So, sorry for the hiatus. Had a little interlude of self absorption. Apologies. I hope you’ve stayed true to your six year old self in my absence.
Now whilst up for mischief this weekend as always, it’s also traditionally a time for chores. And of course anyone who’s attended the Super-Nanny schools of either Mary Poppins or Snow White knows that the job is done in half the time - if you let a little Disney into your life.
By this I don’t mean sitting in front of interminable re-runs of that human personification of a rape alarm - Hannah Montana - which is chore enough in itself.
What you may like to try however, whether it be hanging out the washing, wielding a broom, or slaving over a loom, if you have one - is joining your imaginary animated helpers is a rousing verse of Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo as you brush away those cobwebs, actually & metaphorically. I find it leads to enormous well-being and very occasionally a swift short Sectioning.
Another thing I like to do when I’m in a bind - particularly when I feel the red mist of road rage broiling into dark storm clouds - is to misappropriate names of Disney characters to use as curses. It’s a great way to check unreasonable stresses and give cause to laugh at oneself and the ridiculousness of the situation you find yourself in.
For example - some of my favourite disses: Mufasa, Kuzco, Mushu, Pumbaa and of course the redoubtable Lady Kluck. I’m sure you can come up with many others to suit a multitude of scenarios. Please try it.
Such toying & frivolity, whilst amusing me personally no end, is of course foundation on which to stand firm the basic tenet of Why So Serious? You can analyse it way down to the chemical emissions that support well being and optimism, whatever, but the way I see it - to coin a recent phrase - is ‘survival of the nicest’.
Okay, so ’nice’ is one of those terms many now balk at. It’s been overused to the point of devolution - meaning on the whole ‘bland’ or ‘innocuous‘. The Collins English dictionary warns us to ’use sparingly’. “Nice Guys Finish Last” Green Day once warned us. This from the nicest (but subsequently the most influential) guys in punk.
And so for a while ’altruistic’ was coined as reward for those ’nice’ people with commendable social responsibility towards others. Many have been lauded for their trailblazing in altruism; Mother Teresa, Bob Geldof, Geri Halliwell (kidding) - all acting to help others above themselves - in periods when they didn’t have a book coming out.
But then someone managed to get a Grant to investigate the nature of altruism as some believed altruism didn’t fit the template for Evolution as laid down by Darwin. It couldn’t be as simple as just being ‘nice’. There had to be a more sinister, selfish agenda. Thus, amoebae forming cellular slime moulds, it was discovered, are verging on the sociopathic until starved, at which point some will sacrifice themselves - but then only for the good of the greater organism - so they may live on in essence.
For as the philosopher Spock once said; “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few (or one).” ...Star Trek II - The Wrath of Khan.
Human (and Vulcan) altruistic behaviour has been likened to the martyrdom of the amoeba - citing the example of a patriarch/matriarch giving their own life to save that of their family as simply safeguarding the propagation of hereditary genes. Putting the selfish into selflessness.
Which kind of over-eggs the pudding somewhat. Altruism seems to have mutated as a concept into something where the perpetrator of a kind act has to somehow suffer as a consequence, there-by throwing up the argument that they’re either certifiable - or that there must be (longer term) something in it for them.
But the pure definition of altruism hinges around ‘selflessness’ not ‘self sacrifice’. Being hyper-analytical about it is fine if you’re funding a theses, but to the majority of us, can’t we just be a little bit - dare I say it - ‘nice’?
My mother is a shining example. Through her life she has been a true altruist. Okay so she’s getting a bit outspoken and militant in her old age, but this does not denigrate any of the wonderful community support she has enacted over the years. And whilst still possessing a modicum of Faith, it hasn’t been through religious motivation that she’s ‘loved thy neighbour’. She’s been pure selflessness in action.
Now whilst genetically I understand how involuntarily our brains and bodies may drive us to certain behaviours, as super-evolved sentient beings, we also have the power to exact choice in following certain moral codes. And whether it be from charitable donations, volunteer work, or just a human ‘niceness’ in the way we interact with others, true altruists - and I firmly believe they exist - have no hidden agendas.
It’s easy to be browbeaten into inaction. Global Warming - to cite an example - has effected a triptych of camps. The devout non-believers, the passionate activists and the passive defeatists. But even in such a massive, global issue - we all have a part to play. We can all influence a change for good - or if you will - a change for ‘nice’. So a little bit of altruism ought to be a piece of cake (quite literally, if you are technically proficient at baked goods with acquaintances of a sweet tooth).
I’ve hinted at Random Acts of Kindness (RAK) before - and whilst I’ve been shabby in my practicing these of late, I’m a firm believer in the positive ripple effect they have - once you get past the initial suspicion of the recipient. Danny Wallace’s excellent life-affirming Join Me book is a good document in the power of RAK (I’m not on commission before you question my altruism) if you haven‘t already thumbed it.
We can all play a part in performing RAK - and I’m sure some of you already do. There is however a danger to try and incite such activity, much in the way that having an organised ‘spontaneity hour’ every day is overshadowed in irony, in that it should be from the heart and not product of a pointy stick.
In the States (where-else) there is a Random Acts of Kindness Foundation - promoting RAK week in February and World Kindness week in November (so make sure you start storing up your goodwill in readiness!).
Nice idea, but maybe a little questionable in the execution.
So all I’d say - to those true altruists out there - is give it some thought. Think what it means to you and how you could make a difference to those around you. If you really wanted to go to town, you could have some kind of RAK anthem on your mp3 music playing device - a timely prompt that literally plays on ‘random’.
Remember - RAK don’t have to cost money. And hopefully in time will - if they are not already - become second nature.
Leading by example, we can only hope that others follow.
And whilst some might say it’s a selfish motivation, I think it’s ‘nice’ to have your ripples felt.
Stay positive
x
Saturday, 28 March 2009
Monday, 9 March 2009
Difficult First Album Syndrome
Gone is the time when record company Exec’s demanded: ‘where is the Hit Single?’. More pressing in these days of chart decline is the questionable question: ’which song would be great for Sky Sports’ ident’s?’ or ’which is the new Morrison’s ad?’
I was recently quizzed by a friend (I’m not permitted to use ’chum’ in this instance) on why I’d be happy to rest on my laurels and accept a ’created by’ and/or ’executive producer’ credit on my own sitcom (here’s hoping! March 25th is rapidly approaching…) rather than write the whole darn thing myself. My rather shaky justification was that - rather than me being a sole shining beacon for quality control, to ensure the quality I’d at least like to muck in with a pool of writers. On my head alone be it?… Are you mad?!!…
Rather eloquently (I thought - although I think the wine had been flowing freely (if not free) for some time at this point (it was mid-afternoon, after all)) I pontificated - I had moulded all my best work into a really solid Pilot episode. Surely that was like a band putting their tried and road tested bestest material onto the debut album before struggling with all subsequent follow ups - never living up to all that hype and potential.
I’d sculpted my great first album, I reasoned. I’d lit the torch for others to then run with. Perfectly reasonable, no? No.
My friend - with characteristic laser like logic - pointed out that by writing a Pilot episode, I had merely written a single for the album. Nothing more. Surely nothing less than an entire series equates to that debut album? Yes? Yes. Arse.
And so I’ve knuckled down. I do have plotlines and character arcs for a first series and am about to throw down episode three, which effectively brings me to a close on side one. At this rate side two may be mostly instrumental…
With friends like this, who needs Agents?
But it’s friends like this that keep us grounded and distanced from the delusional excuses we can occasional be prone to propping up our inactivity.
After all, it would be nice to realise that potential.
A few days after this revelation my attention was drawn to another piece of neglected writing, a children’s book with a Green theme that I’d written when the Green Agenda wasn’t even considered worthy a post-it note.
Spurred by ’trim your bin’ week at school, my youngest asked if she could take to school the book I’d written and illustrated for her big sister when she was nought but a wee little lady, a lifetime ago from the savvy independent woman she’s grown into and who I’m so immensely proud of. Absolutely not a problem. We shoehorned the leaves into protective wallets and off it went to be read in class. Collecting my youngest from school last Friday, she instructed me to wait whilst she fetched her teacher to heap praise upon me (modesty be damned - her teacher is hot!) ‘Teach’ spoke my thoughts in that the book is more topical now than ever - and thus there is a ready made audience out there.
So today, along with a more recent effort of my writing & illustrating a children’s story, I’ve bundled up my labour of love and despatched to a worthy (and ethical) publisher, in the hope of future glories (and animated series royalties).
Consider backside kicked.
Hopefully you’ve got people like this in your life, people to spur you into action. Because we’ve all got stuff in mothballs in the closet or under the bed. And providing they’re not monsters or sexual depravities, perhaps it’s time to dust them down?…
Stay creative.
x
I was recently quizzed by a friend (I’m not permitted to use ’chum’ in this instance) on why I’d be happy to rest on my laurels and accept a ’created by’ and/or ’executive producer’ credit on my own sitcom (here’s hoping! March 25th is rapidly approaching…) rather than write the whole darn thing myself. My rather shaky justification was that - rather than me being a sole shining beacon for quality control, to ensure the quality I’d at least like to muck in with a pool of writers. On my head alone be it?… Are you mad?!!…
Rather eloquently (I thought - although I think the wine had been flowing freely (if not free) for some time at this point (it was mid-afternoon, after all)) I pontificated - I had moulded all my best work into a really solid Pilot episode. Surely that was like a band putting their tried and road tested bestest material onto the debut album before struggling with all subsequent follow ups - never living up to all that hype and potential.
I’d sculpted my great first album, I reasoned. I’d lit the torch for others to then run with. Perfectly reasonable, no? No.
My friend - with characteristic laser like logic - pointed out that by writing a Pilot episode, I had merely written a single for the album. Nothing more. Surely nothing less than an entire series equates to that debut album? Yes? Yes. Arse.
And so I’ve knuckled down. I do have plotlines and character arcs for a first series and am about to throw down episode three, which effectively brings me to a close on side one. At this rate side two may be mostly instrumental…
With friends like this, who needs Agents?
But it’s friends like this that keep us grounded and distanced from the delusional excuses we can occasional be prone to propping up our inactivity.
After all, it would be nice to realise that potential.
A few days after this revelation my attention was drawn to another piece of neglected writing, a children’s book with a Green theme that I’d written when the Green Agenda wasn’t even considered worthy a post-it note.
Spurred by ’trim your bin’ week at school, my youngest asked if she could take to school the book I’d written and illustrated for her big sister when she was nought but a wee little lady, a lifetime ago from the savvy independent woman she’s grown into and who I’m so immensely proud of. Absolutely not a problem. We shoehorned the leaves into protective wallets and off it went to be read in class. Collecting my youngest from school last Friday, she instructed me to wait whilst she fetched her teacher to heap praise upon me (modesty be damned - her teacher is hot!) ‘Teach’ spoke my thoughts in that the book is more topical now than ever - and thus there is a ready made audience out there.
So today, along with a more recent effort of my writing & illustrating a children’s story, I’ve bundled up my labour of love and despatched to a worthy (and ethical) publisher, in the hope of future glories (and animated series royalties).
Consider backside kicked.
Hopefully you’ve got people like this in your life, people to spur you into action. Because we’ve all got stuff in mothballs in the closet or under the bed. And providing they’re not monsters or sexual depravities, perhaps it’s time to dust them down?…
Stay creative.
x
Thursday, 5 March 2009
Director's Commentary
Who do you think would win in a fight between the stylists of each Coldplay, U2 & the Killers? Answer: who cares? As long as they’re preoccupied with fighting they won’t be able to dress up our rock stars as utter twats…
Just thought I’d throw that in.
Hello.
So another week bouncing around the UK as a lone voice for the TMFA (Too Many F’ing Acronyms) this week made all the better from the fleeting presence of Sol (that’s the fiery mass, not the lager). Because whilst as we’ve previously learnt - everything is better with bubblegum (barring soup and oral sex) - the same can of course be said about a good dose of sunshine (barring funeral scenes in gritty dramas and waking up next to Gordon Ramsay).
But even that sometimes isn’t enough to buoy me through endless meetings that seem to exist for the sole purpose of talking about what we are going to be talking about. I heard recently about an organisation where meetings all lasted no longer than 15 minutes. Genius! It would certainly cut down on the amount of people furiously agreeing in their own words - on an endless loop. It’s got to the stage now where inside my head I have playing the works of Oasis as transformed into elevator muzak in a bid to stop my blood from boiling.
You might not pick Oasis, but try the same principle with your own band of choice should you have the need.
Failing that - try this…
In the past I’ve been asked - and in turn asked others - ‘who would play you in the movie of your life?’ Recently I’ve gone beyond that and asked myself ’who would narrate the movie of your life?’ My number one go-to guy would have to be Morgan Freeman, in the vague hope that he would add gravitas to the tomfoolery that fluffs up my existence:
‘Little did Steve Rosier know on that fateful Tuesday morning, that the events about to unfold would have a profound impact upon his life - and resonate with a determined purpose throughout the rest of his days…’
More fitting would be the vocal stylings of Brian Blessed:
‘WHAT?!! WHAT IN THE NAME OF SATAN’S BALLS IS ROSIER DOING?!! THE MAN’S A BLETHERING IDIOT!!! WUHAHAHAHAHA!!!…’
How about you?
Stay positive.
x
Just thought I’d throw that in.
Hello.
So another week bouncing around the UK as a lone voice for the TMFA (Too Many F’ing Acronyms) this week made all the better from the fleeting presence of Sol (that’s the fiery mass, not the lager). Because whilst as we’ve previously learnt - everything is better with bubblegum (barring soup and oral sex) - the same can of course be said about a good dose of sunshine (barring funeral scenes in gritty dramas and waking up next to Gordon Ramsay).
But even that sometimes isn’t enough to buoy me through endless meetings that seem to exist for the sole purpose of talking about what we are going to be talking about. I heard recently about an organisation where meetings all lasted no longer than 15 minutes. Genius! It would certainly cut down on the amount of people furiously agreeing in their own words - on an endless loop. It’s got to the stage now where inside my head I have playing the works of Oasis as transformed into elevator muzak in a bid to stop my blood from boiling.
You might not pick Oasis, but try the same principle with your own band of choice should you have the need.
Failing that - try this…
In the past I’ve been asked - and in turn asked others - ‘who would play you in the movie of your life?’ Recently I’ve gone beyond that and asked myself ’who would narrate the movie of your life?’ My number one go-to guy would have to be Morgan Freeman, in the vague hope that he would add gravitas to the tomfoolery that fluffs up my existence:
‘Little did Steve Rosier know on that fateful Tuesday morning, that the events about to unfold would have a profound impact upon his life - and resonate with a determined purpose throughout the rest of his days…’
More fitting would be the vocal stylings of Brian Blessed:
‘WHAT?!! WHAT IN THE NAME OF SATAN’S BALLS IS ROSIER DOING?!! THE MAN’S A BLETHERING IDIOT!!! WUHAHAHAHAHA!!!…’
How about you?
Stay positive.
x
Friday, 20 February 2009
Water Fools
I’ve racked up some miles again this week and the insufferable 6 hour plus lift I was gifted between Cardiff and Newcastle in no way reflected the childlike exuberance of fellow traveller Billy Connolly as he laughed heartily through his Journey to the Edge of the World (last night’s TV). Really, they should make that man available on the NHS. Joyful! Chin chin, Big Yin!
The previous week’s journey commenced with a heart warming sight in sub-zero conditions. Hitting the North by means of the A14, I encountered a stretch of highway that had clearly held prisoner motorists in the recent unexpectedly high snowfall. For there colonising the central reservation were families of snowfolk of all shapes, sizes and activities – and in some places mud and surface colouration even led to a variety of race.
If I was in charge of the media this would have been the lead story all day long, but I had to make do with the scene playing out in my mind, a wintry version of REM’s Everybody Hurts video, with motorists vacating their steely tombs en masse to revel in the snow and create this joyous community of powdery people. Why So Serious? Salutes you, playful, gentle folk.
Another prime example of what & who this blog is all about (‘so far’, but more of that in a minute) featured on a drive time national radio station (under the omnipresent ‘V’ brand – you know it) where listeners are encouraged to phone in with their slightly eccentric quirks; things that instantly cheer them up/ get them through the day (akin to my ‘List’ blog Trains, Planes & Agutter).
The example that had me clapping with delight on the interminable road hike from Stockport to Cardiff this week, was a lady that swans around her house wearing imaginary flippers of different colours. The image that this conjures is fantastic in itself, but that she includes the detail of different colour flippers, these are the things that soul mates are made of!
I’m going to try it, I bet it feels utterly wonderful.
I pay homage to these lovely souls as they are truly exuding the spirit of what I’d like to breed here. Just hearing and seeing such triumphs over the daily grind enriches my life. We need more just like them.
Which is kind of the point of my blah-ging here. We need an army of like-minded folk to take the baton and run screaming like loons over the mental constraints of the Matrix. And once we swell in numbers, we’ll set to thinking about some real positive action we can all spur (Random Acts of Kindness are coming up – come on, you were expecting that…)
To this end I’ve been looking to gift you with some new brothers and sisters. I’ve had postcards printed to spread the word and am currently strategically placing these in discreet areas that I think kindred spirits will haunt. Welcome aboard if you’re one of the random. Thanks for making the leap.
Because whilst the frivolous and the downright bloody silly is food for the soul, from time to time I will set aside my raison d’etre – and just for a moment – get serious… (sorry!)
For the power for change is within us all.
In my day job, I bounce around the UK supporting the application of certain software (zzz), banging on in my own words to ensure it’s used as ‘a force for Good – and not Evil’. Which is also – without the slightest subterfuge – what Why So Serious is about.
Consider this. Ribbed as I was for happening upon such a TV travesty in the first place, travel weary and confined to room serviced barracks earlier this week, I found my dulled senses entertained by ‘Celebrity’ Family Fortunes. One of the posers feeding the ‘Survey Says!’ rankings was; ‘Name something you drink out of a bottle’…
Got one?... Ashamed as I am to admit it, without hesitation I snapped “wine!” My thinking was that the substance whilst presented in a bottle, is extracted into a more socially acceptable receptacle prior to consumption. I wasn’t entirely envisaging drinking from the bottle…
Anyway, the top answer?... Water.
Fortunate as we are in Western civilisation (with the exception of the more ‘backward’ regions of Europe) – it wasn’t all that long ago that purchasing water in cancerous plastic bottles was the folly of madfolk. Why pay for something that comes free and plentiful from the tap or ‘faucet’? How long until we start paying a premium for air? (the same chum who mocked my televisual proclivities that very eve, swears blind that she saw a news report where some poor citizens in the world are already coughing up to avoid coughing up – though I maintain she was drunk and unwittingly watching Total Recall at the time…)
Now my beef isn’t around all the romantic BS wrapped around pure springs ideals in a screw cap (seriously – if you’ve ever followed the course of a real mountain stream, you’d certainly expect a sheep’s poop float with your H2O at the very least) – more so the evil scumbags profiteering in its proliferation.
Drum roll for our Survey Says top offenders – Coca Cola and the ‘number one bottled water company worldwide’ - Nestle.
For you have to be a clued up consumer or a lover of tiny tiny text to often realise that Buxton, Vittel, Perrier, Pellegrino, Malvern and many many regional variations (most of us are at least aware of Coke’s Desani debacle) are the product of ‘those who cast no shadow’.
The corporate atrocities perpetrated by each of these evil empire’s, knowingly or by supposed ignorance of sinning through franchised association, number in their ranks: child labour, extortion, bribery, death threats to union members and their families, criminal oversights in health & safety practices and without a tinge of irony - local damming and poisoning of local water supplies with the expulsion of waste by-products.
Nestle are of course world denounced for past marketing their formula milk in developing countries by way of bullying and scare mongering of mothers, leading them to believe that their essential and life preserving breast milk is far inferior to Nestle’s mass produced alternative. Ker-ching!
I used to be a mid-high consumer of Coke products. Then there came a day that with the benefit of knowledge and the realisation that my lipsmackingthirstquenching tipple of choice hardly need bear the allergy warning: ‘may contain water’. So I decided to do the decent thing. Which is hard, for just as Coke & Nestle have cornered the fizzy pop, confectionery and soul-sapping-scumbag markets, it’s really difficult to buy water bottled by ethical companies.
My own solution to the problem is that the bottle(s) I have most constant at my side, are recycled receptacles containing nothing but the produce freely flowing forth from my faucet. Take that - corporate greed!
I’m also planning to start up my stand-up again and take this message on the road (more travel! – deep joy!) and am currently scrawling down ‘ethical’ jokes which I hope don’t come across as preachy.
Of course should you adopt such an ethic of abstinence, it always helps to write/email your target of choice so they don’t misinterpret such market forces as recession and the like as the sole contributor to a blip in their humungous profits. Thus, together as one, this force for Good can start to get noticed.
Oh, and should you commit to all this – please make sure you’re wearing your odd coloured flippers whilst you do so, please.
Fantastic!
Further reading:
Mark Thomas – Belching Out the Devil: Global Adventures With Coca-Cola
Duncan Clark – The Rough Guide To Ethical Living
Fred Pearce – Confessions of an Eco Sinner
Mark Pendergrast – For God, Country and Coca-Cola
The previous week’s journey commenced with a heart warming sight in sub-zero conditions. Hitting the North by means of the A14, I encountered a stretch of highway that had clearly held prisoner motorists in the recent unexpectedly high snowfall. For there colonising the central reservation were families of snowfolk of all shapes, sizes and activities – and in some places mud and surface colouration even led to a variety of race.
If I was in charge of the media this would have been the lead story all day long, but I had to make do with the scene playing out in my mind, a wintry version of REM’s Everybody Hurts video, with motorists vacating their steely tombs en masse to revel in the snow and create this joyous community of powdery people. Why So Serious? Salutes you, playful, gentle folk.
Another prime example of what & who this blog is all about (‘so far’, but more of that in a minute) featured on a drive time national radio station (under the omnipresent ‘V’ brand – you know it) where listeners are encouraged to phone in with their slightly eccentric quirks; things that instantly cheer them up/ get them through the day (akin to my ‘List’ blog Trains, Planes & Agutter).
The example that had me clapping with delight on the interminable road hike from Stockport to Cardiff this week, was a lady that swans around her house wearing imaginary flippers of different colours. The image that this conjures is fantastic in itself, but that she includes the detail of different colour flippers, these are the things that soul mates are made of!
I’m going to try it, I bet it feels utterly wonderful.
I pay homage to these lovely souls as they are truly exuding the spirit of what I’d like to breed here. Just hearing and seeing such triumphs over the daily grind enriches my life. We need more just like them.
Which is kind of the point of my blah-ging here. We need an army of like-minded folk to take the baton and run screaming like loons over the mental constraints of the Matrix. And once we swell in numbers, we’ll set to thinking about some real positive action we can all spur (Random Acts of Kindness are coming up – come on, you were expecting that…)
To this end I’ve been looking to gift you with some new brothers and sisters. I’ve had postcards printed to spread the word and am currently strategically placing these in discreet areas that I think kindred spirits will haunt. Welcome aboard if you’re one of the random. Thanks for making the leap.
Because whilst the frivolous and the downright bloody silly is food for the soul, from time to time I will set aside my raison d’etre – and just for a moment – get serious… (sorry!)
For the power for change is within us all.
In my day job, I bounce around the UK supporting the application of certain software (zzz), banging on in my own words to ensure it’s used as ‘a force for Good – and not Evil’. Which is also – without the slightest subterfuge – what Why So Serious is about.
Consider this. Ribbed as I was for happening upon such a TV travesty in the first place, travel weary and confined to room serviced barracks earlier this week, I found my dulled senses entertained by ‘Celebrity’ Family Fortunes. One of the posers feeding the ‘Survey Says!’ rankings was; ‘Name something you drink out of a bottle’…
Got one?... Ashamed as I am to admit it, without hesitation I snapped “wine!” My thinking was that the substance whilst presented in a bottle, is extracted into a more socially acceptable receptacle prior to consumption. I wasn’t entirely envisaging drinking from the bottle…
Anyway, the top answer?... Water.
Fortunate as we are in Western civilisation (with the exception of the more ‘backward’ regions of Europe) – it wasn’t all that long ago that purchasing water in cancerous plastic bottles was the folly of madfolk. Why pay for something that comes free and plentiful from the tap or ‘faucet’? How long until we start paying a premium for air? (the same chum who mocked my televisual proclivities that very eve, swears blind that she saw a news report where some poor citizens in the world are already coughing up to avoid coughing up – though I maintain she was drunk and unwittingly watching Total Recall at the time…)
Now my beef isn’t around all the romantic BS wrapped around pure springs ideals in a screw cap (seriously – if you’ve ever followed the course of a real mountain stream, you’d certainly expect a sheep’s poop float with your H2O at the very least) – more so the evil scumbags profiteering in its proliferation.
Drum roll for our Survey Says top offenders – Coca Cola and the ‘number one bottled water company worldwide’ - Nestle.
For you have to be a clued up consumer or a lover of tiny tiny text to often realise that Buxton, Vittel, Perrier, Pellegrino, Malvern and many many regional variations (most of us are at least aware of Coke’s Desani debacle) are the product of ‘those who cast no shadow’.
The corporate atrocities perpetrated by each of these evil empire’s, knowingly or by supposed ignorance of sinning through franchised association, number in their ranks: child labour, extortion, bribery, death threats to union members and their families, criminal oversights in health & safety practices and without a tinge of irony - local damming and poisoning of local water supplies with the expulsion of waste by-products.
Nestle are of course world denounced for past marketing their formula milk in developing countries by way of bullying and scare mongering of mothers, leading them to believe that their essential and life preserving breast milk is far inferior to Nestle’s mass produced alternative. Ker-ching!
I used to be a mid-high consumer of Coke products. Then there came a day that with the benefit of knowledge and the realisation that my lipsmackingthirstquenching tipple of choice hardly need bear the allergy warning: ‘may contain water’. So I decided to do the decent thing. Which is hard, for just as Coke & Nestle have cornered the fizzy pop, confectionery and soul-sapping-scumbag markets, it’s really difficult to buy water bottled by ethical companies.
My own solution to the problem is that the bottle(s) I have most constant at my side, are recycled receptacles containing nothing but the produce freely flowing forth from my faucet. Take that - corporate greed!
I’m also planning to start up my stand-up again and take this message on the road (more travel! – deep joy!) and am currently scrawling down ‘ethical’ jokes which I hope don’t come across as preachy.
Of course should you adopt such an ethic of abstinence, it always helps to write/email your target of choice so they don’t misinterpret such market forces as recession and the like as the sole contributor to a blip in their humungous profits. Thus, together as one, this force for Good can start to get noticed.
Oh, and should you commit to all this – please make sure you’re wearing your odd coloured flippers whilst you do so, please.
Fantastic!
Further reading:
Mark Thomas – Belching Out the Devil: Global Adventures With Coca-Cola
Duncan Clark – The Rough Guide To Ethical Living
Fred Pearce – Confessions of an Eco Sinner
Mark Pendergrast – For God, Country and Coca-Cola
Sunday, 15 February 2009
What Happens If You Lay Down Under A Cow?...
“Life moves pretty fast…” once intoned a certain Ferris Bueller. “If you don’t stop and look around once in a while - you could miss it!”
One hopes that Ferris, where-ever he is and whatever he’s up to in middle-age, has stayed true to himself. Because upon reaching a certain age, excuses as to why one is unable to do the things they truly long to, become rife.
I’m constantly reminded that the reason I have so much fun and explore so much with my kids is my uniquely being able to devote them my entire attention for the 2.3 days a fortnight we spend together. An utterly fair assessment by their labour-saving-device-heavy full-time parents; for the uber benevolent ‘domestic chore’ fairies that favour me whilst working away from home 5 days a week, do indeed lavish unto me favouritism in extremis...
Do not blight me with excuses.
Just one example. For whilst it would be easy to rake over the common sense prevailing/dispensed by associates and either never venture out, or adhere to a strict bedtime on a ’school night’ - in the spirit of Ferris I say: ‘to hell with excuses and consequences‘.
Life moves pretty fast, don’t you know?…
So it was as Tuesday fumbled into Wednesday, with freezing cold pebbles nuzzling my back, as I traced constellations gazing down upon Brighton beach, the waves running laps and the almost full-moon open mouthed at the showy athleticism from a brace of comets. This on the back of inadvertently gate crashing a private function and excelling at some mutated form of basketball utilising the type of oversized handbag that could easily harbour several generations of illegal immigrants (a sport which has subsequently been copywrit as 'basketbag' I believe) I resisted the urge to berate myself too harshly, nudging away thoughts of sensible curfews and the anaesthesia of routine. My job, my home, my accumulated items of cloth and plastic - these could all dissolve with a second’s notice (and frequently threaten to do so). But it’s moments like that on the beach, completely off the timetable and gloriously without contrivance, that stokes the fire of my existence and feeds the warmth of wonderful memories.
We’re taught from an early age that modesty and humility are desirable bedfellows should we wish to become well adjusted, unremarkable members of polite society. And whilst no-one loves a bighead - aside from themselves (and most probably - big hat salesfolk) - should we be so overly mindful of celebrating our minor triumphs against such rigid, unimaginative conformity? I’m not saying that my frivolous detours are life changing or holding them up as any template by which others should live (I mean - who the f**k am I to set any kind of example?), but to reflect upon such moments and hold one’s head high having yet again resisted the succubus of excuse, I feel is some cause celebre.
As I’m sure you’ve surmised - the answer to my pun-baiting title is; ‘a great big pat on the back’... And if you are already one to spurn the allure of the rock-steady, please give yourself one right now(!) I mean it. Personally, there are times - whether it be from single status or the autonomy of my work regime, that without a self congratulatory moment, I’d just be bouncing from one minor triumph to another with nary a cursory ‘well done‘. And so sometimes, physically - and if not metaphorically, I will give myself a well deserved pat on the back. As ridiculous as this sounds and initially feels, I find it works wonders.
Now whilst far from being a quintessential ‘Yes Man’ - and although much of my exuberance is sprung from the haphazard nature of life’s little trinkets, I’ve decided this year to supplement my randomness in order to absolutely stave off apathetic bad habits. My birthday happens to fall on the 24th day of a month and as is customary when I have a glass/bottle of wine in my hand, I recently spewed out a barely conceived idea that has since passed into Law. That is, on the 24th day of every month, I’m going to experience something entirely new.
I’m not trying to franchise fun in some lame & witless ‘Spontaneity Day - Same Time, Same Place - Every Month’ irony. The off-piste moments I’m confident will continue to tug at my sleeve. The 24th is - as I say - in one way supplementary to this and in another - a mini-celebration, a nice big pat on the back - for staying true to one’s self. A once in a while reminder to stop and look - and not miss life as it whizzes past.
I feel like I owe it to me and my six year old self. Don’t you?
Stay true.
x
One hopes that Ferris, where-ever he is and whatever he’s up to in middle-age, has stayed true to himself. Because upon reaching a certain age, excuses as to why one is unable to do the things they truly long to, become rife.
I’m constantly reminded that the reason I have so much fun and explore so much with my kids is my uniquely being able to devote them my entire attention for the 2.3 days a fortnight we spend together. An utterly fair assessment by their labour-saving-device-heavy full-time parents; for the uber benevolent ‘domestic chore’ fairies that favour me whilst working away from home 5 days a week, do indeed lavish unto me favouritism in extremis...
Do not blight me with excuses.
Just one example. For whilst it would be easy to rake over the common sense prevailing/dispensed by associates and either never venture out, or adhere to a strict bedtime on a ’school night’ - in the spirit of Ferris I say: ‘to hell with excuses and consequences‘.
Life moves pretty fast, don’t you know?…
So it was as Tuesday fumbled into Wednesday, with freezing cold pebbles nuzzling my back, as I traced constellations gazing down upon Brighton beach, the waves running laps and the almost full-moon open mouthed at the showy athleticism from a brace of comets. This on the back of inadvertently gate crashing a private function and excelling at some mutated form of basketball utilising the type of oversized handbag that could easily harbour several generations of illegal immigrants (a sport which has subsequently been copywrit as 'basketbag' I believe) I resisted the urge to berate myself too harshly, nudging away thoughts of sensible curfews and the anaesthesia of routine. My job, my home, my accumulated items of cloth and plastic - these could all dissolve with a second’s notice (and frequently threaten to do so). But it’s moments like that on the beach, completely off the timetable and gloriously without contrivance, that stokes the fire of my existence and feeds the warmth of wonderful memories.
We’re taught from an early age that modesty and humility are desirable bedfellows should we wish to become well adjusted, unremarkable members of polite society. And whilst no-one loves a bighead - aside from themselves (and most probably - big hat salesfolk) - should we be so overly mindful of celebrating our minor triumphs against such rigid, unimaginative conformity? I’m not saying that my frivolous detours are life changing or holding them up as any template by which others should live (I mean - who the f**k am I to set any kind of example?), but to reflect upon such moments and hold one’s head high having yet again resisted the succubus of excuse, I feel is some cause celebre.
As I’m sure you’ve surmised - the answer to my pun-baiting title is; ‘a great big pat on the back’... And if you are already one to spurn the allure of the rock-steady, please give yourself one right now(!) I mean it. Personally, there are times - whether it be from single status or the autonomy of my work regime, that without a self congratulatory moment, I’d just be bouncing from one minor triumph to another with nary a cursory ‘well done‘. And so sometimes, physically - and if not metaphorically, I will give myself a well deserved pat on the back. As ridiculous as this sounds and initially feels, I find it works wonders.
Now whilst far from being a quintessential ‘Yes Man’ - and although much of my exuberance is sprung from the haphazard nature of life’s little trinkets, I’ve decided this year to supplement my randomness in order to absolutely stave off apathetic bad habits. My birthday happens to fall on the 24th day of a month and as is customary when I have a glass/bottle of wine in my hand, I recently spewed out a barely conceived idea that has since passed into Law. That is, on the 24th day of every month, I’m going to experience something entirely new.
I’m not trying to franchise fun in some lame & witless ‘Spontaneity Day - Same Time, Same Place - Every Month’ irony. The off-piste moments I’m confident will continue to tug at my sleeve. The 24th is - as I say - in one way supplementary to this and in another - a mini-celebration, a nice big pat on the back - for staying true to one’s self. A once in a while reminder to stop and look - and not miss life as it whizzes past.
I feel like I owe it to me and my six year old self. Don’t you?
Stay true.
x
Sunday, 8 February 2009
What's So Funny 'Bout Peace, Love & Understanding?...
So. “What the f**k have you done lately?…”
The question posed in the last line of semi-recent uber-sexy, ultra-violent, turbo-actioner Wanted -and one I feel we should all ask the mirror once in a while.
For once over the hills of childish exuberance and teenage naivety and prior to what is sneered at by sensible little citizens as ’mid-life crises’ or senile recklessness, the allure of a safe, sanitised middle-life can become overwhelming.
We put ourselves in convenient little boxes well within ’comfort zones’. We let roles and labels and certified ‘skills’ define us. And deep inside us, another little bit of our 6 year old selves whimpers and dies.
One of the reasons I believe that so many people become painfully addicted to the likes of televised X-Factor auditions, is their utter relief at watching others fail, so as to make themselves feel ’normal’. It’s also why most observational comedy goes down so well. Such X-Factor/ Got Talent never-gonna-be’s are trotted out as a permissible freakshow in our pc world to massage the regrettable human need to feel superior. And that’s even before Joe & Josephine Public are granted the ’lines are now open’ god-like power to make and grow bored of careers.
And okay, whilst many of the desperately passionate (or should that be the other way around?) warbling wanna-be’s would be better off seeking professional help other than that of a voice coach, I say - more power to them!
Because here are folk embodying the true spirit of punk. Disregard for a moment their delusions of grandeur, here are a band of souls so set on a dream that they thumb their noses at having the honed skills and impeccable credentials (okay - and in many cases - even a jot of talent) that they are willing to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous ribbing. And to this end, I have far more time for such perceived ‘failures’ than those armchair pundits taking mean-spirited pleasure from atop idling high horses.
For those who can (or wish they could) - do. Those who can’t - become critics.
This was all brought to mind yesterday. Improvising in the snow with my children, misappropriating their summertime ‘wave boards’ as makeshift snow boards (incidentally, the most hilarious fun I’ve ever had in the snow) my son quizzed me in readiness for his forthcoming skiing holiday with his mother.
Now my one foray onto the slopes was short and woeful and saw me drawing the kind of tear stained hilarity befitting an X-Factor drop-out, so although my counsel is likely to prove unworthy in many respects, my advice to my son was simple: “Don’t be afraid to make a complete tit of yourself.”
Being shy by nature but playful by heart, I’ve embraced my shortcomings and plunged wholeheartedly into such pursuits as performing comedy, creating music and attempting sporting feats that my body and brain have no real inclination or ability to. Now whilst most ’sensible’ people would probably rather run into a burning building than confront assured humiliation, do you know what? - in the process of exploring my many ineptitudes - man, I’ve had some fun!
My youngest had a homework assignment this weekend to write a couple of lines that could be used as a radio jingle for her school. Always an advocate of putting in some extra effort (well, admittedly more so of others homework that I ever was my own) I suggested that we compose a simple backing track, throw in a couple of sound effects and record it. Which we duly did. Playing it back, my youngest was pleased with the result but not her singing. Fearing embarrassment in class, she suggested that this was a project best kept between the two of us. I told her that it was entirely her call, but that by showing such imagination and initiative, she had in her hands a CD to be proud of - and even if she only plays it to Mummy and her Teacher, didn’t we have huge fun pulling it all together?
Because outside of certain governing Laws - and if you’re of a slavish religious bent, dubious doctrines - we fortunates in the Western World pretty much have an open playing field to do and try as we please. What a gift! And surely one not to be squandered? So what if a few unenlightened braggarts mock and sneer, gape and jeer? Fie on them!
Even if you’re unwilling, unready or unable to throw yourself to the lions just yet, take a look around you. In uncertain and trying times, there are still brave souls all around us; start up companies/ small business, local bands and comedy clubs, underfunded & underexposed charities… People of dreams who fly against the harsh winds of sensible safety with passion and drive that deserve our encouragement and support, I hope you agree.
So. Maybe we could all do with demanding of the mirror once in a while: “What the f**k have you done lately?…”
The question posed in the last line of semi-recent uber-sexy, ultra-violent, turbo-actioner Wanted -and one I feel we should all ask the mirror once in a while.
For once over the hills of childish exuberance and teenage naivety and prior to what is sneered at by sensible little citizens as ’mid-life crises’ or senile recklessness, the allure of a safe, sanitised middle-life can become overwhelming.
We put ourselves in convenient little boxes well within ’comfort zones’. We let roles and labels and certified ‘skills’ define us. And deep inside us, another little bit of our 6 year old selves whimpers and dies.
One of the reasons I believe that so many people become painfully addicted to the likes of televised X-Factor auditions, is their utter relief at watching others fail, so as to make themselves feel ’normal’. It’s also why most observational comedy goes down so well. Such X-Factor/ Got Talent never-gonna-be’s are trotted out as a permissible freakshow in our pc world to massage the regrettable human need to feel superior. And that’s even before Joe & Josephine Public are granted the ’lines are now open’ god-like power to make and grow bored of careers.
And okay, whilst many of the desperately passionate (or should that be the other way around?) warbling wanna-be’s would be better off seeking professional help other than that of a voice coach, I say - more power to them!
Because here are folk embodying the true spirit of punk. Disregard for a moment their delusions of grandeur, here are a band of souls so set on a dream that they thumb their noses at having the honed skills and impeccable credentials (okay - and in many cases - even a jot of talent) that they are willing to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous ribbing. And to this end, I have far more time for such perceived ‘failures’ than those armchair pundits taking mean-spirited pleasure from atop idling high horses.
For those who can (or wish they could) - do. Those who can’t - become critics.
This was all brought to mind yesterday. Improvising in the snow with my children, misappropriating their summertime ‘wave boards’ as makeshift snow boards (incidentally, the most hilarious fun I’ve ever had in the snow) my son quizzed me in readiness for his forthcoming skiing holiday with his mother.
Now my one foray onto the slopes was short and woeful and saw me drawing the kind of tear stained hilarity befitting an X-Factor drop-out, so although my counsel is likely to prove unworthy in many respects, my advice to my son was simple: “Don’t be afraid to make a complete tit of yourself.”
Being shy by nature but playful by heart, I’ve embraced my shortcomings and plunged wholeheartedly into such pursuits as performing comedy, creating music and attempting sporting feats that my body and brain have no real inclination or ability to. Now whilst most ’sensible’ people would probably rather run into a burning building than confront assured humiliation, do you know what? - in the process of exploring my many ineptitudes - man, I’ve had some fun!
My youngest had a homework assignment this weekend to write a couple of lines that could be used as a radio jingle for her school. Always an advocate of putting in some extra effort (well, admittedly more so of others homework that I ever was my own) I suggested that we compose a simple backing track, throw in a couple of sound effects and record it. Which we duly did. Playing it back, my youngest was pleased with the result but not her singing. Fearing embarrassment in class, she suggested that this was a project best kept between the two of us. I told her that it was entirely her call, but that by showing such imagination and initiative, she had in her hands a CD to be proud of - and even if she only plays it to Mummy and her Teacher, didn’t we have huge fun pulling it all together?
Because outside of certain governing Laws - and if you’re of a slavish religious bent, dubious doctrines - we fortunates in the Western World pretty much have an open playing field to do and try as we please. What a gift! And surely one not to be squandered? So what if a few unenlightened braggarts mock and sneer, gape and jeer? Fie on them!
Even if you’re unwilling, unready or unable to throw yourself to the lions just yet, take a look around you. In uncertain and trying times, there are still brave souls all around us; start up companies/ small business, local bands and comedy clubs, underfunded & underexposed charities… People of dreams who fly against the harsh winds of sensible safety with passion and drive that deserve our encouragement and support, I hope you agree.
So. Maybe we could all do with demanding of the mirror once in a while: “What the f**k have you done lately?…”
Wednesday, 4 February 2009
Planes, Trains and Agutter...
Are you a list person? Owing to a raggedy memory at best, my life would be chaos without lists. Therefore of lists I am a big fan. And to those about to list, I salute you!
And whilst previous blogs have a tendency to veer towards a list of ‘everything that happens to be rattling around my head at this very moment in time’ - I’ll try to keep this brief(er).
Riffing on ideas thrown out by kindred spirits Josie Long and Amelie Poulain, have you ever jotted down your most favouritest ever things - ever; things that are absolutely guaranteed to swing your darkest moments around to Happy Hour?
Coming up with a Top 5 is hard going for me, so I’ll cheat and mention a few of those unranked because they would possibly be obvious choices and therefore may be considered the ‘easy option’.
Things like:
Tapping a humorous vein so rich that a friend or family member laughs so heartily that I too start to convulse and we both fall about until hot tears blur vision and the act of laughing actually hurts.
Pitching up at the movies on a weekday afternoon always feels a bit special and naughty. Pepper this with the dawning excitement that you and a chum may possibly be the only patrons that very afternoon - talk about your exclusive screening!…
The swell of the PA to signal the imminent arrival on stage of your favourite band, or the frenzied exuberance of the theatre curtain call as the audience leaps as one to their feet, their heartfelt applause reflected in the beaming faces of the spent cast.
Closing the door on the world come every other Friday evening, having completed the 100-odd mile round trip to collect my children and cherishing every precious moment we’re about to spend together, with the whole weekend laid out before us. And that very first hug upon seeing them after so long, the power of which can melt away the most stubborn fatigue & despair.
And whilst on my favourite people in the world, that waking moment on Christmas morning, hearing the muffled sounds of excited discovery as another festive bounty is beheld.
Oh - and free-wheeling through countryside on my bicycle, imaging the von Trapp children spilling from the scenery to join me in rousing verse.
They are all Top 5 (okay - 6, maybe 7) in their own right and as I say - a cheat that I mention them ahead of - er - my Top 5...
Here for your consideration (and in no particular order) my guaranteed mood busters. I think of these and the world ain’t such a monstrous place:
1. Dipping a wet finger into sherbert, then drawing the residue onto my tongue
2. Having purely by accident happened upon the perfect gift for a loved one and despatched for the sheer joy of it - regardless of any ‘special occasion’ - the mind blowing powder keg of anticipation of it’s reception at the perceived time of delivery
3. The joy of having a portal into the mind of a child and its unfurling earnest innocence; one of my favourite examples being when my youngest regarded the billowy white excretions from the industrial chimneys of a sugar refinery and enquired: “Daddy, is that a cloud factory?”
4. Speaking of which, the point of air travel where the urgency of the vessel has peaked and upon levelling out above altocumulus, a fluffy, puffy carpet stretching as far as the eye can comprehend, classical musical playing over headphones, regarding the vista and thinking; “I could totally run across that!” (don‘t try this last bit, it may not be entirely possible)
5. Lastly, the joy that trains elicit in folk. Just think of the Railway Children and how stoked they always were. In fact; true story, to permanently capture the feeling, Jenny Agutter had a full-size railway line constructed at the bottom of her garden, so that six times daily she can bound across her lawn waving her bloomers, beaming like a lunatic with a class A drug habit. How amazing would that be? Although pity those poor professional commuters cursed to end their days suffering a never ending scenery-chewing loop across the Agutter estate…
My particular fave train moment is that jolt of uncertainty where two trains on near converging tracks sidle up all snuggy, teasing, threatening to touch, electricity literally in the air… And you gape and you gasp and you wait and you wonder… And in my mind, one train - having travelled a great distance in great solitude from the North, nudges towards its flirtatious companion, reaches out an unseen finger and chirps; “Tag!” Then races off, the baton finally passed and their playful duty dutifully done.
Now I feel all warm & fuzzy inside.
So, tell me, please do - what will make up your list?
Stay positive.
x
And whilst previous blogs have a tendency to veer towards a list of ‘everything that happens to be rattling around my head at this very moment in time’ - I’ll try to keep this brief(er).
Riffing on ideas thrown out by kindred spirits Josie Long and Amelie Poulain, have you ever jotted down your most favouritest ever things - ever; things that are absolutely guaranteed to swing your darkest moments around to Happy Hour?
Coming up with a Top 5 is hard going for me, so I’ll cheat and mention a few of those unranked because they would possibly be obvious choices and therefore may be considered the ‘easy option’.
Things like:
Tapping a humorous vein so rich that a friend or family member laughs so heartily that I too start to convulse and we both fall about until hot tears blur vision and the act of laughing actually hurts.
Pitching up at the movies on a weekday afternoon always feels a bit special and naughty. Pepper this with the dawning excitement that you and a chum may possibly be the only patrons that very afternoon - talk about your exclusive screening!…
The swell of the PA to signal the imminent arrival on stage of your favourite band, or the frenzied exuberance of the theatre curtain call as the audience leaps as one to their feet, their heartfelt applause reflected in the beaming faces of the spent cast.
Closing the door on the world come every other Friday evening, having completed the 100-odd mile round trip to collect my children and cherishing every precious moment we’re about to spend together, with the whole weekend laid out before us. And that very first hug upon seeing them after so long, the power of which can melt away the most stubborn fatigue & despair.
And whilst on my favourite people in the world, that waking moment on Christmas morning, hearing the muffled sounds of excited discovery as another festive bounty is beheld.
Oh - and free-wheeling through countryside on my bicycle, imaging the von Trapp children spilling from the scenery to join me in rousing verse.
They are all Top 5 (okay - 6, maybe 7) in their own right and as I say - a cheat that I mention them ahead of - er - my Top 5...
Here for your consideration (and in no particular order) my guaranteed mood busters. I think of these and the world ain’t such a monstrous place:
1. Dipping a wet finger into sherbert, then drawing the residue onto my tongue
2. Having purely by accident happened upon the perfect gift for a loved one and despatched for the sheer joy of it - regardless of any ‘special occasion’ - the mind blowing powder keg of anticipation of it’s reception at the perceived time of delivery
3. The joy of having a portal into the mind of a child and its unfurling earnest innocence; one of my favourite examples being when my youngest regarded the billowy white excretions from the industrial chimneys of a sugar refinery and enquired: “Daddy, is that a cloud factory?”
4. Speaking of which, the point of air travel where the urgency of the vessel has peaked and upon levelling out above altocumulus, a fluffy, puffy carpet stretching as far as the eye can comprehend, classical musical playing over headphones, regarding the vista and thinking; “I could totally run across that!” (don‘t try this last bit, it may not be entirely possible)
5. Lastly, the joy that trains elicit in folk. Just think of the Railway Children and how stoked they always were. In fact; true story, to permanently capture the feeling, Jenny Agutter had a full-size railway line constructed at the bottom of her garden, so that six times daily she can bound across her lawn waving her bloomers, beaming like a lunatic with a class A drug habit. How amazing would that be? Although pity those poor professional commuters cursed to end their days suffering a never ending scenery-chewing loop across the Agutter estate…
My particular fave train moment is that jolt of uncertainty where two trains on near converging tracks sidle up all snuggy, teasing, threatening to touch, electricity literally in the air… And you gape and you gasp and you wait and you wonder… And in my mind, one train - having travelled a great distance in great solitude from the North, nudges towards its flirtatious companion, reaches out an unseen finger and chirps; “Tag!” Then races off, the baton finally passed and their playful duty dutifully done.
Now I feel all warm & fuzzy inside.
So, tell me, please do - what will make up your list?
Stay positive.
x
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