11th March 2009 | 2030hrs - Less is more. Or is it?
Following a comment from a fellow twitizen, I decided today to check out the latest version of Apple's Safari browser.
Whilst I'm not an Applephile, I do own an iPod and sometimes wonder whether or not I want to get an iPhone. The only reason I don't own a Mac computer of any sort is because they're so bleedin' expensive - at least, the ones I would like are.
Apple have got it sorted when it comes to product design. Everything looks great and most of the products do really cool things.
Take the iPhone and iPod Touch for example, with the flip-through album covers for you music. A wicked little bit of gadgety goodness. I understand that a similar thing has been a part of the Mac OS software for a while, but until Apple brings out a laptop with a touch screen, it will never attain the same level of geeky fun as it does on the smaller toys.
Now it seems they've applied this same flip through idea to Safari, along with a 'top sites' feature that resembles a video wall display of all your favourite/most visited sites. Sure, it looks funky - but is it too much?
Sadly, I'm using the Windows version, so I can rest assured that this will be buggy as hell. It has already crashed three times and the rest of the time it runs very slowly. That said, I have persevered with it and set up my top sites display with the twelve most important sites that I use on a daily basis.
The question is, how long will it be before I get tired of the toys and revert back to using Safari as just a plain old browser? How long until this extra bit of code simply becomes more data cluttering my hard drive gathering cyber dust?
11th March 2009 | 0830hrs - Private gym 0 - Council gym 1
I joined a gym this week. A local council gym to be precise. The supposedly 'better' private gyms (Virgin Active, David Lloyd, et al) are far too expensive for essentially the same setup - a few machines in a big room that people sweat on.
Actually, I was thinking of joining Virgin Active right up until I learned that my nearest council gym is trialling new 6am opening times (Virgin opens at 6:30am which meant I could squeeze in a workout before work instead of never knowing if I'd make it in the evenings). The inital response apparently was a bit slow - perhaps it wasn't advertised that well - but two days into my new regime and I can see that these early starts are becoming popular.
This morning, I couldn't get on a bike when I arrive, so had to alter my plans (almost OCD in the way I do things) and settled for a reclining bike, which I hate. So it seems do others as they rarely seem to be used. But it is an indication that these earlier open hours could become popular and hopefully rolled out to other establishments. I know I'm keen on them, which is why I've been at the gym a little after 6:30am twice this week. (OK, so yeah, big deal, etc - but I'm enjoying it!)
Now, if onlyI can get used to the whole communal showering thing...
23rd February 2009 | 2200hrs - Lost? I know where I am...
I'll freely admit to being curious about the first series of Lost, in the same way I'll freely admit to being curious about the effect of a candle flame on my finger when I was a child. It's one of those things you do.
A few years ago, Virgin got the hump with BSkyB and decided it wasn't going to show Sky One anymore. At great loss. No, really - dreadful...
By this time, Channel Four had lost Lost to Sky One so those of us with either freeview digital or Virgin Media were left wanting.
Or not.
To be honest, Lost bugged me. I never really wanted to know what was going to happen next. I was more concerned with working out what was happening now. But when the ability for me to watch the programme was, er, lost, I simply shrugged and got on with my life. I don't miss Lost. Not a bit.
So now the show is in its umpteenth season and seems to be going completely wild. Whoo! Yeah! It's the best thing on telly by a country mile! Or so you might believe by listening to the dribblings of gogglebox slaves with nothing better to do with their time than be a slave to the gogglebox.
Cries of "Oh no they ditn't!" and "Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!" spew forth in general conversation as soon as Lost is mentioned, such is the hysteria surrounding the new series. Having missed everything since the first series, I have even less of a clue as to what is going on now than I did back then and, to be honest, I don't really care. How will the series end? On a cliffhanger, same as always. It will eave people guessing and give them something to talk about until the next (I believe final) series.
It's just a shame they're not talking about something sensible. Something constructive. Something intelligent. Something that might benefit mankind, the planet and more besides...
Oh, and apparently Heroes has gone a bit shit.
20th February 2009 | 1930hrs - A Tale of Twa Cities
I was going to post something yesterday about Glasgow - and why it should be avoided. Not out of any sense of spite for the city, but more to advise those using TomTom not to use it in Glasgow. Glasgow confuses TomTom. A lot. And in turn, TomTom frustrates the driver (in this case, me).
You see, Glasgow has a special feature running right through it - the M8 motorway. A lot of it is raised above the city streets, a sort of by-pass that runs straight through instead. And the cities streets often run beneath it, and this is where TomTom becomes infuriating.
"Turn left now," it bellows at me, so I do. I find myself entering the motorway.
"In one hundred yards, turn left."
Huh? I'm on the motorway. There is no left turn here. Not unless I want to go over the edge of the flyover and crush an unsuspecting motorist beneath.
So I carry on and wait for the next turn off, at which point TomTom gets upset with me and demands I turn my vehicle around. It doesn't seem to have twigged that I'm not actually on the minor road it thinks I'm on.
After several trips around the city centre (via motorway), I finally snap, tell TomTom to fuck off, and get the hell out of Dodge. Navigating around Glasgow is tricky enough without having a little box of electronic GPS jigger-pokery getting irate with you.
Be warned.
But that was yesterday. And this is today. A day so sunny and warm that you could be forgiven for thinking spring had sprung early.
Unless, of course, you wander into the shade. It is bloody freezing in the shade.
So, nothing really exciting to report, other than two different thoughts about Glasgow over two separate days.
*sigh*
29th January 2009 | 2145hrs - One of my ideas of what Hell is like
Thursday, 29th January 2009 - 5:30pm
Queen Street Station, Glasgow
A man enters the station, weary from a long day but nonetheless chipper. We join the man as he enters the main concourse, coffee in one hand, magazines in the other, heavy bag on is back...
On the station concourse is a small seating area. Despite this being rush hour, there are three vacant seats. I have a couple of magazines in my hand that I'd like to put in my bag. I am also a little tired so I decide to take the opportunity to take a load off and put the magazines in my bag. At no point so far has anyone nearby shown any interest in the vacant seating, however as soon as I head for a seat, they are all occupied swiftly. I am forced to crouch down in the main concourse, much to the apparent disapproval of a few people around me who suddenly can't walk past so easily. Perhaps they are annoyed because they can't push past me like they otherwise would do. Foolishly though, they've missed a perfect opportunity to knock me off balance or kick my coffee over. Fools.
A station announcement politely requests that passengers step back from the platform edge as the train is approaching. Any sensible person knows that this is to allow passengers on the train a safe and easy exit instead of forcing them to scrummage to their way to the ticket barriers. As I look about me, it becomes apparent that I may be the only sensible person here. Indeed, as the train comes to a halt, several people push past me in order to get closer to the door. Those passengers on the train brace themselves for the struggle ahead while those on the platform surge forward. I hate these morons. I hate the fact I'm about to share a train with them even more.
The train doors have been locked and the train is ready to leave. A latecomer runs for the train and pushes the door button. The door does not open. The passenger then runs down and tries the next button, perhaps thinking that this one might be the lucky one that opens and lets him on the train. It is not to be. Worryingly, several other people do the same thing, all copying each other, none of them realising that the person before them had no luck which means there is actually less of a chance they will be successful. I sincerely hope these people aren't working on a cure for cancer.
'Blippity-blop' 'Bee-bee-beep'
No, I am not losing my mind (although coming close to it). The carriage seems to be a text messaging paradise, a place where people press the plastic buttons on their phones - 'tippit tippit tip-tip-tippit' - and send special messages to loved ones, or jokes to other like-minded idiots. The replies quickly arrive - 'blee-op boing' - and new messages are composed - 'tippit tippit'. I am sat on at a table with three other people. I am the only one not texting. My girlfriend phones and I become the only person having a proper conversation. It seems this taboo. When the call is over, I put my phone back in my pocket and the others resume their texting, thoughts momentarily interupted by the sounds of actual spoken words. The horror.
The refreshments lady looks harrassed. The train is busy - full of commuters (read: morons). Part of me feels sorry for her, having to deal with these people. But the rest of me knows she is being paid for it. That would be the hearltess part of me.
The train pulls into Edinburgh Waverly. A station announcement politely requests that passengers on the platform allow the passengers on the train to leave said train. Knowing what I know, I prepare to scrum down. It seems people aren't fond of being pushed out of the way. Perhaps they shouldn't obstruct the doorway. Especially when the first person stepping out of the door is a six-foot-three, seventeen stone fat bastard who hates commuters with a passion.
The ticket barrier - the only thing standing between a fare dodger and a free ride. Curiously, it is also the only thing standing between a commuter and a quick exit from the station. All manner of stupidity can be observed here, from those who walk right up to the barrier only to rummage through their bag to find their ticket to those who queue up to use one barrier when there is another next to it, completely unmolested by morons. I spy the lonely barrier, feed it a ticket-shaped treat and it allows me swift passage through to a different world. A world free of commuters, where a sane man can finally enjoy a stroll home, away from the rush hour stupidity.
Rush hour rail travel - a shining example of the human herd-like mentality, where ignorance reigns and basic common sense is left at the station entrance.
God bless the commuters - because everyone else hates you.
25th January 2009 | 1930hrs - Happy Grumpday to me
Today I am 32 years old. I don't feel older and most certainly not wiser. But I do feel grumpier.
I am turning into a grumpy old man.
Brilliant!
1st January 2009 | 1420hrs - It all starts again
So 2008 is over and 2009 begins. But what will really change? Well, I guess we'll have to wait twelve months to find out.
One thing is for sure, people will continue to be stupid.
To illustrate, a classic example of vehicular parking.
A few years ago, I watched an episode of a comedy programme called Smack the Pony. There was a sketch that played on the stereotypical inability of a woman trying to park a car. The car park was completely empty, but still the driver failed to put the car neatly in a bay.
On 4th December, I was getting ready to leave a supermarket car park when a man - that's right, man - pulled up in the space next to me. And the space next to that. As well as the two behind. He and his wife got out of the car and walked to the supermarket, apparently oblivious to the piss poor attempt at parking. I stared in wonder at it. And I took a photo:
I should like to point out that it's the vehicle on the left you should be looking at and not my almost perfectly parked van on the right!
And yesterday, while in another supermarket (one large enough to sell electronic gadgetry) I asked an assistant at the counter whether they still sold digital cameras. I had seen some a while back on special offer and am looking to buy a little one instead of lugging my DSLR everywhere. The conversation, if you could call it that, went thus:
Me: "Excuse me. Do you still sell digital cameras here?"
Assistant: blank stare
Me: "Digital cameras?"
Assistant: blank stare, blinks once
Me: "To take pictures with?"
Assistant: "Er, nuh."
Me: "And a happy new year to you."
Perhaps my soft, home counties English accent was too much for this apparently inbred store worker (she had the look of yokel inbreeding about her) or maybe she just wanted to get out of the store on time and stopping to help anyone may have hindered that. Either way, I was left with the overwhelming impression that, were she to be hit by a bus at some point soon, a cure for cancer would not be lost.
As it turns out, I was asking in the wrong part of the shop (they have a whole section devoted to photo processing and they sell the cameras there), but the assistant didn't even seem to know about that either.
So, roll on 2009 and more stupidity from people. The more of it I see, the less stupid I feel!
Oh, and happy new year to you all.
24th December 2008 | 1525hrs - A close shave
I don't shave every day. In fact, I rarely shave more than once a fortnight. It's not that I don't want to shave, more that i want to lessen the disappointment that inevitably arises from each shave.
Not only do I end up looking like a bald potato (I'm slightly rotund these days and my face reflects that) with nappy rash, but I can still strike a match on my face if I so wish.
You see, I have one of these fangled, designer razors - a Gillette Fusion (but not the really poncey one with the batteries) - and it is quite possibly the worst shaving utensil I have ever used. It has five blades to provide me with the 'closest shave ever.' Brilliant. Except that the shave isn't at all close and I'm still stubbly now, having shaved this morning. It is the ultimate example of style over substance.
Long ago, I had a Wilkinson-Sword thing that was 'so sharp it has to be kept behind bars'. But not sharp enough to provide me with a decent shave. Or perhaps the bars got in the way.
In all honesty, I've had closer shaves from a single blade disposable razor and that is the type I shall be going back to once I've finished blunting the many blades that came with this current piece of crap.
And that's the other bugbear with these razors - the replacement heads cost a small fortune. In the current economic environment it will soon be cheaper to buy a house than to maintain a clean shaven look. The cost of a pack of replacement heads seems to be proportionate to the amount of blades on the head, yet inversely proportional to the quality of the shaving experience - so a gazillion pounds for one pack of four five-blade heads.
If it weren't for the fact that I can't maintain a beard for toffee (or remove toffee from my beard) I'd abandon shaving altogether, but something tells me my other half might not approve. So instead I shall struggle on with the rubbish razor until I run out of blades and then my face shall be treated to a proper shave - with the cheapest, least design-intensive razor I can find.
24th December 2008 | 0920hrs - Why I hate Christmas
I don't know why, but I'm not feeling very Christmassy this year.
I'm no Scrooge. I don't spend the run up to Christmas wishing death upon anyone and everyone who gets in my way as I go about my daily business. And yes, I'm perfectly aware that Scrooge didn't do that either. At least, as far as i recall he didn't.
But this time of year makes me feel utterly miserable. More miserable than I feel when watching England lose yet another rugby match (although not quite as miserable as watching England lose to Scotland - because the Scots, a nation well known for its support of its national rugby team (I jest), become insufferably poor winners).
For example, I ventured into town yesterday to pick up some last minute gifts for my girlfriend's family. I was prepared with a game plan - I knew what I wanted and where I wanted to get it from. But at the same time I wasn't prepared - I'd forgotten my lead-filled baseball bat and minigun.
When it comes to shopping, I am the world's most impatient person. I hate people dawdling in front of me, stepping across my path without first checking that a seventeen-and-a-half stone fat bastard isn't about to knock them over. I hate the parents who let small children walk freely next to them, only for said sprogs to wander aimlessly about thus causing me to stop in my tracks lest I crush one of them with a size eleven boot. And believe me, the temptation is strong. I hate trying to get to what I want on a shelf because a crowd of mindless morons are stood there gossiping or deciding if this would be an amusing gift for uncle Derek (it's a picture frame with a temporary photo of a young boy in it and there's a family joke about Derek being a paedophile apparently).
All of this combined with other elements - freezing cold weather, boiling hot shops in which I have to queue forever - is bad enough on a normal day. But I get the impression that Christmas brings out everyone's inner moron. Or rather, magnifies it a billion-fold.
That's one reason why I hate Christmas - people.
Another reason is the sheer commercialisation of the whole season. Like football, it never really goes away. It pretends to take a break, but still somehow it is there, lurking, waiting. And then in August, just like football, it starts all over again. You think I'm joking? I saw Christmas decorations and cards on sale well before I saw any refrence to Hallowe'en this year.
And there seems to be a relentless pressure to buy gifts for everyone, but not just any gifts will do. They have to be of a certain quality, a certain value, purchased from a certain shop and hand stitched by a certain Chinese sweatshop orphan. And, like Christmas, disappointment lurks round every corner on the big day itself. You hand your expensive, high quality, hand stitched gift to your loved one and watch the joy on their face as they open it up. Moments later, you have to feign joy as you open a gift to reveal a pair of socks with Homer Simpson gurning on them.
Don't get me wrong. It's not that I'm not grateful for any gift that I receive but I am resentful of the pressure laid upon me - not just by companies, but also by people around me - to expend valuable time and energy in the search for gifts that might be perfect, or might just sit in a cupboard somewhere until eventually being consigned to the bin.
I'm of the age now when it is usually far simpler to ask someone what they would like for Christmas, or is there anything they need. It might be a dull present but at least it will be used. The problem with this plan is that all too familiar response - "I dunno." Helpful.
I do try to be creative when buying gifts. I look for unusual things, or items that will bring a smile to the face of the receiver, if not those around him at the time. But these days finding such gifts is difficult, primarily because everything made these days looks cheap, tacky and like it has been glued together by a hamfisted trogolodite from Coventry. For the other reason for the difficulty in finding creative gifts, please refer to point number one.
The last thing I hate about Christmas is the religious aspect. Not only is it the time of year when the pope says something stupid - this year he compares the need to preserve human gender (ie: stop homosexuality) with the need to preserve the rainforest, the big gay Catholic dick - it is also when anyone I know who is of a religious (read: mindless) bent bangs on about the sweet baby Jesus and so many other things that I have long since stopped hearing - words replaced in my head by a disconnect tone a la BT.
Ironically, whilst out shopping yesterday and waiting for my girlfriend to meet me, the only peace I could find was on the steps of a local church. But is was only peace and quiet from the relentless march of the morons that I saught, and not an inner peace - something I have in abundance and was bestowed upon me by my own hard work and not by the alleged word of an unidentified, probably made-up deity.
With all that said, there is something I like about Christmas. It is usually, although not this year, one of the few times each year I get to spend some quality time with my family. Generally, it is time spent relaxed in front of the telly, perhaps nodding off every now and then, occasionally enjoying a nice brew. I bought my brother a Wii for his birthday this year, so had I been able to visit there is a virtual guarantee that some form of Wii fun was to be had. Ultimately, it is a time when all of us just stop completely and unwind, shrugging off the trials and tribulations of another long year. I usually return home feeling more relaxed, although this work is already being undone by the fact that I'd be travelling on a train packed to the rafters with folk heading north for Edinburgh's Hogmanay celebrations.
Imagine that - lots of morons in a confined space. It reminds me Christmas shopping...
Christmas this year will be spent at my girlfriend's parents house. It will be a similarly relaxed affair and the big day will largely be spent eating several courses of Christmas dinner, lovingly prepared and ultimately very tasty. I have no doubt whatsoever that, at at least one interval during the day, all four of us will be sound asleep in an armchair or on the sofa at the same time, bellies filled with yummy food and eyes oblivious to the crap spewing forth from the television.
And I suppose at some point we should all spare a thought for those less fortunate than ourselves. The poor, the hungry. The inhabitants of African nations whose governments are so corrupt that they are happy to let their own people starve while they sit at banquet. The homeless in the UK who will rely on the charity of others to provide shelter and food this Christmas. Poignant thoughts to end this rant? Maybe - but you know I'm about to spoil it.
I envy these people. The didn't have to fight through hoards of idiots and stand in endless queues in order to pay homage to the great god of commericialisation. I'm willing to bet that if (assuming they eschewed the hell that is Christmas) they had a roof over their head and food in their belly they would be the happiest people on earth.
I know I would be.
----- ----- -----
EDIT: "I hope you get everything you wish for" seems to be a popular phrase at this time of year. And incredibly dangerous too should it ever be allowed to come true. Said in earnest, but surely it cannot be meant. It's a bit like saying "I love you" to someone while eyeing up the blond at the bar. If I got everything I wished for at Christmas, next Christmas would be a very much quieter experience...
Oh, and I found this rant too. It's a bit old (note the reference to Furbies), but still relevant!
22nd December 2008 | 0230hrs - The Christmas Olympics
Hello and welcome to the 2008 Christmas Olympics. This is a special, yearly event where both Olympic and Paralympic athletes compete in the same disciplines. The opening ceremony is held sometime between August and October (when the shops start selling Christmas things) so is well out of the way in time for the main event: the Games.
Traditionally held between December 22nd and 24th, the Christmas Olympics have heralded virtually no sporting legends whatsoever. Instead, it transcends all abilities, races, sexes, ages and hair styles to be the most inclusive sporting competition in the world.
And so to the events...
Event 1: The High Street Sprint
Objective: to make it from point A to point B without being obstructed by, or causing obstruction to, other athletes. Watch out for trip hazards (unattended small children).
Participants (standard): anyone able to move in a straight line, at a constant speed, without the need to stop randomly and is conscious of other athletes around them.
Participants (paralympic): everyone else.
Event 2: High Street Rugby
Objective: as per the High Street Sprint, but this is a contact sport. Anyone who sees you walking toward them but makes no effort to move (even if you make some effort yourself) is fair game. Points awarded for knocking someone off balance. Bonus points for a fall. Points deducted for being knocked off balance/over yourself. Watch out for trip hazards (unattended small children) - extra points awarded for a stealthy knock down. If the athlete is tripped, humiliation is awarded in abundance.
Participants (standard): as per the High Street Sprint but broad shoulders an advantage.
Participants (paralympic): everyone else.
Event 3: The Shelf Stretch
Objective: to overcome a series of obstacles standing between the athlete and the prize. Obstacles include, but are not limited to:
- abandoned shopping trolleys
- abandoned baby buggies
- abandoned senile relatives
- groups of yoofs having a conversation whilst blocking the aisle
- groups of supposedly intelligent adults having a conversation whilst blocking the aisle
Participants: anyone composed enough to be able to compete without murdering someone.
Event 4: Marathon Queuing
Objective: to stand in line and wait patiently for the next available assistant to serve you. In arenas where multiple queuing is supported, athletes must choose a queue and stick to it. Leaving a line immediately costs the athlete their place and they must start again. This is an optional team sport, but all team members should stay in one queue and not spread across several queues. Doing so is considered poor sportsmanship and will result in disapproving tutting from other athletes.
Event 5: The Search for Assistance
Objective: to gain help from store assistant without being rude or interrupting another athlete's search for assistance.
Participants (standard): Patience is a pre-requisite, as is stamina as the search could take a while, especially in a busy arena. A clearly identified need is also required, as is the ability to ensure the athlete is not standing right next to the item they seek.
Participants (paralympic): athletes incapable of determining whether the athlete stood next to them has just found assistance and so interupts a line of enquiry; athletes incapable of exhausting their own initiative first; athletes with no initiative.
Each country is allowed to introduce its own unique events to further expand the Games, but these are the core elements that make up what is truly a horrifying spectacle.
We should like to wish all athletes the best of luck and we'll see you again for the 2009 Christmas Olympics.
17th December 2008 | 2125hrs - Emergency - common sense required!
Picture the scene:
A dual carriageway road. The left lane is a greenway, reserved for buses, taxis and bicycles. At 8:30am, it's empty save for the occasional bus. The right lane is where the rest of us mere mortals drive our vehicles.
Somewhere in the distance, an accident has happened that requires the services of an ambulance. This is apparent because, from behind, there emerges said ambulance with blues and twos flashing and blaring away.
Now, I'm no ambulance driver, but I know that if I was required to find the quickest route to an incident, I'd consider using all options available. It seems the driver of this ambulance has only been trained in first aid and forgot to attend the basic common sense course, as he sat in the busy traffic lane waiting for folk to pull their cars into the bus lane rather than just using the quieter greenway himself.
I shook my head in disbelief and hoped that the patient in need of medical attention wasn't in a desperate condition. Those wasted moments could have cost someone their life. And all for the lack of a bit of basic common sense.
11th November 2008 | 1100hrs - Lest We Forget
Have you forgotten yet? ...
For the world's events have rumbled on since those gagged days,
Like traffic checked while at the crossing of city-ways:
And the haunted gap in your mind has filled with thoughts that flow
Like clouds in the lit heaven of life; and you're a man reprieved to go,
Taking your peaceful share of Time, with joy to spare.
But the past is just the same - and War's a bloody game ...
Have you forgotten yet? ...
Look down, and swear by the slain of the War that you'll never forget.
Do you remember the dark months you held the sector at Mametz -
The nights you watched and wired and dug and piled sandbags on parapets?
Do you remember the rats; and the stench
of corpses rotting in front of the front-line trench -
And dawn coming, dirty-white, and chill with a hopeless rain?
Do you ever stop and ask, "Is it all going to happen again?"
Do you remember the hour of din before the attack -
And the anger, the blind compassion that seized and shook you
As you peered at the doomed and haggard faces of your men?
Do you remember the stretcher-cases lurching back
With dying eyes and lolling heads - those ashen-grey
Masks of the lads who once were keen and kind and gay?
Have you forgotten yet? ...
Look up, and swear by the green of the spring that you'll never forget.
Seigfried Sassoon - Aftermath (1919)
10th November 2008 | 2135hrs - The not-so-smart 'smart wizard
Seen whilst trying to install a USB print server today:
I'm not being picky, but I wasn't trying to install success - merely a print server.
Unless the software was detailing a successful non-install...
5th November 2008 | 2230hrs - The Race Race
So many times, over the course of the US presidential campaign, I heard that the issue of race was not really an issue at all. People would vote for Obama because they wanted to and not because he is one of the few non-white Americans to be within spitting distance of the White House without a heavy police presence nearby (except for those there to protect him, of course).
Why then, if it wasn't a big deal before, is the fact that America has elected its first ever black president the only thing that the media is focusing on?
I've just watched about an hour of BBC News 24 (there really was nothing else on). Of course, the election and a new era for US and world politics are still hot topics. But nothing seems to be quite as hot as the ethnicity of the president elect.
Of the three guests interviewed during the past hour, all were black and all were asked the following question:
"Do you think this is the end of racism in America?"
Now, I'm not black and as such have never experienced first hand the difficulties presented by ignorant bigots who believe that white is right. By the same token, I am not a rocket scientist either and even I can see that this is a stupid question.
With all the best will in the world, there will never be an end to racism in America. There will never be an end to racism full stop. Britain is far more integrated than the US but even we still have our racist pockets dotted around the country. America's racist pockets are bigger and, sadly, often more obvious.
*cough* Alabama *cough*
Sorry. I'm sure Alabama isn't really chock full of racist, sexist, homophobic, republican, slightly too religious, white nutjobs despite the best efforts of various media outlets trying to convince me that it is. I was just going for a bit of comedic effect there really.
I just don't understand, if race wasn't meant to be an issue before the election, why is everyone making such a big deal about it now?
And why concentrate the form of racism that pits white against black, with white as the oppressor. Sure, historically (and particularly in America) this is the form most prevalent in society. But no one seems to be asking if electing a black president of, supposedly, the greatest nation on earth will have a positive effect on, say, the muslim or hispanic populations. Or, dare I say it, native Americans.
These other minorities seem to be on the receiving end of far worse attitudes than the average African-American today.
- There are plenty of folk who now think that every muslim with a backpack or pilot's license is on a one way trip to Paradise and is happy to take as many innocent, hard working, law obiding, Christian folk with them. (Not to Paradise, obviously. Infidels are sent to Taco Bell)
- Legitimate hispanics are often tarred with the same brush as illegal immigrants, with the effective attitude being, "why don't you all just fuck off back Mexico" (regardless of the fact they may have come from elsewhere and, if they did leave, who'd clean up the mess?)
- And let's face it, the native Americans have been stripped of everything except a few pockets of land on which they are forced to build casinos in order to make some kind of living (I know, a stereotypical view, but a one with a ring of truth to it nonetheless).
I wish the news people would talk about something else - Obama's policy ideas, who he might choose to help him run the country, what colour socks he is wearing today - and tone down the whole race thing, just as it was seemingly ignored before the election. Asking every single black guest on a show the same stupid question only serves to make the media look and sound stupid.
Yes, his success is proof that even a man of mixed ethnicity can truly live the American dream.
Yes, it may well inspire other, non-white people to better themselves, to improve their lives and, perhaps, those of folk around them.
But no, racism isn't going away overnight (sadly) and yes, it is a stupid question to ask.
I don't think it is only a question of whether Barrack Obama's victory will be a good thing for racial equality. Perhaps we should also be asking if it is really a good thing for the human race.
Given what the last eight years have given us, we can only hope it will be.
R :)
PS: I should point out that this post was inspired by, but not based solely on an hour of BBC News 24. Other news programmes have adopted the same race storyline and it irked me, hence the rant. Oh, and to all the folk of Alabama who aren't actually racist, sexist, homophobic, republican, slightly too religious, white nutjobs - if I have caused you any offense at all, I can only apologise.
5th November 2008 | 1400hrs - Fireworks all over the world.
Remember, remember the 4th of November.
A black man heading to the white house.
Red conservatives with red faces.
Much needed change in America at last.
Why can't British politics be this much fun?
Oh yeah - and here's a video for you.
Peace (at last?).
R :)
13th October 2008 | 0830hrs - Thought For The Day
Thanks to my cousin Andrea for this one:
Handle every stressful situation like a dog.
If you can't eat it or hump it, piss on it and walk away.
R :)
8th October 2008 | 2217hrs - The Good, The Bad and The Petol Station Attendant
On 30th July this year I became a full fledged member of a particular class of citizen - the driver. Before that time, I was a placid, peace loving individual who wouldn't wish harm on anyone. Well, almost.
But now I hate everyone. Pedestrians, cyclists, taxi drivers, bus drivers, truck drivers and Audi drivers. I hate the lot of 'em. And that saddens me.
When I passed my test, I thought to myself this will be great. Being able to drive brings with it a certain amount of freedom, a chance to get out to and explore places further from home without relying on wretched public transportation. I live in Scotland and am within reasonable driving distance of much of the country's beautiful scenery, not to mention that of northern England.
OK, so a lack of personal transport means that presently I am restricted to driving for work, in a work van. And this is where the trouble starts. It's not the actual driving for work - it's part of my job, I have to do it and I sometimes enjoy it (mainly once I am out of Edinburgh, away from the multitude of similtaneous roadworks that at bringing the entire city to a standstill and, ultimately, to its knees).
The problem is, most of my driving experience (several thousand miles of it already) has been restricted to the M8 motorway linking Edinburgh and Glasgow. This motorway is populated with every irritating motoring bastard known to man - truck drivers who insist on overtaking each other at a snail's pace, pensioners who just shouldn't be on the roads and Audi drivers.
My point here is that there's no fun in this kind of driving. It is what I think of as 'bad' driving (nothing to do with general driving skills).
I was beginning to wonder if I would ever experience any 'good' driving when I volunteered to go to Peebles last night.
I undertook the journey because it seemed a little unfair to make someone go down from Glasgow, only to have to return to Edinburgh and then back home. Much easier, I thought, for me to go. And so, with my girlfirend's trusty 'JohnJohn' (a TomTom but with the John Cleese voice pack) I embarked on what I assumed to be a straightforward enough journey along A-roads and a couple of country roads at the end.
But JohnJohn had other ideas. He chose the straightest route possible from the office to Stobo Castle - quite literally 'as the crow flies' - and this route comprised several stretches of B-roads and country lanes. Long stretches. Quiet stretches. Stretches with barely another vehicle in sight. The sort of roads made for Top Gear. The sort of roads made for 'good' driving.
With the light fading, some of these roads proved a bit of a challenge for a novice like me, but still I flew along the straights and
cruised round the bends. Occasionally, a bend would be a lot sharper than I first thought and, as I tried to keep the car on the road, a surge of adrenaline coursed thoughout me, proving that I am still alive.
That's not to say I drove like an idiot - I am smart enough to know that I am still developing my skills plus the excess on the company van insurance is hefty - but I did excerise a little more freedom in my driving than I am used to and I enjoyed the trip immensely.
I have tasted 'good' driving and I want more.
Sadly, today saw me back on my normal M8 route, complete with the 'over-an-hour to get out of Edinburgh' problems currently being experienced by most other drivers.
*sigh*
R :)
PS: you may be wondering where the petrol station attendant comes into this story. Truth is, he doesn't. But have you ever noticed how ugly most of them are? This is why they are kept in their little plastic booths, like zoo animals. It's safer that way...
7th October 2008 | 1930hrs - A healthy sense of irony
I am presently sat in my van in the middle of nowhere. OK, so not exactly nowhere - I'm in the Scottish Borders, somewhere south of Peebles - but having driven around the area a little, there is actually nothing here. I drove through a couple of nearby villages to see if there was a pub but I couldn't even find a little shop. Quite how folk survive down here I just do not know. Perhaps they have a 'local shop - for local people'...
I'm waiting for a crew to wrap so I can take some equipment back up north to civilisation (Edinburgh - well, it's nearly civilised). I've arrived a little early and it's a pity it is already dark because, from what I am able to make out (ie very little), the scenery here looks great. I'm regretting not having my camera with me to try out a few long exposures. A picture would have been nice for this post.
Still, all is not lost. I have my dinner to look forward to - and this is where the irony kicks in.
I'm sat in the car park of Stobo Castle Health Spa, a place for wealthy people to retreat to relax, unwind, detox and whatever else it is they do here. (I assume wealthy people as a room here costs upwards of £120 per person, per night - plus treatments!)
And, as I sit here in this healthy car park, I am about to enjoy a tea consisting of a packet of pork scratching washed down with Pepsi Max...
I can just imagine a calorie deprived fatty staring out the window as I munch away. Mmm-mmm
R :)
PS: click on the devilishly tasty looking image of a pork scratching to be taken to a wonderful little website... ;)
25th September 2008 | 0910hrs - Meaty Veg?
I like meat. Steak, bacon, pork chops, sausages, lamb, whatever. Meat is good. Well, mostly. Spam and chicken McNuggets are bad. Anyway, meat is my preferred foodstuff. Don't get me wrong, I like fruit and veg, but my brain thinks meat tastes much better when it receives the little impulses from my tastebuds.
This morning, while waking myself up with a shower (washing, not hitting myself over the head with it), I got to pondering the benefits of genetically modified food - in particular, vegetables.
It's a sad fact that not enough of us are eating them. In some cases it's because folk think they're too expensive and would rather buy family packs of cheesey Wotsits
instead (cheese is a vegetable to some people). Perhaps more sensibly, there are those that just don't like the taste of veggies.
So, here's my thinking. Why not genetically modify some veggies to taste like other things? If a carrot tasted like a pork and apple sausage but still retained all the goodness of a carrot, I'd eat them by the sack full. And if cooking cabbage smelled like a slow roasted joint of beef, then I'd be first in line with a fork in one hand and napkin tucked into the neck of my shirt.
Obviously, that would be all well and good for me, but what about other people? How about cheesey Wotsit flavoured broccoli? Chocolate flavoured strawberries (all the goodness, none of the fondue nonsense!)? Spam flavoured tomatoes? OK, so that last one even puts me off the idea, but do you see my point?
The crops of veggies could also be modified to produce greater yields, thus increasing supply and making them cheaper so that Mr and Mrs Lard Arse can have a choice between cheap cheesy corn snacks and cheap, but healthier cheesy carrots. It's a win-win situation. Well, only if you're a farmer willing to grow these veggies.
Organic, 'veggies should taste of veggies' farmers might lose out. But then again, there are plenty of normal people out there who like normal tasting veggies too (you know, they shop at Marks & Spencer instead of Asda - probably never even heard of Asda), so there will still be a market for normal tasting veggies, organic ones too and everyone is happy and, crucially, healthy!
It's just a thought.
R :)
24th September 2008 | 2115hrs - The Beginning
Well, I guess this will be the first entry on my new blog. I wonder what I should write about..?
I don't really have much to say except that I'm pleased with the way all this lot is coming together. Should have a few more galleries up by the end of the week - including Shanghai, Hong Kong, the Blue London project and a gallery of silliness collected from various corners ofthe United Kingdom.
The music stuff will be up the following week as I'm trying to iron out some problems with the many and varied media player plugins that the many and varied browsers and many and varied users will no doubt be using. OK, so there won't be 'many' users and, as such, they'll be about as varied as the expressions on a US president's face, but it is still a problem I have to tackle properly in keeping with this 'ere more professional look I'm going for.
Oh well, enough of this nonsense. The Beijing gallery should have finished uploading now (I can multitask you know!) so I'll be off to check that's all OK and then I might make a nice cuppa.
T'ra for now.
R :)