Got quite a shock this afternoon. Flabbergasted to discover that my drama guys had never heard of the Marx Brothers!!! The names Groucho, Harpo and Chico meant nothing to them. My Groucho impersonation (and zingers) merely elicited embarrassed smiles. (Mind you, that's what usually happens, even amongst the Marxist cognoscenti - so we can let that pass.)
But seriously, to have grown up and never, ever, ever watched A Day At the Races, A Night at the Opera, Duck Soup... It doesn't bear thinking about. So I won't.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Sloganising
I've never been a great one for slogans. Tell me to Just Do It and part of me thinks, well, that's a supremely silly piece of advice, I must say.
But I found some small entertainment today in considering if there are any slogans that do somehow do something for me. A swift realisation: pretty much anything pithy from Blake, of course. And then, more gradually, two gems from the world of rock'n'roll to live by: RUST NEVER SLEEPS (courtesy of Neil Young, in case you didn't know, who in turn got it from an actual advert, I think) and STOP MAKING SENSE (courtesy of David Byrne or Talking Heads or both, being pretty much one and the same, I suppose.)
In some odd and disturbing ways such choices throw some light on my character, I'm afraid. Worrying, eh?
But I found some small entertainment today in considering if there are any slogans that do somehow do something for me. A swift realisation: pretty much anything pithy from Blake, of course. And then, more gradually, two gems from the world of rock'n'roll to live by: RUST NEVER SLEEPS (courtesy of Neil Young, in case you didn't know, who in turn got it from an actual advert, I think) and STOP MAKING SENSE (courtesy of David Byrne or Talking Heads or both, being pretty much one and the same, I suppose.)
In some odd and disturbing ways such choices throw some light on my character, I'm afraid. Worrying, eh?
Monday, October 29, 2012
A Bit Of A Moan
Wrenched my back this morning leaning forward from the sofa to pick up a cup of milo. And if that sounds pathetic, it's meant to.
A day of gritted teeth and manfully getting on with things despite the pain. Except for all my moaning, and ouching, and cursing under the breath, and complaining piteously to the Missus. I didn't actually cry though. Yes, I know, pathetic.
A day of gritted teeth and manfully getting on with things despite the pain. Except for all my moaning, and ouching, and cursing under the breath, and complaining piteously to the Missus. I didn't actually cry though. Yes, I know, pathetic.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Utter Bosh
In between marking essays, and having my hair cut, and listening to some podcasts from the BBC's In Our Time series, I've been getting a bit of reading done. The big book I've got on the go is Niall Ferguson's The War of the World and it's highly readable in the way one comes to expect of Ferguson. I'm still in its early stages and found the material on the economic background to WW1 fascinating - Ferguson reckons it doesn't make sense to accept that the Great War was felt to be inevitable in the key months of 1914 given that the markets showed no sign of responding in any such manner., and I reckon he's right. (Which makes the ensuing slaughter even more ghastly and idiotic. Surprise, surprise.)
Other than such ruminations on the nightmare of history it's been poetry all the way, basically to escape the nightmare, I suppose. I finished A.R. Ammons's Bosh and Flapdoodle yesterday and my reactions confirmed my fanboy status regarding anything from the greatest American poet that hardly anyone else I know seems to have heard of. What is it about some writers that makes you fall in love with anything they write? I mean there are stretches of Bosh I don't really get, but I just don't care. Being in Ammons's company is enough.
Other than such ruminations on the nightmare of history it's been poetry all the way, basically to escape the nightmare, I suppose. I finished A.R. Ammons's Bosh and Flapdoodle yesterday and my reactions confirmed my fanboy status regarding anything from the greatest American poet that hardly anyone else I know seems to have heard of. What is it about some writers that makes you fall in love with anything they write? I mean there are stretches of Bosh I don't really get, but I just don't care. Being in Ammons's company is enough.
Saturday, October 27, 2012
Man At Work
Yesterday evening the Missus pointed out to me, in a surprised if not aggrieved sort of voice, that I hadn't done any work all day. When I replied that it was a holiday she reminded me that I work every day, so my not working was somewhat disturbing to her understanding of the scheme of things.
Worry not, gentle reader, and my Missus, normal service has been resumed today. Sadly. Inevitably.
Worry not, gentle reader, and my Missus, normal service has been resumed today. Sadly. Inevitably.
Friday, October 26, 2012
Hot, Hot, Hot
Went to the mosque, the one down the road from Mak's house, twice today - initially early in the morning for prayers for Hari Raya Haji, and then in the early afternoon for Friday Prayers. Walking down at 1.00 pm I was aware of just how much warmer it had become from the morning, and I found myself sweating when in the mosque, quite uncomfortably so.
By the middle of the afternoon even lying under a busy fan in the bedroom couldn't quite relieve the sense of oppression engendered by the gathering heat. Fortunately I found myself so tired from the last few weeks of work, and last night's journey here, that it was easy to escape into a profound, and profoundly welcome, sleep.
We've now got the air-conditioning running, and I'm attempting to get something useful done, but, happily, not quite succeeding.
By the middle of the afternoon even lying under a busy fan in the bedroom couldn't quite relieve the sense of oppression engendered by the gathering heat. Fortunately I found myself so tired from the last few weeks of work, and last night's journey here, that it was easy to escape into a profound, and profoundly welcome, sleep.
We've now got the air-conditioning running, and I'm attempting to get something useful done, but, happily, not quite succeeding.
Thursday, October 25, 2012
On The Way
Just finished work for the day and now planning for an evening journey up to Melaka where we'll be over the long weekend. A good time to think of other more significant journeys in other more significant places.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Seriously Funny
I've always enjoyed the cartoons/funnies/comic strips you get in newspapers, but I think my appreciation of them as genuinely remarkable works of the imagination has only really blossomed in very recent years. At one time I might have cited admiring the obviously classy stuff like Doonesbury - not that I get to see that too often now as it's not run in the dailies here, and I rarely look at this stuff on-line. But now my admiration is more general, extending to material that doesn't do all that much for me personally - Garfield, for example.
Why so? I suppose it's my belated recognition of the staying power of the creators involved - their extraordinary ability to be funny, in their own terms, every day of the year.
And another factor in my heightened sense of appreciation is that I've arrived a greater awareness of the visual qualities of the drawings in themselves. Just one example: I've become a bit of a fan of Baby Blues, run daily in The Straits Times. Yes, it's a bit cutesy and has a distinct sense of appealing to a definite demographic, but within its self-imposed limitations it creates a wonderfully rich world. And the drawings of the kids are in themselves so absolutely right that it's startling, yet the rightness is achieved in a remarkably spare way.
I'm guessing the guys who are responsible for the heavily syndicated strips earn huge amounts of money. They deserve it.
Why so? I suppose it's my belated recognition of the staying power of the creators involved - their extraordinary ability to be funny, in their own terms, every day of the year.
And another factor in my heightened sense of appreciation is that I've arrived a greater awareness of the visual qualities of the drawings in themselves. Just one example: I've become a bit of a fan of Baby Blues, run daily in The Straits Times. Yes, it's a bit cutesy and has a distinct sense of appealing to a definite demographic, but within its self-imposed limitations it creates a wonderfully rich world. And the drawings of the kids are in themselves so absolutely right that it's startling, yet the rightness is achieved in a remarkably spare way.
I'm guessing the guys who are responsible for the heavily syndicated strips earn huge amounts of money. They deserve it.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
Climate Change
One of the useful aspects of living a reasonably long life, as I have had the good fortune to do, is that you get to see all sorts of changes, for the better and for the worse, and are granted the precious understanding that things really do change in unexpectedly fundamental ways. (Except for human nature. We remain, and always will remain, an extraordinarily stupid species. Experience merely confirms the obvious on this one.)
I've been reminded lately of something one of my teachers pointed out many years ago which, at the time, sounded deeply unlikely to me. He reckoned that we would eventually see a distinct move away from the general permissiveness of British society in terms of its prevailing sexual mores towards a kind of new puritanism. I stress here that he wasn't launching into some kind of jeremiad against those mores, simply taking a cool-headed view of long-term possibilities.
Recent references in the British media to the 'culture' of the period in which the egregious Savile perpetrated his horrors seem to me to confirm this. Yes, there was a period in which the idea of very young girls being involved in relationships of a sexual nature with older men, sometimes considerably older, would have hardly raised an eyebrow. Yet it now seems almost unthinkable, certainly painful, that this could have been the case. (By the way, it's by no means unthinkable that such relationships exist, and will continue to do so. Human folly remains fairly consistent, I suspect, from generation to generation. See the parenthesis above.)
So what changed? I suspect we rediscovered what we've always known: the powerful sometimes, too often, are prone to exploit the weak and vulnerable. Create a climate in which sexual predators can flourish and they will flourish. (It's important to bear in mind that such characters can also flourish in a climate of unreasonable oppression. Unlike Mrs Thatcher I have distinct doubts about Victorian Values.)
One thing I've learned from lived experience is that the ethical climate of a society is something real, even though apparently nebulous as a concept. A sane society seeks to cultivate that climate in ways conducive to a general flourishing of what we are. Get it wrong and someone will pay the price.
I've been reminded lately of something one of my teachers pointed out many years ago which, at the time, sounded deeply unlikely to me. He reckoned that we would eventually see a distinct move away from the general permissiveness of British society in terms of its prevailing sexual mores towards a kind of new puritanism. I stress here that he wasn't launching into some kind of jeremiad against those mores, simply taking a cool-headed view of long-term possibilities.
Recent references in the British media to the 'culture' of the period in which the egregious Savile perpetrated his horrors seem to me to confirm this. Yes, there was a period in which the idea of very young girls being involved in relationships of a sexual nature with older men, sometimes considerably older, would have hardly raised an eyebrow. Yet it now seems almost unthinkable, certainly painful, that this could have been the case. (By the way, it's by no means unthinkable that such relationships exist, and will continue to do so. Human folly remains fairly consistent, I suspect, from generation to generation. See the parenthesis above.)
So what changed? I suspect we rediscovered what we've always known: the powerful sometimes, too often, are prone to exploit the weak and vulnerable. Create a climate in which sexual predators can flourish and they will flourish. (It's important to bear in mind that such characters can also flourish in a climate of unreasonable oppression. Unlike Mrs Thatcher I have distinct doubts about Victorian Values.)
One thing I've learned from lived experience is that the ethical climate of a society is something real, even though apparently nebulous as a concept. A sane society seeks to cultivate that climate in ways conducive to a general flourishing of what we are. Get it wrong and someone will pay the price.
Monday, October 22, 2012
Trivialities
If ever you find yourself a feature writer for one of the broadsheets and are stuck for a theme, I’d recommend a rant against the utterly trivial uses of cyberspace indulged in by our species. It never fails (I seem to read a similar article every month or so), and there’s an abundance of material to hand.
On the other hand, I’ve sometimes wondered if that might be what the Creator intended us for: to project meaning onto the unlikeliest fragments of creation.
On the other hand, I’ve sometimes wondered if that might be what the Creator intended us for: to project meaning onto the unlikeliest fragments of creation.
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