New York Times: scandal or so what?
I found the BBC's dry reporting of Jayson Blair's error- and deception-ridden reporting for the New York Times came in for some criticism on Haddock. I agree. When a journalist in a respected national paper goes so badly off the rails and isn't noticed doing so, people should make a fuss. Read the following passage, from the start of the paper's sado-masochistic 12,000-word article:
A staff reporter for The New York Times committed frequent acts of journalistic fraud while covering significant news events in recent months, an investigation by Times journalists has found. The widespread fabrication and plagiarism represent a profound betrayal of trust and a low point in the 152-year history of the newspaper.
The reporter, Jayson Blair, 27, misled readers and Times colleagues with dispatches that purported to be from Maryland, Texas and other states, when often he was far away, in New York. He fabricated comments. He concocted scenes. He lifted material from other newspapers and wire services. He selected details from photographs to create the impression he had been somewhere or seen someone, when he had not.
And he used these techniques to write falsely about emotionally charged moments in recent history, from the deadly sniper attacks in suburban Washington to the anguish of families grieving for loved ones killed in Iraq.
In an inquiry focused on correcting the record and explaining how such fraud could have been sustained within the ranks of The Times, the Times journalists have so far uncovered new problems in at least 36 of the 73 articles Mr. Blair wrote since he started getting national reporting assignments late last October. In the final months the audacity of the deceptions grew by the week, suggesting the work of a troubled young man veering toward professional self-destruction.
Mr. Blair, who has resigned from the paper, was a reporter at The Times for nearly four years, and he was prolific. Spot checks of the more than 600 articles he wrote before October have found other apparent fabrications, and that inquiry continues. The Times is asking readers to report any additional falsehoods in Mr. Blair's work; the e-mail address is retrace@nytimes.com.
Every newspaper, like every bank and every police department, trusts its employees to uphold central principles, and the inquiry found that Mr. Blair repeatedly violated the cardinal tenet of journalism, which is simply truth. His tools of deceit were a cellphone and a laptop computer ? which allowed him to blur his true whereabouts ? as well as round-the-clock access to databases of news articles from which he stole.
The Times inquiry also establishes that various editors and reporters expressed misgivings about Mr. Blair's reporting skills, maturity and behavior during his five-year journey from raw intern to reporter on national news events. Their warnings centered mostly on the errors in his articles.
His mistakes became so routine, his behavior so unprofessional, that by April 2002, Jonathan Landman, the metropolitan editor, dashed off a two-sentence e-mail message to newsroom administrators that read: "We have to stop Jayson from writing for the Times. Right now."
After taking a leave for personal problems and being sternly warned, both orally and in writing, that his job was in peril, Mr. Blair improved his performance. By last October, the newspaper's top two editors ? who said they believed that Mr. Blair had turned his life and work around ? had guided him to the understaffed national desk, where he was assigned to help cover the Washington sniper case.
By the end of that month, public officials and colleagues were beginning to challenge his reporting. By November, the investigation has found, he was fabricating quotations and scenes, undetected. By March, he was lying in his articles and to his editors about being at a court hearing in Virginia, in a police chief's home in Maryland and in front of a soldier's home in West Virginia. By the end of April another newspaper was raising questions about plagiarism. And by the first of May, his career at The Times was over.
What people in said newspaper shouldn't do, in my opinion, is treat every single journalist in the place as guilty until proven innocent, nor should it suspect Pultizer prize-winning writers for making only a very few mistakes - mistakes which are matched or exceeded by some journalists in the same stable. The editors have resigned - what is now needed is not an internal pogrom but changes of rules and procedures to make sure what Blair did - to such an exceptional extent - cannot happen again. The integrity of journalism and the public interest demand it.
The New York Times has been stabbed and seemingly can't stop jerking and thrashing in pain. Come *on*! Nasty things happen in papers all the time. The knife's been pulled out of your flesh anyway. Get over it, stop thrashing, focus - and get back to work, you resource-drenched, wellpaid, adulated sons of bitches. ;o)
Friday, June 06, 2003
Thursday, June 05, 2003
Compliments
I just got a message from someone on a website which has a profile and picture of my good self on it. The picture's the same as the one linked from this site's front page. He said "You are one ugly bloke!" and then blocked me from replying. What I was going to reply was "You have no picture on your profile, but your attitude makes you uglier than you think I am".
Wanker!
I just got a message from someone on a website which has a profile and picture of my good self on it. The picture's the same as the one linked from this site's front page. He said "You are one ugly bloke!" and then blocked me from replying. What I was going to reply was "You have no picture on your profile, but your attitude makes you uglier than you think I am".
Wanker!
Saturday, May 31, 2003
Doucaines, symphonies, crumhorns, bombardes...
...they all combined together to make a new medieval music. Except this new medieval music took place not in the 1470s but the 1970s. But towards the end of that decade people got sick of the bells-and-whistles treatment, in which craftsmen had suddenly started to make 'medieval' instruments by the truckload. Why? Because so much of it was guesswork. Nobody *knew* for sure what the things really had sounded like - or how the music was meant to be sung. Or even if it *was* meant to be sung, and not played - or played and not sung.
So that clever chap James Fenton, writing in the Guardian's Review, comes up with another good article, and the book he mentions at the start of it can be bought here.
...they all combined together to make a new medieval music. Except this new medieval music took place not in the 1470s but the 1970s. But towards the end of that decade people got sick of the bells-and-whistles treatment, in which craftsmen had suddenly started to make 'medieval' instruments by the truckload. Why? Because so much of it was guesswork. Nobody *knew* for sure what the things really had sounded like - or how the music was meant to be sung. Or even if it *was* meant to be sung, and not played - or played and not sung.
So that clever chap James Fenton, writing in the Guardian's Review, comes up with another good article, and the book he mentions at the start of it can be bought here.
Friday, May 16, 2003
Sunday, May 11, 2003
Greedy bugger?
Some of you might've noticed the paypal button which has recently appeared. This is because I'm poor! I'm not asking anyone in particular to give me any amount of money, for any reason - but if anyone ever feels like bunging a virtual tenner into my bank account, it'd make a massive percentage difference to my balance, and I'd therefore be very grateful. Support the arts, support struggling poets... or just support me. :oD If you do - thanks! If you don't - well, I'll never know you saw the thing in the first place, will I? ;o)
Some of you might've noticed the paypal button which has recently appeared. This is because I'm poor! I'm not asking anyone in particular to give me any amount of money, for any reason - but if anyone ever feels like bunging a virtual tenner into my bank account, it'd make a massive percentage difference to my balance, and I'd therefore be very grateful. Support the arts, support struggling poets... or just support me. :oD If you do - thanks! If you don't - well, I'll never know you saw the thing in the first place, will I? ;o)
Saturday, May 10, 2003
Music matters - and Radio 3 delivers
Before we get going - does anyone here listen to BBC Radio 3? How long have you been a listener? And if you're not - why not? What do you imagine it to be like?
It is in radio talks that we can hear musical examples, without having to be able to read music. And if we can hear musical examples, a reviewer can make real, telling comparisons in matters of performance.
On radio we can listen to musical analysis of a complex orchestral work, and the BBC, using its orchestras, is able to offer, not extracts from existing recordings but specially recorded examples, telling us what the violins are doing at a given moment, and how that relates to what is going on in the woodwind section.
Nothing a newspaper or a weekly magazine can do can come anywhere near this. And yet one always yearns to find a good piece of music criticism - something more than the conventional deployment of boo/hoorah-words. If, as MacMillan wants, we ought to be able to talk intelligently about classical music, then composers and musicians would seem to be the people to teach us.
--From James Fenton's excellent Guardian article in today's Review.
Before we get going - does anyone here listen to BBC Radio 3? How long have you been a listener? And if you're not - why not? What do you imagine it to be like?
It is in radio talks that we can hear musical examples, without having to be able to read music. And if we can hear musical examples, a reviewer can make real, telling comparisons in matters of performance.
On radio we can listen to musical analysis of a complex orchestral work, and the BBC, using its orchestras, is able to offer, not extracts from existing recordings but specially recorded examples, telling us what the violins are doing at a given moment, and how that relates to what is going on in the woodwind section.
Nothing a newspaper or a weekly magazine can do can come anywhere near this. And yet one always yearns to find a good piece of music criticism - something more than the conventional deployment of boo/hoorah-words. If, as MacMillan wants, we ought to be able to talk intelligently about classical music, then composers and musicians would seem to be the people to teach us.
--From James Fenton's excellent Guardian article in today's Review.
Tuesday, May 06, 2003
Alan Maxwell
A friend of mine, who I met during my final year of university in Aberdeen, died in the last couple of days.
I first met Alan on a sunny afternoon in 1999. He was a guy who had approached the befriending service we'd set up in the LGB society in Aberdeen only at the start of that year, and I'd arranged to be the person from the society who was to meet him. I was therefore the first person he came out to. He stepped half-warily into my flat, wearing the same friendly smile he always wore, giving me a firm handshake and sitting down with someone he didn't know, about to say a lot of things which had been mulling around his head - for the first time.
During the next few months, Alan became more self-confident, and his easy conversation with total strangers deepened into frendship with many of them. He shared a bond with my flatmate Ross, grew close to my friend Andy for a time, and became lasting friends with Patrick and Anita, friends the goodness of which nobody could ever expect. The closeness deepened, and Alan's acceptance grew strong and, characteristically for him, quiet and assured.
When we graduated in 2000, I lost contact with Alan. He had his first relationship during the last year, something which I'm sure would have brought the world to his door in a kaleidoscope of colour and variety which he'd know he'd never seen before. Maybe it was to much for him. I don't know. But a few days ago, Alan quietly left his house in Edinburgh, drove his jeep out into the countryside, and died, faithful to the end to a nature which urged him not to rock the boat with anyone.
I wish he'd stood up and wavered. I will miss him.
Birdsong
'Where am I?' Consulting the Modern School Atlas
You underline Dalkey in Ireland, in Scotland Barrhead.
'What day is it?' Outside the home, house-sparrows
With precision tweetle and wheep under the eaves.
Although you forget their names, you hear the birds
In your own accent, the dawn chitter, evening chirl,
The woodpigeon's rooketty-coo and curdoo. 'Who
Am I? Where am I?' is what a bird might sing.
*
Sometimes the quilts were white for weddings, the design
Made up of stitches and the shadows cast by stitches.
And the quilts for funerals? How do you sew the night?
- Michael Longley
A friend of mine, who I met during my final year of university in Aberdeen, died in the last couple of days.
I first met Alan on a sunny afternoon in 1999. He was a guy who had approached the befriending service we'd set up in the LGB society in Aberdeen only at the start of that year, and I'd arranged to be the person from the society who was to meet him. I was therefore the first person he came out to. He stepped half-warily into my flat, wearing the same friendly smile he always wore, giving me a firm handshake and sitting down with someone he didn't know, about to say a lot of things which had been mulling around his head - for the first time.
During the next few months, Alan became more self-confident, and his easy conversation with total strangers deepened into frendship with many of them. He shared a bond with my flatmate Ross, grew close to my friend Andy for a time, and became lasting friends with Patrick and Anita, friends the goodness of which nobody could ever expect. The closeness deepened, and Alan's acceptance grew strong and, characteristically for him, quiet and assured.
When we graduated in 2000, I lost contact with Alan. He had his first relationship during the last year, something which I'm sure would have brought the world to his door in a kaleidoscope of colour and variety which he'd know he'd never seen before. Maybe it was to much for him. I don't know. But a few days ago, Alan quietly left his house in Edinburgh, drove his jeep out into the countryside, and died, faithful to the end to a nature which urged him not to rock the boat with anyone.
I wish he'd stood up and wavered. I will miss him.
Birdsong
'Where am I?' Consulting the Modern School Atlas
You underline Dalkey in Ireland, in Scotland Barrhead.
'What day is it?' Outside the home, house-sparrows
With precision tweetle and wheep under the eaves.
Although you forget their names, you hear the birds
In your own accent, the dawn chitter, evening chirl,
The woodpigeon's rooketty-coo and curdoo. 'Who
Am I? Where am I?' is what a bird might sing.
*
Sometimes the quilts were white for weddings, the design
Made up of stitches and the shadows cast by stitches.
And the quilts for funerals? How do you sew the night?
- Michael Longley
Monday, May 05, 2003
Who wrote / filmed / acted this? Does it matter?
Well, even if it does, this person obviously doesn't agree with Roland Barthes who says that in any creative work whatever, the author is dead.
Well, even if it does, this person obviously doesn't agree with Roland Barthes who says that in any creative work whatever, the author is dead.
Friday, May 02, 2003
Interesting snippets for Friday
...but largely feeding on other people's embarrassment or misfortune as usual. ;o) First of all, the climber who amputated his own arm. Next, an 18-year-old American student newly entered into a Fraternity dies after being fed water through a funnel. Seventy Chinese navy submariners die in an accident. And if you don't turn your mobile phone off on that next flight, you could die too.
...but largely feeding on other people's embarrassment or misfortune as usual. ;o) First of all, the climber who amputated his own arm. Next, an 18-year-old American student newly entered into a Fraternity dies after being fed water through a funnel. Seventy Chinese navy submariners die in an accident. And if you don't turn your mobile phone off on that next flight, you could die too.
Thursday, May 01, 2003
Jamie Cullum...
...has been on my desk for a good few months. Ever since my friend Mike from OUT came to visit last year and bought me this album by his mate (which took some finding in HMV since they only stocked one disc at any one time), I've been listening to the album - Pointless Nostalgic - and shuffled the case around. Jamie Cullum, in other words, has been buried by bank statements, letters, hidden under coffee cups. What an injustice. ;o)
And an even greater injustice: some UK tabloid piece of shit decided to fly a helicopter over his parents' house the other day when his signing with Universal Records was confirmed, plastering the resulting photo with a headline which more than hinted that he was in it for the money. Now, I don't know the man personally. But if you listen to the album, and the way he plays and sings, you'll know he's always been in it for the music, you twisted bastards.
...has been on my desk for a good few months. Ever since my friend Mike from OUT came to visit last year and bought me this album by his mate (which took some finding in HMV since they only stocked one disc at any one time), I've been listening to the album - Pointless Nostalgic - and shuffled the case around. Jamie Cullum, in other words, has been buried by bank statements, letters, hidden under coffee cups. What an injustice. ;o)
And an even greater injustice: some UK tabloid piece of shit decided to fly a helicopter over his parents' house the other day when his signing with Universal Records was confirmed, plastering the resulting photo with a headline which more than hinted that he was in it for the money. Now, I don't know the man personally. But if you listen to the album, and the way he plays and sings, you'll know he's always been in it for the music, you twisted bastards.
Tuesday, April 29, 2003
Iraqi Information Minister... again! :o)
Here we have an extract from a BBC story:
US President George W Bush has admitted that he enjoyed Mr Sahhaf's briefings so much that he used to interrupt some of his meetings just to watch him.
"He's my man, he was great," he told NBC television in a recent interview. "Somebody accused us of hiring him and putting him there. He was a classic."
Here we have an extract from a BBC story:
US President George W Bush has admitted that he enjoyed Mr Sahhaf's briefings so much that he used to interrupt some of his meetings just to watch him.
"He's my man, he was great," he told NBC television in a recent interview. "Somebody accused us of hiring him and putting him there. He was a classic."
And it's not just classical music, either.
Poetry is dead. As well. Apparently. Personally, however, I think it's very much alive. Some types of music are dead to me, and have always been so. But what does that say? Nothing. Apart from something about my individual tastes.
Poetry is dead. As well. Apparently. Personally, however, I think it's very much alive. Some types of music are dead to me, and have always been so. But what does that say? Nothing. Apart from something about my individual tastes.
Sunday, April 27, 2003
Music matters
We are all too used to watching the latest silver-screen blockbusters, reading the bestsellers and having some background sound, turned down low, over dinner. But, says modern composer James MacMillan, a lack of dedicated time spent listening to the most precisely abstract artform of all - classical music - is surely leading to an intellectual and spiritual decline somewhere inside all of us.
We are all too used to watching the latest silver-screen blockbusters, reading the bestsellers and having some background sound, turned down low, over dinner. But, says modern composer James MacMillan, a lack of dedicated time spent listening to the most precisely abstract artform of all - classical music - is surely leading to an intellectual and spiritual decline somewhere inside all of us.
Friday, April 18, 2003
Pre-War Iraqi Presidential Meeting was bugged...
...and here are the results.
MUHAMMED SAEED AL-SAHAF (Information Minister): Mr President, what should I say to these stinking rats who gather with their notebooks and cameras at the ivory gates of our city, clamouring for a sign that our glorious 12-year victory over the bastard American infidels is over?
SADDAM HUSSEIN (President): Well, Muhammed, I'd be of the opinion that some rhetoric would go down a treat.
MSS: You mean I should make my words cause the livers of those ignorant bastards, crying outside our great bejewelled city, to fall out and be devoured by the fires of hell?
SH: Yeah, I think that should do it. Now, on to the next --
MSS: And what if they laugh, showing their rotting teeth, scourged by the ravages of western food, unavailed by the great wondrousness of Iraqi babyfood and toothpaste?
SH: Look, I really haven't got much time. I'd guess a bit of humour might come in handy. Get the journalists to laugh at them. Oh, and throw in some stuff like "I'm informing you" and "I can now report to you that the situation is different" - you know, power words like that.
MSS: And what of Ridley Scott, that infernal prattler of western fabricated scum? What of his film?
SH: Erm - yeah, throw a few film references in as well if you want, but I really have to be --
MSS: So saying something like "The midget Bush and that Rumsfield deserve only to be beaten with shoes by freedom loving people everywhere" and "We blocked them inside the city. Their rear is blocked" and maybe even "We are in control. They are in a state of hysteria. Losers, they think that by killing civilians and trying to distort the feelings of the people they will win. I think they will not win, those bastards" would be okay?
SH:
MSS: Hello? Anyone there?
SH:
MSS: Oh shit, he's gone already. (To journalist:) I am informing you, this snake has gone to hide in his long grass, but the people will smoke him out of his bush, and chop him up. Snakes try to find refuge in many bushes, but this man, by God --
FEYADEEN: Oi! What the fuck do you think you're saying?! By God, you are very lucky that I am not already feasting on your gizzard. GET BACK TO YOUR OFFICE AND STAY THERE UNTIL YOUR ORDERS ARRIVE!
MSS: Oops. Sorry, sorry. Got a bit carried away.
JOURNALIST (smiling): War is hell.
Inspired by the excellent website We Love The Iraqi Information Minister dot com.
...and here are the results.
MUHAMMED SAEED AL-SAHAF (Information Minister): Mr President, what should I say to these stinking rats who gather with their notebooks and cameras at the ivory gates of our city, clamouring for a sign that our glorious 12-year victory over the bastard American infidels is over?
SADDAM HUSSEIN (President): Well, Muhammed, I'd be of the opinion that some rhetoric would go down a treat.
MSS: You mean I should make my words cause the livers of those ignorant bastards, crying outside our great bejewelled city, to fall out and be devoured by the fires of hell?
SH: Yeah, I think that should do it. Now, on to the next --
MSS: And what if they laugh, showing their rotting teeth, scourged by the ravages of western food, unavailed by the great wondrousness of Iraqi babyfood and toothpaste?
SH: Look, I really haven't got much time. I'd guess a bit of humour might come in handy. Get the journalists to laugh at them. Oh, and throw in some stuff like "I'm informing you" and "I can now report to you that the situation is different" - you know, power words like that.
MSS: And what of Ridley Scott, that infernal prattler of western fabricated scum? What of his film?
SH: Erm - yeah, throw a few film references in as well if you want, but I really have to be --
MSS: So saying something like "The midget Bush and that Rumsfield deserve only to be beaten with shoes by freedom loving people everywhere" and "We blocked them inside the city. Their rear is blocked" and maybe even "We are in control. They are in a state of hysteria. Losers, they think that by killing civilians and trying to distort the feelings of the people they will win. I think they will not win, those bastards" would be okay?
SH:
MSS: Hello? Anyone there?
SH:
MSS: Oh shit, he's gone already. (To journalist:) I am informing you, this snake has gone to hide in his long grass, but the people will smoke him out of his bush, and chop him up. Snakes try to find refuge in many bushes, but this man, by God --
FEYADEEN: Oi! What the fuck do you think you're saying?! By God, you are very lucky that I am not already feasting on your gizzard. GET BACK TO YOUR OFFICE AND STAY THERE UNTIL YOUR ORDERS ARRIVE!
MSS: Oops. Sorry, sorry. Got a bit carried away.
JOURNALIST (smiling): War is hell.
Inspired by the excellent website We Love The Iraqi Information Minister dot com.
Thursday, April 10, 2003
Northern Irish Humour
"The Journal of Educational and Behavioral Statistics is sponsored by both the American Statistical Association and the American Educational Research Association... The first volume of JEBS was published in 1976... In the mid-'nineties, the journal's name was changed from the Journal of Educational Statistics or JES to its current name. There are various reasons for the change in name and policy. In the first place, the name JEBS is more representative of the type of papers that JES actually published... We hope that you will enjoy the various aspects of JEBS."
I swear, it's all true.
Jebs Rule!
For those of you who aren't quite sure what I'm talking about, the acronym actually exists as a word in Northern Ireland, and means, well, those two things you usually find on the front of ladies. :oD
"The Journal of Educational and Behavioral Statistics is sponsored by both the American Statistical Association and the American Educational Research Association... The first volume of JEBS was published in 1976... In the mid-'nineties, the journal's name was changed from the Journal of Educational Statistics or JES to its current name. There are various reasons for the change in name and policy. In the first place, the name JEBS is more representative of the type of papers that JES actually published... We hope that you will enjoy the various aspects of JEBS."
I swear, it's all true.
Jebs Rule!
For those of you who aren't quite sure what I'm talking about, the acronym actually exists as a word in Northern Ireland, and means, well, those two things you usually find on the front of ladies. :oD
Friday, April 04, 2003
Friday goodness
A site which I'm not sure whether I approve of or really really disapprove of because of its title: PoemRanker. Everything in me just goes "Ewwww!" when I read that title, but the site seems good from a cursory glance. Of course you need *yet another* way to see loads of blogs by only having to look at one, and here it is - Random Blog Quotes. Finally, for those times you're sick of html and want real paper, BookFilter is something to peruse for 30 seconds before you go to the local Books etc. or Borders. Or Waterstone's. Or Ottakar's.
A site which I'm not sure whether I approve of or really really disapprove of because of its title: PoemRanker. Everything in me just goes "Ewwww!" when I read that title, but the site seems good from a cursory glance. Of course you need *yet another* way to see loads of blogs by only having to look at one, and here it is - Random Blog Quotes. Finally, for those times you're sick of html and want real paper, BookFilter is something to peruse for 30 seconds before you go to the local Books etc. or Borders. Or Waterstone's. Or Ottakar's.
Have well-placed friends, will make money
Now, I'm all against big media moguls and huge corporations of whatever kind. Their money-madness drives me, well, mad. But when I see that one guy, working alone, is the biggest fastest news-source on the web and makes a bigger profit (although not necessarily more money) than his corporate rivals, it's hard not to leap from my chair and wave my hands in the air and yell happily. This article, found on LinkMachineGo, tells us about the man: Matt Drudge. Although his page is little more than a collection of links, it's *all* shit-hot. That's a highly precise news term, if you didn't know already.
Now, I'm all against big media moguls and huge corporations of whatever kind. Their money-madness drives me, well, mad. But when I see that one guy, working alone, is the biggest fastest news-source on the web and makes a bigger profit (although not necessarily more money) than his corporate rivals, it's hard not to leap from my chair and wave my hands in the air and yell happily. This article, found on LinkMachineGo, tells us about the man: Matt Drudge. Although his page is little more than a collection of links, it's *all* shit-hot. That's a highly precise news term, if you didn't know already.
Thursday, April 03, 2003
Lazy afternoon
It's grey in Belfast, the house is quiet, and I've been looking at books all the time. Did think of starting the day with some Bottled Iraq but decided against it. Every time I watch the reports, I just get irritated by this strategy of embedding journalists. A journalist in Iraq who has just been thrown out by the military for not being embedded regularly posts to a website I'm a member of. He's not happy about it. Neither am I. And to think that a major said, at the start of March, "It'll be tea and medals in Baghdad in a few days' time".
Anyway. The books I have been reading today are a blast from the past. As a kid I was always interested by historical things. It started with ancient Egyptian Books of the Dead - papyri which hung in the tombs, telling the story of how the dead man travels to the afterlife - and then a few years later I discovered illuminated manuscripts. By that time, I'd started getting into castles in a big way, and during a few summer holidays visited a lot of Welsh castles. They are truly military innovations, and architectural masterpieces. The military bases of the 14th and 15th centuries. But the manuscripts are truly amazing. Of course they're books, so you might think "Okay, they're superbly decorated books". That's okay as far as it goes.
But: they didn't have printing presses. They had to make the ink. There were different colours of ink. Most had to be made from precious stones and minerals, shipped at great expense in the case of the more luxurious books. The paint had to be made in the same way. Some of the illustrations and decorations are so tiny that it's hard to comprehend how they did it without modern magnifying-lenses. They had to write the text themselves. It had to be decorative. Try that yourself - it's not easy! They didn't have paper either - illuminated manuscripts are nearly all written onto vellum - a word for lamb or pig skin cured, stretched, scraped, treated and dried. A whole large book could take the skins of a whole herd of sheep, for example.
Examples: the Tres Riches Heures du Duc de Berry - very famous among those in the 'manuscripts loop'. (A 'book of hours' is a prayerbook - usually medieval.) There are others, where the artists were less skilled and the labour was cheaper. Often, such prayerbooks were the most valuable single item most people ever owned. You can buy books on the subject, like those I was reading.
It's grey in Belfast, the house is quiet, and I've been looking at books all the time. Did think of starting the day with some Bottled Iraq but decided against it. Every time I watch the reports, I just get irritated by this strategy of embedding journalists. A journalist in Iraq who has just been thrown out by the military for not being embedded regularly posts to a website I'm a member of. He's not happy about it. Neither am I. And to think that a major said, at the start of March, "It'll be tea and medals in Baghdad in a few days' time".
Anyway. The books I have been reading today are a blast from the past. As a kid I was always interested by historical things. It started with ancient Egyptian Books of the Dead - papyri which hung in the tombs, telling the story of how the dead man travels to the afterlife - and then a few years later I discovered illuminated manuscripts. By that time, I'd started getting into castles in a big way, and during a few summer holidays visited a lot of Welsh castles. They are truly military innovations, and architectural masterpieces. The military bases of the 14th and 15th centuries. But the manuscripts are truly amazing. Of course they're books, so you might think "Okay, they're superbly decorated books". That's okay as far as it goes.
But: they didn't have printing presses. They had to make the ink. There were different colours of ink. Most had to be made from precious stones and minerals, shipped at great expense in the case of the more luxurious books. The paint had to be made in the same way. Some of the illustrations and decorations are so tiny that it's hard to comprehend how they did it without modern magnifying-lenses. They had to write the text themselves. It had to be decorative. Try that yourself - it's not easy! They didn't have paper either - illuminated manuscripts are nearly all written onto vellum - a word for lamb or pig skin cured, stretched, scraped, treated and dried. A whole large book could take the skins of a whole herd of sheep, for example.
Examples: the Tres Riches Heures du Duc de Berry - very famous among those in the 'manuscripts loop'. (A 'book of hours' is a prayerbook - usually medieval.) There are others, where the artists were less skilled and the labour was cheaper. Often, such prayerbooks were the most valuable single item most people ever owned. You can buy books on the subject, like those I was reading.
Monday, March 31, 2003
Changes, changes... and the same old shit
The changes are coming inside this very house in the suburbs of Belfast - we're getting broadband internet within the next few days, when a wireless router and other stuff arrives. So if I'm silent for a long time, that'll be because I'm sitting in front of one or other of the computers in this house and swearing madly / laughing hysterically / crying pathetically - take your pick - with frustration, trying to set it all up with no prior knowledge of WTF is meant to be done!
In other news... there's no news. Well, there's a bit. The Latest War Stuff which caught my eye: a Time article, an Iraqi hospital perhaps used for torture of missing US soldiers, and Madonna brilliantly spoofing George Bush. And the mystery flu-like epidemic: may spread easier than first thought.
What with mes amis Mark and Tara due to arrive back from Australia soon, via Singapore, I'm a little worried...
The changes are coming inside this very house in the suburbs of Belfast - we're getting broadband internet within the next few days, when a wireless router and other stuff arrives. So if I'm silent for a long time, that'll be because I'm sitting in front of one or other of the computers in this house and swearing madly / laughing hysterically / crying pathetically - take your pick - with frustration, trying to set it all up with no prior knowledge of WTF is meant to be done!
In other news... there's no news. Well, there's a bit. The Latest War Stuff which caught my eye: a Time article, an Iraqi hospital perhaps used for torture of missing US soldiers, and Madonna brilliantly spoofing George Bush. And the mystery flu-like epidemic: may spread easier than first thought.
What with mes amis Mark and Tara due to arrive back from Australia soon, via Singapore, I'm a little worried...
Saturday, March 29, 2003
No, this is not another war posting
In fact, it's a posting about a tubby little Swede who likes to make marmalade, a weaselly little bastard who likes to keep very quiet indeed, and 24-hour news services.
In fact, it's a posting about a tubby little Swede who likes to make marmalade, a weaselly little bastard who likes to keep very quiet indeed, and 24-hour news services.
Monday, March 24, 2003
The focus has finally narrowed
In war, sooner or later, the cameras stop concentrating on the strategy. They pan away from the issues, and turn their lenses on the smallest (and arguably most important) issues. And in war, those issues are about individuals or groups - about people. In war, those people are usually soldiers.
In the past 24 hours, a US 101st Airborne soldier has been detained for rolling grenades into the tents of his superiors as they slept, killing one and injuring 15. Apparently, there were a few explosions in the night, people in neighbouring tents got hit by shrapnel, and soldiers scrambled to their emergency positions as others conducted a search of the camp. The perpetrator was quickly found.
In the past 24 hours, American soldiers have been captured by the Iraqis, paraded in front of TV cameras in violation of the Geneva Conventions, and as the TV networks worry about whether or not to show the footage, they also have to wrestle harder over whether to show the grisly footage of other, dead, US soldiers.
In the past 24 hours, a helicopter has come down inside Iraq, its crew missing and 2 helmets left at the scene.
In the past 24 hours, US troops have captured a chemical plant. In the past 24 hours, two helicopters collided in the Gulf, killing all soldiers and crew, and a Patriot missile destroyed a jet and killed both pilots in a friendly fire incident.
In 'the past 24 hours', in other words, a lot happens to individual people inside a war zone. It's war; that's what happens. No war can be absolutely clinical; when weapons are involved, no-one can be absolutely safe.
I guarantee that if the war was not taking place, this story would be front-page news all over the world.
In war, sooner or later, the cameras stop concentrating on the strategy. They pan away from the issues, and turn their lenses on the smallest (and arguably most important) issues. And in war, those issues are about individuals or groups - about people. In war, those people are usually soldiers.
In the past 24 hours, a US 101st Airborne soldier has been detained for rolling grenades into the tents of his superiors as they slept, killing one and injuring 15. Apparently, there were a few explosions in the night, people in neighbouring tents got hit by shrapnel, and soldiers scrambled to their emergency positions as others conducted a search of the camp. The perpetrator was quickly found.
In the past 24 hours, American soldiers have been captured by the Iraqis, paraded in front of TV cameras in violation of the Geneva Conventions, and as the TV networks worry about whether or not to show the footage, they also have to wrestle harder over whether to show the grisly footage of other, dead, US soldiers.
In the past 24 hours, a helicopter has come down inside Iraq, its crew missing and 2 helmets left at the scene.
In the past 24 hours, US troops have captured a chemical plant. In the past 24 hours, two helicopters collided in the Gulf, killing all soldiers and crew, and a Patriot missile destroyed a jet and killed both pilots in a friendly fire incident.
In 'the past 24 hours', in other words, a lot happens to individual people inside a war zone. It's war; that's what happens. No war can be absolutely clinical; when weapons are involved, no-one can be absolutely safe.
I guarantee that if the war was not taking place, this story would be front-page news all over the world.
Sunday, March 23, 2003
America, America... *sigh*
America is hated by some, disliked by others, and sighed at by the rest of us. Henry Porter explains why, while Robert Byrd echoes this, but from the inside.
But first thing in the morning, coffee is more important than anything. Nice to see that Nigel Slater and I agree on yet another point. And apparently, I'm in line for a new, exciting and independent world. What a pile of shit.
America is hated by some, disliked by others, and sighed at by the rest of us. Henry Porter explains why, while Robert Byrd echoes this, but from the inside.
But first thing in the morning, coffee is more important than anything. Nice to see that Nigel Slater and I agree on yet another point. And apparently, I'm in line for a new, exciting and independent world. What a pile of shit.
Friday, March 21, 2003
Soul of the Web
Does your site have soul? Whether you think so or not, take a look at this new site, which aims to explore the hidden riches of the web, the places where you usually never go, the places which truly have soul over style, substance over glitter.
Does your site have soul? Whether you think so or not, take a look at this new site, which aims to explore the hidden riches of the web, the places where you usually never go, the places which truly have soul over style, substance over glitter.
Saddam may be injured...
...or it may just be one of the fake Saddams who they carried away on a stretcher, complete with oxygen mask, from the Baghdad compound bombed last night. Either way, the assault goes on, with Hussein's elder son reported to be killed. Iraqi troops have been seen from the air preparing chemical munitions as the allied troops push far into the southern reaches, tearing down portraits of Saddam in Safwan.
Iraqis are, however, wary of how to take it all. So am I. Where is the massive aerial assault so much trumpeted by Rumsfeld? If a major plan like that can be abandoned, what about others? Of course there are logistical considerations. Maybe they don't want to bomb the crap out of Baghdad if Saddam is already as good as finished - but maybe Saddam isn't finished at all.
In the wake of all this, there have been protests around the UK and other countries today, with further major action scheduled for tomorrow. People are not happy, and the Guardian's Polly Toynbee points out that Blair has just lost whatever currency he possessed within the EU. As if that wasn't bad enough, Tom Hanks won't turn up for the Oscars and Nicole Kidman is a doubtful appearance...
...or it may just be one of the fake Saddams who they carried away on a stretcher, complete with oxygen mask, from the Baghdad compound bombed last night. Either way, the assault goes on, with Hussein's elder son reported to be killed. Iraqi troops have been seen from the air preparing chemical munitions as the allied troops push far into the southern reaches, tearing down portraits of Saddam in Safwan.
Iraqis are, however, wary of how to take it all. So am I. Where is the massive aerial assault so much trumpeted by Rumsfeld? If a major plan like that can be abandoned, what about others? Of course there are logistical considerations. Maybe they don't want to bomb the crap out of Baghdad if Saddam is already as good as finished - but maybe Saddam isn't finished at all.
In the wake of all this, there have been protests around the UK and other countries today, with further major action scheduled for tomorrow. People are not happy, and the Guardian's Polly Toynbee points out that Blair has just lost whatever currency he possessed within the EU. As if that wasn't bad enough, Tom Hanks won't turn up for the Oscars and Nicole Kidman is a doubtful appearance...
Thursday, March 20, 2003
Today I weep for my country. No more is the image of America one of strong, yet benevolent peacekeeper. Around the globe, our friends mistrust us, our word is disputed, our intentions are questioned. We flaunt our superpower status with arrogance. - West Virginia Senator Robert Byrd
The American people are ready for the disarmament of Saddam Hussein. They understand what's at stake. The military is ready, the nation is ready and the cause is just. - White House spokesman Ari Fleischer
It's really too bad. What has become of the world? I'm afraid the UN system has collapsed. We have to give our earnest consideration to the problem. - Mikhail Gorbachev
I should stress straight away that the hostilities are being carried out against world public opinion, against the principles and norms of international law and the UN Charter. This military action cannot be justified by anything. - Vladimir Putin
Whatever the duration of this conflict, it will have serious consequences for the future. - Jacques Chirac
This indeed is a very serious undermining of the world. - Jacob Zuma, Deputy President, South Africa
We should not underestimate the risks and difficulties we may face against a regime that is an embodiment of absolute ruthlessness with utter disregard for human life. - Geoff Hoon, UK Defence Secretary
The American people are ready for the disarmament of Saddam Hussein. They understand what's at stake. The military is ready, the nation is ready and the cause is just. - White House spokesman Ari Fleischer
It's really too bad. What has become of the world? I'm afraid the UN system has collapsed. We have to give our earnest consideration to the problem. - Mikhail Gorbachev
I should stress straight away that the hostilities are being carried out against world public opinion, against the principles and norms of international law and the UN Charter. This military action cannot be justified by anything. - Vladimir Putin
Whatever the duration of this conflict, it will have serious consequences for the future. - Jacques Chirac
This indeed is a very serious undermining of the world. - Jacob Zuma, Deputy President, South Africa
We should not underestimate the risks and difficulties we may face against a regime that is an embodiment of absolute ruthlessness with utter disregard for human life. - Geoff Hoon, UK Defence Secretary
Wednesday, March 19, 2003
War Has Started... Maybe
The picture, left, shows an American warplane landing on USS Kitty Hawk in the Gulf earlier today. The plane was part of a squadron of F-14s and F/A-18s sent out to bomb Iraqi artillery pieces in southern Iraq. The mission, however, was described as 'standard no-fly zone activity'. Meanwhile, a 'fierce firefight' of unknown proportions broke out between Iraqi personnel and Special Boat Service soldiers around mid-PM, GMT, near Basra, also in southern Iraq. At the same time, American and British troops have been flooding into the demilitarized zones around the border, and a protester has fallen from San Francisco's Golden Gate Bridge while hanging a banner.
The mystery flu could have infected more people, as reports come in of a grounded flight after a family was taken ill on board.
So, in these early days of war, whether or not you support it, you'll certainly be in the mood for it. Everyone gets tired of the news during the buildup but the first few days are always exciting to some degree. If you're in the mood for a more thought-provoking, visceral presentation of war, try Band of Brothers. It's a Dreamworks production, with executive producers Spielberg and Hanks co-sponsoring a somewhat unusual project: a TV epic miniseries about Easy Company, 101st Airborne Division, and their progress through the Second World War. To call the thing a TV epic miniseries is an understatement. Combining the washed-out cinematography of Saving Private Ryan with the grisly excitement of Black Hawk Down and the sensitivity to violence of Schindler's List, it's by far the best treatment of the war I've ever seen. Get your copy of the DVD set here, or here if you're American, and as for reviews... who needs reviews for something this good? But you know where to go...
The picture, left, shows an American warplane landing on USS Kitty Hawk in the Gulf earlier today. The plane was part of a squadron of F-14s and F/A-18s sent out to bomb Iraqi artillery pieces in southern Iraq. The mission, however, was described as 'standard no-fly zone activity'. Meanwhile, a 'fierce firefight' of unknown proportions broke out between Iraqi personnel and Special Boat Service soldiers around mid-PM, GMT, near Basra, also in southern Iraq. At the same time, American and British troops have been flooding into the demilitarized zones around the border, and a protester has fallen from San Francisco's Golden Gate Bridge while hanging a banner.
The mystery flu could have infected more people, as reports come in of a grounded flight after a family was taken ill on board.
So, in these early days of war, whether or not you support it, you'll certainly be in the mood for it. Everyone gets tired of the news during the buildup but the first few days are always exciting to some degree. If you're in the mood for a more thought-provoking, visceral presentation of war, try Band of Brothers. It's a Dreamworks production, with executive producers Spielberg and Hanks co-sponsoring a somewhat unusual project: a TV epic miniseries about Easy Company, 101st Airborne Division, and their progress through the Second World War. To call the thing a TV epic miniseries is an understatement. Combining the washed-out cinematography of Saving Private Ryan with the grisly excitement of Black Hawk Down and the sensitivity to violence of Schindler's List, it's by far the best treatment of the war I've ever seen. Get your copy of the DVD set here, or here if you're American, and as for reviews... who needs reviews for something this good? But you know where to go...
Tuesday, March 18, 2003
You think this will be one thing...
...and then it turns out to be entirely another. From the way it started I thought it was anti war. Read on:
SEVERE EARTHQUAKE IN FRANCE
March 16, 2003. Today it was reported that a severe earthquakes haveoccurred in 10 different locations in France. The severity was measured in excess of 10 on the Richter Scale. The cause was the 56,681 dead American soldiers buried in French soil rolling over in their graves. According to the American Battle Monuments Commission there are 26,255 Yankee dead from World War I buried in 4 cemeteries in France. There are 30,426 American dead from World War II buried in 6 cemeteries in France. These 56,681 brave American heroes died in their youth to liberate a country which is guilty of shameful unspeakable behavior in the 21st century. May the United States of America never forget their sacrifice as we find ways to forcefully deal with the God forsaken unappreciative, forgetful country of France!
Hmmm. And all it turned out to be was an anti-French rant.
You see how a xenophobic American standpoint utterly ruins perfectly decent political humour?!
...and then it turns out to be entirely another. From the way it started I thought it was anti war. Read on:
SEVERE EARTHQUAKE IN FRANCE
March 16, 2003. Today it was reported that a severe earthquakes haveoccurred in 10 different locations in France. The severity was measured in excess of 10 on the Richter Scale. The cause was the 56,681 dead American soldiers buried in French soil rolling over in their graves. According to the American Battle Monuments Commission there are 26,255 Yankee dead from World War I buried in 4 cemeteries in France. There are 30,426 American dead from World War II buried in 6 cemeteries in France. These 56,681 brave American heroes died in their youth to liberate a country which is guilty of shameful unspeakable behavior in the 21st century. May the United States of America never forget their sacrifice as we find ways to forcefully deal with the God forsaken unappreciative, forgetful country of France!
Hmmm. And all it turned out to be was an anti-French rant.
You see how a xenophobic American standpoint utterly ruins perfectly decent political humour?!
Monday, March 17, 2003
Sunday, March 16, 2003
Someone just stepped on the gas.
Another soldier - he could not have been much out of his teens - spoke to his father: 'It's mad here. There's nothing but desert.' Then the soldier paused after his father asked him a question. 'Yeah, a little bit,' he replied softly. 'Yeah, I'm a little bit afraid.'
From The Observer's extra supplement on the final buildup to war in Iraq comes this report on how the British soldiers in camp near Iraq are gearing up for the inevitable. 'The inevitable?' I hear you say. 'Bush, Blair and Aznar are meeting in the Azores today, so nothing's decided yet.'
Hmm. Well, be that as it may, UK and US troops have been supplied with 'needle pens', powerful injection 'guns' which are intended to be used to limit the effects of nerve gas - an equipment issue which is only given at the very last minute before combat. They carry their gas masks to the showers, and are feeling jittery.
A reporter says efforts in Europe must continue apace to contain the world's best-known bent copper (Bush), but when you look at recent world events, and the diplomatic history between the UK and US, you might be forgiven for thinking that the rift will never heal.
And back in Iraq, Saddam has been somewhat left out of the recent reports. Can he really do anything to inflame the situation once war starts?
Another soldier - he could not have been much out of his teens - spoke to his father: 'It's mad here. There's nothing but desert.' Then the soldier paused after his father asked him a question. 'Yeah, a little bit,' he replied softly. 'Yeah, I'm a little bit afraid.'
From The Observer's extra supplement on the final buildup to war in Iraq comes this report on how the British soldiers in camp near Iraq are gearing up for the inevitable. 'The inevitable?' I hear you say. 'Bush, Blair and Aznar are meeting in the Azores today, so nothing's decided yet.'
Hmm. Well, be that as it may, UK and US troops have been supplied with 'needle pens', powerful injection 'guns' which are intended to be used to limit the effects of nerve gas - an equipment issue which is only given at the very last minute before combat. They carry their gas masks to the showers, and are feeling jittery.
A reporter says efforts in Europe must continue apace to contain the world's best-known bent copper (Bush), but when you look at recent world events, and the diplomatic history between the UK and US, you might be forgiven for thinking that the rift will never heal.
And back in Iraq, Saddam has been somewhat left out of the recent reports. Can he really do anything to inflame the situation once war starts?
Friday, March 14, 2003
War, and the... excitement of war?
MOYERS: And yet you say in your book that the first Gulf War, that we made war fun.
HEDGES: For those who weren't there. I was with the U.S. Marine Corps and they hated CNN. They hated that flag-waving jingoism that dominated the coverage, or dominated so much of the coverage?all those abstract terms that create the excitement back home become obscene to those who are in combat.
This is from an interview with Chris Hedges, former New York Times war correspondent, in whcih he discusses just what war actually is. Not TV pictures and cute little graphic reports, in case you were thinking that's what war is. (found on Metafilter)
MOYERS: And yet you say in your book that the first Gulf War, that we made war fun.
HEDGES: For those who weren't there. I was with the U.S. Marine Corps and they hated CNN. They hated that flag-waving jingoism that dominated the coverage, or dominated so much of the coverage?all those abstract terms that create the excitement back home become obscene to those who are in combat.
This is from an interview with Chris Hedges, former New York Times war correspondent, in whcih he discusses just what war actually is. Not TV pictures and cute little graphic reports, in case you were thinking that's what war is. (found on Metafilter)
Thursday, March 13, 2003
Sir Michael Peat: Prince Charles's Household not to blame
The Peat Report into allegations that the UK's Prince of Wales had an improper influence on the official handling of certain criminal matters last year has, unsurprisingly, given him a clean bill of health - it was written by his right-hand man. But inside it, there's this curiosity which I thought I'd share with you:
The Prince of Wales receives, and gives, a large number of gifts. For example, The Prince of Wales's Office has records of 2,394 official gifts received during the three years 1999, 2000 and 2001.
Furthermore, these gifts include 5 animals and livestock, 15 arms and armour, 53 pens and stationery, and 30 bottles of wine / spirits. Heck, it must be Christmas every day for the poor man, who is obviously in such a state (what with the media description of the report being that it's a whitewash) that he'll have to go and take a couple of hefty measures out of one of the 10-20 bottles of drink he's been given this year.
The Peat Report into allegations that the UK's Prince of Wales had an improper influence on the official handling of certain criminal matters last year has, unsurprisingly, given him a clean bill of health - it was written by his right-hand man. But inside it, there's this curiosity which I thought I'd share with you:
The Prince of Wales receives, and gives, a large number of gifts. For example, The Prince of Wales's Office has records of 2,394 official gifts received during the three years 1999, 2000 and 2001.
Furthermore, these gifts include 5 animals and livestock, 15 arms and armour, 53 pens and stationery, and 30 bottles of wine / spirits. Heck, it must be Christmas every day for the poor man, who is obviously in such a state (what with the media description of the report being that it's a whitewash) that he'll have to go and take a couple of hefty measures out of one of the 10-20 bottles of drink he's been given this year.
Consumer Stuff, for a change
It's been a long time since I featured anything you can buy. I really, really like the idea of nicely-printed, well-designed books with some refined design innovation: Chip Kidd's The Cheese Monkeys was one from last year; Richard Flanagan's Gould's Book of Fish - a novel in twelve fish was another.
Kidd's book was a typographic masterpiece, setting a rustic, almost linotype serif against the brash, laidback feistiness of the subjectmatter, while Flanagan's book has discreet and refined use of coloured text, and the typeface alone is a masterful choice. Not to mention the fact that the paper, too, changes almost unnoticeably from chapter to chapter.
This year, we have the superbly-designed You Shall Know Our Velocity by Dave Eggers, which begins in a no-nonsense way - right on the front cover. The first few sentences start right at the top of the cover, in embossed coloured type, with the title and author embossed (in silver, if I remember rightly) into a cloth strap-binding at the side. I haven't read it yet - just gazed at it enviously in the bookshops - but if you want it, hurry. It won't be the same in paperback, that's for sure. Kidd's book wasn't, and nor was Flanagan's. But then, nothing ever is...
It's been a long time since I featured anything you can buy. I really, really like the idea of nicely-printed, well-designed books with some refined design innovation: Chip Kidd's The Cheese Monkeys was one from last year; Richard Flanagan's Gould's Book of Fish - a novel in twelve fish was another.
Kidd's book was a typographic masterpiece, setting a rustic, almost linotype serif against the brash, laidback feistiness of the subjectmatter, while Flanagan's book has discreet and refined use of coloured text, and the typeface alone is a masterful choice. Not to mention the fact that the paper, too, changes almost unnoticeably from chapter to chapter.
This year, we have the superbly-designed You Shall Know Our Velocity by Dave Eggers, which begins in a no-nonsense way - right on the front cover. The first few sentences start right at the top of the cover, in embossed coloured type, with the title and author embossed (in silver, if I remember rightly) into a cloth strap-binding at the side. I haven't read it yet - just gazed at it enviously in the bookshops - but if you want it, hurry. It won't be the same in paperback, that's for sure. Kidd's book wasn't, and nor was Flanagan's. But then, nothing ever is...
Wednesday, March 12, 2003
Mapping the Pentagon's hive-mind
When a state doesn't function like America says it should, it's part of The Gap. So says the ironically named Thomas "P.M." Barnett (my quote marks) who also includes a few helpful maps of the world.
These maps, here and here in PDF, chart which countries of the world are productive, 'Western' and therefore good, and which are underproductive or even (shock, horror) keeping their goods and money to themselves, part of 'The Gap' and therefore bad. No, Barnett is not saying that these countries are necessarily part of the retail chain's sweatshop ethics.
What he is saying, in sum, as far as I can see, is this: We don't understand these countries. They're so different to our own. They have these weapons, but they're different to ours, and we don't understand them, so we don't really want them to have any. And we really can't understand why they won't work with us. I mean, why wouldn't they? Who wants to go against America in today's world?
Answer: Quite a lot of people, really.
When a state doesn't function like America says it should, it's part of The Gap. So says the ironically named Thomas "P.M." Barnett (my quote marks) who also includes a few helpful maps of the world.
These maps, here and here in PDF, chart which countries of the world are productive, 'Western' and therefore good, and which are underproductive or even (shock, horror) keeping their goods and money to themselves, part of 'The Gap' and therefore bad. No, Barnett is not saying that these countries are necessarily part of the retail chain's sweatshop ethics.
What he is saying, in sum, as far as I can see, is this: We don't understand these countries. They're so different to our own. They have these weapons, but they're different to ours, and we don't understand them, so we don't really want them to have any. And we really can't understand why they won't work with us. I mean, why wouldn't they? Who wants to go against America in today's world?
Answer: Quite a lot of people, really.
Friday, March 07, 2003
Bizarre conversations
haku: i mean jesus was an alien...u gotta admit...resurrections, 23rd century healing powers and ascending into the heavens...its got star trek written all over it
Pete: The thing is, I think that Americans like Bush are so religious and all because they know Jesus exists. They've got him locked away in Area 51 or whatever it is, and are scared shitless to tell the world, as it'd fuck Osama bin Laden off no end.
haku: area 51 is the moon
haku: they faked the moon landing :D
haku: i mean jesus was an alien...u gotta admit...resurrections, 23rd century healing powers and ascending into the heavens...its got star trek written all over it
Pete: The thing is, I think that Americans like Bush are so religious and all because they know Jesus exists. They've got him locked away in Area 51 or whatever it is, and are scared shitless to tell the world, as it'd fuck Osama bin Laden off no end.
haku: area 51 is the moon
haku: they faked the moon landing :D
Thursday, March 06, 2003
My degree has condemned me to low earnings
According to a study published in Labour Market Trends, 'a degree in an arts subject reduces average earnings to below those of someone who leaves school with just A-levels' - BBC story. (For those outside the UK, A Levels are your final exams in a school which ultimately qualify you for University entrance.)
I graduated in 2000 with a First Class MA (Hons) in English Literature. Since then, I've been in and out of unemployment, certainly earning far less than many of my peers who graduated in vocational subjects.
I could earn a salary of £17,000 immediately by riding around Belfast on a motorised buggy which sucks litter off the pavements. But finally get any permanent salaried job, in Northern Ireland, which would be a direct progression from my degree and training, I'll earn £10,000 to £11,000 tops.
According to a study published in Labour Market Trends, 'a degree in an arts subject reduces average earnings to below those of someone who leaves school with just A-levels' - BBC story. (For those outside the UK, A Levels are your final exams in a school which ultimately qualify you for University entrance.)
I graduated in 2000 with a First Class MA (Hons) in English Literature. Since then, I've been in and out of unemployment, certainly earning far less than many of my peers who graduated in vocational subjects.
I could earn a salary of £17,000 immediately by riding around Belfast on a motorised buggy which sucks litter off the pavements. But finally get any permanent salaried job, in Northern Ireland, which would be a direct progression from my degree and training, I'll earn £10,000 to £11,000 tops.
Wednesday, March 05, 2003
Tempestuous
One moment, it was a fine sunny day in south Belfast. The next, the sky was leaden and rumbling, strobed by flashes... and threw down, for 5 minutes, the biggest most noisy hailstones I've ever seen in my life. This is a photo of some of them lying on the windowsill outside this room. Massive, they were. I would post more pictures of the general scene, but this page would slow to a crawl for humble modem-users like me.
One moment, it was a fine sunny day in south Belfast. The next, the sky was leaden and rumbling, strobed by flashes... and threw down, for 5 minutes, the biggest most noisy hailstones I've ever seen in my life. This is a photo of some of them lying on the windowsill outside this room. Massive, they were. I would post more pictures of the general scene, but this page would slow to a crawl for humble modem-users like me.
Monday, March 03, 2003
A superb introduction to Malt Whisky
...by the unlikeliest of sources. Pictured is a bottle of Caol Ila which the Observer reckons is the ideal introduction to Single Malt.
...by the unlikeliest of sources. Pictured is a bottle of Caol Ila which the Observer reckons is the ideal introduction to Single Malt.
For FUCK'S SAKE!!!!
YOU SEE THE 'COMMENT' LINKS? I KNOW HOW MANY PEOPLE VISIT HERE EACH DAY, AND POSSIBLY EVEN WHO YOU ARE, AND YOU NEVER COMMENT.
THEY *WORK*!
USE THEM!
Blogging is, contrary to popular opinion, a pretty solitary trade, and it's really nice to see that other people who read your site are actually spurred to thought about it - whatever that thought is.
You can, by the way, comment on the archives too. Just so you know how to ignore those comment links, too.
YOU SEE THE 'COMMENT' LINKS? I KNOW HOW MANY PEOPLE VISIT HERE EACH DAY, AND POSSIBLY EVEN WHO YOU ARE, AND YOU NEVER COMMENT.
THEY *WORK*!
USE THEM!
Blogging is, contrary to popular opinion, a pretty solitary trade, and it's really nice to see that other people who read your site are actually spurred to thought about it - whatever that thought is.
You can, by the way, comment on the archives too. Just so you know how to ignore those comment links, too.
Sunday, March 02, 2003
This is me, apparently
These pictures are me. Apparently. According to the wonderful site My Virtual Model, via The Copydesk! The only thing is, the legs are a bit too big, and my hair's a bit darker. And I don't look so goddamn American. But other than that, apart from the fact that my abs are better and my arms bigger, I think it's pretty good! :o)
These pictures are me. Apparently. According to the wonderful site My Virtual Model, via The Copydesk! The only thing is, the legs are a bit too big, and my hair's a bit darker. And I don't look so goddamn American. But other than that, apart from the fact that my abs are better and my arms bigger, I think it's pretty good! :o)
US bugs UN diplomats in advance of war, Metafilter fails to discuss it
What was the NSA wanting to do with its wiretap intel? Twist arms? Influence votes? That's what the Observer thinks. The memo itself, from which this information is gleaned, has already been argued about at length on Metafilter, and includes bizarre pointers to the Guardian's style guide to try and rubbish the memo itself.
I'm all for balanced discussion, but what amazes me is that, on Metafilter for god's sake, there are only two notable defences of a newspaper's right to assume a position on a war, and support it with hard-won information.
You'd think that the Observer hadn't done its research properly and needed MeFis to check its sources to stop the story blowing up in its face. Need I point out here that blogging is *not journalism*?
And they've just got the man believed to be ultimately responsible for September 11... apart from Osama bin Laden, that is.
Aside from all that, Gareth Gates stammers during an interview (shock! horror!) and Nigel Slater gets his chin slippy. With fondue.
What was the NSA wanting to do with its wiretap intel? Twist arms? Influence votes? That's what the Observer thinks. The memo itself, from which this information is gleaned, has already been argued about at length on Metafilter, and includes bizarre pointers to the Guardian's style guide to try and rubbish the memo itself.
I'm all for balanced discussion, but what amazes me is that, on Metafilter for god's sake, there are only two notable defences of a newspaper's right to assume a position on a war, and support it with hard-won information.
You'd think that the Observer hadn't done its research properly and needed MeFis to check its sources to stop the story blowing up in its face. Need I point out here that blogging is *not journalism*?
And they've just got the man believed to be ultimately responsible for September 11... apart from Osama bin Laden, that is.
Aside from all that, Gareth Gates stammers during an interview (shock! horror!) and Nigel Slater gets his chin slippy. With fondue.
Thursday, February 27, 2003
American Police arrest man for talking in library
"I think Bush is out of control", the man said to a woman who he'd seen, in a library, wearing an anti-war badge. Shortly, police arrested him under the US's so-called Patriot Act and kept him in a police station for 5 hours. The man, understandably, is annoyed and intending to sue everyone concerned.
But how did they know he was at the library? Well, the Patriot Act, I understand, means that US law enforcement officials can spy on all sorts of things in their valiant lookout for Threatening People: library records, google searches (and with the recent takeover of Blogger, oh shit, my life's on the line too), student records, realtime phone communications, and christ, maybe even what you buy on Amazon, for all I know.
All I can say is, thank god its powers don't reach beyond US citizens! For now...
Meanwhile, this is what's going on in today's papers in Northern Ireland.
But how did they know he was at the library? Well, the Patriot Act, I understand, means that US law enforcement officials can spy on all sorts of things in their valiant lookout for Threatening People: library records, google searches (and with the recent takeover of Blogger, oh shit, my life's on the line too), student records, realtime phone communications, and christ, maybe even what you buy on Amazon, for all I know.
All I can say is, thank god its powers don't reach beyond US citizens! For now...
Meanwhile, this is what's going on in today's papers in Northern Ireland.
Wednesday, February 26, 2003
September, Bush, Blair, Iraq
I sit in one of the dives
On Fifty-Second Street
As the clever hopes expire
Of a low dishonest decade:
Waves of anger and fear
Circulate over the bright
And darkened lands of the earth,
Obsessing our private lives;
The unmentionable odour of death
Offends the September night.
Faces along the bar
Cling to their average day:
The lights must never go out,
The music must always play,
All the conventions conspire
To make this fort assume
The furniture of home;
Lest we should see where we are,
Lost in a haunted wood,
Children afraid of the night
Who have never been happy or good.
All I have is a voice
To undo the folded lie,
The romantic lie in the brain
Of the sensual man-in-the-street
And the lie of Authority
Whose buildings grope at the sky:
There is no such thing as the State
And no one exists alone;
Hunger allows no choice
To the citizen or the police;
We must love one another or die.
Defenceless under the night
Our world in stupor lies;
Yet, dotted everywhere,
Ironic points of light
Flash out wherever the Just
Exchange their messages:
May I, composed like them
Of Eros and of dust,
Beleaguered by the same
Negation and despair,
Show an affirming flame.
-- from September 1, 1939 - W.H. Auden
Sort of fitting. This should be next week's UN Resolution.
I sit in one of the dives
On Fifty-Second Street
As the clever hopes expire
Of a low dishonest decade:
Waves of anger and fear
Circulate over the bright
And darkened lands of the earth,
Obsessing our private lives;
The unmentionable odour of death
Offends the September night.
Faces along the bar
Cling to their average day:
The lights must never go out,
The music must always play,
All the conventions conspire
To make this fort assume
The furniture of home;
Lest we should see where we are,
Lost in a haunted wood,
Children afraid of the night
Who have never been happy or good.
All I have is a voice
To undo the folded lie,
The romantic lie in the brain
Of the sensual man-in-the-street
And the lie of Authority
Whose buildings grope at the sky:
There is no such thing as the State
And no one exists alone;
Hunger allows no choice
To the citizen or the police;
We must love one another or die.
Defenceless under the night
Our world in stupor lies;
Yet, dotted everywhere,
Ironic points of light
Flash out wherever the Just
Exchange their messages:
May I, composed like them
Of Eros and of dust,
Beleaguered by the same
Negation and despair,
Show an affirming flame.
-- from September 1, 1939 - W.H. Auden
Sort of fitting. This should be next week's UN Resolution.
Monday, February 24, 2003
Get ready for it...
...whatever it might be. Ready.gov, the US disaster-plan website, has been spectacularly parodied by many sites - best links here and here. Oh, how I laughed!
There is a serious undercurrent to all this, though. Just how many people in that massive country are going to be panicked beyond all reason by this so-called 'information drive'? Of course people should have information. The small question of useful timing seems to have been misunderstood in this case, I think.
...whatever it might be. Ready.gov, the US disaster-plan website, has been spectacularly parodied by many sites - best links here and here. Oh, how I laughed!
There is a serious undercurrent to all this, though. Just how many people in that massive country are going to be panicked beyond all reason by this so-called 'information drive'? Of course people should have information. The small question of useful timing seems to have been misunderstood in this case, I think.
Thursday, February 20, 2003
Wednesday, February 19, 2003
COMMENT! Dammit.
You see those little 'comment?' links below each posting?
They WORK. They're there for a REASON. Bloody USE them. Grrrr, grrrrr. Growl. Am I being scary and persuasive enough? I don't care. But it'd be nice to have some evidence that people actually visited this site, and read it.
And you can see what you, and everyone else, has posted, too. Don't be shy. *sniffle*
You see those little 'comment?' links below each posting?
They WORK. They're there for a REASON. Bloody USE them. Grrrr, grrrrr. Growl. Am I being scary and persuasive enough? I don't care. But it'd be nice to have some evidence that people actually visited this site, and read it.
And you can see what you, and everyone else, has posted, too. Don't be shy. *sniffle*
Monday, February 17, 2003
Let it snow...
...let it snow, let it snow. As more than 20 (yes, twenty) inches of snow fall over Washington DC, the rest of America's East Coast is hit by severe snowstorms... again. And even the Chesapeake Bay is frozen.
...let it snow, let it snow. As more than 20 (yes, twenty) inches of snow fall over Washington DC, the rest of America's East Coast is hit by severe snowstorms... again. And even the Chesapeake Bay is frozen.
Friday, February 14, 2003
Wednesday, February 12, 2003
Consumer rights
Here's a message I just got from a friend of mine:
we've just bought some jaffa cakes in the office. on the tube it says "this tube should always contain 15 jaffa cakes" so when we had eaten all but one we phoned their customer complaints department to tell them there was only one left. i laughed so much i nearly wet myself.
Here's a message I just got from a friend of mine:
we've just bought some jaffa cakes in the office. on the tube it says "this tube should always contain 15 jaffa cakes" so when we had eaten all but one we phoned their customer complaints department to tell them there was only one left. i laughed so much i nearly wet myself.
History...?
I was leafing through an old diary today and came across this. Sorry it's so long, but hell. I was intense when I was 19! And not a little scary, looking back on it!
I was leafing through an old diary today and came across this. Sorry it's so long, but hell. I was intense when I was 19! And not a little scary, looking back on it!
Wed. 30th July 1997
A rather slow day today. ... I need to be in touch with people. And that works both ways.
Poetry. Nothing much on that front. Why call yourself a poet when you aren't one? Is being a poet thinking about things poetically, or is it just a craft? I suppose it depends on the individual, on their commitment, on how much they write. Anne really is a writer - ever since I've known her she's always had something on the go and always something searching in terms of personality or people - or the self. I'm not a poet of anything in particular - I wonder if I ever will be?
In the afternoon went to an exhibition in the Abbott Hall Art Gallery in Kendal - Sublime Inspiration. The artistry of mountains, paintings and photos. A couple of superb Turners. Then back here.
Watched Morse in the evening - set in Pembroke College, Oxford. No shots filmed near the set of rooms I occupied for a night. Then I went out for a walk in the raining darkness. Dad says there have been a couple of guys hanging around here today with a notepad. They came up to the steps apparently, hanging round the car as well. Hope nothing happens - I'm not entirely sure it will but am sure that it's mostly unlikely - at leasst tomorrow. Gaytime TV starts in less than 5 minutes so will have to go. Back soon maybe.
-back- Dad doesn't want me to watch Gaytime TV - he hasn't said so but is uncharacteristically going to watch a film which is on at this time - and is avoiding my gaze. Bugger. And I thought he'd progressed a bit on that front. He seemed fairly relaxed about about my sexuality when it was touched upon earlier this week. He's just shifted in his chair, and is fiddling with things - sure sign that he's bored but his foot is going round and round so he doesn't want me to know. The time is past for that kind of limitation - it passed years ago in my opinion. That didn't stop him limiting at all, though.
This place seems so different from a year ago... Anne said in her letter that sometimes she thinks that she loves me and other times she knows she must not. I think I shock a lot of people. Anyway. No more now.
A rather slow day today. ... I need to be in touch with people. And that works both ways.
Poetry. Nothing much on that front. Why call yourself a poet when you aren't one? Is being a poet thinking about things poetically, or is it just a craft? I suppose it depends on the individual, on their commitment, on how much they write. Anne really is a writer - ever since I've known her she's always had something on the go and always something searching in terms of personality or people - or the self. I'm not a poet of anything in particular - I wonder if I ever will be?
In the afternoon went to an exhibition in the Abbott Hall Art Gallery in Kendal - Sublime Inspiration. The artistry of mountains, paintings and photos. A couple of superb Turners. Then back here.
Watched Morse in the evening - set in Pembroke College, Oxford. No shots filmed near the set of rooms I occupied for a night. Then I went out for a walk in the raining darkness. Dad says there have been a couple of guys hanging around here today with a notepad. They came up to the steps apparently, hanging round the car as well. Hope nothing happens - I'm not entirely sure it will but am sure that it's mostly unlikely - at leasst tomorrow. Gaytime TV starts in less than 5 minutes so will have to go. Back soon maybe.
-back- Dad doesn't want me to watch Gaytime TV - he hasn't said so but is uncharacteristically going to watch a film which is on at this time - and is avoiding my gaze. Bugger. And I thought he'd progressed a bit on that front. He seemed fairly relaxed about about my sexuality when it was touched upon earlier this week. He's just shifted in his chair, and is fiddling with things - sure sign that he's bored but his foot is going round and round so he doesn't want me to know. The time is past for that kind of limitation - it passed years ago in my opinion. That didn't stop him limiting at all, though.
This place seems so different from a year ago... Anne said in her letter that sometimes she thinks that she loves me and other times she knows she must not. I think I shock a lot of people. Anyway. No more now.Monday, February 10, 2003
100 Poets 3 published
nthposition have just published the 3rd Edition (pdf) of their ever-more-famous-by-the-second poetry chapbook. You know what to do.
I hope!
nthposition have just published the 3rd Edition (pdf) of their ever-more-famous-by-the-second poetry chapbook. You know what to do.
I hope!
Old friends...
I've been sitting with a lot of old friends recently. They've all come overvisiting from London to live with me, and it's really great to see them all again. They're books, before you think I've suddenly become popular.
One of the best and most treasured is this one, pictured above and expanded upon here. If you're into wine, buy it. If you're into reading, find it in a bookshop and leaf through it and then buy it. If you're into both, of course you already have it so you don't need me to tell you. And if you're not into either wine or reading... why the hell have you got this far??
I've been sitting with a lot of old friends recently. They've all come over
One of the best and most treasured is this one, pictured above and expanded upon here. If you're into wine, buy it. If you're into reading, find it in a bookshop and leaf through it and then buy it. If you're into both, of course you already have it so you don't need me to tell you. And if you're not into either wine or reading... why the hell have you got this far??
Thursday, February 06, 2003
Tuesday, February 04, 2003
Saturday, February 01, 2003
You can't hide a poet behind a bush.
A few days ago, America's First Lady Laura Bush was forced to cancel one of her White House poetry symposiums because my American friends were threatening to use their poetry to make a stand against war.
The Guardian quotes Mrs Bush's spokeswoman: "While Mrs Bush respects the right of all Americans to express their opinions, she, too, has opinions and believes it would be inappropriate to turn a literary event into a political forum."
What does Mrs Bush think literature is?? In my opinion, she is bordering on being openly stupid if she truly believes that any poet worth their salt will sit politely at a nice afternoon gathering to talk about poetry when aggression is in the offing and must be questioned.
Luckily, an enterprising poet and publisher, Sam Hamill, has set up a website, Poets Against The War, and Todd Swift has published an eBook filled with contributions by established poets from all over the world.
The eBook is hosted on this website in Adobe pdf format - download it from the link in the lefthand bar, copy it to serve from your site, print it and leave it in coffeeshops... up to you!
A few days ago, America's First Lady Laura Bush was forced to cancel one of her White House poetry symposiums because my American friends were threatening to use their poetry to make a stand against war.
The Guardian quotes Mrs Bush's spokeswoman: "While Mrs Bush respects the right of all Americans to express their opinions, she, too, has opinions and believes it would be inappropriate to turn a literary event into a political forum."
What does Mrs Bush think literature is?? In my opinion, she is bordering on being openly stupid if she truly believes that any poet worth their salt will sit politely at a nice afternoon gathering to talk about poetry when aggression is in the offing and must be questioned.
Luckily, an enterprising poet and publisher, Sam Hamill, has set up a website, Poets Against The War, and Todd Swift has published an eBook filled with contributions by established poets from all over the world.
The eBook is hosted on this website in Adobe pdf format - download it from the link in the lefthand bar, copy it to serve from your site, print it and leave it in coffeeshops... up to you!
Monday, January 27, 2003
Brutal cradling, Elusive message, Uneven film
The story is simple enough. 8 Mile presents: Eminem as you've never seen him before. Erm, hang on - that means 'Eminem as we've definitely seen him before, many times'. The master of the moody glare, the mellifluous rap and the lost-boy-loud-boy crossover. But this is a Curtis Hanson film. Curtis Hanson, the director of Wonder Boys and L.A. Confidential, is the last person I would have expected to direct a film like this one. But dammit, he makes it different to all the usual 'music star as film star' films you've ever seen.
And the signs are all there. For all the distinct change of scene from the old-police-stations Hollywood of L.A. or the suburban cosiness of Wonder Boys, the cinematography is still rich and disciplined without you realising it, and the passionate sense of place - in this case, the tumbledown Detroit - oozes from every frame.
And the signs are all there. For all the distinct change of scene from the old-police-stations Hollywood of L.A. or the suburban cosiness of Wonder Boys, the cinematography is still rich and disciplined without you realising it, and the passionate sense of place - in this case, the tumbledown Detroit - oozes from every frame.
The plot follows, so spoiler alert!, don't read further if you don't what to find out here what you'll be able to guess after having seen the trailer. I don't mean that to be disparaging, but everyone, unless their head's been in a barrel for the past few years, knows who Eminem is and roughly how he dragged himself up the rap ladder. And everyone knows that, although Eminem isn't really Eminem in this film - he's 'Rabbit', a young white rapper who's been accepted by the black boys on the dodgy side of Detroit's 8 Mile - this story is nevertheless based around him. Around his story.
Rabbit hangs out with his friends. Rabbit is quietly determined, but appears in the film's opening shots vomiting down the toilet before a battle - a public rap sparring-match between two rappers competing for recognition from their peers. Later, he raps in a parking-lot (the amazing, evocative old Michigan Theatre, pictured left) in an impromptu conversation with a rival group of guys. His lack of security isn't quite pulled off by Eminem, though, and this is where the cracks start to appear.
Because although Eminem is very good at acting determined, his embarrassed Rabbit isn't embarrassed enough. But this is part of Rabbit, which it would take a better actor to deliver: Rabbit is weak, and aware that he's weak. He doesn't fall back on guns to make his point for him - none of the characters do, strangely, (post-9-11th-ally??) apart from one, who injures himself in a shot of poetic justice - but rap.
And that would be fine. But this is not a rap musical. It's a film. It Rabbit could really break into rap every time he got threatened and win through because of that, we'd know. But a savage beating scene gives the lie to that idea, and because of this, Rabbit's slightly-too-smooth edges don't seem right. They look right, though. Oh, yes. Because Eminem looks fantastic on screen - on that point I agree entirely with Rolling Stone. His fierceness shines, but a little too sparklingly at times. He's the angry boy with a soul, who finally gets his chance to flare in a battle, and wins through.
Rabbit hangs out with his friends. Rabbit is quietly determined, but appears in the film's opening shots vomiting down the toilet before a battle - a public rap sparring-match between two rappers competing for recognition from their peers. Later, he raps in a parking-lot (the amazing, evocative old Michigan Theatre, pictured left) in an impromptu conversation with a rival group of guys. His lack of security isn't quite pulled off by Eminem, though, and this is where the cracks start to appear.
Because although Eminem is very good at acting determined, his embarrassed Rabbit isn't embarrassed enough. But this is part of Rabbit, which it would take a better actor to deliver: Rabbit is weak, and aware that he's weak. He doesn't fall back on guns to make his point for him - none of the characters do, strangely, (post-9-11th-ally??) apart from one, who injures himself in a shot of poetic justice - but rap.
And that would be fine. But this is not a rap musical. It's a film. It Rabbit could really break into rap every time he got threatened and win through because of that, we'd know. But a savage beating scene gives the lie to that idea, and because of this, Rabbit's slightly-too-smooth edges don't seem right. They look right, though. Oh, yes. Because Eminem looks fantastic on screen - on that point I agree entirely with Rolling Stone. His fierceness shines, but a little too sparklingly at times. He's the angry boy with a soul, who finally gets his chance to flare in a battle, and wins through.
In terms of this film, I'm not sure why I think it's a winner. I'm not sure why I think Eminem is a winner in it, despite his weaknesses. Maybe it's Eminem. Maybe it's Curtis Hanson. Who knows?
Wednesday, January 22, 2003
Sprawling, untidy inspiration
Martin Scorsese's latest film, which I saw a couple of nights ago, doesn't leave me with the impression that it was a crap film. I remember parts of it with pleasure, and others with the sort of wincing, guilty pleasure you feel at the end of a particularly nasty horror film. But I remember it. I am interested about the characters. If it had been substandard work, as so many people are saying, why do I feel this way?
Gangs of New York is undoubtedly sprawling and untidy. Salon points out that it's as if Scorsese had become lost in the grime-stained playground of his imagination for too long, wanting to revel in the multiplicity of characters (there are no computer-generated crowds, and the cast is huge) and the length of time it takes (nearly three hours). But I incline more towards the New York Times's review. To my way of thinking, the general epic scope is indeed akin to the films of DW Griffith, and there was definitely a feeling throughout the film that, while perhaps the shooting and scripting didn't always mould to a satisfying story like plasticwrap over glass, the style and scope was there to provide a spectacle in and of itself.
Many critics will disagree with me, I know. But I didn't even find Amsterdam, Leonardo Di Caprio's character, awful. Of course, he wasn't impressive. But then, he wasn't meant to be. Amsterdam, the son of the gang leader Priest Vallon (solidly and calmly played by Liam Neeson) who is murdered nastily at the start, only returns vengefully to the Five Points district after some years, and as such is like a fish half-in, half-out of the water at a time when he most needs to glide, silent and deadly, towards his intended victim.
Gangs of New York is undoubtedly sprawling and untidy. Salon points out that it's as if Scorsese had become lost in the grime-stained playground of his imagination for too long, wanting to revel in the multiplicity of characters (there are no computer-generated crowds, and the cast is huge) and the length of time it takes (nearly three hours). But I incline more towards the New York Times's review. To my way of thinking, the general epic scope is indeed akin to the films of DW Griffith, and there was definitely a feeling throughout the film that, while perhaps the shooting and scripting didn't always mould to a satisfying story like plasticwrap over glass, the style and scope was there to provide a spectacle in and of itself.
Many critics will disagree with me, I know. But I didn't even find Amsterdam, Leonardo Di Caprio's character, awful. Of course, he wasn't impressive. But then, he wasn't meant to be. Amsterdam, the son of the gang leader Priest Vallon (solidly and calmly played by Liam Neeson) who is murdered nastily at the start, only returns vengefully to the Five Points district after some years, and as such is like a fish half-in, half-out of the water at a time when he most needs to glide, silent and deadly, towards his intended victim.
His intended victim, William "Bill the Butcher" Cutting, is where the film really starts to fall apart and cohere at the same time. Dealing with the falling-apart first, Di Caprio can't stand up against older actors too well anyway, and Amsterdam isn't scripted to confront him. Instead, he woos him, scared, rather than waiting to reveal his hand. This isn't bad acting but rather a bad situation. (The worst most obvious slips Di Caprio makes during the film's entire length are slips of accent only.)
Now, to the coherence. Daniel Day-Lewis returns with one eye of porceain and one of glare and twinkle, and a voice which has been marinaded in bourbon, tobacco and grit for at least a few months. Standing so tall his character seems precarious, tottering badly at the end as intended, Day-Lewis is the true nucleus of the plot. Around his sun orbit Jim Broadbent, acting well as corrupt local politician William Tweed in his first Hollywood outing since Moulin Rouge, and John C. Reilly (of Magnolia fame). Cameron Diaz slips around tartly, thieving from the plush neighbourhoods before subsiding disappointingly into the story's love-interest, Jenny Everdeane.
All in all, it's sprawling, some characterisation is untidy, but it's not bad. People are used to thinking of Scorsese as a god who can do no wrong - or if not that, exactly, then at least as someone who is higher up there than most. So what if he wants to sprawl occasionally? Does that make this film bad, simply because of that? No. It's absolutely no worse than, for example, Gladiator. It's a lot better than The Two Towers, purely in terms of plot, characterisation and acting. And cinematographically, it's a dream. Before you buy into what the critics are all saying, go see for yourself. This is a big-screen must-see.
Now, to the coherence. Daniel Day-Lewis returns with one eye of porceain and one of glare and twinkle, and a voice which has been marinaded in bourbon, tobacco and grit for at least a few months. Standing so tall his character seems precarious, tottering badly at the end as intended, Day-Lewis is the true nucleus of the plot. Around his sun orbit Jim Broadbent, acting well as corrupt local politician William Tweed in his first Hollywood outing since Moulin Rouge, and John C. Reilly (of Magnolia fame). Cameron Diaz slips around tartly, thieving from the plush neighbourhoods before subsiding disappointingly into the story's love-interest, Jenny Everdeane.
All in all, it's sprawling, some characterisation is untidy, but it's not bad. People are used to thinking of Scorsese as a god who can do no wrong - or if not that, exactly, then at least as someone who is higher up there than most. So what if he wants to sprawl occasionally? Does that make this film bad, simply because of that? No. It's absolutely no worse than, for example, Gladiator. It's a lot better than The Two Towers, purely in terms of plot, characterisation and acting. And cinematographically, it's a dream. Before you buy into what the critics are all saying, go see for yourself. This is a big-screen must-see.
Saturday, January 18, 2003
Tuesday, January 14, 2003
Talking
There are several kinds:
1. Pointless conversation used first thing in the morning to wake you up. Usually takes place with strangers at bus-stops.
2. Inner monologue. If you're lucky, it's not so much talking as thinking, but if you're unlucky like I was, you end up thinking aloud in coffeeshops over the newspaper. And people look at you strangely, so you smile back, and they don't know where to look.
3. Tentative engagement. Usually used when you're in a room with strangers and you just want to get to know one or two of them. Every sentence is a stepping-stone which might slip on the riverbed and send you flying, but you still keep walking.
4. Fluidity. Can be verbal or written, and I've been having an enjoyable few sessions of this with a few people, including Chris, over the last few days. Nothing is an effort, and freedom and clarity usually result.
5. The kind that I've just heard coming from behind the bathroom door, where dad is probably seated on the porcelain. I don't know what he's saying, but it seems he talks to himself on the toilet quite a lot. I can't say I do. Do you?
There are several kinds:
1. Pointless conversation used first thing in the morning to wake you up. Usually takes place with strangers at bus-stops.
2. Inner monologue. If you're lucky, it's not so much talking as thinking, but if you're unlucky like I was, you end up thinking aloud in coffeeshops over the newspaper. And people look at you strangely, so you smile back, and they don't know where to look.
3. Tentative engagement. Usually used when you're in a room with strangers and you just want to get to know one or two of them. Every sentence is a stepping-stone which might slip on the riverbed and send you flying, but you still keep walking.
4. Fluidity. Can be verbal or written, and I've been having an enjoyable few sessions of this with a few people, including Chris, over the last few days. Nothing is an effort, and freedom and clarity usually result.
5. The kind that I've just heard coming from behind the bathroom door, where dad is probably seated on the porcelain. I don't know what he's saying, but it seems he talks to himself on the toilet quite a lot. I can't say I do. Do you?
Friday, January 10, 2003
First Snow!
But not here, in Belfast, sadly. However, I've just been kidding myself with ample resources from this snow gallery.
But not here, in Belfast, sadly. However, I've just been kidding myself with ample resources from this snow gallery.
Freedom
Look at this piece of glowing invective, from none other than The Pyongyang Times.
Notice that North Korea doesn't call itself North Korea (beware MSN pop-up). It calls itself DPRK - the Democratic People's Republic of Korea. There's a slight difference. (Obviously *South* Korea doesn't exist, then. Or not really, anyway.) I think it'd be an interesting place to visit.
Look at this piece of glowing invective, from none other than The Pyongyang Times.
Notice that North Korea doesn't call itself North Korea (beware MSN pop-up). It calls itself DPRK - the Democratic People's Republic of Korea. There's a slight difference. (Obviously *South* Korea doesn't exist, then. Or not really, anyway.) I think it'd be an interesting place to visit.
Monday, January 06, 2003
Iraq: Liberation, Invasion or Colonization?
Dubya has been at it again. Think for a moment, he told us. Think about what Saddam has done. Think about what we can do for Iraq. And then you'll see that we won't be invading the country, but freeing its people.
A little premature, isn't it. Or is it? Nobody knows because, at the moment, America is the only country in the entire world which has said it's going in there sometime soon. It's true that Britain's Prime Minister is hawkishly keeping his eyes open, and kicked off 2003 with a speech full of dire warnings of worldwide threats to peace and security. (Threats to peace and security, incidentally, which are anything but war on Iraq.) So far, though, he hasn't said yes. His ministers, and others, are increasingly saying no. So, where does this place George W Bush?
In a word: alone. America is massing troops in the Gulf. Britain is due to send its biggest carrier there tomorrow, but even in a few months, its commitment of people and hardware would still be less than America's. There's a very good reason for that: no concrete plans have been made because, unlike the once-in-a-lifetime groundswell of world support for pursuing Osama and the Taleban in Afghanistan, nobody in the world knows why they want to invade - Saddam is not Osama bin Laden; there's no real world interest there. Apart from America, no single country anywhere even knows if there's any point to it, but all countries can see at least one glistening end-result: OIL.
A little premature, isn't it. Or is it? Nobody knows because, at the moment, America is the only country in the entire world which has said it's going in there sometime soon. It's true that Britain's Prime Minister is hawkishly keeping his eyes open, and kicked off 2003 with a speech full of dire warnings of worldwide threats to peace and security. (Threats to peace and security, incidentally, which are anything but war on Iraq.) So far, though, he hasn't said yes. His ministers, and others, are increasingly saying no. So, where does this place George W Bush?
In a word: alone. America is massing troops in the Gulf. Britain is due to send its biggest carrier there tomorrow, but even in a few months, its commitment of people and hardware would still be less than America's. There's a very good reason for that: no concrete plans have been made because, unlike the once-in-a-lifetime groundswell of world support for pursuing Osama and the Taleban in Afghanistan, nobody in the world knows why they want to invade - Saddam is not Osama bin Laden; there's no real world interest there. Apart from America, no single country anywhere even knows if there's any point to it, but all countries can see at least one glistening end-result: OIL.
Now, don't get me wrong here. I'm not suggesting for one millisecond that America just wants to boot Saddam up his hairy Arab crack and grab some black stuff. I'm really not. The American hawks do actually believe that a regime change would be beneficial to the country. Why they believe this is beyond me. Why would a population which naturally inclines to a multifarious, and sometimes violent 'clan-based' rule, possibly want democracy? They would have to take their place, and recognise their *responsibilities to*, and in, the wider world. America would allow nothing less. Of course, they'd all rather welcome Saddam's downfall because it would give them the chance to get that system established. Self-rule for Iraqis would mean a multiplicity of different local rulers. And yet the press has been so full of a single word, Iraq, that you'd almost be forgiven for thinking it's a single people.
Anyway, so what if they do or they don't have a change of regime. America doesn't like Saddam. America despises his filthy little moustache. Furthermore, the portraits of him in various heroic poses are almost as kitsch as the Stars and Stripes flying all over America. Get the shitty, weaselly sand-nigger off his perch and let's show the world we whupped his ass. Then, let's set up a postwar interregnum in Iraq, which we won't call a ruling council because that would give us too much actual responsibility, and let's make the interregnum as slow as we can so that we can get as much OIL as possible out of there.
Oh, come on Britain, you know you want to get in the car with us. Come oooonnn! :o) You'll like it, I promise. We suckee suckee. Aww, please think about it? We can't do it without you! Britain? Britain. I'm not going to ask again... Now. Get in the fuckin' car.
Anyway, so what if they do or they don't have a change of regime. America doesn't like Saddam. America despises his filthy little moustache. Furthermore, the portraits of him in various heroic poses are almost as kitsch as the Stars and Stripes flying all over America. Get the shitty, weaselly sand-nigger off his perch and let's show the world we whupped his ass. Then, let's set up a postwar interregnum in Iraq, which we won't call a ruling council because that would give us too much actual responsibility, and let's make the interregnum as slow as we can so that we can get as much OIL as possible out of there.
Oh, come on Britain, you know you want to get in the car with us. Come oooonnn! :o) You'll like it, I promise. We suckee suckee. Aww, please think about it? We can't do it without you! Britain? Britain. I'm not going to ask again... Now. Get in the fuckin' car.
Sunday, January 05, 2003
Weapons of Mass Destruction
Each word or phrase which is over-used becomes one of the above against the power and magic of words. The top offenders on Lake Superior State Uni's list this year (showing just how much ordinary Americans hate Bush (thank-you, Jeeeee-zus)): Material Breach; Make No Mistake About It; Weapons of Mass Destruction; Homeland Security.
Today's quiz: what literary surname links together all items on the above list?
Answer: Shakespeare.
Yes, that's right. Because the Pentagon is slipping a copy of Shakespeare's racier war-based plays into its soldiers' backpacks before they get helicoptered, shipped and flown to Iraq. I ask the next question in all seriousness: why??
Each word or phrase which is over-used becomes one of the above against the power and magic of words. The top offenders on Lake Superior State Uni's list this year (showing just how much ordinary Americans hate Bush (thank-you, Jeeeee-zus)): Material Breach; Make No Mistake About It; Weapons of Mass Destruction; Homeland Security.
Today's quiz: what literary surname links together all items on the above list?
Answer: Shakespeare.
Yes, that's right. Because the Pentagon is slipping a copy of Shakespeare's racier war-based plays into its soldiers' backpacks before they get helicoptered, shipped and flown to Iraq. I ask the next question in all seriousness: why??
Am I turning American?
5 minutes ago, I typed 'That sucks' into a message to a friend on OUT. He wrote back and told me I'd written 'That sucks'. I stared in disbelief. No, I *couldn't* have written that! I went back through my history to check. And there it was. Since my friend is Canadian, he asked me why I'd said it - us 'brits' never say it, apparently.
Well, we do now. God help me.
5 minutes ago, I typed 'That sucks' into a message to a friend on OUT. He wrote back and told me I'd written 'That sucks'. I stared in disbelief. No, I *couldn't* have written that! I went back through my history to check. And there it was. Since my friend is Canadian, he asked me why I'd said it - us 'brits' never say it, apparently.
Well, we do now. God help me.
Wednesday, January 01, 2003
And. . . . . ?
I really don't know what more to say. I usually feel underwhelmed by New Year things. I feel much happier that it's still Christmas!
Perhaps unsurprisingly, because I'm sure this happens to a lot of people, I'm feeling rather unmoved now that we're in the aftermath of 2002 turning into 2003. Today, arguably, the internet is 20 years old, but other than the usual celebrations around the world, there's not much to say.
Today is, however, the first day of something a lot bigger (to me at least) than just another year: the appearance of Samuel Pepys' Diary online. Presented in the form of a blog, the diary will be put online at a rate of one entry per day. Pepys started the diary on the 1st of January 1660 and died in 1703. That means that we have about forty years to wait before the complete text is online, but it will be a valuable experiment in whether readers will actually come back each day, or for catch-up sessions, to read something on the web that they wouldn't necessarily have read on paper.
Today is, however, the first day of something a lot bigger (to me at least) than just another year: the appearance of Samuel Pepys' Diary online. Presented in the form of a blog, the diary will be put online at a rate of one entry per day. Pepys started the diary on the 1st of January 1660 and died in 1703. That means that we have about forty years to wait before the complete text is online, but it will be a valuable experiment in whether readers will actually come back each day, or for catch-up sessions, to read something on the web that they wouldn't necessarily have read on paper.
I really don't know what more to say. I usually feel underwhelmed by New Year things. I feel much happier that it's still Christmas!
Saturday, December 28, 2002
Disbelief
Two stories have set me blinking in indignation today. The first is that a strange sect masquerading as a 'scientific' cloning company claims to have successfully cloned the first human being.
The second is that steel from the now defunct World Trade Center in New York is to be used... to make a great big warship. Maybe I'm wrong, (no, really, maybe I really am - I can't remember properly) but I seem to recall that shortly after the catastrophe, the Twin Towers were lamented and the description of the buildings leant heavily towards values like peace, creativity, freedom, beauty and so on. Obviously the same sense of peace and freedom which led US law enforcement officials to jail two foreign students for being 'work shy'.
And there's one more star in heaven tonight - or one more star-maker - as news comes in that photographer Herb Ritts is dead at the age of 50.
Two stories have set me blinking in indignation today. The first is that a strange sect masquerading as a 'scientific' cloning company claims to have successfully cloned the first human being.
The second is that steel from the now defunct World Trade Center in New York is to be used... to make a great big warship. Maybe I'm wrong, (no, really, maybe I really am - I can't remember properly) but I seem to recall that shortly after the catastrophe, the Twin Towers were lamented and the description of the buildings leant heavily towards values like peace, creativity, freedom, beauty and so on. Obviously the same sense of peace and freedom which led US law enforcement officials to jail two foreign students for being 'work shy'.
And there's one more star in heaven tonight - or one more star-maker - as news comes in that photographer Herb Ritts is dead at the age of 50.
Thursday, December 26, 2002
What? A white Christmas?!
No, we didn't get one here in Northern Ireland. But Arkansas (right), Missouri, Pennsylvania and New York all had a freakish snowstorm sweep across them yesterday. We could do with some of that. There are so many warm nuggets of colour and food and drink in this house that I long to look towards the window and see snow-light, to step out of doors and hear the crunch of snow.
No, we didn't get one here in Northern Ireland. But Arkansas (right), Missouri, Pennsylvania and New York all had a freakish snowstorm sweep across them yesterday. We could do with some of that. There are so many warm nuggets of colour and food and drink in this house that I long to look towards the window and see snow-light, to step out of doors and hear the crunch of snow.
Sunday, December 22, 2002
Blatant, Over-reactionary Lunacy
American Airport Staff scared, or insane? And I thought I was badly treated in the UK...
More comments here.
American Airport Staff scared, or insane? And I thought I was badly treated in the UK...
More comments here.
Tuesday, December 17, 2002
The onset
I just went out to the back garden and could tell as soon as I stepped outside that it's much, much colder tonight. The pergola is dusted with frost, and when I went to the bin, I spent a while cracking the ice around the lid so I could open it.
This is where I start to feel the onset of Christmas. There's a very bright star in the eastern sky; of course it's not that which the Three Kings saw... but things are starting to coalesce. :o)
I just went out to the back garden and could tell as soon as I stepped outside that it's much, much colder tonight. The pergola is dusted with frost, and when I went to the bin, I spent a while cracking the ice around the lid so I could open it.
This is where I start to feel the onset of Christmas. There's a very bright star in the eastern sky; of course it's not that which the Three Kings saw... but things are starting to coalesce. :o)
Monday, December 16, 2002
The Little Friend
When I heard, on a winter day late last year, that Donna Tartt's second novel would soon appear, I longed to plunge back into The Secret History with new eyes, and take heed of signs, and wait, and wonder. At last, She was publishing again. At last, I would read something by Her which I hadn't read before. Her new book would be as rich and studded with jewels as Her first, and hitherto only, novel. It would change my mood for weeks on end. It would devour me over a period of perhaps three days, and I would devour it many times thereafter.
Come then, and let us pass a leisure hour in storytelling; and our story shall be the education of our heroes.
This prefatory quotation from Plato, slipped ironically into the first pages of The Secret History, certainly cannot be applied to The Little Friend. It is a large book. At more than 500 pages, bound in black, and excitingly solid and bulky, it is just heavy enough to make you think you might be carrying a box of riches in your bag. You will undo the clasp, open the lid, and gaze, wide-eyed and short of breath, at the dim glitter inside.
But this is a slow book, and its richness is as thick as a midge-filled summer afternoon. While occasionally you may be allowed to canter through a few pages at most, the rest of it may as well have a "Do Not Run" signboard, presided over by some stern, angular matron. The syrupy paragraphs drop slowly and heavily through your mind, one, two... three...... and another..... Some of them are light and sweet, some as dark and tinged with bitterness as black treacle.
It's not such an easy lay as The Secret History. It won't lie down with you and engage you in sweaty abandon for days on end, only to spit you out light-headed and spinning afterwards. It will hold you firmly, talk slowly, smile in a small way, and though you may want to pull away and do something else, you'll know you have to keep listening. This tale does not tell itself simply, but then, in the American South, a story may be months in the telling...
Come then, and let us pass a leisure hour in storytelling; and our story shall be the education of our heroes.
This prefatory quotation from Plato, slipped ironically into the first pages of The Secret History, certainly cannot be applied to The Little Friend. It is a large book. At more than 500 pages, bound in black, and excitingly solid and bulky, it is just heavy enough to make you think you might be carrying a box of riches in your bag. You will undo the clasp, open the lid, and gaze, wide-eyed and short of breath, at the dim glitter inside.
But this is a slow book, and its richness is as thick as a midge-filled summer afternoon. While occasionally you may be allowed to canter through a few pages at most, the rest of it may as well have a "Do Not Run" signboard, presided over by some stern, angular matron. The syrupy paragraphs drop slowly and heavily through your mind, one, two... three...... and another..... Some of them are light and sweet, some as dark and tinged with bitterness as black treacle.
It's not such an easy lay as The Secret History. It won't lie down with you and engage you in sweaty abandon for days on end, only to spit you out light-headed and spinning afterwards. It will hold you firmly, talk slowly, smile in a small way, and though you may want to pull away and do something else, you'll know you have to keep listening. This tale does not tell itself simply, but then, in the American South, a story may be months in the telling...
Sunday, December 15, 2002
Donnie Darko
Yes, there is a film (its young director's first) called Donnie Darko. No, I hadn't really heard of the thing until about two weeks ago, when my friend Jonny mentioned it to me. It's about... well, it's very difficult to say exactly what this film *is* about. It follows Donnie Darko through either the first or last years of his adult life, depending on how you look at it.
Feeling increasingly alienated from the world around him, Donnie, played by Jake Gyllenhaal (right), moves through it in a sensitive, troubled, and increasingly playful way. Testing the boundaries of the reailty he lives in, as directed by a big evil bunny, and fascinated by increasingly bizarre events which lead him to kickstart the mind-bending denouement, this is a film which made me laugh, well up with tears, go all hormonal for Donnie, and all motherly for him and the rest of the misguided characters (played by a wonderful cast), all at the same time. Nobody's talked about it here in Northern Ireland, where it would usually be regarded as an irrelevant piece of childish weird shit, instead of the quirky masterpiece it undoubtedly is.
Go see.
PS. - Dec. 19th - Apparently, it caused a huge stir in America when it was released. Due to the release-date being only a few months after September 11th, and the prominence given to a jet engine and a house.
Feeling increasingly alienated from the world around him, Donnie, played by Jake Gyllenhaal (right), moves through it in a sensitive, troubled, and increasingly playful way. Testing the boundaries of the reailty he lives in, as directed by a big evil bunny, and fascinated by increasingly bizarre events which lead him to kickstart the mind-bending denouement, this is a film which made me laugh, well up with tears, go all hormonal for Donnie, and all motherly for him and the rest of the misguided characters (played by a wonderful cast), all at the same time. Nobody's talked about it here in Northern Ireland, where it would usually be regarded as an irrelevant piece of childish weird shit, instead of the quirky masterpiece it undoubtedly is.
Go see.
PS. - Dec. 19th - Apparently, it caused a huge stir in America when it was released. Due to the release-date being only a few months after September 11th, and the prominence given to a jet engine and a house.
Friday, December 13, 2002
Thursday, December 12, 2002
Jobless, again
Even I am starting to think that I'm hopeless. Today, in the middle of the afternoon, someone from my agency called me to tell me that someone in the very building I work in had decided to say byebye to me and quite a few other recent temp workers today - because work was slowing down before Christmas. So, my manager lived down the corridor and he didn't have the guts to tell me. And I've been employed now for a grand total of, oh, 9 days.
I could swear here, really. But there really fucking wouldn't be any fucking arsing cunting point.
Even I am starting to think that I'm hopeless. Today, in the middle of the afternoon, someone from my agency called me to tell me that someone in the very building I work in had decided to say byebye to me and quite a few other recent temp workers today - because work was slowing down before Christmas. So, my manager lived down the corridor and he didn't have the guts to tell me. And I've been employed now for a grand total of, oh, 9 days.
I could swear here, really. But there really fucking wouldn't be any fucking arsing cunting point.
Wednesday, December 04, 2002
Driven to Distractions
Does any of this not ring true?
That's because the handkerchief's actually a watercolour. And beyond the doorway out of the room, there isn't a corridor at all. Just another painting.
It's time I lightened the mood on here, at least. So, after a somewhat shitty day at work, here's a nice handkerchief belonging to a Shaker Man, woven by George Constantine in about 1936.
And a brilliant doorway with corridor beyond (at Chatsworth House, UK), with a little violin hung on a door. Architect thought to be Jan van der Vaart, in the 1670s.
Does any of this not ring true?
That's because the handkerchief's actually a watercolour. And beyond the doorway out of the room, there isn't a corridor at all. Just another painting.
Monday, December 02, 2002
Something missing
That's how today has felt, really. Not in the sense that I've had nothing to do - quite the opposite. I got up earlier than I've done in ages, rocketed out of the house and into town, had breakfast and then started my new job. And kept at it without any real sort of break (except for lunch) until I got back home a while ago.
But the job involves doing *nothing* (and I mean nothing) apart from sitting in front of a computer in a small room with one other person, wearing a pair of (rather painful) headphones, and transcribing letters from the tape. So you can't even talk to the other person because you have no time and no hearing, and the only break is when you cross the room to print stuff out, or leave the room to get another tape.
I'm going to see how it goes tomorrow, but I think today's provided enough experience of the job to give me a great big "I won't like this type of work, not even slightly" signal. It would be much better, and I'd actually sort of like it, if I was in a slightly bigger room and had a variety of duties. I think I'll be calling my agency tomorrow though!
That's how today has felt, really. Not in the sense that I've had nothing to do - quite the opposite. I got up earlier than I've done in ages, rocketed out of the house and into town, had breakfast and then started my new job. And kept at it without any real sort of break (except for lunch) until I got back home a while ago.
But the job involves doing *nothing* (and I mean nothing) apart from sitting in front of a computer in a small room with one other person, wearing a pair of (rather painful) headphones, and transcribing letters from the tape. So you can't even talk to the other person because you have no time and no hearing, and the only break is when you cross the room to print stuff out, or leave the room to get another tape.
I'm going to see how it goes tomorrow, but I think today's provided enough experience of the job to give me a great big "I won't like this type of work, not even slightly" signal. It would be much better, and I'd actually sort of like it, if I was in a slightly bigger room and had a variety of duties. I think I'll be calling my agency tomorrow though!
Sunday, December 01, 2002
Melancholy
It's one of those days. This is the first day of advent, and just like the first day of advent last year, this one definitely doesn't feel like it. The weather is there - gales and rain - enough for you to believe it's December. But I feel dislocated. For a start, I'm now (very suddenly) not jobless. Friday afternoon, and a call comes through from my agency telling me I'm starting work on Monday (tomorrow) on an audio typist position inside the Central Services Agency, whatever is precisely is! I'm sure I'll know all about it this time tomorrow, but right now I don't have a clue. It's the usual night-before-new-job feeling.
But this time, it's compounded. Jonathan arrived from London on Friday. On Saturday, we just went around town, had lunch in Apartment, went for a drink in Bar Bacca and then for another few in Irene and Nan's. My plan, before getting drunk, was to then go home and spend a quiet evening indoors with him, eating and drinking and just generally catching up. It would have been an oasis of calm and relaxation before he left the next day, as well as a bolster before starting work again after such a long time (nearly one whole year) unemployed.
But we ended up getting drunk and going to the Kremlin, and not doing much catching up, and getting even more drunk before getting home and collapsing. I woke up this morning with a hangover from hell, knowing that Jonathan had to leave the house at 4pm, knowing I had work tomorrow... *sigh*
And now he's gone, it's raining outside, the house seems very very quiet, and the news is bad. A few minutes ago I caught myself looking at digital photos I'd taken while he was here, and wondering where he's disappeared to. God, listen to me. (Peri)pathetic indeed. But like all other emotions, melancholy rears it head sometimes, and when it does, writing about it needn't be bad. I just feel I need a few days' holiday to get myself back together again - and this on the eve of my new job. But never mind. I know I'll feel better when I've got the first week of it over. Routine always settles me, sooner or later...
It's one of those days. This is the first day of advent, and just like the first day of advent last year, this one definitely doesn't feel like it. The weather is there - gales and rain - enough for you to believe it's December. But I feel dislocated. For a start, I'm now (very suddenly) not jobless. Friday afternoon, and a call comes through from my agency telling me I'm starting work on Monday (tomorrow) on an audio typist position inside the Central Services Agency, whatever is precisely is! I'm sure I'll know all about it this time tomorrow, but right now I don't have a clue. It's the usual night-before-new-job feeling.
But this time, it's compounded. Jonathan arrived from London on Friday. On Saturday, we just went around town, had lunch in Apartment, went for a drink in Bar Bacca and then for another few in Irene and Nan's. My plan, before getting drunk, was to then go home and spend a quiet evening indoors with him, eating and drinking and just generally catching up. It would have been an oasis of calm and relaxation before he left the next day, as well as a bolster before starting work again after such a long time (nearly one whole year) unemployed.
But we ended up getting drunk and going to the Kremlin, and not doing much catching up, and getting even more drunk before getting home and collapsing. I woke up this morning with a hangover from hell, knowing that Jonathan had to leave the house at 4pm, knowing I had work tomorrow... *sigh*
And now he's gone, it's raining outside, the house seems very very quiet, and the news is bad. A few minutes ago I caught myself looking at digital photos I'd taken while he was here, and wondering where he's disappeared to. God, listen to me. (Peri)pathetic indeed. But like all other emotions, melancholy rears it head sometimes, and when it does, writing about it needn't be bad. I just feel I need a few days' holiday to get myself back together again - and this on the eve of my new job. But never mind. I know I'll feel better when I've got the first week of it over. Routine always settles me, sooner or later...
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