OK, the title is a quote from Dogma, a great movie by Kevin Smith, it was said by the character Cardinal Glick, played by George Carlin, an even greater person who is sadly no longer with us.
If you've not seen Dogma, or heard of George Carlin, then go and do some research now - In fact, go and watch as many of Kevin Smith's films as you can - They're all great, sweary, but great. When you've gone that, Google George Carlin... I'll wait, it's worth it, believe me.
Done? Good weren't they? - You know the stocky chap in the long coat and the backwards baseball cap in the films? That was your actual Kevin Smith! - Hardly a Hitchcock style cameo - But if you're gonna make great films, then I say why not star in 'em too?
Anyway, enough frivolity, I'd like to talk to you about God (was that the sound of a hundred *back* buttons being pressed?). I don't neccessarily mean your actual Judeo-Christian, Monotheistic, Capital G type god, it could be your multi armed, blue coloured one, or your elephant headed one, or any one of a thousand different deities that people have blamed stuff on for the past few thousand years.
As the more eagle-eyed of you will have spotted, I am a regular church-goer and I believe in a supreme being, I have Faith. What I don't got is Religion.
"But if that's true, why do you go to church?" I hear the four people who are still reading this say.
There are a number of reasons really, Mrs Dandy is a confirmed Anglican Religionite, and there are some nice, friendly and most of all odd people there, but mainly it's because I enjoy running the mixing desk (this is the 21st. Century people, it's not all massive organs and people going Ah-ah-aaaahhhhh in a angelic fashion now) it makes me feel like Rick Wakeman - It also gives me the chance to poke fun at the fundamentalists...
OK - That will have made some hackles rise, so let me explain what I mean by fundamentalists - I take the word to mean, someone who believes that the Bible (or any religious text pertaining to a particular belief system) is infallible, an historic record rather than a book of moral stories and hints and tips on how to live a better life.
This becomes so all-consuming to some people that they forget all about the 'Be Excellent to each Other' stuff (See, Bill & Ted, George Carlin again - Isn't it amazing how this stuff all fits together - I don't just throw this down on the page you know?) and concentrate on the 'Thou shalt not' and 'Righteous smiting of the unbeliever' stuff. In short, they get caught up in the Dogma (Oh my Gods it's like I've got a plan for this thing, right?) - The words of the text themselves rather than the meaning.
There're also people who just go to church because they want to be seen to be important, the kind of people who like to slip into everyday conversation 'So, I said to the Vicar....' They really ruffle my cassock - These are the people for whom I really hope there is an afterlife, 'cos they got a big old shock coming to them with the whole rapid downwards motion and the fire and the pitchforks and the 'Oh no it burns - freunlaven!'
On a different note, if you'll pardon the pun, there was a song sung a couple of weeks ago called 'Our God is greater' - Inoffensive little song, quite jolly and stuff. But it got me thinking, greater than what? Is it kind of a religious football chant? Should religion be so confrontational?
So what do I actually believe? Do you really care? Do I care if you care?
I believe that the state of the world we live in is not ALL down to chance - That there's a guiding influence. I'm not a creationist, I believe in evolution, but I have no problem with the idea that the evolutionary system has been pushed in a particular direction at different points in history.
I don't believe that there's neccessarily a plan for everyone, or anyone for that matter. But I do believe that there's something greater than us that on occasion, helps out - I don't mean in the 'God bless Mummy & Daddy and please can I have a Pony' way. I mean in the 'Holy Crap my brakes aren't working, we're all gonna die!' way - Although they do say that everyone becomes a believer in situations like that.
It could all be luck, I don't profess to know - It could be Aliens, Gods, Goddesses, a giant bowl of spaghetti and meatballs reaching down with his Noodley Appendages.
But as far as I'm concerned, there's something there... After all, if there wasn't there'd be times when I was just sat in the car talking to myself - And that would mean I was mad.
Friday, 30 November 2012
Thursday, 29 November 2012
Deconstruction Complete
I just love Charity Shops (Thrift Stores, for my legion of American readers) - They're a veritable Alladin's cave of dead people's stuff and broken toys. My local 'shopping centre' has about seven and every time I go out to buy the ingredients for an Ocelot Stew, or Sweet and Sour Crispy Peacock I try to pop into as many as I can. I don't neccessarily want to buy anything - It's kind of like a trip to the museum, but with added mothballs.
There is nothing you can't get (OK, there are a huge number of things that you can't get, just shuddup and go with it) and if you wait in the store long enough, you will see every single consumer item that has been sold in the past hundred years or so. I've seen everything from Hello Kitty Handbags to Victorian Violet Wands on those hallowed shelves (Before you ask, no, I didn't buy it, there was too much month left at the end of the money). We all need to support these places, they can't be allowed to die out.
Don't get me wrong, for me, it's nothing to do with the Charity, for all I care the money could go straight to Albanian gangsters who live only to wallpaper their houses with kittens' eyelids. It's the whole digging through the crap aspect of it that appeals to me, a bit like you guys must feel reading this Blog... Most of the time it's all odd shoes and canteens of cutlery with all the knives missing - But occasionally you'll find an original copy of Action Comics Number 1 - In A1 condition. OK, so someone's drawn a penis on the cover in sharpie, but still..
Anywho, I was in one a few months ago, digging through a tub of naked Action-Men (GI-Joes), odd Sticklebricks and Matchbox cars that had so few wheels between them that they'd only be completely at home in Back to the Future 2, when the very worthy lady behind the counter asked;
'Are you looking for anything in particular?'
Now, I froze, because I didn't want to say, 'No, I'm just pretending to be an archaeologist' - Which was the sad truth, so I replied with the first thing that came into my head, 'I don't suppose you have any Lego do you?'
She thought for a second, she actually did that thing where you tap your index finger on your lips and look up (which I know you're all doing now, so stop it!) then said,
'No, I don't think so, but if you give me your number, I'll give you a call if some comes in'
Ok, I mean she wasn't completely unattractive in a 'Person who works in a charity shop and probably has a part share in a rescued pony' kind of way, but I couldn't take the chance that she was hitting on me, after all, I'm a married man... So, in true tabloid style, I made my excuses and left.
A week or so later, I was walking past the same shop when I saw what I thought was a first edition StarScream in the window (It turns out it wasn't) - As I was deciding whether to in, the worthy lady's face appeared and mouthed 'OO-ee God, sumly Go!' (You're doing it again... stop it!). She beckoned me into the store like Morpheous asking Neo to show him Kung-Fu and said,
'It's just come in, you can have first look!' And then she did that excited stiff handclap thing.
It took me a good few seconds to figure out what the blinking-flip she was talking about, and I still didn't twig until she brought out a cardboard box with Lego in it.
'I'm afraid it's not all Lego, but feel free to sort out what you don't want.'
So, picture the scene, avid readers, I'm sat on the floor, in a busy-ish Charity shop, sorting out a box of mixed toys that was about 80% Lego, when she came up and said,
'Let me know when you've got that one sorted and I'll bring you the next one'
Now, I did that thing where you go all slittly-eyed and look from side to side (Again? Stop it!) and said, 'There's more?'
'Yeah, a couple of small ones'
So all in all there were three decent sized boxes of Lego and a box of assorted rubbish, which I kindly re-donated to them. Quite gingerly I asked, 'And how much would you like for all these?'
'Well, I'm sorry, but Lego's quite expensive to buy isn't it, I'm afraid I can't let it go for less than £20...'
I nearly pooped an actual kitten in my rush to get out my wallet.
'Tell, you what,' I said, 'It's all in a good cause isn't it? I'll give you £25.'
You know, I think she was genuinely touched, and I desperately tried not to blurt out 'But it's worth, like £200 Muhahahahaaha!' and twirl my moustache.
So, once I'd filled out the Gift-Aid certificate - It seemed the right thing to do. I picked up the three boxes of Lego and struggled out of the shop. Now, I didn't have the car with me because the shops are only about 10 minutes walk from my house. So I had the two open boxes balanced on top of each other in front of me, and a box, with what I thought was a fairly close-fitting lid, gripped with the spare fingers of my right hand... You can guess what happened, by my usage of 'what I thought was', right?
The lid came off the box, and spewed about a kilo of lego all over the pavement. Embarrassing enough you might think, but no, it chose to let go at a traffic island, on a three lane road, at rush hour, with halted traffic.
I don't think Bono got anywhere near that amount of applause when he anounced that he had single-handedly saved the entire African population from starvation - And to get the same amount of 'Woooo!'s I would have to have been wearing a severely short skirt and little else. My face actually felt like it was about to spontaneously combust.
Was it Karma? - Would it have happened if I'd offered what some people might say was a 'fair' price?
Yeah, it probably would... Because even though they say that Karma's a bitch, she's also got a bloody good sense of humour.
There is nothing you can't get (OK, there are a huge number of things that you can't get, just shuddup and go with it) and if you wait in the store long enough, you will see every single consumer item that has been sold in the past hundred years or so. I've seen everything from Hello Kitty Handbags to Victorian Violet Wands on those hallowed shelves (Before you ask, no, I didn't buy it, there was too much month left at the end of the money). We all need to support these places, they can't be allowed to die out.
Don't get me wrong, for me, it's nothing to do with the Charity, for all I care the money could go straight to Albanian gangsters who live only to wallpaper their houses with kittens' eyelids. It's the whole digging through the crap aspect of it that appeals to me, a bit like you guys must feel reading this Blog... Most of the time it's all odd shoes and canteens of cutlery with all the knives missing - But occasionally you'll find an original copy of Action Comics Number 1 - In A1 condition. OK, so someone's drawn a penis on the cover in sharpie, but still..
Anywho, I was in one a few months ago, digging through a tub of naked Action-Men (GI-Joes), odd Sticklebricks and Matchbox cars that had so few wheels between them that they'd only be completely at home in Back to the Future 2, when the very worthy lady behind the counter asked;
'Are you looking for anything in particular?'
Now, I froze, because I didn't want to say, 'No, I'm just pretending to be an archaeologist' - Which was the sad truth, so I replied with the first thing that came into my head, 'I don't suppose you have any Lego do you?'
She thought for a second, she actually did that thing where you tap your index finger on your lips and look up (which I know you're all doing now, so stop it!) then said,
'No, I don't think so, but if you give me your number, I'll give you a call if some comes in'
Ok, I mean she wasn't completely unattractive in a 'Person who works in a charity shop and probably has a part share in a rescued pony' kind of way, but I couldn't take the chance that she was hitting on me, after all, I'm a married man... So, in true tabloid style, I made my excuses and left.
A week or so later, I was walking past the same shop when I saw what I thought was a first edition StarScream in the window (It turns out it wasn't) - As I was deciding whether to in, the worthy lady's face appeared and mouthed 'OO-ee God, sumly Go!' (You're doing it again... stop it!). She beckoned me into the store like Morpheous asking Neo to show him Kung-Fu and said,
'It's just come in, you can have first look!' And then she did that excited stiff handclap thing.
It took me a good few seconds to figure out what the blinking-flip she was talking about, and I still didn't twig until she brought out a cardboard box with Lego in it.
'I'm afraid it's not all Lego, but feel free to sort out what you don't want.'
So, picture the scene, avid readers, I'm sat on the floor, in a busy-ish Charity shop, sorting out a box of mixed toys that was about 80% Lego, when she came up and said,
'Let me know when you've got that one sorted and I'll bring you the next one'
Now, I did that thing where you go all slittly-eyed and look from side to side (Again? Stop it!) and said, 'There's more?'
'Yeah, a couple of small ones'
So all in all there were three decent sized boxes of Lego and a box of assorted rubbish, which I kindly re-donated to them. Quite gingerly I asked, 'And how much would you like for all these?'
'Well, I'm sorry, but Lego's quite expensive to buy isn't it, I'm afraid I can't let it go for less than £20...'
I nearly pooped an actual kitten in my rush to get out my wallet.
'Tell, you what,' I said, 'It's all in a good cause isn't it? I'll give you £25.'
You know, I think she was genuinely touched, and I desperately tried not to blurt out 'But it's worth, like £200 Muhahahahaaha!' and twirl my moustache.
So, once I'd filled out the Gift-Aid certificate - It seemed the right thing to do. I picked up the three boxes of Lego and struggled out of the shop. Now, I didn't have the car with me because the shops are only about 10 minutes walk from my house. So I had the two open boxes balanced on top of each other in front of me, and a box, with what I thought was a fairly close-fitting lid, gripped with the spare fingers of my right hand... You can guess what happened, by my usage of 'what I thought was', right?
The lid came off the box, and spewed about a kilo of lego all over the pavement. Embarrassing enough you might think, but no, it chose to let go at a traffic island, on a three lane road, at rush hour, with halted traffic.
I don't think Bono got anywhere near that amount of applause when he anounced that he had single-handedly saved the entire African population from starvation - And to get the same amount of 'Woooo!'s I would have to have been wearing a severely short skirt and little else. My face actually felt like it was about to spontaneously combust.
Was it Karma? - Would it have happened if I'd offered what some people might say was a 'fair' price?
Yeah, it probably would... Because even though they say that Karma's a bitch, she's also got a bloody good sense of humour.
Wednesday, 28 November 2012
I'm like an attention whore, innit?
... An' I ain't even lying though Brah!
You know those people who say 'It's a small world'? Don't you just want to smack them in their gurning, platitude espousing, pie slots? No? Then maybe I'm just over-reacting.
It's not, really - If you wanted to walk around the equator, you're gonna need a few pairs of boots... It's about 25,000 miles, which is only a 10th of the distance to the Moon! - It's got a surface area (both wet and dry before the nit-pickers start) of about 197,000,000 square miles. (I am so hot for Wolfram Alpha right now!)
I know that that isn't what they mean, I know they're probably talking about Globalisation and the Transglobal Information Superhighway and High Speed point to point air travel, but while it still takes me two hours to drive the 55 miles to work, my view is that the world's pretty bloody massive.
OK, I can feel myself calming down now, I've had my second coffee and some chocolate.
This wasn't even going to be a full post, I was just going to document my Internet footprint so that those of you who only follow my Twitter can look at my DeviantArt, or my Facebook friends can subscribe to my Twitter, or suchlike and wherefore.
So, where can you find me?
Well, here, obviously... The Chimping Dandy Blog - The place that I put stuff that serves to both make me sound clever and to make you smile. You can comment on this, it is allowed - I'd quite like it in fact.
Via eMail: thechimpingdandy@hotmail.co.uk
You can email me here should you wish to ask a question that you feel is too intimate for the comments section, or if'n you're plain shy.
On DeviantArt Occasionally the mood takes me to scribble uncontrollably with pens & pencils on paper - Some of which isn't completely unrecognisable, I sometimes post my stuff here, feel free to comment. I also do tattoo flash, which I really should start charging for, as its popularity is increasing (I am very shallow... The price will depend on how well I know you and/or how pretty you are).
On Twitter: Follow me at @Chimping_Dandy
(Aaaarghhh - No wonder no-one follows me.. I forgot the Underscore!)
A lot of what i post is drivel - No, seriously, you have been warned. I'm a great believer that Jack & Noah are collecting all the 'Stream of Conciousness' type tweets, feeding them into a giant robot in the shape of Godzilla wearing a sombrero and a 'SkyNet' T-Shirt and waiting for the day when it becomes self-aware. Of course, rather than destorying Tokyo, it will more likely travelling the world discussing Kerouac and telling people what its favourite flavour of crisp is.
If you're a real stalker, you'll be able to find my Facebook page, it (currently) has the donor image that my Blog & Twitter avatar were cloned from as the Profile Picture - I'm not going to post the URL here - If you really want to know the 'real' me, then feel free to mail me and I'll drop a link to you.
I am also more than happy to be a guest contributor to other people's blogs, why anyone would want me to be is a source of constant wonderment to me, but if you're interested in that, then let me know. Here's one I did earlier for James Josiah's Flash Fiction Blog, which you should follow if you're not squeamish:
T-Minus 4 Minutes
It doesn't have to be fiction, I can rant about most things given enough time.
Normal service will be resumed tomorrow, I was thinking of something on 'The Whit and Whisdom of Nickleback' - To be read in the voice of Stewie Griffin.
P.S. For those of you who are interested in such things - This Blog was originally going to be called 'The Digital Orgone Accumulator'. But I decided that:
a) It made me sound like Dave Brock's Hipster brother
b) My good friend Pete came up with a much better name - for which I am eternally grateful.
P.P.S. The name has nothing to do with digital cameras...
You know those people who say 'It's a small world'? Don't you just want to smack them in their gurning, platitude espousing, pie slots? No? Then maybe I'm just over-reacting.
It's not, really - If you wanted to walk around the equator, you're gonna need a few pairs of boots... It's about 25,000 miles, which is only a 10th of the distance to the Moon! - It's got a surface area (both wet and dry before the nit-pickers start) of about 197,000,000 square miles. (I am so hot for Wolfram Alpha right now!)
I know that that isn't what they mean, I know they're probably talking about Globalisation and the Transglobal Information Superhighway and High Speed point to point air travel, but while it still takes me two hours to drive the 55 miles to work, my view is that the world's pretty bloody massive.
OK, I can feel myself calming down now, I've had my second coffee and some chocolate.
This wasn't even going to be a full post, I was just going to document my Internet footprint so that those of you who only follow my Twitter can look at my DeviantArt, or my Facebook friends can subscribe to my Twitter, or suchlike and wherefore.
So, where can you find me?
Well, here, obviously... The Chimping Dandy Blog - The place that I put stuff that serves to both make me sound clever and to make you smile. You can comment on this, it is allowed - I'd quite like it in fact.
Via eMail: thechimpingdandy@hotmail.co.uk
You can email me here should you wish to ask a question that you feel is too intimate for the comments section, or if'n you're plain shy.
On DeviantArt Occasionally the mood takes me to scribble uncontrollably with pens & pencils on paper - Some of which isn't completely unrecognisable, I sometimes post my stuff here, feel free to comment. I also do tattoo flash, which I really should start charging for, as its popularity is increasing (I am very shallow... The price will depend on how well I know you and/or how pretty you are).
On Twitter: Follow me at @Chimping_Dandy
(Aaaarghhh - No wonder no-one follows me.. I forgot the Underscore!)
A lot of what i post is drivel - No, seriously, you have been warned. I'm a great believer that Jack & Noah are collecting all the 'Stream of Conciousness' type tweets, feeding them into a giant robot in the shape of Godzilla wearing a sombrero and a 'SkyNet' T-Shirt and waiting for the day when it becomes self-aware. Of course, rather than destorying Tokyo, it will more likely travelling the world discussing Kerouac and telling people what its favourite flavour of crisp is.
If you're a real stalker, you'll be able to find my Facebook page, it (currently) has the donor image that my Blog & Twitter avatar were cloned from as the Profile Picture - I'm not going to post the URL here - If you really want to know the 'real' me, then feel free to mail me and I'll drop a link to you.
-+-+- Shameless Advert -+-+-
I am also more than happy to be a guest contributor to other people's blogs, why anyone would want me to be is a source of constant wonderment to me, but if you're interested in that, then let me know. Here's one I did earlier for James Josiah's Flash Fiction Blog, which you should follow if you're not squeamish:
T-Minus 4 Minutes
It doesn't have to be fiction, I can rant about most things given enough time.
-+-+- End of Shameless Advert -+-+-
Normal service will be resumed tomorrow, I was thinking of something on 'The Whit and Whisdom of Nickleback' - To be read in the voice of Stewie Griffin.
P.S. For those of you who are interested in such things - This Blog was originally going to be called 'The Digital Orgone Accumulator'. But I decided that:
a) It made me sound like Dave Brock's Hipster brother
b) My good friend Pete came up with a much better name - for which I am eternally grateful.
P.P.S. The name has nothing to do with digital cameras...
Tuesday, 27 November 2012
Excelsior!
As has already been mentioned, I am a Superhero... At least to small children who don't know any better. And as Stan Lee once said (or FDR, or Jesus, depending on who you believe) "With great power comes great responsibility" This is of course totally true, and now I am greatly empowered by the Internet, I will try to become responsible for at least some of your entertainment.
Isn't it strange that (arguably) the two 'coolest' Superheros - Batman & Iron Man, have no superpowers whatsover, no unassisted flight, no transmogrification, telepathy or ability to smell things from a profoundly long distance. What they do have is cash, and plenty of it - Want to fly, see in the dark or have weaponry extruded from your own orifices? Well, cold hard cash is your friend - According to Forbes, approximately $10,000,000,000 will see you be able to set yourself up as either of the cool crusaders.
If I'm honest, I don't have that kind of money... So, what do you do if you can't buy Superhero-dom, you're not from another dimension/planet and you don't fancy being bitten by anything (radioactive or otherwise).
Well obviously, you make it up... But then that opens another can of deep fried, crispy, Winston Hobbes'. What superpowers do you arbitrarily give yourself? You can discount the whole flying thing straight away, I mean, you can't pretend to fly... Well, I mean you can, but usually only the once, and onlookers would probably describe it more as falling, especially to the reporter from the local paper, just before they said 'He was a nice man, he kept himself to himself'. You could probably, just about, give yourself super(ish)-strength - Given enough time, discipline and motivation I suppose... Which are, of course, the three main reasons that I'll never have that. (See also: Mad acrobatic / Ninja skills, swordplay, accuracy whilst throwing stuff or even being able to play 'Smoke on the Water on the Electric Guitar)
So, we need to think outside of the box, really get the grey-matter jiggling about - Go to the esoteric end of the scale - I have thought about, and rapidly discounted:
But only because of their lack of crime fighting applications and the fact that they are a bit pants. Then I found it, the perfect pretend super-power...
Wait for it...
I can stop time! - for as long as I like!... You don't believe me?
OK, I'll do it now. 3... 2... 1... *Bamff* Ha! you didn't notice did you? That's because I actually stopped time, you were frozen in an actual bubble... of time! My only problem is, I stopped too which is a bit of an issue where using it for anything even remotely heroic is concerned - I'm working on it, honest.
Just think though, if you could actually do that, with a thought, or pressing a button on an old watch you found in an antique shop that had magically disappeared when you tried to take it back because it never told the right time. With a *click* or *Bamff* or *Boop* everyone around you freezes and you are free to do whatever you like... Think of the possibilities... Erm... Ah... Now try to think of possibilities that don't involve changing rooms, stealing money or anything involving the words sneaking, inappropriate or without being caught.
Oh my Gods... I'm a SuperVillain!
Isn't it strange that (arguably) the two 'coolest' Superheros - Batman & Iron Man, have no superpowers whatsover, no unassisted flight, no transmogrification, telepathy or ability to smell things from a profoundly long distance. What they do have is cash, and plenty of it - Want to fly, see in the dark or have weaponry extruded from your own orifices? Well, cold hard cash is your friend - According to Forbes, approximately $10,000,000,000 will see you be able to set yourself up as either of the cool crusaders.
If I'm honest, I don't have that kind of money... So, what do you do if you can't buy Superhero-dom, you're not from another dimension/planet and you don't fancy being bitten by anything (radioactive or otherwise).
Well obviously, you make it up... But then that opens another can of deep fried, crispy, Winston Hobbes'. What superpowers do you arbitrarily give yourself? You can discount the whole flying thing straight away, I mean, you can't pretend to fly... Well, I mean you can, but usually only the once, and onlookers would probably describe it more as falling, especially to the reporter from the local paper, just before they said 'He was a nice man, he kept himself to himself'. You could probably, just about, give yourself super(ish)-strength - Given enough time, discipline and motivation I suppose... Which are, of course, the three main reasons that I'll never have that. (See also: Mad acrobatic / Ninja skills, swordplay, accuracy whilst throwing stuff or even being able to play 'Smoke on the Water on the Electric Guitar)
So, we need to think outside of the box, really get the grey-matter jiggling about - Go to the esoteric end of the scale - I have thought about, and rapidly discounted:
- Being able to make things taste slightly different
- Lengthening the shelf life of cut flowers
- Instantly doubling the number of bubbles in a standard bottle of carbonated drink
But only because of their lack of crime fighting applications and the fact that they are a bit pants. Then I found it, the perfect pretend super-power...
Wait for it...
I can stop time! - for as long as I like!... You don't believe me?
OK, I'll do it now. 3... 2... 1... *Bamff* Ha! you didn't notice did you? That's because I actually stopped time, you were frozen in an actual bubble... of time! My only problem is, I stopped too which is a bit of an issue where using it for anything even remotely heroic is concerned - I'm working on it, honest.
Just think though, if you could actually do that, with a thought, or pressing a button on an old watch you found in an antique shop that had magically disappeared when you tried to take it back because it never told the right time. With a *click* or *Bamff* or *Boop* everyone around you freezes and you are free to do whatever you like... Think of the possibilities... Erm... Ah... Now try to think of possibilities that don't involve changing rooms, stealing money or anything involving the words sneaking, inappropriate or without being caught.
Oh my Gods... I'm a SuperVillain!
Monday, 26 November 2012
This IS the Blog you're looking for
In hono(u)r of my first real follower (Anakin.1138, the Chimping Empire is glad that you have found us, and hopes that you will be a powerful ally in our assault on the Rebel Blogosphere) I have decided to tackle a thorny issue - One that has divided the most astute minds of our, and no doubt many other generations to come.
Will anyone actually die because Lucasfilm is now a part of Disney?
Simple Answer: No - The End. (Shortest... Blog... ever..!)
Ah, right, you want more? Fair enough.
Let me explain my basic standpoint on the current six films, I liked them all. Not every part of every one, I mean, they could probably have cut episodes I-III down to two films by cutting out all of the Shaak riding and the no dialog, soft focus 'Oh how deeply in love we are' bits, then bulked it back up to three films again with more Pew-Pew Dakka-dakka-dakka "Ah! Jedi scum, you've only gone and cut my other arm off". And Jar-Jar? Meesa Likea kick yousa in da Poodoo... But other than that, on the whole, pretty good.
Did I like the special editions I hear you ask? - Again, some good bits, some bad bits - Mos Eisley was a lot more impressive, Han treading on a slimmed-down Jabba's tail - not so much.
And of course... HAN SHOT FIRST! - That-Is-All
Did George Lucas ride roughshod over our collective childhoods with his spikey death boots of death? No, not really - As I understand it, the accepted reasoning says that there were things he wanted to do in the original trilogy that the technology wasn't up to - so when the technology was available, he added the extra bits and got some of it a bit wrong. And it's not just me that thinks this, actual real people think the same thing, take the popular blogger Bob Suicide for instance - She's very passionate about it
(If you don't know who Bob Suicide is, I suggest you don't google her unless you are over 18 and not at work)
All in all, taken as a franchise, they're good, old fashioned, Saturday Morning fun films - I mean even the wipes and fades that are used between scenes evoke that feeling, completely intentionally I might add.
So, I hope we can all accept that they're a source of entertainment and not a religion or a way of life (Even though I freely admit that put Jedi on my Census document).
So, put yourself in Uncle George's (Spikey Death) Boots (of Death) - You make a trilogy of films that take the world, quite lidderally, by storm - They're globally applauded as the best thing since hot and cold running sliced bread. You make a potload of cash, you ride the wave for ten or so years and start re-mastering the originals - They're not so applauded, it's the kind of applause you get when a magician pulls a rabbit out of his previously empty hat, but it's dead - Still pretty impressive, but there are a lot of people who would have preferred not to see it. Then a few years after that, you go back to the beginning of the story and go a bit SFX-mental with fully digital actors and suchlike. You try to sell the story to a new generation of kids who expect everything to float, glow, be Wi-Fi / HiFi / HD / 3D / 5.1 Surround and Smel-o-vision. The kids love it, but the Fanboys hate it, and when I say hate, I mean squeeze your pet Pangolin through a mangle then wear it as a codpiece style hate. This time the rabbit's not just dead, the magician's left holding a pair of cute little bunny ears that look a bit green around the edges and smell like a zombie's jockstrap. So you realise the kids are the future and produce an animated series, targeting the kids directly - Then you re-imagine the cartoon series in full CGI - Then you realise that you may well have 'Jumped the Shark'.
So, whaddya do? Who could ressurect this franchise that's spiralling down towards Coruscant without a fireship in sight? Who knows more about selling stuff to kids than anyone in the known Universe? Who didn't kill the Marvel franchise when they bought it? Who's already been successfully marketing Star Wars toys for at least the past 10 years?
I reckon that it was his only real choice. Of course if Episode VII is completely dingo's kidneys (fetid or otherwise) then I shall replace this post with one that's just a picture of George Lucas being crucified - in 3D. And then deny that this version ever existed, you can think of it as "This IS the Blog you're looking for - The Special Edition"
Will anyone actually die because Lucasfilm is now a part of Disney?
Simple Answer: No - The End. (Shortest... Blog... ever..!)
Ah, right, you want more? Fair enough.
Let me explain my basic standpoint on the current six films, I liked them all. Not every part of every one, I mean, they could probably have cut episodes I-III down to two films by cutting out all of the Shaak riding and the no dialog, soft focus 'Oh how deeply in love we are' bits, then bulked it back up to three films again with more Pew-Pew Dakka-dakka-dakka "Ah! Jedi scum, you've only gone and cut my other arm off". And Jar-Jar? Meesa Likea kick yousa in da Poodoo... But other than that, on the whole, pretty good.
Did I like the special editions I hear you ask? - Again, some good bits, some bad bits - Mos Eisley was a lot more impressive, Han treading on a slimmed-down Jabba's tail - not so much.
And of course... HAN SHOT FIRST! - That-Is-All
Did George Lucas ride roughshod over our collective childhoods with his spikey death boots of death? No, not really - As I understand it, the accepted reasoning says that there were things he wanted to do in the original trilogy that the technology wasn't up to - so when the technology was available, he added the extra bits and got some of it a bit wrong. And it's not just me that thinks this, actual real people think the same thing, take the popular blogger Bob Suicide for instance - She's very passionate about it
(If you don't know who Bob Suicide is, I suggest you don't google her unless you are over 18 and not at work)
All in all, taken as a franchise, they're good, old fashioned, Saturday Morning fun films - I mean even the wipes and fades that are used between scenes evoke that feeling, completely intentionally I might add.
So, I hope we can all accept that they're a source of entertainment and not a religion or a way of life (Even though I freely admit that put Jedi on my Census document).
So, put yourself in Uncle George's (Spikey Death) Boots (of Death) - You make a trilogy of films that take the world, quite lidderally, by storm - They're globally applauded as the best thing since hot and cold running sliced bread. You make a potload of cash, you ride the wave for ten or so years and start re-mastering the originals - They're not so applauded, it's the kind of applause you get when a magician pulls a rabbit out of his previously empty hat, but it's dead - Still pretty impressive, but there are a lot of people who would have preferred not to see it. Then a few years after that, you go back to the beginning of the story and go a bit SFX-mental with fully digital actors and suchlike. You try to sell the story to a new generation of kids who expect everything to float, glow, be Wi-Fi / HiFi / HD / 3D / 5.1 Surround and Smel-o-vision. The kids love it, but the Fanboys hate it, and when I say hate, I mean squeeze your pet Pangolin through a mangle then wear it as a codpiece style hate. This time the rabbit's not just dead, the magician's left holding a pair of cute little bunny ears that look a bit green around the edges and smell like a zombie's jockstrap. So you realise the kids are the future and produce an animated series, targeting the kids directly - Then you re-imagine the cartoon series in full CGI - Then you realise that you may well have 'Jumped the Shark'.
So, whaddya do? Who could ressurect this franchise that's spiralling down towards Coruscant without a fireship in sight? Who knows more about selling stuff to kids than anyone in the known Universe? Who didn't kill the Marvel franchise when they bought it? Who's already been successfully marketing Star Wars toys for at least the past 10 years?
I reckon that it was his only real choice. Of course if Episode VII is completely dingo's kidneys (fetid or otherwise) then I shall replace this post with one that's just a picture of George Lucas being crucified - in 3D. And then deny that this version ever existed, you can think of it as "This IS the Blog you're looking for - The Special Edition"
Saturday, 24 November 2012
What a Maroon!
Originally posted on facebook 20/11/12
It's a good thing that someone commented on this Facebook post this morning, else I would never have spotted that I'd not actually Blogged, the Facebook post, where everyone said I should start a Blog... What am I? (Don't answer that)
It's a good thing that someone commented on this Facebook post this morning, else I would never have spotted that I'd not actually Blogged, the Facebook post, where everyone said I should start a Blog... What am I? (Don't answer that)
Friday, 23 November 2012
Your name's not down, but your girlfriend can come in.
This may suprise a few of you - But I am actually a fully fledged, licensed and notarised 'Door Supervisor' (What we all used to call a Bouncer).
In the dim and distant past, probably about twenty years ago, as I'd done some freelance bailiffing work, I would occasionally get accosted by the bouncers of local biker bars and clubs (Whom I'd known previously, I mean these guys didn't just spy my rippling biceps and go - 'He looks like he'd fill a doorway') and asked if I'd like to 'watch the door' whilst they stepped away from their posts for a bio break or to *cough* check some young lady's ID *cough*. This slowly evolved into me becoming one of those people that everyone hates - 'The guy who gets into places for free'. You'd rock up at the door of your venue of choice, the bouncer would ask 'Working?', I'd reply, 'Can do, if you're busy' and then there'd be some fist-bumping or that fist-handshake thing and I'd go and get a bottle of Dog and sit down for the rest of the night. The only proviso was that if things did kick off, you were seen to be in the front row, handing out righteous judgement with whatever blunt instrument came most readily to hand.
This very seldom happened if I'm honest as, contrary to popular opinion, biker bars (in the UK certainly) tend to be self policing, and also, bikers in general are a pretty good natured bunch - Visit one, you'll love it, but it's probably best not to wear a tie unless you like people pointing at you and laughing. (This does not apply if you're female and dressed as a schoolgirl, feel free to wear a tie then, although in fairness, you'll probably still get pointed at - Although it's unlikely to be with a finger.)
However, it all tailed off as things got more and more regulated, you started to need certification, you had to have a 'Little Blue Badge' issued by the local authorities, then the SIA (Security Industry Authority) got involved and it all went to hell in a handcart... Bouncers became Doormen, then Door Supervisors, the bats and socks full of pennies got replaced by politeness and psychology and it became 'safe'... OK, let's qualify that bit, I mean it became safer for the punter. You were significantly less likely to wake up in a ditch, looking at a selection of your own bodily fluids, wondering why you could see the back of your own head. It was no safer for the guy in the monkey suit saying 'I'm sorry sir, not tonight, try again next week' as the local authorities had not seen fit to regulate the behaviour of drunks to the same extent, it was still quite acceptable for them to lash out with glasses and broken WKD bottles and whatever else they carried about their persons.
I thought myself to be well out of, for want of a better word, you could describe as 'A mug's game' and settled down to a life of comfort, videogames and beer. That is of course until my wife commented that I should probably 'Do something in my spare time', it seems that sitting, drinking beer and playing games aren't 'something' as far as the current Mrs Dandy is concerned. I took this to heart, and within a couple of months I was offered a place on a Door Supervisor training course - Spooky!
Our instructor was a little Scots fella, who had been invalided out from 3 Para after (IIRC) smashing both of his legs (or arms) to pieces after a faulty parachute deployment - And he was, without doubt, the most double-hard b*st*rd that I have ever had the honour to meet. He would merrily go through the official SIA Door Supervisors Training Handbook with us, then slam it shut and say 'Tammorae, I'll tich ya poufters whae ya rally need tae knae'
And he did... We learned what bits to poke, where to chop or twist, how fast, how hard and how long for - In fairness, he did preface every demonstration with 'An ya shoul' ne'er do thas, but ye'll nee' to knae how to defen agin it' - It was the first time I ever saw anyone use the 'sleeper hold' to it's natural conclusion and also the first time I saw a guy who was probably only 5'5" subdue a guy around a foot taller, one handed. (It should be noted that the big fellah wasn't just tall, he was probably about 300lbs and has once been sacked for knocking someone out with a live chicken - He works for the BBC now I think, or at least he did the last time I met him)
And he also HATED first aid training, don't get me wrong, he still taught it, and taught it well, but his opinion was that it made you soft and you'd worry about hurting someone if you thought you might have to fix them again afterwards. To this end, he organised a bit of 'role play' the day after the first aid training. He set the classroom up to mimic a darkened nightclub layout and slumped one of our number in the corner, then he let us in, one at a time and told us that it was the end of the night and the rest of the club was clear, 'Whad'ye dae?' Of course, we were all still in 'Helpful First Aider' mode, we checked for breathing and conciousness and stuff and went to help, whereupon the guy opened his eyes, brought an empty syringe from behind his back, and stabbed us in the neck, 'Yer deid, if ya lucky, it wae jus drogs, if ya wea onlucky it wea infected blod, if ya wae rilly onlucky it whuz jus' full o' air !' he cried, with more than a little glee - The only guy who passed this test was the one who he'd put in the sleeper hold - Maybe it focuses the mind?
I've used it a couple of times since, even done security for bands and suchlike. All in all, a pretty great experience, people who are interested in self defence should definately look into it - I've taught a lot of what I learned to my daughter, and will be doing the same when my son's a little older - So that's something for the next generation of bullies to look forward to.
In the dim and distant past, probably about twenty years ago, as I'd done some freelance bailiffing work, I would occasionally get accosted by the bouncers of local biker bars and clubs (Whom I'd known previously, I mean these guys didn't just spy my rippling biceps and go - 'He looks like he'd fill a doorway') and asked if I'd like to 'watch the door' whilst they stepped away from their posts for a bio break or to *cough* check some young lady's ID *cough*. This slowly evolved into me becoming one of those people that everyone hates - 'The guy who gets into places for free'. You'd rock up at the door of your venue of choice, the bouncer would ask 'Working?', I'd reply, 'Can do, if you're busy' and then there'd be some fist-bumping or that fist-handshake thing and I'd go and get a bottle of Dog and sit down for the rest of the night. The only proviso was that if things did kick off, you were seen to be in the front row, handing out righteous judgement with whatever blunt instrument came most readily to hand.
This very seldom happened if I'm honest as, contrary to popular opinion, biker bars (in the UK certainly) tend to be self policing, and also, bikers in general are a pretty good natured bunch - Visit one, you'll love it, but it's probably best not to wear a tie unless you like people pointing at you and laughing. (This does not apply if you're female and dressed as a schoolgirl, feel free to wear a tie then, although in fairness, you'll probably still get pointed at - Although it's unlikely to be with a finger.)
However, it all tailed off as things got more and more regulated, you started to need certification, you had to have a 'Little Blue Badge' issued by the local authorities, then the SIA (Security Industry Authority) got involved and it all went to hell in a handcart... Bouncers became Doormen, then Door Supervisors, the bats and socks full of pennies got replaced by politeness and psychology and it became 'safe'... OK, let's qualify that bit, I mean it became safer for the punter. You were significantly less likely to wake up in a ditch, looking at a selection of your own bodily fluids, wondering why you could see the back of your own head. It was no safer for the guy in the monkey suit saying 'I'm sorry sir, not tonight, try again next week' as the local authorities had not seen fit to regulate the behaviour of drunks to the same extent, it was still quite acceptable for them to lash out with glasses and broken WKD bottles and whatever else they carried about their persons.
I thought myself to be well out of, for want of a better word, you could describe as 'A mug's game' and settled down to a life of comfort, videogames and beer. That is of course until my wife commented that I should probably 'Do something in my spare time', it seems that sitting, drinking beer and playing games aren't 'something' as far as the current Mrs Dandy is concerned. I took this to heart, and within a couple of months I was offered a place on a Door Supervisor training course - Spooky!
Our instructor was a little Scots fella, who had been invalided out from 3 Para after (IIRC) smashing both of his legs (or arms) to pieces after a faulty parachute deployment - And he was, without doubt, the most double-hard b*st*rd that I have ever had the honour to meet. He would merrily go through the official SIA Door Supervisors Training Handbook with us, then slam it shut and say 'Tammorae, I'll tich ya poufters whae ya rally need tae knae'
And he did... We learned what bits to poke, where to chop or twist, how fast, how hard and how long for - In fairness, he did preface every demonstration with 'An ya shoul' ne'er do thas, but ye'll nee' to knae how to defen agin it' - It was the first time I ever saw anyone use the 'sleeper hold' to it's natural conclusion and also the first time I saw a guy who was probably only 5'5" subdue a guy around a foot taller, one handed. (It should be noted that the big fellah wasn't just tall, he was probably about 300lbs and has once been sacked for knocking someone out with a live chicken - He works for the BBC now I think, or at least he did the last time I met him)
And he also HATED first aid training, don't get me wrong, he still taught it, and taught it well, but his opinion was that it made you soft and you'd worry about hurting someone if you thought you might have to fix them again afterwards. To this end, he organised a bit of 'role play' the day after the first aid training. He set the classroom up to mimic a darkened nightclub layout and slumped one of our number in the corner, then he let us in, one at a time and told us that it was the end of the night and the rest of the club was clear, 'Whad'ye dae?' Of course, we were all still in 'Helpful First Aider' mode, we checked for breathing and conciousness and stuff and went to help, whereupon the guy opened his eyes, brought an empty syringe from behind his back, and stabbed us in the neck, 'Yer deid, if ya lucky, it wae jus drogs, if ya wea onlucky it wea infected blod, if ya wae rilly onlucky it whuz jus' full o' air !' he cried, with more than a little glee - The only guy who passed this test was the one who he'd put in the sleeper hold - Maybe it focuses the mind?
I've used it a couple of times since, even done security for bands and suchlike. All in all, a pretty great experience, people who are interested in self defence should definately look into it - I've taught a lot of what I learned to my daughter, and will be doing the same when my son's a little older - So that's something for the next generation of bullies to look forward to.
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