An A-Z Of Some Of My Affectations

Alanko, Ismo. Finnish musician. Check out this video, it’s very good. I haven’t a clue what he is singing about what I think I know what “Pornografiaa” means.

Alkeefrol. Alcohol. Can’t remember where that comes from. I assume an affectation, which is kind of the point.

Bastage(s). Bastard. Ideally shouted accompanied with a shaking fist.

Bugger Grips. Sideburns or mutton chops. Check out the gallery.

Carstairs. Proper name as in, “Hallowe’en, Carstairs? Well that’s just pure hokum!”

Ewige Blumenkraft. Slogan of the Bavarian Illuminati. Full version: “Ewige Blumenkraft und ewige Schlangenkraft”.

Daily Mail. Apparently a newspaper.

Hey Student! Derived from a song by the Fall from their Middle Class Revolt album, itself referring to a previous song of theirs called Hey, Luciani; that referring to Pope John Paul I. Used for generic references to school or student life.

Mighty Bush. W12. I assume derived from the Mighty Boosh, though I don’t recall it being deliberately so.

Military-Industrial Complex. It enslaves us all from birth, natch,

-Oir. Appropriate word ending as always. Originally bevoir, but this suffix can be extended to any word. Without exception.

Syrup of Ipecac. Substance used to induce vomiting. Used to either refer to medicine in general or displays of ostentatious affection.

Title Case. All blog posts are in title case, I stole this from Patroclus.

Webster, John. (1580-1634)

What Stink Of Artifice! and What Fresh Lunacy Is This? Lines from, respectively, Mercier and Camier and The Devils. Useful for lulls in conversation. I don’t know what the correct response is.

You’ve changed… man. Stating the obvious, but people do sometimes need to told. If they haven’t then You’ve remained the same… man is an alternative. For people who have changed, then have changed back use You’ve reverted to a previous state… man.

Yummers. Yum. I’m fairly sure I’ve never heard anyone use this in real life. Which is for the best really.

Any others you’d like to add, let me know in the usual fashion.

The Name Is Cumming. Alan Cumming.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing.”

Well I can’t say the real answer, that I’m pondering what Alan Cumming might deign to shout when he ejaculates.

As you do.

I’m Just The Same In Real Life It Would Appear, Almost

I’m not exactly the same in real life as when I am writing this, and I have an example of this.

I was watching the Christmas Top of the Pops with my niece yesterday and when that Alexandra Burke came on singing that song by jolly ol’ Leonard Cohen she remarked that it was the song “off Shrek“.

I pointed out that it was sung by someone else in the film though it was the same song.

I didn’t then continue and start rabbiting on about Rufus fucking Wainwright again (or John Cale).

I would have done in a blog post.

Like I’ve just done.

Well.

Kind of.

Review Of The Year 2008 In Some Of The Blogs I Read

Well 2008 is nearly over which means it’ll be very soon when dates start with “twenty” instead of “two thousand and…”. I therefore humbly present some of my favourite bits of some of the blogs that I read, throughout the year, complete with links so that you can relieve those moments.

Blogger Hatred

But aren’t all bloggers part of a big happy family who all love each other and often pop in and out of each others houses to borrow a cup of sugar?

No they’re not.

That would be silly.

I personally love a shitstorm, especially when it is one I haven’t created.

Blue Kitten

The l0ng awaited le chaton bleu made an appearance.

10cc Top Tens

Christ on a bike.

Milk

When photographs appear of people bathing in milk, there’s only one response in my experience: take the piss. And start a mini-craze. Which was satisfying.

Oliver Postgate RIP

Possibly the greatest number of bloggie tributes I have ever seen for one person. Was Oliver the Di of the blogosphere?

Oye Billy

And what about me? Well I haven’t got a whole year’s worth of posts to look at, as this blog only started in March 2008 after a hissy fit deleted the old one.

The most popular post on this blog of all time, according to the blog statistics was this one

Crush With Eyeliner

which has received almost 4 times as many hits as the next one. This I suspect is due to people google image searching Russell Brand of which that post is one of the top results.

Other popular posts included me banging on about cardigans again and Mrs Sky Saxon making an unexpected appearance.

Let me know your favourite 2008 blogging moments in the comments.

Oh and I probably won’t be back again here before Thursday so Seasons Greetings to all readers.

Friday YouTube Dedications #3: Rosie

The next in my series of Friday YouTube videos is hearby dedicated to Rosie, who asked me to do one for her.

As is fast becoming a custom for these things I’ll bore you with a lengthy description of how I chose the particular video before actually posting it.

My usual approach is to search on YouTube for interesting music videos (there may be a time when I don’t post a music video, but I can’t see it happening in the near future) using key words I associate with that person.

Taking a fresh look at Rosie’s blog now the key words suggested to me are connected to Ireland, or Spain (see what I did there) and the “hot topics” are boys, blogging, drink, friends, frolics and fun.

(As a comparison, my top topics are: blogging, the mighty bush, alcohol and the norman yoke)

Searches through YouTube were not producing particularly satisfactory results but then I remembered this. And then this. And then my response: this.

So milk it was.

Therefore I present for your delectation the Neutral Milk Hotel with their track Song Against Sex. They’re rather geeky don’t you think?

As per usual, you can view previous dedications by clicking here, and if you want a dedication, let me know and I’ll see what I can do/

When My Amiga Reads From A Disk You Know The Green Fills The Room And Your Long Summer Dress Fills My Mind

Waking up in a pool of light usually means something has gone wrong.  Either I have fallen asleep with the light on, or I have fallen asleep leaving the blind up, which if there is a pool of light at this time of year means I have overslept somewhat.

The top reason for either of the above things happening on a work day was over-consumption of alcohol the night before.

Also, I could well have left the CD player on, filling the room with an disturbing green glow, akin to either an Amiga reading from a disc (see Max Tundra quote above) or the television adaptation of the Tommyknockers which I remember watching a few years ago.

Often though, the green glow/leaving the light on/leaving the blind up will be revealed at approximately 4am, when I will wake up suddenly, most likely from a somewhat disturbing dream only to realise I have a combination of a dying thirst/headache and am possibly still clothed.

Reaching for water and painkillers, the inevitable is temporarily postponded and I can return to sleep.

Once I remembered to drink gallons of water and a bevvy of painkillers before going to sleep and it worked wonders. The problem is that in the situations where I would need to do this, I will invariably be drunk and therefore not really up to remembering such things.

Still as long as I do the 4am top up I’m usually okay when I have to wake up for work.

But I’m always so tired. For some reason I always end up staying up late after a pub visit, even if that has meant a trip across London afterwards. I should be more tired than I am. Then the deep sleep occassioned by alcohol makes me end up yet more tired.

Getting up is best though.

I keep telling myself this, maybe I’ll believe it one day.

Journey to work, finding it difficult to keep my eyes open.

Chocolate at my desk. Or pastry. Definately some caffeine.

Just pray I haven’t got a meeting today. Or training.

I Could Come Up With A Pun Here, But I Don’t Want To

Further to this, from this week’s popbitch newsletter:

WINNER: POPBITCH ANIMAL OF THE YEAR: The Stoat.

Runners up: Red Panda and Polar Bear.

A crushing defeat for the Otter. But thanks to the (mentally ill?) 23 people who voted for our soft toy tiger.

Posterity Can Suck My Cock

I never have read Andrew Keen’s polemic The Cult of the Amateur about how Wikipedia and blogs and the like are analogous to Marxism and apparently mean the cream will no longer rise to the top or something like that.

Take this blog for instance. In a deliberate attempt to make this blog less writer-ly (because it would be rubbish if I tried to do that: there’d be about one post a month, it would be unreadable and wouldn’t suit me in the slightest) I usually think of an idea for a post and just write it, going back to do a spell check. As a result of this the blog posts tend to lack a coherent subject, but I wouldn’t want it any other way.

If I were a real writer, I’d collect up all the drafts, notes and general rubbish and sell it to a university towards the end of my career (unless I was Alan Bennett, in which case I’d give them away)

I’m not though, so I don’t have any. Everything either gets written and published or abandoned and deleted or very rarely revived and redone as a slightly different blog post.

This isn’t strictly true, however as there is the Drafts folder as well as notes that I make scribbling down ideas for blog posts. In the spirit of sharing, here are some of them.

I am a creature of habit, and this although it is useful, does slightly disappoint me sometimes. Doing unpredictiable things for the sake of doing it isn’t as good as doing it randomly.

Take Sunday evenings for example. They always comprise of my having a bath, often sipping on a cup of tea while in there and having a shave, then watching TV.

I’ve done this for a very long time, although the shaving is a relatively recent addition and the TV programmes I watch have changed as well.

I never used to drink tea in the bath either. I was always paranoid I’d drop it in.

I actually had a title for that one, She Don’t Use Jelly. I have no idea how that was going to work out. Perhaps it is best not to know.

Might be against editorial policy but attempts to translate song lyrics into Middle English – Elvis Costello? What would Chaucer think? Is there an online Middle English dictionary?

I wish I knew what I was thinking there.

Comparison between George out of the Famous Five and Georgette from The Queen is Dead section of Last Exit to Brooklyn. Perhaps using a pastiche of Selby’s style referencing lashing of ginger ale.

Now this could have been good, if I’d managed it somehow. And had a copy of either book close to hand. Which I didn’t.

More to come if I’m short of ideas soon.

Friday YouTube Dedications #2: Sylvia

The second of my new Friday feature, YouTube dedications continues with Sylvia, who challenged me to find a suitable dedication.

This was a tricky order, truth be told. I first went down the Italian route and found it somewhat wanting.

Then I recalled the infamous Crouch End blogmeet, in which myself, the Great She Elephant, Sylvia, Patroclus and Llewtrah enjoyed some delicious cakes. So I went down the cake route hoping for something there.

(Incidentally, the band Cake have a song called Italian Leather Sofa, but I don’t rate the trumpet solo much.)

So, various googling of cake permutations revealed “Cut the Cake” by the Average White Band, which is apparently one of the top songs to accompany cake-cutting at a wedding. Which makes me think of two things:-

1. People choosing songs for cake-cuttings aren’t very imaginative: We’re cutting a cake, let’s have a song called Cut the Cake. Brilliant.
2. I’ve never been to a wedding with music during the cake-cutting. First dance, of course, but never during the cake-cutting. I don’t like wedding cake much though. The best wedding I went to had cheesecake as wedding cake. Yum.

Best thing about the Average White Band: they’re not average, although they are white and they are a band.

You can view previous dedications by clicking here, and if you want a dedication, let me know and I’ll see what I can do.

This Is Not The Daily Star

It is always a slightly disarming experience when someone who you had safely put in the compartment of buffoon/waste of space/self-important idiot suddenly defied all of your expectations and does something brilliant. It doesn’t forgive them all of their previous transgressions of course, it just makes them more rounded and, dare I say it, human?

It also restores your faith in humanity a little bit, there’s someone I’d comfortably disregarded and now I agree with them/find them funny/see what all of the fuss is about.

Take, for instance, celebutante Paris Hilton. Drunk driver, supposed racialist, indifferent singer, sex tape star etc. etc. So far, so-who-gives-a-shit.

Yet when John McCain (remember him?) did an campaign ad comparing his rival Barack Obama to Hilton and Britney Spears she responded with this video.

Which is very funny. Alarmingly at first, it is supposed to be. I think I should repeat that. It. Is. Supposed. To. Be. Funny. On purpose. Odd.

So she is partially forgiven. Only partially, but it’s a start. Yes, I know she didn’t make it all up herself, but frankly, who cares? It is amazing.

A similar thing happened yesterday. I mentioned an email I’d had a work referring to “Christmas dinner”. I maintained it should be “Christmas lunch” especially, as in this case it is a meal in the middle of the day. My flatmates disagreed. Consulting the dictionary failed to settle it so I utilised google. Imagine my surprise when an email by Simon Heffer popped up in support of my claim.

The style book also reminds us that our readers tend to eat Christmas lunch, not Christmas dinner; this is not the Daily Star. Unless we are referring to a repast that is specifically to be held in the evening, be careful to refer to Christmas lunch in all those mouth-watering articles you are preparing about festive food.

Yes Simon Heffer. The Tory equivalent of Arthur Scargill. The man who thinks Christianity should shape the moral foundations of society, even though he is an atheist. The one who made Boris Johnson say sorry to Liverpool.

Yet I have some sympathy with him, if the things he mentions in his email are a regualar occorance.

And of course, as the reference to the Daily Star proves, whether it is Christmas dinner or Christmas lunch is a class issue, which for once I have ended up on the posher end of things.

Which never happens.

It’s worse than when William Shatner got in on the joke.