ADVERTS: selling idiocy

There are degrees of idiocy. Everything is on a scale and even I can accept that pointless cultural afterbirths like Westlife or Jade Goody aren’t really in the same league as people like (yawn) George W. Bush who elevate the practice of idiocy to truly apocalyptic levels.

So with that in mind I’d cheerfully hold my hands up and admit that today’s idiots are certainly at the shallow end of the pool - idiot-wise. They’re irritating certainly, but not life threatening.

Nevertheless, I hate them.

I’m not even sure who they are. The smarmy marketing executives who have decided that every advert on our screens must be populated by skinny indie kids and sound tracked by obscure jangly, high pitched electro folk. These adverts have begun to spread across ad-land like a aesthetically-pleasing, ethnically-balanced cancer.

Let’s start with the indie kids as they’re the most obvious part of the problem. Firstly, no one has groups of friends like these dead-eyed, perma-grinning morons but if you’re convinced you’ve got what it takes, here are a list of rules you must follow if you and your pals fancy flogging a few phones or an internet service provider:

1. You should all be models.
2. Make sure you are all androgynous looking and wearing skinny tees. Anything baggy will severely decrease your chances of making people want to be like you.
3. A warm autumnal colour scheme should be enforced rigorously. Immediately ostracise anyone who wears black or fluorescent colours.
4. Someone must wear a scarf at all times. Even in summer.
5. Someone must have an afro. If it’s the scarf guy then you get double points.
6. You must, must, must all be from different ethnic backgrounds. If, for example, you suddenly find yourself with two Hispanics in the same group, pick the skinniest and stop answering calls from Chunky.
7. Don’t ever speak, just grin at each other like the smug cat that got the double smug cream. If you need motivation for all the grinning, just think how skinny and attractive you are.
8. Take up a retro hobby/activity such as kite flying, colouring with crayons or go karting. Learn to climb trees and make things from rubbish - sculptures, jewellery, voodoo dolls …
8. All grow stupid, stubbly pretend indie beards. Make sure it makes your mouth look like a vagina.

Congratulations, you are now all giant dick heads.

As for the music, this is slightly more problematic as a lot of it is actually pretty good. Joanna Newsom for instance, is a legend. The world can never have enough punk harpists. So it’s not the music as such but the way it’s been identified, isolated and cynically commoditised. The first time awesome left-field music was used it was probably a genius idea but now it’s become insipid. It’s just part of the formula, another great idea that’s been packaged and duplicated ad nauseum in the mistaken belief that lightning can be bottled, that originality doesn’t tarnish and fade like everything else. Artists are brought into the abattoir of the modern music industry even earlier and everyone loses. Repetition, negative association, death. Repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat.

Stop it!

AMY WINEHOUSE: the pointless anti-social laggard of idiocy

i've held off writing about this woman for so long, frankly because i thought it like shooting fish in a barrel. how is it sport if there is no chance of failure?

i should start at the beginning before i launch into attack on this festering human waste. i shall start with a compliment.

i used to think she was quite good.

there was a point when i thought "wow, this girl has a great voice, so much control, so much depth, and with little visible effort on her behalf. she truly is a natural." part of me still thinks some of those things are true. for example, she still shows no effort.

her appeal has dwindled as her tattoos have appeared. only as a time scale, mind. i have nothing against tattoos - i'm tempted myself - but there are well thought out, meaningful tats relevant to your heritage and experiences as a person... and there are those that look like you've been repeatedly raped in a truck stop by retard with a magic marker.

the papers (when i use the words papers i currently include those free scraps of toilet roll you get handed outside tube stations nowadays. rather like describing 'zoo' as a human interest magazine) are currently running a feature-length day-to-day diary of whinehouse and her embarrassing attempt at stabilising her life, so in the dullard sections of my day i.e. when i'm traveling on the public transport purgatory system of london; i can catch up on the haphazard frolics of the tattooed wretch. a couple of nights ago she went out in a bra, last night she bought a box of ice lollys. as far as i can work out, there are only very few possibilities for these antics:

1: she is a genuinely fucked up pile of wreckage, and needs professional mental... i mean psychiatric assistance, and we should all feel sorry for her. boring.

2: she is a media grabbing camera-whore and it is all just an act to get her horse-shaped face on telly, where they would otherwise be looking at a more attractive media grabbing camera-whore. like kate moss.

3: she is an absolute twat.

in the past few weeks she has turned up on stage at her own gigs (not even charity do's) completely head-over-shitter wasted, and proceeded to roll her frog-like tongue over a few songs before stumbling off stage, and probably face down into a big pile of charlie. any remaining respect i had for her as a musician would end right there, where she cared so little about the music she refused even to finish her own songs. frankly though, if i had been at one of those gigs i might welcome her backing singers finishing the show as i have recently come to realise something:


while searching for those pictures it became evident that many other people have noticed the similarity. man, i hate it when i'm right.

FOXY KNOXY: the alleged sex games of idiocy

is it just me or is alleged killer amanda knox quite sexy?

QUEEN ELIZABETH II: a taboo subject of idiocy

everyone's praising the queen for "following in diana's footsteps and shaking hands with ugandan HIV+ patients."

kept her gloves on though didn't she?

in uganda.
which is in africa.
quite a warm place.
(26 degrees celsius yesterday.)

looks comfy in that photo, doesn't she?

POST MODERN SECRET: postcards of idiocy

Do you have a secret that's eating you up inside but you can't tell anyone?

Why not send it to us on one side of a homemade (virtual) postcard and we'll expose your dank, hidden wrong-doings to the world under the guise of some kind of ongoing community art project?

It's an idea we've been working on for some time here at the register and is completely and utterly our own idea.

Answers (on a postcard) to the normal address (we've included a link on the right).

Here's a start:

THE SPICE GIRLS: the badly conceived return of idiocy

can anyone think of anything more hilarious than five middle-aged women singing "i wanna huh, i wanna huh, i wanna really really really wanna zig-a-zag, ah."

?

it's hard to believe a group of adult women, a couple of which have already committed their lives to embarrassing themselves and their loved ones, could make the decision to propell themselves & each other to further ridicule... but...

PEER PRESSURE: ottoman shagging posers of idiocy

I’ve held back from writing about these cats for a while because to be honest it felt a bit like playing slapsies with a quadriplegic: mean, pointless and less than challenging. After about 10 minutes you’re just beating a guy up, you know what I mean?

But I can’t hold my tongue any longer because when you really get down to it, that’s five guys fucking an ottoman. On the internet. For everyone to see. And it isn’t a joke.

No, it really isn’t. It may be tempting to think that Relentless, X2C, Pipelaya and the rest of the gang are in fact a visionary performance art troupe dedicated to exposing the rampant consumerism and preening narcissism endemic in hip hop culture but you’d be wrong. They’re just a bunch of rampant, preening narcissists with the intellectual facilities of pocket lint.

So what enrages me the most about this video? What aspect has me moistening my keyboard with hot, salty tears of despair as I weep for humanity’s desecrated soul? Is it the fact that the first moron wanders on with a dumbbell as if he just happens to have been pumping iron off camera before sauntering on to ravish the soft furnishings? Or is it the way that each idiot has an equally brain dead ‘street’ moniker, a practice they’ve evidently copied from their favourite MCs and applied with all the finesse of Leatherface at an ice sculpting festival. Pipelaya? You sound like a plumber, mate. Or someone who poos a lot.

Never mind the fact that the whole enterprise has the distinct whiff of being one repressed, desperate hair’s breadth away from descending into a hard-rutting, any-holes-a-goal, five-way, sweaty-teenage cum fiesta with the Peer Pressure boys joyously thrusting their tiny members between cushions, against soft fabric and into each other. There’s nothing wrong with being gay and it’s actually kind of sweet the activities they’ve concocted to distract themselves from their obvious mutual attraction.

‘Why Satisfaktion, have you noticed how firm yet yielding this leather cushion is? Let’s go and show Pre$$ure … with our tops off.’

Yes, there’s nothing wrong with being gay. It’s a legitimate, healthy lifestyle choice. What isn’t healthy is being so wrapped up in your own greasy, arrogant world-view that you believe uploading this kind of unintentionally hilarious masturbatory sofa-porn is going to make you look good in any way.

It doesn’t. You pointless bunch of egotistical poser-fucks.

VICTORIA BECKHAM: the wretched vacuum of idiocy

SUPERMARKET EMPLOYEES: the iconic silver screen monsters of idiocy

So I'm in my local branch of Tescos loading my basket with Wagon Wheels, Discos, Space Raiders, Pez Dispensers, Hula Hoops, Sherbet Dip Daps, Iced Party Rings and enough ingredients to make some seriously good toasties (ham, egg, cheese, marmite ...). But as I walk up to the till I sense that something has gone seriously wrong.

It appears Tescos have hired The Creature From The Black Lagoon to do the night shift.

And its name is 'Sharon'.

The creature regards me for a long moment. Something very close to intelligence flickering behind its dead eyes. Slowly and with great effort it begins to speak, opening its thick lips in a hideously strangled attempt at communication.

'D'you need help with packing?'

'No thank you' I say, giving it what I hope is a placating smile 'I'm sure I can marshal my faculties sufficiently to take on the enormous task of putting groceries into plastic bags. After all, I didn't educate myself to degree standard in order to go about balancing produce on my head or pathetically resorting to sellotaping it to my upper body and torso after failing to unlock the mysteries of your carrier bag system.'

This does not go down well with the creature. My botched attempt at levity seems to anger it still further and it flares its nostrils in a way that makes me afeared for the safety of nearby womenfolk. I decide to change the subject.

'Buy one, get one free on the Iced Party Rings, I notice'

The creature ignores me, the full weight of its bestial cognitive capacity employed in the task of dragging various items over the barcode scanner. But somewhere deep down inside its powerful body a growl has begun that is so low frequency I can feel it vibrating my internal organs. I decide now would be a good time to concentrate intently on a display of 25% off electric toothbrushes.

The rest of the transaction passes without incident except for the fact that I can't get everything into the bags and end up holding some of it in my teeth. The creature takes my money, presses some buttons at random as if to see what they might do and then gives me an approximation of the correct change.

'Fhank choo' I manage through teeth clenched around a variety pack of Monster Munch, before turning smartly on my heel and running for my life.

One can only wonder at the wisdom of hiring iconic silver screen monsters to tend to late night shoppers but I guess we have to presume that it makes some sort of sound financial sense. Thinking about it I'm sure I saw a Triffid behind the deli counter and Mecha-Godzilla having a fag by the delivery entrance.

Strange times.

ON THE BUS: a journey into idiocy

Now this may come as a surprise but ordinarily I'm a mild mannered kind of fellow. I wouldn't say boo to a goose. Unless the goose had specifically asked me to (perhaps to cure a fit of hiccups). But if there was going to be one thing, one insidious, pointless, idiotic cultural tic that would one day see me snap like an atrophied elastic band, grab the nearest blunt/sharp/radioactive object and start swinging away like Babe Ruth in a cloud of bees, it's this - people on public transport who play their music through mobile phone speakers.

Where do I start? How do I begin to vent this tumour of pent-up hatred, this blood-boiling, gut-churning tidal wave of vitriol I have backed up inside me? What do I want to say to you, denizen of the back seat, ensconced inside your tattered hoodie, pustulant boils flung carelessly across your face with the lackadaisical air I have no doubt is applied to every area of your worthless, irritating life?

Well firstly I want to say, get some semblance of musical appreciation. If we have to listen to your music, if it truly is our sad lot in life to watch you play the moronic DJ to your toxic-looking mate in the seat opposite you, then at least let that music be vibrant or thoughtful or experimental or life-affirming. What we don't want to hear is querulous, mewling cretins spewing the musical equivalent of the Ebola virus over our quivering ear holes. We'd rather not listen to the preschool ramblings of a bigoted, closed-minded, no talent, bottom feeding Nazi Media Whore just because it has a semi-rhythmic beat behind it, thank you very much.

Of course such considerations are rendered null and void because you're playing the aforementioned musical aberration on POSSIBLY THE SINGLE WORST AUDIO PLAYBACK DEVICE IN THE UNIVERSE. When I was 4 years old I had a plastic record player made by Tomy that had better fidelity than that carcinogenic box of wires you clutch in your grubby paw. Seriously, dude, it sounds like a group of crickets are conducting a rave in a match box. And just because you're mindlessly bobbing your head along to the white noise like a life-sized meat marionette whose operator is having a seizure, it doesn't mean we're suddenly going to recognise it as music.

You dead-eyed, unthinking, arrogant, attention-seeking, TURBO GIT.

Thank-you. That's put off the stroke for another few years I reckon.

MARK THOMPSON: the knee-jerk of idiocy

there's a bit of turmoil in west london. firstly, today i heard that the base of the once great standard in superior broadcasting is teetering on the edge of selling out and the miracle doughnut that is BBC television centre may well be sold. SOLD! to someone. who knows who, probably for about £300 million.

due to the unique way the BBC is funded, er...
we're going to sell it.

shocking.

but i was left stunned today by a far more ridiculous slither of news from the world of world class telly. it's all come from the incredible inflation that recently occurred in the press over the supposed phone in 'scandals' uncovered by the infallible newspaper journalists of our liberated country. i thought at the time, as i do even more now, that the whole thing was blown all out of proportion. suddenly it became unbearable to the british public that TV might bend the truth slightly, on occasion, in order to better present a program.

most unthinkable (according to the broadsheets) was the idea that a when a few phone-in competitions had had technical problems the show producers decided to grab a member of the production team to stand in as a competition winner (thus retaining the beats and rhythms of the show) and donated the prize to charity. i guess the journalists - speaking for we general public - think what should have happened was a presenter come onto screen and said, "sorry, something's gone wrong so we're going to forget about the phone-in and improvise for the 3-and-a-half minutes that was originally dedicated to trying to get some quality viewing out of a muffled conversation with a sniveling semi-retarded ten year old... um, so konnie.... how are your teeth today?"

IT'S ENTERTAINMENT.

who gives a post-dubbed-squirrel-fuck if they have to bend the truth every now and again? by all means refund the bankrupting 75p everyone spent on their phone call because their opinion mattered so much they 'simply had to pick up the phone' but don't - for god's sake - let it ruin the future of quality broadcasting. as it may well do.

yes, really.

why?

how about this:

today i heard that programmes like Top Gear are facing a shake up where they won't be able to 'lie' as much. yes; i used the word lie because that's what the idiots at the helm if this idiotic process have deemed a necessary word for it. for some reason top gear (and many other shows too, i use this only as an example); top gear, an ENTERTAINMENT show has been attacked because it takes it too far making us think that 3 completely different cars can arrive after a 4000 mile race within 5 minutes of each other.

for a start: what absolute moron would ever think that this is exactly what happened? what mind-numbed oblivious fool would ever consider the idea that week after week the antics of the three presenters racing and rallying and building and breaking, and always ending in a photo finish, could ever be the complete unabridged unadulterated truth? ever noticed the fact that it's E.D.I.T.E.D.?

dumb-asses.

secondly: why the hell would we want to see the actual practical result of each activity? i'd put money on the fact that it'd be utterly boring TV. if skilled directors and editors want to chop and change some dull footage of old cars driving about a bit so that i can spend an hour escaping into a fantasy world full of intrigue and wit, bloody let them. that's why i watch entertainment shows. to be entertained. the clue is in the name of the genre.

today i heard that CBBC presenters now have to say "here's one we made earlier," because they're not allowed to imply that it was solely them and not a researcher that stuck the sparkly star on the box. i mean seriously, that's not just putting the cart before the horse but sending it careering down the hill and into the river before even waking the horse up. as if a four year old child could give a spun shit about who actually made that particular prop when they have the joy of pritt stick and glitter ahead of them.

i hope the person or people who are encouraging this "honesty" gain some perspective soon. if not, i worry that we might be heading towards the news being presented from a big grey room, the floor covered in cables, by two people in t-shirts and no makeup reading from some slightly creased bits of A4 paper.

that is if we can see them without any lights on.

T4 HOSTS: the vaccuous clothes-horses of idiocy

due to unforeseen circumstances i found myself witnessing t4 on sunday today. an unwelcome surprise to me was the revelation that june sarpong is still allowed on television, complete with her rasping grapple at the english language and ever-so-slight hint of permanent confusion in her eyes.

traditionally deviant channel four have seemingly flipped the meaning of "subversive television." rather than the punk foundations that won over young, hip and trendy viewers at the dawn of alternative tv; the programmers of said channel have opted for "try to appeal to the mindless... let's celebrate mediocrity!" attitude. instead of searching long and hard for witty, intellectually cutting charismatics; they've stepped into the street, found the person with the loudest voice and wheeled them onto the set.

so they settled on june sarpong? her and all the other t4 presenters?

just because the tv says these people are funny, doesn't mean they actually are. certain characteristics give away the secret that they aren't really cut out for the job.

• when her voice sounds like scratching your nails down a blackboard while coughing like a disease-ridden smoker.
  
• when the furniture around her has more screen presence.
  
• when he has to read from an autocue to appear witty.
  
• when they look dumbstruck by a band who they clearly haven't heard of before.
  
• when their wardrobe looks like it was designed by a topshop store-cupboard cleaner.
  
• when his hair has more personality than him, and it's the personality of that shouty-guy from the police academy films.
  
• when their facial expression is limited to either "smug" or "bewildered."
  
  

jesus, while searching for the above picture i discovered one of some hollyoaks cast members winning some kind of award. i assume it was for "undeservedly highest tv ratings without decent script/director/actors/camera work/storyline" or something.

DRAMA STUDENTS: the gibbering monkeys of idiocy

I can still feel the blood pounding in the back of my head. My hands have been balled up into fists for so long I’m finding it difficult to type and I have a series of crescent shaped marks in the soft flesh of my palm left by my own fingernails. My eyes are bloodshot, my jaw is cramping and my teeth have been ground down to powder.

This morning I had the ‘pleasure’ of sharing my commute to work with three young actors from an esteemed drama school. These charming individuals spent the entire 20 minute bus ride complaining loudly in identical, theatrical automaton voices about every single other person on their acting course. No stone was left unturned in their seemingly eternal quest to root out every glitch, every weakness, every wrong inflection and mispronunciation in their colleagues’ performances.

“Did you see Rachel’s attempt at Juliet in her showcase? You know some people just can’t cope with classical texts, I don’t know what they were thinking giving it to her. It’s such a gift of a role and she does nothing with it."

This kind of talk went on for the duration of my time on the bus. Discussed clearly and unashamedly for everyone to hear. Each of their friends were considered in turn before being summarily dismissed; picked apart and dissected using the blunt tools of a theatrical vocabulary cannibalised from A-level Theatre Studies set texts and applied with all the finesse of Neanderthal man learning to cross-stitch. What utterly contemptible morons. Not once did they turn the dim spotlight of their 2-watt critical facilities on themselves. In fact, as far as they were concerned, and by some astronomical coincidence, we, the humble bus-riding travellers of London, were luckily enough to be sharing our morning commute with the only three perfect exponents of theatrical technique that the world had ever seen. Even within the group a vile game of one-upmanship was being played out, with passing allusions to their own genius dropped in among the general vitriol, poison and unthinking crap they were spouting. All topped off with the pathetic caveat ‘Of course I love the girl but…’ as if this would make the whole insidious conversation any more palatable.

I hate this aspect of theatre. I hate the bitchiness, the insecurity, the need to beat down others to make yourself feel talented. What’s the point? Surely theatre is a collaborative art form which benefits immeasurably from a tight, supportive company intent on making each other look good? Those idiots on the bus haven’t even finished their training and they’re already well schooled in the cowardly art of two-facedness. Do drama schools now teach Bitching as a module alongside Stage Combat and Lecoq?

Of course there’s a twist in the tail and it’s one that I’m aware means I lose the moral high ground forever. Because by another astronomical coincidence I’d seen that trio of actors before. At a series of showcases at a local theatre.

And they were shit.

JORDAN: the unbridled media whore of idiocy

i've worked it out. i knew it couldn't have been all it appeared to be. nothing and noone could exist with that little depth. ladies and gentlemen, despite all our belief systems, one of this nation's greatest treasures is:
Jordan.

i know, i was shocked as you are now. i literally just spewed over my fresh filled pasta when i realised it.

katie price/mrs. peter andre/media-whore/dumb-ass... call her what you will, but she is an artistic genius. she joins the ranks of Leigh Bowery and Gilbert & George as members of society who have dedicated their entire life to their art and in doing so, enriched life's great quilt-cover.

in a sacrifice of her own human looks she has turned her body into a social commentary on the falseness of our current society. a walking representation of the ugliness of materialism, the mediocrity of the nation and the ignorance of worldwide injustice.

she has even entered into a life-long contract (a marriage no less!) with a person who represents everything that is stupid in the modern world. not content with that, she is abandoned mother to a footballer's son, a man who (like other footballers) is vastly overpaid and living an undeservedly decadent life for his contribution to society. not only that (!) one of her sons is an ethnic minority and she made damn sure he'd also turn out to be disabled by drinking and smoking during pregnancy. what an amazing woman.

i'm sorry jordan, if you wanted to wait until your old age (29?) before you revealed this secret, but i think you deserve to be congratulated right away on your achievements.

i think the true beauty of what she has achieved is in the art of misdirection. allowing her stretched~airbrushed~flesh to grace the covers and broadcasts of what we could entitle "bad-media" means that those people with more resources than their genitalia can easily find more quality information and do something about the problems of this world. an easy rule of thumb:

picture of jordan = nothing of value here.

thank you katie.

i'm still trying to work out the symbolism of a hot-air balloon race, but i'll get there.
well done jordan, good luck to all who sail in you.

BIGOTS & THE MEDIA: the ignorant theophobia of idiocy

bill bailey is currently doing a couple of nights at the riverside studios, a 'pre-stadium tour' testing out some new material with small audiences before cradling it in front of big crowds. probably a good plan with his particular brand of dungeons & dragons garden shed based whimsy that much of his comedy is themed upon.

he is a very funny man. i did laugh at him muchly; to that point where your face becomes painful and it's better to stop laughing or you might sprain a face-muscle. you will not be able to guess where i'll head eventually with this blog.

my two favourite observations were these:

from the killers song all these things that i've done a section sees them repeating the phrase "i got soul, but i'm not a soldier." nice little phrase that, but made up of two meaningless things that are completely disconnected. you might as well say "i've got ham, but i'm not a hamster."

i thought "i've got a badge, but i'm not a badger"

secondly, bill talked about george bush (an idiot beyond idiocy who will one be shredded on the idiot register). quite a lot actually. he appears to have had a recent switcheroonie with his focus and rather than basing all his comedy on owls and the west country and wooden panels, has become a lot more political. he described president bush leading america as something "pointless and harmless and stupid on top of a much more dangerous thing" . . rather like a bobble hat on a leopard. or a tanktop on a scorpion.

this bought up the point that america is starting to teach creationism over evolution in schools, which very quickly led to a debate about a book called the god delusion which seeks to disprove the existence of god and the pointlessness of religion. bill sought to get audience members to shout out summaries of the book, probably hoping for something like: the god delusion contends that a supernatural creator most likely does not exist and that belief in a god and religion, qualifies as a delusion, which the writer defines as a persistent false belief held in the face of strong contradictory evidence.

"christianity is stupid!" called out a drunk woman in front of me, helpfully.

i thought i'd paid for a comedy show, but in another situation i would've perhaps said "anyone who spends enough time and energy researching with a specific point and direction and a talent for the written word could probably write an intellectual book that encourages it's reader to believe every word, polarising their opinion and closing their mind to any other alternative. rather than creating a readership that is accepting of other opinions and ideas, he creates a group of people that are completely unnecessarily militant in their anger against anyone who happens to disagree."

that reminds me of something. =>


see, i told you you wouldn't guess where i was heading with this.

i've written about this subject before, but the down point of last night's gig has incensed me somewhat to comment on the idea again. you see, this book is one of the culprits that joins a long list of sources that cause way more problems than they supposedly seek to solve. it's a trend of the media to exclude religion and people of religion, to turn the average responder against the idea of faith. religious people are publicly displayed to be freaks, or idiots, or dangerous. in modern times, the latter is an easy portrayal and probably sells you a lot of books or airtime.

what annoys me is the focus on the fraction of religious people that are freaks or idiots or dangerous, the reason being "because it's good telly." the normal person with faith, 99.9% of christians, muslims, jews etc. are harmless and reasonable and just living out their life in a way that makes them happy and comfortable. but there's no point in writing a crime thriller about andrew macintosh who has a wife and two kids, has never raped or abused anyone, never committed murder or any acts of terrorism but does run a church hall youth club every saturday and takes his family to church on a sunday morning before going to his mum's house for roast lunch.

here's a question for you: the 0.01% of human beings who are freaks, idiots or dangerous.... where would you rather they were?
a)within a social community (religious or otherwise) who are most likely trying to help them and guide them towards a more reasonable life outlook, possibly seeing they have psychological disorder and seeking out specialist help.
b)at home, alone and unmonitored with only their damaging psyche for company.

thought so.


islamic fundamentalism is to islam
as the ku klux klan is to christianity

whatever you believe about religion, the truth is that the vast majority of people with faith are not militant and angry and seeking to destroy everyone else. they're just living with a quiet respect for their god, with a comforting feeling that there is something looking over them who has a bigger plan that we as humans can never comprehend. i'm pretty comforted by that. it's my belief that is the truth. that's what helps me live my life as a good person. but i'm not you, you probably have a different way of doing it and that doesn't bother me in the slightest, as long as your aim is to be a good person. if your aim in life is to be an arsehole we probably won't get along very well, and i won't feel any kind of loss at that.

unfortunately, there is a huge cross section of society that read, see or hear something and instantly believe and accept it without considering their own beliefs, the beliefs of the people around them or any additional research or evidence around the subject. these people watch the news and accept it as the whole truth and nothing but the truth. even bbc news, with it's aim of indifference and unbiased reporting can only broadcast a portion of the events of the world. if you don't believe me, try and summarise the entire iraq war in three minutes... go! it becomes a sort of "me tarzan, you jane" reporting.

"israel good, palestine baaad."

i'll finish with an analogy:

three people are blindfolded, led to an elephant and encouraged to touch it. the first is a christian. he says that the thing he feels is long and muscular and bendy so it must be some sort of large snake.
the second - a muslim - says he feels something wide and vertical and round with a rough surface. it must be a tree.
the third is an agnostic. he feels a solid surface with a rough texture but from where he's standing he can't feel any edges or get the idea of what shape the thing is.

there is a fourth person. he's an atheist, but he's in a different zoo and there aren't any animals there.

KANYE WEST: the deluded babble of idiocy

kanye west came to my venue yesterday to do a gig organised by vodafone. i'm not a big fan of his music. i liked golddigga, but to be honest the rest sound far too similar; a bit of rap interspersed with some sample from some old track that he's found in some record collection. but while i may not be a huge fan, i expected him to put on a pretty good performance full of energy and spectacle.

nope.

pretty much the worst gig i've ever seen. nothing to do with the music, although it sounded pretty awful. this wasn't the fault of kanye, but the fault of his PR guy and sound engineer; an american who - without irony - introduced himself as 'hotdog.' yuh. from that moment on i couldn't take him seriously. he was a dick, but let's not dwell on him other than this conversation between one of the girls from the orchestra and him:

HARPIST: hi, um... hotdog. is it possible we [the orchestra] could have some more light on stage? we can't see our music, and it's just quite dark
HOTDOG: that's hip-hop

what a penis. turns out his first name is brian, which might explain reverting to hotdog.

so to the gig. it was due to start at 8pm. no sign of kanye. not at 8.15, 8.30, 9.00... eventually at 9.20 june sarpong arrives on stage to lull the booing audience. a struggle for her without a personality to rely on. but after an awkward ten minutes she says "now the moment you've all been waiting for, the most exciting thing in music right now, ladies & gents... KANYE WEST!"

the crowd goes wild.

the band kicks in.

the lights go crazy.

... and everything fizzles out.

a few more minutes. apparently he had left the venue at 8 without telling anyone. he never explained why. why should he?.. he's kanye west.

then it all starts up again and on he comes, churning out one of his songs. and the gig has commenced. kind of. he doesn't make it through any song. constantly he stops in the middle of a track and says something to the effect of "i'm going to start again from the second verse." which he does; with the production crew staring in confusion and disbelief at each other. it's being recorded 'as-live' for channel 4. after 3-4 stop/start songs the director is practically pulling clumps of his own hair out.

it was horrible. a masterclass in how not to do a gig.
some things you really shouldn't do (that he did anyway):

- attempt a televised gig without really rehearsing

- make a big deal about forgetting your own lyrics and restart the song

- add new bits that throw off your band

- try to improvise with a clearly unprepared 30-piece string orchestra

- tell the audience they are "boring" and should "try to look more interested"

- suggest that the audience don't recognise a real star when there is one right in front of them

- try and do a costume change between songs and when you don't have time, tell everyone to stop over the microphone

- stop the gig to have a nonsensical rant about your bitter rival 50 cent

- stop doing songs to talk through the process of writing your latest hit single...

it was at that point that the audience realised they were bored and began leaving. without exaggeration, at least a quarter of the audience had left well before the end of the set. about 500 people.

it was like watching a car crash happen in slow-motion. it was terrible. the organisers and i stared together in disbelief as the entire event slowly ground to an expensive mess. i thought it was very funny, myself. tammy, the production manager didn't seem to agree. maybe she was thinking how they were going to turn about 20 minutes of good footage into an hour long special for t4, to be broadcast on the 2nd september. gulp.

man, it was embarrassing. but not surprising when you attempt to work with someone who is clearly
98% ego and
2% tasteless expensive clothing.

i was reminded of this video. not only is the final revelation a piece of brilliance, but the angry indecipherable rambling leading up to it is quite something.


and i'm not the only one who agrees:
MTV
HOLY MOLY
and i'm sure there are plenty of others...