Posts
I'm A Celebrity Get Me Out Of Here is about to launch on ITV 1.
Rest assured - if you're ever here reading this, at no point will be banging on about the utter rubbish that is celebrity reality television. Except to say that there now seems to be a steady cast that line up for everything.
Led ably, by the likes of Phil Tuffnell and Sophie Anderton, with honorable mentions for that bloke who once dated Jade Goody but managed to get away before she closed in for the kill.
Carol Thatcher is never too far away.
And whenever you want to try for a quick spike in the ratings you can always throw a nutter into the mix.
Enter Chris Eubank.
But like I say, it's always a steady pool of no talent, who maintain after they're evicted, or walk out, that they'll never do anything so humiliating ever again....until the next time.
A reliable 10 - 15 of them. It's like Australian Soaps Operas.
I don't know if you've ever noticed. There are only ever about 8 actors working Australia's entire television output at any given time.
They must be knackered.
And things got even worse when Jim Robinson packed up and headed across to the States to star as a military baddie in everything from the X-Files to 24 through NCIS. Not to mention The OC.
Nobody ever said my taste in television viewing was tasteful.
And we haven't even scratched the surface yet.
By the way - remind me to talk to you about the new James Bond next time.
Got to go.
Time to change a nappy. Not mine, just in case you were wondering.Things aren't quite that bad yet.
Joshua is nearly 7 weeks old now, and he represents all my hopes for the future.
If we're blessed, he'll have the looks and personality of his mother.Maybe my teeth. Or green eye colour.
Other than that, I wouldn't wish the curse of my appearance upon him.
Especially my hairline...which now appears to be receding so quickly it's taking my eyebrows with it.
It doesn't really bother me. I'm just trying to delay changing the nappy.
Now, if foreign agents had just thrown filled nappy bags at James Bond, instead of dodgy old grenades, I'm confident 007 would have packed it up about 14 movies ago.
Jx
Thursday, 30 August 2007
Things that concern me - 5
I should really say before I start this - the thing which is concerning me most right now is my amazing and somewhat alarming capacity to moan about absolutely anything and everything at the moment!
I'm making Victor Meldrew look shy and retiring by comparison.
That being said, I'm pretty much over it.
So, next on the agenda : The UK's fixation with DIY.
I've never quite understood this, but it is Britain's biggest pre-occupation, and has been for as long as I can remember.
Personally, I operate a policy of YDI (You Do It), but it would appear I'm in the minority.
Every weekend, but especially on Bank Holidays, there's a mad rush for B+Q, as eager homeowners rattle through the many aisles, loading up trolleys with paint, brushes, doorbells, that stuff that you put round between the ceiling and the top of the wall paper, that looks sort of posh but is really only there to cover up the fact you couldn't cover up.
That, and anything else you'll never get round to doing but which looks good in your trolley and gives you the one up on the bloke in the neighbouring queue.
It's almost a DIY macho face-off.
Forgive me if I'm supposed to be that bloke, cos I'm not, and moreover, I'm never going to be.
I know my limitations and happily duck out of DIY as a result.
That admission from the son of a very handy sparkie as well. I guess sometimes it skips a generation.
But here's my point.
Why do we do this?
My answer?
Laurence Llewellyn Bowen.
That bloke who looks like he became a musketeer by mistake, possibly because he liked the uniforms.
It's all down to him, and the clutch of morons who sprung up with him, like weeds that refused to die off.
They all told us how easy it was to make our homes into palaces. Apparently it's all down to the miracle that is MDF.
From what I understand, you use some of that to box in your radiator and your house will sell for 20 grand more than it would have otherwise.
It's all been a revelation to me.
But then, I was the sort of average fella who thought yellow was one colour. If you've just read that and thought....'well, yellow is one colour', my advice to you is run.
Run now.
Sprint for the hills whilst your innocence is preserved. Live in a cave and paint it many colours, but never ever worry about whether they're any other colour than the ones you know of, because it's alright to think something is yellowish and not 'Winter Sun' ...or 'Golden Cream'...or 'Harvest Moon'...or whatever else they've come up with this week.
Run.
I was that soldier.
I fought that battle so you didn't have to.
And lost.
Big time.
My psyche was splattered into submission. In a sort of pillar box red....or maybe crimson.
Do you know, I'm not really sure - but the main point is, I was broken by DIY. I'm scarred and will never recover.
As far as DIY goes - this is my line of defence.
I'm rubbish at it. Put me in charge and I wouldn't even know where to begin. I do actually know of a company which is called 'We Repair What Your Husband Fixed'.
I am that husband - but I'm not ashamed of it.
Why should I know what to do? Why should I deprive people of earning a living when they've trained for years to undertake that specific job?
It's true.
OK, finding a tradesman of any kind these days is difficult to say the least.
They're like hen's teeth. Finding one you trust and are happy with ...even more difficult.
But worth it.
Let's look at this objectively. What you're saying is, you can watch a DIY programme on the telly, and, as a result, have a go at doing up your house a bit.
Fair enough.
I watched ER last week. On that particular episode someone suffered a massive heart attack. I was glued to it. Transfixed.Next night I was out for a meal with my wife. All of a sudden I heard a crash and swivelled around in my seat. One of the people at the table next to me had collapsed and stopped breathing.
Automatically I jumped up and said calmly but forcefully "It's OK everybody, I watched ER last night, and I think I know what's happened here. So whatever you do, don't call an ambulance, that will only cost money in the long run. I'll take care of it. Now, which end do I blow into?"
Ludicrous isn't it.
And now you understand my point.
I'm making Victor Meldrew look shy and retiring by comparison.
That being said, I'm pretty much over it.
So, next on the agenda : The UK's fixation with DIY.
I've never quite understood this, but it is Britain's biggest pre-occupation, and has been for as long as I can remember.
Personally, I operate a policy of YDI (You Do It), but it would appear I'm in the minority.
Every weekend, but especially on Bank Holidays, there's a mad rush for B+Q, as eager homeowners rattle through the many aisles, loading up trolleys with paint, brushes, doorbells, that stuff that you put round between the ceiling and the top of the wall paper, that looks sort of posh but is really only there to cover up the fact you couldn't cover up.
That, and anything else you'll never get round to doing but which looks good in your trolley and gives you the one up on the bloke in the neighbouring queue.
It's almost a DIY macho face-off.
Forgive me if I'm supposed to be that bloke, cos I'm not, and moreover, I'm never going to be.
I know my limitations and happily duck out of DIY as a result.
That admission from the son of a very handy sparkie as well. I guess sometimes it skips a generation.
But here's my point.
Why do we do this?
My answer?
Laurence Llewellyn Bowen.
That bloke who looks like he became a musketeer by mistake, possibly because he liked the uniforms.
It's all down to him, and the clutch of morons who sprung up with him, like weeds that refused to die off.
They all told us how easy it was to make our homes into palaces. Apparently it's all down to the miracle that is MDF.
From what I understand, you use some of that to box in your radiator and your house will sell for 20 grand more than it would have otherwise.
It's all been a revelation to me.
But then, I was the sort of average fella who thought yellow was one colour. If you've just read that and thought....'well, yellow is one colour', my advice to you is run.
Run now.
Sprint for the hills whilst your innocence is preserved. Live in a cave and paint it many colours, but never ever worry about whether they're any other colour than the ones you know of, because it's alright to think something is yellowish and not 'Winter Sun' ...or 'Golden Cream'...or 'Harvest Moon'...or whatever else they've come up with this week.
Run.
I was that soldier.
I fought that battle so you didn't have to.
And lost.
Big time.
My psyche was splattered into submission. In a sort of pillar box red....or maybe crimson.
Do you know, I'm not really sure - but the main point is, I was broken by DIY. I'm scarred and will never recover.
As far as DIY goes - this is my line of defence.
I'm rubbish at it. Put me in charge and I wouldn't even know where to begin. I do actually know of a company which is called 'We Repair What Your Husband Fixed'.
I am that husband - but I'm not ashamed of it.
Why should I know what to do? Why should I deprive people of earning a living when they've trained for years to undertake that specific job?
It's true.
OK, finding a tradesman of any kind these days is difficult to say the least.
They're like hen's teeth. Finding one you trust and are happy with ...even more difficult.
But worth it.
Let's look at this objectively. What you're saying is, you can watch a DIY programme on the telly, and, as a result, have a go at doing up your house a bit.
Fair enough.
I watched ER last week. On that particular episode someone suffered a massive heart attack. I was glued to it. Transfixed.Next night I was out for a meal with my wife. All of a sudden I heard a crash and swivelled around in my seat. One of the people at the table next to me had collapsed and stopped breathing.
Automatically I jumped up and said calmly but forcefully "It's OK everybody, I watched ER last night, and I think I know what's happened here. So whatever you do, don't call an ambulance, that will only cost money in the long run. I'll take care of it. Now, which end do I blow into?"
Ludicrous isn't it.
And now you understand my point.
Meet The Parents
Mum and Dad were through this weekend.
This forced me to strongly repel my natural urge to say, "Here's the kid - see you Monday".
I think we had a pretty good time, all things considered.
If I can give you some advice though, as the parent of a newborn; when it comes time to decide on names for grandparents, don't give them the option of choosing for themselves. Otherwise you may end up with something like my Dad's chosen name - PapaMel. I think it makes him sound a bit like a Hobbit, or maybe one of The Smurfs, and is made even more ironic when you consider he's about 6 feet, 5 inches tall.
Bless him, he's happy.
One thing I did spot though is an age thing which leads increasingly to conversations like this:
(Me) "So, what's new?"
(Mum) "Not much really. Oh wait, I know. Remember Johnny Bogan?"
(Me) "Johnny who?"
(Mum) "Johnny Bogan. You DO remember him. He used to go to church when you were in Sunday School. Came from the west coast I think. You could tell by his accent. Och yes, Johnny Bogan. You must remember him from church?"
(Me) "No Mum, I'm really sorry. I don't."
(Mum) "Oh John. I'm sure you do. Johnny Bogan. Came from across the bridge. Used to do comedy in all the pubs and clubs. It was always good local stuff, and he always had this thick local accent when he told his stories. Went to our church. Sat upstairs in thebalconies for the services. Usually wore a white hat, and always wore it for his routine. White hair. Occasionally he would host concerts in the upstairs hall at the Church fundraisers."
(Me) "Oh.....hang on. Old fella. White hair, ...and a moustache?"
(Mum) "No, but I know who you're thinking of. That's Iain Michie. He was a good speaker as well. Did the same sort of stuff, but he was far more articulate with his delivery. Posh background. I think he was sent away to school. Johnny Bogan never had that schooling. He was much more local. Oh John. You must remember Johnny Bogan! He sat upstairs on a Sunday in the church. Next to Granny."
(Me) Wait, a minute. Next to granny. Did he always hand out sweeties during the service?"
(Mum) "YES. That's him! Johnny Bogan!"
(Me) "OK. What about him?"
(Mum) "He's dead. It was in the paper this week."
(Me) "Oh. Right."
This forced me to strongly repel my natural urge to say, "Here's the kid - see you Monday".
I think we had a pretty good time, all things considered.
If I can give you some advice though, as the parent of a newborn; when it comes time to decide on names for grandparents, don't give them the option of choosing for themselves. Otherwise you may end up with something like my Dad's chosen name - PapaMel. I think it makes him sound a bit like a Hobbit, or maybe one of The Smurfs, and is made even more ironic when you consider he's about 6 feet, 5 inches tall.
Bless him, he's happy.
One thing I did spot though is an age thing which leads increasingly to conversations like this:
(Me) "So, what's new?"
(Mum) "Not much really. Oh wait, I know. Remember Johnny Bogan?"
(Me) "Johnny who?"
(Mum) "Johnny Bogan. You DO remember him. He used to go to church when you were in Sunday School. Came from the west coast I think. You could tell by his accent. Och yes, Johnny Bogan. You must remember him from church?"
(Me) "No Mum, I'm really sorry. I don't."
(Mum) "Oh John. I'm sure you do. Johnny Bogan. Came from across the bridge. Used to do comedy in all the pubs and clubs. It was always good local stuff, and he always had this thick local accent when he told his stories. Went to our church. Sat upstairs in thebalconies for the services. Usually wore a white hat, and always wore it for his routine. White hair. Occasionally he would host concerts in the upstairs hall at the Church fundraisers."
(Me) "Oh.....hang on. Old fella. White hair, ...and a moustache?"
(Mum) "No, but I know who you're thinking of. That's Iain Michie. He was a good speaker as well. Did the same sort of stuff, but he was far more articulate with his delivery. Posh background. I think he was sent away to school. Johnny Bogan never had that schooling. He was much more local. Oh John. You must remember Johnny Bogan! He sat upstairs on a Sunday in the church. Next to Granny."
(Me) Wait, a minute. Next to granny. Did he always hand out sweeties during the service?"
(Mum) "YES. That's him! Johnny Bogan!"
(Me) "OK. What about him?"
(Mum) "He's dead. It was in the paper this week."
(Me) "Oh. Right."
Smart casual - the dress code from hell
Smart Casual - those words always fill me with utter dread.
In this instance, just to clarify, I'm not talking about 'casual' as being someone who went along dressed trendily to football matches, purely to look fashionable later as they attempted to knock seven colours of jobbies out of their opposite numbers amongst the away section.
You probably got that from the 'smart' casual reference though.
Otherwise the contradiction in terms alarm would have gone into meltdown.
No, I'm talking about smart casual, the last two words which appear on many an invitation, especially at this time of year, where the bosses ask you along to the staff Christmas night out, and worry that you'll take the black tie thing as an order which must be obeyed.
They really feel they don't want to come across as too heavy handed; a feeling which subsides exceptionally speedily the moment they get the repair bill for the office photocopier which a drunk staff member eagerly straddled in order to photocopy a part of their body which should never be replicated on any size of paper.
Smart Casual - the dress code from hell.
It's true, men don't have the faintest idea what the term smart casual means, except that it's trouble.
In fairness, I doubt many women have much of an iota either. Part of me actually thinks it might be an in joke just to make us suffer more.
If not though, here's the thing.
Don't type smart casual as the dress code at the bottom of the invite as though it gives us some option, and provides us with hours of endless fun choosing the perfect outfit.
It doesn't, and never will.
We're a simple people.
Understand this, and understand it well.
We want to be told what to do in this one instance only.
If you want us to wear dress trousers and a shirt but no tie - tell us that.
Probably best to include colours as well.
Tell us to wear smart shoes, not trainers.
Tell us to wear a warm winter jacket.
Tell us to wear a flower in our hair.
We don't care.
Make the invitation require attendees to arrive decked out as resplendent vibrant purple dinosaurs with pink polka dots (but don't make it a dinosaur of our choosing. Plump for a T-Rex).
Above all, just don't give us room for error, because we'll find it.
Like moths to a flame all men are drawn hypnotically to getting 'smart casual' wrong.
And the ones who aren't host 'Queer Eye For The Straight Guy'.
So this year come the Christmas Party, please, P-L-E-A-S-E remember - smart casual is not an option, but a curse.
Jx
In this instance, just to clarify, I'm not talking about 'casual' as being someone who went along dressed trendily to football matches, purely to look fashionable later as they attempted to knock seven colours of jobbies out of their opposite numbers amongst the away section.
You probably got that from the 'smart' casual reference though.
Otherwise the contradiction in terms alarm would have gone into meltdown.
No, I'm talking about smart casual, the last two words which appear on many an invitation, especially at this time of year, where the bosses ask you along to the staff Christmas night out, and worry that you'll take the black tie thing as an order which must be obeyed.
They really feel they don't want to come across as too heavy handed; a feeling which subsides exceptionally speedily the moment they get the repair bill for the office photocopier which a drunk staff member eagerly straddled in order to photocopy a part of their body which should never be replicated on any size of paper.
Smart Casual - the dress code from hell.
It's true, men don't have the faintest idea what the term smart casual means, except that it's trouble.
In fairness, I doubt many women have much of an iota either. Part of me actually thinks it might be an in joke just to make us suffer more.
If not though, here's the thing.
Don't type smart casual as the dress code at the bottom of the invite as though it gives us some option, and provides us with hours of endless fun choosing the perfect outfit.
It doesn't, and never will.
We're a simple people.
Understand this, and understand it well.
We want to be told what to do in this one instance only.
If you want us to wear dress trousers and a shirt but no tie - tell us that.
Probably best to include colours as well.
Tell us to wear smart shoes, not trainers.
Tell us to wear a warm winter jacket.
Tell us to wear a flower in our hair.
We don't care.
Make the invitation require attendees to arrive decked out as resplendent vibrant purple dinosaurs with pink polka dots (but don't make it a dinosaur of our choosing. Plump for a T-Rex).
Above all, just don't give us room for error, because we'll find it.
Like moths to a flame all men are drawn hypnotically to getting 'smart casual' wrong.
And the ones who aren't host 'Queer Eye For The Straight Guy'.
So this year come the Christmas Party, please, P-L-E-A-S-E remember - smart casual is not an option, but a curse.
Jx
Things that concern me - 4
This one will make me even more uber-popular in the area - but I have to do it.
Receiving the award this time......cyclists.
Well, that's not fair. It's incorrect of me to say I have an issue with all people who ride bikes.
I don't.
If that's how you choose to exercise - great. I hope you enjoy it, and it gives you hours of endless pleasure.
At this stage, I could get on to the debate about why cyclists shave their legs, but I don't want to get sidetracked.
My irk, and indeed my fear, is for cyclists who use leafy winding country roads to indulge their past-time.
It's all very well saying "Treat me like a small car."
1. Pay road tax, then
2. Behave like a small car. Don't go zig-zagging into a wavy movement at the strangest possible moment. Abide by the speed limit. Doing twenty miles an hour in a sixty mile per hour zone, and then getting tetchy when someone races up behind you....travelling at all of 40 around a bend, is not the driver's fault necessarily.
This may come across as condescending - that I'm miffed because I've been slowed down in the past by people on bikes, and that I've got a chip on my shoulder as a result.
It's not intended to read like that.
This goes in part to one of my greatest concerns.
People used to say everyone in our area knew someone, either directly, or through their neighbourhood who was killed on Piper Alpha.
Nowadays, it's more common to know someone who's been affected by a road accident. It's the creeping killer.
Now, I don't know whether statistics are increasing every year or not - but it certainly seems that way.
I know of at least three kids, and that's all they were, kids, who used to go along to a club where I was a youth worker.
All of them managed to kill themselves behind the wheel of a car, before their 21st birthdays.
Going back to the cycling issue for a moment. I appreciate it looks like I'm really nit-picking.
Don't think for a moment I blame every road accident on cyclists. That's not what I'm saying at all.
I'm merely suggesting, for the sake of public safety, we limit the use of bikes on certain roads.
Difficult to enforce I know, but I've lost count the number of times I've seen a cyclist on a road pedalling on the main dual carriageway, alongside a designated cycling path, running adjacently, not ten feet to the left.
Answers on a postcard to that one.
Here's the absolute nuts and bolts of the matter.
Cycling is a sport.
For every sport, there's an arena. A designated area where that sport takes place. Football pitches, basketball courts, running tracks, swimming pools, and, to the best of my knowledge, velodromes - those lovely stadiums you see on the Olympics or The Commonwealth Games when you've watched the cycling before.
Why can't cyclists ride there in comparative safety?
I've yet to see hurdlers on the South Deeside Road. I'm not ruling it out, but I think it unlikely.
Never have I witnessed anyone having a go at shot-putting on the A944 between Alford and Westhill.
I've yet to come across a footie match at the Haudagain Roundabout.
You get the idea.
So what do you think?
Wait - I know. On me bike.
Receiving the award this time......cyclists.
Well, that's not fair. It's incorrect of me to say I have an issue with all people who ride bikes.
I don't.
If that's how you choose to exercise - great. I hope you enjoy it, and it gives you hours of endless pleasure.
At this stage, I could get on to the debate about why cyclists shave their legs, but I don't want to get sidetracked.
My irk, and indeed my fear, is for cyclists who use leafy winding country roads to indulge their past-time.
It's all very well saying "Treat me like a small car."
1. Pay road tax, then
2. Behave like a small car. Don't go zig-zagging into a wavy movement at the strangest possible moment. Abide by the speed limit. Doing twenty miles an hour in a sixty mile per hour zone, and then getting tetchy when someone races up behind you....travelling at all of 40 around a bend, is not the driver's fault necessarily.
This may come across as condescending - that I'm miffed because I've been slowed down in the past by people on bikes, and that I've got a chip on my shoulder as a result.
It's not intended to read like that.
This goes in part to one of my greatest concerns.
People used to say everyone in our area knew someone, either directly, or through their neighbourhood who was killed on Piper Alpha.
Nowadays, it's more common to know someone who's been affected by a road accident. It's the creeping killer.
Now, I don't know whether statistics are increasing every year or not - but it certainly seems that way.
I know of at least three kids, and that's all they were, kids, who used to go along to a club where I was a youth worker.
All of them managed to kill themselves behind the wheel of a car, before their 21st birthdays.
Going back to the cycling issue for a moment. I appreciate it looks like I'm really nit-picking.
Don't think for a moment I blame every road accident on cyclists. That's not what I'm saying at all.
I'm merely suggesting, for the sake of public safety, we limit the use of bikes on certain roads.
Difficult to enforce I know, but I've lost count the number of times I've seen a cyclist on a road pedalling on the main dual carriageway, alongside a designated cycling path, running adjacently, not ten feet to the left.
Answers on a postcard to that one.
Here's the absolute nuts and bolts of the matter.
Cycling is a sport.
For every sport, there's an arena. A designated area where that sport takes place. Football pitches, basketball courts, running tracks, swimming pools, and, to the best of my knowledge, velodromes - those lovely stadiums you see on the Olympics or The Commonwealth Games when you've watched the cycling before.
Why can't cyclists ride there in comparative safety?
I've yet to see hurdlers on the South Deeside Road. I'm not ruling it out, but I think it unlikely.
Never have I witnessed anyone having a go at shot-putting on the A944 between Alford and Westhill.
I've yet to come across a footie match at the Haudagain Roundabout.
You get the idea.
So what do you think?
Wait - I know. On me bike.
Things that concern me - 3
Again on a grumpy old man vibe, I have to add this to the pile.
Although I don't think this one is dependent on age neccesarily.
It's always annoyed me.
Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present the new art movement, and in particular, The Turner Prize.
This year's winner - (and bear in mind this is worth 25 grand to the recipient of The Turner Prize) - is a German born - London based artist, who won the prize because since 1998 she's only used canvasses measuring precisely 48cm by 38cm.
That, ironically, is one of the more deserving winners of recent years, because at least she features the concept of art somewhere for the judge's consideration.
You know art, right?
It was the subject you took in school where you drew, or painted, or sculpted.
At no point do I remember Mr Kinghorn offering a critique on the way we switched the classroom lights on and off.
I can't begin to tell you how disappointed we were when our proposal of stuffing the cows in the neighbouring fields was rejected out of hand.
And on the one occasion I slept in for art, and not actually through it, Mr Kinghorn wouldn't allow me to submit my un-made bed as homework.
This I considered absolutely astonishing given the fact it was hailed a work of miraculous standing when Tracey Emmin did it.
Maybe the indentations of where my hospital corners had been were too uniform in nature. That must be it.
I'm not the most artistic in the world. That I readily admit. In fact, most days there are stages where I find it hard enough to draw breath, never mind anything else.My understanding of art is clearly limited. I always thought art should be something that resembles the subject of your work.
But I was wrong.
Silly me.
Either that, or I now feel particularly bad for the unfortunate woman with the triangular head.
Here's my theory.
I think there's a small group of people, all of whom claim to be at the forefront of the art world. However, secretly they're a select category of wind up merchants who're having the biggest laugh of their lives.
The idea is that each year, they have to try and outdo the previous one by coming up with something even more outlandish in the name of 'art'.
So it goes from light switching on and off ...to un-made bed....to milk-soaked shredded wheat....to dish-washer tablet.
If you're in on it, you have to keep going, chancing your arm, until someone, anyone, has the audacity to finally turn round and say "Hang on. You're having a laugh. This can't be art. It's just newspapers in a recycling bin"
At which point everyone in the group will collapse in guffaws of raucous laughter having finally been rumbled, and enjoying every second of the journey.
The problem is, no-one does have the audacity to turn round and question the 'art'.
We all just assume we must be morons - that we don't get it.
And they keep on making 25 grand a time.
If you can't beat them, join them I say. Next week I'm going to go to the pub, get royally wellied and then pee as high up the lavvie wall as possible.
I'm then going to proclaim it as a new genre of art. I'll get fined every time I do it of course, but hopefully my rise to fame will be meteoric enough to ensure I make a small profit at the very least.
Perhaps 36 pence change from my £25,000.
That's it.
The future of art.
Who are you to say different?
Drunkenly peeing up a toilet wall.
Now if I can just come up with a name for the type of artist I can be known as......
Although I don't think this one is dependent on age neccesarily.
It's always annoyed me.
Ladies and Gentlemen, may I present the new art movement, and in particular, The Turner Prize.
This year's winner - (and bear in mind this is worth 25 grand to the recipient of The Turner Prize) - is a German born - London based artist, who won the prize because since 1998 she's only used canvasses measuring precisely 48cm by 38cm.
That, ironically, is one of the more deserving winners of recent years, because at least she features the concept of art somewhere for the judge's consideration.
You know art, right?
It was the subject you took in school where you drew, or painted, or sculpted.
At no point do I remember Mr Kinghorn offering a critique on the way we switched the classroom lights on and off.
I can't begin to tell you how disappointed we were when our proposal of stuffing the cows in the neighbouring fields was rejected out of hand.
And on the one occasion I slept in for art, and not actually through it, Mr Kinghorn wouldn't allow me to submit my un-made bed as homework.
This I considered absolutely astonishing given the fact it was hailed a work of miraculous standing when Tracey Emmin did it.
Maybe the indentations of where my hospital corners had been were too uniform in nature. That must be it.
I'm not the most artistic in the world. That I readily admit. In fact, most days there are stages where I find it hard enough to draw breath, never mind anything else.My understanding of art is clearly limited. I always thought art should be something that resembles the subject of your work.
But I was wrong.
Silly me.
Either that, or I now feel particularly bad for the unfortunate woman with the triangular head.
Here's my theory.
I think there's a small group of people, all of whom claim to be at the forefront of the art world. However, secretly they're a select category of wind up merchants who're having the biggest laugh of their lives.
The idea is that each year, they have to try and outdo the previous one by coming up with something even more outlandish in the name of 'art'.
So it goes from light switching on and off ...to un-made bed....to milk-soaked shredded wheat....to dish-washer tablet.
If you're in on it, you have to keep going, chancing your arm, until someone, anyone, has the audacity to finally turn round and say "Hang on. You're having a laugh. This can't be art. It's just newspapers in a recycling bin"
At which point everyone in the group will collapse in guffaws of raucous laughter having finally been rumbled, and enjoying every second of the journey.
The problem is, no-one does have the audacity to turn round and question the 'art'.
We all just assume we must be morons - that we don't get it.
And they keep on making 25 grand a time.
If you can't beat them, join them I say. Next week I'm going to go to the pub, get royally wellied and then pee as high up the lavvie wall as possible.
I'm then going to proclaim it as a new genre of art. I'll get fined every time I do it of course, but hopefully my rise to fame will be meteoric enough to ensure I make a small profit at the very least.
Perhaps 36 pence change from my £25,000.
That's it.
The future of art.
Who are you to say different?
Drunkenly peeing up a toilet wall.
Now if I can just come up with a name for the type of artist I can be known as......
Christmas TV. Bah Humbug!
Christmas is a strange old time for many a reason.
One of them is something I've noticed in myself with increasing regularity over the passing years.
Again, I feel like I'm turning into my father, as I moan to anyone who'll listen, that the Christmas selection of television viewing has been appalling.
But here's the thing.
In this multi-channel era - and I'm in the fortunate position where I have access to all of those channels - how come when it comes to Christmas, we temporarily forget the other hundreds of channels and simply scan the output of the first 4 or 5 like a hawk?
I suppose it must be a heritage thing. We're simply conditioned to watch the first few channels at Christmas because that's all there were in existence when we were growing up.
During the festive season we just revert to type, whether we're the ones who go home to Mum and Dad, or the tradition has altered slightly and they now come round to us.
These telly channels at this time of year have an absolutely massive potential audience, consisting of people all desperate to watch something great, something special, something they can really look forward to with a collective enthusiasm, knowing that once they've munched their way through 4 times their own body weight in turkey and trimmings there's going to be a programme there for them they can slump in front of and enjoy as they unbuckle their belts and wait for the ulcer to kick into full effect.
Instead-what do we get?
The Sound Of Music. Mary Poppins. The Morecambe And Wise Christmas Show from 1973.
Don't get me wrong. All of these were great to watch - the first three or four times.
In the case of Eric and Ernie, I could get up to 13 or 14 times and still be enjoying it.
Unfortunately, we're now on screening 24.
At Christmas, we all make a huge effort. Weeks of planning and preparation go into finding the best presents for loved ones. Hours of cooking and cleaning in anticipation of a ravenously grateful accepting audience.
How come the telly people don't bother?
One of them is something I've noticed in myself with increasing regularity over the passing years.
Again, I feel like I'm turning into my father, as I moan to anyone who'll listen, that the Christmas selection of television viewing has been appalling.
But here's the thing.
In this multi-channel era - and I'm in the fortunate position where I have access to all of those channels - how come when it comes to Christmas, we temporarily forget the other hundreds of channels and simply scan the output of the first 4 or 5 like a hawk?
I suppose it must be a heritage thing. We're simply conditioned to watch the first few channels at Christmas because that's all there were in existence when we were growing up.
During the festive season we just revert to type, whether we're the ones who go home to Mum and Dad, or the tradition has altered slightly and they now come round to us.
These telly channels at this time of year have an absolutely massive potential audience, consisting of people all desperate to watch something great, something special, something they can really look forward to with a collective enthusiasm, knowing that once they've munched their way through 4 times their own body weight in turkey and trimmings there's going to be a programme there for them they can slump in front of and enjoy as they unbuckle their belts and wait for the ulcer to kick into full effect.
Instead-what do we get?
The Sound Of Music. Mary Poppins. The Morecambe And Wise Christmas Show from 1973.
Don't get me wrong. All of these were great to watch - the first three or four times.
In the case of Eric and Ernie, I could get up to 13 or 14 times and still be enjoying it.
Unfortunately, we're now on screening 24.
At Christmas, we all make a huge effort. Weeks of planning and preparation go into finding the best presents for loved ones. Hours of cooking and cleaning in anticipation of a ravenously grateful accepting audience.
How come the telly people don't bother?
Grumpy Old Man returns!
Unbelievably it seems I can now be annoyed at the rubbish on television even when I haven’t seen it.
The missus seems to have taken to watching real mind numbingly boring stuff since giving birth.
Newlyweds, Cribs….all of that.
I come home and sometimes she’s actually in a boredom induced coma.
Anyway-she must have been watching that Gillian McKeith thing the other night.
The problem with that show is that to keep the initial success of it, you have to keep making the woman nastier.
It’s like Simon Cowell on American Idol or X-Factor.
So the latest twist is that she comes round to stay with you to make sure you don’t slip up on your diet. Most recently she took her own sleeping bag into the woman’s 5 bedroom house, so that she didn’t have to touch the bedding of someone else and get dirty.
How rude is that!
Listen love -you can diet any time, but there ain’t no cure for butt ugly.
You see.
Now I’m even annoyed by TV I HAVEN’T watched.
The missus seems to have taken to watching real mind numbingly boring stuff since giving birth.
Newlyweds, Cribs….all of that.
I come home and sometimes she’s actually in a boredom induced coma.
Anyway-she must have been watching that Gillian McKeith thing the other night.
The problem with that show is that to keep the initial success of it, you have to keep making the woman nastier.
It’s like Simon Cowell on American Idol or X-Factor.
So the latest twist is that she comes round to stay with you to make sure you don’t slip up on your diet. Most recently she took her own sleeping bag into the woman’s 5 bedroom house, so that she didn’t have to touch the bedding of someone else and get dirty.
How rude is that!
Listen love -you can diet any time, but there ain’t no cure for butt ugly.
You see.
Now I’m even annoyed by TV I HAVEN’T watched.
Arise Sir Johnny - or will he just ascend
I think it’s fair to say we took a pasting at the rugby at the weekend.
To be honest though, I’d had enough before the game even kicked off on BBC Wilkinson.
Seriously-I’m not one of these people that get that riled by the English perspective on BBC 1 SCOTLAND, but this time was absolutely appalling.
What happened to the Scottish version?
At one point I actually checked the channel on the SKY control to see, if, by accident I’d strayed onto one of the English regional channels of BBC 1 by mistake.
Anyway…dodgy try and all that…but to be fair, we took a tanking.
Naturally we’ll have to go away, regroup, and come back stronger in order to win the Championship.
Look, a boy can dream.
I tell you what made it worse. God bless her-the mother in law was down at the house.
Presumably this was my Karmic payback for smiting someone earlier in the week.
So she was there, and yelling stuff at the telly like, "Look, LOOK …that English boy’s pulling at the Scottish man’s shirt…oh and that one's just run straight into him! Foul referee! FOUL."
Apparently she's quite an authority on netball
To be honest though, I’d had enough before the game even kicked off on BBC Wilkinson.
Seriously-I’m not one of these people that get that riled by the English perspective on BBC 1 SCOTLAND, but this time was absolutely appalling.
What happened to the Scottish version?
At one point I actually checked the channel on the SKY control to see, if, by accident I’d strayed onto one of the English regional channels of BBC 1 by mistake.
Anyway…dodgy try and all that…but to be fair, we took a tanking.
Naturally we’ll have to go away, regroup, and come back stronger in order to win the Championship.
Look, a boy can dream.
I tell you what made it worse. God bless her-the mother in law was down at the house.
Presumably this was my Karmic payback for smiting someone earlier in the week.
So she was there, and yelling stuff at the telly like, "Look, LOOK …that English boy’s pulling at the Scottish man’s shirt…oh and that one's just run straight into him! Foul referee! FOUL."
Apparently she's quite an authority on netball
Baby Breeze
This is the sort of story that gets on my wick.
Katie Holmes says she wants to have more kids with Tom as soon as possible.
Fine, great-delighted for them.
He’s finally found a relatively tall girl he’s able to breed with (presumably with the aid of climbing gear and crampons)….so his worst fears aren’t realised …and he’s not going to raise a long line of Oompa-Loompas.
Here it comes - Katie says she felt empowered by giving birth to Suri…adding "there was nothing difficult about it."
My H-A-I-R-Y ASS.
Don’t even start with me. I was there when mine was born…and that was …I’m led to believe …comparatively easy going.
9 and a half hours.
They live their lives worrying so much about what other people may think of them or how they’ll be viewed, they end up making it worse rather than better.
Be honest….say it was so sore you spat out a few teeth….swore like a trooper….called Tom a Diddy Man... made a hell of a racket ….got kicked out by the Church Of Scientology….BUT overall you don’t give a crap because you have a beautiful baby daughter.
And THEN…maybe someone will decide they like you a bit better.
Katie Holmes says she wants to have more kids with Tom as soon as possible.
Fine, great-delighted for them.
He’s finally found a relatively tall girl he’s able to breed with (presumably with the aid of climbing gear and crampons)….so his worst fears aren’t realised …and he’s not going to raise a long line of Oompa-Loompas.
Here it comes - Katie says she felt empowered by giving birth to Suri…adding "there was nothing difficult about it."
My H-A-I-R-Y ASS.
Don’t even start with me. I was there when mine was born…and that was …I’m led to believe …comparatively easy going.
9 and a half hours.
They live their lives worrying so much about what other people may think of them or how they’ll be viewed, they end up making it worse rather than better.
Be honest….say it was so sore you spat out a few teeth….swore like a trooper….called Tom a Diddy Man... made a hell of a racket ….got kicked out by the Church Of Scientology….BUT overall you don’t give a crap because you have a beautiful baby daughter.
And THEN…maybe someone will decide they like you a bit better.
And what are you gonna do next year?
You must have seen in the papers the story about the boy who’s bought his fiancé a house for Valentine’s Day.
Just shy of five hundred grand he spent….and then he had the entire house gift wrapped with huge sheets and bows…which cost an extra five grand.
Fool.
You’ve done it now.
What are you going to do when you get married?
She’s going to be expecting a better house every year now isn’t she.
You’ve got to understand the game…moron.
20 years from now, don’t think you can wrap up the house again and do it over as a nice anniversary gesture.
Cos she’ll look at the sheets and say…who needs a tent that big.
Just shy of five hundred grand he spent….and then he had the entire house gift wrapped with huge sheets and bows…which cost an extra five grand.
Fool.
You’ve done it now.
What are you going to do when you get married?
She’s going to be expecting a better house every year now isn’t she.
You’ve got to understand the game…moron.
20 years from now, don’t think you can wrap up the house again and do it over as a nice anniversary gesture.
Cos she’ll look at the sheets and say…who needs a tent that big.
You're all heart!
I hate stuff like this….Kevin Federline…or K-Fed as he likes to be known….because he’s a MORON….says the reason he’s shaved his head is to lend support to his soon to be ex-wife Britney Spears.
No mate…the reason you’ve shaved your heid is to try and sell the photo to the National Enquirer …alongside some crap story like this …so you can make some money while you still can.
If you gave a damn and really wanted to lend your support….she wouldn’t have ended up looking like something from Star Trek in the first place.
Can someone help me down off this soap box now?
Thanks very much.
No mate…the reason you’ve shaved your heid is to try and sell the photo to the National Enquirer …alongside some crap story like this …so you can make some money while you still can.
If you gave a damn and really wanted to lend your support….she wouldn’t have ended up looking like something from Star Trek in the first place.
Can someone help me down off this soap box now?
Thanks very much.
Castaway - wishful thinking!
I’m just looking at the list of people on Castaway here.
You might have seen that trailer they keep running between the Beeb programmes at the minute….where it shows the waves crashing against the shore, and then flashes up the message…you could always swim for it….only takes 2 days.
As my mother in law said the other day…."sounds like Morse code."
Probably because it is Morse code.
Dingbat.
I think this is a real opportunity.Take people out there…and dump them.
Neds, David Cameron, Russell Brand......That’s a good enough start.
But then…and I know this is radical….don’t film them.
Don’t do anything with them.
Any activity involving the island should simply be to sink it.
You might have seen that trailer they keep running between the Beeb programmes at the minute….where it shows the waves crashing against the shore, and then flashes up the message…you could always swim for it….only takes 2 days.
As my mother in law said the other day…."sounds like Morse code."
Probably because it is Morse code.
Dingbat.
I think this is a real opportunity.Take people out there…and dump them.
Neds, David Cameron, Russell Brand......That’s a good enough start.
But then…and I know this is radical….don’t film them.
Don’t do anything with them.
Any activity involving the island should simply be to sink it.
Celebrity Fame Academy
Can I just say well done to Fred MacAulay for bringing some sort of self-respect and focus to COMIC RELIEF does Fame Academy.
He got the boot the other night…when the laws of logic finally entered into the equation to prove there aren’t enough Scots in the world to vote him through every night…..and he’s in the papers today speaking about it all, including Richard Park…where Fred says … “I don’t know what his agenda is. Hopefully it’s the same as ours which is to raise lots of money for the charity. But Richard seems to think it’s a singing contest. If that was really the case they’d have kicked nine of us out on the first show – then had Tricia Penrose and Shaun Williamson singing every night."
Bravo….at last…some common sense. I’m so fed up of these people crying and moaning on.It’s a Karaoke night where you get to raise money for charity.
Comic Relief. Remember?
I tell you what though…if it was MASSIVE EGO Academy, most of them would ace it.
He got the boot the other night…when the laws of logic finally entered into the equation to prove there aren’t enough Scots in the world to vote him through every night…..and he’s in the papers today speaking about it all, including Richard Park…where Fred says … “I don’t know what his agenda is. Hopefully it’s the same as ours which is to raise lots of money for the charity. But Richard seems to think it’s a singing contest. If that was really the case they’d have kicked nine of us out on the first show – then had Tricia Penrose and Shaun Williamson singing every night."
Bravo….at last…some common sense. I’m so fed up of these people crying and moaning on.It’s a Karaoke night where you get to raise money for charity.
Comic Relief. Remember?
I tell you what though…if it was MASSIVE EGO Academy, most of them would ace it.
Surely not!
It says here soaring numbers of teenagers are cheating in exams using mobile phones they've smuggled in.
According to official figures, over twelve hundred GCSE and A-Level pupils sneaked electric gadgets in.
That’s astonishing…..because the invigilators are always so eagle eyed.
Yes it’s sarcasm.I actually suspect a few of the ones we had were dead.
Seriously…they are the oldest people on earth. God help you if you actually did need the toilet during an exam…because by the time they managed to start their heart up, walk across to your table and ask you what you needed…you’d be sitting in a pile of it.
According to official figures, over twelve hundred GCSE and A-Level pupils sneaked electric gadgets in.
That’s astonishing…..because the invigilators are always so eagle eyed.
Yes it’s sarcasm.I actually suspect a few of the ones we had were dead.
Seriously…they are the oldest people on earth. God help you if you actually did need the toilet during an exam…because by the time they managed to start their heart up, walk across to your table and ask you what you needed…you’d be sitting in a pile of it.
Damn the weather!
In all the papers…and all the telly news….temperatures are set to plunge to below freezing overnight ….and forecasters predict heavy snowfall in the next three days.
Yeah…you see I don’t actually think it’ll be as bad as all that.
They’re going bonkers about it in London…cos they don’t get snow outside December or January.
We can be April or May.
Come to Scotland …where the crappy weather never ends.
I can’t see Visit Scotland going for that one somehow can you.
Besides…that’s not what I’m saying…I just mean we can get all 4 seasons in a single day…at any time of the year.
Yesterday was the prefect example. I think it might be like that for a bit…but that’ll be it.
Yeah…I know….caption….24 hours later….and it’s the set from ‘The Day After Tomorrow’ out there.
I said to the missus yesterday..."You know…if it is bad…to hell with it….I’ve risked life and limb at stupid o’clock for close on 15 years driving through the snow from Deeside…stuff it…this time I’m going to stay at home with you and the boy….."
"Aye ..forget it…" she said…"there’s only one wage coming into this house. I’ll harness up the huskies myself if I have to."
Yeah…you see I don’t actually think it’ll be as bad as all that.
They’re going bonkers about it in London…cos they don’t get snow outside December or January.
We can be April or May.
Come to Scotland …where the crappy weather never ends.
I can’t see Visit Scotland going for that one somehow can you.
Besides…that’s not what I’m saying…I just mean we can get all 4 seasons in a single day…at any time of the year.
Yesterday was the prefect example. I think it might be like that for a bit…but that’ll be it.
Yeah…I know….caption….24 hours later….and it’s the set from ‘The Day After Tomorrow’ out there.
I said to the missus yesterday..."You know…if it is bad…to hell with it….I’ve risked life and limb at stupid o’clock for close on 15 years driving through the snow from Deeside…stuff it…this time I’m going to stay at home with you and the boy….."
"Aye ..forget it…" she said…"there’s only one wage coming into this house. I’ll harness up the huskies myself if I have to."
Aaaarrrgggggghhhh!
The Times newspaper seems to have finally picked up on a story that’s been in all our press for what seems like ages now.
In the Times today though…..'the SNP is heading for victory in the Scottish parliamentary elections. If the nationalist party win, it will be a major blow to Gordon Brown. It will happen shortly before the Scott is due to become Prime Minister.'
A bunch of things annoy me about this…
1 – Scot in this instance is not spelt with two ‘T’s’. For God’s sake. This is The Times
2 – It’s taken them this long to pick up on a story that’s been bubbling about for months
3 – Gordon Brown isn’t actually going to ascend to a higher plain of existence.
In the Times today though…..'the SNP is heading for victory in the Scottish parliamentary elections. If the nationalist party win, it will be a major blow to Gordon Brown. It will happen shortly before the Scott is due to become Prime Minister.'
A bunch of things annoy me about this…
1 – Scot in this instance is not spelt with two ‘T’s’. For God’s sake. This is The Times
2 – It’s taken them this long to pick up on a story that’s been bubbling about for months
3 – Gordon Brown isn’t actually going to ascend to a higher plain of existence.
God in latest scandal!
The BBC has admitted recording the Easter edition of Songs of Praise right after the Christmas special.
After a rousing rendition of Silent Night, the congregation at Lichfield Cathedral was ordered to strip off their winter woollies and look more spring-like.
The corporation says the decision was an economic one as it cost a great deal of licence payers' money to film in two Cathedrals.
I imagine it costs a great deal to fly a bunch of morons to an island and film them being morons, as well. However, nobody seems to bat an eyelid at that, do they?
Is that because of the way the BBC is uniquely accountable?
Surely you're better than that.
After a rousing rendition of Silent Night, the congregation at Lichfield Cathedral was ordered to strip off their winter woollies and look more spring-like.
The corporation says the decision was an economic one as it cost a great deal of licence payers' money to film in two Cathedrals.
I imagine it costs a great deal to fly a bunch of morons to an island and film them being morons, as well. However, nobody seems to bat an eyelid at that, do they?
Is that because of the way the BBC is uniquely accountable?
Surely you're better than that.
Are you having a laugh - number 326
There's nothing like a bacon buttie on a Sunday morning is there?
And now scientists believe that they've come up with a formula for the perfect one.
The study has shown that the two most important aspects are crispiness and crunchiness. The crunching sound should ideally measure 0.5 decibels, and the sandwich should break when 0.4 Newtons of force are applied through chewing.
Scientists at Leeds University spent more than 1,000 hours testing 700 variations of the traditional bacon buttie.
Now why doesn’t someone approach me for lab testing something like that?
Mind you….this sort of thing just makes me angry…..someone is paying these guys huge scientific grants.
Don’t kid yourself….these blokes are on 6 figures a year….to spend 1000 man hours eating bacon rolls.
For the love of God. What did they do in their tea break….work on a flu vaccine?
And now scientists believe that they've come up with a formula for the perfect one.
The study has shown that the two most important aspects are crispiness and crunchiness. The crunching sound should ideally measure 0.5 decibels, and the sandwich should break when 0.4 Newtons of force are applied through chewing.
Scientists at Leeds University spent more than 1,000 hours testing 700 variations of the traditional bacon buttie.
Now why doesn’t someone approach me for lab testing something like that?
Mind you….this sort of thing just makes me angry…..someone is paying these guys huge scientific grants.
Don’t kid yourself….these blokes are on 6 figures a year….to spend 1000 man hours eating bacon rolls.
For the love of God. What did they do in their tea break….work on a flu vaccine?
Health Nonsense 457
Here’s the latest from the file of ‘food you can’t eat cos you’ll die’. Well, I guess these aren’t new to the list…but the associated reason is.
Bacon, ham and sausages can double the risk of deadly lung damage, medics have warned.
The cured meats can have the same effects as smoking. Preservatives called nitrates found in the foods cause Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disorder.
The cured meats can have the same effects as smoking. Preservatives called nitrates found in the foods cause Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disorder.
This hits a third of Brits over forty, and can be fatal.
But in for a penny, in for a pound, I say. If you like your bangers anyway…..tonight…why not try a smoked one from Germany.
Live a little.
You’ve probably only got about a week at the outside.
Post Election Fiasco
The thing that makes me laugh is I’m sure I heard them saying yesterday on the news….'no we’re not worried about the vote going wrong….the machine we’re using has been tested before and worked very well in London.'Aye… so did those Christmas Lights we used to have in Union Street.
Things that concern me - 2
Please tell me I’m right….there’s a piece in one of the papers here which says Graham Norton’s next telly job will be to do a show where they try to find a John Travolta character for the stage version of Saturday Night Fever.
God help us….the Beeb always do this. As soon as they stumble upon a hit show….they try to throw out as many of the same thing as possible…look at all the DIY and gardening shows they did.
Now it’s talent searches.
Is this what you really want for Saturday night telly?
Honestly?
Reality music shows…or Big Brother type stuff?
On Saturday Joseph got 7.1 million viewers…..Noel Edmonds got the punt for a record low of 8 and a half million. The difference there was that it cost more to put on…..but I just think TV is the worst it’s been in ages at the weekends.
Let me know though….maybe it’s just an auld mannie thing.
I always remember my Dad saying the stuff that I watched on Saturday night telly was rubbish….and I thought it was brilliant.
Wednesday, 29 August 2007
Things that concern me - 1
I don’t know if things have always irked me like this, or if it’s developed with age. Certainly the older I get, the more often I do it – you know, get irritated by the world. The bad drivers (in other words, potentially anyone but me), the people who walk over the top of you in supermarkets or never say thank you when you hold a door open for them, and my particular favourite – people who always moan!
Oh ……right….yeah, it’s OK, I think I’ve spotted a flaw there myself. Moving on – think of this little area of The Daily Mellis as a soapbox on the world. You can add your own pet peeve here if you like, or reply to mine if you agree or disagree.
First up…..this.
Believe me when I say I wish Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes all the best when they get married in Italy today in a Scientology ceremony. My understanding is that it's similar in nature to a standard church wedding service, except for the fact it's 95 per cent collection, 5 percent marriage.I even believe, (unlike their harshest critics), they're very much in love.
But not because Tom told me via the media, which he has been doing incessantly since they touched down in Italy earlier in the week. The latest sound-bite I heard from him this morning told us just how much he loves marriage. He must do. This is his third time. Once more and he gets a Ross Geller t-shirt.
My gripe is not with him.
Nor Katie Holmes.
They're just the latest incarnation of the problem, which is this:I just can't ever, for the life of me, understand, one human being, literally worshipping another.
And that's what's happening here.
There are people who have followed Tom and Katie from America to Italy. It's like a pilgrimage. Now they're there, they've mounted a constant vigil, and Tom and his parade of guests are playing to it, dining out wherever possible, in a supposedly very relaxed manner. Chatting to reporters, but not the public.
It's a circus - an exploitation, all designed to make them look good in the public eye. It's all about the public perception they create. They live or die by it. It's how they make their money- what makes them bankable, and creates their worth.
They only do this though, because there's an audience to play to.The sort of people who do follow their idols everywhere.
The ones who'd wait outside a courthouse in Santa Monica and release doves when Michael Jackson was declared 'not guilty'
The sort of people who say 'they can't go on', and have to call help-lines when their favourite boy band split up.
The type who've remodelled their homes to become shrines to their favourite star.
They're the ones who concern me.
Why worship another human? They're the same as you.
Respect them, sure.
Admire them - of course.
But give your life to them? Surely not.
I could go on, but I'd probably spontaneously combust, and I think I've more than made my point. I'll step back down off my soap box.
If you're really interested, maybe I'll bring out a book, then a film. Make sure to buy all the associated merchandise, and come to the public appearances.
Remember - at the end of the day, I'm nothing without you.
God Bless.
Oh ……right….yeah, it’s OK, I think I’ve spotted a flaw there myself. Moving on – think of this little area of The Daily Mellis as a soapbox on the world. You can add your own pet peeve here if you like, or reply to mine if you agree or disagree.
First up…..this.
Believe me when I say I wish Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes all the best when they get married in Italy today in a Scientology ceremony. My understanding is that it's similar in nature to a standard church wedding service, except for the fact it's 95 per cent collection, 5 percent marriage.I even believe, (unlike their harshest critics), they're very much in love.
But not because Tom told me via the media, which he has been doing incessantly since they touched down in Italy earlier in the week. The latest sound-bite I heard from him this morning told us just how much he loves marriage. He must do. This is his third time. Once more and he gets a Ross Geller t-shirt.
My gripe is not with him.
Nor Katie Holmes.
They're just the latest incarnation of the problem, which is this:I just can't ever, for the life of me, understand, one human being, literally worshipping another.
And that's what's happening here.
There are people who have followed Tom and Katie from America to Italy. It's like a pilgrimage. Now they're there, they've mounted a constant vigil, and Tom and his parade of guests are playing to it, dining out wherever possible, in a supposedly very relaxed manner. Chatting to reporters, but not the public.
It's a circus - an exploitation, all designed to make them look good in the public eye. It's all about the public perception they create. They live or die by it. It's how they make their money- what makes them bankable, and creates their worth.
They only do this though, because there's an audience to play to.The sort of people who do follow their idols everywhere.
The ones who'd wait outside a courthouse in Santa Monica and release doves when Michael Jackson was declared 'not guilty'
The sort of people who say 'they can't go on', and have to call help-lines when their favourite boy band split up.
The type who've remodelled their homes to become shrines to their favourite star.
They're the ones who concern me.
Why worship another human? They're the same as you.
Respect them, sure.
Admire them - of course.
But give your life to them? Surely not.
I could go on, but I'd probably spontaneously combust, and I think I've more than made my point. I'll step back down off my soap box.
If you're really interested, maybe I'll bring out a book, then a film. Make sure to buy all the associated merchandise, and come to the public appearances.
Remember - at the end of the day, I'm nothing without you.
God Bless.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)