Last Call

Last call from Arizona, dear reader. I'm jetting off home for the British nationals in Sheffield (results of which to follow, obviously). Sorry for the late notice but this last week saw a rapid change of plan and the details have all been last minute. Forgive me. I'll come back swinging in a couple of weeks but I doubt I'll be able to refrain from this page for long. Keep the dream alive.

Applause Again

Talking of rambunctious applause, has anyone noticed how Question Time has now become a competition of who can garner the most applause? I particularly dislike the way they invite some drivelling, tabloid goon as the voice of the masses, sitting him on the end of the panel as if he represents the omniscient perspective that somehow is outside of politics. See as an example, the fascistic cunt who columns for the Daily Mail, Richard Littlejohn. That is, of course, unless they do something as superb as this ("Harold Pinter on a bad day"). Speaking of which, that gives me an opportunity to repost this video of Christopher Hitchens giving Bill Maher's audience the finger after they "frivolously" applauded a particularly easy joke by the host.

Rant

One of my favorite shows on television has always been Have I Got News For You. Being such a long-standing component of British television I barely acknowledged it while living in England, but it's become one of the objects of worship that you only truly appreciate once it's gone, and now I'm a frequent online downloader. Yet something has been nagging me for some time that needs to be fought immediately. Compare this episode from early 2007 with this episode from January of this year. Both follow precisely the same format (the show hasn't changed in almost twenty years), and both are hosted by the always amicable Jeremy Clarkson. Spot the difference? Something has changed in the way the audience interacts with the show; rather than simply laugh at the jokes, there has developed a trend of enthusiastic applause for anything above a pun or quip. The show no longer flows, punctuated too regularly by rapturous applause. Not only does this take up time and distract from the panelists, but it also demands less of them by sending the message that we're delighted by even the slightest suggestion of off-the-cuff wit. Moreover, I've noticed that politicized jokes receive the most applause, likewise for jokes about the economy, as if the panelists are social commentators, intrinsically in touch with the persuasion of the people. The politics is often juvenile, base, and, more importantly, very easy to derive humour from. Rapturous applause is unjustified in many cases. Take for example, Ian Hislop's comment regarding calls to print money in the UK, a scheme described at the time as "quantitative easing". Hislop then said, "sounds like a new Bond film, doesn't it? Quantitative Easing", and achieved a round of fawning applause. I mean, really? It seems as though a smattering of simple individuals distributed randomly among an audience can incur groupthink, and so, half a dozen clappers turns the whole audience into clappers. Just because the guy next to you crosses the road on a red light doesn't give you the go-ahead too. I think what troubles me most about this recent phenomenon are its parallels to American comedy, where almost anything is considered worthy of a standing ovation. Any of you who have watched stand-up comedians from the US may have noticed that the audience can't stop applauding. This ruins the routine, totally, abominably, unjustifiably. Heaven forbid we descend into such a state with what we hold most dear in Britain.

Slowly Downward

Stanley Donwood, Radiohead's artist in residence, responsible for every album cover since The Bends in 1995, has been flaunting his work all over Europe for the past couple of years, and his artwork for Thom Yorke's The Eraser granted him the opportunity to design the new sleeve for the republication of Robert Louis Stevenson's Treasure Island. Anyone who's ever read the children's (?) classic should vividly recall the ocean scene in which our hero, Jim Hawkins negotiates the treacherous waters of the Atlantic in nothing but a ship's barrel, fervently sought after by the pirate horde camped on the beach. The new sleeve, as shown, strikes the relevant chord, menacingly, appropriately, brilliantly.

A Couple of Familiars

Firstly, it's now been nearly six months since I wrote about Petr Cech's head-brace on this blog, making it two and half years after the original injury, which I think is quite long enough to observe any developments: but still nothing. Am I the only football lover in the world who has noticed this? Second, the point I made a while ago about the producers of Top Gear, which was firmly backed up by my long-time musical go-to, Jim, was further bolstered by the Vietnam special they broadcast as part of the finale to last season's show. Barely within the the first twenty minutes we're appropriately treated to The Doors, The Rolling Stones, Smokey Robinson, Samuel Barber's Adagio for Strings, and even a tad of Jonny Greenwood. Anyone acquainted with American 'Nam films will appreciate some of those titles, and I've no doubt that whomever is in charge of the show's soundtrack goes under-appreciated, but not so on this blog. We applaud that individual and lobby for his promotion.

15 Step

Can there be any dispute now? Thom Yorke remains the coolest man in the world. (I notice too that they're all wearing my T-Shirt.)

Into thin air

There is much to tell, dear reader, from the wealth of my memory successive to these last few days away from the computer screen. First, I must apologize for not even allowing you the notice of a parting eulogy, but my AMD Turion processor has now taken it upon itself to remind me every few weeks or so, by crashing, that I'm a cheapskate thrifter, unwilling to cough up an extra hundred dollars or so to invest in one of the more reliable processors invading the market. Since then I've been reinstalling the bare components of a comfortable cyber-existence and reevaluating what actually deserves to take pride of place on my 'Favorites' list, which cleverly leads me to my first recommendation. The story that circulated throughout the blog-intelligentsia about Christopher Hitchens' less-than fortunate encounter in Beirut last month, has been comprehensively retold and eviscerated by a new mentor, Michael Totten. His blog, even upon first impressions, is clearly a devastatingly astute exploration of Middle-Eastern life and its politics, where his account of the Hitchens scuffle takes pride of place, here (read in full). Totten was one of Hitchens' cohorts accompanying him around Lebanon's capital, and also partly responsible for not forewarning him that writing "Fuck the SSNP" on a commemorative placard probably was not a good idea, and it's worth noting that Hitchens, in fact, wasn't drunk at the time, which one, understandably, may have expected. From there I found my way to NOW Lebanon, a secular and independent online publication that prides itself on its non-sectarianism - in their own words:

New Opinion Workshop (NOW) includes members from all Lebanese political, ethnic, religious and socio-economic groups and persuasions. The single idea that is truly sacred in this forum is the pursuit of an independent, democratic, liberal and prosperous Lebanon, with equal rights and opportunities for all its citizens.

I find this intrinsically uplifting. Due to the actions of policemen on the day of Hitchens' attack, he later called the state of Beirut under the watchful eyes of Nazi thuggery and goonism, "occupation". And yet, to study the pictures of Hamra Street in the center of Beirut is to be reminded of any prosperous capital city you might find in Western Europe. Such publications provide an outlet for progressive, like-minded individuals unfortunately surrounded on all sides by the possibility of medieval dogmatism. NOW Lebanon smacks of something extremely important, and something that I intend to keep reading. More shortly.

Orwell Again Again

Curiously enough it is not the triumphs of modern engineering, nor the radio, nor the cinematograph, nor the five thousand novels which are published yearly, nor the crowds at Ascot and the Eton and Harrow match, but the memory of working-class interiors - especially as I sometimes saw them in my childhood before the war, when England was still prosperous - that our age has not been altogether a bad one to live in.

~~ The Road to Wigan Pier
(Last one, I promise. Probably.)