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Hello. How is everyone? Quiet, I notice, though I don't think I've got much room to talk. It's not like I can crowbar you into talking, though I do miss you, those of you who are quiet.

Anyway, I think a list is in order.

(a) These are some things that I love that you might like:
Gigapan Giant, ultra-high res panoramic photographs which you can zoom into and out of.

• Half the office stopped to watch this advert in the middle of Channel 4 News this evening. Brains from Thunderbirds dancing to Snap here It is aces.

Animals on the Underground. Like an ancient stargazer finding the constellations in the heavens, someone has looked at a tube map and thought "bugger me, that looks like a flamingo". A work of pointless genius.

Kahn & Selesnick invent histories to go with their wild photographs. It's a little like the imagined history backstory in His Dark Materials though coming from a near-steampunk 1940s and centring around an imaginary corps of explorers. Very weird.

Speaking of which, a steampunk dalek

• And Have I ever mentioned how much I love this sort of thing?

A new twist on using Twitter feeds in art

• This is a terrific idea and I am not sure I can describe it. Just have a look at the weird holiday memorabilia

• This was the best thing in the Guardian all week. George Plemper was a teacher in Thamesmead, which is a new town built in south-east London in the late 60s and used for slum clearances. His hobby was photography and he took hundreds of black and white pictures of the teenagers he taught between 1976 or so and 1978, when he packed in teaching. It wouldn't be allowed these days, I suppose, and that's a shame because the pictures are the most fantastic chronicle of a time gone, when glam-rock and hippiedom turned into punk. His later photographs show the new romantic aesthetic. It's like travelling back in time. The accompanying article is very good too but the meat of it is in the marvellous photographs, here and on Flickr and the occasional comments, saying what became of the kids he photographed (one is an international stylist for fashion houses)


(b) I don't know whether you've ever listened to Bessie Smith, but the lyrics are endearingly filthy. I sometimes wonder why I like filth so much. It has to be the right kind of filth. A few clever double entendres and a few jokes and I am anyone's. I think that's why I liked I'm Sorry I Haven't A Clue so much, despite its occasional political dodginess. I shall miss it very much. I liked having a set of jokes I shared with only about two million people across the country. Mrs Trellis of North Wales. Samantha the scorer and her amorous adventures. The fact that when they play Mornington Crescent, with its million arcane rules they are making it all up

(c) I am going to Wem-ber-lee in a couple of weeks because my football team has reached the play-off finals for the premiership. I'm off with me dad. It's so lovely that he's getting this chance, having supported a football team who are, to be frank, a bit shit, since about 1969. Just getting there is a total result and will be so much fun.

(d) I didn't get the boss's job at work but I am getting a pay rise. Guilt-inspired, I think, but I'll take it. If I can just get through the next month, when everyone is off for various medical things and I am the only person who is there full time who actually knows what s/he is doing, I can take some time off and maybe sort out my life. It is ferociously unsorted and shambolic at the moment. I am trying to renovate my house and have been for the past 18 months. It's just bloody *unspeakable*.

(e) I'm not really listening to much music at the moment because it's not bringing me the kind of hit of happiness it usually does. I've been infected with a bad case of the dontcares. I went into HMV on Saturday and saw the charts and didn't know who half these people were. I think there's been some kind of "crossing the bar" moment, and I have reached that far country from whose bourn no music fan ever returns. Radio 2, I think it's called.

(f) There are four major stages of fannishness, I think. Firstly there is the level I fannishness, at which one sets the TiVO/video recorder for the show and watches it with relish but once the object of attraction is off-air, there's no more thought involved.
Level II is a little more serious. You set the TiVO and go to the show website. You think about buying the box set. You discuss it with friends at work.
Level III is the highest publically admissible level. You buy the boxset, seek out other obsessives to talk to about the show, watch the repeats, read the interviews.
Level IV, on the other hand, is full-on VWORP! VWORP! BREAK OUT THE ALUMINIUM FOIL obsesso-derange-o, multiple watch, tinhattery. And this is where I am with Doctor Who this season for reasons which escape me, unless they are Donna. I can pour scorn on the many stupid plotpoints and directorial idiocies and yet I love it anyway. I am so easy.

I got spoiled for the end of the season -- which is to say that I hung out in places where spoilers are and then pretended to myself that I was outraged that I had spoiled myself -- and if half of what the spoilers say is true and they're well-executed, I am afraid I will be in tinhat land for some time to come.

(g) I have been more than usually irritable and find that composing mental lists of those who will be first against the wall come the revolution provides some solace.

1. People who sign their emails/comments *huggles*, Peace! or blesséd be. Particularly if they accent blesséd. I will say it how I want, pronunciation stormtrooper, I don't need you and your accents of oppression.! I thought you were supposed to be hippies. Double-plus-no-points if it's "peace out!" Actually, I want anyone who uses the word 'huggles' or horror of horrors, writes out "teehee" in their email or comment or whatever to seriously consider their actions ::shakes fist::

2. The entirety of the Labour party. YOU'RE MAKING MY SIDE LOOK STUPID. You should not be taxing the poor, making teachers redo their lesson plans over and over and ordering tests that reduce seven-year-olds to jelly. You should not be allowing the idiot who crashed Northern Rock to pick up a £750,000 payout. Above all, you should not be so bloody stupid that you make the Tory twats look reasonable.

3. Boris Johnson. He hasn't done anything terrible yet but he's still a dandelion-haired, shortarse twat.

4. Anyone who thinks Britain is a meritocracy. It is not. Here is just the smallest smidgen of proof that divisions are in fact growing wider only now the upper/middle classes claim that it's perfectly fair for a whole section of society to be permanently stationed on the bottom rung because it's a 'meritocracy'. Arrant bullshit.

4a) Jonathan Freedland for writing this scant days after the above. While I agree with most of it, he writes "no one gets too stressed about the school a Tory politician went to". Well, they should. It should matter. It should be a matter of shame that our public representatives are so unrepresentative, Mr Freedland. And your thrillers are shit, "Sam Bourne".

5. Users of Facebook who insist on including me in memes. I don't want bears, love cards, to know whether someone fancies me. They don't.

6. People who wander about London Underground in packs of about seven in a bovine way, blocking the passages and platforms and lo-ing and moo-ing at each other about which way they need to go and which line they need to take. i.e. tourists. Seriously people, pick a direction and walk in it. It is not rocket science

7. The makers of Divine 70% Dark Fair Trade chocolate. I hate you.

8. Whatever part of my brain it is that enjoys "Top Gear"

So, who would be up against the wall come the revolution for you?

Comments

breyer
May. 16th, 2008 12:37 pm (UTC)
So, who would be up against the wall come the revolution for you?

Co-workers who yammer on and on and on and on and on and on about how much work they have to do rather than, you know, sitting down, shutting the heck up and actually DOING the work.

Actually, this would not bother me so much except that I am about to become the recipient of at least 1/3 of said co-worker's work, because said co-worker has wasted so much time yammering, moaning, and bemoaning that the piles of paper on her desk have reached epic heights and in a "paperless" office, TPTB tend to notice and frown upon that sort of thing. So rather than suggesting that she organize her time better, they're going to farm out her backlog to 3 unlucky winners, including me. ::::seethe:::
infinitemonkeys
May. 16th, 2008 08:39 pm (UTC)
How is this remotely fair in any way on any planet? Can't you just point out that she's a pointless, lazy arse?

Never mind, we're talking about management, so it's probably not possible.