MARCH 30: THE 3AM SPECIAL EDITION
IT'S 3am and I've just finished reading The Curious Case Of The Dog In The Night-Time by Mark Haddon. What a fantastic read. Told from the perspective of 15-year-old Christopher - an autistic maths genius who hates the colour yellow and loves Sherlock Holmes, wants to be the only person on the planet but loves animals - it's the story of what happens when he investigates the killing of Wellington, a neighbour's dog. I started it this afternoon and got up to about page 81. I then read pages 82-226 in one long session after going to bed at midnight. I simply could not put it down. It's a compelling and engrossing read and fascinating to be inside the head of an autism sufferer with a completely different view of the world to "normal" people. The book's main revelation comes around halfway and only makes the story even more readable. And the fact that the he gives his chapters prime numbers instead of cardinal ones just adds to the book's "different" take on things. Buy it. Better still, buy it and read it.
MARCH 29: GOING TO THE DOGS
SOME photos from our walk to the dog beach this afternoon:
Part of the reason for us going for a walk was a desperate attempt to work off a tiny percentage of the calories we'd downed during lunch at La Creperie. Our friend Stephanie came with us and her and Ev ended up talking about haircuts or something. Luckily I missed most of the conversation thanks to the mesmerising breasts belonging to the Thai girl on the table next to us. I really want to start doing restaurant reviews on Planet Mut at some point and our visit to La Creperie might be the first one.
I'M WATCHING Ghost Rider and I cannot get over how bad it is. Words are failing me. It's just awful. It's on the border between terrible and shit and I think it's about to get its visa approved. The filmmakers could have saved a fortune by simply employing day labourers to sling poo at the cinema screen.
MARCH 28: FECK ADDTHIS AND SITEMETER
THERE'S been a SiteMeter icon on Planet Mut for over a year now and an AddThis button for several months but as of today they're gone. Why? Well, let's start with AddThis. I've recently been noticing an odd Flash icon appearing at the top of my page:
What is this and how did this get on my site? A quick Google search for http://bin.clearspring.com brought the revelation that AddThis was bought out by ClearSpring, a self-described "widget network" which immediately started putting Flash tracking objects on the pages its button appears on. The shits.
I'm not 100% sure how these things work but this guy has a description of what Flash tracking objects are:
"As with all flash tracking objects, the ClearSpring object uses Local Shared Objects aka "Flash Cookies" to track users as they visit multiple websites using AddThis or ClearSpring widgets. These cookies are not visible within user's normal privacy options windows in their browsers and can not be cleared by using the browser's Clear Private Data (Firefox) and similar privacy options. These cookies also work across all browsers on the machine as Flash stores these LSOs in a single location."
In other words it's spyware. So farewell, AddThis, and screw you for invading my privacy, you utter wankers. I'm looking into getting another bookmarking icon for Planet Mut and it'll go up whenever I sort it out. That's AddThis gone, now for SiteMeter...
One of the hundreds of millions of fantastic things about Firefox is the add-ons that are available for it, and by far the best add-on is AdBlock Plus. It allows you to block annoying bloody adverts and even individual pictures meaning web pages load that much faster. For example, here's The Guardian's sports page without AdBlock:
And here it is with AdBlock switched on:
So for a laugh I went to Planet Mut and took a look at what was coming up in AdBlock's list of blockable items. This shows all the page elements (graphics, photos, scripts, Flash objects) and what they are:
Er... http://dg.specificclick.net? What is that? Back to Google and, yes, it's more bloody spyware, in the form of tracking and advertising cookies. But this isn't a case of Sitemeter being bought out by a company who then started arsing its customers around, oh no; in this case Site Meter was offered money to include tracking software in its plugin. Bastards. And this has been going on for two years. If you want to remove and block its cookies, here's a step-by-step guide.
I've just signed up with StatCounter, which is free and also happens to be the company that blew this whistle on SiteMeter:
A few months back, StatCounter was approached by an advertiser, offered lots of $$$, and asked to include a spyware cookie on all of our member sites…we refused on the spot.
You install StatCounter to track visitors to your site NOT to open yourself and your visitors up to being spied upon by phantom advertising corporations.
It appears, however, that other players in the world of webstats were happy to take up this offer…
We were shocked to discover just today that another well known stats provider is allowing up to 9 cookies to be installed in the browser of every visitor that hits one of their member websites. This means that the provider is making money by transmitting data on you and your visitors to a third party advertiser. Not only that, but to add insult to injury, the cookies are causing the member websites to load very slowly too.
So if you ended up with tracking cookies on your PC because of visiting Planet Mut, I'm sorry but I had no idea. I've binned both SiteMeter and AddThis so the site's 100% safe again. I guess we now have two more reasons not to trust whitey.
MARCH 26: RUE BRITANNIA
YOU know, sometimes things happen that just make me ashamed to be British. In this case it's the story of Alfie, the 13-year-old who fathered a kid with his 15-year-old slut girlfriend Chantelle... only it turns out that he's not actually the dad and Chantelle's the kind of girl who'll have to be buried in a Y-shaped coffin. Poor little Alfie is said to be devastated about this revelation. What a naïve little shithead he is. One look at the chavvy dog he was banging should have told him the chances of her keeping her legs together for more than 10 minutes at a time would be nothing short of a miracle. So far two others are claiming to be the father, one aged 14 and the other 16. People like this make me want to fecking puke. Everyone involved in this - Alfie and Chantelle (who should be renamed "Butter" as she spreads so easily), their parents, families, everyone - should have EPIC FAIL tattooed on their heads and then have their benefits cut off. The baby should be put up for adoption. Christ, she could be put with Ted Bundy and Rose West and she'd have a better chance at life than she has with the shower of shit that passes for her current family. Anyone who knows me knows my politics are slightly to the left of Karl Marx but in cases like this I'd happily drive these scumbags into the gas chamber myself. These people are worthless trash and should be treated as such.
But then something comes along that just makes me feel good about Blighty. You know Google Earth, right? Well some kid decided he'd like to make sure his parents' house stood out and so painted a 60-foot penis on the roof. Genius.
MARCH 25: MORE FREE STUFF
ANOTHER freebie from work, this time in the shape of a two-gig USB drive courtesy of Tiffany. The blue case is made of rubber and feels strangely alluring. Er... anyway, moving on, here's the trailer for the movie of Maurice Sendak's Where The Wild Things Are:
So has Hollywood shagged up yet another classic kids' book? I really like WTWTA and I'm going to buy a copy to take home so I can read it to baby Siân. The Wild Things have been pretty well realised and the film seems to be bursting with imagination and charm but whether such a short book (it's 10 sentences long) can sustain a full-length movie remains to be seen.
Talking of buying books for Siân, why is it apparently so hard to get hold of a copy of Winnie-The-Pooh? Going to the kids' section of Borders or Barnes & Noble is like going into a bloody toy shop; the only children's books they seem to stock are ones based on TV shows, toys, Harry Sodding Potter or shitty Disney stuff. Several excursions to my local stores have given me the chance to purchase the entire range of Dora The Explorer or Cars books but there's not a Pooh book in sight. Well there is, but it's the Disneyfied version and I don't want to pollute her head with that crap. Looks like I'm either going to have to use Amazon or give her my copy.
MARCH 24: LOST IN TRANSLATION
THE DVD of superb Swedish horror movie/love story Let The Right One In has been released and it's causing a bit of a stir - but not for its content. There are claims that the subtitles have been "dumbed down" for the American DVD release and that a lot of the subtleties and nuances of the original translation have been lost. (My copy has the original subs, so I'm happy). For example, in one scene Hakan, Eli's sort-of protector, is apologising for screwing up his attempt to get her some fresh blood; in the original version he says, "Forgive me", but in the new version he simply says "Sorry". This is pretty much the equivalent of going from "Please don't rip my throat out" to "Duh! I done screwed up, Ma!" Icons of Fright has a scene-by-scene analysis of what's been changed and why it makes the film worse. Their theory is that the DVD's distributors didn't want to pay original translator Ingrid Eng for her services, so did it on the cheap. Way to go, dickheads!
And I know I keep harping on about LTROI but it is absolutely fantastic and deserves all the success and accolades it can get. A list of the top 10 films I saw last year would look something like this:
1. Let The Right One In.
2. Let The Right One In.
3. Let The Right One In.
4. Let The Right One In.
5. Let The Right One In.
6. Let The Right One In.
7. Let The Right One In.
8. Let The Right One In.
9. Let The Right One In.
10. The Dark Knight.
It's THAT good.
MARCH 23: FREE STUFF
THE free GMail stickers I sent off for finally turned up in the mail the other day. I'm not 100% sure what I'm going to use them for yet but I'm sure I'll think of something. Ev's not too impressed with them but as I said, they're free - what more could you want? And talking of free stuff...
... there's a sofa available for pickup just off Brand Boulevard in Glendale. It's only got two seat cushions but I'm sure it could do in an emergency. And then there's...
... a stack of buckets on the 710 north just before the 405 exit. They look in pretty good nick. Bargain!
And I picked up another free book courtesy of the magic table by our laundry room. I'm 10 days into my self-imposed ban on buying books but I didn't say anything about free books. My internal conversation went something like this:
"Oooo a free book... wait, I'm not supposed to be getting any new books... oh, she'll never notice... OK then!"
The novel at the centre of this raging debate is The Big Bad City by Ed McBain, a writer I've heard lots about but never actually read. It's one of his 87th Precinct novels (there are 54 in all, written between 1956 and 2005, a phenomenal output) set in the fictional city of Isola, a thinly-disguised New York. I'm looking forward to reading it but God help me if I like it as I know I'll end up buying all 54.
I'M JUST finishing A Dangerous Place, an excellent study of exactly why San Francisco and Los Angeles were built on the world's most unstable fault line. San Francisco's location is understandable given that it's on a natural harbour (although most of the downtown area is built on landfill), but LA's positioning has a lot more to do with unscrupulous land speculators and nothing to do with location, resources, water or basic common sense. The final part of the book is a description of what would happen if a 7.2 quake hit San Francisco in the early afternoon. In all the book is pretty terrifying, utterly fascinating and yet another reason to get out of Southern California.
MARCH 22: ANTIQUES CRAPSHOW
I CAN withstand the siren song of crap for only a short while before I have to jump in the car and, armed with my trusty mobile phone, head to the tat emporiums... er, I mean antique shops at the Orange Circle. So without further ado here's today's expedition.
Now I may not know much about art, but I know this is crap. I also know that I could make a better picture by jamming a marker up Emric's arse and throwing him at a sheet of paper.
This is one of the most disturbing things I've ever seen. Let's get out of here.
Hi honey, I'm home!
Only $35 for an authentic screengrab of a circa-1988 Nintendo game? Bargain!
"OK guys, we've designed the eggcup thing but now we need some kind of border for the saucer. Any ideas?"
"What about the Nazi SS runes?"
"I can see where you're coming from, Dave, but that's not really the kind of image we at Yosemite National Park are trying to project."
"Come on, Steve, we're Americans. No one's going to notice until some overweight Welsh bloke points it out on his crappy website."
I'm convinced that I had one of these dune buggies when I was a kid. I'm sure it was thrown out years ago, which is a shame as this one's going for ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY DOLLARS.
Stumbling upon this is like walking in on your grandparents having sex. It's wrong on so many levels I can't begin to describe it.
Title: "The Manson Family". Media: Blood on canvas. Artist: Unknown (so is his grave).
"Mein Führer, I regret to report zat zer disherwasheren hass spoiled ze finish on our authentic Nazi plates. I shall shoot myself immediately."
"Ev, cop the phone. Quick before someone sees. It's OK, I'll put my hat and glasses down here. OK... is it on straight? Great - take the pic. Hurry up, it's hot in here and I can't see a bloody thing."
"YOU SAID IT WAS ON STRAIGHT!"
I can remember my dad taking me to see Condorman when I was a kid. I actually have it on DVD and I've been meaning to give it the same treatment I gave The Black Hole back in July. The only two things I can remember about Condorman are Michael Crawford's atrocious American accent (even to my nine-year-old ears it sounded wrong) and Condorman's fantastic car. As the movie tanked I imagine I'm going to hate it when I see it again. But I'll do it for all five of you. Why? Because I love you so very, very much.
I Love To Cook Microwave, the stunning follow-up to I Love To Cook Frying Pan.
Just leave it, just walk away and pretend you didn't see it. You'll be happier in the long run.
MARCH 21: FINALLY AN UPDATE THAT ISN'T ABOUT BOOKS OR RUGBY
AFTER years of trying (and because we had a two-for-one coupon) Ev finally got to see Ripley's Believe It Or Not Museum thingy today. It's packed full of curios and oddities picked up from around the world by Robert Ripley, the guy who started the "Believe It Or Not!" cartoons (although his researcher, Norbert Pearlroth, who worked 10 hours a day and six days a week to dig up the facts, probably deserves a lot of credit).
We've been here two minutes and I like this place already.
We both dared to touch Farroh Fong's Death Nugget, but nothing happened. Either it's out of order or we were conned into touching mummified poo.
WRONG, WRONG, WRONG. At first I couldn't work out what the big deal was with this one... then I finally realised what it was. And it is, apparently, a depiction of a real bloke. Ych a fi.
Now I know how easy it is, I want to try it on Madoc. In case you're wondering if this works, here's one that was prepared earlier:
This is a real skull goblet used by the Thuggee cult in India. (Think of Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom and you'll be on the right track). It is kind of cool, isn't it?
A reproduction of The Last Supper made from slices of toast.
This one made my head hurt - some guy got the wooden arrow to go through a hole in the Pepsi bottle, but the hole is smaller than the head of the arrow. I mean... how?
I've seen photos of this in books about world mysteries. This is a fake mermaid constructed by sewing the top half of a monkey to the bottom half of a fish. Thousands of people paid 25¢ to see this when it was put on display by PT Barnum. Barnum apparently confessed to the fake on his deathbed.
Just when you think the bloody thing's in focus...
NASTY! As if the blood wasn't bad enough, all the drool just puts this straight over the top.
Flynn? What are you doing here? Ripley's was a good place to look around for a couple of hours and is well worth a visit. There's another one in Hollywood so we're planning on going there in the future. And it's reminded me of the freakshow we visited in Venice Beach last year - I'll have to put those up here at some point.
MARCH 21
IN WHAT is more evidence that my life is just a 37-year-long pisstake, I'm currently listening the Wales v Ireland game on BBC Five Live over the internet. Why I couldn't listen to any of the four previous matches remains a mystery - all I know is that this time, instead of a posh bird telling me I couldn't listen to the game because of international rights management issues, I heard the crowd and the commentator. As England hammered Scotland 26-12 and France destroyed the Italians 50-8, we have to beat Ireland by 13 points to take the Triple Crown. It's half time, we're currently 6-0 up and in a perfect position to bugger up the paddies' Grand Slam dreams. The second half is about to start so if you'll excuse me I have to go back to screaming at the PC.
Two minutes into the second half it's Wales 6, Ireland 14... the Irish scored two tries within two minutes of the kick-off and all of a sudden we're nowhere. So do I stick it out or go to Target? Hmmm...
Penalty to Wales, it's over the bar and we're coming back slowly - Wales 9, Ireland 14.
We're attacking again but the Irish have stopped us dead and moved the ball back to the halfway line.
Another penalty to us but we're too far out to kick it. I'm hoping that Irish indiscipline will do it for us as it did in 2005.
A line-out leads to another penalty to us. Stephen Jones puts it over - Wales 12, Ireland 14. I can't see us making the magic 13 points difference but at least we're back.
Scrum to Wales and the crowd's going ape. I can't believe my dad and sis are at this decider again. I better get some photos.
The crowd's singing Bread of Heaven but Ireland turn the ball over after the scrum. Arse.
Ireland run away with it but we defend and get the ball back after a bad chip. The Irish infringe and we get yet another penalty.
Henson messes up and Ireland gather. We're defending again against the Irish but they are penalised for a forward pass and we get the kick.
Ireland are attacking again but we slow them down. Sounds like they're all over us but at the mo we're holding on.
Penalty to Wales! Ireland don't release after the tackle. A basic error gives us a huge break.
Ireland seem incapable of keeping momentum going without giving away a penalty. Apparently they're chasing their first Grand Slam in 61 years.
Ireland kick it downfield to halfway after we make to within 15m of their line. 15 mins to go, we win the lineout.
Penalty to Ireland and it's kickable. But they kick to touch.
We're back in possession and counterattacking. All we need to do is kick a penalty and then kill the game.
It's ANOTHER penalty to us! And it might be kickable for Henson.
Henson's going to kick it...
It's short. Bugger. Ireland clear to the halfway line.
Ireland win the lineout. Twelve minutes to go. Henson makes a break, is tackled. Ireland turn it over.
The ball escapes into touch. Thousands of Welsh underpants are put in the wash.
Ireland are 20m from the Welsh line. 10 mins to go. I need a ciggie.
Forward pass, ball back to Wales. Lovely.
Scrum to us. We're driving, Henson boots it upfield.
Henson boots it upfield again. Ireland are running with it. It's kicked downfield again, Henson collects, knock-on by Ireland.
Forward pass by Ireland. It's not really, but none of the Welsh players are going to tell the ref that. Scrum to us on Ireland 10m line.
Shane Williams tripped on the 22. Quick ball needed but it's not happening. Bennet's driving, Ryan Jones takes it, switches back to Dafydd Jones, Mark Jones, I can't type fast enough, we're 10m from the line, Alun Wyn Jones 8m out. AND IRELAND TURN IT OVER. BOLLOCKS.
We win the lineout 5m from the line. We're all over them, Christ this is amazing, 4 mins to go. Drop-goal YES!!! 15-14 to us. What a game!!
Can we hold on? Four mins left. I need a fag.
Ireland attack from the lineout. 15m from our line. They just need a drop-goal.
Wales need to keep it from O'Gara but Ireland are driving to the line. 8m out and still driving. O'Gara's waiting for it. They're running it.
Ireland get the drop goal - Ireland are 150 seconds from the Grand Slam.
We have to get the ball off them and get it over the posts. It's a crazy plan but it might work.
Henson has it. 2 mins left. Henson down, lost momentum. Williams gets it, Irelands all over us.
We need to get in drop goal range. 1 min left. We have to hurry up.
1 min left - penalty kick to Wales! In front of the posts, halfway line. This is the definition of pressure kick.
Stephen Jones is going to take it. Kicks... it's not long enough. Touched down, game over. Wales 15, Ireland 17. Ireland win the Grand Slam. What a game! We finish fourth in the table behind Ireland, England and France. What's that, Flynn? I can't quite hear you...
MARCH 20: ON A WINGER AND A PRAYER
IT'S the final game of the Six Nations in the morning, Gold help us. We need to beat the Irish by about 3,000 points (or something) to win the title, but even if we only beat them by a point we'll take the Triple Crown. And talking of help I stumbled across this, the Welsh rugby fan's prayer, on the Interweb:
Our father, who art in the Millennium,
Henson be thy name.
Thy triple crown come,
Tries will be done,
By Shane alone, and maybe Martyn.
Give us this day our daily bread of heaven,
And forgive us our sin bins,
As we ruck those who trespass against us.
And lead us not into bad discipline,
But deliver us from Ireland.
For Wales is the kingdom,
The dragon and the daffodil,
For ever and ever, alright mun?
But if Ireland hammer us and England beat Scotland then we'll blow it and end up in third place. And let's face it, the only chance the Scots have of winning is if the England team bus goes over a cliff. Still, we can but hope.
MARCH 19
WHY do I torture myself like this? Why did I have to have a quick look in the window of the second-hand bookstore last night instead of going straight to Starbucks? I ended up staring through the glass, transfixed by books while a puddle of drool formed around my feet and threatened to drown my Doc Martens. I have a forlorn hope that this book about Afghanistan will still be available on June 14 but somehow I doubt it. Bugger, bugger, bugger.
MARCH 18
JUST when you think you've got women sussed, something comes along and buggers it all up again. For example - today I had an email conversation with Jamie, one of my colleagues in the Costa Mesa office about movies. Turns out that Top Gun is one of her favourite films. And not only is it one of her fave films, she also thinks it's a chick-flick.
Wait a second... Top Gun? The film with planes and aircraft carriers and pilots and things blowing up? The film with diminutive Scientologist nutter Tom Cruise and Val "Batshit" Kilmer? This is a film which has at least three separate shower scenes involving men wearing just towels slapping each other's arses. Not only does it feature one of the lamest dogfights in cinematic history, it's also jingoistic to the point of self-parody and has Kelly McGillis as a PhD. I saw this film when I was 14 and even then I knew it was shite (but I admit to owning the "Take My Breath Away" song on vinyl. Why? 'Cos I was 14 and had no bloody taste). This is how the conversation went (me first):
so what kinds of movies do you like?
My favorites are "Shawshank Redemption," "Princess Bride," "Power of One" and "Top Gun" and some others. Are you on netflix? We should be friends, if so.
i'm not on it. ev's talked about joining it but we haven't got... wait... top gun????
Yes, I watched it a lot with my dad when I was little. It's a bonding thing.
oh, ok. i always thought it was the gayest movie in the history of movies. in fact, if it featured two men having sex it would be *less* gay.
It's a chick flick.
but it's got planes and stuff
So?
oh no offence to you, but i just thought chick flicks meant shit like love, actually - not planes and aircraft carriers
Oh but see because you're a boy you are only seeing the superficial elements. As a female, I see the more complicated story line.
please, *please* tell me what's complicated about the storyline to top gun
Classic case of mistaken identity. Tom Cruise thinks he doesn't need anyone, that he's an island in the sea of humanity, but in reality he needs the love of a good woman but he has to lose the lose of his best friend to realize it.
no, no, no. no no. what that film is about is how navy pilots - highly trained during incredibly homoerotic shower scenes - blow evil commies away with huge phallic-shaped missiles. it is, basically, republican porn.
I think this conversation needs to be featured on Planet Mut.
ironically, i'm writing the entry as we speak
At this point I thought - hang on, I know a woman, I'll ask her. So I called Ev. "Yes or no - is Top Gun a chick-flick?" I asked. "I'd say 50-50," she replies. What?? So I asked for a poll of the women in her office. Three said it was a 50-50 movie. Not one answered correctly by saying "gay porn". When Jamie asked some friends the results were one for chick-flick, three no's and two votes for gay. So am I wrong? Is Top Gun one of the stupidest, most crappy films ever made, or is it in fact a strongly-plotted story about one stunted weirdo's search for meaning in a world of oiled abs and right-wing masturbation? Answers on a postcard here.
MARCH 15
AND so ends my first week of not buying books. After the revelation of just how many unread books I own (117) I decided to abstain from picking up any more for three months. THREE MONTHS?? I must be bloody mad. I'm hoping to cut my backlog down in those 12 weeks but I'll have to be pretty selective of the books I read. I did, however, manage to negotiate a two-week hiatus while we're home in May so at least I'll be able to do my usual trawl of the charity shops. So including those two weeks, I can't buy a book - used or second-hand - until June 14. I did get hold of Patriot Games by Tom Clancy on Thursday night, but as it a) was free and b) is a Tom Clancy novel, it hardly counts.
I became a huge fan of Tom Clancy after borrowing The Hunt For Red October off a friend back in the early 90s. I went through a major technothriller phase back then and read every Clancy I could get my hands on as well as Dale Brown, Craig Thomas, Stephen Coonts and even - God forgive me - Clive Cussler. And then for some reason I stopped. I think I just grew out of them, although with Clancy it was more a case of becoming fed up with five-page descriptions of what happens when a gun is fired, and also realising what a load of jingoistic right-wing crap his books really are. Doubtless I'll get around to Patriot Games at some point before June 14 but whether that gets me back into reading technothrillers remains to be seen.
Oh, and here's an article on the Body Farm, the University of Tennessee Medical Centre's field research facility. It's a great read.
MARCH 14: ITALY 15, WALES 20
WALES' performance was aptly described by my dad as "bloody terrible" but we managed to scrape a win over Italy in Rome today. Our championship hopes are just about alive but as we're playing Ireland next week I can't see us coming out on top or winning the Triple Crown. Oh, and to the certain person who emailed Ev and suggested she should sing La Marseillaise to me - could you speak up a bit? Only we're second in the Six Nations table and it's a bit difficult to hear those who are far, far below us.
MARCH 13: FILMS, CRISPS AND STICKERS
SOMEONE was filming at Billy's Deli today:
The best bit is the "We are close" sign in the window.
I have no idea what was being filmed. Hopefully it was an episode of Diners, Drive-ins and Dives 'cos God knows Billy's deserves to be on it. As a diner it's outstanding. Not only have I survived its artery-crucifying corned beef sandwich, me and Ev once went there and had the turkey dinner. The people who run Billy's must use a different dictionary to the rest of us cos their definition of "dinner" is something along the lines of "so much food you'll be begging for death before you're even started on the mountain of mashed spuds". Our waitress appeared carrying two trays. Oh, my mistake - they're not trays, they're plates. They must have been reinforced plates to withstand the weight of what appeared to be an entire turkey (sliced), a lake of gravy, three tons of mash and enough cranberry jelly to fill a swimming pool. Great stuff; we really must go back.
DEAR Lays - for 75¢ I expect more than 12 crisps. I think it took me about a minute to get through this bag. What a bloody rip-off.
THE John Cooper signature stickers I ordered turned up today. Now I have to work out where to put 'em on the Mini. I was thinking either at the the bottom of the doors or the rear side windows. To be honest it doesn't really matter where I decide to stick them, they're going to have to wait til I get the car washed. It is filthy. And I don't know if someone's left food in it but it's starting to smell like there's a dead hooker stashed in the boot. Not that there is (she wouldn't fit) but something's whiffing in there.
MARCH 12
IT REALLY must be said - the standard of free stuff in our apartment building has plummeted. Just take a look at the crap above. It looks like someone's used the table to empty handbags acquired in a series of ghetto muggings. And the shelves aren't exactly packed with joy, either:
A bunch of home-recorded VHS tapes (An American Werewolf In Paris? Why??) and one stolen from Lacklustre Video. There's a copy of War Games too but frankly I wouldn't know where to get a VCR from, let alone remember how to work one. And then, just as I'm giving up, I spot it...
..."it" being a Toshiba Satellite 13" laptop which I immediately remove to the safety of our kitchen. It's an old model with a Pentium MMX chip and is designed for Windows 98. I have no idea if it works but I'm determined to find out on the weekend. All I need to do know is find a 15V DC adaptor...
MARCH 10/11: RANDOM STUFF WHILE ON LUNCH
FIRST there's this car parked outside Subway. I mean, WTF? Is the driver hoping to blend in with the other giraffes in the Galleria parking lot? Then I go inside and - holy shit! - it's Paris Hilton:
Nah, I'm just kidding you. It's not really Paris Hilton - I could tell because she didn't smell like failure and STDs. But if you're going to model yourself on someone, love, pick a better class of human than that walking condom. May I suggest Eva Braun? Or perhaps Rose West?
MARCH 10: YSTRADFELLTE FALLS, 2002/3
AFTER the massive success of my entry on travelling to Devil's Bridge in 2002 (a book deal, possible movie, a guest spot on America's Next Top Model) I decided to dig deeper in my collection of older photographs to see what I could find. One set I came across is from my trip to Ystradfellte Falls in Powys in either late 2002 or early 2003.
This is near the car park. See how low the sun is? I didn't.
So I set off down the path. Bear in mind that I didn't really know where I was going - I took a quick glance at the map in the car park and headed in the general direction of the falls.
I'd imagine my 2002/3 self is probably thinking something along the lines of, "This doesn't look too bad". But my 2009 self is thinking, "You dickhead."
According to the signpost this is supposed to be the easier of the two paths. But as I'm too busy snapping photos it doesn't really occur to me to actually check that the path I took is the easier one.
See, if I was actually paying bloody attention to where I was going at least two of my brain cells might have sparked and realised that there is no way this is the easy path. But no, I just kept taking pics. Why they're all vertical pics is beyond me. Maybe I hadn't learned to hold the camera horizontally.
These steps will come back to haunt me later, but I'm skipping ahead.
The scenery really is beautiful, especially the orange and red of the dead leaves. Note how the sun's getting lower and the shadows are getting longer. I didn't.
At this point the part of my brain not preoccupied with taking photos did say something along the lines of, "Are you sure this is a) the easy path and b) the right way?" Unfortunately the other 99.99% replied, "Shut up, we're trying to take a horizontal photo."
OK, so now it hits me - should the "easy" path be so uneven and, more to the point, so unsuited to an overweight wally in a pair of Converse All-Stars? But I just plod on, wondering (as I'm sure all five of you are) where the hell the waterfalls actually are.
More to the point, where the hell am I? By now I'm knackered, sweaty and starting to get annoyed. And it's just occurred to me that it's going to be dark in about 30 minutes.
A sign! It helpfully informs me that not only are the falls just down the path, but if I'd paid attention to the sign in the car park I could have been here 20 minutes ago. Arse.
I can see water and hear the falls.
My first look at the falls. I realise I'd better get a move on before I'm stuck in the middle of nowhere in the dark, so I start taking pictures:
And now for the fun bit - getting back. By this point it's hit me that there's no way I'm going to get to the car park before it's dark so I start back up the path. But in the twilight I manage to miss the easy path and end up going back the way I came - only this time in the pitch black. Remember those steps? Fell up them twice. In fact I think I fell over about six times in all, either slipping on the muddy path or going flying over tree roots or rocks. As well as trying to concentrate on not breaking my neck, I was also trying not to think of movies like An American Werewolf In London, The Howling and Ginger Snaps. (Well, actually I was thinking of Ginger Snaps but only 'cos it stars Katharine Isabelle). I finally made it back to the car a panting muddy mess, drove home and pretty much collapsed on the sofa. When we go to Ystradfellte in May we're going in daylight.
MARCH 8
IN A DESPERATE effort to stop myself buying any more books (I picked up two more yesterday) I decided to stack my entire backlog in a pile so I could get some idea of the task facing me. All I can say is, "Holy shit". That's the stack in the photo above, with Ev kindly keeping it steady for me while I took the pic. Oh, bear in mind that Ev's 6'1" and the pile is taller than her - so tall that I couldn't fit it all in the shot. By now the stack was threatening to fall over so we split it into three smaller piles.
Stone me, I really have to stop buying them, don't I? There's 115 altogether, so even if I managed to read them at the rate of two a week it would take me over a year to get through 'em all. I can't even go a week without buying a book, how the hell am I supposed to survive a year? Even crack addicts get kinder treatment than this. And we're going home in May, which is bound to lead to another trawl through the charity shops in Ross and - if I have my way - a trip to Hay on Wye (or, as I like to think of it, Paradise). Interestingly, while writing this I did some research on Wikipedia and discovered a new word to describe myself (no, it's not "wanker"). I am, from what I can tell, a bibliophile with very probably a dash of bibliomania thrown in. And, to make matters worse, I discovered another book that looks fascinating and now I want to buy it. I just can't sodding win...
MARCH 7: TASTE TEST III
NOTHING says "easy update" like spotting a four-pack of Pepsi Natural in Target this afternoon. After wrapping my taste buds around the awfulness that is (or was) Coke Blak and the sugar-laden bottle of ADHD that is Sunkist Float, tackling a bottle or two of "natural" drink will make a nice change.
"Made with sparkling water - sugar - cola nut extract". Oh, and natural apple extract, caramel colour, citric acid, caffeine, acacia gum, tartaric acid, lactic acid and natural flavour. Still, it's nice to see no trace of the ubiquitous high fructose corn syrup muck.
Here's a refreshing glass of Pepsi Natural decanted into one of our better transparent amorphous solid vessels under strict laboratory conditions (i.e. poured into a glass in our kitchen). It's not as fizzy as regular Pepsi and the foamy head isn't as large (ooer Matron!). And the taste? Slightly flat, slightly stale, not-too-sweet Pepsi. It's actually not that bad once you get used to it, but I'll be sticking with Cherry Coke Zero. But its name does beg one question - if this stuff is "natural", what unnatural crap are the putting in normal Pepsi?
And speaking of high fructose corn syrup, it really does say something when bakers are boasting that their bread doesn't contain any. Let's face it, shouting about your bread not containing HFCS is like wearing a T-shirt that says "I AM NOT A CHILD MOLESTER".
MARCH 6: SECOND GLOAT OF THE YEAR
ONE hundred and four miles on an eighth of a tank? Lovely.
MARCH 5: A GRATUITOUS SIÂN UPDATE
SOME photos taken by my cousin...
MARCH 4: IF YOU DON'T LIKE BOOKS YOU'RE SHIT OUT OF LUCK ON THIS UPDATE
WHAT a find! I came across this in the second-hand store next to my office today. I love books about London and have several, among them Peter Ackroyd's London: The Biography, Roy Porter's London: A Social History and Lights Out For The Territories by Ian Sinclair. But books about the vanished London, such as Orwell wrote about in Down And Out In Paris And London, are even better.
Finding a book like this is high on my list of favourite moments (yes, I'm a sad bastard). First I see the spine, jammed in with a load of other volumes about British history. I read the title, think "That looks interesting", and pull it from the shelf. It's obviously an old book; the binding is loose, the pages are yellowed and stained, the corners of the covers are frayed. A check inside the front cover tells me it's a 1930 edition, the eighth printing of a book originally published in 1925. I have a quick look around to make sure no one's looking, open the pages to a random point, stick my head in and sniff deeply. Oh yeah - total old-book smell, which is like crack to me.
At first I'm not 100% sure about buying it so I again open it at a random point, which happens to be the start of an essay called "Ghosts of the Fog". I read the first paragraph:
Fog in London. Men are like flat figures cut in black paper. All things become two-dimensional. Carts, motor-cars, omnibuses are shadows that nose their way painfully like blind beasts. The fog has a flavour. At Marble Arch I meet a delicate after-taste like melon; at Ludgate Hill I taste coke.
Magic, utter magic, a beautiful description of a London that's gone forever. And then there's this from "About Homes in Bondage":
Do you wish to feel human emotion spring from inanimate things? Do you wish to meet ghosts? Then come with me to one of London's great furniture store-houses, in which a thousand homes lie piled to the roof, silent, sheeted, tomb-like.
There are 47 other essays with titles like "Madonna of the Pavement", "My Lady's Dress" and "Boys on the Bridge". Forty-nine essays about London written 84 years ago for only $8.50? I'm buying it, even if I have to put my aversion to hardbacks to one side.
Back in the office I pull up Morton's entry on Wikipedia. The wonderfully named Henry Vollam Morton was born in 1892 and entered journalism, becoming assistant editor of the Birmingham Express aged 20. After serving in the First World War he got a job with the London-based Evening Standard and then the Daily Express, where he came to fame for his coverage of the discovery of Tutankhamen's tomb. While at the Express he wrote a series of columns about London and it's these that form The Heart of London. The success of the book prompted him to try his hand at travel writing. In 1926 he acquired a Morris car and set off around England, eventually writing about his journey in In Search of England. Its success prompted him to write similar books about Ireland, Wales and Scotland. (I own In Search of Wales but it's currently in the backlog). He then wrote several travel books including Through Lands of the Bible which documents his visits to Egypt, Palestine, Syria and Iraq and is now regarded as a classic of its time.
So I'm looking forward to reading The Heart of London. It should be fascinating reading about parts of the city, traditions and characters that are now gone. Then again, with the backlog now at 93 books, exactly when I'll get around to reading it is anybody's guess.
OH SHIT, Volcano is on the telly. If you haven't seen Volcano, it's a movie that makes Armageddon look like bloody Citizen Kane. The basic premise is that an active volcano under LA erupts, sending lava flowing down Sunset Boulevard. At this particular moment the brave firefighters of LA county are blocking the lava's route with concrete barriers. Let me say that again: They are blocking molten rock with concrete and for some reason the concrete is stopping the lava. And there are people standing three feet from the lava but no one is bursting into flame. As I told Ev, I can suspend disbelief for space battles, vampires, even the bloody Matrix. But this shit? Brain hurts... durrrr... brain hurrrrtssss...
MARCH 3: 101 REASONS WHY WORKING FOR A NEWSPAPER IS BAD FOR YOU
NUMBER 2: Being the last to leave. AGAIN.
MARCH 2/3
THERE'S been a bit of a morbid streak to my recent reading. Firstly I read Body of Work: Meditations on Mortality from the Human Anatomy Lab by Christine Montross. It's a memoir of her time as a first-year medical student at a college in Rhode Island and her relationship, if that's the word, with the cadaver she and her three teammates had to dissect over the course of a academic year. The main theme of the book is how Montross comes to terms with the emotional and moral challenge of having to cut up a dead body (which she names Eve) to learn human anatomy. No punches are pulled in her descriptions of the processes, many of which are pretty tough reading - try to get through the section on cutting through the face and skull without flinching - and Montross lists the psychological problems she and her team face (sleepless nights, depression, nightmares, relationship problems) as they go about their work. The excellent chapters on labwork are broken up by a potted history of dissection, which are a fascinating read in themselves.
On a similar subject, Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers by Mary Roach also tackles the issue of human bodies, in this case what happens to them after death. But whereas Montross' book is a quiet and respectful reflection on her time in the anatomy lab, Roach's work aims for a quirky tone, something that doesn't quite work for me and frequently comes off as flippant. Her book examines the ways human bodies which have been willed to medical research are put to use, from the shocking (severed human heads used by cosmetic surgeons to practice on) to the sensible (such as car safety testing). A chapter where she visits the University of Tennessee Medical Centre's field research facility - which is literally a field where bodies are left outdoors to examine the effect of shade, sun, rain, insects and so on - is superb, only spoiled by her obvious glee in the discomfort of the media relations guy who's accompanying her. But style aside it's a good read and a real eye-opener as to what can happen to you if you elect to leave your body to medicine. (Personally I want to be buried in my Mini with The Cure's Disintegration playing forever on a nuclear-powered iPod. But that's just me.)
My morbid reading is set to continue as tonight I'm starting This Republic of Suffering: Death and the American Civil War by the awesomely-named Drew Gilpin Faust. This isn't some death-obsessed streak I'm on, I'm just trying to fight my way through my backlog (which is not the 72 books I thought it was - it's actually 95) before I buy any more. Yeah... like that's going to happen.
MARCH 1
STONE me... today I've been in America for five years.
