Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Looking For Someone

Yeah, I know, this is becoming a habit. I'm in danger of burning myself out or even boring the tits off of all my loyal readers. But, as my (big) boss told me today, when he phoned to see how I was getting on, I have to do something to stop myself from going batshit.

Today, I watched a former video nasty and came to the conclusion that we were all once so naive that we believed all the hype. Had The Evil Dead been released in the Internet age it probably would have been labelled a comedy immediately rather than it taking 20 years to achieve that status.

Watching this Sam Raimi début was a reminder of an event that happened a long time ago, in a world that has been rebuilt now.

Back in the early 1980s, I was loosely associated with a group of individuals who called themselves The Core. These included Mitch Jenkins, Alex Novak, Barry Hale and someone else, it might have been Tim Perkins, but equally it might not have been. It might have been Pat Fish, but if it was I'm sure I would have remembered. Anyhow, these talented and endearing individuals launched a series of arty events called Happenings and they were incredibly well received throughout the town of Northampton. Then they got bored with them and went off and did their own things.

I was unemployed at the time and decided that, 'hey, I can do that', so I concocted The Happening 3: The Final Con Trick, which was to take place at the College of Further Education's Arts Centre, on Booth Lane, which has since (very recently) been rebuilt as a modern carbuncle. We had various things planned for it - a puppeteer, John (Alex's brother) Novak's band, a up and coming band from Luton, an exhibition of photography called Nahwretam and the Sex Queue, an alternative comedy duo called The Great Excreto and Labia (I'll tell you about them and Dick & Bob at some point), a local Lesbian musical act, kidneys in toilets, a selection of poetry written by Marc Almond and the first unofficial screening of Sam Raimi's banned The Evil Dead. It was going to be an arts extravaganza beyond belief.

It was a complete and total disaster!

For starters, we were frugal with the truth and didn't mention on the posters or PR that Marc Almond wasn't actually going to be there in person. This pissed off a lot of people. Secondly, the band from Luton didn't even bother unpacking their kit, they just took the piss and left. they never came to much and I laugh still. The guy dealing with the PA and sound threatened to leave unless he was paid before the show/event started and I had to resort to threatening him with physical violence and because of these problems at least half of the people waiting fucked off before it even started; leaving us with a huge deficit in money.

But, the puppeteer, a guy called Garafalo (no relation) was brilliant and got the crowd going. John Novak's band played and went down a storm and by this time I'd managed to pay the sound guy, so he didn't sneak out the back door. The lesbian cabaret act came on and also went down very well and despite the feeling of total amateur night, things were going swimmingly. The fact that I was short £100 and probably couldn't pay every one was a minor quibble.

Then things started to go wrong, very badly. We started the screening of The Evil Dead and the theatre area of the arts centre was packed out with paying customers - people were still arriving and the short fall was down to £60. It was also packed out with the lesbian cabaret act, [plus their entourage and when the part in the film where one of the girls is 'raped' by a tree appeared, all hell broke loose.

My partner in crime, Colin O'Kane, said that they wanted to have a word with me and he didn't sound as though they wanted to offer congratulations. I was a little worried as he was 50% responsible for this debacle, but seemed intent on differing everyone in my direction. He wasn't into confrontations, so he sent them all in my direction. I was in the toilets, peeing on some of the kidneys in the urinals, when the door swung open and 3 burly lesbians came stampeding into the men's loos. The only thing I can remember clearly was one of them referring to the 'tree rape' scene and shouting in my face that, "stuff like that really happens!". Maybe the best answer was not to say, "What trees rape women?" Because she had to be restrained from beating me to death with her dungarees.

During all of this, Mitch J and Barry H of the original Core were standing around laughing like proverbial drains at the whole sorry mess. I was furious at Colin for his lack of balls and ducking out of the firing line, despite him being 50% responsible (should have taken heed from this, he was even worse as my best man). But there wasn't much I could do about it, apart from escape.

And that's exactly what I did. Upon finding Colin, who by this time had gotten pissed out of his head (very much what he did at my wedding), I gave him the remainder of the money and asked him to hold onto it in case of a robbery. I explained that we were going to have to share it out between everyone rather than give any preferential treatment. This seemed to convince him that holding the cash wasn't a bad idea and I then crawled into the back of Mitch's Triumph Dolomite, hid under a blanket and was driven away from there as fast as his little motor would go.

I don't know how Colin dealt with everything; it was sort of one of those incidents from our youth that went by the by and was never spoken of again; and, of course, the above is a fairly abridged version, owing to memories not being as sharp as they once were.

Anyhow, watching The Evil Dead today was a bit of a nostalgia trip and made me realise what a complete and utter pile of shit it is. It's quite brilliant in places, but it's also turd-like; immensely turd-like. Only Bruce Campbell comes out of it with any cred and only just; the general acting and pacing is all over the place; the stop motion camera work is hilarious and even the bits which got it banned in the first place are poor, very poor. There is the very nasty rape scene, the one the lesbians got so riled up about and, to be fair, it, in a way, was totally unnecessary; but it was also quite comical, if a rape can be comical.

The film does have a great sense of presence; but it also stinks. All the tension it tries to deliver fails miserably and you wonder how Raimi could possibly have believed in his own script when shooting it. Anyhow, I'm going to watch The Evil Dead II later (or tomorrow) and marvel at how it can be called a sequel, when in reality it was just a (badly re-imagined) remake of the first with a bigger budget.

Tuesday, November 09, 2010

Last Night

So, MRI out of the way.

I should think for the uninitiated, an MRI is quite a daunting thing. You are shoved into a tunnel, just a bit bigger than yourself (how really really fat people fit inside them is a bit of a mystery) and are subjected to a mixture of roadwork noises and the kind of bleeps and blurts that you'd imagine disco biscuit fanatics of the Rave scene would be dancing to. Lying inside of it today, the 4th movement reminded me of that episode of Spaced where the guy who sold them drugs was last seen dancing to the bleeping of a level crossing. If the headphones had been up louder I might have struggled not to make some shapes, man...

***

The wife.

Actually before I get onto the main point; someone the other day said to me. "Why do you refer to your wife as 'the wife' or 'the missus' in your blog?" Well, apart from the fact that she is my 'wife' and my 'missus', there's two perfectly reasonable reasons.

The first is the same reason as my good friend Rad. His wife or 'breadknife' as he calls her (he's from the East End you see so everything has to cockney rhyme, me old Ebeneezer) hasn't got an on-line presence, doesn't like the Internet in the same way as he does and thinks that her privacy is her business; so Rad keeps her identity at arm's length.

The second reason is purely for on-line security. The more people I don't know who read my blog or might have access to my personal info on Facebook (because of unknown friends associated with the game I now no longer play) makes me a little nervous. I'd rather these people knew as little about me as possible. There are lots of Phil Halls out there, but maybe not many with a wife whose name is the same as mine. Simple (not 'simples' as that fucking stuffed meerkat says).

Anyhow, the wife bought a replacement car today. A silver/grey Vauxhall Zafira on an 04 plate that had done 10k more miles than her treasured Doblo. But it looks like a pretty spotless car, drives well and didn't cost an arm and a leg. It also means that I get my car back (not that I'm doing a lot of driving at the moment, but it stops it being used as a dog transporter, which it really isn't designed to do unless in emergencies). She picks it up on Saturday lunchtime and is quite excited about it!

Yay for her!

***

The wife - you know the one, I've mentioned her before - has used the Internet more in the last month than she has since it was invented. She doesn't like my keyboard either, but that's neither here nor there. She has noticed that this new computer does odd things. Odd things like ignore commands, doesn't print things when prompted and queries the legitimacy of words that even an American spell checker would accept.

What she hasn't noticed is, cos she doesn't have a Facebook account (and isn't likely to until Hell gets turned into a big pile of chocolate), is that Facebook doesn't like my new PC much either. For instance if I ask it to refresh the page it gets halfway through the act and then stops, leaving me the frames of the page but none of the content. it also seems to change its mind about what to display in 'most recent'. One minute it will have something from one minute ago and the next it's completely disappeared and I'm left with stuff that was posted anything from an hour to a week ago.

Another quirk of Facebook is this choice we have of Top News and Most Recent. As my good friend Roger pointed out the other day, "What is the point of Top News?" What I would like to know is how Facebook determines what Top News is? Why there is even a choice? And is it put there just to piss the users' off?

That said, I visited my MySpace page the other day and saw that not only has it attempted to copy Facebook, but it's done it so badly I just wanted to pluck my eyes out.

Once upon a time, I was on a Yahoo group with my friends and everything was relatively simple. Now even that has been made complicated.

And talking of complicated, the wife - you remember her - has been on line trying to insure her new car. She's been on various websites where she's had to register details to be able to get quotes. When they tell you on adverts it takes 2 minutes and is easy and simple - DO NOT BELIEVE THEM!

***

It seems that I'm actually going to return to some journalism over the next couple of months! Totally unpaid, but for the love of it only. I'm going to be doing some articles and interviews with two of my favourite bands.

I shall be updating and doing a new interview with Sel Balamir from Amplifier to coincide with the release of The Octopus. It's Amplifier's new double album and I urge anyone who likes good rock music to go to their website and buy it. You can access it via http://www.amplifiertheband.com/merchandise.php, but only the digipak version is still available.
I am also going to finally do an interview with my good buddy Steve Messina of Blow Up Hollywood to help promote the band's current album, Take Flight and the forthcoming album, due in early 2011. For people who want to become acquainted with this more eclectic rock band, go to http://www.blowuphollywood.com/ - the first page you come to is the same image that adorns the T shirt I'm wearing on my current Facebook page pic. If you have any idea what it is, tell me!
I'm not doing either of these things for personal gain. I'm doing it because both these bands are worth patronising - they produce good music that hasn't been graced by the same PR machine as some shit bands that are out there have. Plus, it pays to have a look around for different kinds of music. people shouldn't be led by the nose by radio stations and what's 'hot'. 9 times out of 10, what's hot is normally not.

***

Tomorrow, I'm going to do some baking again - this time for the wife (you remember her). I'm going to try a Traditional Scottish Sultana Cake, which, because I don't eat dried fruit sounds positively ugh. However, I wasn't aware that sultanas (or raisins for that matter) were traditionally Scottish; therefore is this a lie?

Monday, November 08, 2010

Drops of Jupiter

We're odd. We must be. We don't watch either X Factor nor Strictly Come Dancing. In fact, I, personally, would rather take razor blades to my genitals than be subjected to this utter bowel movement of 'entertainment'.

I've never really been much of a common denominator TV kind of person and the last time I watched anything on ITV (other than possibly a film) was in 2001. So I missed all those gloriously shit programmes like Britain's Got No Talent or Pop Stars: The Wankers. The thing that appals me more is that my two nephews both seem to be fans, which means that all their young friends are also watching these poor excuses for entertainment. I sort of understand that their dad, my tasteless brother, and his wife watch this crap, but they have lives even less exciting than mine; but what the fuck has happened to the world? It seems we (and I use the term 'we' very loosely) like encouraging arseholes like Simon Cowell or Anton Du Burke to take over our TV screens. And Bruce fucking Forsyth should know better.

Oddly enough, I know a really really crude story relating to a play on words regarding that ballroom dancing piece of shit. A mate of mine, who shall remain nameless, but will know who he is (as he reads this) has a thing for outdoor sex (he's obviously not going to be doing it today based on the monsoon going on outside my window) and fortunately for him, so does his partner. Once coitus has finished, she is left with this problem that I'm sure some women are all too familiar with - and one that I'm reluctant to be specific about. Suffice it to say, after the sex has been finished, she gets up and dances around, prompting him to christen her moves as Strictly Cum Dancing...

***

The BBC it seems has declared that autumn lasts 2 weeks. Why? Well, on the last Sunday of October, there was a Country File: Autumn Special, which celebrated the arrival of autumn. On last night's show, the truly dislikeable Julia Bradbury (who it seems replaced the 4 previous female presenters because they were too old and unattractive) announced that next week's episode they would be celebrating the end of autumn...

Speaking of seasons; the wife pointed out an article in last weekend's Observer, where the author of the piece claimed that this year we saw four season for the first time in years. Just where did this guy live?

I'm sure you could say we had four seasons. Winter lasted until May; Spring came to a thudding halt halfway through June and Summer ended at the end of July. Autumn is still going strong, but ends next Sunday according to the BBC. This year has been anything other than a normal year; which might explain why the fruits on trees were so big; which I think is a real puzzle considering the blossom on our apple and plum trees didn't come out until the end of May.

***

Jesus, it is grim out there. I woke up this morning and staggered (literally) out of bed and if the alarm clock hadn't said 8.53am, I would have thought it was about 6.30am. Looking at the weather forecast on the BBC, it seems that this particular low pressure area has stuck a pin in Northampton and is going to circle it for the next 24 hours.

I feel exceptionally sorry for the two aerial fitters over the road, who are up on the roof of the house to the right of the one opposite. It's chucking it down and blowing a gale and they look like they could do with a nice cup of tea and a hot blanket (and a few safety nets).

Why the hell couldn't this have settled over the UK throughout the weekend. it might have put some of those firework wankers off of disturbing every living soul with their childish antics...

***

Apparently, there was a study that determined that there is no such thing as a grumpy old man; it said that we're either grumpy or not and getting older doesn't have any bearing on it. Hah!

***

I am staring at a front garden full of mushrooms! The house over the road (the one with the exhibitionist Eastern Europeans) has a huge clump of field blewitts (lepista nuda) growing on it. They came up last year and I was tempted to go and tell them they could eat them. You'd think, them being from Europe and everything, that they'd know an edible mushroom if they saw one. But, then again, on Saturday night, while I was checking my emails, I noticed they were watching X Factor on their 80" flat screen TV...

***

So Pulp are reforming in 2011.

Woo and indeed hoo.

***

While writing yesterday's blog entry, the Blogger spell checker refused to accept the word "show's"; it would allow me "shoe's" and "shows" but not the former. It is an American spell checker to be fair, but as most Americans refer to TV programmes as a show, surely the possessive of that would be show's?

Oops, sorry, I forgot... Americans... How silly of me.

***

Having exhausted the B movies (and a really crap TV mini-series from the 90s), I'm moving onto obscure films of the 1960s and that means a film that I'm reliably informed inspired George Romero's zombie movies. The Last Man on Earth stars the brilliant Vincent Price in the original adaptation of Richard Matheson's I Am Legend. Made in Italy in 1964 for about a million lira (or £40), it has all the hallmarks used by Romero in Night of the Living Dead, but in the immortal words of Michael Caine, not a lot of people know that.

I also have (inspired by Roger) Excalibur to watch again; the unexpurgated version of The Exorcist, The Disappearance of Alice Creed (which may or may not feature Gemma Arterton in the buff), Scott Pilgrim versus the World (which if its anything like the comic I will probably stop watching after 5 minutes) and a film about Elvis Presley battling the Mummy called Bubba Ho-Tep, which stars Bruce Campbell, from The Evil Dead trilogy, as the ageing burger-meister.

Who says being off sick has to be boring...

Saturday, November 06, 2010

All the Things She Said

As it has been pointed out to me by countless people, pots shouldn't go round calling kettles black. I often show that my grammar needs some work on it, especially if I post things to my blog without giving it a thorough read through first. But, hey, I'm not getting paid for it, so why should I bother?

Well... I should bother because for the most part, most of what people put on line is like putting it in print. it is there to potentially haunt you by coming back whenever you least expect it. Fortunately, most of the criticisms aimed at me are for things like split infinitives and bad tenses and most of the time I'm addressing a small group of people, many of who know me and hopefully will see that the majority of what I write is basically the way that I talk.

However, Facebook has for me provided loads of laughs in recent years, laughs and cringe-worthy sentences that just make you want to scream abuse at the writers. Take this for instance: Im cutting down 1st then gonna phase it out that way i was on 20+ a day and gone to 8/10 not bad for me dot cotton said she proud too pmsl .... you can do it *** will power and lots of chewing gum hehehe ...
What exactly does that mean? Or this: awwwwwwwwww but ull do any think for your ***** tho *** lol.xx ... What the f...? Don't get me wrong; these are comments made to one of my nieces in response to Facebook status updates, which is why I've put asterisks instead of peoples' names. Presumably my niece and the people who write this drivel will know what they're on about, but for bystanders like myself, it's a little like reading a foreign language.
It's just a shame that today's yoof (and I use that expression loosely as most of my nieces' friends are between the ages of 25 and 35) seems to think that writing like ignorant amoeba is acceptable. What is more worrying is that a lot of these people have children.

Oh the curse of text speak...

***

Fireworks are shit. It amazes me that so many people go out and spend between £50 and £100 on average to go 'ooh' and 'ahh' at pretty bright lights in sky? What amazes me even more is the fact that people don't seem to understand that Bonfire Night is November 5th, not the 4th or the 3rd or the 6th or even October 31st. And, what amazes me even more than that is that a lot of people hold firework parties, obviously not for their kids, and set fireworks off after midnight, thus disturbing every living thing for a 5 mile radius?

These people are obviously the biggest c*nts God ever deemed worthy of breath.

Okay, fireworks aren't shit and if I didn't have a third of a dozen dogs I might even enjoy them; but it does seem that this year, more than recent years, we've had far too many going off and they seem to have got louder and more invasive. Last night, at 12.30am, some twat (and at the risk of sounding racist, some fucking Eastern European twat) decided it would be a good idea to set off a banger that went bang 25 times and sounded a little how I'd imagine Hiroshima sounded the day Enola Gay came to visit; this was then followed by lots of drunken shouting and laughing. I'm afraid I had to stick my head out of the bedroom window and shout 'WANKER' as loud as I could - unfortunately the people letting off these thunderously expensive gunpowder tubes probably don't know what wanker means...

***

Dragging myself away from being a miserable old git and onto matters of television. After giving The Walking Dead a pretty wonderful review last week, I realised that while there are few programmes on television at the moment that I would consider classics, there are a few that I think are pretty damned fine. None more so than...

The Vampire Diaries
I know, I know. You're either thinking 'what the hell has gotten into him' or 'how can he think that pile of Twilight droppings be considered as good?' But the truth is, this has become one of the maddest TV shows on at the moment. VD as its called in our house is one of those shows that we should have dropped 20 minutes into the first episode; definitely should have given up on it after 3 episodes, but has now become one of the highlights of the week - albeit reluctantly.

The best way of summing up the vast improvement this show has taken is to look at a review from The Independent, where reviewer Sarah Hughes states: The Vampire Diaries turns into "a well-crafted, interestingly developed series", despite a poor opening episode. And that's basically it. The first three episodes of the first season were pretty crappy and I was pretty amazed that it managed to improve to the point where it easily got optioned for a second series. It's now like Twilight on crack and LSD and despite it being a Kevin Williamson series, that shouldn't really put you off.

Fringe
Is possibly my favourite TV show from the States at the moment, because like VD it's just a wee bit bonkers and you really have no idea where its going to go next. Also it's by that popular chap called JJ Abrams, the bloke who did Lost and more recently Cloverfield and the Star Trek reboot. My argument is that John Noble, who plays the stunningly fantastic mad scientist Walter Bishop is arguably the best character on TV at the moment. Plus it has fellow Antipodean Anna Torv in the lead role and if I didn't have a bad back and a lovely wife I'd consider stalking her until she let me do evil and despicably sex-related things to her!

The 2 other US TV shows that I'm watching are Smallville (yes, I'm still watching it) which seems to have forgotten how crap it was and the final series is moving along at a great pace and with some bloody good stories and Stargate Universe which apart from copping out big time at the start of season 2 has been a really grimly enjoyable watch. Even Robert Carlyle, totally miscast and out of place, adds some gravitas to a franchise that really started to wander up its own arse. However, the best thing in the show is undoubtedly Louis Ferreira who plays Colonel Everett Young, the commander of the show's Ancient-built star ship. Just watching him go quietly mad over the last 2 months has been a joy to watch.

***

MRI time on Tuesday, but not just that. The wife is going to look at a replacement car for her poor old Doblo. She's going common and taking a chance on a Vauxhall Zafira - depending on whether she feels comfortable driving it and if we can fit the dogs in the back without having to remove all the seats. My argument is that something as common as a Vauxhall is going to be easier for spares and should be cheaper to service. She would like a new Postman Pat van lookalike, but is facing the frightening reality of it having to be a French car and any one who knows us well enough will know that French cars and me don't mix... Hence why a specific make of French car will forever be known as a "Fucking Renault" rather than anything else!

Friday, November 05, 2010

Fake

I lied. I do that sometimes. You will understand why very shortly.

There's a saying; if it looks like a duck, walks like a duck and sounds like a duck, then it must be a duck. It makes sense, but equally, Sherlock Holmes will tell you that once you've exhausted all the logical explanations whatever is left has to be considered.

My friend Will made the suggestion last week, when I was feeling like five day old shit, that I probably had flu. You see, it looked like flu, sounded like flu and despite my protestations that it was possibly withdrawal symptoms, he argued, logically, that most people get one or two side effects from dodgy drugs, not an entire arm full. However, after seeing my (new) doctor, she said that what I had experienced was undoubtedly withdrawal and that morphine-based drugs can have varying affects on people.

By Tuesday afternoon, I was feeling pretty good, in a relative way. I was happy that I'd got most, if not all, of those nasty painkiller drugs out of my system. Yes, I still felt a bit dodgy, but nowhere near as bad as I had done over the weekend and on Monday. In fact, Monday was so bad that I just wanted to curl up in a ball and die.

However, by Wednesday evening things took a turn for the worse. Except this time I wasn't alone. The wife was feeling exactly the same as me and as she had not taken any of the devil's Oxycodone, we had to presume that whatever was wrong was now something new. I have been told off for being a miserable git just recently, so I wasn't about to make things worse by pontificating about an almost continuous run of ill health; although it certainly feels that way. The doctor told me that a mixture of repetitive boredom, pain and lifestyle is enough to bring a person down and make them feel like they're catching every bad thing possible; but when the wife started feeling crappy it sort of pooh-poohed that idea.

It seems that we might have eaten something that didn't agree with us. A Tesco cheese and potato lattice pie, which was (I was told) very nice, but seemed to have adverse affects on both of us. It probably didn't give us food poisoning, but upset our stomachs enough to make us both feel like pooh. It seemed to have more lasting effects on me than it did on her and it seems to have exacerbated my inability to taste anything. Since Wednesday, I also seem to have rediscovered heartburn and indigestion, which appeared to have deserted me completely during the first 25 days of stopping smoking.

Speaking of taste, as I mentioned it briefly recently. I didn't ask my doctor why the hell I seem to have lost my sense of taste over the last few weeks. I mean, I could taste thing perfectly (well, as perfectly as I believed) before I packed up smoking and now it seems that I can't taste bugger all*. Or, to be more specific, everything tastes the same, unless it's got a lot of salt in it. I even got to the stage where I decided, after not finding anything on the net that helped, to go to Yahoo Answers to see if anyone on there had any bright ideas. To date, the only answer I've got is that years of smoking have permanently damaged by receptors to the brain and its unlikely to get better - which, I could understand if I had no sense of taste before I packed up smoking.

I'm hoping that its a mixture of change of lifestyle and the last knockings of the withdrawal. There is a school of thought amongst experts that when you stop smoking your body undergoes a huge battle, which involves repairing itself as well as struggling to cope with the sudden change in its usual routine. Which, if you think about it makes some sense. After all, some of the well known things that happen after quitting include a quick return of your sense of smell, massive appetite surges, insomnia and a change in your digestive reactions (or as a friend once said to me, quite disgustingly - your shit starts to stink again!). So, there might be things that happen to individuals rather than en mass. Or I might just be clutching at straws and I'm never going to appreciate the taste of anything ever again...

Two paragraphs above I put an * at the end of the second sentence; the reason for this is that I'm pretty sure that my lack of taste buds has happened since I started taking the Oxycodone, although if you look at the side effects of that drug, losing your sense of taste doesn't feature at all. However, some extensive research on Google suggests that some peoples' taste buds are affected by Oxycodone; it's rare, but then again so is experiencing a shedload of side effects.

The upshot of all of this is that while I am now two weeks away from my proposed return to work; I can't see that happening the way I feel. On top of the feeling crappy, indigestion and general malaise; I also have what appears to be a problem with the muscles and tendons in my left leg - caused by inactivity. I can't actually straighten my left leg and if I try to it feels like someone is tugging the tendons like a double bass. I also have very little balance on it - this was perfectly highlighted by my doctor when she got me to stand on one leg. I almost fell over! Which is why I've been using a walking stick most of the time.

I also drove my car for the first time in ages on Tuesday evening. The wife was struggling to park because there were no obvious parking spots and I took over the chore. Using the clutch seemed to aggravate the tendon problem and by Wednesday morning all the optimism I had about my aches and pains subsiding had disappeared, again...

I tell you, I am getting fed up with all this doom and gloom. I am getting pissed off with feeling shitty. I am getting incredibly self aware that all I ever seem to do is whinge and moan about feeling bad. I am also beginning to wonder if I might have something more serious wrong - the irony hasn't escaped me that I might end up with a really bad problem shortly after stopping smoking. I am also aware that when you do something like slip a disc or have a debilitating problem it does have an equally debilitating effect on your entire mind and body - its why people who suffer from severe depression are actively encouraged to get out of the house, go for walks, do things they wouldn't normally have the time to do and the last month has been difficult for me to do any of these things because of the constant pain.

I am also aware that writing about it has helped; which is why I still do it. The reality of this blog is that I get a kick out of the fact that a lot of people read it and the precious attention seeker inside me feels that its maybe self-defeating to have built up a following both through the blog and Facebook and then potentially put them all off by constantly telling them what an unlucky bugger I am, especially in light of the fact that we all have our own axes to grind and we all live in a world where reading about someone else's misery doesn't exactly inspire us. But, I don't think I'm searching for sympathy; I look at this as a diary; the same way John Diamond or Deborah Orr used or use their newspaper columns to talk about their cancers; or a guy called Greg, whose blog I found a couple of years ago, who basically blogged about what life was like after losing his arm and then 6 months later his wife; because she couldn't cope with his massive lifestyle change - so she left him. It made pretty depressing reading at times, but never once did he ever seem like he felt sorry for himself and I hope that I don't come across like that - even on the darkest days. But, yeah, as far as I know, having a back problem isn't life threatening; it doesn't compare to facing death every day; even if it has countless wrinkles that transpire to fuck me off and make my life feel like a chore sometimes...

***

Have I mentioned that I still hate this keyboard? Despite all the thousands of words I've written over the last few months, it hasn't gotten any easier to use. At some point, I may just leave an entire paragraph without going back to take out the typos, just so you can see how bloody frustrating it is.

***

Next time, I promise I'll have something to say and it'll be positive with maybe a joke or two thrown in, just to prove that I'm not the world's most miserable and self-centred arsehole!

Wednesday, November 03, 2010

Spheres Side

Last night at White Hart (White Hot) Lane, a new legend was born. His name is Gareth Bale; he is 21 and from Cardiff. He plays for Spurs. He destroyed one of the best teams in Europe and made their manager - one Fat Spanish Waiter called Rafa Benitez - look as crap as I've claimed him to be for years.

Today, the press are calling this young man one of the best young players in the world - they're not wrong. I've believed in this lad's talents since Spurs first signed him in 2007. He had a lot of bad luck to start with, but he is now emerging as one of the team's true world class players and effectively made himself a £40m player.

But take nothing away from the entire team; to beat Inter Milan - the European Champions - by 3-1 is an achievement par excellence. The shame of it is regardless of how brilliant the team was last night, they'll probably be brought down to earth on Saturday when they lose at Bolton. However, today, I am a happy man!

***

Andrew Lincoln played Egg in This Life and was a huge success. In my mind, he's done very little since that I've noticed, yet he's returned to the star spotlight in a quite extraordinary new television series from the USA called The Walking Dead. This is based on a comic book originally published by Image comics and created by Robert Kirkman (who I'm told has become something of a major player in the years since I gave up comics).

The show follows a group of survivors in the USA after a zombie apocalypse - which, I presume we will discover the reason for as the series continues - which will eventually be led by Lincoln's character, Rick Grimes. In the first episode, which in many ways mirrors both the 1961 Day of the Triffids and Danny Boyle's zombie reinvention 28 Days Later, the lead wakes up in a hospital unaware that the world has completely changed while he's been unconscious. But after that similarity, it goes off in a new and at times unexpected direction.

The Walking Dead will not be every body's cup of tea. It is gory and it is remarkably creepy. As someone who has always found the idea of zombies rather ludicrous, this is handled with a cinematic brilliance that makes the first episode feel like a fully-fledged motion picture. Lincoln struggles with a deep south accent, but other than this small quibble, he does an excellent job of portraying a policeman who wakes up in a nightmare world of which he has no comprehension.

The pilot is pretty relentless and its not long before we're introduced to concepts that George Romero has successfully burned into our collective consciousness. Unlike 28 Days Later, the zombies in The Walking Dead are slow and dead; but don't let that put you off. One or two of them are easy to handle, but when you're faced with an entire army of them, it suddenly becomes a different proposition and under the able direction of Frank Darabont (he of Shawshank Redemption and The Green Mile) gives us a pilot episode that will have you scrambling for a cushion to hide behind.

It has a climax to the first episode that is one of the best I have seen in many years and had the wife gripping my arm so fiercely I thought she was capable of ripping it out of its socket. Remarkably, the first series is only 6 episodes long and AMC, the producers have refused to confirm whether its getting a 2nd season. If the next 5 episodes are half as good as the first, it will become essential viewing. Bollocks to vampires - zombies are the new TV bogeymen!

***

Talking TV. My favourite programme for the last few years has been Dexter. For those unfamiliar with it, it's about a serial killer who works as a forensics specialist for Miami Dade police department.

Starring Michael C Hall, who was also quite brilliant in Six Feet Under - also one of my favourite TV shows of all time, it has become a firm favourite and unlike many TV series doesn't appear to have run out of ideas. In fact, far from it; the first two series were brilliant, but the last 3½ have been quite extraordinary. The finale of series 4 being possibly one of the best episodes of TV I have ever seen.

That changed on Monday when I watched episode 6 of the new series. Called Everything is Illumenated, it was possibly one of best episodes of television I have ever seen; on par with The Body - an episode from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, which I have felt is the best 45 minutes of television I have ever seen.

***

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XRjZ_3ZLL_I will take you to a video from the new Porcupine Tree DVD that shares the same name as this blog entry. The song - Half-Light - is one of those rare treats and I mean rare, as it doesn't actually exist on any official Porcupine Tree CD. This is what Steven "I'm the busiest man in showbiz, me" Wilson says about it: "...this is probably my favourite "lost" song from the PT back catalogue (don't look for it on a studio album, you won't find it) so I'm really happy that [it] now [has] a much higher profile as part of the live DVD/Blu-Ray. The special video guitar was created for me by Visionary Instruments from California."

The guitar really is something to behold! The song is also something special and I have been lucky enough to see it performed live - in Cambridge - back in 2007. I never in a million years expected an out take to be played at a gig, so imagine my delight when they just segued into this.

***

It's been a month and I'm proud as punch to still be off the dreaded cigs. But there is one thing that I'm really not very happy about. My sense of taste (the kind involving taste buds rather than a liking for flared jeans and floral skirts) seems to have completely deserted me. Nothing tastes the same any longer, and more worrying, nothing tastes very nice!

I have cooked several of my favourite meals over the last couple of weeks and nothing tastes right; or in most cases, nothing tastes very nice. I did a saag paneer yesterday; it's a dish that I can cook with my eyes closed; I've got it worked out, I don't need to move away from the recipe, yet, yesterday's was tasteless. The wife thought her's was fine - no changes - mine was just like tasteless mulch.

If it isn't a lack of taste, it's that everything is salty. Whatever I eat that has salt in it just seems to taste of salt and if its something like salted peanuts or crisps; then it just tastes of extreme salt. I know I smoked for best part of 31 years and when I wasn't smoking tobacco, I was smoking pot; but Christ on a bike, have I destroyed my taste buds so badly that only extremes seem to register now?

The worst part is that beer has gone from being wonderful stuff, to a sort of bland watery substance with an underlying taste of alcohol - seriously; last night at the pub I was drinking a beer that I normally really enjoy - Gravitas. Both Roger and Phil, my beer drinking buddies, were saying that it was an exceptionally good pint. I struggled to get through my pints. Even with my current predicament stopping me from going to work, I'm supposed to be attending a beer festival at the weekend with the aforementioned gruesome twosome; a beer festival featuring my favourite brewery in the entire universe - Oakham ales. I'm a little worried that none of it is going to have any taste, or worse still, it will have taste, but one I just don't really like.

We went to my favourite restaurant last week and not only did I struggle to get comfortable, but some of the courses we ate had a distinctly unpleasant taste. "Does this taste of disinfectant?" I asked Roger of our chilli paneer. He looked at me like I had gone slightly mad. It appears, that while I have this ravenous appetite, I am not putting on much weight because I'm not eating the things I would normally be eating. For fuck's sake, even chocolate doesn't taste right!

Subsequently, in the four weeks since I stopped smoking, I've lost 3lbs... How weird is that?

***

I'm a little disappointed. I know I've been bemoaning firework night recently; but this year its arrival has rather fucked up something.

A few months back, I wrote a review of my favourite restaurant - Pooja in Wellingborough; a proper 100% vegetarian restaurant, run by actual Indians and a place where the wife and I have visited so regularly that we not only feel like part of the furniture, we're treated like family by the owners.

Every year, Myood, the maitre de, insists we come over for Diwali and every year we sort of think that its an Indian celebration and we might be intruding on their religious festival. This year, Myood insisted again and was really adamant that we come and celebrate with them. He made a very good point of saying that Christians invite people into their homes at Christmas and Diwali is like a Hindu Christmas. In other words, he wasn't taking no for an answer. Every year, Pooja sets up a special tent in the forecourt of the restaurant and there are numerous foodstuffs not available on display. It is a time of celebration and they insisted we come over and celebrate with them. We agreed.

Then we realised that it falls on Bonfire Night weekend and with the dogs being turned into quivering wrecks because of it all, it means that we can't actually go over. It's pissed me off a lot, because while idiots have firework parties, ignorant of the pain and misery they're subjecting the nation's pets; we're going to have to, yet again, avoid spending an evening of celebration with our friends. Friends, who, incidentally, on learning that the wife and I want to go to India next year have become our unofficial 'hosts'. They are talking about arranging for us to stay with their relatives, meet up with friends who used to work at the restaurant or generally for us to be looked after by their friends in Gujarat.

I hope it pisses down with rain to dampen the fireworks - but sadly, I also want it to stay fine so my Hindu friends can have a great Diwali celebration!

***

I'm going to change my mind about something. I thought the new Orb featuring David Gilmour album was a pile of shite. I've given it a couple more listens and I'm now thinking it isn't that bad. It needs a few listens before it begins to have the desired affect. I'm listening to the metalic side at the moment and I have to admit, it's actually quite good.

***

Last, but not least and more music... While I think of Porcupine Tree as the best Prog Rock band on the planet (and, reluctantly, the best Prog Metal band, because of their propensity for heavy riffs in the last 10 years); I think of Amplifier as the best heavy rock band on the planet. Having seen them perform an hour long set at 2000 Trees in 2009, they did nothing but cement that feeling. Well, the boys from Amplifier have finally got their new album ready and in the next few weeks it should appear.

The Octopus is a double album and isn't just a record, but an experience. Go here: http://ampcorp.blogspot.com/ to see what I mean. Read Sel Balamir's blog and get an idea of why I think they're awesome.

I'm going to be doing another interview with him; which will be an updated version of the one I did a couple of years ago for The Comics Village (and I'm going to introduce him to a few more groovy words). But, in the meantime, check out their stuff on either Spotify or Grooveshark. Most people I know who like their rock music hard have enjoyed Amplifier. Now, they appear to be doing it all themselves - I don't think there's a record label involved any more - which I find a complete mystery - so if you like them: support them!

Stand by Me

A review of a 1994 mini-series.

The Stand

Based on the novel by Stephen King; adapted by Stephen King; directed by Mick Garris. Starring: Gary Sinise, Molly Ringwald, Miguel Ferrer, Jamey Sheridan, Laura San Giacomo, Ruby Dee, Corin Nemec, Matt Frewer, Ray Walston and Rob Lowe. 366 minutes; first broadcast May 1994

I watched this back in 1995. Obviously, I allowed it to be purged from my mind because it was that bad. Recently, my good buddy Phil decided to read the novel; a decidedly excellent tome about the end of the world as we know it and the ultimate battle between good and evil. The Stand might not be the best book ever written, but it is a rollicking good post-apocalyptic adventure novel. Therefore, you would think it would make a good TV mini-series... Once he'd read the book, he discovered there was a TV adaptation and asked me if I had it. I informed him that from memory, the TV series stunk to high heaven and he should keep well away; but he seemed determined to watch it. So, I downloaded it for him, burned it to a DVD and was about to delete the four parts from my hard drive when I became incapacitated with a slipped disc. This meant many weeks of doing nothing; so I opted to keep the files and watch it one day when I'd exhausted everything else available.

The biggest problem with the book and the subsequent extended version is that it is long. It weighs in at over 1000 pages and weaves a tapestry of characters that need to be believable if you're going to get the most out of the book. The book spends a lot of time delving into the complex humanity of its leading characters - what makes them tick, what drives them, what are their human frailties and these things are, essentially, why some of the characters veer to the side of good and others to the side of evil. For the uninitiated, this is important, as there are a number of characters in the book where you don't know if they'll go with good or evil. This was completely ignored in the adaptation.

My biggest criticism with The Stand - the novel - is that it starts well, has a great middle and a superb epilogue; it's just the ending that has always felt forced. The Stand isn't just a story about the end of the world, it's a tale about good versus evil - good is represented by Mother Abigail and her 'followers'. Abigail is a 106 year old woman who people predisposed towards good dream about after the plague has decimated 99.6% of humanity. Evil comes in the form of Randall Flagg - an enigmatic 'walking dude' or 'dark man' who takes advantage of the humanity's destruction to attract bad people. Flagg assembles a group of people in Las Vegas and runs anything but a benign dictatorship. Mother Abigail takes her people to Boulder, Colorado (which, thanks to a nuclear generator scare has been left largely deserted, even after the city is killed off by the flu). Both sides work to get the old ways back - power (as in energy), politics and order; but they all know that at some point there will be an ultimate battle - one between the old woman's people and Flagg's followers. However, that battle doesn't take the form that many expect and instead relies largely on the fact that God has set this up, so in the end it will be God that breaks it down. That was where I struggled to accept the ending of the book. As an atheist, I cannot get my head around the need for a God that needs sacrifice to appease him. If God did exist and that was his raison d'etre, then it makes me wonder why people would follow him/her blindly - which is essentially what happens to four of the book's leading characters.

To the uninitiated, the above probably sounds a bit crap; but King (who was still a young man when he wrote the book) manages to build an intelligent, thought-provoking and moving book; which is full of surprises, shocks and emotion. It is a sum of all its parts and it doesn't really work without all of these parts... And that brings us to the TV adaptation.

I've read a lot about this TV adaptation over the years; King's story about how it came about - it was originally going to be a George Romero project (oh, how I wish that had happened); how ABC gave King a budget of $28million dollars; how it broke ratings records when it was first aired; how King found his director and was pleased and how he decided that no one else could adapt his magnum opus - it had to be him. In fact, if you read the various accounts of how The Stand came about, you almost expect to witness this totally brilliant piece of US television history. Instead you get, quite possibly, one of the worst examples of television I've ever seen.

It really is one of those things where it's difficult to find a point to start. Almost from the opening scene you realise that something is really wrong with it; like a production of something well known by an amateur dramatics group with no actors. Literally, from the opening scene where Campion, the army guy responsible for spreading the super flu, decides to high tale it out of the top secret base that has just had a rather serious accident; you're left wondering who got the job of casting this atrocity. But that wasn't just it; never in the book is it suggested that Randall Flagg was responsible for the release of the superflu known as Captain trips; it just made it clear that he took advantage of it, like he had taken advantage of other momentous occasions in world history. Yet, in the TV adaptation, you are immediately shown a crow, a recurring motif throughout the show signifying Flagg.

From Campion's escape from the army base, because of a malfunctioning gate (not in the book) to his subsequent arrival in Arnette, East Texas - where in the book everything begins to happen - you get the impression that this is going to have to be an abridged version of the book, despite the lengthy 366 minutes devoted to it. However, it isn't until much later in the show that you realise that King hasn't actually done any abridging at all; he's just mixed his pack up and dealt a slightly different hand, choosing to omit characters and replace them with other characters also from the book, but maybe not scheduled to appear as early as they do. But before we get into that, there's something else we need to look at.

The book focuses on a bunch of characters specifically; these are Stu Redman - an ex-serviceman, decent guy who just happens not to have a job (from the aforementioned Arnette). Frannie Goldsmith - a co-ed who has just discovered she is pregnant by her largely idiotic boyfriend. Larry Underwood - a nomadic, drug liking waste of space who has finally made it big as a singer and is on the verge of becoming a star, but can't escape the fact that he is actually a walking fuck-up and Nick Andros, a deaf mute wanderer who despite his handicap is a clever, self-effacing young man, who just happens to be in the wrong place at the right time. There are other large characters in this book, but these four are the quartet that the book follows. The TV show largely follows the book in that these are the main characters. However, with the possible exception of Gary Sinise as Stu Redman, everything about the other three is just wrong. Wrong people chosen to play them and wrong reasons for their involvement.

Stu Redman's story is simple. He is, like Andros, in the wrong place at the wrong time and ends up becoming a guest of the US government, because unlike everyone else, doesn't appear to be affected by the super flu. His character isn't complex - he's where he is because fate has put him there. His character in the TV show is almost identical to the book, without some of the background. The same could also be said about Nick Andros; his story is very abridged, but largely the character in the TV series is the same as he is in the book; except casting Rob Lowe as a deaf mute was possibly the least inspired thing I've ever seen. Arguably, he would have made a much better Larry Underwood (as was originally intended). It is the Larry character that is, as the US military say, FUBAR. A guy called Adam Storke plays him and while Storke has the acting acumen of a house brick, he wasn't really given much to work on. King, in adapting his own book, seemed to think that he could strip out Underwood's entire raison d'etre and still leave a believable character. In the book, Larry isn't a nice guy - he's your will he or won't he character. He goes through a series of personal tragedies and skirmishes and comes out the other end a changed man - this doesn't happen in the TV show. In this he's just as shallow, but instead of coming across as a man in crisis with his life, he just comes across as a petulant wanker. And finally, there's Molly Ringwald's Fran Goldsmith. If Larry Underwood's book persona had been dismantled and reassembled as a photofit version, then Fran's was wiped out and completely started again. Yes, she did things that were the same as the book, but so much of her back story was just completely rewritten that by the time you get half way through the first part of the show you're seriously wondering why King was allowed to go within 100 feet of his own work. Plus, she was played by Molly Ringwald. Ringwald was 26 when she made The Stand and she had already left her best work well behind her. Essentially, she was good as a teenager working for John Hughes; she attempts to recreate this persona in The Stand and fails miserably; also her story has been condensed so much, there is no mention of her being pregnant until the 3rd part of the mini-series; this, of course, was her main driving point in the book. Fortunately, the director seemed inclined to relegate Fran to almost a minor character role by the time the series got into its stride.

There was also the apparent need to omit characters from the series and replace them with existing characters. For instance, Nadine Cross, who ends up as Randall Flagg's bride doesn't show up until half way through the book, but replaces the doomed Rita Blakemore as Larry's companion out of New York at the start of the story. Harold Lauder, a spotty 16 year old nerd and brother of Fran's best friend in the book has his character changed so much he becomes a different character entirely and much of his story is ignored, especially the strange but distant bond he formed with Larry - an essential part of both characters' developments. Various other characters were just forgotten about or merged making anyone familiar with the story wonder what the hell was going on. This is what I meant about the adaptation feeling abridged, yet in the end isn't. There are a lot of omissions, as you would expect from such a long novel; but the longer it goes on the more you wonder why King omits important things in favour of superfluous bits.

The TV series is atrociously acted; as I said it feels like an AmDram production; it has no soul; none of the actors act like they believe what they're doing. It really does feel like they're all reading from the same dreadful script - which of course, they are. Plus there are glaring continuity errors: Judge Farris dies considerably later in the TV series than he does in the book. He was one of 3 spies sent from Boulder to find out what Flagg was doing and appears to be the first to leave; yet he is killed over two weeks later and still many miles from Las Vegas, while one of the other spies is already doing his job at the US Air Force base that Flagg is rebuilding. Also, the US is strewn with dead and decomposing bodies, yet in the space of one main street there are mummified corpses and bodies that look as though they have literally just stopped breathing. Some characters in the book have been placed in different groups of survivors in the series, which makes later interaction seem a bit odd. There are also some glaring non-story continuity errors: during a funeral scene, allegedly taking place in July, the trees have no leaves on them and it looks more like November; then later, during the very abridged epilogue, on what appears to be November 2nd, it actually looks more like July. There is also a scene in which Tom Cullen, one of the spies from Boulder leaves Las Vegas to return home; he leaves when the moon is full, yet over a week later, he looks up at the moon and its still totally full. You would think that the continuity editor would have been doing his job right.

I've mentioned the acting is bad, but even the dog supplied to play Kojak is dreadful; he is obviously more interested in his wrangler than he was in playing his role and on a number of occasions could be seen looking elsewhere or just not being aware that he was supposed to be a dog. In the book, when Stu stumbles across the dog and his new keeper, Glen Bateman; the dog goes crazy, barking and jumping up and down. In the TV show, the dog is totally unaware of a new presence and is actually looking in another direction. A simple thing, but also totally hilarious - which is what this TV series needed, some intentional humour, because the only laughs you get are from wondering how all these people managed to keep straight faces in the face of such a dreadful script and atrocious direction. I've used the word 'atrocious' a lot - not nearly as much as I would want.

As I said, the series cost a reported $28million dollars to make, yet you wonder, seriously wonder, how they spent all that money. Even the special effects make 1970s Dr Who episodes look state of the art. There is a scene where an oil refinery blows up and it looks exactly like it is, a series of small explosions set in front of a oil tanker, with use of camera perspective to give the impression wanted. Jamey Sheridan's Randall Flagg is bad enough without some of the worst special effects imaginable for his transformation into a devil like creature. In fact, the use of the word 'special' is an insult. It is also very difficult to be scared of an actor who looks like he's trying to be a redneck Billy Connelly...

Other notable things that happen include, the introduction of a character called Ratman, for which it seems no good reason at all; the actor who plays Ralph Brentner is a shoe in for the golfer Colin Montgomery's life story. There is also the appearance of a number of famous film directors such as Sam Raimi and John Landis - both capable of making superb horror films, who would have made a far better fist of this abomination than Garris; who later went on to make other King adaptations - badly. W.G. Snuffy Walden's music is probably the best thing about it and even that is a pale Ry Cooder impression.

I warned my mate Phil that this series was bad and that was before sitting through it a second time. 15 years later, I think it is possibly one of the worst pieces of junk that has ever been released by US television. It is worse than dreadful and it amazes me that it was nominated for several awards and actually won 3 of them. According to Wikipedia, it won the best casting award, which beggars belief; it won a best make up award, for which I can almost understand - the dead bodies at times were the most convincing thing about the series. It also won an award for the best sound mixing, which, I think you'll agree is scraping the bottom of award barrels somewhat. The series tends to get outings every few years on SyFy, normally in the afternoon. If its on watch Murder, She Wrote or something with Dick Van Dyke in it.

My Cultural Life - How Low Can You Go?

What's Up? In the last few weeks I have had an abundance of wild mushrooms, runner beans from my garden plants, new season Golden Wonder...