"Cuts Activists in Betrayed by Cops Shocker!"
The Humanity!
Members of the group "UK Uncut" were licking their wounds recently after being tricked by police, activists claim. After hanging about casually in Fortnum and Mason singing songs, the group of between 150 and 200 activists were asked to leave by the police. The group alledges that the Met promised them a safe release, citing their peaceful sit in as enough to let them go.
The group then claims it was tricked, diverted outside and arrested by cops who were reported to have said, "Of course we'll let you go, to the police station!" This witticism was not enough for the protestors, who thought it rather unfair that they'd been arrested when someone promised they wouldn't be.
Where does this leave us? This blogger is duly shocked to note that the six foot ball of rage dressed in black body armour and weilding a cugdel turned out to not be a nice guy. My faith in the police has been severely undermined by them having the audacity to lie to people.
Alright, srsly?
I feel for UK Uncut. I really do. They pretty much all got arrested and charged with aggravated tresspass, with an ease that would be not unlike shooting fish in a barrel. A small barrel. With a machinegun. But at the same time, there seems to have been so much naiveity rolling around it is almost shocking. You mean the police actually tricked you into coming outside to get arrested more easily? How could they be so cunning and underhand.
Methinks in future, if you are going to commit aggravated tresspass, it's probably better to be dragged out kicking and screaming and beaten into submission infront of the world's media. Perhaps that would shatter any remaining illusions about the nice guys in black who beat people with clubs for money.
Unfortunately, that's all I've got time for today. I know you're disappointed that I didn't go into a big serious political rant about the awesome carnage that unfolded over the weekend. I can practically hear the sighs of disappointment. Anyway, I'll be going to one of those job interviews. Those fancy things were you prostrate yourself in a dehumanizing way in order to get a job so that you can afford to live. Often thought extinct following the global economic meltdown in 2008.
And a shout out to a certain mate of mine who celebrated his birthday over the weekend, and told me with starry eyes - "It was great, I was down in London, five hundred thousand people turned out for it."
Thursday 31 March 2011
Friday 25 March 2011
Disturbing Dreams
Since the blog seems to have deteriorated into a mix of misanthropic scribblings about politics or despair, or both, I've decided to lighten the mood a little with a few comments on Morrowind. Although I've got roughly half an hour to describe why this is the best game of all time.
"Every event is preceeded by prophecy, but without the Hero, there is no event."
- The Underking.
Morrowind is home of the Dark Elves, or Dunmer, as they call themselves, in Bethesda's Elder Scrolls Series. It is the third game in the Elder Scrolls, and possibly the best game of all time, in my limited experience of RPG's. Let me break it down for you.
Morrowind is a great game, quite simply, because everyone it is so grim. You have to work hard, everyone argues with you, overcharges you for things and won't pay much for your loot. Unlike a lot of other RPG's, including Oblivion, Morrowind doesn't shelter you from the extreme realities of your position. You are a criminal, an Imperial spy, and an outsider trying to make his way in a world filled with Corpus zombies, ash storms, mushroom cities and Imperial occupation. Justice is short and predictably brutal, the religion is supersticious, jealous, and overzealous. Although there is competition from the Imperial Cult - human gods, and the Daedra - incomprehensible nightmare monsters and best described as daemons, the main religon of Morrowind, and the focus of both Morrowind and the Tribunal expansion's main quests are the living gods - Vivec, Almalexia, and Sotha Sil. The action takes place on the island of Vvardenfell, which is so far up the creek it isn't even funny.
Vvardenfell
Vvardenfell - which I just love to type out repeatedly, is an island within the Morrowind Provice. It is a huge thing, taking days to cross, fully free-roaming, and most importantly, free from most of the cliche's that affect games like Oblivion, Fable, and Dragonage. Morrorwind is an alien world. The variable weather affects include ash storms, the cities are created from giant mushrooms, the shells of huge crabs, and the more traditional 'western medievil' style we are used to. Also there are quite a few arabic influences, which basically gives the game a diversity of culture and interesting locales that other RPG's can only dream of. Favoured travel is either by teleportation, or riding on the backs of giant beetles, known as silt striders. Forget horses, there are none. They probably got eaten by the local fawna, which consists largely of carnivorous lizard-birds, overgrown insects and aggressive bipedal creatures that resemble big angry frogs.
Vvardenfell, as I've said, is in a lot of trouble. Dagoth Ur, enemy of the Tribunal and lord of the Forgotten House and the Tribe Unmourned, is using his power - drawn from the heart of a dead god, Lorkugan, to spread ash and blight storms across the island, driving people insane with nightmares and corrupting the flesh with incurable diseases. Our bastion of hope, the Tribunal, limit his influence through the construction and upkeep of a magical barrier, designed to prevent the worst of Dagoth's influences being unleashed on Morrorwind.
Morrowind itself is under Imperial occupation, something the locals largely resent. It is ruled by five Great Houses - Indoril, Dres, Hlallu, Redoran, and Telvanni. The latter three play the biggest role in the politics of Vvardenfell. There are three religions struggling for precedence - the waning power of the living gods, the Tribunal, the Nine Divines, and the Daedra. Throw in a legal assassins guild - the Morag Tong, opposition to Necromancy - which is quite prevalent - Slavery, racial tension and backstabbing, and Vvardenfell is seems ready to just about come apart at the seams, doomed to fall to the growing evil within the heart of the Island, that threatens a return to daemon worship, zombie horrors and genocide, just to name a few of it's negative points.
The Tribunal
The tribunal are the alleged heroes of the game. They have guided the Dunmer for many thousands of years, living gods granted their power in a mythical age before memory. But, unfortunately as you find out, the Tribunal aren't entirely with it. Vivec seems to be the nicest, living in his floating palace on Vvardenfell and generally doing his best to keep things at bay. Alamexia, the goddes of loving and healing, is of dubious morality, ruling over the city of Mournhold from her giant temple. Sotha Sil, the wisest of the three, has desended into depression and locked himself away in a place known as the Clockwork City.
Sleepers Awake
Not long into the game, your character undergoes a series of extremely disturbing nightmares, caused by the evil that flows from Red Mountain. At night strangers will approach you in the street, prophecying the coming apocalypse with the cryptic words:
"Red Mountain spews ash and blight! Sinners gather at the House! The time of the Incarnate is nigh!"
Suspicious strangers with dodgy goatee's hang outside the major population centers, watching and waiting as the cities begin to panic. The Tribunal Temple cracks down hard on dissenters, either those maddened by nightmares or despairing at their living gods apparent loss of power. Because the real secret is, the Tribunal draw their power from the same cursed artifact as Dagoth Ur. It is inherantly evil, corrupting them, and so long as it remains in control of their mortal enemy, the Tribunal cannot make their trip to the Heart of Lorkugan, to strengthen and retain their powers. Subsequently, they diminish, unable to stop the evil that is sweeping the land.
The Time of the Incarnate
It should become apparent, if you didn't know when you bought the game, that you are the Incarnate. The saviour of Morrowind and the reincarnation of the long dead Dunmer hero, Indoril Neravar. Neravar was around when the Tribunal were still mortal, and together they found the heart. Some say that Neravar died of his wounds sustained in the battle at Red Mountain, when the Dark Elves fought the Dwarves for control of Vvardenfell. Others, suggest a more sinister demise, stating that when Neravar refused to use the heart to gain godlike powers, he was murdered by his three closest friends - his counsellor, Vivec, his mage, Sotha Sil, and his wife, Alamexia. The Tribunal, who stole the power of Lorkugan for themselves.
The rest, as they say, is history.
So without delving too deeply into the story of Morrowind, it is probably the most fantastic game ever as regards RPG's, at least for it's time, if not for many years after. The voice acting is good, and the fact the game relies on most information as text based means that there is an awful amount of cool stuff you just don't get in voice acting, because it'd take far too long to say or do. The in-game books, which are readable, consist of the equvalent of 6 novels worth of writing - a minimum of 300,000 words. The creatures are alien, the settings are alien. Too many times we've played RPG's that consist of walking around fighting real and traditional mythical creatures, set against a backdrop of medievil Europe. A prime example of this is oblivion.
The graphics are decent, if not dated, although the physics and combat engines are almost non-existant. However, despite the graphical shortcomings, Morrowind has great playability. Decisions you make influence your ability to complete other quests. Some involve the deaths of characters, the stealing of objects, or just being outright disliked for joining the wrong faction. I'd love to go on, but the time is all but gone. So I'll conclude by saying that if you want to play an RPG, however dated, that is engaging, fun, and completely malicious, then you have to play Morrowind.
"Every event is preceeded by prophecy, but without the Hero, there is no event."
- The Underking.
Morrowind is home of the Dark Elves, or Dunmer, as they call themselves, in Bethesda's Elder Scrolls Series. It is the third game in the Elder Scrolls, and possibly the best game of all time, in my limited experience of RPG's. Let me break it down for you.
Morrowind is a great game, quite simply, because everyone it is so grim. You have to work hard, everyone argues with you, overcharges you for things and won't pay much for your loot. Unlike a lot of other RPG's, including Oblivion, Morrowind doesn't shelter you from the extreme realities of your position. You are a criminal, an Imperial spy, and an outsider trying to make his way in a world filled with Corpus zombies, ash storms, mushroom cities and Imperial occupation. Justice is short and predictably brutal, the religion is supersticious, jealous, and overzealous. Although there is competition from the Imperial Cult - human gods, and the Daedra - incomprehensible nightmare monsters and best described as daemons, the main religon of Morrowind, and the focus of both Morrowind and the Tribunal expansion's main quests are the living gods - Vivec, Almalexia, and Sotha Sil. The action takes place on the island of Vvardenfell, which is so far up the creek it isn't even funny.
Vvardenfell
Vvardenfell - which I just love to type out repeatedly, is an island within the Morrowind Provice. It is a huge thing, taking days to cross, fully free-roaming, and most importantly, free from most of the cliche's that affect games like Oblivion, Fable, and Dragonage. Morrorwind is an alien world. The variable weather affects include ash storms, the cities are created from giant mushrooms, the shells of huge crabs, and the more traditional 'western medievil' style we are used to. Also there are quite a few arabic influences, which basically gives the game a diversity of culture and interesting locales that other RPG's can only dream of. Favoured travel is either by teleportation, or riding on the backs of giant beetles, known as silt striders. Forget horses, there are none. They probably got eaten by the local fawna, which consists largely of carnivorous lizard-birds, overgrown insects and aggressive bipedal creatures that resemble big angry frogs.
Vvardenfell, as I've said, is in a lot of trouble. Dagoth Ur, enemy of the Tribunal and lord of the Forgotten House and the Tribe Unmourned, is using his power - drawn from the heart of a dead god, Lorkugan, to spread ash and blight storms across the island, driving people insane with nightmares and corrupting the flesh with incurable diseases. Our bastion of hope, the Tribunal, limit his influence through the construction and upkeep of a magical barrier, designed to prevent the worst of Dagoth's influences being unleashed on Morrorwind.
Morrowind itself is under Imperial occupation, something the locals largely resent. It is ruled by five Great Houses - Indoril, Dres, Hlallu, Redoran, and Telvanni. The latter three play the biggest role in the politics of Vvardenfell. There are three religions struggling for precedence - the waning power of the living gods, the Tribunal, the Nine Divines, and the Daedra. Throw in a legal assassins guild - the Morag Tong, opposition to Necromancy - which is quite prevalent - Slavery, racial tension and backstabbing, and Vvardenfell is seems ready to just about come apart at the seams, doomed to fall to the growing evil within the heart of the Island, that threatens a return to daemon worship, zombie horrors and genocide, just to name a few of it's negative points.
The Tribunal
The tribunal are the alleged heroes of the game. They have guided the Dunmer for many thousands of years, living gods granted their power in a mythical age before memory. But, unfortunately as you find out, the Tribunal aren't entirely with it. Vivec seems to be the nicest, living in his floating palace on Vvardenfell and generally doing his best to keep things at bay. Alamexia, the goddes of loving and healing, is of dubious morality, ruling over the city of Mournhold from her giant temple. Sotha Sil, the wisest of the three, has desended into depression and locked himself away in a place known as the Clockwork City.
Sleepers Awake
Not long into the game, your character undergoes a series of extremely disturbing nightmares, caused by the evil that flows from Red Mountain. At night strangers will approach you in the street, prophecying the coming apocalypse with the cryptic words:
"Red Mountain spews ash and blight! Sinners gather at the House! The time of the Incarnate is nigh!"
Suspicious strangers with dodgy goatee's hang outside the major population centers, watching and waiting as the cities begin to panic. The Tribunal Temple cracks down hard on dissenters, either those maddened by nightmares or despairing at their living gods apparent loss of power. Because the real secret is, the Tribunal draw their power from the same cursed artifact as Dagoth Ur. It is inherantly evil, corrupting them, and so long as it remains in control of their mortal enemy, the Tribunal cannot make their trip to the Heart of Lorkugan, to strengthen and retain their powers. Subsequently, they diminish, unable to stop the evil that is sweeping the land.
The Time of the Incarnate
It should become apparent, if you didn't know when you bought the game, that you are the Incarnate. The saviour of Morrowind and the reincarnation of the long dead Dunmer hero, Indoril Neravar. Neravar was around when the Tribunal were still mortal, and together they found the heart. Some say that Neravar died of his wounds sustained in the battle at Red Mountain, when the Dark Elves fought the Dwarves for control of Vvardenfell. Others, suggest a more sinister demise, stating that when Neravar refused to use the heart to gain godlike powers, he was murdered by his three closest friends - his counsellor, Vivec, his mage, Sotha Sil, and his wife, Alamexia. The Tribunal, who stole the power of Lorkugan for themselves.
The rest, as they say, is history.
So without delving too deeply into the story of Morrowind, it is probably the most fantastic game ever as regards RPG's, at least for it's time, if not for many years after. The voice acting is good, and the fact the game relies on most information as text based means that there is an awful amount of cool stuff you just don't get in voice acting, because it'd take far too long to say or do. The in-game books, which are readable, consist of the equvalent of 6 novels worth of writing - a minimum of 300,000 words. The creatures are alien, the settings are alien. Too many times we've played RPG's that consist of walking around fighting real and traditional mythical creatures, set against a backdrop of medievil Europe. A prime example of this is oblivion.
The graphics are decent, if not dated, although the physics and combat engines are almost non-existant. However, despite the graphical shortcomings, Morrowind has great playability. Decisions you make influence your ability to complete other quests. Some involve the deaths of characters, the stealing of objects, or just being outright disliked for joining the wrong faction. I'd love to go on, but the time is all but gone. So I'll conclude by saying that if you want to play an RPG, however dated, that is engaging, fun, and completely malicious, then you have to play Morrowind.
Thursday 24 March 2011
An Optimistic View
I've been meaning to write this blog post for quite some time, but like so many things in life, my enthusiasm has contracted a vicious and incurable disease and has gone terminal. The result is that I've really had to go to town looking for a reason to fight mundanity.
Which, neatly, brings me on to my latest doom-spiral. The world is not grim enough. I hear you choke on your Middle Class breakfast cereal. Yes, you, oh conscienced reader! You whom compassionately sees so much horror in the world and wags their head accordingly. Perhaps you even give to charity. Perhaps not.
The fact of the matter is, the world isn't horrible enough. Which is to say not that the world isn't a detestable mire of loathing and pain, but that it has not sank to the heinous depth of embracing the sheer futility of life as we know it. Simply put, it is just not abhorrent. It is, compared to many things, from futuristic dystopias to feudal serfdom, relatively nice. And that is the most terrible thing about life in the West. It is bearable.
Now, you might think this is a bit of a strange thing to say, so let me elaborate before you jab your fingers in yourears eyes and stop reading.
I've read Orwell's Nineteen Eighty Four, as has any privalged young scholar. It is a classic. A portrait of a dystopian universe ruled by oppression and loathing. If you want an image of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face - forever. The entire point of Nineteen Eighty Four is that it is not necessarily the opposite of what we have today, but that it is unbearable.
Lately, it may have occurred to you when you woke up this morning that the world isn't exactly a horrendous Orwellian dictatorship. We get social security, the right to vote, and generally are left pretty much alone to run our consumerist lives in a happy bubble of ignorance. And that is what is so annoying. Because the system is so corrupt, so utterly worthless and devoid of any basic level of human decency, it continues, because it just falls off the radar. It's just that little bit off our consciences. Alright, so the world isn't perfect, but it's pretty good to me. We shake our heads at injustice, and marvel at the amount of people who die from treatable diseases. We'll make jokes about natural disasters and mourn the deaths of celebrities as if god himself had just given up and shuffled off the coil. But nothing really gets to us.
And thus, it continues. Forever.
So, what I propose is an unbearable life of unimaginable fear, suffering and pain. It wouldn't be popular, but we could market it well. Perhaps as the 'Sub-Sarahan experience', where willing protaganists scratch a living out of the ruined earth whilst contracting all sorts of horrible plagues and being shot at with AK's. They then walk five miles to get water, only to have it stolen by an opportunistic camel at the last possible moment. A genuine glimpse of hell. We could do a package deal that includes being involved in an airport bombing en-route, or a Family Ticket, where kids stay-and-play for free, provided they risk abduction by human traffikers.
Not only would this be an act of temporal contrition for those blessed with religious persuasion - purging us of our sin in a Se7enesque scenario - but more importantly it would remind people of the need to change what's going on. At the moment we can have many stand alone experiences of just how utterly meaningless we are. We can get watercannoned, detained without trial, ruled by dubious elections and the interests of people who aren't us, but that's all ok. That's something that happens to people on the news. The watercannons and the detentions, and the bombs, the preventable diseases, and the jobless, hopeless, quagmire of despair. Generally speaking, people only act when something affects them personally.
Then, when it gets too much, it all kicks off.
So here's to our horrifying, pointless future! Long live Orwell, and his vision of our perfect destiny. Lets lose all the pretenses of freedom. We don't need them anymore. Embrace the shackles of a dead world! Revel in the futility of life!
Which, neatly, brings me on to my latest doom-spiral. The world is not grim enough. I hear you choke on your Middle Class breakfast cereal. Yes, you, oh conscienced reader! You whom compassionately sees so much horror in the world and wags their head accordingly. Perhaps you even give to charity. Perhaps not.
The fact of the matter is, the world isn't horrible enough. Which is to say not that the world isn't a detestable mire of loathing and pain, but that it has not sank to the heinous depth of embracing the sheer futility of life as we know it. Simply put, it is just not abhorrent. It is, compared to many things, from futuristic dystopias to feudal serfdom, relatively nice. And that is the most terrible thing about life in the West. It is bearable.
 |
| A bright future. A shining hope. |
Now, you might think this is a bit of a strange thing to say, so let me elaborate before you jab your fingers in your
I've read Orwell's Nineteen Eighty Four, as has any privalged young scholar. It is a classic. A portrait of a dystopian universe ruled by oppression and loathing. If you want an image of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face - forever. The entire point of Nineteen Eighty Four is that it is not necessarily the opposite of what we have today, but that it is unbearable.
Lately, it may have occurred to you when you woke up this morning that the world isn't exactly a horrendous Orwellian dictatorship. We get social security, the right to vote, and generally are left pretty much alone to run our consumerist lives in a happy bubble of ignorance. And that is what is so annoying. Because the system is so corrupt, so utterly worthless and devoid of any basic level of human decency, it continues, because it just falls off the radar. It's just that little bit off our consciences. Alright, so the world isn't perfect, but it's pretty good to me. We shake our heads at injustice, and marvel at the amount of people who die from treatable diseases. We'll make jokes about natural disasters and mourn the deaths of celebrities as if god himself had just given up and shuffled off the coil. But nothing really gets to us.
And thus, it continues. Forever.
So, what I propose is an unbearable life of unimaginable fear, suffering and pain. It wouldn't be popular, but we could market it well. Perhaps as the 'Sub-Sarahan experience', where willing protaganists scratch a living out of the ruined earth whilst contracting all sorts of horrible plagues and being shot at with AK's. They then walk five miles to get water, only to have it stolen by an opportunistic camel at the last possible moment. A genuine glimpse of hell. We could do a package deal that includes being involved in an airport bombing en-route, or a Family Ticket, where kids stay-and-play for free, provided they risk abduction by human traffikers.
Not only would this be an act of temporal contrition for those blessed with religious persuasion - purging us of our sin in a Se7enesque scenario - but more importantly it would remind people of the need to change what's going on. At the moment we can have many stand alone experiences of just how utterly meaningless we are. We can get watercannoned, detained without trial, ruled by dubious elections and the interests of people who aren't us, but that's all ok. That's something that happens to people on the news. The watercannons and the detentions, and the bombs, the preventable diseases, and the jobless, hopeless, quagmire of despair. Generally speaking, people only act when something affects them personally.
Then, when it gets too much, it all kicks off.
So here's to our horrifying, pointless future! Long live Orwell, and his vision of our perfect destiny. Lets lose all the pretenses of freedom. We don't need them anymore. Embrace the shackles of a dead world! Revel in the futility of life!
Monday 21 March 2011
Whatever Will Be...
We are bombing Libya and stuff.
Now, this has caused a raging discourse across the Internet (yeah, not just the Internet, but whatever), which has come down to a lot of griping and nit-picking and various this and thats. But it is a messy issue, that has been entered into with a great deal of speed and not a lot of planning. Let me outline some things.
1) UN Resolution 1973
"Authorizes Member States that have notified the Secretary-General, acting nationally or through regional organizations or arrangements, and acting in cooperation with the Secretary-General, to take all necessary measures notwithstanding paragraph 9 or resolution 1970 (2011), to protect civilians and civilian populated areas under threat of attack in the Libyan Arab Jamahiriya, including Benghazi, while excluding a foreign occupation force of any form on any part of Libyan territory, and requests the Member States concerned to inform the Secretary-General immediately of the measures they take pursuant to the authorization conferred by this paragraph..."
The problem with UN Resolution 1973 is that it allows for attacks against all ground targets that can be reasonably assumed to endanger civilians. This is essentially taking sides in a civil war. Now, as regards endangering civilians go, it has been mentioned that civilians will not cease to be endangered until Colonel Gadaffi is no longer in power. This is not an unfair point to make.
However, the remit does not extend as far as regime change, and the Arab League are playing dumb. A no-fly-zone, to them, means you can't fly in it. It does not mean you can drop hundreds of pounds of high explosives on people you dislike.
2) Regime Change
As stated, the remit does not apply to regime change, but some people accept that it is impossible to actually protect civilians since Gadaffi is a problem. This is a really big issue, and one that is messy and horrible. I'd love to see Gadaffi gone, but our remit does not, and should not, allow for regime change. Instead, what we're seeing is some Libyan's attempting regime change, and we are supporting those people by our actions of protecting them.
3) Oil
I saw this on Jody's blog, someone who I had a bit of time for, and still do. But lots of people in the left have started waxing lyrical about oil again. I think this shows a lack of analytic depth. Why does everything have to come down to economics purported by evil corporate capitalists. The world is not so black and white. Just as the left is convinced - as am I - that their great ideas are right, so are Liberal Democracies. They are not inherently evil, scheming Bond villains. They genuinely have a problem with people getting killed by their governments, but on the macro level they have to balance this between their realist, messy and not always pleasant concerns in International Relations. What we are seeing in Libya is someone trying to do what they think is the right thing. Oil has very little to do with it. Indeed, the price of oil has risen as a result of the no fly zone.
I have no doubt that someone somewhere is rubbing their hands together and cackling with glee, but we need to get away from chalking everything up to economic concerns. It is far larger, messier, and realistic than grabbing a few barrels of crude. People have made comments along the lines that other pro-democracy groups will not be supported in other nations. Of course they won't. But that is realpolitik winning over Idealism, it is not because these countries have nothing worth stealing. What we see in Libya is Idealism winning over realpolitik, something that rarely happens and is always tenuous at best. Remember, the international community does not like Libya very much, although it has attempted to engage with it, it is still a Pariah state. It has few friends in any sphere of influence.
What we are seeing in Libya, I think, is closer to Afghanistan in 2001. Many countries invaded Afghanistan or contributed directly or indirectly to supporting such an intervention, because it really had no friends and was easy to blame. The same is true of Libya, and if waves of unrest were not sweeping the Middle East, I'm sure the Arab League would be more in favour of regime change than they are currently. People need to realise that Libya is not Iraq, and even the Iraq war was based on realist security concerns, rather than oil. The sooner we can all stop harping off about Imperialism and resource grabbing, the sooner we can grasp the reality of the situation and help the people involved.
Jody also mentioned revolutionary armies invading from Tunisia and Egypt, fresh from their own revolutions. This is idealistic posturing as well. These were liberal revolutions, not workers ones. There isn't the same level of solidarity or idealism. On the surface of Tunisia and Egypt, I don't think a whole lot changed in the way people feel about things. It's just they don't get shot for feeling them anymore. There is no inclination to carry their freedoms further. They are just people sick of being abused, and now that has stopped, they have no reason to go looking for another fight.
4) To Me
Anyway, I don't think what happens in Libya makes a colossal difference. What happens in the Middle East, to me, doesn't matter. I might be being a bit morbid, nihilistic or whatever, but they are liberal democracies now. They're not really any closer to the utopia we're aiming for than they were before. Sure, it makes a huge difference to the people who live there, but in the grand scheme of things, why is everyone getting so excited. I'm adopting the 'Hey Sera Sera' defence. Whatever will be will be, and getting angry over a lack of analytical depth and intervening Western nations is quite frankly, pointless.
*And the formatting is gone. Somehow. As a result of the UN bit I copy pasted. Damn you, United Nations.
Now, this has caused a raging discourse across the Internet (yeah, not just the Internet, but whatever), which has come down to a lot of griping and nit-picking and various this and thats. But it is a messy issue, that has been entered into with a great deal of speed and not a lot of planning. Let me outline some things.
1) UN Resolution 1973
"Authorizes Member States that have notified the Secretary-General, acting nationally or through regional organizations or arrangements, and acting in cooperation with the Secretary-General, to take all necessary measures notwithstanding paragraph 9 or resolution 1970 (2011), to protect civilians and civilian populated areas under threat of attack in the Libyan Arab Jamahiriya, including Benghazi, while excluding a foreign occupation force of any form on any part of Libyan territory, and requests the Member States concerned to inform the Secretary-General immediately of the measures they take pursuant to the authorization conferred by this paragraph..."
The problem with UN Resolution 1973 is that it allows for attacks against all ground targets that can be reasonably assumed to endanger civilians. This is essentially taking sides in a civil war. Now, as regards endangering civilians go, it has been mentioned that civilians will not cease to be endangered until Colonel Gadaffi is no longer in power. This is not an unfair point to make.
However, the remit does not extend as far as regime change, and the Arab League are playing dumb. A no-fly-zone, to them, means you can't fly in it. It does not mean you can drop hundreds of pounds of high explosives on people you dislike.
2) Regime Change
As stated, the remit does not apply to regime change, but some people accept that it is impossible to actually protect civilians since Gadaffi is a problem. This is a really big issue, and one that is messy and horrible. I'd love to see Gadaffi gone, but our remit does not, and should not, allow for regime change. Instead, what we're seeing is some Libyan's attempting regime change, and we are supporting those people by our actions of protecting them.
3) Oil
I saw this on Jody's blog, someone who I had a bit of time for, and still do. But lots of people in the left have started waxing lyrical about oil again. I think this shows a lack of analytic depth. Why does everything have to come down to economics purported by evil corporate capitalists. The world is not so black and white. Just as the left is convinced - as am I - that their great ideas are right, so are Liberal Democracies. They are not inherently evil, scheming Bond villains. They genuinely have a problem with people getting killed by their governments, but on the macro level they have to balance this between their realist, messy and not always pleasant concerns in International Relations. What we are seeing in Libya is someone trying to do what they think is the right thing. Oil has very little to do with it. Indeed, the price of oil has risen as a result of the no fly zone.
I have no doubt that someone somewhere is rubbing their hands together and cackling with glee, but we need to get away from chalking everything up to economic concerns. It is far larger, messier, and realistic than grabbing a few barrels of crude. People have made comments along the lines that other pro-democracy groups will not be supported in other nations. Of course they won't. But that is realpolitik winning over Idealism, it is not because these countries have nothing worth stealing. What we see in Libya is Idealism winning over realpolitik, something that rarely happens and is always tenuous at best. Remember, the international community does not like Libya very much, although it has attempted to engage with it, it is still a Pariah state. It has few friends in any sphere of influence.
What we are seeing in Libya, I think, is closer to Afghanistan in 2001. Many countries invaded Afghanistan or contributed directly or indirectly to supporting such an intervention, because it really had no friends and was easy to blame. The same is true of Libya, and if waves of unrest were not sweeping the Middle East, I'm sure the Arab League would be more in favour of regime change than they are currently. People need to realise that Libya is not Iraq, and even the Iraq war was based on realist security concerns, rather than oil. The sooner we can all stop harping off about Imperialism and resource grabbing, the sooner we can grasp the reality of the situation and help the people involved.
Jody also mentioned revolutionary armies invading from Tunisia and Egypt, fresh from their own revolutions. This is idealistic posturing as well. These were liberal revolutions, not workers ones. There isn't the same level of solidarity or idealism. On the surface of Tunisia and Egypt, I don't think a whole lot changed in the way people feel about things. It's just they don't get shot for feeling them anymore. There is no inclination to carry their freedoms further. They are just people sick of being abused, and now that has stopped, they have no reason to go looking for another fight.
4) To Me
Anyway, I don't think what happens in Libya makes a colossal difference. What happens in the Middle East, to me, doesn't matter. I might be being a bit morbid, nihilistic or whatever, but they are liberal democracies now. They're not really any closer to the utopia we're aiming for than they were before. Sure, it makes a huge difference to the people who live there, but in the grand scheme of things, why is everyone getting so excited. I'm adopting the 'Hey Sera Sera' defence. Whatever will be will be, and getting angry over a lack of analytical depth and intervening Western nations is quite frankly, pointless.
*And the formatting is gone. Somehow. As a result of the UN bit I copy pasted. Damn you, United Nations.
Sunday 20 March 2011
Culpable Responsibility
You've all seen the newscasts. The ones with hordes of frothing, bearded men, waving burning flags, burning effigies, and just about anything else that's flammable. We in the west have done some injustice, percieved or otherwise, and everyone is out setting fire to things and chanting "Death to America" or something. And up to a point, you can dismissively get away with some level of believing that they're actually crazy. It's a popular view that we hold. They're just angry people, and we've done nothing wrong.
Less popular is the notion that we, somehow, somewhere along the line, might have actually done something to hack these guys off. But before we get too political, lets stop. Forget the evils of Capitalism, or discussions on Culutral Imperialism or overlly agressive laser-guided foreign policy. I postulate that the problem arises not from these diffuse and politically charged topics, but entirely from really bad Reality TV shows.
I was subjected to Wife Swap USA on Saturday, and basically it was back to back hours of prime Al Qaeda recruitment film. By the time we got halfway through the second episode, the only thing on my mind was how quickly I'd be able to get my hands on tonnes of high explosives and completely level the protagonists houses. There are few things more rage inducing than annoying people on Reality TV shows.
There are many, many, many people in this world who have unwittingly purportated this level of carnage. From 'My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding', though 'Wifeswap', 'Come Dine with Me' and all the way to horrors like 'My Super Sweet...' 'Britain's Got Strictly Come X Factor On Ice', 'Tool Academy' and 'The Only Way is Essex', television has descended into a mire of shameless self promotion by ego crazed narcassists desperate to degrade themselves before millions. Some channels are dedicated to it. Almost the entire Channel 4 schedual is a monument to intellectual suicide and conclusively proves that the world will end on the 21st of December 2012.
At the forefront of this catestropic cultural meltdown and leading us boldly towards the promised apocalypse are shows that are simply dedicated to keeping pointless organ-horders famous to remind us all about how meaningless we really are. Even watching people like Jordan or Carol Thatcher gobble down Kangaroo testicals in a rat infested jungle is not enough to make me like the show or feel any less like a waste of meat. I mean, one of those people is famous for breast implants, and the other is famous for being the daughter of the most evil sociopathic robo-politician to ever plague humanity. They keep up their profile by eating cockroaches. It's enough to make you scream 'How pointless is my life?' from the top of Northbridge flyover, which offers about four seconds and three hundred feet of sweet release onto the paving stones below.
The largest problem facing any sane person attempting to watch television is that it never seems to end. Currently featured shows include 'Keeping Up with the Kardashian's', which could be mistaken as a documentary chronicling the polt evolution of Star Trek aliens, but instead is committed to following rich people around as they trample everyone under their feet.'Katie' is a show entirely about Katie Price, is enough to make anyone with more than two braincells hang themselves with their own intestines. The most recent one forcing its way onto my television is 'Riches to Rags'.
Riches to Rags follows Lily Allen on 'the highs, and tragic lows' of opening up a fashion shop selling overpriced detritus to starry eyed women so abused by television they've gotten Stockholm Syndrome and can only express unholy adulation at being offered the chance to exchange their money for random tat. It shows thrilling shots of the celebrity becoming stressed, squeezing out a few tears and declaring 'I never knew it would be so hard!', which only reinforces the massive void between TV and real life.
So maybe that's the biggest problem with Reality TV. It isn't real. At least, you can hope it isn't real, and close your eyes and pretend there are not people in the world like them. It's called the 'Hawthrone effect' in sociology but is probably better known as the 'Bastard effect' to you and me. Subjects modify their behaviour since they know they are being observed and studied. In other words, they become dickheads, people who've had all their personality and intellect emptied out of them like a Halloween pumpkin by a souless media ice-cream scoop.
So there we go, culpable responsibility. Collectively, we are to blame for this nightmare earth we've created. The next time you see anyone kick off about society, don't dismiss them as crazy psychopaths straight away. Instead, sit down, turn on the television, and see if after ten minutes of watching a pregnant Kerry Katona complain about being fat, you don't want to go out and drown the world in fire.
Less popular is the notion that we, somehow, somewhere along the line, might have actually done something to hack these guys off. But before we get too political, lets stop. Forget the evils of Capitalism, or discussions on Culutral Imperialism or overlly agressive laser-guided foreign policy. I postulate that the problem arises not from these diffuse and politically charged topics, but entirely from really bad Reality TV shows.
I was subjected to Wife Swap USA on Saturday, and basically it was back to back hours of prime Al Qaeda recruitment film. By the time we got halfway through the second episode, the only thing on my mind was how quickly I'd be able to get my hands on tonnes of high explosives and completely level the protagonists houses. There are few things more rage inducing than annoying people on Reality TV shows.
 | |||||||||||||
| "After a particularly agitating episode of 'My Super Sweet 16', people demand vengeance on Kirsty and her doting rich parents." |
At the forefront of this catestropic cultural meltdown and leading us boldly towards the promised apocalypse are shows that are simply dedicated to keeping pointless organ-horders famous to remind us all about how meaningless we really are. Even watching people like Jordan or Carol Thatcher gobble down Kangaroo testicals in a rat infested jungle is not enough to make me like the show or feel any less like a waste of meat. I mean, one of those people is famous for breast implants, and the other is famous for being the daughter of the most evil sociopathic robo-politician to ever plague humanity. They keep up their profile by eating cockroaches. It's enough to make you scream 'How pointless is my life?' from the top of Northbridge flyover, which offers about four seconds and three hundred feet of sweet release onto the paving stones below.
The largest problem facing any sane person attempting to watch television is that it never seems to end. Currently featured shows include 'Keeping Up with the Kardashian's', which could be mistaken as a documentary chronicling the polt evolution of Star Trek aliens, but instead is committed to following rich people around as they trample everyone under their feet.'Katie' is a show entirely about Katie Price, is enough to make anyone with more than two braincells hang themselves with their own intestines. The most recent one forcing its way onto my television is 'Riches to Rags'.
Riches to Rags follows Lily Allen on 'the highs, and tragic lows' of opening up a fashion shop selling overpriced detritus to starry eyed women so abused by television they've gotten Stockholm Syndrome and can only express unholy adulation at being offered the chance to exchange their money for random tat. It shows thrilling shots of the celebrity becoming stressed, squeezing out a few tears and declaring 'I never knew it would be so hard!', which only reinforces the massive void between TV and real life.
So maybe that's the biggest problem with Reality TV. It isn't real. At least, you can hope it isn't real, and close your eyes and pretend there are not people in the world like them. It's called the 'Hawthrone effect' in sociology but is probably better known as the 'Bastard effect' to you and me. Subjects modify their behaviour since they know they are being observed and studied. In other words, they become dickheads, people who've had all their personality and intellect emptied out of them like a Halloween pumpkin by a souless media ice-cream scoop.
So there we go, culpable responsibility. Collectively, we are to blame for this nightmare earth we've created. The next time you see anyone kick off about society, don't dismiss them as crazy psychopaths straight away. Instead, sit down, turn on the television, and see if after ten minutes of watching a pregnant Kerry Katona complain about being fat, you don't want to go out and drown the world in fire.
Tuesday 15 March 2011
No Cure for the Catch 22 Blues
Whew, so it's not going well for posting this month. In fact, it's not going well for anyone really, especially if you're Lybian or Japanese, in which case you're probably not too interested in browsing blogs right now.
Catch 22:
def. 1./ a logical paradox arising from a situation in which an individual needs something that can only be acquired by not being in that very situation; therefore, the acquisition of this thing becomes logically impossible.
def. 2./ abandon hope, all ye who enter here
So there are a lot of things I could blog about, like why Morrowind is so fantastic and much better than the other games I haven't played, or why the Japanese earthquake is not as bad as the impending Japanese reactor meltdown and the obliteration of all life on earth, or why everything, eventually, comes back to goblins, but I won't. I'm going to post about job hunting, and why it is impossible to 'hunt' for a job, unless you go out skewering current employees with an obsidian javelin.
Anyone who is not a banker or a member of any number of other horrible soulless jobs dedicated only the pursuit of hording wealth like dragon might realize that there is a recession on. Everything is getting a bit more expensive, everyone is getting a bit poorer, and everyone could lose their job. Well, I use everyone in a loose term, of course.
The problem is, there are barely any jobs left to apply for, and each of them require a level of skill or machinelike monotony that is not genuinely achievable unless you were born without soul. Which leads to my next point. Any jobs - of which there are few - all require previous experience. And if your qualifications say that you have all wisdom, all knowledge, transendant grace and unlimited supernatural powers you still won't be able to get that job in admin because, despite inventing the computer, database and the history of written language, you've never done an admin job before, so you can go hang.
This is the Catch 22.
It's not for a lack of trying to turn myself in an emotionless brick ensnared to the servitude of our dark masters. I have positively embraced all the cult-like aspects of job hunting, including the jobcenter, websites, CV handing out and reading the local papers. In fact, short of dressing in sackcloth and screaming my curses to the heavens, I've done just about all I can do get a job, even thought most of them I don't even want. I haven't gone as far as this desperado, though, credit to him. Companies like that kind of appeal. It shows commitment, innovation, an ability to stand out, and most importantly, complete and utter desperation and a willingness to degrade oneself publicly in the pursuit of work.
Maybe I should run into a bank with a shotgun, waving it in the air and screaming "Employ me! I know how to use computers!"
Example: On the RadioAire jobsite, there are 296 jobs listed in the West Yorkshire region.
1) Teacher of English
2) Teacher of Art
3) Telesales Executive
4) Protection Advisor - lulwhut?
5) Field Sales Engineer
6) PI Soliciter
7) Fitness Instructor
8) Learning Disabilities Support Team Manager
9) Assistance Compliance Officer
10) Porter
All of which but Porter, I would not be able to do, or rather, I would be able to do, but I need some more paper to prove that I can do it, I have paid to do it, and I am allowed to do it. And experience. So I'll have to go for the mundane stuff shovelling job, which would be preferable to any number of smug nauseating office jobs filled with plastic people anyway. I click on the Porter job, it is in Leeds, a forty minute train journey away. I can't do it, though, because you need previous experience in furniture removal. Previous experience in furniture removal? I mean, it's not like transporting a sedated rhino which could, at any point, awake enraged, break free of it's chains and maul you and the driver to death in an orgy of B-movie violence. Revenge of the Rhinocerous, they would call it. Only it wouldn't happen.
I guess I'll have to go back to dragging my knuckles along the floor, staring dimly at the desk in front of me and wondering exactly how I was going to get it closer to the plug sockets. Oh, the woeful lack of experience. Now if only I knew how to type.
Catch 22:
def. 1./ a logical paradox arising from a situation in which an individual needs something that can only be acquired by not being in that very situation; therefore, the acquisition of this thing becomes logically impossible.
def. 2./ abandon hope, all ye who enter here
So there are a lot of things I could blog about, like why Morrowind is so fantastic and much better than the other games I haven't played, or why the Japanese earthquake is not as bad as the impending Japanese reactor meltdown and the obliteration of all life on earth, or why everything, eventually, comes back to goblins, but I won't. I'm going to post about job hunting, and why it is impossible to 'hunt' for a job, unless you go out skewering current employees with an obsidian javelin.
 |
| "I say, Humphrey, look at the silly little prole!" |
Anyone who is not a banker or a member of any number of other horrible soulless jobs dedicated only the pursuit of hording wealth like dragon might realize that there is a recession on. Everything is getting a bit more expensive, everyone is getting a bit poorer, and everyone could lose their job. Well, I use everyone in a loose term, of course.
The problem is, there are barely any jobs left to apply for, and each of them require a level of skill or machinelike monotony that is not genuinely achievable unless you were born without soul. Which leads to my next point. Any jobs - of which there are few - all require previous experience. And if your qualifications say that you have all wisdom, all knowledge, transendant grace and unlimited supernatural powers you still won't be able to get that job in admin because, despite inventing the computer, database and the history of written language, you've never done an admin job before, so you can go hang.
This is the Catch 22.
It's not for a lack of trying to turn myself in an emotionless brick ensnared to the servitude of our dark masters. I have positively embraced all the cult-like aspects of job hunting, including the jobcenter, websites, CV handing out and reading the local papers. In fact, short of dressing in sackcloth and screaming my curses to the heavens, I've done just about all I can do get a job, even thought most of them I don't even want. I haven't gone as far as this desperado, though, credit to him. Companies like that kind of appeal. It shows commitment, innovation, an ability to stand out, and most importantly, complete and utter desperation and a willingness to degrade oneself publicly in the pursuit of work.
Maybe I should run into a bank with a shotgun, waving it in the air and screaming "Employ me! I know how to use computers!"
Example: On the RadioAire jobsite, there are 296 jobs listed in the West Yorkshire region.
1) Teacher of English
2) Teacher of Art
3) Telesales Executive
4) Protection Advisor - lulwhut?
5) Field Sales Engineer
6) PI Soliciter
7) Fitness Instructor
8) Learning Disabilities Support Team Manager
9) Assistance Compliance Officer
10) Porter
All of which but Porter, I would not be able to do, or rather, I would be able to do, but I need some more paper to prove that I can do it, I have paid to do it, and I am allowed to do it. And experience. So I'll have to go for the mundane stuff shovelling job, which would be preferable to any number of smug nauseating office jobs filled with plastic people anyway. I click on the Porter job, it is in Leeds, a forty minute train journey away. I can't do it, though, because you need previous experience in furniture removal. Previous experience in furniture removal? I mean, it's not like transporting a sedated rhino which could, at any point, awake enraged, break free of it's chains and maul you and the driver to death in an orgy of B-movie violence. Revenge of the Rhinocerous, they would call it. Only it wouldn't happen.
I guess I'll have to go back to dragging my knuckles along the floor, staring dimly at the desk in front of me and wondering exactly how I was going to get it closer to the plug sockets. Oh, the woeful lack of experience. Now if only I knew how to type.
Tuesday 8 March 2011
Worn is the New Wear
I was going to do a post about how awesome Morrowind is, or how my dystopian present is strangely not dystopian enough, or why Gok Wan would be 'first against the wall', or any number of rage-fuelled, hate bent topics that make me seem like a left-wing contemporary of a Daily Mail columnist. But instead, rather bizarrely, I've decided to write about fashion.
I'm not pretending to know anything about fashion. My current dress-code consists of wearing a pirate hat as frequently as possible while dressing like someone who desperately wants to be a washed up rock-star but could only manage to look washed up, which is about as close as the word 'wash' could probably be applied in a sentence about me. I'm not complaining about the fact that I look like Michael Jackson after he'd fallen hair-first into a vat of lard and had the patchy remains of a dead raccoon plastered to his face. To quote Neil Gaiman's Sandman: "I cannot help what I am".
Recently it came to my attention that I need some new clothes. I don't know where this compulsion comes from, since there is nothing particularly wrong with the ones I'm wearing. But insidiously, like an evil wizard, it whispers to me as a voice inside my head - "Get new clothes! Get new clothes! Kill your friends! Get new clothes!" I tried alcohol, but that only made the screaming go away.
Anyway, long story short, looks like dressing like a hobo who just won big at a charity raffle is the new 'recession look' of 2011. I bought some new boots recently, for an amount of money I would not divulge but would probably buy a town in China. They are quite trendy, you know, as boots go. They've got that stressed leather look that means you don't know if your shoes are black, brown, or covered in crap. They fall open stylishly for that roguish - I'm too lazy to tie my laces - look. The soles are made out of wood and check it, they actually have nails hammered into them. Real nails, really hammered, with the overall effect when walking being somewhat akin to Darth Vader in clogs.
This is not the only dizzying height of well worn fashion that seems to be gripping our nation. I was in one of everyone's favourite high street fashion retailers the other day, because someone else wanted to spend some money that in a round about way didn't actually belong to them. Apart from the indecently exposed mannequins that were thrusting their black and cream plastic nubs in my face from some badly fitted jeans, the experience was fairly mundane. I hate clothes shopping. It reminds me that I have no money, I don't look like everyone else, and that in poor lighting conditions I could be mistaken for Swamp Thing. I digress.
What I did notice - apart from the dazzling array of plastic genitalia that only reinforced my sense of inadequacy - is that most of the clothes on offer have that look. You know *that* look. It falls somewhere between "Hi, I'm cool because all my stuff is like, well travelled, like Indiana Jones" and "Please Sir, I want some more." There were pre-ripped jeans or pre-stressed jeans with faded fibres. There was a cool shapeless T-Shirt like the one someone's girlfriend would wear to bed if they weren't physically and emotionally revolting. The kind of T-Shirt you wore to death as a teenager until it lost all semblance of being decent. The only thing it's highstreet doppelganger is missing is cigarette burns and a lingering smell of body-odour and crushed optimism.
There were hats, purposefully bent out of shape. Shirt collar's were turned up and ruffled for that 'rough and ready'* look. Hoodies were crinkled like they'd just come out of the washing machine and sun-dried in a ball on someone's patio. Shoelaces weren't tied, jeans hung low, and the belts looked like they'd been stolen from a festival. I'm not particularly stressed out about this look. It suits some people. And by some people I mean people I actually like. The average guy in the street looks like a man who just spent two hundred pounds to look like a world weary gap-year student whose life has degenerated into a downward spiral of alcohol abuse, prostitution and debt.
There is still the vintage look going around too. People with giant retro cameras round their neck that doesn’t actually work. Brightly coloured oddments make up the rest of the outfit, including berets, flasher-macs, and boots that you wouldn't vomit in. Fashion is a strange world, I guess, but I still feel the compulsion to consume. It's like an insatiable hunger that'll probably end with a baffling spate of hammer-murders and shots of windswept desolate Yorkshire moors.
Good news for people who are finding the recession difficult to cope with, though. You can still look like everyone else for a fraction of the cost. Get those filthy festival shoes repaired. Don that 80’s belt you’ve been afraid to wear for fear of reprisal. Tie your jumper between two cars and pull it threadbare. Don’t worry about the hole in the seat of your jeans, because the point of jeans is to show your arse, be it from badly fitting belts that let them swing low, or tight skinnies that cut of circulation in your legs and force everything upward like a tube of toothpaste. Don’t shave for a few days so you can have that designer stubble. Why spend hard earned denari on hair products if all you want is a bedhead look? Just don’t comb.
Remember, looking like a like a failed art-student who hasn’t eaten for three days is the new hype. Worn is the new wear. If it looks bad, it looks good. If it looks untidy, is screams “Have me!” If you’re naturally unable to find that look yourself, go into any quality fashion retailer and pay hundreds of pounds for clothes you could find on cadaver in the sewer. Stay tuned for the 2012 look featuring: The collapse of ordered society and our descent into feral monsters picking at the post-apocalyptic remains of civilization.*
* Reads: There is a good chance I'm a prick
* I imagine this look involves body armour, coats with lots of pockets, matted hair, big shoes and punk influences. Think Fallout 3.
I'm not pretending to know anything about fashion. My current dress-code consists of wearing a pirate hat as frequently as possible while dressing like someone who desperately wants to be a washed up rock-star but could only manage to look washed up, which is about as close as the word 'wash' could probably be applied in a sentence about me. I'm not complaining about the fact that I look like Michael Jackson after he'd fallen hair-first into a vat of lard and had the patchy remains of a dead raccoon plastered to his face. To quote Neil Gaiman's Sandman: "I cannot help what I am".
Recently it came to my attention that I need some new clothes. I don't know where this compulsion comes from, since there is nothing particularly wrong with the ones I'm wearing. But insidiously, like an evil wizard, it whispers to me as a voice inside my head - "Get new clothes! Get new clothes! Kill your friends! Get new clothes!" I tried alcohol, but that only made the screaming go away.
Anyway, long story short, looks like dressing like a hobo who just won big at a charity raffle is the new 'recession look' of 2011. I bought some new boots recently, for an amount of money I would not divulge but would probably buy a town in China. They are quite trendy, you know, as boots go. They've got that stressed leather look that means you don't know if your shoes are black, brown, or covered in crap. They fall open stylishly for that roguish - I'm too lazy to tie my laces - look. The soles are made out of wood and check it, they actually have nails hammered into them. Real nails, really hammered, with the overall effect when walking being somewhat akin to Darth Vader in clogs.
This is not the only dizzying height of well worn fashion that seems to be gripping our nation. I was in one of everyone's favourite high street fashion retailers the other day, because someone else wanted to spend some money that in a round about way didn't actually belong to them. Apart from the indecently exposed mannequins that were thrusting their black and cream plastic nubs in my face from some badly fitted jeans, the experience was fairly mundane. I hate clothes shopping. It reminds me that I have no money, I don't look like everyone else, and that in poor lighting conditions I could be mistaken for Swamp Thing. I digress.
What I did notice - apart from the dazzling array of plastic genitalia that only reinforced my sense of inadequacy - is that most of the clothes on offer have that look. You know *that* look. It falls somewhere between "Hi, I'm cool because all my stuff is like, well travelled, like Indiana Jones" and "Please Sir, I want some more." There were pre-ripped jeans or pre-stressed jeans with faded fibres. There was a cool shapeless T-Shirt like the one someone's girlfriend would wear to bed if they weren't physically and emotionally revolting. The kind of T-Shirt you wore to death as a teenager until it lost all semblance of being decent. The only thing it's highstreet doppelganger is missing is cigarette burns and a lingering smell of body-odour and crushed optimism.
There were hats, purposefully bent out of shape. Shirt collar's were turned up and ruffled for that 'rough and ready'* look. Hoodies were crinkled like they'd just come out of the washing machine and sun-dried in a ball on someone's patio. Shoelaces weren't tied, jeans hung low, and the belts looked like they'd been stolen from a festival. I'm not particularly stressed out about this look. It suits some people. And by some people I mean people I actually like. The average guy in the street looks like a man who just spent two hundred pounds to look like a world weary gap-year student whose life has degenerated into a downward spiral of alcohol abuse, prostitution and debt.
There is still the vintage look going around too. People with giant retro cameras round their neck that doesn’t actually work. Brightly coloured oddments make up the rest of the outfit, including berets, flasher-macs, and boots that you wouldn't vomit in. Fashion is a strange world, I guess, but I still feel the compulsion to consume. It's like an insatiable hunger that'll probably end with a baffling spate of hammer-murders and shots of windswept desolate Yorkshire moors.
Good news for people who are finding the recession difficult to cope with, though. You can still look like everyone else for a fraction of the cost. Get those filthy festival shoes repaired. Don that 80’s belt you’ve been afraid to wear for fear of reprisal. Tie your jumper between two cars and pull it threadbare. Don’t worry about the hole in the seat of your jeans, because the point of jeans is to show your arse, be it from badly fitting belts that let them swing low, or tight skinnies that cut of circulation in your legs and force everything upward like a tube of toothpaste. Don’t shave for a few days so you can have that designer stubble. Why spend hard earned denari on hair products if all you want is a bedhead look? Just don’t comb.
Remember, looking like a like a failed art-student who hasn’t eaten for three days is the new hype. Worn is the new wear. If it looks bad, it looks good. If it looks untidy, is screams “Have me!” If you’re naturally unable to find that look yourself, go into any quality fashion retailer and pay hundreds of pounds for clothes you could find on cadaver in the sewer. Stay tuned for the 2012 look featuring: The collapse of ordered society and our descent into feral monsters picking at the post-apocalyptic remains of civilization.*
* Reads: There is a good chance I'm a prick
* I imagine this look involves body armour, coats with lots of pockets, matted hair, big shoes and punk influences. Think Fallout 3.
Tuesday 1 March 2011
The Madness of King Gadaffi
Recently, I've been watching with a mixture of horror and amusement at the events unfolding within Libya. Colonel Gadaffi, long time ruler of about forty years, has been pretty much doing just about everything he can to cling on to power. And the results translated down thought the seemingly non-stop media coverage - quite an achievement in itself, given the total lack of journalists in Libya - I find him to be far more entertaining than I previously thought.
If you've never seen Gadaffi, even his appearance is comical. He looks like a snowman whose face caught fire and was extinguished with a screwdriver, dignified by a small and absurd looking piece of facial hair that should probably endeavour to cover as much of his stupid face as possible. Despite his immeasurable power, influence and wealth, he dresses like a guy who lost a fight a pair of sofa-covers from the DFS sale, which has been running continuously for as long as he has been in power. Coincidence?
But despite looking like a bit of a goon, all the best parts of Colonel Gadaffi really come out when he speaks. Thus far, he has accused Al'Queada, Britain and America, or possibly just the west in general, of trying to destabilize or colonise Libya. This seems pretty out of the question, unless there is a run on sand, since Libya is one of the most desolate and pointless countries in the entire world. He blamed the uprising on kids with guns who had been given drugs and sent into combat against him, and that they were beginning to give up now that the drugs were wearing off.
Maybe someone else needs to wait for the drugs to wear off.
Later, he denied there was a problem at all, making increasingly bizarre and pointless statements to underline just how completely insane he really is.
Oh Mubarak, all is forgiven!
"You don't understand the system!", he cries "I can't resign, I have no title." He tells a few jokes and makes a string of rambling excuses and outright denials, stating that "My people love me. All the people love me! They would die for me!", which makes him sound like a deranged stalker who has just been spurned by the girl of his dreams and is currently hatching a plan to kidnap and mutilate her so that they can be together forever.
It would be funny if it were not quite as terrifying. We often make jokes about people in authority losing the plot, going mad or whatever. But not to the extent of Colonel Gadaffi. He must actually be insane. Look at his eyes. All you can see is madness. There are a few mitigating factors, though. If you like hard, dirty politics, keep going. If you are offended easily, turn back now.
The Problem with the Military Case
Speaking of corrupt leaders who are completely out of touch with reality, David Cameron has adopted a hard line pro-democracy stance, probably to try and cleanse his soul from hanging around with a load of arms dealers the other week. Cameron - who also has an interesting face that could have been stolen from a child and stapled directly to his smooth, android head - has echos of Thatcher about him as his increasingly unpopular decisions land him in trouble. Like Thatcher, sending in the troops might be a welcome break from criticism, although he's ironically coming under fire from the curiously named Ministry of Defence about cutting their ability to use force proactively in other countries.
Still, Libya is a welcome relief for a man who needs to desperately divert attention away from the cuts. And that's what's been happening. In the last few days, all that has been on the news is constant rolling footage of Libya, showing hordes of desperate people milling around in bovine confusion and groups of over-enthusiastic bearded men waving giant antique guns around which would have probably given the Nazi's pause in 1942 but aren't a huge help in the 21st century. Still, it's a convenient emergency to buy a few weeks respite from domestic policy criticism as all eyes turn aboard, and it couldn't have come at a better time. Nick Clegg seems to have absorbed just as much abuse over the cutbacks as possible, the angry public have have discarded his broken cadaver and set their sights on nailing Cameron, who has adopted the 'pretend it isn't happening and focus on something else' defence that seems to be a favourite of Gadaffi. Maybe they are not too dissimilar.
So Cameron has been talking about 'no fly zones' to prevent Gadaffi from bombing his own people, and using stern language and possible hints of military action proper in Libya. Like, going in and removing him as part of an international military response. But there are serious problems with this approach.
Think of a hypothetical Saudi Arabia as an example of a Catch 22.
The people are revolting and protesting. Brutal repression will almost guarantee that they'll lose their Kingdom to some sort of concentrated international effort, even if it is reluctant and a long time in coming. If Gadaffi is removed by external forces, the Saudi's will know that they can no longer rely on foreign support, which they rely on extensively. Even if protests never materialize in Saudi Arabia, the relationship with the west will be damaged. If protests do kick off, we've seen that they will likely succeed unless there is particularly brutal repression. If there is brutal repression, there will be an international response. So here it is - if there is a protest of a large enough magnitude, you'll lose your country either way. If there isn't, you know that you can't count on your friends. It's a foreign policy nightmare for everyone involved.
And back
So realistically, Gadaffi isn't in a whole lot of trouble. So long as the opposition doesn't move against him, despite being completely delusional and probably certifiably mad, he doesn't have a lot to worry about. We could see partition or civil war, but like all the recent uprisings, there's a lot to play for and nothing is guaranteed. At least he doesn't have to worry about the international community much, though. After all, if you lived in Libya, with no friends in the entire world, would you take a sternly worded dressing down from a prick like David Cameron seriously?
I didn't think so, because you'd probably be mad.
And yes. I know he isn't a king.
If you've never seen Gadaffi, even his appearance is comical. He looks like a snowman whose face caught fire and was extinguished with a screwdriver, dignified by a small and absurd looking piece of facial hair that should probably endeavour to cover as much of his stupid face as possible. Despite his immeasurable power, influence and wealth, he dresses like a guy who lost a fight a pair of sofa-covers from the DFS sale, which has been running continuously for as long as he has been in power. Coincidence?
 |
| DFS declined to comment on whether or not this outfit belonged to the winter collection. |
 |
| Lul whut? |
Later, he denied there was a problem at all, making increasingly bizarre and pointless statements to underline just how completely insane he really is.
Oh Mubarak, all is forgiven!
"You don't understand the system!", he cries "I can't resign, I have no title." He tells a few jokes and makes a string of rambling excuses and outright denials, stating that "My people love me. All the people love me! They would die for me!", which makes him sound like a deranged stalker who has just been spurned by the girl of his dreams and is currently hatching a plan to kidnap and mutilate her so that they can be together forever.
It would be funny if it were not quite as terrifying. We often make jokes about people in authority losing the plot, going mad or whatever. But not to the extent of Colonel Gadaffi. He must actually be insane. Look at his eyes. All you can see is madness. There are a few mitigating factors, though. If you like hard, dirty politics, keep going. If you are offended easily, turn back now.
The Problem with the Military Case
Speaking of corrupt leaders who are completely out of touch with reality, David Cameron has adopted a hard line pro-democracy stance, probably to try and cleanse his soul from hanging around with a load of arms dealers the other week. Cameron - who also has an interesting face that could have been stolen from a child and stapled directly to his smooth, android head - has echos of Thatcher about him as his increasingly unpopular decisions land him in trouble. Like Thatcher, sending in the troops might be a welcome break from criticism, although he's ironically coming under fire from the curiously named Ministry of Defence about cutting their ability to use force proactively in other countries.
Still, Libya is a welcome relief for a man who needs to desperately divert attention away from the cuts. And that's what's been happening. In the last few days, all that has been on the news is constant rolling footage of Libya, showing hordes of desperate people milling around in bovine confusion and groups of over-enthusiastic bearded men waving giant antique guns around which would have probably given the Nazi's pause in 1942 but aren't a huge help in the 21st century. Still, it's a convenient emergency to buy a few weeks respite from domestic policy criticism as all eyes turn aboard, and it couldn't have come at a better time. Nick Clegg seems to have absorbed just as much abuse over the cutbacks as possible, the angry public have have discarded his broken cadaver and set their sights on nailing Cameron, who has adopted the 'pretend it isn't happening and focus on something else' defence that seems to be a favourite of Gadaffi. Maybe they are not too dissimilar.
So Cameron has been talking about 'no fly zones' to prevent Gadaffi from bombing his own people, and using stern language and possible hints of military action proper in Libya. Like, going in and removing him as part of an international military response. But there are serious problems with this approach.
- After Afghanistan and Iraq, the US and UK military is just about stretched to capacity.
- With a ten year war raging over what may as well be the moon for all it matters, and an increasing number of soldiers coming back in body bags, public enthusiasm for conflict is at an all time low. Selling the war will be even more difficult. Studies show people generally care primarily about security concerns, then economic concerns, and finally humanitarian and ideological ones, which is why spreading democracy with guns is a doomed adventure - not least for the inherent contradictions it poses. People won't want their sons and daughters to die in a sandbox so a bunch of people they don't know can enjoy a better life. It seems harsh, and not necessarily something I agree with, but such is the realist approach.
- Germany, China and Russia are not so keen on the idea. While they have realpolitik concerns - and Germany has a lot of issues with using troops at all, which you can't really fault them for - I'd like to believe that they're just a bit less gung-ho than the rest of us, but it in the case of the latter two it is probably more to do with their relationship to NATO and the UN, their economic situation and their own ambitions of 'soft' Empire.
- Intervention will risk galvanizing radical Islamic elements who will play it as a third stage in the War on Terror. It could destabilize Libya, lead to further loss of life, and pitch occupying forces into another quagmire that they'll have trouble escaping from.
- It will upset any realpolitik interests America, Britain, and any participating nation will have in the area. It is not really a good idea to go around removing evil dictators in a region characterized by them. The Saudi Royal Family wouldn't be too happy, for one. Probably not Oman, Yemen, Bharain, or a number of other places either. The thing about removing Gadaffi, even as a tyrant who bombs his own people, sends an ultimatum to everyone else.
Think of a hypothetical Saudi Arabia as an example of a Catch 22.
The people are revolting and protesting. Brutal repression will almost guarantee that they'll lose their Kingdom to some sort of concentrated international effort, even if it is reluctant and a long time in coming. If Gadaffi is removed by external forces, the Saudi's will know that they can no longer rely on foreign support, which they rely on extensively. Even if protests never materialize in Saudi Arabia, the relationship with the west will be damaged. If protests do kick off, we've seen that they will likely succeed unless there is particularly brutal repression. If there is brutal repression, there will be an international response. So here it is - if there is a protest of a large enough magnitude, you'll lose your country either way. If there isn't, you know that you can't count on your friends. It's a foreign policy nightmare for everyone involved.
And back
So realistically, Gadaffi isn't in a whole lot of trouble. So long as the opposition doesn't move against him, despite being completely delusional and probably certifiably mad, he doesn't have a lot to worry about. We could see partition or civil war, but like all the recent uprisings, there's a lot to play for and nothing is guaranteed. At least he doesn't have to worry about the international community much, though. After all, if you lived in Libya, with no friends in the entire world, would you take a sternly worded dressing down from a prick like David Cameron seriously?
I didn't think so, because you'd probably be mad.
And yes. I know he isn't a king.
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