An-ism

I was reading an interesting article on Charles Darwin in Newsweek on the subway this morning.

I don’t quite know why I bought Newsweek as I tend to believe that weekly News magazines are now obsolete with the advent of the internet. If you want an in-depth coverage of a story, the net is where you turn not the weeklies… anyway I’m digressing here.

Back to Darwin, there was a quote in this article that caught my eye, it regarded opponents of evolutionary theory who say they're fighting "Darwinism," rather than evolution or natural selection. To quote the article:

"It's a rhetorical device to make evolution seem like a kind of faith, like 'Maoism'," says Harvard biologist E. O. Wilson, editor of one of the two Darwin anthologies just published.

"Scientists," Wilson adds, "don't call it 'Darwinism'."

I find this interesting as it seems that more and more we are either personalizing things or trying to de-personalize things. A kind of evolution of language.

Think of the bogeymen that are created to put a personal face on the war in Iraq. First Sadam then Abu Musab al-Zarqawi. You could argue that there are two ideologies at war here but you can’t defeat an ideology. You can defeat a person. Hitler is dead but Nazi-ism is still alive.

What there actually is, is an occupying army and a resistance - by the way, notice that the only people who call it “The Resistance” are Arabs, Westerners use “Insurgents”. “Resistance Fighters” are defending themselves - “Insurgents” are interlopers intent on causing havoc.

“Civilian Casualties” have become “Collateral Damage”, a complete depersonalization. Being blown to bits - It doesn’t get any more depersonalized than this!

Wanksgiving

Today is Thanksgiving here in the USA and I’m working while everyone else is stuffing their faces with turkey and Budweiser. The giant balloons are floating their way down Broadway as I write, encouraging the little kids to scream at their parents to get out to the Thanksgiving sales and buy products by Fisher-Price, Disney and McDonald’s.

Like a lot of other non-American, I couldn’t really give a fuck about Thanksgiving, however I find it quite offensive that they should celebrate an event that led directly to the deaths of millions of aboriginal Indians. Why can’t we have a day of remembrance where you sit down with your family and give thanks that the white-man didn’t send you a smallpox-laden blanket to keep out the cold.

Now I know that it was the British who gave out the smallpox blankets but what we have to remember here is that the original settlers who arrived on the Mayflower were a bunch of fucking mad Protestant Brits. Now I’m not sure if the religious fundamentalism of today’s America has much to do with the original pilgrims but the attitude strikes me as amazingly similar. I guess it’s in the DNA.

Just take a read of The Mayflower Compact:

"In the name of God, Amen. We, whose names are underwritten, the Loyal Subjects of our dread Sovereign Lord, King James, by the Grace of God, of England, France and Ireland, King, Defender of the Faith, e&. Having undertaken for the Glory of God, and Advancement of the Christian Faith, and the Honour of our King and Country, a voyage to plant the first colony in the northern parts of Virginia; do by these presents, solemnly and mutually in the Presence of God and one of another, covenant and combine ourselves together into a civil Body Politick, for our better Ordering and Preservation, and Furtherance of the Ends aforesaid; And by Virtue hereof to enact, constitute, and frame, such just and equal Laws, Ordinances, Acts, Constitutions and Offices, from time to time, as shall be thought most meet and convenient for the General good of the Colony; unto which we promise all due submission and obedience .In Witness whereof we have hereunto subscribed our names at Cape Cod the eleventh of November, in the Reign of our Sovereign Lord, King James of England, France and Ireland, the eighteenth, and of Scotland the fifty-fourth. Anno Domini, 1620."

Thankfully half the buggers died during the first winter. The others unfortunately have outstayed their welcome.

In the name of God, Amen. Indeed!

Remembering JFK

Jesus Fucking K-rist! They Shot Me!!!!!

Leeches

I had a strange dream the other night - strange because I don’t normally remember my dreams - I remembered this one vividly.

Myself and my wife were in a boat in the River Thames near Reading, England (an area I used to walk in extensively) and the boat got stuck aground so I jumped overboard to push the boat off a mud bank. In doing so I sank up to my shoulders in mud and water and got myself covered in blood-sucking leeches - yes… so far so African Queen.

Anyway, my wife helps me pull the leeches off but she misses one and that night as I am laying in bed the leech multiplies into hundreds and starts to suck me dry.

Now….

That is all I remember. I was disturbed by the meaning of the dream but I think I worked it out. We are two weeks away from closing on our first house and between our lawyer, our mortgage broker, and to a lesser extent, our real estate agent, I am currently surrounded by leeches.

The lawyer is going to cost us a $1000 and as far as I can see he has so far mailed 6 letters on our behalf, read two contracts, changed 5 clauses in said contracts, and, well jacked off prodigiously to porno for 8 hours a day… No… not really but that’s what it feels like he is doing with our time as all the advice he has offered has been stuff we could have done ourselves if we had known!

The mortgage broker prepares the loans and takes a cut. Once he did his sums, his job was over and his assistant typed up all the forms for us to sign. Again the sound of wanking is coming over the karmic airwaves as another grand is flushed down the toilet.

Our real estate broker is a nice guy but he is out to get paid too, albeit by the seller. He also bears more than a physical resemblance to Peter Lorre. He has the creepy voice to go with it too. It is not wise to make him laugh.

Ah well, at least we are looking at our furst house. I can’t wait till I meet my first dodgy builder!

Musically speaking.....

Sometimes a song just hits you right between the eyes and makes you shiver down your spine. This happened to me this morning when I was listening to the Neil Young song "Revolution Blues". It's on his 1974 album "On The Beach" and it concerns the Charles Manson murders. It sounds like no other NY song he has ever recorded, both lyrically and musically it is incredibly violent.

I've got the Revolution Blues,
I see blood in fountains,
10 million dune buggys
coming down the mountain.
I hear that Laurel Canyon
is full of famous stars,
I hate them worse than lepers
and I kill them in their cars.

The music is so weird for Neil, it has this big fat Bootsy Collins-like bassline and he sings it in such a croaky voice I can't say I've ever really noticed the lyrics before. This morning I did and it sent tremors throughout my body. Jesus, what was it like to hear this song when it first came out? I can only imagine it would be comparable to Britney Spears penning a song about Jeffrey Dahmer!

Eat Me Body One More Time......

Sorry, I am physically incapable of resisting a pun!

I seem to have hit on a run of luck when it comes to attending gigs lately. Last night we went to see Eddie Izzard road-test new material at a small club in Greenwich Village. A totally sold out show but Alma knew one of the bartenders and he snuck us in (and provided us with bottomless glasses of wine but that’s another story).

Eddie is completely bonkers and definitely a genius - only He could do comedy that ranges on subjects as varied as Jesus the carpenter examining the workmanship on the cross, to sneezing ducks taking over the world (bird flu), to natives from Fuji who kiss sharks and how if you stick your finger up a shark’s nose it’s mouth will open. It’s definitely comedy with a difference.

A couple of weeks ago I caught Jello Biafra playing supported by Alice Donut, probably my all-time favorite band. That’s a dream line-up for me, Jello hasn’t performed music in years, he is mainly known as a left-wing spoken-word artist these days and it was great to see him back in the fray causing mayhem just like the old Dead Kennedy days.

The week before that we caught Tracy Chapman playing at the Used Book Café - my-favorite-place-in-New-York-that-is-not-a-bar. She is an incredible live performer with a voice that makes you wanna cry and rejoice at the same time. I was getting flashes of Nina Simone as she sang and I can’t pay her any higher a compliment than that.

Ah the joys of music and the joys of living in NYC where we are spoiled for choice.

Sunday Morning 7AM

On Sundays I work from 8AM to 8PM so I get up around 5.30 and drag my arse over to the subway at 7. There is no one around; squirrels are performing acrobatics in the trees and paper cups from Starbucks blow across the street like rolling tumbleweeds. I love it.

Not many people get on or off the subway, that is except for a few devout worshippers headed to an early morning church service somewhere, so it flies into Manhattan and I am there by 7.30 (It usually takes about 50 minutes). I get off at Canal Street and scramble to the surface.

Canal Street is the main drag in NYC’s Chinatown and I seem to remember reading somewhere that it is mostly heavily populated square-mile in America. Now I don’t know if that is true or not but what I do know is that it is usually teeming with people. At 7.30 on a Sunday morning it is all but deserted, shuttered up and teeming with Saturday’s trash. In a strange way it is beautiful to behold.

This morning I fired up “Happy Songs for Happy People” by Mogwai on my Ipod, unfolded my cane and strolled south towards my building in the Tribeca neighborhood.

It amazes Me sometimes how New York City changes within a few streets. Chinatown is cramped and dirty but within a few blocks you are in Tribeca (which stands for “Triangle Below Canal” by the way) surrounded by 5 million dollar lofts, Parisian-style bistros and movie star homes. The sidewalks are hosed down and smell like chlorine.

I make my way over to the Bouley Bakery, an over-priced little place that makes the best Orange muffin I have ever tasted and sells espresso that is strangely sweet, usually I prefer bitter, but it compliments the muffin perfectly.

This morning I was the first customer and the manager was still sorting out the cash register so he gave me the muffin and coffee compliments of the house! Wow! Did I say this place was overpriced? Well sometimes it’s worth paying a little bit more for good service. He owns my little black heart now! Never a bad word shall pass my lips about his muffins. [Affect Dick Emery voice] Oooo… you are awful!!!!

My building is two blocks away and I stroll in past the plaque reading “Western Union Building – World Telegraph Central 1930-1937’. I love that plaque, it invokes images of people tapping away in morse code, delivery boys in red suits pie-shaped hats, Humphrey Bogart, the Hindenburg, King Kong, and Louis Armstrong.

I get up to my control room on the second floor and send the nightshift guy home, I now have this large space filled with TV equipment to myself. I read over the shiftnotes from the day before and look at my list of things to do the coming day. Then I hook up the Ipod to the central speaker system and crank up the music. The floor is hollow and it shakes with bass, Yeah, I love it…

The Grunts of the Industry

It’s 2.30AM and I just got off work at midnight after a day of serious agitation - without going into too many details, basically we had a major software failure that resulted in Me attempting to do a 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle whilst the phone rings off the hook, every call an angry customer.

Now I can’t sleep because my brain is still racing - input 63 breaks out to output 58 but the audio is still on 63, that’s audio’s 1 + 2 by the way, audios 3 + 4 are on input 40-something and they all have to get routed to ABC before 2100. It’s now 2049.

You get the picture. It was a shitty day. I figure hopefully if I write something I’ll calm down by the time I get to the end.

One of the major problems of being a grunt in the TV industry is that every fucker in the world thinks that their TV show is more important than everyone else. This means that appealing to common sense is met with derision and if you try to tell them they have to wait they will hit you with some shit like “But Oprah’s waiting!!!!!!!”.

Fuck Oprah! Fuck NBC! Fuck CNN! Fuck CBS! Fuck ‘em all!

TV is not brain surgery. The patient will not die if Jerry Springer has to wait a little longer to interview Cleatus T. Judd III.

I really hate self-importance and anyone who is rude to Me on the phone is immediately dumped to the back of the queue. One of the few good things about being a grunt in the TV industry is that even the biggest director still needs his techs to bail him out when the
Shit hits the fan. Never bite the hand that feeds you.

Oh god… switch my brain off please……….