There aren’t many photos of me and my sister as children so I was especially touched when my (British) cousin, Teresa, sent me a couple she had found when scanning her father’s collection.
The first one I’ve posted here is of Teresa and me visiting our grandmother in Walton in Lancashire. Uncle Bernard has always been a keen photographer. All credit to him for getting the exposure right on a scene with so many differently reflective elements in it, back in the days when slide film was even less forgiving than it is now.
My dad was teaching on the payroll of the UK civil service so I suppose I must have been fresh from a boat or plane trip paid for by Her Majesty. (I used to be a member of the BOAC Junior Jet Club!)
Here’s a close crop (the original is portrait format) from one of me, my father, and all of my British cousins—including Andrew at the back, who comments here from time to time as “Andy C”. You’ll notice I’m wearing the same sandals you saw back here.
Now, if I can just find one of me on a beach with a white grandparent, I can start thinking about becoming Prime Minister.
Congratulations to the Web surfer brought here by a search for:
“interracial dates that like Radiohead”
You have hit the jackpot.
[J]ust how effective is it to insult someone in an alien cultural idiom? Bush, naturally enough, looked bewildered, but he ducked speedily and seemed none the worse for wear afterwards. Gordon Brown, I suspect, would have stolidly absorbed the blows; Obama would probably have caught one shoe in each hand before throwing them across the room for three points into a waiting waste-paper basket. But none of them, surely, would actually have been offended.
–Tom Chatfield at Prospect magazine’s blog
[Reporter, Muntadar al-Zaidi’s action was a] victory for human rights
–Aicha, daughter of Libyan leader Muammar Gaddafi, while declaring that her charity would honour the reporter with a medal of courage
Cornershop Man watches every single cricket international he can on his satellite TV under the counter—and, unlike me, he fails the Tebbit test. At the start of the week, I asked him: “Suppose you’re looking forward to whupping England’s backsides?”
“Hmm,” he inhaled, “I don’t know. You’ve got some good bowlers with you. You could give us a run for our money.”
As I said to my dad later on, he neglected to factor in England’s seemingly infinite capacity for snatching defeat from the jaws of victory.
I’m turning the radio off now.
This is a neat little article that sketches out why your skin colour doesn’t determine your chance of growing up to become an elite sprinter; but your genetic make-up might:
There are no sprinters of note from Asia, even with more than 50 percent of the world’s population, a Confucian and Tao tradition of discipline, and an authoritarian sports system in place in the most populous country, China. No white sprinter can be found on the list of 100-meter sprinters; the best time by a white, 10 seconds, ranks more than 200th on the all-time list. … All of the 32 finalists in the last four Olympic men’s 100-meter races are of West African descent.
Note the distinction: West Africans dominate sprinting. East Africans do better at distance running. So already, the evidence points beyond race toward a more precise category: population.
As Fray poster Njuzu puts it, “Race is a very inexact and unreliable proxy for genetics.” Race is not a causal unit [But] the salient level of analysis [is that of] genes. There’s no such thing as having fast-twitch muscle fiber because you’re black. The causal unit is a gene, or a network of genes, or a network of genes and environmental factors. Being black only makes you more likely to have a genetic variant that makes you more likely to have extra fast-twitch fiber. That’s a lot of “likelies,” not certainties.
Anna “little red boat” Pickard, who is female and blessed with a fine head of hair, has identified an exciting new product for those, like me, who are neither:
The guitarist in the band I’m in has a diploma in (popular) music performance and his music theory is pretty good—certainly better than mine—but he was never taught any music history and he’s only just turned twenty-one. So when, during a discussion about the scores the sax player had written for himself and the trumpet player yesterday evening, I made a casual remark about how individual instruments used only to sound right in a few specific keys and even now wind instruments compromise with equal temperament, he asked me what exactly I meant about “equal temperament”. It took about five minutes of pity rays bouncing off the side of my head during my fumbling explanation before I remembered that our new keyboard player is a piano tuner by trade and left it to him.
I’d like to express my profound regret to everyone reading this post for any offence I might have caused by thinking of writing this post while listening to Radio 2 in the shower at the same time as rubbing my naked body with shower gel. In mitigation, my Webcam was switched off at the time—and in a different room.
I went to see Quantum of Solace yesterday evening. The plot revolves around a secret global club of financiers that’s infiltrated the highest levels of governments and their intelligence agencies. Every one of the movies—The International, Valkyrie, and Angels and Demons—depicted in first three trailers shown beforehand also centres on a conspiracy. Obviously this is a clever double-bluff by the Jews running Hollywood.
From a letter to the Halifax and Calderdale Evening Courier by Jason Smith, the Bradford Chairman of the UK Independence Party:
GREEN’S ARREST SHOWS WE ARE BECOMING DICTATORSHIP
As unaccustomed as I am to defending Tory MPs, I feel I must speak out about the arrest of Damian Green, who was apparently held for nine hours and his homes and offices searched by counter terrorism officers.
…
I would also question whether the police need to utilise nine counter terrorist officers when I’m sure they could actually be countering terrorism instead.
Obviously the government deny any knowledge of this, although this whole situation has the stench of the Neo-Labour party at work.
And the first reply online, from “Missbehave (Princess Fiona)”:
Damian Greens arrest clearly shows that not only are the tories soft on terrorism, they are now building havens for them to opperate.
Green was arrested under anti terrorism laws, he passed information of a sensitive information.
don’t dear tories bang on about law and order when you wish to be appart from the law of the land.
If you’re over six feet in height, squeezing yourself into an economy seat on a plane can be torture, but if you’re seriously overweight and on a domestic flight in Canada, you get another seat:
The Supreme Court of Canada has upheld a regulatory ruling requiring the country’s airlines to provide an extra seat – at no charge – to obese passengers and those with certain disabilities. Failing to do so, the court said, is discriminatory.
As Dickens himself once wrote, this is both the baddest and the bestest thing ever: eighteen quid buys you one hundred classic works of literature for your DS. Devoting a nearly quarter of the content to Shakespeare’s plays is a bit of a cheat, though. That’s like padding out a collection of scores from great musicals with a bunch of noteless Cole Porter lyrics.
Here’s a thing: it’s been almost two months since I last had a racist email or comment at PooterGeek. I’m proud to say that I normally receive a near-even balance of stuff about niggers and stuff about kikes, but, having just checked, I see that the last one was an email accusing me of being in the pay of the Joos—who are, of course, censoring the media, presumably so that people like me can fill all the available outlets with their Zionist propaganda. (It also pointed out, amongst other things, that George W Bush is Jewish.)
Do you think the fall off in hate mail is because I’m not writing enough these days? Maybe moving my photo to the “About” page has caused the decline. It’s difficult to get inside the minds of these people when you tend not to hang around with them.
Millions of Britons are refreshing PooterGeek every other minute in the hope of reading my views on the issue of the moment. I am pleased to bring your wait to an end: it’s “Damian” with an ‘A’, not “Damien” with an ‘E’. Get it right.
A lot of people spend their youth experimenting. As my mother often tells people who really don’t want to know, I spent my youth experimenting: with chemicals, electricity, and the flora and fauna of Birmingham’s green belt. Just like my peers who took part in drug parties, random sexual coupling, and street violence—I suppose I also participated in the last of these activities, but involuntarily—I look back on some of the stuff I did and wonder how I managed to live this long. My mum will never let me forget, for example, The Sulphur Explosion. When I read E. O. Wilson’s account of how he lost his eye, I thought: “There but for the grace of God…”
At the risk of drawing a bunch of anti-health-and-safety nutters into the comments, I am amazed at the ease with which a small boy could, if he really wanted to (or even if he hadn’t planned to), cause serious damage to himself, others, and the family dining table back in the 70s and 80s. The range of potentially fatal ingredients that it was possible to buy cheaply in the high street and the absence of any protective equipment inside a typical chemistry set, for example, shock me today. A lot of people forget that chemist’s shops used to sell chemicals. They probably still do, but I suspect I would become the subject of a large-scale surveillance operation if, in these days of terror, I walked into my local pharmacist and tried to buy some of the things I have in mind.
Anyway, this comes with goggles and I might get one “for my niece” for Christmas.
Jeff Bridges really did have all of his hair shaved off to appear in Iron Man. You can see photos of the process in this album on his Website [slow-downloading images; no thumbnails].
Imagine being responsible for removing Jeff Bridges’ hair. That’s iconic hair. It’s up there with Phil Spector’s, Jennifer Anniston’s, Ruud Gullit’s, Amy Winehouse’s, him-out-of-A-Flock-Of-Seagulls’…
While I’m on a Radio 4 kick, I heard Mark Lawson interviewing the soon-to-be-stepping-down Andrew Motion and Andy Burnham, Secretary of State for Culture, Media and Sport, on Front Row yesterday evening about the appointment of the next Poet Laureate. Apparently, although they were quick to say it wouldn’t be a TV talent contest, there’s going to be much more public input into the choice of Motion’s successor—which comes with a serious quantity of very nice sherry by way of compensation.
I think it’s time to start the campaign on behalf of George Szirtes. As soon as there’s a ballot box to stuff, I’ll be on the case. Imagine what the Daily Mail will think: the first official asylum seeker versifier to the House of Windsor and the kingdom of England.
There’s a US marine biologist on BBC Radio 4 talking about the leatherback turtles that she and her team have been tagging. Apparently an adult leatherback grows to the size of a Volkswagen Beetle. Wikipedia concurs—and also points out that this makes the leatherback only the fourth largest reptile, after some crocodilians. I’m scared now.
I’ve been very busy this weekend, but here are three things that I enjoyed reading in between upgrades and back-ups: Minette Marrin on Jacqui Smith and UK prostitution, Shuggy on Barack Obama and the US constitution, and an obituary of William Donaldson:
[Donaldson] first came to prominence in 1961 as the London producer of Beyond the Fringe, which brought together Peter Cook, Alan Bennett and Jonathan Miller. He was also the first promoter to arrange a Bob Dylan concert at a time when the singer was barely known in Britain. “He [Dylan] was sitting in my office one day when I came back from lunch,” Donaldson recalled. “I couldn’t get rid of the f***er.”
Donaldson’s Henry Root letters made me scream with laughter when I was a kid. My sympathy for the recipients of his (often nasty) fake missives usually, but not always, dissolved as the victims’ replies revealed them to be one or more of the following: vain, pompous, or touchy.
And now, like a page from Where’s Wally / Where’s Waldo?, see if you can spot the wedding photographer in this [large!] image. He’s cunningly camouflaged by being the same colour as the furniture.
(The camera to my left has a 50mm f/1.4 lens on it and the one in my hands a 100mm f/2.8. The white bowl is a flash diffuser.)
[Thanks, W]
Last year, Newsbiscuit ran a spoof “NEWSPAPERS RUN OUT OF ‘LORD LEVY IS JEWISH’ EUPHEMISMS” story [requires free registration] I was reminded of it when I read this from the latest statement by “the neo-Nazi North German Action Office”, as reported in the Wall Street Journal:
Inasmuch as it is a determined opponent of the western-plutocratic one-world policy, we regard Islam, globally considered, as an ally against the mammonistic dominance of the American east coast
“Zionists” is so last year. Anyone who’s anyone in the global banking conspiracy lives on the east coast of America now.
[Thanks, GH.]
Thanks to this blog, I know it’s been two years since I last acquired a new bottle of cologne/aftershave. Once again, I’m unable to replace the one I’ve finished because, during my months of sparing use, the fragrance my sister bought me back then (itself the nearest approximation to its discontinued predecessor) has been discontinued. So I bribed a couple of heterosexual women with chocolate cake to follow me around the shops—thank you, V and C—and they helped me to choose “Angel Men Pure Coffee” by Thierry Mugler. It’s already a limited edition, so will jump straight from “mmh that’s nice” to “sold out” with no intervening delay.
In fact, my female guides preferred a completely different product that smelt of ginger, but they weren’t repelled by this one. It’s always a pleasant surprise when women aren’t repelled. Perhaps if I remind them of the inside of a Starbucks they’ll find me less scary.
If you’re reading this, family, there’s now no need to buy me any smellies this Christmas. (Though I suppose you could stockpile a bottle of A*Men Pure Coffee for two years hence if you can find one.) Some nice, thick M&S socks—size 10 (or 9)—would be appreciated though.
Al-Qaeda in Iraq have reacted to the US presidential election by issuing a statement on Friday directed at President-elect Barack Obama and his incoming administration.
…
[H]ardliners have greeted Barack Obama’s election victory with a stream of racist and other insults.
Because, previously, when Al-Qaeda in Iraq referred to Kurdish-speaking bomb victims as “Kuffir to be slaughtered”, they were just being “militant”.
PADDY POWER OFFERS ODDS OF 4-1 THAT GOD EXISTS
A bookmaker has slashed its odds on proof being found of God’s existence to just 4-1.
Since opening its book just two months ago, punters hoping to have their faith rewarded have placed £5,000 with Paddy Power.
It began taking bets on the question that has plagued thinkers for centuries in September, to coincide with the switching on of the Large Hadron Collider that physicists hope may lead to the discovery of an elusive sub-atomic object called the “God particle”.
Initially the odds that proof would be found of God’s existence were 20-1, and they lengthened to 33-1 when the multi-billion pound atom smasher was shut down temporarily because of a magnetic failure.
But interest in the wager has increased greatly following the recent launch of a campaign to have atheist adverts placed on London buses declaring that “there’s probably no God”.
As a result of a flurry of small bets Paddy Power, which also runs books on who will be the next Pope and the head of the Roman Catholic Church in England and Wales, has cut the odds on proof being found of God’s existence to just 4-1.
Four-to-one against the existence of God being “verified by scientists and given by an independent authority” has to be the stingiest price ever offered on any bet by any bookie since humankind was expelled from the Garden—especially when the Christians are offering a potential return of infinity-to-one.
TIGER WOODS WINS 2008 US OPEN DESPITE KNEE INJURY CAUSED BY ILLEGAL KARATE ATTACK FROM EVIL MAFIA GOLFER ROCCO MEDIATE. OBTAINS CRUCIAL PAR SCORE ON SUDDEN-DEATH HOLE USING “CRANE KICK” BEFORE COLLAPSING ON THE FINAL GREEN IN AGONY, MUTTERING “I DID IT FOR YOU, ELIN!”
LEWIS HAMILTON CLINCHES WORLD F1 DRIVERS’ CHAMPIONSHIP IN HIS MCLAREN, “HERBIE”, DESPITE EFFORTS OF EVIL DWARF BARON ECCLESTONE. LAST-GASP DONATION OF WET WEATHER TYRES FROM BROTHER’S WHEELCHAIR PERMITS LEWIS TO SNATCH TITLE-WINNING FIFTH PLACE. “I DID IT FOR YOU, NICHOLAS,” HE CONFESSES AS BROTHERS’ ESTRANGED PARENTS RE-UNITE IN HEARTWARMING FINALE AND ECCLESTONE IS LED AWAY BY AUTHORITIES, MUTTERING, “IF IT HADN’T BEEN FOR YOU PESKY KIDS…”
SON OF GOAT-HERD BARACK OBAMA BECOMES PRESIDENT OF UNITED STATES, DEFEATS GIGANTIC TWO-HEADED DINOSAUR CLINTZILLA AND PALIN THE ICE WITCH, AS HIS KINDLY GRANDMOTHER THROWS EVIL NEOCON EMPEROR MCCAIN DOWN REACTOR SHAFT. IN RESPONSE TO PRESIDENT OBAMA’S CONTINUED SUPPORT FOR ISRAEL, MAHMOUD AHMADINEJAD BURNS BEYONCÉ CENTREFOLD IN FRONT OF FRENZIED CROWD AND REVEALS DISCOVERY OF PROTOCOLS OF THE ELDERS OF CREOLE.
