You can't keep a good man down. Or in my case a bad one. Ok, maybe just a slightly average, short-ish, plumpish, ageing rocker like me. I toyed with a new blog, with anonymity running through it. A place to comment on the general shite-ness of life, things that don't work, people that don't work, the battles of an ageing man in a society that doesn't care, in a house full of women.
Perhaps I could just called the blog 'Marginalised'
Anyway, pip pip, back soon, watch this space, see you anon and any number of other hackneyed geezer cliches.
Later, GJ
Wednesday, 6 October 2010
Thursday, 3 December 2009
So farewell then Jack
And so it ends.
After 5 years or so of trying to express to others, the the ups and downs of my life, the things I've liked, loved and hated, the things that have angered, frustrated and inspired me and the various characters who play a part in my life, I'm off.
It all started through the boredom of a job I hated and the wasting affect it had on my annoying, questioning, challenging mind. And it was anonymous. The mistake I made was letting those close to me in on the secret, and that immediately closed down an avenue of writing as I could no longer truly write what I thought of people, despite keeping them anonymous. As word grew it became obvious to the the readers who knew me who others were and it just took the sting away a bit. If I ever do this again, it will remain my secret and that's that.
Now I'm in a job which is a crossroads point for me, the fun has worn off and I'm battling to move the team forward and the choice for me is coast through life moaning but accepting my lot, or keep bashing away annoying the fuck out of Billyboy, The Tub Thumper (now my boss again) and all of the rest of the Ivory Tower inhabitants it is my misfortune to have to work for. I can't write about that forever though.
I keep busy writing occasional articles for Chelseablog, and am looking now at how to sate the creative aspects of my life as technology changes. Podcasts fascinate me and there's a Chelsea fans one I might try and gatecrash.
The social media and networking phenomenon is fast rendering blogs as less and less relevant and it's no coincidence that the blogs people want to read are now focused on specific topics, be that sex, football, politics, media or whatever. When I started , blogging was new and exciting but the blogosphere has become so huge and so full of similarity and mediocrity it's hard not to get ground down. I find myself rather enjoying the challenges of middle age and Facebook and Twitter. Facebook I've cracked, Twitter is still to be proven to me as a useful way of communicating or keeping in touch.
I still want to write, but am serious about drafting a novel, or a play....or even scripts, but for me the blogging adventure is over...not dead....just asleep and who knows when or if Grocerjack will ever wake up. All good things must end and right now it feels like that to me. The site will remain for as long as allowed without being updated and well...never say never....but as far as I can tell, this is it.
As The Dragons would say, "I'm out"
Thanks to everyone who's ever read or commented. It was fun.
Au revoir mes amis, GJ
Friday, 13 November 2009
Way to go Sting
I like The Police.
I don't much like Sting's solo stuff.
I did quite like Fields of Gold mind. And the one about the nuclear bomb.
His rain-forest posturing and general liberal wet arty farty ways are a bit annoying as well.
But he's absolutely dead right in his criticism of The X-Factor.
It is a Karaoke competition and nothing else. It is about generating cash for Cowell Corporation. It is factory pop of the worst kind since....oh.....a few years back when Stock, Aitken and Waterman ruled the airwaves. It has fuck all to do with proper real music. I don't deny that Leona Lewis, Alexandra Burke, JLS et al.... have technically near perfect voices. That's all they do have though. Music and song is much much more than just showing off your vocal power and range everytime a microphone is shoved in your face. It's more than dance routines and sparkly outfits. It's more than being a performing seal.
It's about soul, passion, spirit, individuality and creativity and that little something that sets you aside. Good music and good 'pop' music have something intangible that works. Talented artists really do have an X factor. That special ingredient that emanates from them and what they perform that gets into the soul of the those , like me, who love music. It's the same for painters, sculptors and writers.
Look carefully at the X Factor and ask yourself how many of the following artists would have survived to win the alleged competition. Rod Stewart? Sinead O' Connor? Randy Crawford? Kate Bush? Would the current George Michael or Elton John versions get past Cowells critical eye? What about Engelbert Humperdinck with his crooning ballads? If Sting turned up with his guitar, would he make it? Come to think of it would Michael Jackson have got very far? Kirsty Maccoll perhaps? Nah, not pretty enough. John Lennon.....Freddie Mercury......John Lydon........the list goes on. None of them would meet the pre-packed, pre-moulded, sanitized production line pop criteria needed to be a 'star' through the X Factor route.
If it's all the same to you, I'll stick to Jools Holland's Later and the Beeb's Glasto coverage for my TV music.
A plague on the X-Factor house and all it's occupants!
Later, GJ
I don't much like Sting's solo stuff.
I did quite like Fields of Gold mind. And the one about the nuclear bomb.
His rain-forest posturing and general liberal wet arty farty ways are a bit annoying as well.
But he's absolutely dead right in his criticism of The X-Factor.
It is a Karaoke competition and nothing else. It is about generating cash for Cowell Corporation. It is factory pop of the worst kind since....oh.....a few years back when Stock, Aitken and Waterman ruled the airwaves. It has fuck all to do with proper real music. I don't deny that Leona Lewis, Alexandra Burke, JLS et al.... have technically near perfect voices. That's all they do have though. Music and song is much much more than just showing off your vocal power and range everytime a microphone is shoved in your face. It's more than dance routines and sparkly outfits. It's more than being a performing seal.
It's about soul, passion, spirit, individuality and creativity and that little something that sets you aside. Good music and good 'pop' music have something intangible that works. Talented artists really do have an X factor. That special ingredient that emanates from them and what they perform that gets into the soul of the those , like me, who love music. It's the same for painters, sculptors and writers.
Look carefully at the X Factor and ask yourself how many of the following artists would have survived to win the alleged competition. Rod Stewart? Sinead O' Connor? Randy Crawford? Kate Bush? Would the current George Michael or Elton John versions get past Cowells critical eye? What about Engelbert Humperdinck with his crooning ballads? If Sting turned up with his guitar, would he make it? Come to think of it would Michael Jackson have got very far? Kirsty Maccoll perhaps? Nah, not pretty enough. John Lennon.....Freddie Mercury......John Lydon........the list goes on. None of them would meet the pre-packed, pre-moulded, sanitized production line pop criteria needed to be a 'star' through the X Factor route.
If it's all the same to you, I'll stick to Jools Holland's Later and the Beeb's Glasto coverage for my TV music.
A plague on the X-Factor house and all it's occupants!
Later, GJ
Monday, 9 November 2009
Why I love the 80's.........and the 60's and 70's...and bits of the 90's
This is weird. What started off as a retrospective 'weren't the 80's actually rather good' spiel turns into 'aren't I lucky to have lived through music's most golden ages' piece.
It started a few weeks back during the enforced absence when I was wading through weeks of recorded programmes catching up on all the 'must see' stuff I'd recorded in a delusionally desperate attempt to prove the value of the new TV . The truth is most of this 'must see' stuff ends up being deleted through boredom/lack of time/better things to do. But when you're immobile there is very little that's better than lying flat, propped into a comfy position with fluffy pillows, surrounded by remote controls, medicines, an iPod, mobile phones and bags of Minstrels and Midget Gems. Not the most active or healthy of lifestyles I grant that, but something everyone should do occasionally just for the good of the soul. A break from the strife of normality one might say.
One of the recorded programmes was called Synth Britannia, yet another excellent piece of contemporary cultural history from the rather good BBC4 stable. I started to watch this thinking it might be worthy but dull, but instead revelled in a nostalgia-fest of the birth, flourishing, maturation and eventual record industry homogenisation of electronic music.
Setting aside that bands like Pink Floyd, Tangerine Dream etc had dallied with electronic sounds for some years, the programme gave a wonderful overview of the emergence into the charts from the late 70's in the shape of Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark (OMD), through the fringe elements of bands such as Cabaret Voltaire and the transition of The Human League from failing electronic/synth geeks into pop-tastic leaders of synth dance music so synonymous with the 80's. Of course the nostalgia was where it worked the most, and it set me reflecting on my own almost covert love of this stuff, the fashions and the post punk evolution of music through arguably its last truly avant-garde era of mixing the independent with mainstream appeal. Until Stock, Aitken and Waterman came along and strangled it with their ruthlessly efficent factory model producing electro-pap instead of electro-pop.
For 2 glorious hours I lay on the sofa revelling in clips from Gary Numan, Depeche Mode, Yazoo, Pet shop Boys, Human League, Heaven 17, OMD and even some Kraftwerk lobbed in for good measure. From some BBC treasure vault they included video clips from clubs and concerts showing the transition from punk fashions including the goth eye make-up and quasi-bondage outfits into the refined versions so prevalent at the time and which in turn heavily influenced the whole New Romantic fashions seen at the time. Men wearing make-up then was outrageous, but who really bats an eyelid these days? For me it was covert because of the image I'd woven for myself at the time, the jean-jacketed long haired pseudo Motorhead look was my way. But although a dyed in the wool rocker, underneath it all beat the heart of a wedge haircut, make-up wearing, be-suited Spandau Ballet fan. I envied the guys in my local pub off to the clubs wearing this immaculate outrageous gear, spangly, sparkling women adorning their arms. It was circa 1983 when the hair finally got cut and the wedge appeared. I had two ear piercings but was never brave enough to don the make-up despite being just about the only one in that group. We all fancied the Human league girls, and some even fancied Alison Moyet (I've never been a weight fascist). Watching the programme reminded me of the prime of youth I guess, those years between about 17 and 25, prior to any really serious relationships or marriages, when a fuck or a fight at the end of an evening was a result (the fight obviously being the lesser prize), an age when school was done and you had very little in the way of responsibility. And as usual a time of our lives that we were too young to appreciate fully.
As I sat down to write this I realised that being born in 1961 has meant that I am so fortunate because I have lived through the best decades humanity has known. I got a taste of the 60's, like a young boy's first taste of Dad's beer. You pretend to like it but can't be sure because you're too young. But you know you'll love it when you grow up. The 1970's, a much maligned decade politically, culturally, artistically and musically, were in retrospect like the first few seconds of the Big Bang, where the Big Bang was the 60's (the decade that spat on post-war austerity, where the teenager was finally acknowledged by society). The 1970's gave us colour TV, FM radio, vcr's, glam rock, Queen, disco, new wave, punk, David Bowie, Dame Elton John. Rod Stewart, The Clash, T Rex, Sweet, Slade....the list is just too big, but suffice to say the 80's needed the 70's fashions and influence and they succeeded just as spectacularly. As the 90's came along the inevitable ageing process removes you from the cult of youth and you lose that touch with what's 'in' and what's relevant to the incoming generations.
And so it should be. What my generation, with all it's inherent grumpiness' has managed to do a million times better than our parents and grandparents generations is to accept what our kids like whilst reserving the right to dismissing it as rubbish either in jest or for real. We do not seem to embrace outrage or resistance to cultural change as they did in the 50's and 60's. And with any luck the next set of 40-something parents will be even better this, accepting the gap and encouraging the kids to do their own thing, to dress their own way, to listen to and like their own music. But I'll say this, boy have they got their work cut out in doing better than us. Something tells me that kids of today might not be looking back quite as nostalgically at Jedward, Rhydian, Mika, Acon and the stuff around today. Although Lady Gaga might make the cut!
Sound like a parent don't I?
Later, GJ
It started a few weeks back during the enforced absence when I was wading through weeks of recorded programmes catching up on all the 'must see' stuff I'd recorded in a delusionally desperate attempt to prove the value of the new TV . The truth is most of this 'must see' stuff ends up being deleted through boredom/lack of time/better things to do. But when you're immobile there is very little that's better than lying flat, propped into a comfy position with fluffy pillows, surrounded by remote controls, medicines, an iPod, mobile phones and bags of Minstrels and Midget Gems. Not the most active or healthy of lifestyles I grant that, but something everyone should do occasionally just for the good of the soul. A break from the strife of normality one might say.
One of the recorded programmes was called Synth Britannia, yet another excellent piece of contemporary cultural history from the rather good BBC4 stable. I started to watch this thinking it might be worthy but dull, but instead revelled in a nostalgia-fest of the birth, flourishing, maturation and eventual record industry homogenisation of electronic music.
Setting aside that bands like Pink Floyd, Tangerine Dream etc had dallied with electronic sounds for some years, the programme gave a wonderful overview of the emergence into the charts from the late 70's in the shape of Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark (OMD), through the fringe elements of bands such as Cabaret Voltaire and the transition of The Human League from failing electronic/synth geeks into pop-tastic leaders of synth dance music so synonymous with the 80's. Of course the nostalgia was where it worked the most, and it set me reflecting on my own almost covert love of this stuff, the fashions and the post punk evolution of music through arguably its last truly avant-garde era of mixing the independent with mainstream appeal. Until Stock, Aitken and Waterman came along and strangled it with their ruthlessly efficent factory model producing electro-pap instead of electro-pop.
For 2 glorious hours I lay on the sofa revelling in clips from Gary Numan, Depeche Mode, Yazoo, Pet shop Boys, Human League, Heaven 17, OMD and even some Kraftwerk lobbed in for good measure. From some BBC treasure vault they included video clips from clubs and concerts showing the transition from punk fashions including the goth eye make-up and quasi-bondage outfits into the refined versions so prevalent at the time and which in turn heavily influenced the whole New Romantic fashions seen at the time. Men wearing make-up then was outrageous, but who really bats an eyelid these days? For me it was covert because of the image I'd woven for myself at the time, the jean-jacketed long haired pseudo Motorhead look was my way. But although a dyed in the wool rocker, underneath it all beat the heart of a wedge haircut, make-up wearing, be-suited Spandau Ballet fan. I envied the guys in my local pub off to the clubs wearing this immaculate outrageous gear, spangly, sparkling women adorning their arms. It was circa 1983 when the hair finally got cut and the wedge appeared. I had two ear piercings but was never brave enough to don the make-up despite being just about the only one in that group. We all fancied the Human league girls, and some even fancied Alison Moyet (I've never been a weight fascist). Watching the programme reminded me of the prime of youth I guess, those years between about 17 and 25, prior to any really serious relationships or marriages, when a fuck or a fight at the end of an evening was a result (the fight obviously being the lesser prize), an age when school was done and you had very little in the way of responsibility. And as usual a time of our lives that we were too young to appreciate fully.
As I sat down to write this I realised that being born in 1961 has meant that I am so fortunate because I have lived through the best decades humanity has known. I got a taste of the 60's, like a young boy's first taste of Dad's beer. You pretend to like it but can't be sure because you're too young. But you know you'll love it when you grow up. The 1970's, a much maligned decade politically, culturally, artistically and musically, were in retrospect like the first few seconds of the Big Bang, where the Big Bang was the 60's (the decade that spat on post-war austerity, where the teenager was finally acknowledged by society). The 1970's gave us colour TV, FM radio, vcr's, glam rock, Queen, disco, new wave, punk, David Bowie, Dame Elton John. Rod Stewart, The Clash, T Rex, Sweet, Slade....the list is just too big, but suffice to say the 80's needed the 70's fashions and influence and they succeeded just as spectacularly. As the 90's came along the inevitable ageing process removes you from the cult of youth and you lose that touch with what's 'in' and what's relevant to the incoming generations.
And so it should be. What my generation, with all it's inherent grumpiness' has managed to do a million times better than our parents and grandparents generations is to accept what our kids like whilst reserving the right to dismissing it as rubbish either in jest or for real. We do not seem to embrace outrage or resistance to cultural change as they did in the 50's and 60's. And with any luck the next set of 40-something parents will be even better this, accepting the gap and encouraging the kids to do their own thing, to dress their own way, to listen to and like their own music. But I'll say this, boy have they got their work cut out in doing better than us. Something tells me that kids of today might not be looking back quite as nostalgically at Jedward, Rhydian, Mika, Acon and the stuff around today. Although Lady Gaga might make the cut!
Sound like a parent don't I?
Later, GJ
Friday, 30 October 2009
Heartbreaking inspiration
I'm heading into the last few days of sick leave after the operation, now confident of a return to work next week. A month off, just the sort of break required for a bit of thinking as well as switching off. Wednesday was Tarantino day with back to back showings of Quentin Tarantino's finest movies. Then yesterday I treated myself to a day of Shakespeare Retold, the marvellous series shown 3 years ago by the BBC. I followed this up with yet another minor masterpiece in the form of the directors cut of Blade Runner, the first time I've seen this format. On the big TV in full cinema sound it really was quite spectacular.
I decided on this because I needed cheering up. I had a few pieces of news yesterday that made me feel a bit down. Not Grumpy Bloke down, but just a little sad. A friend at work has been diagnosed with Breast Cancer. She's 29 for fucks sake. And it's the worst kind apparently.
Some God huh?
Following that came the news that the trial of a friend I worked with who was killed last year had ended. The killer got manslaughter and 9 years. For 30 stab wounds and an attempt at sawing her head off. In front of her kids.
Some justice huh?
After the film finished I flicked through the channels and came to rest on Channel 4 +1 - the electronic guide simply stated a title of Katie: My Beautiful Face. I immediately assumed it was yet another sycophantic celebrity obsessed programme about Katie Price aka Jordan.
I couldn't have been more wrong. This was simply the most heartbreaking, tragic and yet ultimately warm and inspiring thing I've seen on TV. And I probably mean ever. Maybe it's having Kid and Pie, two lovely teenage daughters but this fantastic documentary seems to have had a major effect on me.
Katie Piper was attacked in March 2008 by an accomplice of her boyfriend. Not just an attack, a vicious and unbelievably cruel attack. He threw industrial strength sulphuric acid straight into her face. She was on the phone to her so called boyfriend at the time who was able to tell his friend what she was wearing to ensure he got the right person. It was all captured on CCTV, which was included in the documentary. It made me cry. As did the photo's taken after the event, as did the video of her in her hospital bed after being woken from her induced coma.
Katie Piper was attractive in a typically 21st century way. Blonde hair, petite figure, flashing white teeth. The sort of person I'd normally label as vacuous, self-centred and dull, and I would have based that judgement purely on her look. Look in any lads mag, or celebrity magazine and you'll see so many like her. Walk though any shopping mall and you'll see the same. Behind this attractive face was a bright young chirpy woman trying to make a name in TV presenting and modelling, as yet seemingly unsullied by the sleazier side of both industries. No doubt this was down to a decent upbringing from her wonderfully grounded parents and younger sister.
The film showed how this girl.....no sorry.....young woman has had to learn to live with terrible disfigurement, through 30 operations, being fed through a tube, being scared to answer the door, barely sleeping through the night without nightmares, having to wear a mask at night on top of the perspex mask she wears for 23 hours a day, with various anti-scar treatments being applied 4 times daily by her parents, having to constantly apply drops into her eyes every few hours and to try and walk down the road and ignore the stares and leers from the Great British Public, She lives this life every day and is still very much on the road to recovery. She has lauded the talents of her NHS doctor, Mr Jawad, who has used pioneering techniques on her to try and reconstruct a face that was literally dissolved of her skull. It was so bad it destroyed all 4 skin layers in places and just left the fat layer that sits over the bone. It dissolved some of her throat and part of her chest and shoulder as well as her wrist. It was truly utterly shocking, At one point when she was at a specialist treatment centre only available in France (a trip funded by a charity) when her Dad called to break the news that the scumbag who'd done this had been found guilty. The consequent filmed breakdown as she collapsed into mixed tears of pain and happiness was utterly heartbreaking. I defy anyone to watch the film and not find themselves gaining a sense of real perspective.
Katie Piper. You are a truly remarkable and brave young woman. The film showed me what real beauty is all about, and disfigured or not, yours shone through. I found myself inspired by your personality, attitude and a level of courage that I'm not sure I could ever reach. I hope you find someone good and kind to hold your hand through life, to support you and make sure the rest of your life is both long, rich and fulfilled. I doff my virtual Guild of Grumpy Blokes cap in your direction.
Later, GJ
I decided on this because I needed cheering up. I had a few pieces of news yesterday that made me feel a bit down. Not Grumpy Bloke down, but just a little sad. A friend at work has been diagnosed with Breast Cancer. She's 29 for fucks sake. And it's the worst kind apparently.
Some God huh?
Following that came the news that the trial of a friend I worked with who was killed last year had ended. The killer got manslaughter and 9 years. For 30 stab wounds and an attempt at sawing her head off. In front of her kids.
Some justice huh?
After the film finished I flicked through the channels and came to rest on Channel 4 +1 - the electronic guide simply stated a title of Katie: My Beautiful Face. I immediately assumed it was yet another sycophantic celebrity obsessed programme about Katie Price aka Jordan.
I couldn't have been more wrong. This was simply the most heartbreaking, tragic and yet ultimately warm and inspiring thing I've seen on TV. And I probably mean ever. Maybe it's having Kid and Pie, two lovely teenage daughters but this fantastic documentary seems to have had a major effect on me.
Katie Piper was attacked in March 2008 by an accomplice of her boyfriend. Not just an attack, a vicious and unbelievably cruel attack. He threw industrial strength sulphuric acid straight into her face. She was on the phone to her so called boyfriend at the time who was able to tell his friend what she was wearing to ensure he got the right person. It was all captured on CCTV, which was included in the documentary. It made me cry. As did the photo's taken after the event, as did the video of her in her hospital bed after being woken from her induced coma.
Katie Piper was attractive in a typically 21st century way. Blonde hair, petite figure, flashing white teeth. The sort of person I'd normally label as vacuous, self-centred and dull, and I would have based that judgement purely on her look. Look in any lads mag, or celebrity magazine and you'll see so many like her. Walk though any shopping mall and you'll see the same. Behind this attractive face was a bright young chirpy woman trying to make a name in TV presenting and modelling, as yet seemingly unsullied by the sleazier side of both industries. No doubt this was down to a decent upbringing from her wonderfully grounded parents and younger sister.
The film showed how this girl.....no sorry.....young woman has had to learn to live with terrible disfigurement, through 30 operations, being fed through a tube, being scared to answer the door, barely sleeping through the night without nightmares, having to wear a mask at night on top of the perspex mask she wears for 23 hours a day, with various anti-scar treatments being applied 4 times daily by her parents, having to constantly apply drops into her eyes every few hours and to try and walk down the road and ignore the stares and leers from the Great British Public, She lives this life every day and is still very much on the road to recovery. She has lauded the talents of her NHS doctor, Mr Jawad, who has used pioneering techniques on her to try and reconstruct a face that was literally dissolved of her skull. It was so bad it destroyed all 4 skin layers in places and just left the fat layer that sits over the bone. It dissolved some of her throat and part of her chest and shoulder as well as her wrist. It was truly utterly shocking, At one point when she was at a specialist treatment centre only available in France (a trip funded by a charity) when her Dad called to break the news that the scumbag who'd done this had been found guilty. The consequent filmed breakdown as she collapsed into mixed tears of pain and happiness was utterly heartbreaking. I defy anyone to watch the film and not find themselves gaining a sense of real perspective.
Katie Piper. You are a truly remarkable and brave young woman. The film showed me what real beauty is all about, and disfigured or not, yours shone through. I found myself inspired by your personality, attitude and a level of courage that I'm not sure I could ever reach. I hope you find someone good and kind to hold your hand through life, to support you and make sure the rest of your life is both long, rich and fulfilled. I doff my virtual Guild of Grumpy Blokes cap in your direction.
Later, GJ
Tuesday, 27 October 2009
Things I have liked.....and things I haven't
Sitting around for 2 weeks now has meant loads of time to watch TV and try to learn French through new technologies. I've watched near enough everything on my V+ box plus quite a few DVD's and it's been good to catch up on some of the latest stuff.
Some Good stuff:
Cloverfield. Rather excellent 'monster ravages New York' movie with interesting perspective, being as it is shown from the perspective of someone witnessing events through a video camera. Only downside is it yet again centres around teenagers with virtually nobody over 20 in it. I know the makers have a target demographic, but really, would it have hurt to include a few adults?
The Dark Knight: The best Batman film by some distance. As far from the cartoon-like versions seen before, and yes that does include the Tim Burton ones.
Ironman: Superb super hero film laced with humour and menace. How could anything that plays in with Back in Black by ACDC, with the best US actor ever, Jeff Bridges, and the rejuvenated Robert Downey Junior be anything but good?
Holby City: OK, I'm coming out here. This is my guilty secret. I hate soaps and so for me this can't ber classed as a soap, but it just draws me in with the characters, the plots and arcs and its recent transformation to a filmic quality makes it eminently watchable.
Hancock: Drunken waster superhero film with Will Smith. Surprisingly enjoyable as I find his films a little rubbish. He's similar to Jim Carrey in that he irritates me in most films, but maybe this has started to redeem him in my eyes. Carrey did it with The Truman Show, but since then it's all been the usual crap.
Facebook games: Easy ways to while away the hours.
Quake Live: Yes, Quake, the game, online and free! Great fun for an hour or so.
The Wright Stuff: Yes, thats right, the daily Matthew Wright vehicle. He can be smug and arrogant, but to be fair its his show, but this is always striking the right balance between fun and serious, with interesting guests always willing to contribute.
BBC Breakfast: Well, why woud I be surprised. The BBC doing a great job of keeping me up to date. Plus it has Suzanne Reid and Sian Williams so whats not too like?
Not so good stuff:
Loose women. Great idea. Shite execution. Shite guests. Trivial trite bollocks.
This Morning: Competition TV with the odd human interest slot.
Jeremy Kyle. Seriously, if he's good enough for TV then why am I not doing my own programme.
Gold adverts/Loan shark adverts: Need I say more?
Childrens TV: Dear God, patronizing, simplistic, safe, bland rubbish. Yes, I know its not for me , but my memory is good enough to remember that it was never so bad in my day.
And thats it. 3 weeks condensed into good and bad. What a fucking saddo!
Later, GJ
*PS....coming next, why I love the 80's
Some Good stuff:
Cloverfield. Rather excellent 'monster ravages New York' movie with interesting perspective, being as it is shown from the perspective of someone witnessing events through a video camera. Only downside is it yet again centres around teenagers with virtually nobody over 20 in it. I know the makers have a target demographic, but really, would it have hurt to include a few adults?
The Dark Knight: The best Batman film by some distance. As far from the cartoon-like versions seen before, and yes that does include the Tim Burton ones.
Ironman: Superb super hero film laced with humour and menace. How could anything that plays in with Back in Black by ACDC, with the best US actor ever, Jeff Bridges, and the rejuvenated Robert Downey Junior be anything but good?
Holby City: OK, I'm coming out here. This is my guilty secret. I hate soaps and so for me this can't ber classed as a soap, but it just draws me in with the characters, the plots and arcs and its recent transformation to a filmic quality makes it eminently watchable.
Hancock: Drunken waster superhero film with Will Smith. Surprisingly enjoyable as I find his films a little rubbish. He's similar to Jim Carrey in that he irritates me in most films, but maybe this has started to redeem him in my eyes. Carrey did it with The Truman Show, but since then it's all been the usual crap.
Facebook games: Easy ways to while away the hours.
Quake Live: Yes, Quake, the game, online and free! Great fun for an hour or so.
The Wright Stuff: Yes, thats right, the daily Matthew Wright vehicle. He can be smug and arrogant, but to be fair its his show, but this is always striking the right balance between fun and serious, with interesting guests always willing to contribute.
BBC Breakfast: Well, why woud I be surprised. The BBC doing a great job of keeping me up to date. Plus it has Suzanne Reid and Sian Williams so whats not too like?
Not so good stuff:
Loose women. Great idea. Shite execution. Shite guests. Trivial trite bollocks.
This Morning: Competition TV with the odd human interest slot.
Jeremy Kyle. Seriously, if he's good enough for TV then why am I not doing my own programme.
Gold adverts/Loan shark adverts: Need I say more?
Childrens TV: Dear God, patronizing, simplistic, safe, bland rubbish. Yes, I know its not for me , but my memory is good enough to remember that it was never so bad in my day.
And thats it. 3 weeks condensed into good and bad. What a fucking saddo!
Later, GJ
*PS....coming next, why I love the 80's
Monday, 26 October 2009
Offensive....moi?
I am offended by many things.
Nick Griffin for example. His attempt to put a veneer of respect on a political party based in violence, repression, bigotry and viciousness is an affront to everything I believe in.
Bankers offend me for taking huge bonuses whilst others lose their houses and jobs, if not their lives.
The government offends me for fiddling expenses, allowing the banks and financial institutions to ruin the country and then telling me, the taxpayer that after bailing them out, my taxes must rise to pay for all of this.
Gordon Brown offends me for his bumbling attempts at leadership and his constant need to try and gain credibility by spouting soundbites based on the success of British artists or sportsmen.
Jeremy Kyle offends me for his bear baiting nasty programme exposing the domestic problems of the more vulnerable and ill-educated of society.
The X Factor offends me for being a platform for rich and famous people to mock misguided wannabees. Yes, I know Leona Lewis and Alexandra Burke are very good singers but how many were humiliated in order to get to those two?
Ditto Big Brother, Britain's Got Talent and all the other reality shows designed to emulate the Victorian freak show mentality.
The point is everyone gets offended every day. Some people seem to have taken it to the point whereby any opinion that differs from their own is offensive. We now live in a culture where the slightest criticism of anyone is deemed offensive, where anything funny that's said about anyone is seen as offensive and in extreme cases, bullying.
So, the fuss of the Jimmy Carr story fits in with yet another probable witch hunt headed up by an indignant and angry press on our behalf. The truth of this is of course Carr's humour is well known by those who pay to see him. It is adult humour that steps very close to boundaries of good taste and undoubtedly in some cases oversteps the mark for some people. But you get what you pay for. Even if he did offend me I wouldn't feel the need to complain about it. Why extend the feeling of being offended by making even more of a fuss. Do people who complain feel they are protecting someone? In this case it seems pretty clear that the soldiers feel he might have nicked the joke from them anyway. Plus anyone who has ever met a soldier will know that dark humour is very much part and parcel of soldiering life. It keeps them grounded. Plus, there is a subtext to the joke as well which praises the types of people that soldiers are that the loss of limbs is no obstacle to them achieving great things in their lives.
And the irony of a potential campaign of injured feelings from the Daily Mail after the Jan Moir article on Steven Gately isn't lost on me either.
Similarly those people who tried to stop Nick Griffin last week, and have slated the BBC since then, have no right to be offended on my behalf. I'll make my own mind up thanks very much. In all of this, the one fact remains that you can't extol the virtues of democracy and free speech and then try to block certain views and thoughts no matter how heinous they are, nor can you stop people making bad taste jokes or overstepping boundaries of decency. What is funny is like music or art.....they are too subjective to put boundaries around them.
So, I say this to Griffin, Brown, Cowell, Tatchell, Wenger, Ferguson, Kyle, Cameron, Carr, Ross, Brand, Thatcher, Du Beke, Osborne, Miliband, Benitez and anyone else who says or thinks things that I find offensive, carry on. Carry on with doing those very things that offend me because I'd much rather live in a society that allows you to do that, and implicitly that includes my views as well, than one that bans it and consequently suppresses the people.
And yes, I did read 1984 on holiday, and yes I can see exactly what Orwell was forecasting for the future. With political correctness and suppression of protest and freedom of speech, just how far are we from having a Ministry of Truth dealing in lies, A Ministry of Peace dealing in war, a Ministry of Plenty dealing in hardship and a Ministry of Love dealing in the propaganda of hate?
Later, GJ
Nick Griffin for example. His attempt to put a veneer of respect on a political party based in violence, repression, bigotry and viciousness is an affront to everything I believe in.
Bankers offend me for taking huge bonuses whilst others lose their houses and jobs, if not their lives.
The government offends me for fiddling expenses, allowing the banks and financial institutions to ruin the country and then telling me, the taxpayer that after bailing them out, my taxes must rise to pay for all of this.
Gordon Brown offends me for his bumbling attempts at leadership and his constant need to try and gain credibility by spouting soundbites based on the success of British artists or sportsmen.
Jeremy Kyle offends me for his bear baiting nasty programme exposing the domestic problems of the more vulnerable and ill-educated of society.
The X Factor offends me for being a platform for rich and famous people to mock misguided wannabees. Yes, I know Leona Lewis and Alexandra Burke are very good singers but how many were humiliated in order to get to those two?
Ditto Big Brother, Britain's Got Talent and all the other reality shows designed to emulate the Victorian freak show mentality.
The point is everyone gets offended every day. Some people seem to have taken it to the point whereby any opinion that differs from their own is offensive. We now live in a culture where the slightest criticism of anyone is deemed offensive, where anything funny that's said about anyone is seen as offensive and in extreme cases, bullying.
So, the fuss of the Jimmy Carr story fits in with yet another probable witch hunt headed up by an indignant and angry press on our behalf. The truth of this is of course Carr's humour is well known by those who pay to see him. It is adult humour that steps very close to boundaries of good taste and undoubtedly in some cases oversteps the mark for some people. But you get what you pay for. Even if he did offend me I wouldn't feel the need to complain about it. Why extend the feeling of being offended by making even more of a fuss. Do people who complain feel they are protecting someone? In this case it seems pretty clear that the soldiers feel he might have nicked the joke from them anyway. Plus anyone who has ever met a soldier will know that dark humour is very much part and parcel of soldiering life. It keeps them grounded. Plus, there is a subtext to the joke as well which praises the types of people that soldiers are that the loss of limbs is no obstacle to them achieving great things in their lives.
And the irony of a potential campaign of injured feelings from the Daily Mail after the Jan Moir article on Steven Gately isn't lost on me either.
Similarly those people who tried to stop Nick Griffin last week, and have slated the BBC since then, have no right to be offended on my behalf. I'll make my own mind up thanks very much. In all of this, the one fact remains that you can't extol the virtues of democracy and free speech and then try to block certain views and thoughts no matter how heinous they are, nor can you stop people making bad taste jokes or overstepping boundaries of decency. What is funny is like music or art.....they are too subjective to put boundaries around them.
So, I say this to Griffin, Brown, Cowell, Tatchell, Wenger, Ferguson, Kyle, Cameron, Carr, Ross, Brand, Thatcher, Du Beke, Osborne, Miliband, Benitez and anyone else who says or thinks things that I find offensive, carry on. Carry on with doing those very things that offend me because I'd much rather live in a society that allows you to do that, and implicitly that includes my views as well, than one that bans it and consequently suppresses the people.
And yes, I did read 1984 on holiday, and yes I can see exactly what Orwell was forecasting for the future. With political correctness and suppression of protest and freedom of speech, just how far are we from having a Ministry of Truth dealing in lies, A Ministry of Peace dealing in war, a Ministry of Plenty dealing in hardship and a Ministry of Love dealing in the propaganda of hate?
Later, GJ
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