An addendum to my earlier post about the Jyllands-Posten cartoons. I just saw this breaking news.
See? I told you. This has nothing to do with Freedom of Speech.
Sometimes I hate being right.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Cartoon Fretwork
Comicbook curmudgeon Harvey Pekar once famously said: "Comics are just words and pictures. You can do anything with words and pictures."
You can even set the world on fire.
Much has been written in recent days about the cartoon pictures published in the Danish newspaper Jyllands-Posten, and a huge amount that has been written is either a load of shit, or it just misses the point completely.
Let’s see if I can be the voice of reason for a change. Before I get my rant on, a couple of things to get out of the way: I absolutely, totally and wholeheartedly support Freedom of Speech in all ways, shapes and forms. I might not like what you’ve got to say, but I support your right to say it. But, and it is a huge big ol’ booty of a but, no matter what Jyllands-Posten says, or how they are spinning the hell out of this, this really has very little to do with Freedom of Speech.
Freedom of Speech is the Big Honking Red Herring in all of this. Just because you can publish anything, it doesn’t mean that you should. Or that this Freedom should automatically override other important concerns like sensitivity and quality control, two things lacking in this situation.
Secondly, for the purposes of context, the cartoons can be seen here.
Lastly, let’s have a quick look at the dictionary definition of cartoon. Ready?
1. A drawing depicting a humorous situation, often accompanied by a caption.
2. A drawing representing current public figures or issues symbolically and often satirically.
OK. Pre-amble over, this is what I think:
The cartoons are a bunch of crap. In every conceivable way. Badly drawn. No discernable satiric intent. And, here’s the kicker: They Just Aren’t Funny. Offensive things can be funny, and vice versa. Just doesn’t happen to apply in this scenario. There’s no getting around this one: the shit ain’t funny.
For a cartoon to succeed on any level, it has to be either Funny or Satirical. Neither of those elements are present here.
I find it nigh on impossible to discern any kind of tangible satirical intent behind the cartoons. And the reason I can’t find any satirical intent is because there is none! I’ll prove it to you:
Imagine a cartoon where there’s a drawing of Jesus Christ stringing up a couple of black guys from a tree, with a burning cross in the background. Offensive, right? Not funny. Or satirical.
But, the cartoonist protests, there are devout Christians in the Ku Klux Klan! At this point, any sane newspaper editor would have shown the cartoonist the door.
Know why? Because it is blatantly offensive in so many ways. Some extremists are Islamic, but not all worshippers of Islam are extremists. See? It may be a subtle distinction for your average Danish newspaper editor, but it’s pretty damn obvious to me.
The most contentious cartoon portrays Mohammed with a bomb in his turban. It paints all Muslims as suicide-bombers, which is a blatant falsehood. Just like my Jesus example, which paints all Christians as white supremacists.
Muslims the world over have every right to be outraged. Obviously, I think death threats and destruction are not a proportional response. It’s excessive and tragic and just continues to perpetuate this solitary skewed image of Muslims, because it’s the only one which gets into the news cycle.
But cartoons attacking any other strata of our Burning Global Village, be it blacks, gays, women, Jews, Christians, whatever, would just not have seen print in newspapers the world over in the same way. No editor would even consider publishing such things.
And that is the great hypocrisy at the heart of this whole situation. In a nutshell: Newspaper prints cartoons. Angry Muslims riot. And people then turn around and go: “See? Those Muslims are violent! The cartoons were right!”
Depressing and dispiriting on so many levels.
You can even set the world on fire.
Much has been written in recent days about the cartoon pictures published in the Danish newspaper Jyllands-Posten, and a huge amount that has been written is either a load of shit, or it just misses the point completely.
Let’s see if I can be the voice of reason for a change. Before I get my rant on, a couple of things to get out of the way: I absolutely, totally and wholeheartedly support Freedom of Speech in all ways, shapes and forms. I might not like what you’ve got to say, but I support your right to say it. But, and it is a huge big ol’ booty of a but, no matter what Jyllands-Posten says, or how they are spinning the hell out of this, this really has very little to do with Freedom of Speech.
Freedom of Speech is the Big Honking Red Herring in all of this. Just because you can publish anything, it doesn’t mean that you should. Or that this Freedom should automatically override other important concerns like sensitivity and quality control, two things lacking in this situation.
Secondly, for the purposes of context, the cartoons can be seen here.
Lastly, let’s have a quick look at the dictionary definition of cartoon. Ready?
1. A drawing depicting a humorous situation, often accompanied by a caption.
2. A drawing representing current public figures or issues symbolically and often satirically.
OK. Pre-amble over, this is what I think:
The cartoons are a bunch of crap. In every conceivable way. Badly drawn. No discernable satiric intent. And, here’s the kicker: They Just Aren’t Funny. Offensive things can be funny, and vice versa. Just doesn’t happen to apply in this scenario. There’s no getting around this one: the shit ain’t funny.
For a cartoon to succeed on any level, it has to be either Funny or Satirical. Neither of those elements are present here.
I find it nigh on impossible to discern any kind of tangible satirical intent behind the cartoons. And the reason I can’t find any satirical intent is because there is none! I’ll prove it to you:
Imagine a cartoon where there’s a drawing of Jesus Christ stringing up a couple of black guys from a tree, with a burning cross in the background. Offensive, right? Not funny. Or satirical.
But, the cartoonist protests, there are devout Christians in the Ku Klux Klan! At this point, any sane newspaper editor would have shown the cartoonist the door.
Know why? Because it is blatantly offensive in so many ways. Some extremists are Islamic, but not all worshippers of Islam are extremists. See? It may be a subtle distinction for your average Danish newspaper editor, but it’s pretty damn obvious to me.
The most contentious cartoon portrays Mohammed with a bomb in his turban. It paints all Muslims as suicide-bombers, which is a blatant falsehood. Just like my Jesus example, which paints all Christians as white supremacists.
Muslims the world over have every right to be outraged. Obviously, I think death threats and destruction are not a proportional response. It’s excessive and tragic and just continues to perpetuate this solitary skewed image of Muslims, because it’s the only one which gets into the news cycle.
But cartoons attacking any other strata of our Burning Global Village, be it blacks, gays, women, Jews, Christians, whatever, would just not have seen print in newspapers the world over in the same way. No editor would even consider publishing such things.
And that is the great hypocrisy at the heart of this whole situation. In a nutshell: Newspaper prints cartoons. Angry Muslims riot. And people then turn around and go: “See? Those Muslims are violent! The cartoons were right!”
Depressing and dispiriting on so many levels.
Thursday, February 02, 2006
Bing!
Today is February the 2nd. Which means that it is Groundhog Day. (This is annoyingly apt, seeing as all my days at the moment seem to be depressingly similar to one another. Anyway...)
Punxsutawney Phil has decreed that there will be six more weeks of winter. Little fucker. I’m getting fed up of this weather. Frickin’ brass monkeys out there today.
Punxsutawney Phil has decreed that there will be six more weeks of winter. Little fucker. I’m getting fed up of this weather. Frickin’ brass monkeys out there today.
Monday, January 23, 2006
Call Me Ishmael
Barely three weeks into the New Year, and London is getting decidedly odd very, very quickly.
Celebrity Big Brother is horrific and compelling viewing – I need a shower after watching the damn thing. Pete Burns and his monkey coat, George Galloway and his cat impersonation, Michael Barrymore’s very public meltdown as he descends into a mire of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, slurred speech that would make Ozzy Ozbourne proud, and a growing repertoire of scary facial tics, whilst, unbeknownst to him, there are people waiting outside to serve him with legal papers. When Dennis Rodman is the voice of reason in such a Melting Point of the Strange, you know that the world has tilted somewhat off its axis.
At the other end of the weird scale, there’s the tragic story of the whale trapped in the Thames. What started as a story picked up for its sheer, downright oddness quickly graduated to wonder, awe, and an inspiring rallying of spirit to try and rescue the whale and return it home. I followed the story all day Saturday, and surprised myself with how gutted I was when the whale died. Amazing pictures here and here.
Also, been dabbling with some more webfuckery on this page, trying to collect things in one place. In the left-hand column, you will now find links to my Bloglines blogroll, collecting all the blogs I check on a daily basis. Plus, I’ve set myself up with a del.icio.us page in which to hurl all my accumulated stray urls that I found shoved in old e-mails, scraps of paper, in my browser history and many, many other places. Probably won’t need access to any of those links in a hurry, but it’s nice to find somewhere to keep them all handy if I need to get hold of them. Feel free to have a dig through them. You can always pretend you are shuffling through the teetering mounds of scrap paper on my desk, whilst jabbing a sharp stick at the disparate preoccupations that gnaw away at my psyche.
At some point, I’ll add a Flickr link, once I finally get around to populating my Flickr page with photos. Sucker Punch, embracing Web 2.0 in 2006!
Celebrity Big Brother is horrific and compelling viewing – I need a shower after watching the damn thing. Pete Burns and his monkey coat, George Galloway and his cat impersonation, Michael Barrymore’s very public meltdown as he descends into a mire of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, slurred speech that would make Ozzy Ozbourne proud, and a growing repertoire of scary facial tics, whilst, unbeknownst to him, there are people waiting outside to serve him with legal papers. When Dennis Rodman is the voice of reason in such a Melting Point of the Strange, you know that the world has tilted somewhat off its axis.
At the other end of the weird scale, there’s the tragic story of the whale trapped in the Thames. What started as a story picked up for its sheer, downright oddness quickly graduated to wonder, awe, and an inspiring rallying of spirit to try and rescue the whale and return it home. I followed the story all day Saturday, and surprised myself with how gutted I was when the whale died. Amazing pictures here and here.
Also, been dabbling with some more webfuckery on this page, trying to collect things in one place. In the left-hand column, you will now find links to my Bloglines blogroll, collecting all the blogs I check on a daily basis. Plus, I’ve set myself up with a del.icio.us page in which to hurl all my accumulated stray urls that I found shoved in old e-mails, scraps of paper, in my browser history and many, many other places. Probably won’t need access to any of those links in a hurry, but it’s nice to find somewhere to keep them all handy if I need to get hold of them. Feel free to have a dig through them. You can always pretend you are shuffling through the teetering mounds of scrap paper on my desk, whilst jabbing a sharp stick at the disparate preoccupations that gnaw away at my psyche.
At some point, I’ll add a Flickr link, once I finally get around to populating my Flickr page with photos. Sucker Punch, embracing Web 2.0 in 2006!
Monday, January 16, 2006
Can I Click It?
Yes, you can.
No time for my usual brand of meandering bullshit today. Instead, I provide you with clicky goodness to fill the gap. Enjoy:
Read the first issue of Warren Ellis and Ben Templesmith’s really very excellent crime comic FELL absolutely free!
The Friday Project has the best suggestion ever to rid the homes, streets, busses and trains of London from the menace of Dan Brown and his bloody awful books.
As Member of Parliament for Bethnal Green and Bow, George Galloway MP earns an annual basic salary of £61,708. Paid by you, the British taxpayer. So what's he doing as a contestant in Celebrity Big Brother? This is how much Gorgeous George's Respect for his constituents has cost you so far.
No time for my usual brand of meandering bullshit today. Instead, I provide you with clicky goodness to fill the gap. Enjoy:
Read the first issue of Warren Ellis and Ben Templesmith’s really very excellent crime comic FELL absolutely free!
The Friday Project has the best suggestion ever to rid the homes, streets, busses and trains of London from the menace of Dan Brown and his bloody awful books.
As Member of Parliament for Bethnal Green and Bow, George Galloway MP earns an annual basic salary of £61,708. Paid by you, the British taxpayer. So what's he doing as a contestant in Celebrity Big Brother? This is how much Gorgeous George's Respect for his constituents has cost you so far.
Thursday, January 12, 2006
Chocolate coated, freaky and habit-forming
“Good evening.
Do not attempt to adjust your radio, there is nothing wrong.
We have taken control as to bring you this special show.
We will return it to you as soon as you are grooving.”
Parliament – P-Funk (Want to Get Funked Up)
So, the revitalisation of Sucker Punch begins. If you scroll down the right-hand column, at some point you’ll get to a section called Funk Fiction, and a red box full of the platters that matter I been listening to for the last week on Last FM. Just cracking my head open for y’all to take a peek at the funk in my trunk. I believe that the box is refreshed on a weekly basis listing the noises in my head.
Why Funk Fiction? Well, a long time ago, I can’t remember exactly when, but I’m guessing about twelve years ago, I used to D.J. And I D.J.ed under the name Funk Fiction. We had these beautiful flyers with the words Funk Fiction emblazoned across the top, over that iconic image of Jules and Vincent with their gunarms outstretched and unloading. You know the one.
Underneath that were the words: “Big Funk. Small Funk. All Kinds of Funk. Get Blown Away at…” and the date and location of wherever we were playing.
I didn’t D.J. for long, partly because I already had a day job, partly because we were always getting ripped off and underpaid, but I loved it. I was shameless in my promise of “All Kinds of Funk”. The Red Hot Chilli Peppers would be followed by Miles Davis, and Public Enemy butted up against Earth, Wind and Fire. In the words of James Brown: “Whatsever I play, it’s got to be funky.” And we certainly delivered.
I always used to start the set with a really exclamatory chunk o’ funk, something like Ice Cube’s Bop Gun or the New Power Generation’s The Exodus Has Begun. And the nights always, always ended the same way. With the Staples Singers and Let’s Do It Again, followed by a soundbite from Pulp Fiction where Jules and Vincent unload their guns. Loudly. As the gunshots echoed, the lights would come up and it would all be over. It Was Great.
I would go to bed those nights (mornings?), with white noise and static thrumming in my ears as I tried to decompress, the smell of cigarette smoke in my hair, and a salty stew of alcohol and exhilaration sweat slowly cooling on my skin.
“Sweet love in the midnight
Good sleep, come mornin' light
No worries 'bout nothin'
Just gettin' good, just gettin' good
Just gettin' good love”
Staples Singers – Let’s Do It Again
Do not attempt to adjust your radio, there is nothing wrong.
We have taken control as to bring you this special show.
We will return it to you as soon as you are grooving.”
Parliament – P-Funk (Want to Get Funked Up)
So, the revitalisation of Sucker Punch begins. If you scroll down the right-hand column, at some point you’ll get to a section called Funk Fiction, and a red box full of the platters that matter I been listening to for the last week on Last FM. Just cracking my head open for y’all to take a peek at the funk in my trunk. I believe that the box is refreshed on a weekly basis listing the noises in my head.
Why Funk Fiction? Well, a long time ago, I can’t remember exactly when, but I’m guessing about twelve years ago, I used to D.J. And I D.J.ed under the name Funk Fiction. We had these beautiful flyers with the words Funk Fiction emblazoned across the top, over that iconic image of Jules and Vincent with their gunarms outstretched and unloading. You know the one.
Underneath that were the words: “Big Funk. Small Funk. All Kinds of Funk. Get Blown Away at…” and the date and location of wherever we were playing.
I didn’t D.J. for long, partly because I already had a day job, partly because we were always getting ripped off and underpaid, but I loved it. I was shameless in my promise of “All Kinds of Funk”. The Red Hot Chilli Peppers would be followed by Miles Davis, and Public Enemy butted up against Earth, Wind and Fire. In the words of James Brown: “Whatsever I play, it’s got to be funky.” And we certainly delivered.
I always used to start the set with a really exclamatory chunk o’ funk, something like Ice Cube’s Bop Gun or the New Power Generation’s The Exodus Has Begun. And the nights always, always ended the same way. With the Staples Singers and Let’s Do It Again, followed by a soundbite from Pulp Fiction where Jules and Vincent unload their guns. Loudly. As the gunshots echoed, the lights would come up and it would all be over. It Was Great.
I would go to bed those nights (mornings?), with white noise and static thrumming in my ears as I tried to decompress, the smell of cigarette smoke in my hair, and a salty stew of alcohol and exhilaration sweat slowly cooling on my skin.
“Sweet love in the midnight
Good sleep, come mornin' light
No worries 'bout nothin'
Just gettin' good, just gettin' good
Just gettin' good love”
Staples Singers – Let’s Do It Again
Thursday, January 05, 2006
4 8 15 16 23 42
I think I must have somehow rewired my DNA over the Christmas break, because I have gained the ability to defy sleep…
The family were away last night and I was left to my own devices (never a good thing), which meant I eventually forced myself to go to bed at around 3.30am…and I struggled to get to sleep even then…and I woke up three hours later to get ready for work and I feel absolutely fine. Invigorated. I can’t decide whether or not this is a Bad Thing.
I’ve got into the habit of watching loads of Lost re-runs over the last week or so. Frickin’ obsessed with that show. I see Hurley’s numbers everywhere, flickering behind my eyelids like Tetris blocks…
So, last night, I dug out the half-bottle of brandy that I bought for Christmas, stretched out on the couch and indulged myself.
Which brings me neatly to Day 3 of the Brain Candy Blow-Out. I feel that my cup may be starting to runneth over:
SEEN: Unleashed – Once upon a time there was a man called Bruce Lee. But he died. And then along came another man, and he was called Jackie Chan. He was known as “The New Bruce Lee.” Until Jet Li came along…and then he was “The New Bruce Lee”. Until last year, when people starting calling Tony Jaa “The New Bruce Lee”… But before I disappear up a Post-Modern Bunghole, let’s backpeddle a step to the Last New Bruce Lee.
Unleashed gives Jet Li the opportunity to do something he doesn’t often get the opportunity to do: act. Sure, he kicks much ass, but in between all the bone-snapping, the gravity-defying critter gets to exercise his thespian chops too. This Is Good. Unleashed reminds me an awful lot of Leon. Unsurprising, because the fingerprints of Luc Besson are all over this thing. Like Leon, this is the story of a killing machine who discovers love and emotions amongst all the crunching cartilage and arcing sprays of blood.
And it’s great. You get a full-on scenery-chewing Bob Hoskins, you get grey, rainy Glasgow, you get Morgan Freeman at his avuncular best, you get Mozart and underground fight clubs and the joys of vanilla ice cream and wire-fu. Also, you get a film that succeeds in convincing you that Violence is Wrong, whilst indulging in some brutal and exciting set pieces. Something for the sensitive adrenalin junkie in your life.
READ: The Pocket Essential Sergio Leone by Michael Carlson – When I started film critiquing years ago, we used to get handed books like this all the time to review. But they’re review-proof. It’s a brief whirlwind tour through a genre / director / actor (delete as applicable) which is readable enough and handy when you need to either research something or you’ve got some time to kill. This book is one of the better entries in the series, but the only truly essential Leone book is Christopher Frayling’s stunning Something To Do With Death which is exhaustive and perfect in all ways. My main gripe with the book is the number of typos. For such a slender volume, there’s a hell of a lot of them. Surely proofreaders aren’t that expensive these days?
CLICKED: So at around 1am, I fired up the laptop for an aimless surf, and I stumbled upon the nexus of all musical realities, Last.FM. I couldn’t leave it alone. Track after track of funky goodness delivered straight to my hungry earholes, from forgotten favourites to new discoveries. All my musical prayers have been answered. Loads of interesting bits to play with, and I’m thinking of adding something to the blog from over there, too.
One of my aims this year is to customise Sucker Punch a bit more, to move away from the feeling of Huge Chunks of Text. There will be The New and The Shiny here this year. Oh yes, there will, as I trick the blog out with lovelinesses. Think of it as Pimp My Site.
And this seems as good a time as any to remind you of the following: You love me. You all love me. I make women swoon, and I make men get all Brokeback on me. Why am I telling you all this? Because it’s time for nominees for the 2006 Bloggies. Go and vote. And spare a thought for the fella who sent you, eh? Just sayin’…
Still got that spring in my step, and that glide in my stride.
The family were away last night and I was left to my own devices (never a good thing), which meant I eventually forced myself to go to bed at around 3.30am…and I struggled to get to sleep even then…and I woke up three hours later to get ready for work and I feel absolutely fine. Invigorated. I can’t decide whether or not this is a Bad Thing.
I’ve got into the habit of watching loads of Lost re-runs over the last week or so. Frickin’ obsessed with that show. I see Hurley’s numbers everywhere, flickering behind my eyelids like Tetris blocks…
So, last night, I dug out the half-bottle of brandy that I bought for Christmas, stretched out on the couch and indulged myself.
Which brings me neatly to Day 3 of the Brain Candy Blow-Out. I feel that my cup may be starting to runneth over:
SEEN: Unleashed – Once upon a time there was a man called Bruce Lee. But he died. And then along came another man, and he was called Jackie Chan. He was known as “The New Bruce Lee.” Until Jet Li came along…and then he was “The New Bruce Lee”. Until last year, when people starting calling Tony Jaa “The New Bruce Lee”… But before I disappear up a Post-Modern Bunghole, let’s backpeddle a step to the Last New Bruce Lee.
Unleashed gives Jet Li the opportunity to do something he doesn’t often get the opportunity to do: act. Sure, he kicks much ass, but in between all the bone-snapping, the gravity-defying critter gets to exercise his thespian chops too. This Is Good. Unleashed reminds me an awful lot of Leon. Unsurprising, because the fingerprints of Luc Besson are all over this thing. Like Leon, this is the story of a killing machine who discovers love and emotions amongst all the crunching cartilage and arcing sprays of blood.
And it’s great. You get a full-on scenery-chewing Bob Hoskins, you get grey, rainy Glasgow, you get Morgan Freeman at his avuncular best, you get Mozart and underground fight clubs and the joys of vanilla ice cream and wire-fu. Also, you get a film that succeeds in convincing you that Violence is Wrong, whilst indulging in some brutal and exciting set pieces. Something for the sensitive adrenalin junkie in your life.
READ: The Pocket Essential Sergio Leone by Michael Carlson – When I started film critiquing years ago, we used to get handed books like this all the time to review. But they’re review-proof. It’s a brief whirlwind tour through a genre / director / actor (delete as applicable) which is readable enough and handy when you need to either research something or you’ve got some time to kill. This book is one of the better entries in the series, but the only truly essential Leone book is Christopher Frayling’s stunning Something To Do With Death which is exhaustive and perfect in all ways. My main gripe with the book is the number of typos. For such a slender volume, there’s a hell of a lot of them. Surely proofreaders aren’t that expensive these days?
CLICKED: So at around 1am, I fired up the laptop for an aimless surf, and I stumbled upon the nexus of all musical realities, Last.FM. I couldn’t leave it alone. Track after track of funky goodness delivered straight to my hungry earholes, from forgotten favourites to new discoveries. All my musical prayers have been answered. Loads of interesting bits to play with, and I’m thinking of adding something to the blog from over there, too.
One of my aims this year is to customise Sucker Punch a bit more, to move away from the feeling of Huge Chunks of Text. There will be The New and The Shiny here this year. Oh yes, there will, as I trick the blog out with lovelinesses. Think of it as Pimp My Site.
And this seems as good a time as any to remind you of the following: You love me. You all love me. I make women swoon, and I make men get all Brokeback on me. Why am I telling you all this? Because it’s time for nominees for the 2006 Bloggies. Go and vote. And spare a thought for the fella who sent you, eh? Just sayin’…
Still got that spring in my step, and that glide in my stride.
Monday, December 12, 2005
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Zuzu's Petals
Well, there’s no point fighting it. Christmas is racing towards us like the Road Runner roaring down the rocky highways of a yellow and orange Warner Brothers desert, and I don’t even have an Acme rocket sled at my disposal to stop it.
So I may as well just resign myself to the inevitable, and make sure I’m prepared with plentiful entertainments to make the season suitably jolly.
A couple of years back, I decided that at the AKA Grotto we would have a Christmas movie every year. (This is, of course, just an excuse for me to watch old movies. Let’s not kid ourselves.)
For the first Christmas in our new home, the choice was easy: It’s A Wonderful Life, the heartwarming confection about a suicidal depressive beset on all sides by small-mindedness, avarice, incomptenece, bullying and impending bankruptcy. It takes a particularly sick world to hold this movie up as The Spirit of Christmas, but I ain’t complaining. Dark, mean, and hard. Like Jim Kelly in a vendetta kind of mood.
Then, last year, I chose Planes, Trains & Automobiles. Yes, I know. My memory failed me on that one, ‘cos it’s a Thanksgiving movie, not a Christmas movie. Moving swiftly on...
This year, still mired in my strange 80s kick, I’m struggling to choose between two movies. Should it be Scrooged, with Bill Murray as (kinda) Ebenezer Scrooge, transposing Dickensian London to modern-day New York, and shifting the action to the life of a misanthropic television executive? With added Robert Mitchum for extra crustiness? And who could resist a side order of Lee Majors? Yes, TV’s Colt Seavers! It’s almost enough to make me start singing The Unknown Stuntman.
Or should I go for the classic (and I don’t use the word lightly) Trading Places? Dan Aykroyd and Eddie Murphy when they were still funny! Jamie Lee Curtis when she was still hot! Denholm Elliott when he was still alive!
I think I’m going to have to make it a double-bill, because next year, I’m determined to choose Die Hard. Yippiekyay!
Well, I'm not the kind to kiss and tell, But I've been seen with Farrah.
I've never been with anything less than a nine, so fine...
So I may as well just resign myself to the inevitable, and make sure I’m prepared with plentiful entertainments to make the season suitably jolly.
A couple of years back, I decided that at the AKA Grotto we would have a Christmas movie every year. (This is, of course, just an excuse for me to watch old movies. Let’s not kid ourselves.)
For the first Christmas in our new home, the choice was easy: It’s A Wonderful Life, the heartwarming confection about a suicidal depressive beset on all sides by small-mindedness, avarice, incomptenece, bullying and impending bankruptcy. It takes a particularly sick world to hold this movie up as The Spirit of Christmas, but I ain’t complaining. Dark, mean, and hard. Like Jim Kelly in a vendetta kind of mood.
Then, last year, I chose Planes, Trains & Automobiles. Yes, I know. My memory failed me on that one, ‘cos it’s a Thanksgiving movie, not a Christmas movie. Moving swiftly on...
This year, still mired in my strange 80s kick, I’m struggling to choose between two movies. Should it be Scrooged, with Bill Murray as (kinda) Ebenezer Scrooge, transposing Dickensian London to modern-day New York, and shifting the action to the life of a misanthropic television executive? With added Robert Mitchum for extra crustiness? And who could resist a side order of Lee Majors? Yes, TV’s Colt Seavers! It’s almost enough to make me start singing The Unknown Stuntman.
Or should I go for the classic (and I don’t use the word lightly) Trading Places? Dan Aykroyd and Eddie Murphy when they were still funny! Jamie Lee Curtis when she was still hot! Denholm Elliott when he was still alive!
I think I’m going to have to make it a double-bill, because next year, I’m determined to choose Die Hard. Yippiekyay!
Well, I'm not the kind to kiss and tell, But I've been seen with Farrah.
I've never been with anything less than a nine, so fine...
Monday, December 05, 2005
Penetrating Logic
Brazilian singer Daniela Mercury is an ambassador for UNICEF and the U.N. anti-AIDS program. The Vatican has decided to drop her from its Christmas fund raising concert, because she planned to advocate the use of condoms to fight AIDS during her performance at the show.
The World Health Organisation has estimated that AIDS has killed more than 25 million people since it was first recognized in 1981. This makes Avian Flu look like the sniffles. So far, in 2005 alone, AIDS has claimed an estimated 3.1 million (between 2.8 and 3.6 million) of which more than half a million (570,000) were children.
Fact is: something as simple and inexpensive as a male latex condom is the single most effective method to prevent the transmission of HIV. And they make for great water bombs, too.
Speaking at a news conference, event organizer Father Giuseppe Bellucci stated that "She was excluded because she had announced that at the concert she would openly promote the use of condoms to fight the plague of AIDS."
No, I don’t understand either. Given a choice between a raincoat for your rod, and the slow and painful depletion of your immune system, is it really so difficult to work out which is the lesser evil?
The World Health Organisation has estimated that AIDS has killed more than 25 million people since it was first recognized in 1981. This makes Avian Flu look like the sniffles. So far, in 2005 alone, AIDS has claimed an estimated 3.1 million (between 2.8 and 3.6 million) of which more than half a million (570,000) were children.
Fact is: something as simple and inexpensive as a male latex condom is the single most effective method to prevent the transmission of HIV. And they make for great water bombs, too.
Speaking at a news conference, event organizer Father Giuseppe Bellucci stated that "She was excluded because she had announced that at the concert she would openly promote the use of condoms to fight the plague of AIDS."
No, I don’t understand either. Given a choice between a raincoat for your rod, and the slow and painful depletion of your immune system, is it really so difficult to work out which is the lesser evil?
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