverted in the name of being seen to be doing something.
An ideal Itocracy is one where we benefit from the all the efficiencies that increased computing power provides, rather than the one we have here, where what we gain in processing power we lose in impotence.
I don't like to rant about things I don't like. Taylor Mali says I shouldn't.
In my job I teach people how to use the fine software made by the company I work for and I also answer techincal questions about it. Increasingly I have noticed that a lot of British companies are severely restricting how much their staff can access their computers. Many staff cannot see or write to their C drives. Most cannot receive executable files, pictures etc. This is a vital part of the support that I offer as it helps solve the problems they are having. The reason that users cannot see or write to their C drives is about a lack of trust that the management have in their staff to be honest with their time. I also think that a part of it is how IT departments here justify their existence. They've got to be seen doing something.
And because they've got to be seen doing something, they effectively create problems for the user by limiting what they can do. Thus the IT department can look busy by being seen to fix the problem, when really, the user should be able to do everything themselves.
Don't get me wrong, IT people do provide a valuable service, but it's important for them to realise that they provide support to the people who bring in their wages. I would like to point out that in the case of my company, the IT person and management are complete stars, and I have complete freedom. And then there was that IT friend of mine in NZ by the name of Leigh. She was great. And lovely... Yep, feeling the need to acknowledge the good IT people out there. I guess I'm just grumbling about the times that common sense is diverted in the name of being seen to be doing something.
An ideal Itocracy is one where we benefit from the all the efficiencies that increased computing power provides, rather than the one we have here, where what we gain in processing power we lose in impotence.
Shameless Promotion
Due to two clubs dropping out of the Oxfordshire Cherwell Cricket League, the Wallingford Cricket Club second eleven has been promoted to the giddy heights of Division Eight. Which has a prompted some cynical bugger to observe that it's the first time in living memory that the seconds can be demoted. Not the ideal way to get promoted, but I don't give a toss. It's nothing less than we deserved for a fine season.
And for some reason, the author of this blog got given the WCC clubman of the year award. So there is a big trophy sitting on my shelf. Personally, I think the first eleven captain should have got it. I'm sorry, Warren, you should have got it.
I've done the decent thing and filled the trophy with Maltesers. Now when my friends lock themselves out of the house, they can have a lucky dip. And bask in my, um, glory.
And for some reason, the author of this blog got given the WCC clubman of the year award. So there is a big trophy sitting on my shelf. Personally, I think the first eleven captain should have got it. I'm sorry, Warren, you should have got it.
I've done the decent thing and filled the trophy with Maltesers. Now when my friends lock themselves out of the house, they can have a lucky dip. And bask in my, um, glory.
Monday, October 25, 2004
Give me back the Bloody Spoon
Be warned, very muddled and somewhat naive/in process thoughts follow.
Growing up I was always a bit of a conservative optimist. I had faith in the police, I had faith that my government was about looking after my interests, although not always at the expense of others, the glass ceiling didn't really exist, and that change was not necessarily a good thing. Maybe this is because I am white, male and middle class. And in theory, there was no limit to what I could achieve. Don't get me wrong, I regard being white, male and middle class as something positive and I am not ashamed of my roots. I am proud of who I am and where I come from, but I am becoming aware of how much my origins have coloured my view of my world. Turning thirty is a bit late to do this, but better late than never...
To some extent, I have to believe that some of this is still true. I believe that human nature is enduring and that most people will, in times of trial, act for the best of all of us. I have to believe this as to believe otherwise it gets a little too scary.
Somewhere in the late nineties I lost much of the conservative streak. I think a lot of it was due to being at Cityside Baptist Church with such friends as Murray Sheard, Simon Manning, Malcolm McKinley, Sarah and Craig O'Brien amongst others. I'm not sure where the rest of it went.
Living in Britain, there is no doubt in my mind which way the majority of us would vote if we could vote in Tuesdays election. We'd be voting for John Kerry and there's no doubt that George Bush is the devil incarnate. I watched a television program tonight that was presented by John Snow, a senior journalist at Channel 4 in the UK. The gist of the program was that it's money that buys the White House, rather than manifesto, personality, integrity... There's an element of 'No shit, Sherlock' in that thesis. Sure, the other things help, but if you can get a lot of money, you can make yourself look better, or, more importantly, make your opponent look bad. Watching the program prompted a few responses from me. There was a certain amount of dismay, and 'I knew it!', but at the minute, the two most enduring responses are as follows:
Firstly, it's a free market, so if I have money, there's no reason that I can't get on in this action. Which in return prompted the response of 'just how free is it'. Sure, I believe that if you have the drive, the creativity, the ingenuity etc, you can make it rich. But I think at the moment there are two fundamental flaws in that idea. The first flaw is that there is the base assumption that we all sunscribe to the doctrine ofprosperity, or the great american dream. The second flaw is that I don't believe that the market is entirely free. I am beginning to think that those with the most money are trying to control the market and limit entry into it. Witness Microsoft and it's approach to Netscape etc. However, I am willing to counter this my using the same industry to demonstrate it's not entirely closed. The amazing growth in dot coms etc made a lot of new rich people (as well as a lot of very rich and then very poor people). So the market can be entered into by 'common people'. I'm not an economist, and I wonder if it hasn't always been like this, from the building of the British rail network and East India Company to the telecommunication industry today. Ian, if you're out there, you got a Masters in Finance, help me out here!
Secondly, I started to wonder how exposed I am to liberal media and reporting in the UK. I am a Gaurdian (the spelling is an in joke) reader, and a BBC watcher. The BBC getting the nickname of Baghdad Broadcasting Corporation during the second Gulf War because they were percieved as being anti-american, and I will avoid the Telegraph and Mail at all costs. And then we start getting into the whole problem of what is truth, and where is the spoon and then I feel the need for a lie down. Post modernism be damned, all I want is to get an objective viewpoint and that seems impossible!
To borrow a song title from eighties christian songwriter and satirist, Steve Taylor, it's harder to be liberal than not to.
And then it turns out that no senator in history has raised as much money for his election campaigns as John Kerry.
Growing up I was always a bit of a conservative optimist. I had faith in the police, I had faith that my government was about looking after my interests, although not always at the expense of others, the glass ceiling didn't really exist, and that change was not necessarily a good thing. Maybe this is because I am white, male and middle class. And in theory, there was no limit to what I could achieve. Don't get me wrong, I regard being white, male and middle class as something positive and I am not ashamed of my roots. I am proud of who I am and where I come from, but I am becoming aware of how much my origins have coloured my view of my world. Turning thirty is a bit late to do this, but better late than never...
To some extent, I have to believe that some of this is still true. I believe that human nature is enduring and that most people will, in times of trial, act for the best of all of us. I have to believe this as to believe otherwise it gets a little too scary.
Somewhere in the late nineties I lost much of the conservative streak. I think a lot of it was due to being at Cityside Baptist Church with such friends as Murray Sheard, Simon Manning, Malcolm McKinley, Sarah and Craig O'Brien amongst others. I'm not sure where the rest of it went.
Living in Britain, there is no doubt in my mind which way the majority of us would vote if we could vote in Tuesdays election. We'd be voting for John Kerry and there's no doubt that George Bush is the devil incarnate. I watched a television program tonight that was presented by John Snow, a senior journalist at Channel 4 in the UK. The gist of the program was that it's money that buys the White House, rather than manifesto, personality, integrity... There's an element of 'No shit, Sherlock' in that thesis. Sure, the other things help, but if you can get a lot of money, you can make yourself look better, or, more importantly, make your opponent look bad. Watching the program prompted a few responses from me. There was a certain amount of dismay, and 'I knew it!', but at the minute, the two most enduring responses are as follows:
Firstly, it's a free market, so if I have money, there's no reason that I can't get on in this action. Which in return prompted the response of 'just how free is it'. Sure, I believe that if you have the drive, the creativity, the ingenuity etc, you can make it rich. But I think at the moment there are two fundamental flaws in that idea. The first flaw is that there is the base assumption that we all sunscribe to the doctrine ofprosperity, or the great american dream. The second flaw is that I don't believe that the market is entirely free. I am beginning to think that those with the most money are trying to control the market and limit entry into it. Witness Microsoft and it's approach to Netscape etc. However, I am willing to counter this my using the same industry to demonstrate it's not entirely closed. The amazing growth in dot coms etc made a lot of new rich people (as well as a lot of very rich and then very poor people). So the market can be entered into by 'common people'. I'm not an economist, and I wonder if it hasn't always been like this, from the building of the British rail network and East India Company to the telecommunication industry today. Ian, if you're out there, you got a Masters in Finance, help me out here!
Secondly, I started to wonder how exposed I am to liberal media and reporting in the UK. I am a Gaurdian (the spelling is an in joke) reader, and a BBC watcher. The BBC getting the nickname of Baghdad Broadcasting Corporation during the second Gulf War because they were percieved as being anti-american, and I will avoid the Telegraph and Mail at all costs. And then we start getting into the whole problem of what is truth, and where is the spoon and then I feel the need for a lie down. Post modernism be damned, all I want is to get an objective viewpoint and that seems impossible!
To borrow a song title from eighties christian songwriter and satirist, Steve Taylor, it's harder to be liberal than not to.
And then it turns out that no senator in history has raised as much money for his election campaigns as John Kerry.
Driving home in underwear
There is a white horse in Uffington. Uffington is about 30 miles from Oxford and the horse is about three thousand years old. I went to see it yesterday with some friends. The black skies on the way out should have been something of a portent that perhaps going for a walk in the english countryside was perhaps not the wisest thing. (Incidentially, there was a red sky this morning. Something about a 'shepherd's warning'. Or, something that I've never really got, according to Legolas, 'blood was spilt this night'. There might have been a red sky yesterday morning but I didn't wake up till 10.30, so I would have missed it).
From the carpark to the white horse is about a mile of very exposed hilside path. We reached the horse at which point the worst rainstorm that I have been caught in enveloped me. This was the sort of rain that physically hurt. It was like being bashed with hailstones, except there was none. Normally I would bite the bullet and just accept that I am getting wet and there is nought I can do about it, and then run around in the rain but this went way beyond that.
I got to the car and the thought of sitting in wet trousers for 45 minutes didn't really appeal, so we stripped to underwear and set off home. If we'd had an accident, I think there might have been some explaining to do.
I never saw the white horse.
From the carpark to the white horse is about a mile of very exposed hilside path. We reached the horse at which point the worst rainstorm that I have been caught in enveloped me. This was the sort of rain that physically hurt. It was like being bashed with hailstones, except there was none. Normally I would bite the bullet and just accept that I am getting wet and there is nought I can do about it, and then run around in the rain but this went way beyond that.
I got to the car and the thought of sitting in wet trousers for 45 minutes didn't really appeal, so we stripped to underwear and set off home. If we'd had an accident, I think there might have been some explaining to do.
I never saw the white horse.
Saturday, October 23, 2004
I think I'm close to being a Stalker
Taylor Mali is performing in Prague in January. He is playing on a Tuesday night and I am thinking that I am sure (is that sounding like I don't know that I am sure) that I am going to take some time off and see him perform. He's a great guy and he doesn't come to this part of the world very often. Do I have an addiction problem, and am I stalking him?
In case you doubt me I wrote to him once and asked for one of his poems. He didn't have it, so I spent an hour and a half transcribing it and then I sent it back to him.
In case you doubt me I wrote to him once and asked for one of his poems. He didn't have it, so I spent an hour and a half transcribing it and then I sent it back to him.
Maltesers
When you buy a bag of Maltesers it's good to not eat them all at once. You never know when your neighbour will lock herself out of her house and want to come in to yours to stay dry. And it's good to be able to offer them Maltesers to make a bad day better.
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