There comes a time in a 30 year old man's life where he needs to take a long hard look at exactly how things are panning out for him. After today where I appear to have been beaten in the art of sock puppet crafting by six 4 year old children, I think today is that time. Dont get me wrong, my puppet Rufus is a dude, sporting a green Mohican and a thin green beard & moustache, atop a red & black striped face and huge goggley eyes. I'd add a picture but im restricted to iPhone blogging today and I cant work out how. But he also has a lopsided mouth as though victim of a serious stroke and various, rather ominous, dried glue stains. None of the children's puppets had either of these things. The princess was perfectly made, the policeman looked great and even the, er, manmum mumman looked like it had had more than two hours taken over it and hadn't been repeatedly slapped beardless into a table.
Much like Friday, I can't tell you much about the work I'm doing this week, but it does involve such puppet antics and small children, both of which have entertained me enough to temporarily forget I haven't had enough sleep to cope with the noise levels that the combination of these two things create. Highlights so far have included the children standing in a row & introducing their puppets: 'Hi I'm Millie!' 'Hi I'm George!' 'Hi I'm Jedi Alien Warrior Luke Skywalker with a lightsaver!' There then followed 10 minutes of arguments between two of the boys as to whether it was a lightsaber or a lightsaver that I couldn't intervene on as I was laughing too hard.
I didn't need to be there toad but 'conveniently' popped in so I could make my own puppet & hopefully learn a few tricks. I'd put the Muppets and Sesame Street as an influence on my humour way before any comedian had a chance to introduce me to concept of jokes, and even at the age I am now, I'll giggle like a kid at almost anything the Swedish Chef, Dr Bunsen and Beaker or Animal does. So now being able to stick my arm in Someone's old hosiery, give it a gruff voice & have banal chats with children about being a punk rocker or punk soccer as I prefer. There is a small part of me that would like to send every teacher that ever put on my reports that I doodled and chatted too much a small video of everything I do now to earn a living with the 'haha I win' written underneath.
Not that I had many if any of those teachers. I was fairly good at school and would generally cause bafflement by talking and doodling all the way through class but then producing finished work before the end. This meant they couldn't complain I wasn't doing my work and instead resorted to blaming me for other people not finishing theirs. My argument that I couldn't be guilty for their lack of mental capacity was often ignored in place of a detention. Sigh.
Like everytime I type a blog on my tPhone, my thumb is giving in around now. Let it just be known that Rufus is safely in my bag for a possible appearance at Old Rope tonight if I can think of a joke, and that yesterday I played Quirkle for the first time and won at Quirkle. This makes me, and my companion in Team Awesome, Lyndsey, are now undefeated Quirkle champions. I will never play again on principal. Or any other member of school staff. HA! Bye.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Death Of The tPod
My iPod died for what appears to be the final time yesterday. Its currently sitting on my desk making gurgling fizzing noises that shouldn't be coming from a robot sinking into a swap, let alone a piece of music technology. Tom has just asked me if I'm playing Aphex Twin's new album. It's done this many time, as previous blogs have well noted, but each time I've managed to resuscitate it using a number of tricks and when I say tricks I mean looking at things on the net, rebooting it, and crossing my fingers at the same time. But yesterday in the car as I tried to play 'King Of Limbs' for the fifty billionth time through the stereo, it started doing its mechanical stroke noises and displayed a large red circle with a cross in it. Not at all dissimilar to the X-Men logo and I was temporarily led to believe I had a mutant pod which is why it had previous healed itself. I had all sorts of notions of cranking it up to play some Ice Cube or Rage Against The Machine so it would go into a Wolverine berserker fury, or some Daft Punk so it shoot lasers from its 'i'. Sadly, it just croaked some more and died. Then I was left with Radio 2 for company until I picked up Robert White to take to our gig.
I'm all for Radio, Radio's the 2 and the 6 being my favourites. Its just that I am unable to switch track when they do play something shit. Or talk too much. Or have some sort of phone in with morons. Or the reception goes funny. Or they don't play 'King Of Limbs' six times in a row. I hate radio and I honestly don't know what I'm going to do without my iPod, or, as I renamed it, the tPod. See? I even named it? Its been with me around the world. I bought it in the Greenwich Village Apple Store in New York and since then it has provided me with amazing music at the best of times. At the worst of times its snuck on a track from one of my ex-girlfriend's iTunes so that suddenly while in the car with friends or other comics, Avril Lavigne bursts out and ruins everything. I mean bursts out of the stereo musically, not actually bursts out. I think that would be surprising and possibly more enjoyable than any of her whining poptastic tunes. But ignoring those moments, its given me running music, driving music, tubing music, holiday music and even sometimes just sitting music when other people around me are being boring. I've managed to ignore so many inane conversations on the bus, I once avoided getting mugged because it was on too loud and only noticed someone shouting at me after they'd tried to grab my shoulder once I was too far away. At the same time its nearly got me run over as I blasted music at top volume while crossing the road in the rain, hood up, unable to see to the side or hear beeping. Ok, so that wasn't just the tPod. It was a collaboration to kill me with the hood. That hood's influenced a lot of people in evil ways. That's why people raised in the hood are pretty violent. HAHAHHAHAHAHAAH. Sorry.
Sure I could go buy a *shudder* iPod touch, with its limited memory, inability to be dropped on the floor quite as hard when drunk and general expensiveness. Sure I could put music on my tPhone even though the OCDness in me can't really cope with using the device I have as a phone for music too. Also that means I can't listen to tunes and play with my phone at the same time. Its a whole can of shitty iPodless worms. I want my classic back. I want to occasionally wipe half of it, realise I don't have the songs on my iTunes to put them back on, and my CD drive of my Macbook is broken and then spend ages missing all those songs on a long journey. I want to annoy people by insisting they listen to something I have on my tPod that they don't have, proffering them an earphone that's been stuck in my lughole for most of the day. I want to be able to play DJ Hazard's 'Machete' as I race through a train station or the Tron Soundtrack as I go anywhere so that everything seems more exciting. But instead I am reduced to a life of real noise. I'll miss you tPod. I'll miss you and your small wheel of joy. Sob sob.
On another note, I was in Poole last night at the Lighthouse Arts Centre. Its easily the very best gig in the area. Great venue, truly lovely crowd and much much fun was had yesterday even though nobody wanted me to do any political material. I also met two Twitter followers, Jon and Lisa, in the real world. I like this. If you do follow me and are at a gig, please do actually come and say hello. It's much better than me just assuming you are a bot employed by the Matrix to get my guard down. True story.
I'm all for Radio, Radio's the 2 and the 6 being my favourites. Its just that I am unable to switch track when they do play something shit. Or talk too much. Or have some sort of phone in with morons. Or the reception goes funny. Or they don't play 'King Of Limbs' six times in a row. I hate radio and I honestly don't know what I'm going to do without my iPod, or, as I renamed it, the tPod. See? I even named it? Its been with me around the world. I bought it in the Greenwich Village Apple Store in New York and since then it has provided me with amazing music at the best of times. At the worst of times its snuck on a track from one of my ex-girlfriend's iTunes so that suddenly while in the car with friends or other comics, Avril Lavigne bursts out and ruins everything. I mean bursts out of the stereo musically, not actually bursts out. I think that would be surprising and possibly more enjoyable than any of her whining poptastic tunes. But ignoring those moments, its given me running music, driving music, tubing music, holiday music and even sometimes just sitting music when other people around me are being boring. I've managed to ignore so many inane conversations on the bus, I once avoided getting mugged because it was on too loud and only noticed someone shouting at me after they'd tried to grab my shoulder once I was too far away. At the same time its nearly got me run over as I blasted music at top volume while crossing the road in the rain, hood up, unable to see to the side or hear beeping. Ok, so that wasn't just the tPod. It was a collaboration to kill me with the hood. That hood's influenced a lot of people in evil ways. That's why people raised in the hood are pretty violent. HAHAHHAHAHAHAAH. Sorry.
Sure I could go buy a *shudder* iPod touch, with its limited memory, inability to be dropped on the floor quite as hard when drunk and general expensiveness. Sure I could put music on my tPhone even though the OCDness in me can't really cope with using the device I have as a phone for music too. Also that means I can't listen to tunes and play with my phone at the same time. Its a whole can of shitty iPodless worms. I want my classic back. I want to occasionally wipe half of it, realise I don't have the songs on my iTunes to put them back on, and my CD drive of my Macbook is broken and then spend ages missing all those songs on a long journey. I want to annoy people by insisting they listen to something I have on my tPod that they don't have, proffering them an earphone that's been stuck in my lughole for most of the day. I want to be able to play DJ Hazard's 'Machete' as I race through a train station or the Tron Soundtrack as I go anywhere so that everything seems more exciting. But instead I am reduced to a life of real noise. I'll miss you tPod. I'll miss you and your small wheel of joy. Sob sob.
On another note, I was in Poole last night at the Lighthouse Arts Centre. Its easily the very best gig in the area. Great venue, truly lovely crowd and much much fun was had yesterday even though nobody wanted me to do any political material. I also met two Twitter followers, Jon and Lisa, in the real world. I like this. If you do follow me and are at a gig, please do actually come and say hello. It's much better than me just assuming you are a bot employed by the Matrix to get my guard down. True story.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Slammin'
Telly's oh so glamorous people say. That's what they say they do. Its the life of fame, fun and other things beginning with f, like er, femur, and fromage. Maybe not those things. Anyway, today's blog, much like the oh so shocking (please read this in as sarcastic a voice as possible. Wow, you're good at that) open letter to the Daily Star editor by its ex-journalist stating he was forced to write lies. What do you mean? You mean its lies? You mean to say that all those incredibly ludicrous and in no-way believable stories about celebrities that no one really cares about, weren't true? Well I am, to say the least, flabbergasted. Next you'll be telling me that children's fairy tales aren't truth and that Sooty isn't an actual bear. Jeeesus, people. Seriously. Also the fact that Richard Peppiatt seemed to hand his open letter over first to the Guardian, suggests that all the bigots who read the Star will never see it anyway and their racist, bullshit filled equilibrium will never be shattered. Waste. Of. Everyone's. Time. True story. Unlike most of his.
Back to the hood of things, as someone cooler might say, I did some telly yesterday. Yes. Moi. Some actual tellybox work. I won't say what its for as I can't give too much away, but here's a picture of my dressing room sign, which gives it all away:
But it's not going to be screened till September so I can't tell you anything about who else is on, even though they were all awesome, especially the Capoeria dancers, the Irish hand dancers and the snowglobe ballet dancers....oh, er...oops. No more. I shan't reveal no more. Even though none of you are 8 years old and probably won't see it anyway. First and foremost, this isn't really an expose on anyone or anything at all. Everyone working on that show is bloody lovely. Absolute truth. Its a real joy to be doing filming work with people that will happily have a giggle about stuff and never seem too stressed or demanding even when everything's running over time. Meeting Ted Robbins, who plays the Governor, was ace, and I heard some excellent stories about the old school world of comedians such as Les Dawson and Ken Dodd. A truly lovely and very funny man, he was asking me what the circuit was like today and we swapped a few tales of differing worlds, mine now sadly far more filled with people who've seen it on the telly and think they can earn money from it, than those with actual joy for the job. Then again, mine is also not as filled with people stealing each other's jokes or being racist. Swings and roundabouts.
What I wanted to say though was, for everyone out there who thinks telly is a riot, well its not. A riot is a riot. That's why it's called a riot. It'd be very confusing if we heard the news on our riot about police being called to stop a television. I'm not saying it wasn't fun yesterday, but arriving at 9am and finishing at 7.30pm is a long long day. 'Some of us work that everyday' say you, you who do such things. Yeah, but I bet you actually work those hours. Whereas I spent a lot of those hours, ironically for a show about a prison, being contained within my dressing room, doing nothing. Oh sure I could've gone outside, but you might have noticed, the Brits, that things are stupidly cold for March. Stupidly cold, like the season have got confused or like some far fetched possibility that humans destroying the planet for centuries is actually having a direct impact on the weather. So I stayed in my room, by the radiator, fashioning a bed out of a few chairs and a small coffee table, and tried to snooze. Again, you are probably complaining that this doesn't sound stressful in anyway, but as much as you try to actually rest, you know you might be called up to do your bit at any minute. So you don't actually rest at all. You just sit there, not working or doing anything else incase you forget the bit you're meant to be doing for the telly, and in the end just exhaust yourself through doing nothing.
This is, of course, probably not what seasoned professionals do. Me not being at all covered in salt and pepper - HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHA - did just that. I also assume that when it's warmer outside that everyone swan's around in the sun, upsetting make-up as they get redder by the minute and need re-doing, and the production runner pulls their teeth out trying to find out where everyone is. Of course, when you see it on telly, none of this waiting around will be evident. Except for the bit where I nearly forgot a line. Which hopefully will be edited out. Or the bit where a child said I was 'rubbish'. Sigh. Still I got to keep my make-up on after I left completely by accident and managed to fully experience just how horrible it must feel for all women and make-up wearing men everywhere who have gunk on their fizzog till they get home. But I sure did look real purty.
I'll be sure to shout all over the net when its going to be on and I honestly can't wait to do such things or work with such a lovely team again. Although next time I'll bring a book.
Tonight I'm in Poole. I just thought you should know.
Back to the hood of things, as someone cooler might say, I did some telly yesterday. Yes. Moi. Some actual tellybox work. I won't say what its for as I can't give too much away, but here's a picture of my dressing room sign, which gives it all away:
But it's not going to be screened till September so I can't tell you anything about who else is on, even though they were all awesome, especially the Capoeria dancers, the Irish hand dancers and the snowglobe ballet dancers....oh, er...oops. No more. I shan't reveal no more. Even though none of you are 8 years old and probably won't see it anyway. First and foremost, this isn't really an expose on anyone or anything at all. Everyone working on that show is bloody lovely. Absolute truth. Its a real joy to be doing filming work with people that will happily have a giggle about stuff and never seem too stressed or demanding even when everything's running over time. Meeting Ted Robbins, who plays the Governor, was ace, and I heard some excellent stories about the old school world of comedians such as Les Dawson and Ken Dodd. A truly lovely and very funny man, he was asking me what the circuit was like today and we swapped a few tales of differing worlds, mine now sadly far more filled with people who've seen it on the telly and think they can earn money from it, than those with actual joy for the job. Then again, mine is also not as filled with people stealing each other's jokes or being racist. Swings and roundabouts.
What I wanted to say though was, for everyone out there who thinks telly is a riot, well its not. A riot is a riot. That's why it's called a riot. It'd be very confusing if we heard the news on our riot about police being called to stop a television. I'm not saying it wasn't fun yesterday, but arriving at 9am and finishing at 7.30pm is a long long day. 'Some of us work that everyday' say you, you who do such things. Yeah, but I bet you actually work those hours. Whereas I spent a lot of those hours, ironically for a show about a prison, being contained within my dressing room, doing nothing. Oh sure I could've gone outside, but you might have noticed, the Brits, that things are stupidly cold for March. Stupidly cold, like the season have got confused or like some far fetched possibility that humans destroying the planet for centuries is actually having a direct impact on the weather. So I stayed in my room, by the radiator, fashioning a bed out of a few chairs and a small coffee table, and tried to snooze. Again, you are probably complaining that this doesn't sound stressful in anyway, but as much as you try to actually rest, you know you might be called up to do your bit at any minute. So you don't actually rest at all. You just sit there, not working or doing anything else incase you forget the bit you're meant to be doing for the telly, and in the end just exhaust yourself through doing nothing.
This is, of course, probably not what seasoned professionals do. Me not being at all covered in salt and pepper - HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHA - did just that. I also assume that when it's warmer outside that everyone swan's around in the sun, upsetting make-up as they get redder by the minute and need re-doing, and the production runner pulls their teeth out trying to find out where everyone is. Of course, when you see it on telly, none of this waiting around will be evident. Except for the bit where I nearly forgot a line. Which hopefully will be edited out. Or the bit where a child said I was 'rubbish'. Sigh. Still I got to keep my make-up on after I left completely by accident and managed to fully experience just how horrible it must feel for all women and make-up wearing men everywhere who have gunk on their fizzog till they get home. But I sure did look real purty.
I'll be sure to shout all over the net when its going to be on and I honestly can't wait to do such things or work with such a lovely team again. Although next time I'll bring a book.
Tonight I'm in Poole. I just thought you should know.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Crumpets and Crummy People
This blog is pre-written. I point this out every time I write a pre-written blog that unless you have some sort of super internet that means you can see each letter as I type it, it will always always be pre-written by the time it gets into your eyes and is shat out into your cerebral cortex only for you're brainial lobes to wonder why on earth you'd punish it in such a way. Oh dear, this is what happens when I log before I go to bed rather than at a time of day when my mind is still fresh. So far this evening I've done a gig in a room that I wasn't sure would work then totally worked and shouted things at Question Time. Oh and I bought some crumpets. However that last one won't be making the final cut of this blog so just ignore it, or revel in the knowledge that tomorrow morning when I wake up at stupid o'clock or normal time as you regular types call it, my choice of breakfast is secured. Mmm mmm crumpets. I bloody love crumpets. Whenever a woman is described as a thinking man's crumpet I wonder if that means a non-thinking man just has a crumpet for their crumpet? I like to assume I think a fair amount and yet tomorrow if someone offered me a hot woman covered in butter and marmite or a crumpet for breakfast, I'd probably take the latter. Oh I'd seriously consider the former, but I will be in a rush tomorrow and I'm not sure the breakfast lady would provide me with the carbohydrates I'd need for the rest of the day. Ah, who am I kidding? I'd totally take the former, then starve and survive on biscuits at the expense of a bigger sexual appetite than actual one. Stupid life. I hope that choice is never offered for fear of diabetic repercussions.
In fact I didn't really want to dwell on any of it. The gig was nice, fact, and it was wrong of me to judge it in anyway before I went on as I do with so many other gigs. Its become staple now to assume a show won't work unless it has the absolute proper lighting and sound system, but the crowd were so lovely that it didn't matter. I discarded with the mic like a thespian twat, and proceeded to project my voice in a way that I do all the time to the annoyance of most, but especially Adam Bloom. Its something I was taught to do at weekend drama classes as a kid - yes, I went to those. Yes, judge me all you like - and also sort of did from a young age anyway. I think it's my way of overcompensating for my small stature and squeaky voice by being able to send it to the far reaches of a room against all wishes of the people within it. This has, in its time, been useful. As a waiter in my uni years I could bellow things across a noisy room, and when I have actually done shows acapella, there has rarely been a moment where those paying attention were missing out. Alternatively, several car passengers of mine have gone deaf as have a lot of call centre workers. Its not great. So yeah, top gig, lovely crowd, much fun was had.
Whereas Question Time forced me to side with Ian Duncan Smith temporarily as he said it was correct to disallow two parents the right to foster if they were homophobic. This was met with the oddest of responses from a series of twats including and primarily David Starkey the League of Gentlemen character who made a point of saying that as a gay man he felt some homophobia was necessary. This leads me to believe that if he's willing as a gay man to accept that prejudice then there should be some agreement across the nation for all homophobics to direct their horrid name calling towards him and allow all the other homosexual individuals in the UK to get on with their lives without fear of social segregation. To cut it short: he's a twat. This was then backed up by another twat from the UN and Liam Hallegen from the Telegraph. You know its a panel of utter dicks when you have to side with the Tory minister. Very sad times. Thank god for Dimbleby being the sole force of good amongst them.
My main gripe once again though, as it always is with these sorts of situations, was the constant passing of blame. 'Oh it isn't our fault, it's the last governments' repeated over and over again regardless of which government came before them. Its a well know phrase that when the party in charge does something well its their doing, but when its done badly, its all to do with the previous cabinet. Its a nasty predicament when your country is run by the adult equivalent of playground children. There was a moment when it was pointed out that Blair sold weapons to Gaddifi and many New Labour MP's made links with Libya in previous years despite their dictator's dangerous potential. Yes they did and its fucking awful. But at no point was it mentioned that this current government have also sold them weapons, as the did the Tory government before them. Its a money making industry and as always rich people being able to sit in their jacuzzi farting out bank notes will be a priority over the lives of others. Stop blaming each other and care about humanity please. Bunch of arseholes. Grrr. Rant over.
That is what Question Time does to me. It's odd. It never used to maintain interest in my life at all. In fact the only real important QT moment in my entire life until a few years back was when I saw a video of my friend Pat asking a question while he had long hair and Dimbleby referred to him as the 'lady at the back'. Hilarious! So its clear I've grown up since then. Though I'd still find watching that hilarious. Haha they though Pat was a lady. Brilliant.
Oh god. I really hope those crumpets get me through tomorrow.....
In fact I didn't really want to dwell on any of it. The gig was nice, fact, and it was wrong of me to judge it in anyway before I went on as I do with so many other gigs. Its become staple now to assume a show won't work unless it has the absolute proper lighting and sound system, but the crowd were so lovely that it didn't matter. I discarded with the mic like a thespian twat, and proceeded to project my voice in a way that I do all the time to the annoyance of most, but especially Adam Bloom. Its something I was taught to do at weekend drama classes as a kid - yes, I went to those. Yes, judge me all you like - and also sort of did from a young age anyway. I think it's my way of overcompensating for my small stature and squeaky voice by being able to send it to the far reaches of a room against all wishes of the people within it. This has, in its time, been useful. As a waiter in my uni years I could bellow things across a noisy room, and when I have actually done shows acapella, there has rarely been a moment where those paying attention were missing out. Alternatively, several car passengers of mine have gone deaf as have a lot of call centre workers. Its not great. So yeah, top gig, lovely crowd, much fun was had.
Whereas Question Time forced me to side with Ian Duncan Smith temporarily as he said it was correct to disallow two parents the right to foster if they were homophobic. This was met with the oddest of responses from a series of twats including and primarily David Starkey the League of Gentlemen character who made a point of saying that as a gay man he felt some homophobia was necessary. This leads me to believe that if he's willing as a gay man to accept that prejudice then there should be some agreement across the nation for all homophobics to direct their horrid name calling towards him and allow all the other homosexual individuals in the UK to get on with their lives without fear of social segregation. To cut it short: he's a twat. This was then backed up by another twat from the UN and Liam Hallegen from the Telegraph. You know its a panel of utter dicks when you have to side with the Tory minister. Very sad times. Thank god for Dimbleby being the sole force of good amongst them.
My main gripe once again though, as it always is with these sorts of situations, was the constant passing of blame. 'Oh it isn't our fault, it's the last governments' repeated over and over again regardless of which government came before them. Its a well know phrase that when the party in charge does something well its their doing, but when its done badly, its all to do with the previous cabinet. Its a nasty predicament when your country is run by the adult equivalent of playground children. There was a moment when it was pointed out that Blair sold weapons to Gaddifi and many New Labour MP's made links with Libya in previous years despite their dictator's dangerous potential. Yes they did and its fucking awful. But at no point was it mentioned that this current government have also sold them weapons, as the did the Tory government before them. Its a money making industry and as always rich people being able to sit in their jacuzzi farting out bank notes will be a priority over the lives of others. Stop blaming each other and care about humanity please. Bunch of arseholes. Grrr. Rant over.
That is what Question Time does to me. It's odd. It never used to maintain interest in my life at all. In fact the only real important QT moment in my entire life until a few years back was when I saw a video of my friend Pat asking a question while he had long hair and Dimbleby referred to him as the 'lady at the back'. Hilarious! So its clear I've grown up since then. Though I'd still find watching that hilarious. Haha they though Pat was a lady. Brilliant.
Oh god. I really hope those crumpets get me through tomorrow.....
Reasons To Not Blog
I am not blogging today for these reasons:
- I am meant to be prepping hard for a full days filming for a CBBC thingy tomorrow. More news on this soon and no doubt a pre-written blog tonight as I won't have time in the morning, or the capacity for using my fingers and brain at the same time to type anything when I wake up at 6am. True story. However, despite me really needing to work on something I really really want to work on, I am consistently procrastinating with 101 other things such as this non-blog blog, Twitter, various emails, making myself an egg bread sandwich (this is something I learnt from a TV show when I was a kid. No, I'm not sure which one, nor how old I was, but it's been an occasional time wasting breakfast ever since. What you do is use a glass to cut a circle of bread out of a slice of toast, then you pop it in a frying pan, and crack an egg inside the bread. Then the egg fries into the bread like a beady toast eye of yolky joy. Awesome times. Tom says I experiment with food in the same way the Nazi's experimented with humans.) and spending far too long working out what music I should listen to while I work. So far its gone from the XX, to the Gil Scott Heron and Jamie from the XX album to Fat Freddy's Drop. I haven't done any work so far. I worry these are all bad choices. I will have to do more research.
- I want to write about my fears that Rupert Murdoch is taking over the world - today's announcement that conveniently after he has sponsored the government with heaps of money and advocated all their raping of everyone but the very rich, he now, completely by coincidence, is allowed to buy all the rest of BSkyB which means he is going to own an incredibly large portion of the world's media. Does this not worry anyone? I've read 1984 and it strikes me as only a matter of time before such a man owns every channel, entirely dictates what we see, and therefore can sway the public knowledge in whatever way is needed. A bit like how China operate. Next we'll have thought police and I'll get in trouble on regular occasion due to a stupid wandering imagination. My only hope is that as he becomes more and more like a Bond villian or Lex Luthor in Superman or the Kingpin from Marvel, that someone of the exact opposite nature will take him down and he'll die in an overly elaborate way involving laser sharks or being fired into space - but I haven't really researched it enough to type anything about it.
- I would like to tell you all about how good Keith Farnan's show 'Sex Traffic' at the Soho theatre was last night, and how since Edinburgh he's added lots of lovely stories about situations bits of the show have put him in with angry punters - but having several drinks beforehand and few after and then running to meet the Los Quattros Cvnts lot for a drink with them after their mega show featuring Al Murray, means I don't really have the capacity to do so. Nor can I comprehend telling you that you Keith is on at the Soho Theatre every night till Saturday so go along as its ace. Tickets are here:
KEITH FARNAN - SEX TRAFFIC - SOHO THEATRE
So yeah, ahem. No blog today. Sorry.
- I am meant to be prepping hard for a full days filming for a CBBC thingy tomorrow. More news on this soon and no doubt a pre-written blog tonight as I won't have time in the morning, or the capacity for using my fingers and brain at the same time to type anything when I wake up at 6am. True story. However, despite me really needing to work on something I really really want to work on, I am consistently procrastinating with 101 other things such as this non-blog blog, Twitter, various emails, making myself an egg bread sandwich (this is something I learnt from a TV show when I was a kid. No, I'm not sure which one, nor how old I was, but it's been an occasional time wasting breakfast ever since. What you do is use a glass to cut a circle of bread out of a slice of toast, then you pop it in a frying pan, and crack an egg inside the bread. Then the egg fries into the bread like a beady toast eye of yolky joy. Awesome times. Tom says I experiment with food in the same way the Nazi's experimented with humans.) and spending far too long working out what music I should listen to while I work. So far its gone from the XX, to the Gil Scott Heron and Jamie from the XX album to Fat Freddy's Drop. I haven't done any work so far. I worry these are all bad choices. I will have to do more research.
- I want to write about my fears that Rupert Murdoch is taking over the world - today's announcement that conveniently after he has sponsored the government with heaps of money and advocated all their raping of everyone but the very rich, he now, completely by coincidence, is allowed to buy all the rest of BSkyB which means he is going to own an incredibly large portion of the world's media. Does this not worry anyone? I've read 1984 and it strikes me as only a matter of time before such a man owns every channel, entirely dictates what we see, and therefore can sway the public knowledge in whatever way is needed. A bit like how China operate. Next we'll have thought police and I'll get in trouble on regular occasion due to a stupid wandering imagination. My only hope is that as he becomes more and more like a Bond villian or Lex Luthor in Superman or the Kingpin from Marvel, that someone of the exact opposite nature will take him down and he'll die in an overly elaborate way involving laser sharks or being fired into space - but I haven't really researched it enough to type anything about it.
- I would like to tell you all about how good Keith Farnan's show 'Sex Traffic' at the Soho theatre was last night, and how since Edinburgh he's added lots of lovely stories about situations bits of the show have put him in with angry punters - but having several drinks beforehand and few after and then running to meet the Los Quattros Cvnts lot for a drink with them after their mega show featuring Al Murray, means I don't really have the capacity to do so. Nor can I comprehend telling you that you Keith is on at the Soho Theatre every night till Saturday so go along as its ace. Tickets are here:
KEITH FARNAN - SEX TRAFFIC - SOHO THEATRE
So yeah, ahem. No blog today. Sorry.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Say Argh
I have to go to the dentist today. I don't necessarily fear the dentist, despite having seen Marathon Man at least three times, but I do really dislike having to keep my mouth open for that long while people prod things into it. Yes, you can now make a noise like Kenneth Williams. However, it isn't ever a nice thing to do. Yes, I maintain a job that mostly requires me opening my gob and making stupid noises, but when the best laugh to can emit is from a man in a mask when you accidentally swallow some of that horrible pink mouthwash, you don't really feel like you've got the gratification you've been seeking. My least favourite bit is when they just get a pointed metal thing and poke it in your gums. T this day I've never really understood what that does other than allow a wannabe Guantanamo torturer the maximum enjoyment allowed from such antics before he's arrested. So now my whole day is geared towards this half an hour in a chair with bright lights shining in my eyes and someone poking at my teeth with all the care of a tunneler trying to break through a blockade.
I don't want to garble or perhaps gargle on about the state of my dental hygiene (which by the way I think is ok. I have, in the last few months tried to understand the benefits of flossing. As yet, there appear to be none. It serves merely to garrote your own flesh until it bleeds and then you have to brush your teeth again. Why anyone would recommend this is beyond me. Unless of course you work on my theory of dentists enjoying others' pain) so instead I will do a small time warp and tell of an eve that happened to me some time ago and I don't believe is in the world of blog due to it happening at least two months before I started this endless tirade of words. I was reminded of such a thing today when I did an interview with Amazing Radio who are an excellent Newcastle based digital radio station who promote new music, which is a great thing. Thanks to them I have discovered a band called Daughter who I'm now slightly hooked on. Hunt them down, put them in your ears now. Not literally. I don't think they'd like that. Anyway, the lovely presenter Georgie, unaware that I had been awake for only mere minutes and didn't have a thinking head on in any way, asked what the highlight of my career so far was. I am terrible with these sorts of questions as while there have been many brilliant moments, until I get to have a pet tiger, get the moon named after me and be able to command a robot army, I won't believe there has been a highlight. So I fumbled about supporting Jim Jeffries and a few other gigs, bits and pieces, until Georgie very brilliantly reminded me of the time I had to follow Robin Williams.
Yes. That Robin Williams. The Robin Williams. I had to follow him. Its amazing how easily I forget something like that, but it was so surreal that its fairly easy to convince myself it didn't happen. It was in Oct 2008 at the excellent Outside The Box Club in Kingston. I knew Robin was trying stuff around London to prepare for doing Prince Charles's 60th Birthday gig, but didn't realise he was going to be there that night. I arrived ready to go on first, only to be told that Zoe Lyons was on first and I'd be going on later. That was absolutely fine with me. Then Zoe went on, they had an interval, and during that interval Omid Dijali and Al Murray appeared to go on in the middle section. Again, slightly flustered by such things but I had met and worked with both of them before. Then however a big black car pulled up outside and quite discreetly Robin Williams walked in, followed by a much less discreet entourage of about 8 people dressed like the Men in Black. I would have to be following all of them.
Backstage Robin was amazing. Despite being star struck by people far less globally famous, Robin was so friendly and the whole situation was so odd that it was easy to have a chat with him. He told me a lovely tale of having to follow an act who was huge in New York at the time while he was an unknown and how he'd been terrified but it'd been great and he made me feel ok about the whole thing. Maff then went onstage to announce 'give it up for Robin Williams' which created a reasonable applause that erupted into mania when they realised it was 'the Robin Williams'. He went on and tore the place apart for 15 minutes. It was amazing to watch. He then walked off stage, said goodbye to everyone, and got back into his car followed by the MIB's. The interval passed and I stumbled onstage, mentioned something about having some pretty good warm up acts that night, and went on to have a truly amazing gig due to the energy that had been created. Truly mad and very special indeed. So yeah, I guess that was a highlight.
I'll be thinking of that as I'm asked to say 'aaaaaaa' for the 12th time and praying at no point I'm asked 'is it safe?' Bloody dentists.
I don't want to garble or perhaps gargle on about the state of my dental hygiene (which by the way I think is ok. I have, in the last few months tried to understand the benefits of flossing. As yet, there appear to be none. It serves merely to garrote your own flesh until it bleeds and then you have to brush your teeth again. Why anyone would recommend this is beyond me. Unless of course you work on my theory of dentists enjoying others' pain) so instead I will do a small time warp and tell of an eve that happened to me some time ago and I don't believe is in the world of blog due to it happening at least two months before I started this endless tirade of words. I was reminded of such a thing today when I did an interview with Amazing Radio who are an excellent Newcastle based digital radio station who promote new music, which is a great thing. Thanks to them I have discovered a band called Daughter who I'm now slightly hooked on. Hunt them down, put them in your ears now. Not literally. I don't think they'd like that. Anyway, the lovely presenter Georgie, unaware that I had been awake for only mere minutes and didn't have a thinking head on in any way, asked what the highlight of my career so far was. I am terrible with these sorts of questions as while there have been many brilliant moments, until I get to have a pet tiger, get the moon named after me and be able to command a robot army, I won't believe there has been a highlight. So I fumbled about supporting Jim Jeffries and a few other gigs, bits and pieces, until Georgie very brilliantly reminded me of the time I had to follow Robin Williams.
Yes. That Robin Williams. The Robin Williams. I had to follow him. Its amazing how easily I forget something like that, but it was so surreal that its fairly easy to convince myself it didn't happen. It was in Oct 2008 at the excellent Outside The Box Club in Kingston. I knew Robin was trying stuff around London to prepare for doing Prince Charles's 60th Birthday gig, but didn't realise he was going to be there that night. I arrived ready to go on first, only to be told that Zoe Lyons was on first and I'd be going on later. That was absolutely fine with me. Then Zoe went on, they had an interval, and during that interval Omid Dijali and Al Murray appeared to go on in the middle section. Again, slightly flustered by such things but I had met and worked with both of them before. Then however a big black car pulled up outside and quite discreetly Robin Williams walked in, followed by a much less discreet entourage of about 8 people dressed like the Men in Black. I would have to be following all of them.
Backstage Robin was amazing. Despite being star struck by people far less globally famous, Robin was so friendly and the whole situation was so odd that it was easy to have a chat with him. He told me a lovely tale of having to follow an act who was huge in New York at the time while he was an unknown and how he'd been terrified but it'd been great and he made me feel ok about the whole thing. Maff then went onstage to announce 'give it up for Robin Williams' which created a reasonable applause that erupted into mania when they realised it was 'the Robin Williams'. He went on and tore the place apart for 15 minutes. It was amazing to watch. He then walked off stage, said goodbye to everyone, and got back into his car followed by the MIB's. The interval passed and I stumbled onstage, mentioned something about having some pretty good warm up acts that night, and went on to have a truly amazing gig due to the energy that had been created. Truly mad and very special indeed. So yeah, I guess that was a highlight.
I'll be thinking of that as I'm asked to say 'aaaaaaa' for the 12th time and praying at no point I'm asked 'is it safe?' Bloody dentists.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Too Cruel For School
Sometimes I worry about how much I've indulged zombie literature, films, media and survival tactics against the undead in general over the last few years. Sure its all been fun and should an undead apocalypse happen I feel that I'd probably survive a good deal greater than those who have no idea of the best household implement to use to attack a zombie's brain or haven't already scoured their nearby area for best hiding holes, food supplies and fuel. At the same time, while all of this may well be the reason I end up being humanities last saviour (this is unlikely in general. It will probably be Craig Campbell), it is also hugely unhealthy to have all these sorts of thoughts as you are sitting on a W3 and there are what seems to be hordes of riotous schoolchildren outside all trying to sneak on the bus, bang on the windows and generally cause mayhem in a way that would make the walking dead seem mostly tame. As the bus pulled into its stop at the bottom of Ferne Park Road, a swarm of heads atop black and white uniform piled in through all possible doors, as I sat at the back of the bus and all I could think to myself was that if I knocked the heads off the three nearest to me to clear a path, I could then throw the child sitting next to me into the middle of them as bait while I pushed open the emergency door. Failing that I could throw the child next to me into them first, then kick out the back window and escape round the side of the bus. Or as a last resort I could use the child next to me as a battering ram, charge directly into them hoping my speed and violence would help me to avoid getting marked or scarred in way so that I too didn't turn into an obnoxious teenager, then make my way to the top of the bus where I could break out of any window, leap onto the bus stop below, scream 'This is Sparta!' for the sake of it and sprint off towards Crouch End.
Of course this wouldn't actually help matters and sadly for the poor kid next to me, their fate would be sealed whatever happened. I couldn't bear to tell her this and she chewed on her own earmuffs while her mother looked sadly on hoping that by this stage she may well be playing the piano, speaking French or reading Proust instead of munching away on Winter wear. There are always victims in these sorts of situations and if she continues to eat synthetic fur she'll die soon anyway so it only seems fair. I didn't do any of this of course. Instead I watched as they took over the bus like a plague, ringing the bell multiple times for each stop because they thought it was funny, pushing each other and generally making everyone wish they'd got the bus at least 30 minutes earlier. I had a small reality check where I assured myself I was like that at their age and that I had no reason to scowl. Then I realised that despite them coming from the same school I went to, I was never like that, and continued visibly scowling which meant they all moved out of my way anyway. Apart from one particularly tall and rotund girl who didn't seem to want to budge for anyone. Luckily I had a bag with two very pointy boxes of trainers in and proceeded to just lightly stab the backs of her knees with it till she muttered something rude and moved quickly out of the way.
I'm not sure when I became like this. I have always though of myself as someone who can see the good in people. Last night for example, at a very excellent gig for the Yes To A Fairer Vote people, I had to deal with a heckler at the very top of the show. His name was Martin and I had been warned that he liked to get up in meetings and make a lot of racket about things. It was all very left wing, good natured racket, but a disruptive one nonetheless. His grey hair and duffel coat made me wonder if he was indeed the class raconteur back in the day, but here in amongst modern day activists he could only be heard if he shouted stupid things. Then before the show started when I did the 5 minute call he immediately started yelling things at me and calling himself Martin the Matador. I very politely told him not to. He then was pervy to one of the organisers and I decided he must be dealt with. So the first few minutes of the show were me insulting a man who was not a comedy regular, didn't realise that this was any different from a rally meeting and subsequently looked stupid. I then felt very bad as the whole point of the gig was unity and working together to change the voting system and country for the better, yet here I was ruining this already for a man who probably thought his intentions were right. If he had been a right wing advocator or even just a trouble maker it would have felt better. Instead he was just a bit sad and subsequently left half way through the show. Still, that makes me the winner.
So there I am feeling sorry for a man who was generally being a twat, yet if you had replaced him with any of the school children on today's bus, I'd have quickly yelled several swear words without second thought and felt good about it. Odd. Maybe, just maybe, I've become agist, ironically, in my older age. I look forward to the day I get much older and just hate everyone younger than me. Oh wait, maybe that's what had happened to Martin. Poor man.
Incidentally, the gig last night was superb and after my ill educated blog yesterday I can say I fully understand the benefits of AV. Sure it may not change the country as much as we'd like but its another significant step towards making things better and gaining some power back for the public. If the reasons on www.yestofairervotes.org don't sway you then at least look at the fact that No to AV's advocators are David Cameron and Rupert Murdoch among many others and their advertising campaign involves saying that if we vote for voting reform, premature babies won't get incubators. This is said despite all facts proving that money used for a new voting system a) won't cost very much and b) won't have any impact on the NHS at all. Ironic considering just how few babies will get the incubators they need when the Coalition are done tearing the health service to shreds anyway. So if you are for a bunch of rich people who use overly ludicrous lies to promote their opinion then fair dos. Otherwise I'd say you should do a bit of research and vote wisely on May 5th. There, I've said my bit. I'm now off to punch school children.
Of course this wouldn't actually help matters and sadly for the poor kid next to me, their fate would be sealed whatever happened. I couldn't bear to tell her this and she chewed on her own earmuffs while her mother looked sadly on hoping that by this stage she may well be playing the piano, speaking French or reading Proust instead of munching away on Winter wear. There are always victims in these sorts of situations and if she continues to eat synthetic fur she'll die soon anyway so it only seems fair. I didn't do any of this of course. Instead I watched as they took over the bus like a plague, ringing the bell multiple times for each stop because they thought it was funny, pushing each other and generally making everyone wish they'd got the bus at least 30 minutes earlier. I had a small reality check where I assured myself I was like that at their age and that I had no reason to scowl. Then I realised that despite them coming from the same school I went to, I was never like that, and continued visibly scowling which meant they all moved out of my way anyway. Apart from one particularly tall and rotund girl who didn't seem to want to budge for anyone. Luckily I had a bag with two very pointy boxes of trainers in and proceeded to just lightly stab the backs of her knees with it till she muttered something rude and moved quickly out of the way.
I'm not sure when I became like this. I have always though of myself as someone who can see the good in people. Last night for example, at a very excellent gig for the Yes To A Fairer Vote people, I had to deal with a heckler at the very top of the show. His name was Martin and I had been warned that he liked to get up in meetings and make a lot of racket about things. It was all very left wing, good natured racket, but a disruptive one nonetheless. His grey hair and duffel coat made me wonder if he was indeed the class raconteur back in the day, but here in amongst modern day activists he could only be heard if he shouted stupid things. Then before the show started when I did the 5 minute call he immediately started yelling things at me and calling himself Martin the Matador. I very politely told him not to. He then was pervy to one of the organisers and I decided he must be dealt with. So the first few minutes of the show were me insulting a man who was not a comedy regular, didn't realise that this was any different from a rally meeting and subsequently looked stupid. I then felt very bad as the whole point of the gig was unity and working together to change the voting system and country for the better, yet here I was ruining this already for a man who probably thought his intentions were right. If he had been a right wing advocator or even just a trouble maker it would have felt better. Instead he was just a bit sad and subsequently left half way through the show. Still, that makes me the winner.
So there I am feeling sorry for a man who was generally being a twat, yet if you had replaced him with any of the school children on today's bus, I'd have quickly yelled several swear words without second thought and felt good about it. Odd. Maybe, just maybe, I've become agist, ironically, in my older age. I look forward to the day I get much older and just hate everyone younger than me. Oh wait, maybe that's what had happened to Martin. Poor man.
Incidentally, the gig last night was superb and after my ill educated blog yesterday I can say I fully understand the benefits of AV. Sure it may not change the country as much as we'd like but its another significant step towards making things better and gaining some power back for the public. If the reasons on www.yestofairervotes.org don't sway you then at least look at the fact that No to AV's advocators are David Cameron and Rupert Murdoch among many others and their advertising campaign involves saying that if we vote for voting reform, premature babies won't get incubators. This is said despite all facts proving that money used for a new voting system a) won't cost very much and b) won't have any impact on the NHS at all. Ironic considering just how few babies will get the incubators they need when the Coalition are done tearing the health service to shreds anyway. So if you are for a bunch of rich people who use overly ludicrous lies to promote their opinion then fair dos. Otherwise I'd say you should do a bit of research and vote wisely on May 5th. There, I've said my bit. I'm now off to punch school children.
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