Blog Archives

Going Stir Crazy

If Sigur Ros isn’t your thing, here’s an alternative – #1 viral video this week

http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=17406812&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=1&color=&fullscreen=1&autoplay=0&loop=0

Matt Whistler’s Merry Christmas 2010 Southover Street Brighton from Convict Films on Vimeo.

It made me laugh.

WARNING: contains some nudity…

Music from Iceland

Seems perfect for this weather.

The Oppression of Perfection

Our society celebrates perfection in all things. It does not look kindly on difference and unconformity. That body is too fat, that breast too small: people begin to hate their bodies which are, after all, only functioning to serve us the best they can. Yet some people compulsively punish their very beings into submission in an attempt to conform to some idealised version of a human. As a 21st century consumer, we are in a siege situation: surrounded by shiny things, packaged things, glossy promises. Everywhere we turn we are being sold an image that is removed from our reality.

Does elusive perfection enrich our souls? Or does it only make us hungry for the next thing? What is more interesting: a rose in full scent and bloom in high summer, or a rose bud at the wrong time of year, blackened by frost that will never properly flower. To me, the latter without a doubt.

Take babies. The truth of the matter is that many babies are scary-looking, wizened things that look at you like they know the secrets of the universe. It’s that last part that especially freaks me out. Many appear squashed, crumpled and are in fact *whispers* strange. Yet they are still perfect, even if they are not, because they are.

Just as babies forget all they know when they are born, we quickly forget that perfection is to be found in simply being. We are humans being in an imperfect, sometimes ugly, and fairly unsatisfactory state.

The perfection we seek is simply to be found in our own existence, but we get utterly distracted seeking to cloak our lives in borrowed trappings.

What an incredible waste of time.

Here endeth the sermon…

The Bramble

A nice autumnal cocktail, but having had one last night I would tell the bar tender to muddle with ice and not give me a glass full of the brain-freezing stuff on the next round.

INGREDIENTS

• 37.5ml Plymouth gin
• 20ml lemon juice
• 12.5ml sugar syrup
• 20ml Crème de Mure

Build, over crushed ice, in an old-fashioned glass and drizzle the crème de Mure over the top. Garnish with a slice of lemon and a blackberry.

That much ice: it should be blue

I think drinking cocktails whilst waiting for the Great Spending Review is akin to fiddling whilst Rome burns, but so long as it’s funded by my Child Benefit payments it’s probably alright.

To be slightly more serious, I think that the Tories (there’s no Liberal anymore is there? I am beginning to think Nick Clegg is lying face down on a table somewhere in Whitehall) are starting to look a bit amateurish. They can slash and burn if they must, but failing to work out that 49K x 2 is nearly a ton is only going to enrage people.

Everybody out, the Brambles are on me.

I think the cocktail angle might mean Daftburger has to shoot me (for the third time).

Melt or Thaw?

There is a difference apparently.

Either way, this pansy seems quite happy in its frozen home.

And, in line with government urgings, I am now trudging to work.