Tuesday, August 10, 2004

Apologies…

COPYRIGHTED IMAGE - Fair Use. Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold, in Columbine High School

…for the break in postings; I haven’t been too good at doing anything in the past few days. The weekend was taken up with vegetation, realising that Dad was going away to the Isle of Man for a week, and before all of that, going out to a gay bar in Belfast with a new friend who is in the strange position of knowing quite a lot of people on the scene and at the same time actually being a very nice talkable–to person.

So, we went to this bar. And upstairs in the bar — I’d never sat upstairs there before but it’s very nice with square wood and leather chairs — I experienced some of the old–time atmosphere of sitting in an Aberdeen bar with uni people who I'’d known (seemingly) my whole life. It was just one of those moods. I felt relaxed and at home and in charge. And at the same time reaching out. I thought of Jonathan and wondered why he was missing all this, for example. I thought of Patrick and how, when he next visits, I’ll bring him here.

Anyway. Over the weekend that followed, I spent a lot of time pursuing a really random and quite macabre avenue of web research. The Columbine Massacre - the school shootings in Littleton, Colorado. There are a lot of very informative websites out there. A lot of labyrinthine ones. And a lot of really damn unsettling ones. Here’s a snippet by one of the killers:

I HAVE COME TO ROCK YOUR WORLD
I HAVE COME TO SHAKE YOUR FAITH
ANATHEMATIC ANARCHIST
I HAVE COME TO TAKE MY PLACE

I AM YOUR UNCONSCIOUSNESS
I AM UNRESTRAINED EXCESS
METAMORPHIC RESTLESSNESS
I
I AM YOUR APOCALYPSE
I AM YOUR BELIEF UNWROUGHT
MONOLITHIC JUGGERNAUT
I

This is all the more extremist–sounding and unsettling when you consider that the guy who wrote it was a teenager. Now, as creative writing this is pretty good, powerful, punchy stuff. But taken beside what we now know of how exactly his life was to end, and what lives it was to take with it, it seems to resage what happened and it gives me chills. And even after staring myself bug–eyed at this stuff and all the crime scene reports over the weekend, I still can’t stop myself from thinking: don’t dismiss them as wacko bastards. Because they weren’t.

And then I think of all that flows from that… There’s a poem or ten in here somewhere.

Thursday, August 05, 2004

Women’s classic traits: Listening, welcoming, humility, faithfulness, praise and waiting

The Pope, officiating at a weekly Mass in St Peter’s Square, Oct. 2003. Photo: Massimo Sambucetti, AP

…at least, they would be if you’re the Pope. His Holiness has recently given the nod to an encyclical issued by Cardinal Ratzinger. That makes it official doctrine. Among other points, it states that women should be present in the world of work because they have something unique to contribute — how very generous of the church to say so!

Predictably, more or less every woman who’s not Catholic (and quite a few who are) have gone very red in the face, and not just from the exertion of scrubbing the family crucifix, either. One of them is the redoubtable Germaine Greer, who delivered this withering attack in today’s Guardian:

When it comes to excoriating feminism, tight–lipped Ratzinger, head of the Vatican Congregation of the Doctrine of the Faith, once known as the Inquisition, allows himself to babble like an advertising copywriter. The church, run by celibates and pseudo–celibates in their own interest, is declared to be “expert in humanity”, a claim that those of us who endured Catholic schools from the ages of four to 17 would find ludicrous.

Women of reproductive age, aware that in practising contraception they are considered to be living in sin and unfit to receive the blessed sacrament, are staying away from mass. Their children will stay away, too. […]

In June this year, Ratzinger issued “Worthiness to Receive Holy Communion. General Principles”, arguing that support for abortion rights and euthanasia would render a Catholic unworthy of receiving the sacrament. The purpose of this paper, which was originally written in English, was to pressure American bishops into refusing to allow John Kerry to receive communion, thus effectively excommunicating him, and frightening Catholics away from voting for him. […]

Catholic feminists who snatch at the straw of the Pope’s statement that housework should be paid for should remember that Wojtyla cannot imagine a world in which housework is done by anyone but women. His Holiness’s lavatory is cleaned by nuns.

Remember all those games you played when you were a kid, where either you or your friends had to do something you didn’t really want to, to fit into your role for the game? For a while, it was kinda fun, you had a job to do, you were part of what was going on. And then you realised that all you were really doing was being a willing accomplice to being dicked around. I can only hope that the Catholic women who take this seriously at first will very soon feel the same way.

(I wonder if it’s nuns who lift the Pope onto the toilet every night? Oh, the irony. He can’t shit without women to help him. To quote Hamlet: ‘What a falling–off was there!’ Well, we can but hope…)

Saturday, July 31, 2004

Ba Ba Ti Ki Di Do

Sigur Rós - Ba Ba Ti Ki Di Do

A gentle high–pitched chime, somewhere on your left. Another. Filling in the spaces, more join in, forming a gentle tinkling carillon which never quite makes it to perfect tonality. A piano adds an occasional note. A couple of minutes later the carillon fades under its own delicacy, Sigur Rós’ trademark scratches and distortions appearing. Ba. Ballet–shoes plunk on a wooden floor. Ba. Little electronic scramblings, and maybe — Ti. — maybe that might be the carillon again… Ki. And then, everything rests for a few seconds before joining in the final Di. Do. section. It’s only about 20 minutes. To me, it’s lovely and interesting, like a tidesmoothed pebble you keep in your pocket, smooth on one side and sharp on the other. Useless. And even as you hoard it you know it belongs somewhere else.

Read about it, at least. :o)

Tuesday, July 27, 2004

Bush: the Big Reader

In one of the most incisive insights into the mind of the distinctly average reader, it emerged in an AP report that George W Bush is actually reading the Report of the 9-11 Commission.

The president said he was reading the report and found it “interesting. It reads like a mystery, a novel. It’s well written,” Bush said in a brief interview outside his home in Crawford.

The mystery / fiction accolade is well deserved, as obviously, nobody in America knows what happened on 9/11.

Jesus, the irony.

Monday, July 26, 2004

I’d so hoped…

…that this blog wouldn’t become (mostly) about one thing. And maybe, being a blog, that’s enough to make it about one thing: my thoughts and interests. But in any case, I was looking around for interesting stuff to blog about, and at first could really only think of one compelling thing: this site I found a couple of weeks back. And yes, it’s quasi–political and about moral pugilism in America. (I really hope after November, all this will stop so you poor people won’t have to read it.)

A young photography student got really nastily pushed around by local and federal police for doing nothing more than taking photos of a wellknown and picturesque (photos are on the site) park and canal lock gates near his home. He was so frightened and panicked that his instincts — like those of a trapped rabbit in North Carolina which will cause said rabbit to run — caused him to inform as many people as possible. Because thank god, there’s still safety in numbers.

But, even as my heart sank, even as I realised there is nothing worth blogging about out there that I can actually be bothered to search through my history for — bang! Inspiration!

Röyksopp: Melody AM

Röyksopp. Does that mean anything to you? Do you recognise the name? Röyksopp are purveyors — nay, creators — of the finest and most funkily serene music since ‘_____’, a generic teenager from everywhere on the planet, sat in his/her room and dreamt the perfect album in his/her spotty head.

Royksopp is something very special. Thanks to their work with Kings Of Convenience, Those Norwegians, and Drum Island the boys are at the heart of the Nordic funk. Their album twinkles like the Northern Lights, has the warmth of a well–worn Rhodes, and manages to mix up styles like Love Unlimited having a snowball fight with Mad Professor over at Brian Eno’s pad.

Yes, that’s right. ONE album. Just one. And that is pure gold when you consider how their music is adored by so many people. One of my favourite blogs, things magazine, has only just noticed the video of Remind Me. Made entirely of animated and morphing information graphics. It’s worth a look, people. The cover art of the album is also lovely because it’s minimalistic. We have a swirl of sky so perfectly, leather–sofa–in–dream–Scandinavian–home brown that there is no grotesquerie here; the visual signals of evergreen trees; and a typeface which, capitalised, is simple and not shouty. It says “this is just me, really”.

And yes, Röyksopp’s site and the video are the ‘totally worth it’ links of the day. You need look no further. Except maybe at this site, to get an idea of the critical acclaim.

Sunday, July 25, 2004

Homophobic B&B owner defends his rights

A few weeks ago, it emerged that a B&B (Bed and Breakfast, for my American friends) owner in the Scottish Highlands declined to give a gay couple a room in his establishment because they were, well, a bit gay. The Cromasaig guesthouse’s owner, Tom Forrest, sent the couple an email explaining his decision. “We do not have a problem with your personal sexual deviation, that is up to you,” he wrote. “You are welcome to our twin room if you wish, but we will not condone your perversion.”

I saw that story in the Guardian a couple of weeks ago and it stunned me. Not so much because I never expect to hear of behaviour like that in these wonderfully tolerant times. But rather because Forrest was being so openly straight — one might almost say straightforward — in his views. And, aside from the point that by being so open he must obviously be ramming his heterosexuality down quiet gay people’s throats, it is a fact that he is simply standing up for his rights.

He owns a B&B. It’s his property and under current laws it is not illegal for hoteliers to turn anyone away from their accommodation without a booking, whatever the reason.

The story I first read presented the results of journalists’ canvassing of other establishments up and down the country to see what their attitudes were. Aside from the laughable:—

The receptionist at Greystone Cottage, Windermere, in the Lake District, hesitated: “Ummm, I suppose not.” Again with the warm welcome. Then they added something which discombobulated us rather: “The only thing I will say is that we have an 11. 30pm curfew.” A gay–only curfew? Or did they think gays just more likely to stay out late? Impossible to decide.

— there was a positive attitude. A Jersey hotelier who said that he’d love to allow gay couples to stay but that it was against a (fictional) Jersey law was overridden by the region’s PR manager who said: “There’s no law against gay couples sharing rooms. You might get the odd proprietor who is a fascist or a redneck, but there’s not much we can do about that.”

Except, there should be. And not solely for the gay–centric reason that Forrest is being homophobic. Ruaridh Nichol has an article in last week’s Observer extolling the liberating influence of the holiday and, more significantly, the hotel or guesthouse. It’s not to say that gay or straight people will automatically launch into orgies when their suitcases are unpacked — knowing you are away from home and have some freedom is largely psychological in its benefit. Start making moralistic rules for your guests and you take that away. Your building ceases to be holiday accommodation and therefore ceases to be of value.

But Forrest, who is at the centre of the present row, is in a position of strength. As well as upholding his legal rights (which happen to annul the human rights of anyone not straight) he has backing. As the most recent article says:

He has received more than 4,000 emails from every corner of the globe, 400 letters, countless phone calls and the odd financial contribution. Around 98 per cent of the correspondence, he estimates, is in support. He has also appeared on numerous radio shows, including California’s Riverside Radio[.]

He plans to oppose the introduction of a law making a stance like his illegal by standing for the Scottish Parliament himself.

But I reckon the fight should be taken out of his hands altogether. He should be compelled to withdraw all discriminatory practices from his management, or be forced to close the business.

If his position is, eventually, declared illegal, he says he’ll go to jail rather than allow “poofs, sorry, homosexuals, to share a double room in my home”.

Thursday, July 22, 2004

9/11 Commission Report published

The 9/11 Commission's Report comes off the presses - AP photo, Manuel Balce Ceneta

I’ll have to blog about this a bit later when some of the dust settles and I've had a chance to watch the presentation, but as the Commission’s site is currently overloaded, the report is also available via the BBC Website (link is a 7mb PDF).

[Update: the Commission’s website is speeding up slightly and you can download the same PDF from it at this link.]

Wednesday, July 21, 2004

Heard on the tube…

From this site. The site owner says it’s gossip but I’m inclined to think of them as little sonic slivers of experiences rendered light and frothy because we overhear, rather than live, them.

You can’t take part in an foxhunt and then complain afterwards that you didn’t really want to do it.” – there goes one friendship.

I have no fucking interest in how some fucking journalist conquered her alcoholism and made an article out of it.” – I read this story in the Guardian. Actually quite boring. In parts.

Dr Who was not Welsh. He came from Gallifrey.” – superb wit. Of course they were talking about some actor but it doesn’t stop it being giggle–worthy!

I swear she had cum on her face.” – oh, the people we pass on the street.

I’m in the mood for spiritual ascension.” – this wasn’t you, Jonathan, was it?

Can anyone think of a good name for a cult?” – I can but I’m not telling. It’s patented. Heh.

Shitting hell.” – yep.

You’re not ugly, you just have a funny bone structure.” – this would be utterly tragic if the person saying it had a friend who really *did* have malformed bones.

David Beckham wears white socks. Fuck me.” – I keep imagining a cockney guy of about 50 saying this, deadpan, to nobody in particular while reading the paper. And I keep on grinning.

They aren’t rats, they are just very dirty mice.” – it took me ages to notice the mice on the tube, too, but I never thought they were rats.

Everyone is so gay.” – obviously said somewhere between Green Park and Leicester Square, although it’d be funnier heard in, for example, a really hard place like Canning Town.

Your headphones do make you look like a bit of a wanker.” – and cue the end of another friendship, or a fistfight between total strangers.

You won’t catch me riding a cock.” – nor me. Their little feathered backs are too small, and their legs too weak. A saddle would be tricky too. Hehe. ;o)

I’ve seen a lot of young men wearing cowboy hats and I don’t think it’s a good thing.” – aww, sweet old grannies these days!

There’s nothing more beautiful that that smell after it’s been raining.” – I agree.

Everyone nowadays is a pervert. What happened to old–fashioned boring sex?” – I can assure you it’s alive and well and living in Belfast. Grr.

All she did all day was talk about herself. She didn’t ask me a single question.” – said by the person who talks about themselves all day.

Oooh.... my nipples are hard.” – actually, I think this might have been me.

My son earns more fucking money than I do.” – yes but that’s because you’re not a rentboy.

Thursday, July 15, 2004

Derelict London

St Pancras Chambers, London: front elevation

A city exists not in its buildings but in the spaces between them, the interstices between here and unknown, now and past, cleanliness and squalor. When we’re in a great city of any kind, we register the contrasts without realising it, and they make the modern look all the more so; the charming picturesque, and the bland actively depressing.

London has more spaces of this kind than any city I’ve been to. And that’s why it’s so encouraging that people who notice the spaces are using modern technology to ‘preserve’ the old derelictions as images. Fitting, too, because image is what they are. They are the stone negative whose positive print was lost long since. Dying stone footfalls along the wide avenues of urban time…

Seattle Public Library — Redux

Photo copyright Scott Nelson

A few weeks ago I blogged about Seattle’s delicious new library. Now, you can gawp afresh at a lovely new walkthrough, to be found here.

Iraqi women beg to be killed…

…as American soldiers sodomise their children. No, it’s not true. Well, it hasn’t been proved to be true yet, and may never be.

The women were passing messages out saying ‘Please come and kill me, because of what’s happened’ and basically what happened is that those women who were arrested with young boys, children in cases that have been recorded. The boys were sodomized with the cameras rolling. And the worst above all of that is the soundtrack of the boys shrieking that your government has. They are in total terror. It's going to come out.

Like many on the MetaFilter thread, I hope it’s not true. Those of you who have seen Michael Moore’s most recent film will be familiar with military insensitivity in Iraq, and this story, if true, will raise hell. Utter hell. Of course, if it’s true, hell has already been raised, and this reply within the post raises the very good point that Moore also makes: many US soliders are very young and have very little education, and letting young uneducated people carry and shoot weapons on government orders is a bad idea.

But we do it in the UK, too. Because obviously 26–year–olds, say, are too old to be starting off in the Forces.

Marks & Spencer’s modernism attacked

Marks and Spencer, Belfast City Centre: formerly Richardsons Warehouse

The traditionalist chain of supermarkets, beloved by the French and lovingly sneered at by the English, is going to have to close a few of its more modern doors soon. New minimalist stores are apparently decidedly *out* of the basket – at least the M&S basket.

When I was a kid, I used to love Christmastime even more than I do now, and one of the most atmospheric pleasures was being taken by the hand and led, wide–eyed, through the food hall and wine shop of our City Centre branch here in Belfast. We have a lot of former linen warehouses here, gigantic ornate masonry things, and M&S sits inside one of them (pictured above) as if it’s perfectly at home.

Why not write for the New York Times?

Well, here’s a hint: because if you ever do, your work will be locked away in the cyber equivalent of an iron strongbox for the rest of its natural life, with only those who pay getting access to it.

I think it’s obvious, also, that if you’re not writing for posterity in some way, why be any kind of journalist in the first place?

Humour wears thin

Slim-Fast has just axed Whoopi Goldberg from its TV ads because she did what she was born to do: make jokes.

Goldberg made fun of the US president at a Democratic fundraiser at Radio City Music Hall in New York last week. “We should keep Bush where he belongs,” Goldberg said, gesturing at her genitals, “and not in the White House.”

I mean, I don’t really care that she made a wordplay joke about specifically, erm, Bush. Heh. It’s just the killjoy aspect that I find pathetic!

Tuesday, July 13, 2004

Firemen! Oooooh!

FDNY: Firefighter Billy Biel, photo copyright Alan Batt

OK, turning the campness firmly off, I just took a look around cyberspace and found something which both amuses me and irritates me, at the same time. FDNY, New York City’s Fire Department, has just published its calendar for 2005. This is a somewhat mixed thing for me, as I don't go for a lot of the ‘types’ seen therein. However there are a few nice ones, like this enchanting young man. But they’ve gone and called the damn thing Calendar of Heroes. Why, oh why? Heroes? Nope. Firefighters who risk their lives every day as part of their job and are therefore not particularly exceptional when considered alongside any other firefighter? Yes.

Let’s just hve an end to this “Oh, 9/11, they’re so brilliant, oh, oh” thing already.

Although, heh, some of them are undoubtedly damn fine. :o)

Saturday, July 10, 2004

43% of Americans didn't do it in 2002

Do what?, I hear you say. Well, the answer is… alarming. In 2002, very nearly fifty per cent of the American public didn’t even pick up a book with the intention of reading it. I found this article via MoorishGirl, and it does disturb me because I genuinely love reading proper books. But is this figure actually representative of a non–reading cadre of Americans, or does it hide those who simply spend a lot of time reading erudite and informative electronic texts?

Just to balance it all out, I've been reading (although, sadly on–screen) a very interesting Guardian Review profile of writer Peter Ackroyd who has given all us readers much pleasure – and has given London an entirely fitting tribute by writing its biography. Lucky London: it’s always too busy to write its own, and would never hope to finish the damn thing. Heh. :o)

It’s always a pleasure to read a carefully–printed and –bound book, because the typeface and paper seem to add so much to the experience if you have a certain mindset. Earlier this week, the cornerstone of what will be New York’s replacement for the World Trade Center was laid, and fittingly for the the city, the typeface chosen for the carved inscription was Gotham.

The choice of Gotham is more than a matter of typographical arcana (though as typographical arcana go, it’s not bad). As the first tangible element of the Freedom Tower — and, by extension, the trade center redevelopment — and as an image seen nationwide on Independence Day, the cornerstone sent an aesthetic signal of intent.

And staying with Ground Zero and all that it represents and has given birth to, I went to see Michael Moore’s notorious–before–it–was–released Fahrenheit 9/11 last night. Like most Moore, it’s partisan, although with so much press and public apathy in America at the moment, that is no bad thing. My dad, who has also seen it, said: “In all those clips of Bush, he’s presented as just… a fart. But there are so many of them that you just overwhelmingly know that that’s what he is: a fart.”

After having seen the thing myself, I think a few things: one, that its win at Cannes earlier this year is understandable due to the strength and urgency of the message; two, that its violently mixed reception is due to the strength of the message; and three, that the message itself is ‘trifaceted’ if there‘s such a word.

  • Message one: big business will always control the Presidency and senior politicians in today’s America.
  • Message two: this is shown by the increasing transparency of the current administration’s lies over Iraq.
  • (Aside: yesterday’s publication, by the US Senate Intelligence Committee, of its report (large PDF) on the prewar Iraq ‘intelligence’ is one more nail in the coffin of the vapid excuses peddled by big business / Bush.)

  • Message three: by lying to pretty much everybody about domestic and international terrorism and Iraq, and by being feckless in its own country as well as abroad, the Bush administration has been guilty of betraying the USA’s traditionally cautious and largely moral stance on war, which is that an army shouldn’t be asked to make the ultimate sacrifice unless it’s absolutely necessary.
  • Predictably, the reviews are all very mixed. But I think it’s compelling viewing for anyone.

    Sunday, July 04, 2004

    Poutine

    n. [poo ' teen]:

    The cheese curds did indeed melt and pull the dish together into one gooey mass, although the French fries stayed crispy enough to be individually discernible in the collective, giving the dish a pleasing light crunch. The brown gravy was turpid and dark, with a sturdy tannin structure supporting notes of oak, wood smoke, spice, aniseed and musk. There was the faintest hint of chocolate and raspberry in the finish, though that may have reflected a previous use of the serving dish. In the nose, the poutine was beefy and slightly insolent – I detected an almost wanton playfulness, the evanescent flavors frolicking together like young beavers in a Gaspé pond at dusk…

    Poutine is like the Scottish ‘Chips and Cheese’ which I enjoyed so often in Aberdeen after a night out. But this has cheese curds and gravy. And the above, comedic, superb description comes from an entry on the equally superb Idle Words. Go there at once. Now. Shoo!

    Friday, July 02, 2004

    Saddam in court: zero credibility


    Found on MetaFilter. As was this. [insanely loud laugh]

    Thursday, July 01, 2004

    High–minded vitriol

    Cover of

    It’s about time we stopped using ‘high–minded’ as a cliché and started understanding it to mean a sort of crystalline, passionate venting of the intellect. The passion has drained from op–ed journalism these days. People no longer say what they really feel, and I’m absolutely sure that many such writers consciously think about their writing *style*, rather than their *true beliefs* when they write.

    That said, and without cliché myself, I have not read any recent writing (apart, of course, from poetry) as high–minded as this article in the Village Voice by Gary Indiana:

    Despite the cornucopia of bijoux items from the crackpot right and free-range, publicity–addicted blabbermouths that publishers like HarperCollins and other multinational subsidy boutiques were touting a mere nine months ago as wonderful additions to whatever bookshelves American homes still feature as decorative touches, even the antic Ms. Coulter would have to concede—well, actually, I doubt it—that the popularity of these offerings has been remarkably transient, and most did nothing in sales next to Hillary Clinton's recent blockbuster. It seems that Americans who can still afford to buy a book, and are able to read one, prefer political books that appeal to their better natures instead of their baser instincts and favor writing that offers, at the very least, some hope that diverse people might one day live in acceptance of difference and the golden rule instead of eternal antagonism and warfare.

    Yes. He did write a single paragraph that long and use only two sentences. Grammatically he’s verbosely shite, but what the hell does that matter when what he says makes so much sense?

    (I’m not just talking about Clinton’s book now, by the way. Hehe.)

    The (genuinely funny, and heartening) thing is, this has been called a book review. I’m sure Indiana started it as one, but his passion for his wider subject just overtook it, so I present it to you as a superb example of how firecely an idealistic fire can burn, in even a journalistic breast.

    Wednesday, June 30, 2004

    Worldwide plotting

    President George W. Bush has a new policy: to start a Reign of Freedom around the world. So now we know: the invasion of Iraq wasn’t about getting their oil at all. He wanted to let freedom slither onto the gritty plains of Iraq and grow, menacingly and quietly, until it Ruled.

    Hmmm. Something doesn’t fit there. Freedom does not, and cannot, rule — or reign, as he so grandiloquently put it. That’s by definition. What a twat. (He’s even going to send into combat loads of people who have woken up for years thinking they’re retired!)

    All news seems to be old news these days, whether it’s a fight on Big Brother (our own Deputy Prime Minister punched a guy a few years ago) or a set of political memoirs (the inches pile up and still nobody’s any the wiser). But did you know that the first ever hand–printed tabloid newspapers were called broadsides? The link leads you to an online collection of them, and there are plenty of stories from the days when a murder story was to be salivated over and the type–gutters dripped with blood. And when wives were sold. I bet if you told one of those people, then, about today’s sites like EBay, they’d have clamoured for a ‘Wives’ section.

    Of course, today’s public are more libertarian: wives don’t allow themselves to be sold. They give themselves away on websites all over the world. Heh.

    Here’s a site with PDF copies of early printed books. (Including “A Booke of Secrets”. Endearingly silly – they bloody *published* them!) Also: Incoming Signals, a site so wonderfully peppered with typographical linky bullets, you’d think an ant with inky slippers had taken a walk. Stationery design – calm and beautiful and bulletless – at Passing Notes.

    The ever–popular ‘bunnies’ series continues: Titanic in 30 seconds with bunnies. And Coudal continues too: with a great redesign and a retrospective of some of its frontpage graphics. Way to go, bro. z.

    Thursday, June 24, 2004

    Important men in suits and ties, talking about torture

    This is hypnotically interesting and tainted:

    On June 22, 2004, the White House officially released 14 documents originating from the White House, the Pentagon and the Justice Department concerning the Administration’s interrogation policies [in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, and against the ‘unlawful combatants’ held there].

    Here they are.

    Wednesday, June 23, 2004

    Trains in the City

    Hudson Rail Yards, New York City

    All right. It’s not Sex and the City (as I titled my University dissertation [PDF]) but I suppose if you have a fetish for metro sex, it’s one way of getting your kicks. I got the photo from the insightful, urban, lively Gothamist:

    Gothamist was struck by this photograph of the railyards the new development would replace, because there’s something beautiful about this mass of trains in the middle of the city.

    There certainly is. The convergence — or, should I say, collision? — of trains and river is superb, particularly against a river of this breadth. In your mind, they just do not belong together, and yet when you see this in a city, in the flesh, as it were, it is perfectly fitting.

    You get the effect in London somewhat, but London’s large stations don’t abut the water in the way these yards do. Waterloo station (which is currently London’s — and the UK’s — only international rail terminal) has a wide splay of tracks like this, but it isn’t as close to the aqueous and vaguely oily ripple of the Thames as it should be.

    I have fond memories of Waterloo. Particularly the little coffeeshop which used, as its interior walls, the old bare masonry of the station’s outer shell. And my early days in London, when I worked at the National Film Theatre in their Press Office, and stopped in Waterloo each morning for breakfast and contemplation. How close by everything seemed then… *sigh*

    Monday, June 21, 2004

    “Yes officer, I'm paperpete”

    Yet another reason for someone who doesn’t already live there to get worried about the thought of visiting: America’s police can now demand that you give your name to an officer who asks for it, when you’re not even suspected of anything. It’s worth noting that the House was deeply divided on the vote, and that this is only the first stage. Both points are gratifying to some extent. But it still worries the bit of me which wants to go there sometime.

    Also worth noting that my brother once drunkenly said “I haven’t had a cunt all night, Drinkstable” to a UK officer and got laughed at and told off.

    My friends Giles and Mark sat in my kitchen last night and discussed an article in this month’s issue of the Observer’s monthly music mag, called The 100 Greatest British Albums. MetaFilter has blogged it (quite surprisingly, I have to say — I just didn’t think stuff I read would pass muster with MeFites — but they’re coming to a lot of the same conclusions (or similar) that Mark and Giles arrived at: far too much ‘———’ and far too little ‘———’. Whatever floats one’s boat, I suppose!

    Also from MetaFilter: The State of the Commons (which are the range of intellectual, textual, natural, etc. resources that the American (or worldwide!!) public collectively owns, but which nasty companies try to attach rules to), How to cope with all those words you don’t quite know how to use or which you often mistake. And, if you want to go back to uni but don’t want to leave your job, or your comfy chair, just surf right along to MIT's Open CourseWare pages. It is fascinating, the range of stuff out there in cyberspace these days.

    I’m a bit pissed off to hear that Hotmail blocks all email from GMail, even invitations, because I sent a couple of people GMail invitations and they won’t have got through. Grrr! But I guess I can console myself (har har) by playing a little textual Hamlet.

    Sunday, June 20, 2004

    Impending work

    That might seem to be a strange title. After all, even though I post throughout the day, who’s to know, reading this, that I haven’t had a job for quite a long time? Well, I haven’t, and starting tomorrow, I have.

    However I’m not actually going to say here what the job is or where it is, because there’s been far too much strife going on lately vis–à–vis employees blogging about their work (or even not about their work, but just being identifiable as an employee by what they post about in general) and being fired.

    I could be working in a paint factory or something. You never know. But you won’t know (or at least shouldn’t) from what I write here. I don’t intend to mention work a whole lot, anyway.

    Right now, though, I’m having the usual ‘night before work’ blues. You know: won’t be able to stay up as late as I did, my whole day will be eaten up, I’ll have to rush things I didn’t rush before, etc. etc. etc. With any luck (and a fair amount of state generosity) I won’t run out of cash before the first paycheck comes through. With even more luck, I’ll find out I’m doing something interesting, or at least not oppressive. There are plenty of people who honestly don’t dread going into their jobs each day. I want to be one of them. There are plenty of people who actually like what they do quite a lot, in a real sense. I want to be one of them, too.

    Wish me luck.

    Thursday, June 17, 2004

    d00d, TH15 r0x0r j00r b0x0rz

    G3t y0ur PHr3Ku3N7ly H4s|{3d K0o?St330nZ 4n5w3r3d H3r3:

    “w00t”, “w007”, or “\^/007” or the smiley “\o/” is a common interjection, analogous to “Yeah!” or “Yippee!” One view is that it originated as a variant of the interjection “whew”. Another view believes that it is from hacking, when a hacker would exclaim “Root!” when he got root access. Yet another view is that it originated from an acronym for Want One Of Those. It actually got started as part of the online arena–FPS gaming community (esp. Quake) — short for “We Own the Other Team”.

    And just in case you still have no idea — why not????/ The linked article is from Wikipedia and describes ‘Leet’ in detail.

    Ulysses & Pepys

    No, not Ulysses the god. Ulysses the book – by James Joyce – is now available in daily weblog format, a page a day. (Via Foreword.) It follows on from the previously–established Pepys’ Diary (which, as well as being voyeuristic is an entirely unpretentious intro to the period in which Samuel lived.

    I swear this is real

    Courtesy of Snopes.com

    Photo courtesy of Snopes.com

    From MetaFilter: Have you heard of Fucking?

    In Austria?

    As a result of increasing attention from the media, Fucking has become more and more well–known throughout the world.

    Apparently it’s as old as the hills. Well, not quite. But still a very old place. MetaFilter also points to the Amish (ha!) town of Intercourse, in Pennsylvania, and Pussy, and Condom, in France.

    Wikipedia has a list of other unusual placenames: I particularly like Big Bone Lick (Kentucky), Bastardo (Italy), Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg (a lake in Massachusetts), Dildo (Newfoundland), Lord Hereford’s Knob (a hill in the Welsh Borders, also called Twmpa), Muff (Northern Ireland), Fok Shitt Wan Kaa (Northern Thailand), Little Shittington (in a fictional English country I made up myself), Pissing–by–the–Sea (ditto), Simmering (in Vienna, Austria), Twatt (in both the Orkney and Shetland Islands, Scotland) and finally the seemingly unpronounceable Zzyzx in California.

    Wednesday, June 16, 2004

    Hayfever

    (wakes up)

    (burning throat and burning nose running like a tap)

    (painful sneezing fits)

    (feeling of utter lethargy and slothfulness, aches in legs)

    This isn’t flu. This is hayfever, a really, really bad day, it’s just not fair. :o((( (cries)

    Monday, June 14, 2004

    Stephen Carrie Blumberg: book thief extraordinaire

    From 'Gods Becoming Men' by Olga Tobreluts

    More on the above at the end: I thought it was colourful but it wasn’t what I immediately wanted to write about here.

    I want to write about this. Grand Theft Biblio.

    It finished, years afterwards, with doorknobs. Stephen Blumberg, and his associate Steven Worden (apt, really) were found in a house — which was then in possession of a bank — having stolen a rather impressive amount of doorknobs. Blumberg’s theft of a vast amount of rare manuscripts and books from libraries across the nation was only remembered later. And he’d previously been sentenced for that, erm, offence.

    At 2 a.m. on March 20, 1990, police in the small town of Ottumwa, Iowa ended the career of a man who is arguably the world’s most notorious bibliomaniac. With his arrest that night, Stephen Carrie Blumberg said goodbye for the last time to the library he had spent twenty years amassing. In that time he had gathered books from forty–five states, the District of Columbia, and two Canadian provinces. The value of his collection has been estimated conservatively at seven million dollars. Blumberg’s library, like all good collections, had a unifying theme; every one of his 23,600 books had been stolen.

    Blumberg was allowed to continue his 1990s bookish spree because historical libraries, on discovering a theft, would not release information or co–operate with police for fear of advertising their lack of security – and for fear of ridicule.

    Blumberg stole books because he loved them. There was not a thought of selling them on — no: they were far too precious for that, and far too deserving of a caring, careful owner. He is significant, Jon Wilson writes, to anyone with an interest in understanding bibliophiles because his obsession with books grew out of an understandable passion for them. Only in his extreme and criminal actions did he cross the line from book love to book madness. In Blumberg we see the characteristics of a true bibliophile, magnified by a madness that was not original with him. Blumberg is only a recent example of a collector whose book love has turned into book madness.

    The Museum Security Network’s Book Thefts page muses:

    He takes some understanding. How does one reconcile an apparently genuine appreciation for a 1493 Nuremberg Chronicle bound in ivory calfskin and a slovenliness so pronounced that the wife of an acquaintance felt she had to Lysol the chair he had sat in whenever he stopped by? He barely finished high school. He never married. He had a long history of mental illness. He was nomadic, driving around the country in an old Cadillac or truck, stealing books, endless books, books he selected with care for his collection. But he was not above common thievery. Often, with henchmen, he would steal antiques and sell them. He came from a well-off family and had a private income of $72,000 annually, but now and then he needed extra money. He never sold his books. He said he would return them one day.

    I won’t rehearse the shadowy shenanigans to which Blumberg must have been driven in his quest to liberate these precious paper parcels from their academic slumber. It is easy — as Miles Harvey explains in his positively stellar, compulsive book The Island of Lost Maps — to remove an individual page from a rare book. Even when you are under the proboscis of a particularly hawk–eyed librarian in a million–dollar facility with security guards.

    (I have to interrupt here. You know that book reference above? The American Society of Archivists, bless it, is awfully sniffy. “Of far less relevance is Harvey’s preoccupation with his own psychological motivations for writing The Island of Lost Maps,” it positively declares. “These ruminations occur too frequently and belong in a diary and not this book.” What nonsense. The man’s infectious enthusiasm shines through and is a delight. Anyway. Book theft.) —

    It is less easy to remove an entire book. It is positively difficult to repeat this feat, again and again, until one has amassed one’s own illicit library. And yet Blumberg succeeded.

    I know I said I wouldn’t go into his methods. But I can’t help wondering: how does a man, looking like your usual library–rat, manage to order up a priceless manuscript or map from the stacks and then just disappear with it? He is obviously the living incarnation of every film noir trenchcoat that has ever… been projected.

    Present–day librarians — and not just universities — still worry:

    Not having to erase books my last few minutes, I meander over to the bulletin board. A new posting about a convicted library thief is hanging front center. The full–page warning has two photos of Stephen Carrie Blumberg, a full description of height, weight, hair color, and an account of events leading up to his jail time and recent release on probation. The All Points Bulletin sent out warnings to all libraries and bookstores to look for this felon. Blumberg was convicted in 1990 of “interstate transportation and possession of 19 tons of rare books and manuscripts valued at approximately $20,000,000. He was sentenced to 71 months imprisonment and 36 months parole” (APB, 1996). Blumberg was ordered by the courts to notify his parole officer before visiting any bookstore or library and is supposed to identify himself by name to staff at these locations. “Luckily the students at UI are not ‘professional thieves’ as this man appears to be,” I think to myself. Interrupting my daydream about the library thief, the computer lab monitor hollers at me, “That’s everybody,” as he exits the library. Whew...

    PNLA Quarterly: Pacific Northwest Library Association, 76:2 Winter ’93 [PDF].

    Plucky librarians, and The Law, do have some recourse to safeguards, however. In 1996, our tender, bookloving Stephen was required by a Judge to identify himself on entering any library or bookstore. In the UK ths order would be important because it is hardly ever imposed — except on juveniles who have repeatedly robbed a shop, or on paedophiles who have frequented a neighbourhood. The fact that the innocents at risk are books and the predator a bibliophile kleptomaniac shows the depth of concern to which a Judgely breast may be stirred in the States.

    And here are some more interesting things: More stealing, this time of subway trains. More maps – this time by artistsMillbank Pier in London… Travel (of a kind, actually standing still) at airports… and more travel (except this time underground, in the city of New Yorkan index of –ians and –ites from The Morning NewsGods Becoming Men: Olympic figures in Athens this summer… that’s about it for now.

    Bless this house

    Pollen Grain: image (c) U. of Arizona

    It’s warmer outdoors than it is indoors today. It was the same yesterday also, courtesy of a stone–tiled hallway and kitchen downstairs. I can’t think of another reason, anyway — my window is petulantly and firmly closed as the pollen is annoying me too much, and I’m sitting here and pretending not to notice as it gusts up at the panes invisibly and tries to get my attention. If it keeps this up, I may complain to its clematis.

    Gigantic caught my attention (because of its name, and secondarily because of this jaunty post on blog redesign) via Gapers’ Block (which has a list of summer reading including several titles that had me nodding in encouragement), via Link Worthy (which contains link after link and a linky blog buried somewhere inside, too).

    And now I can’t remember what I was going to write about in the first place, so I’m off for some green tea.

    Thursday, June 10, 2004

    The old man said something special…

    …when he left the White House for the last time. His farewell speech to the US, given on a midwinter night in 1999, and which I’ve just watched for the first time, was delivered with an almost grandfatherly benevolence. And in it:

    Ours was the first revolution in the history of mankind that truly reversed the course of government, and with three little words: “We the people.” “We the people” tell the government what to do, it doesn’t tell us. “We the people” are the driver, the government is the car. And we decide where it should go, and by what route, and how fast. Almost all the world’s constitutions are documents in which governments tell the people what their privileges are. Our Constitution is a document in which “We the people” tell the government what it is allowed to do. “We the people” are free.

    And let me offer lesson No. 1 about America: All great change in America begins at the dinner table. So, tomorrow night in the kitchen I hope the talking begins. And children, if your parents haven’t been teaching you what it means to be an American, let ’em know and nail ’em on it. That would be a very American thing to do.

    That speech (the transcript is here) certainly shows what newfound eloquence can come from having an ‘Old Hollywood’ actor in a political job: I suspect that Reagan knew before he started that his job would be just as much about acting as it was about politics. However, in this speech there’s something more.

    This speech isn’t a promise of what he’ll do. It’s his last speech; he can do nothing more as President. This speech isn’t a monolithic account, handed to History, of what he’s achieved. It is instead, as I’ve said above, a fond eulogy, high on emotion and low on detail, to his time spent changing things. A grandfather talking to his grownup grandchildren, his eyes sparkling and his lips poised in a grin, occasionally pursing more than slightly, as older mouths seem apt to do.

    And what do you think? How do you want things? Never mind ‘America’ — I’m interested in what I’ve done, and I hope you’ll feel it was worth it. If you don’t, then speak, and don’t stop until you’ve got what you want.

    He seems to be saying all that. Of course, he’s a politician. That is his skill. He is an actor. That is his vocation. And he is a Republican, with those values. But I sense a world of difference between his ‘less government’ ideal and Bush’s ‘more government’ soapbox.

    Lassoed by a politician with an actor’s guile? Probably. But I yearn for the day when Bush, or anyone like him, says anything remotely like that and means it.

    Reagan Lies in State

    Reagan lying in state: Capitol Rotunda - Copyright Stephen Crowley, New York Times

    And Bush lies in the White House. Cough.

    Well, I guess something like this just had to happen, didn’t it?

    Capitol police officers, shouting “Airborne threat, four minutes out!” ordered an evacuation as loud alarms sounded, and dozens of dignitaries and former Reagan aides gathered in a reception room near the Senate floor went running down the north steps of the Senate wing.

    That’s a quote from the New York Times’ story on President Reagan’s lying–in–state at the Capitol in Washington. State? Hmmm, not for the first few minutes anyway.

    Jonathan blogs the former President’s death and the resulting media *cough* obsequies *cough* here, more knowledgeably than most Brits could, because he’s not a Brit:

    Ronald Reagan is dead. Can you believe it? What do you mean, of course, you silly twit? Haven’t you seen the impassioned media coverage of this sudden news? And the plans for the biggest funeral America has seen in 30 years?

    Dad and I talked about it. I said ‘Didn’t he start off as a Democrat?’ and Dad said ‘I don’t know, but it doesn’t make any difference. There’s very little space between them’. To which I replied something like ‘Well, they do have a liberal electorate there – small enough not to make a blind bit of difference’.

    Anyway, I’m certain loads of Americans are distraught over this. It’s a big thing for them. But even if I *was* American, I’m not sure I’d care that much even then.

    Tuesday, June 08, 2004

    When you next go to the US…

    …try to make sure it’s in about twenty years or so. By then, hopefully most of the Orwellian laws which currently sit astride your personal freedoms will have disappeared.

    A British journalist, Elena Lappin, was strip–searched and imprisoned for more than 24 hours before being deported — for, as MetaFilter puts it, ‘the crime of not knowing about a never enforced 1952 law requiring “special” journalist visas’. A few grabs from her story, which was the first link above:

    The Patriot Act, introduced 45 days after 9/11, contains a chapter on Protecting The Border […] One of its innovations was to revive a law that had been dormant since 1952, requiring journalists to apply for a special visa, known as I–visa, when visiting the US for professional reasons.

    “You came here as a journalist, and you don’t have a journalist’s visa.” I had never heard of it. […] I requested a glass of water, which the interrogating officer brought me himself. He was a gentle, intelligent interrogator: the interview lasted several hours and consisted of a complete appraisal of my life, past and present, personal and professional. He needed information as diverse as my parents’ names, the fee I would be paid for the article I was working on […]

    “How dare you treat an American officer with disrespect?” he shouted back, indignantly. “Believe me, we have treated you with much more respect than other people. You should go to places like Iran, you’d see a big difference.” The irony is that it is only “countries like Iran” (for example, Cuba, North Korea, Saudi Arabia, Zimbabwe) that have a visa requirement for journalists. It is unheard of in open societies, and, in spite of now being enforced in the US, is still so obscure that most journalists are not familiar with it. Thirteen foreign journalists were detained and deported from the US last year, 12 of them from LAX.

    This poor woman wasn’t simply told she couldn’t stay and put on the next flight home. She was caught up in a web of officialdom (increasingly applied to peaceful journalists in the US) which chose to flaunt its power for no other reason than…

    Than what? I honestly don’t know what to write to finish that sentence. It baffles me. Transport security? Is that being handled well? Is that why they show so much… caution? Not on your life. Is it to combat terrorism? The National Post doesn’t seem to think so.

    Oh, hang on, I know! Under current rules, yes, rules which apply to everyone (apart from bad nations – the UK is officially counted as Good) entering the US, you can enter ‘for business or pleasure’ without a visa for a few months. That rule suddenly doesn’t apply to journalists — lying deceitful harmful terrorist scumbags that they are.

    I want a reason for that distinction. I want Colin Powell or Tom Ridge to stand up in front of the Press, and the foreign citizens the Press exists to serve, in a fortnight’s time, and give a goddamn fucking REASON. (Although an apology and a withdrawal of these absurdities as quick as possible would be the decent thing to do, really, wouldn’t it?)

    Monday, June 07, 2004

    Spy on your MP – See photos – Take Photos

    TheyWorkForYou is a new beta site which is maintained by a group of guys who say, in their intro to the site: “We are a dozen or so volunteers who think it should be really easy for people to keep tabs on their elected MP, and comment on what goes on in Parliament.”

    It contains a way for you to search Hansard (the UK Parliamentary Record) easily and have your results presented as individual speeches. This feature currently goes back only as far as 2001. But the amazing thing is that you can type your postcode, see who your MP is, see their biography, their voting record, how often they’ve actually been in the House… very useful for some people, and very interesting for me.

    A MetaFilter thread linking to excellent, high–resolution AP photos, and high–resolution photos of D–Day. (May disappear soon.)

    Another MetaFilter thread containing a moderate flamewar — arising from signs that Bush’s White House may be slowly imploding. Hopeful news if ever I heard any!

    And finally: although London’s underground travellers haven’t had the right to take photos on the Tube for some time, New York’s citizens are facing their first such ban. And they’re protesting, as Gothamist reports and Unrelated News shows.

    Man gets pissed off, demolishes town

    Police move in to arrest the dead man

    If this wasn’t so obviously devastating to the town concerned, it’d be absolutely hilarious. Oh, wait: it is absolutely hilarious! :o)

    GRANBY, COLORADO — Friends said Marvin Heemeyer hadn’t been seen much lately, and now they know why: he was turning a bulldozer into an armor–plated vehicle.

    A vehicle weighing 53 tons and encased in foot–thick reinforced plating, to be exact.

    He’d got pissed off about his business taking a turn for the worse, had feuds going with quite a few people in the little town. And then the last straw: this builder (don’t mess with builders!) had a snowmobile (pretty essential in that town, I gather) and it broke down.

    And what happened? He’s dead. The police found him like that, inside his vehicle with his stash of guns.

    It only took them about nine hours to open the door.

    Sunday, June 06, 2004

    World War Two ~ War on Terror? What bollocks

    I left a comment on this (previously referenced) thread on Dean’s World a while back, and more recently posted the comment below. I’m posting it here because, well, I think it matters enough to say it here too.

    There was a victory of patriotism over partisanship [in World War Two]. I’d be inclined to emphasise the monumentally extreme nature of the Nazi threat to the allies collectively a little more, and individual patriotism a little less, however, but that’s a moot point.

    However, if (as I suspect) this discussion also attempts to draw a few sneaky parallels between the War on Terror and World War II and the rightness / worldwide agreement / worldwide fear / political acceptability / imperative of truly historic proportions thereof, those parallels will fail.

    I say this with my mind concentrated on the goods and evils of World War II and not on those of the War on Terror: these two conflicts are not comparable. No succour for the present war, or for any other war, can be drawn from the specific and horrible threats the Allies faced in the 30s and 40s.

    I say the above after having also spent more or less an entire half–year reading various books about WWII. I, like everyone here, am living through the current war. Right or wrong completely aside, I simply don’t sense that we are living through a period which ‘matters’ as much as that one did. Or (the usual naysayers you get in every war aside) that we are in a war agreed upon by as many people worldwide as those who agreed at the time about the absolute necessity of overcoming the Nazis back then.

    These are just two completely different wars. Mixing them up with comparisons will be done. Colleagues of mine will be among the guilty parties. I just don’t feel it would serve a purpose, I don’t think it would work — I just don’t think parallels can be drawn between the two. Enough said.

    Well, maybe not quite enough said. Over at Dean’s World, even though I despise a lot of the politics there, the discussion on this topic is decent, as you habitually find there, and circumspect. But if I hear of a single proponent of the “War on Terror” directly trying to milk World War Two of some sort of support for their agenda, I’ll want to rip the insensitive f———er limb from limb.

    Operation Overlord: D–Day, June 6th, 1944

    Sixty years ago today, “Operation Overlord” entered its combat phase as American, British and Canadian troops dropped from the sky in gliders and parachutes, were carried across the sea by a vast flotilla of ships, and struggled from the water into Normandy. The beaches were divided into sections for the purpose of landings and initial operations.

    The sections were, from the west, respectively: Utah, Omaha, Gold, Juno & Sword. American troops would land at the first two beaches and the British and Canadians at the last three. A map of the area is here.


    The assemblage of landing craft waiting to carry the troops that morning was massive.


    Earlier, Airborne divisions, composed of gliderborne troops and, shown above, paratroopers, had landed in countryside set back from the invasion beaches, with the aim of taking roads, gun emplacements, and disrupting German troop and reinforcement movement inland. Most paratroopers landed well away from their drop zones due to German flak, and gliderborne troops and vehicles were sacrificed to Normandy’s monumentally tall and thick hedgerows.


    Machinery had been manufactured in great quantity to clear beach obstacles after the infantry advance. It was carried on comparatively small landing craft which were designed to land right on the beaches and allow these bulldozers and tractors, followed by amphibious tanks, to drive off.


    Flail tanks like these would be used to harmlessly clear minefields so that vehicles and reinforcements could cross and establish an Allied beachhead.


    On the morning of June 6th, men and equipment were loaded onto LCTs (shown above).


    This photo from the US Navy shows troops in the tiny ‘Higgins Boat’ approaching the beaches. These craft were flat–bottomed and were skippered by US Navy Coast Guards. Many were completely swamped, and most ran aground on sandbars, resulting in heavily–laden troops having to jump into deep water and dump their equipment to avoid drowning. Those who were ‘luckier’ faced the scene below.


    This scene from ‘Omaha’ Beach shows troops exiting a Higgins Boat and making for the start of the sand. They had in most cases over a mile of water, sand and shingle to cross. The beaches were strewn with steel obstacles, anti–tank and –personnel mines, and were raked by fire from small arms, heavy machineguns, mortars and artillery. Due to the Airborne misdrops during the night, German artillery inland was able to lay precisely–targeted, withering fire on the invasion beaches, and the German gunnery on the beaches themselves was from strongly–built reinforced–concrete emplacements which stood up to direct hits from Allied Navy artillery offshore.


    Those who made it across the sand to the shingle and then the cliffs found sights like this (photo: US Navy) every metre of the way. Because of initial German fire superiority over the beaches, many men were killed and vehicles, radios, guns, ammunition, boats, lifejackets, cigarettes, rations, etc. were destroyed before they made land. Exits from the beaches were not established for several hours and some were not ‘open’ even as night fell. This meant that there was nowhere to go, and beaches were sometimes under enemy fire and crowded with Allied men and equipment well into the evening, as seen below.


    There is another excellent overview of Operation Overlord at Wikipedia, and a rich selection of info at the BBC World War Two subsite.

    The Imperial War Museum's photo search page yields impressive results if you search for the subject: ‘Operation Overlord’ and within the period ‘World War Two’. The US Naval Historical Centre has these pages:

  • Overview
  • Crossing the English Channel
  • The landings in general
  • Omaha Beach
  • Omaha Beach II
  • Utah Beach
  • Pointe du Hoc
  • And it all happened 60 years ago today. Those guys who went onto the beaches and dropped from the sky over Nazi-infested Normandy – a lot were killed. Those who lived would be in their eighties or nineties now, or also dead. The D-Day Museum states:

    On D-Day, the Allies landed around 156,000 troops in Normandy. The American forces landed numbered 73,000: 23,250 on Utah Beach, 43,250 on Omaha Beach, and 15,500 airborne troops. In the British and Canadian sector, 83,115 troops were landed (61,715 of them British): 24,970 on Gold Beach, 21,400 on Juno Beach, 28,845 on Sword Beach, and 7900 airborne troops.

    11,590 aircraft were available to support the landings. On D-Day, Allied aircraft flew 14,674 sorties, and 127 were lost.

    In the airborne landings on both flanks of the beaches, 2395 aircraft and 867 gliders of the RAF and USAAF were used on D-Day.

    Operation Neptune involved huge naval forces, including 6939 vessels: 1213 naval combat ships, 4126 landing ships and landing craft, 736 ancillary craft and 864 merchant vessels. Some 195,700 personnel were assigned to Operation Neptune: 52,889 US, 112,824 British, and 4988 from other Allied countries.

    By the end of 11 June (D + 5), 326,547 troops, 54,186 vehicles and 104,428 tons of supplies had been landed on the beaches.

    On estimates only, I work out that if casualty figures, including injuries, are evenly spread for June 6th alone when approximately 10,000 were killed, missing or injured, and 59 ships sunk, it works out that:

  • c. 7 men were killed or injured per minute
  • c. 5 aircraft were lost per hour (although this does not take into account the massive percentage of air and glider sorties which took place over Normandy in the first 6 hours)
  • c. 2 ships or landing craft were sunk per hour (and this is extremely skewed as most craft were sunk directly after 6am, when the landings first began)
  • And that was all in a day, over a tiny part of France.

    Apart from doing google searches for further info, I’d recommend one paperback book. It’s not often I recommend books on this blog, but D-Day by Stephen Ambrose is superb and even if you think you aren’t interested, you will be.

    Saturday, June 05, 2004

    Garden (un)design

    Koto-in, photo by Alan Tarver, courtesy JGarden

    James Fenton in today’s Guardian Review decries a dangerous buildup of design concerns when it comes to gardens.

    I think, taking the few, precious, historic Japanese gardens we have an an example, that design has its place. It can result in a an effect of completely natural development; an absence of design. A Japanese garden can look obviously designed but so uplifting and absorbing that it is a liberator of the mind instead of an oppressive place. Even though in some cases each and every pebble for the shore of a pond was chosen and placed by hand, the effect is still natural hundreds and hundreds of years later.

    I particularly like Daisen–in, Shugaku–in, Kôtôin, Daitokuji Hojo and Kinkaku-ji.

    Pope violently lashes Bush — with his tongue

    Photo: Associated Press

    The Guardian has this report on Dubya’s gloriously ignominious visit to the Vatican:

    The Pope yesterday subjected George Bush to a very public, relentlessly critical assessment of the US administration’s performance in Iraq, attacking “deplorable” abuses of prisoners and calling for an international solution to the country’s crisis.

    During the president’s visit to the Vatican, which the administration had hoped would help him win Catholic votes in November’s presidential election, the Pope warned Mr Bush he would never succeed in the war on terrorism if he failed to ensure respect for basic human rights.

    I’m not happy in a nasty vindictive I–hate–Bush–whoever–he–is way. I’m very very happy that this has happened, though, because the man reallly has mucked up so much about the world since late 2001 that he’s always deserved a public dressing–down by someone. And since the Pope isn’t as partisan diplomatically as politicians usually are, who better to carry out the job?

    However, as I said in a previous post, the Pope is a quavering old man and what he had to say has made no real impression on Bush or America. (It may affect the Catholic vote there in time, but that remains to be seen.) Largely it won’t change a damn thing. Of that I am certain.

    1944 headlines — today?

    Here’s a really fascinating article written in the present day, but about D–Day. It’s meant to show how the operation would have been reported by the world’s current media.

    In an as yet unfolding apparent fiasco, Supreme Allied Commander, Gen. Dwight David Eisenhower’s troops got a rude awakening this morning at Omaha Beach here in Normandy.

    Due to insufficient planning and lack of a workable entrance strategy, soldiers of the 1st and 29th Infantry as well as Army Rangers are now bogged down and sustaining heavy casualties inflicted on them by dug–in insurgent positions located 170 feet above them on cliffs overlooking the beaches which now resemble blood soaked killing fields at the time of this mid–morning filing.

    More darkly, this phase of the war, commencing less than six months before the next general election, gives some the impression that Roosevelt may be using this offensive simply as a means to secure re–election in the fall.

    Underlining the less than effective Allied attack, German casualties — most of them innocent and hapless conscripts — seem not to be as severe as would be imagined. A German minister who requested anonymity stated categorically that “the aggressors were being driven back into the sea amidst heavy casualties; the German people seek no wider war.”

    But it wouldn’t have been reported like this today, and there are a few good reasons for that.

    First, the entire world had looked on in literal horror and fear as Germany grew and became more grotesque and threatening. Second, the entire world was in agreement that Germany had to be completely neutralised. Third, it was at the time arguably the world’s most effective fighting–machine. Fourth, like other citizens, modern–day journalists would have recognised all the above. They would also have recognised the need for high morale on the home front in the face of such a threat, and would not have written such speculative reports.

    And finally, every journalist — nay, every single individual — of today, when faced with such an enemy, would categorically avoid and dismiss any electioneering conspiracies. The watchword would be morale for the first few days of World War II, whether it happened in 2004 or 1944.

    Thursday, June 03, 2004

    Waterstone’s Piccadilly: ‘Personal Shopper’ alert

    This isn’t such a weird story as it might seem. The Daily Telegraph, Via MoorishGirl:

    Waterstone's flagship store in Piccadilly has had a “dedicated Personal Shopper” – who will help customers with tricky buying decisions – for some time. Zoe Hall is the young lady who can help you. However, Ms Hall has now added another string to her bow: instead of just recommending particular titles she will, if requested, come up with a whole library.

    The “Personal Library Service” offers those with empty shelves an opportunity to fill them at one go. To illustrate the point Waterstone’s has produced a list of 30 titles which they consider to be “The Essential Library”. It contains such must–haves as Passing Time in the Loo by Stevens W. Anderson, The Mammoth Book of Jokes by Geoff Tibbles and The Good Food Guide. If this were not disconcerting enough, the bookstore seems to be under the impression that the plays of William Shakespeare, J. R. R. Tolkien’s The Lord Of The Rings and A. A. Milne’s Winnie The Pooh, along with every other title on the list, are works of “non-fiction”.

    A library is an organic thing, it accompanies you through life, and ought to reflect the taste and knowledge of its owner, not the bookseller. Still, should you need an “all–pink” collection for a seven–year–old, call Ms Hall. Her expertise — but not the merchandise — comes free of charge.

    I was a fixture in the Piccadilly store for more or less all of 2001 — just after the jets had crashed into the World Trade Center, the people milling around for books about Nostradamus were there in droves — and the store was full of what I can only describe as consumer–oriented promotions even then.

    To partially defend this abovementioned crime: as Waterstones’ flagship store, Piccadilly was always going to have ‘supermarket’–type offers which other branches wouldn’t have, and it did. But it also had (and still has) a brilliant stock, which becomes gloriously quirky in certain departments.

    However, Zoe’s being a bit silly here. Either that or the manager is. Or the marketing manager is. Or the otherwise excellent helpfulness of the staff has crossed the line dividing ‘extremely helpful’ from ‘absurdly helpful’. The list (which, unhelpfully, isn’t presented in full by the Telegraph) is… awful. I mean, as a writer and a reader I look at it and think it’s awful. And the thought that a single bookseller anywhere could conceivably help anyone (apart from themselves) to build an entire library, however basic, is risible. *sigh*

    Summer evenings & tiny feathered rear ends

    I was just outside in the garden, sipping my glass of wine (Clock Tower, delicious and expensive) after dinner. We’ve got the wooden chairs out now that summer’s approaching in earnest and one of them is still covered in, hmm, excreta from various birds who relieved themselves on it last summer.

    So I sat there and told poo jokes to myself. And fart jokes, too.

    And then I thought: if we didn’t have an anal or excreta taboo, there’s no way we could have fart jokes because they just wouldn’t be funny. The transgression makes the humour.

    So thank christ, in a way, for one particular taboo!