P.G. Wodehouse
If there were ever a time when I had to choose between Valium and Wodehouse, I’d choose Wodehouse without thinking. No matter how depressed, how insufferably low you may be, read something by Wodehouse. It always works. The sun will shine again.
What ho!
Pelham Grenville (P.G.) Wodehouse (pronounced “wood-house”) wrote over the course of his life 96 books, and the lyrics to around 30 musicals. Ninety-six books. 96. Good lord. In these books, he introduced a panoply of memorable comic characters and settings, including Bertie Wooster and his omnipotent butler Jeeves, Lord Emsworth and Blandings Castle, Stanley Featherstonehaugh Ukridge (pronounced Fan-shaw You-kridge), Uncle Fred the Earl of Ickenham, Psmith (silent P), Mr Mulliner and his innumerable relatives, and the Oldest Member of a Golf Club.
Wodehouse always had that perfect composition of equal parts flowing prose, sparkling characters and captivating plot, with the final dashes of pure comedic talent and an inimitable grasp of every tress of the English language, with a wisp of lightness permeating his entire body of work. It is this that makes him not only one of the most prolific writers, but also one of the most funny and cherished.
He’s been a phenomenal influence on countless writers and comedians including Stephen Fry and Douglas Adams, and will continue to do so for centuries to come (given the non-occurrence of a bookless dystopia, of course).
P.G. Wodehouse was knighted in 1975 and died aged 93 that same year, writing.
Once Upon a Time in the West
Let’s kick things off film-wise with me telling you about my favourite film of all time. It wasn’t always my favourite film (displacing Woody Allen’s Sleeper), but after I saw it for the second time at The Astor (everybody go there), I realised I couldn’t have such glory not be my favourite. Now, all Sergio Leone films that I have seen were utterly magical. They were beautiful and captivating. But I saw this one first, and for reasons unknown to me, the first of someone’s collected works you see (or read, or hear, or flibble) tends to stay with you more. So this did.
Everything combines neatly and mesmerisingly. Acting, music, cinematography – everything. I’m pretty sure they had awesome catering too.
When compared to something like The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, Once Upon a Time in the West is noticeably grander. It’s more a Western Opera than a Western.
The story follows sharpshooting Harmonica (Charles Bronson), who seeks revenge on Frank (Henry Fonda), a greedy, heartless gang leader. Jill (Claudia Cardinale) moves to the West from New Orleans to start a new life. Both are helped by Cheyenne (Jason Robards), a good-humoured outlaw.
With Once Upon a Time in the West, Leone celebrated the traditions of the Old West and its heroes, lamenting their dwindling in favour of money and civilisation – the slow, mechanised progress of the railroads. Harmonica is the embodiment of the archetypal hero, together with Cheyenne, the rugged outlaw. Both resist civilisation in favour of the desert, and Cheyenne even dies on the road instead of staying with the people. Frank forays into finance but ultimately realises that his true nature is the gunman. Leone acknowledges the inevitable demise of the genre but gives it an emotional and magnificent farewell.
This is one of those films that you get drawn into, eyes unwavering and soul blooming. You watch it from the beginning to end, floating along whatever cloud Leone puts you on. I don’t think I can say anything further except “thank you, Sergio Leone”.
Thank you, Sergio Leone.
The Internet Filter
The proposed implementation of an Internet filter goes beyond politics – it’s now something important. It concerns our freedom, and frankly I feel let down that practically nobody else cares. What Stephen Conroy wants to do (if it’s really his idea) is not to eliminate child pornography, but take down our capabilities for discussion and thought.
He may say it’s about preventing child pornography, but he knows it won’t work. The official investigation into the system even told him that “A technically competent user could, if they wished, circumvent the filtering technology.” But he just keeps going, like a newborn puppy repeatedly smacking its head into a wall. And the wall is breaking. If child pornographers haven’t been caught yet, what’s to stop them finding a way around the filter – ways that don’t use Internet browsers, for example? Or does Stephen Conroy not know what he’s talking about, in which case, why is he talking about it at all? Far from stopping them, the filter will force them to take to more secluded means of communications, thus making them even harder to apprehend. Why not go after them now? After all, the websites are claimed to be visible, aren’t they? Is nobody looking for the child pornographers at all right now?
I also notice they are banning anything with women appearing to be underage, because it will “encourage paedophilia”. You know what else it encourages? An illusory desire of self-image. And instead of going to such extreme lengths to do something so unproductive, why not, oh, I don’t know, go off and attack the latest Disney High School Princess film? No, that doesn’t encourage paedophilia in the slightest, with their nubile, soft, cherubic bodies rubbing all over the screen. Not at all. That brings in money, you see, and makes everyone stupid and passive enough to easily govern – so of course it’s alright.
But if the filter were only about child pornography I wouldn’t be so incensed. According to the Australian Classification Board (ACB), they’re also banning pornography with urination. Why, do they think it encourages urination? Abominable, I know! But since I’m not a urination fetishist, you’d think I shouldn’t care. Wrong. Because it’s not just urination – any pornography refused classification by the ACB will be banned. Refusing classification in itself is problematic. What they’re doing is discouraging deviancy. We all know where that leads, or do I need to spell it out for you? First this, then slowly every single piece of non-standard pornography will be banned. Then they’ll stop it completely, keeping it for themselves, no doubt. Wankers!
They say that this filter will stop people “accidentally stumbling upon” offensive material. This should not even be a consideration. For one, this is a very rare occurrence. Not many people, to my knowledge, have been directed to genital mutilation while watching videos of dogs licking each other. Also, who cares if they do see these things? Such behaviour exists in society. Deal with it. And if this is a measure to protect children, then it should be known that parents can do that themselves. There’s plenty of software available to filter material deemed inappropriate to children. But, for fuck’s sake, we’re adults, aren’t we?
What they’re doing about pornography is not only ineffective but also highly irrelevant. They know so. They don’t care about the porn. It’s all a giant cover for everything else they’re planning to block. Oh yes, didn’t know that, did you? By making such a huge deal out of pornography (and, let’s face it, who wouldn’t be drawn to pornography first?), they make people ignore the real issue. The fact is that when they talk about material that has been “refused classification”, they don’t just refer to pornography. Yes, this includes instruction and promotion of crime – but what it also includes is any sort of depiction and discussion of illegal things. This is problematically vague, managing to include under it euthanasia, drugs, graffiti and potentially abortion: anything controversial. Discussion also encompasses satire, which is perhaps the biggest challenge to any institution of power. Taking away satire is striking an immeasurable blow against freedom of speech, freedom of expression and freedom in general.
Don’t think. Look at some dancing cats. Go back to the television. Buy our plates and eat our news. Did you read that properly? Anything controversial. In other words, anything they think is or can be dangerous to them. Anything that stops dissent, anything that stops thought.
I don’t want to seem like the paranoid conspiracy-shouter – alright, yes I do. After all, a paranoid is just someone who has the facts. It’s not a conspiracy if it’s actually happening. What they’re doing is setting up a medieval dictatorship. This isn’t a scare tactic – scare tactics are what governments use to make people think something’s more than it really is. This is real. And nobody cares.
Sadly, there’s nothing for us to do but sit back and take it – wait, what am I talking about? Of course there’s something we can do! There’s always something we can do. There’s fucking plenty we can do. Show them we give a damn. Write to them. Call them. Flood them with rebuke. Oppression leads to revolt. If enough people get angry, they will do nothing. Just watch them. They’ll drop their weapons and flee.
The Internet is a powerful tool, and people don’t realise that. “Everything is deeply intertwingled,” in the words of Ted Nelson. Absolutely everything. It contacts an unimaginably vast quantity of people instantaneously. So it won’t take very long for Mr. Fitler – sorry, Filter – to spread its pus-infested horror across the entire country. Less than a second for us all to be under their control. And then it will be much harder to do anything about it. So, while you still can – START THINKING and START CARING.
Jack Nicholson
One of my favourite actors of all time is Jack Nicholson. He’s got this charisma and self-assurance about him that is utterly unrivalled. His stare, and his drawl are fantastic. And oh boy his eyebrows.
I am infinitely more awesome than you.
I haven’t seen all of his films, but of those that I have, he’s been just brilliant. From what I’ve heard, his earlier films, mostly Roger Corman B-grade horror, weren’t of the highest calibre, but everyone’s got to start somewhere. Although in the 1970s he was really on a winning streak. Particularly in the more widely recognised One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest (1975), and the unfortunately underknown Five Easy Pieces (1971) and The Passenger (1975). He also seems to be one of those genuinely wise and nice people in Hollywood that everybody seems to be talking about.
Jack Nicholson is 73. And he’s still more awesome than all of you.
Thongs
There is little I hate in terms of material, tangible objects more than thongs. To any non-Australian-English-speakers, I mean “flip-flops”. These aren’t even shoes. They’re pieces of rubber and plastic that ignorant people put on their feet. When people go by wearing thongs, not only the sight but also the blood-boiling slapping sound of these demonic, fuckmelting bastardisations of shoes damnably irks me into shuddering. The mere thought of them sends me into spasms of fury.
I don’t understand anything but their repulsion. Nothing justifies wearing them, especially in wet and dirty circumstances. Who can possibly think it a good idea to put them on their feet in the pouring rain and gritty dust? Idiots, that’s who. Mind-bogglingly mind-obliterated flungerthwoobs.
Thongs are the ultimate symbol of mass subservience to consumerist culture.
Never trust a girl in thongs. Or a guy, for that matter. Avoid people in thongs altogether.
Open your mind, not your feet!
Transmetropolitan
If you loved me, you'd all kill yourselves today.
I was already getting into my teens when I started getting into comics. This probably started with Batman Beyond, a comic-book adaptation of a children’s cartoon (which I never actually watched) about a future when Bruce Wayne gets old and Batman is now replaced by a teenager.
Possibly while looking for online versions of this comic I stumbled upon a trove of free first issue samples from Vertigo Comics (a supercool branch of DC). Here I chanced on Deadman, an intense psychological thriller – more psychological for the characters involved than the reader, though. Afterwards I had a massive boom and started finding and reading other comics, like Preacher, Fables and Johnny the Homicidal Maniac.
The other comic I found was Transmetropolitan. Written by Warren Ellis and drawn by Darick Robertson, the comic began with an explosive insight into the world of Spider Jerusalem, journalist and bad-ass. In just one issue, you got to see how much of a bastard Spider was, and how fucked up the city he lived in was. So fucked up, in fact, that it drove him to the mountains for a number of years to live as a hermit. I wouldn’t blame him. The City, as the city is called, is not too far into the future. It’s absolutely covered with media and people. Bloody hell, those people. So cool, yet so repulsive – no different than those of today. The rich are richer and the poor are poorer. Presidents are huge arseholes. There are pills for everything. People add, remove and change their body parts. Television has such shows as Anthrax Cat or Sex Puppets.
I only had one issue, but I was hooked. I got them all. I read it for the first time two years ago and reread it earlier this year (and don’t plan on stopping – ever).
Spider Jerusalem, being a journalist (and more generally a human with a functioning brain), looks for Truth. He doesn’t care how, why, where, from whom or when he gets it, only that he gets it. Well, he does care when he gets it. He wants it now. When Spider starts something, he gets it done.
He smokes (they have pills against cancer), he takes various drugs, he swears, he kicks, he shoots, he uses a bowel disruptor, he has glasses that take pictures and two loyal assistants. His household appliance is on drugs, and he has a one-and-a-half-headed cat that kills lizards. He knows what he’s doing and speaks wisdom.
Best of all, he’s on our side. And that’s fucking awesome.
“All people are scum. No matter what they look like.”
Steve Martin Ironing a Kitten
This is the essence of the Internet.
Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.
One of the people I most admire, living and dead, is the author and humourist, Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. (dead – so it goes).
Everything was beatiful. Nothing hurt.
Vonnegut is one of those people you either love or haven’t heard of. I first heard of him when my grandma and I were playing “authors”, which is where you have to say an author’s name that begins with the final letter of the previous name. You know the gig. Well, I gave her Nabokov, or someone else ending in “v”, so she came back with Vonnegut. I told her she was making things up, and she said that no, there really is an author with that name. And he wrote something called Slaughterhouse-Five. Next stop: Wikipedia. Kaboom! He exists!
The school library had Slaughterhouse-Five, so I grabbed it. It was short enough, and the blurb had something about a time-travelling optometrist being abducted by aliens. Worth a shot, right? You fucking bet. I was completely unready for both the explosion of pure awesome that was S-5 and, of course, the explosion of pure agony that happened when the Allied Forces bombed Dresden in 1945. It is now one of my favourite books of all time. Since then, I’ve immersed myself into his world and loved every bit of it. I’ve yet to find something of his I don’t enjoy.
“I am a humanist,” he says, “which means, in part, that I have tried to behave decently without any expectation of rewards or punishments after I’m dead.” I think that’s neat. Personally, while I don’t think humanity is worth a slug’s bollocks, I think it should be – but that’s not up to me. Alright, sorry, this isn’t about me, it’s about Kurt Vonnegut.
In the introduction to Armageddon in Retrospect (2007), a posthumously-published collection of his previously unpublished works, Kurt’s son Mark describes him as “an extrovert who wanted to be an introvert … An optimist posing as a pessimist, hoping people will take heed.”
Although I’ve yet to read quite a few of Vonnegut’s writings, from what I have read (which is extensive anyway) I can safely conclude that Kurt Vonnegut was a truly brilliant and great human being, something that very few people manage to be. He saw the flaws in the world, but he also saw the goodness in the world – and wrote about both, trying to turn the former into the latter. All of him is inspiring: not only his writings but also his whole self, his persona, his identity. His thoughts reinvigorate. The great thing about his writing is that while his books work as books, countless quotes may be extracted without their losing meaning.
I’ll leave you with a quote from Breakfast of Champions (which, by the way, was made into an amusing film with Bruce Willis, Nick Nolte and Albert Finney):
Our awareness is all that is alive and maybe sacred in any of us. Everything else about us is dead machinery.
Kurt Vonnegut, Jr. is up in heaven now. So it goes.
Greetifications:
Hello. Chances are that if you’re reading this you’re bored, insane, both or all three. I certainly am.
Essentially, I’m going to be writing about everything that I like and everything that I hate. Often things will be both at the same time, because that’s how things work.
I can like or hate anything at all. Books, films, people, occurrences, phrases, music, comics, body parts or whatever else decides to pop into my head.
If you’re expecting something different, you can either go away or stay and see what happens.
Whatever does happen, it won’t be boring.
Until next time.
