Movie Life

A few years ago I was once called to account by a friend for mentioning the phenomenon of luck, "You believe in luck?" he said.

I picked up on his rhetorical tone and answered with something like, "I have the same profound conviction in the existence of luck as I do for the concrete reality of this mug of tea in my hand!" we were at a tea break in a work's canteen. As you might guess my friend was an intelligent and rational person, who had no sympathy for the supernatural or superstition. He was somewhat bewildered by my reply and prompted me further, indicating that he was surprised that I should embrace a concept that he believed was irrational and ridiculous. I countered, saying that he was inferring that I believed luck to be some metaphysical phenomena "That's not necessary," I said "just think of it as an adjective, like black or white -- good or evil." The discussion continued for as long as the allotted period for a tea break and embraced things like the difference between concepts and concrete reality, then we both returned to work.

So why am I pondering luck today and why is this post entitled Movie Life? Well yesterday something very strange happened, I had a rare encounter with good luck that coincided with some recent pondering on the virtues of selfish versus selfless behavior. I would say I'm the the last person to be prone to demonstrable acts of selfless behavior. In fact I'd say I'm suspicious of and often despise folk who display such behavior. I don't think such an attitude is rare, I think most people view the posturing and self proclaimed virtue of public figures with a skeptical eye, I don't really have to mention names do I? But the ice cream parlour that is selflessness serves more than a single flavour, and it doesn't always come with a generous topping of hypocrisy. People frequently put the comfort and needs of others before their own without thought of reward or to enhance their image in the eyes of others. Such acts almost never receive recognition but you sometimes glimpse clues to those likely to act in such a manner through everyday interaction. The guy who defers to people walking through a doorway or the woman who lets another pick up the last bunch of ripe bananas. Of course this is countered by those with a more self-serving outlook, the woman who uses her push-chair borne child to plow through crowds of Christmas shoppers, is one example of such. It's with those considerations in mind that I very recently swore a silent oath to be more selfish. It's not necessary to further detail the reasons I came to this decision but I'll just mention that a mixture of both personal reasons and observations of broader culture prompted the decision. The thing about swearing oaths is that you find that they're going to be tested sooner than you think.

So this piece of good luck I received, well, while out Christmas shopping I idly wandered into a charity shop. I think I was probably looking for second hand books but I found my self thumbing the racks of coats and I stumbled upon a leather coat in very good condition, pea-coat length, in brown leather. I'm looking for a new coat so why not see if it fits, I think and sure enough after trying it on, I find it's not only a good fit but very comfortable too. Charity shop prices have risen sharply since the economy went pear-shaped, so I was expected the price to be beyond my meager means but was surprised to see that they were still asking the relatively modest sum of £10 for the coat. It was while I was looking up the price that I saw the label. It was a name I recognized as being a label that held some reputation but as designer clothing is currently beyond my means, the label held no particular significance for me. I make my way home, confident that I've secured a bargain. It wasn't until I reached home and curiosity got the better of me that I discovered how much of a bargain.

I Google the label to find prices for the coats under this label and see sums like £150, £199, not a bad bargain, I think. Hang on all these coats are nylon or polyester, lets do a search on leather coats. Google spits out a few results, £750 is the first I see, oh shit, it's a £700 coat. There's the dilemma, even taking pre-Christmas inflation into account, I've brought a coat worth a great deal of cash from a Charity Shop for £10. Last week I would have auctioned it on e-bay and shared the cash with the shop, which I estimate would have left us sharing about £200 to £300. A nice dividend for the shop, I could pat myself on the back and even buy a decent coat with my share. That was last week though, since then I've sworn an oath to forsake acts of gratuitous selflessness and I take oaths very seriously. See what I mean, Movie Life? it's like a the plot for a cheesy rom-com.

Observations from Zog

I suppose it's time I came clean, I'm not writing this like most Blogspot or Wordpress users, sitting at keyboard or on a laptop in a cafe. I'm inputting this on an hyperspatial input station from a secret location on the planet Zog. Let me explain, you've heard of David Icke, you know -- reptilians, shape-shifters? Zog is where they, the Zogthurians, come from, I'm here with the Zogthurian resistance. It turns out that not all Zogthurians are evil and bent on planetary conquest. In fact most Zogthurians are quite congenial, the only real inconvenience, apart from the toilet tissue shortage, is the Zogthurian's habitual practice of conducting internal body cavity probes, it wouldn't be so bad if they at least warmed the end of the probe a little, brrrrrr.

As you might expect communication between Zog and Earth can be a little difficult at times. I'm not sure where Zog is but I know it's some distance from Earth, so we don't get all the news channels that you do at home. In fact there's no television at all and the radio broadcasts only come through occasionally. There is excellent internet access though, the Zogthurians  spent a lot of effort securing the broadband connection between Zog and Earth because they're very keen on the internet. They're particularly interested in downloading something called Japanese AV, apparently it offers a valuable insight into human culture and psychology. There are two main consequences that follow from these circumstances, I get almost almost all my news of home via the internet and the Zogthurian consumption of tissue paper has tripled annually since the introduction of direct broadband from Earth.

So I'm not up to speed on news topics like the X-Factor or Jeremy Clarkson, that seem to preoccupy the newspapers back home. I should mention that we do get newspapers too, the tissue shortage has prompted the Zogthurians to import large quantities of newsprint to supplement the toilet tissue supply. Copies of the Daily Mail and Independent seem to be particularly popular although they do use all of the British tabloids for that purpose and the demise of the News of the World was widely lamented. So it was a certain degree of curiosity that I read headlines regarding the British weather. It seemed as soon as the summer had finished that the papers announced each inclement episode as if it were minor catastrophe. There was also number of ominous predictions emblazoned in bold type such as, "Arctic Freeze Predicted" and "Flood Warning". The latest example of this phenomenon was the announcement  that it was actually snowing in December. I know I've been on Zog for some time but I still do recall that things like this used to happen quite regularly at home we called it -- winter.

Being on the planet Zog you might think that I'd be sympathetic to conspiracy theories, seeing as I know that Mr. Icke's seemingly fantastic claims are all grounded in solid fact. Well you'd be wrong there, as far as I'm concerned, Oswald shot JFK and the twins towers collapsed because some Arabs flew into them with bloody great aeroplanes. It's not that I don't think our politicians are above conspiracy and manipulation, Blair's 45 minute claim is a good example of such. I just don't think they're that good at it, they're as about as good at conspiracy as they are at running the economy. So I'm not a conspiracy buff or a truther as they liked to be called but when I caught sight of some other climate related material from the news, I couldn't quite shake the idea there might be a connection. The material in question was the climate change conference in Durban, that has been going on since November. The media has been heralding the rather prosaic approach of winter since the autumn like it was the first time it had ever occurred, could there be a connection? I wonder...

Breaking up

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You might guess from the following that I'm in something of a cynical mood currently. I know it's a bit early but I've been thinking about Valentine's day and how it stopped being fun and became a burden. Don't get me wrong I'm not ridiculing genuine acts of affection between lovers. In fact I'd encourage them, the world could do with more genuine affection but it should be, you know, genuine. Not the competitive fakery that has grown up around this festival, where a man is decried for blowing less than a week's wages on ephemeral tokens of respect. It's become more about edification than affection. Spend x much and you might get a jump at the end of the evening. No thanks, somehow I don't think a tacit form of prostitution conforms to the genuine spirit of the occasion.

So I've embraced the spirit of enterprize and come up with an alternative festival, Chuck Her Day, it occurs on 13th of February. Conveniently timed to spare you the expense of its neigbour. Of course it's not for everyone, only for folk who're trying to free themselves from the suffocating clutches of an unwanted partner. It's conceived with special consideration for those who find executing such tasks so very--very difficult. They can pop into a shop and buy a card to do it and placate their guilt with the comforting knowledge that they're entering into the spirit of their special day.

So Here's my first attempt at a rhyme for such a card:

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Do I need to tell it to your face?

my lust for you has run its race

these words so hard I have to say

I’m bored with you so go away

Your feebly tears so cheaply shed

will not entice me to your bed

nor seductive sigh and no

prospect of irrumtio

I had some fun now I’m leaving

so stop this coercive pleading

I have not love but bold contempt

for such weapons of sly intent

You hate me now don’t tell a lie

so now it’s time to say bye bye

but just wait for this parting shot

you stink of fish and hot that’s not

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While reading this it occurred to me that this rhyme isn't too gender specific and that it Chuck Them Day might be more appropriate. Trouble is though I can't imagine many women sending their men such cards on February the 13th.

The war being waged at my library

My location, being provincial, is not as generously served as some areas. Recently I noticed that proposed cuts in library services in a London borough, Hackney I think, while being vehemently opposed by interested parties and scrutinized in the media would still leave that borough with about four times the per capita library facilities that we enjoy here. Such asymmetric allocation of state funding is the main reason my disillusion over the concept of collective benefit has grown so strong.

Now my taste in literature is eclectic, an attribute I acquired from the second hand book stall that used to grace our market. It's marvelous what the availability of cheap diverse literature can do to dig up the tram lines they lay down in the literary supplements. Alas that stall has been defunct for a long time but my local library had served as a reasonable substitute. A while ago though, I began to notice that increasingly books I'd be looking for would be unavailable either through being absent from the catalogue or missing from the shelves. It was intermittent at first but the frequency of which this occurred increased dramatically. It wasn't until I noticed that books that I'd already read, that were in good condition, had been removed from the catalogue that I began to suspect that arcane forces were at work.

Allan Moore, Richard Matherson, H. Rider Haggard, a few of the authors who've had works removed recently. I was particularly wounded by Moore's removal because his unfettered work had gone some way to instill hope that English cultural life could combat the encroachment of cultural dwarfism. Even though, I should note, that Moore has himself done his bit to advance that phenomenon, albeit possibly inadvertently, when he helped get the ball rolling on the current anti Frank Miller mood. I don't have to look far to find an element of commonality between the works that are being withheld. They all share the property that I call, guy stuff, by that I mean works which give insight into masculine life. How many men do you think work at my local library? Here's a clue, it's somewhere between zero and naught and yet amongst the women who work there diverse minorities are represented, coincidence? I wonder...

Death of the Ball Turret Gunner

I've no patience for people who lace rhetoric with moral imperatives. I'm supposed to care about people starving somewhere or some intolerable injustice being perpetrated in another location because it's the right thing to do. I'm presented with deserving cases that are almost always suitably photogenic. I've no patience because I've no faith in their sincerity, blah blah blah, their worthless words trip like lemmings over a cliff. I've witnessed how much people really care, it's not an impressive tally. Unless there's some suitable emotional bribe, something to stoke those cosey 'dogooder' embers in their hearts, such people will the overlook the most bestial brutality.

Randall Jarrell said it all for me in his poem, Death of the Ball Turret Gunner. With it he illustrates the murderous faculty of the state and the callousness with which it is exercised. Jarrell describes the drama of warfare with the imagery of abortion and illustrates the state's pitiless insistence for murder. Now this is where I'm supposed to be expounding my own moral argument, nothing could be further from the truth. I don't believe there's a any practical alternative to either of those practices but please don't lie to me any more. Don't tell me you're doing for the love of humanity, you're doing it for self interest. You're launching missiles into crowded markets or flushing children down the bog because it's better for you. You're not doing it for democracy or a woman's right to choose.

Dale Farm

Been listening to the 5-Live coverage of the drama unfolding in Essex this morning and reflecting on the positions commentators have taken up on this controversy:

1. Oppressed minority and abusive authority
2. Wicked pikeys who're getting what they deserve

It's a bit of a surprise to find that the 5-Live coverage wasn't really coloured overtly by one of those two positions, there seemed to be a genuine spirit of inquiry, at least the reports I listened to. It seems the BBC hasn't totally been given over totally to its intrinsic political bias but lets withhold judgment on that one for the time being. I'm not going to express any opinions on what I think of the rights or wrongs of the evictions because I don't really have any. With controversies such this the public is almost always left in the dark because the media is preoccupied with promoting their view with little regard to the facts. Leaving the rest of us in the dark as to the circumstances leading to the conflict, such is the case here. Sure I can make assumptions based on stereotypes and that is indeed what a lot of people do. The reticence displayed by the male residents when it comes to appearing on camera as led folk to draw negative conclusions about the residents at the site.

There's assumptions being made about the role of authority too, there's a suspicion of connivance and various accusations being leveled at the local authority. Racism, is the word I've held being leveled, somewhat incongruous seeing as there is no racial distinction between the two sides. Such accusations are culturally derived invocations, magic words, spells recited to conjure sympathy. They're a reflection of the people using them, whom in the this case are the protesters who've attracted themselves to this issue. Rent a mob, is what The Daily Mail would call 'em justified in this circumstance because they're there for the aggro and publicity rather than any conviction in the cause. There you go, I've made an an assumption based upon a stereotype rather than evidence.

The practical consequences of the eviction, once it's completed would seem to represent a problem. Just where are the pikeys going to go once they've been turned out?  I did hear an official fielding questions from the press and when he was asked that he said something like:

"We've informed them of the location of unoccupied legal sites..."

"We don't want to go to Liverpool" was the response he quoted. Well I don't blame 'em, If the solution to problem of relocation is to move people hundreds of miles from their present location away from any work, jobs they might have.

Novel ideas on food production

You know The Third World, where the hungry people live. Well I've just read an article by a political activist saying we should stop producing a lot of our own food and import it from those places. They're really serious about this depopulation malarkey aren't they?

Where did the Plymouth Brethren go?

Back in the day when my town had a reasonably broad retail base there was an artist materials and drawing supply shop. I used to buy my pens and Inks there, it was one of the few locations you could buy Higgens drawing ink.  Our government has deliberately extinguished smaller retail enterprises through such means as the Universal Business Rate in order to extract greater revenue from such concerns as betting shops, coffee house franchises and mobile phone shops because such concerns have much higher margins than traditional retail. One effect of this would seem to be the virtual disappearance of the local Plymouth Brethren population, that used to be a visible presence in my locale. Plymouth Brethren being beyond the pale of the normal standards of conformity would like many such groups often have their own businesses, the art supply shop being one such example. I wonder where they've gone?

The two reply rule.

I've got a set of informal rules that I use web forums and such:

1. Only post two replies or comments on any thread
2. Never explain the same thing twice, i.e. don't expand or walk through your previous post, it's much better just to post something like, "Are you thick?"
3. Let the other guy have the last word.

Never the less I do occasionally break those rules, I think I've done it probably twice in the last year. Once on the subject of Special Relativity, which doesn't count really because I was being inquisitive rather than expounding my own opinion. The other occasion concerned the perennial pimple on the arse of Youtube i.e. the atheist v. god botherer slug-fest.

I remember my first encounter with Pat Condell's Youtube channel, I was left scratching my head and my jaw on the floor. It was a video proffering the idea of banning people from wearing burkas. I rather naivly posted something like, "Just let folk wear what they want, within reason, don't let 'em into banks or anything stupid like that." It took me a little while to adjust my input filter to Pat's rather rhetorical style but once I started to listen to him I began to realize that even though I like to consider myself inured to the tar brush of political correctness, even I had been projecting preconceptions upon him. I began to find him interesting even if there's very little common ground between us and appreciate his PC free oasis. So began my initiation to the world of YT's religious debate.

It wasn't long after I'd subscribed to him that I started to get, strange looking recommended for you videos, friend invites and video referrals on the subject. Naively again, I entered into the debate but quickly found my facetious manner to be not just unappreciated but saw it provoke some rather bizarre hostility. Being English, it was something of a culture shock to find the issue so contentious, the only occasion I'd encountered such fervor on the subject was when an acquaintance of mine started to argue over my religious affiliation. He kept telling me I was an atheist, an assertion to which I countered in a rather bemused fashion with the fact that I'm a Roman Catholic.

So a month or so ago I encounter this video where a guy is debunking some god botherer, Ray Comfort, I think but don't take my word for that, the subject of contention being Noah's Ark. So Ray or whoever come up with some specious rationalization as proof of the diluvian catastrophe and this guy is countering it with science and maths, well just basic arithmetic actually. Now most people here have gathered enough congnitive function by the time they're about eight years old to work out the veracity of the account of Noah, his Ark and the Flood, is questionable. So when I saw the nodding dog comments on this guy's video I kinda couldn't resist the urge to say something like, "Arguing about the flood is stupid you know." The point I was trying to communicate being that everyone with a full set of marbles can work out every thing in this guy's video for themselves and the only reason not to do so is as either an act of faith or some kind of self delusion. It's impossible to argue against such rationally because they have no rational foundation. What came next I have to admit I was unprepared for, he employed two devices that should be anathema to any self respecting atheist, the Matyr Defence and an appeal to faith.

I should quote his Matyr Defence but I can't be bothered looking it up at the moment so I'm going to paraphrase, it went something like this, "I refused to be intimidated into silence..." yeah you get the idea. It was his appeal to faith that really raised my hackles though, he wrote something like, "If I can can just convince a single person of the truth..." I cannot convey the feelings of contempt that aroused when I read his reply. "There is no continuity between intention and consequence" I replied, trying to convey my sense of irony at the fact that he, an atheist was employing his faith in benign intent would ensure a positive outcome. That's an act of prayer in my estimation.

Dancing to the key of pain

I've got my second physiotherapy session today, the first was a fortnight ago. Folk in other countries, even other parts of this country have expressed surprise at the length of the gap between sessions. It doesn't surprise me of course because I now that NHS resources are allocated according to regional priority. My location takes a double hit, it's both rural and a safe political constituency so the per capita funding here is between a 1/3 and 1/2 of that of the most favoured locations. According to my appointment card they're booking me in with the same therapist, which will be nice, she's a rather attractive ging, well she was a redhead, the flame of youth has dulled upon her brow. I came away from the last session with a somewhat elevated mood, conversation with an intelligent woman is a rather rare occurrence for me and it was a welcome if brief interlude even though the conversation was rather limited in scope. The scope of our discourse did broaden somewhat though, they ask you about your personal life, nothing too deep, hobbies, job, etcetera. I told her I enjoy fishing and keep a few hens, coincidentally she also has a few birds, bantams, so we exchanged thoughts on this topic for a few moments. Oh well I'd better shave 'n' stuff, the appointment is in just over an hours time.

Class Barriers.

The idea of structured social barriers is often portrayed as anachronistic, something that is generally thought to have petered out a few decades ago. I tend to disagree with that strain of opinion. I see examples of a class based social divide that is alive and well in my own particular cultural context. I will say though that in my experience class barriers are not the firm unmovable obstacles depicted in Victorian period dramas or DH lawrence novels. Rather they're about attitudes, usually attitudes of superiority but occasionally the assumption of inferiority is also present. An example of the former would be the glorious occasion of our former Prime Minister Mr. Gordon Brown's encounter with the, "Bigoted Woman".  Brown's exclamation, prefaced with the glottal hiss that so exquisitely conveyed his contempt for Gillian Duffy will forever remain the prime example of the superior attitude. 

The reason I'm mulling over this topic this moment is because I've just had an encounter with a girl while queuing in Tesco for some provisions for the evening, well I say encounter what I actually mean is I saw this hot chick in the queue. She wasn't the only attractive young lady there but her demeanor marked her out. It prompted me to make a set of assumptions about the girl, Intelligent, efficient, tidy, well armored in social grace, etcetera, to put it simply classy is the word I'd use. In the past when I'd encounter girls like this one of two things would occur, I'd discover that she was intensely materialistic interested only in status and cash. The second contingency would be that she or someone would introduce me to her man, "He's a prince whose African tribe can trace their lineage to Ramasese!" I'd be told. I might then point out that Egypt is in north Africa, that legend states Ramasese was ginger which would most likely make him a Berber or Riff and that our friend Duan here is probably from Streatham. None of which would make any significant impact upon the situation and I'd be left to infer in some manner that the chick in question considered me to be, not within the bounds of her social strata.

I will now convey to you the circumstances under which the only exception to that mentioned above occurred. After some thought I've decided to use the alias Terry for the lady in question. Terry was my immediate superior at work, she possessed all those attributes I've associated with the adjective, classy with the added benefit of a sense of humour and she was probably one of the most attractive women I've known. Needless to say I was quite attracted towards her but while in those days I was quite extrovert and frequently flirted and joked with women at work, with Terry I was always business like and sober. I always ate at my desk but one day a group of girls, Terry among them, invited me to the canteen. I declined at first but after a bit of cajoling I relented and accompanied them. I should have realized something was up but at the time I had no idea I was being set up for an ambush. See they'd invited me there at Terry's behest to confront me over my coolness towards Terry, they wanted me out of the office to avoid eavesdropping from management I suppose. I was sat opposite Terry at a refectory table and little uncomfortable with the situation trying hard to maintain my aloofness with Terry when one of the girls asked abruptly, "Why are you so mean to Terry?".

This was the cue for the interrogation to begin "Yeah you're always mean to me" Terry chipped in.

Taken aback I retorted the best I could, "I'm not mean to you, I'm just being polite," this made no impression and I was quickly informed that the difference in my demenour towards to Terry had caused some consternation.

"You're always laughing and joking with the other girls but your so aloof with me," said Terry.

"Ah, you noticed?" I replied, to which all those gathered at the table replied in the affirmative. By the way there was one other man at the table, Eric, a dull mousy Scot who'd joined the table when he entered the canteen.

"Do you not like me for some reason, have I offended you in some way?" asked Terry.

"No it's not that, I'm not offended and I quite like you".

"Well?" the inquisition continued.

"Oh hell, do you really want me to tell you?" the conversation continued in this vein for a few more sentences until I finally resigned myself to the minor revelation that was about to ensue. "It's nothing important or anything you've done, it's me, in fact you'll probably think it's quite funny and laugh".

I drew a deep breath and continued, "You probably didn't notice this but on your first day here you caught the bus from the train station to work. I was waiting at the stop reading the paper when you turned up. Of course I didn't know who you were but when I first saw you I thought to myself, why aren't there any women like that in my life?" This statement was accompanied by a collective clatter of dropped cutlery and gaping jaws at the table. 

I continued, "I couldn't take my eyes off you on the bus, I watched you all the way to the stop. I couldn't believe it when you walked in to the building, I though to myself I've got to find where works in the building. Then you turn into the office and you're introduced to me as my new boss. I told myself at that moment that I wouldn't do anything that might jeopardize the chances of me having sex with you. That meant not flirting or becoming too familiar with you and to maintain some aloofness while still being pleasant." Those dangling jaws at the table had lowered themselves to the floor by now Terry was the first to gain her composure, then she started to laugh. "See, I told you it was funny," I said.

"So, you think you're going to have sex with me?" she asked her feigned indignance betrayed by the laughter she was trying to stifle.

"Er, I think it's unlikely," I replied...

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