Is it Wednesday already?

It's my dad's birthday today. He's 61.

On Monday I had another two and a half hours' work done on my tattoo backpiece. It's looking so motherfucking rad now, man. I really love it. Which is a good thing, cos it would kind of be a problem now if I didn't, wouldn't it?! According to my little black book, that puts the total time spent in the chair so far at 12 hours. And unlike some tattooers, Xam tends to be working the whole of that time, rather than taking phone calls and shooting the shit with passers-by. As a client I really appreciate the difference. He reckons we'll be pretty much done in about another two sessions, or around five hours.

This week's session was the most painful yet. There were times when I was thinking I'd have to stop. I've never experienced that before. But I kept saying to myself, "If I tap out now, it's another six weeks or so until I get back here." That was enough to spur me on and endure the discomfort.

What else...?

Oh yeah, I sent Shea a copy of the short film I made (whisper it) 11 years ago, coupled with a music video from the following year, I think. It'll be interesting to hear what he thinks of them. If I ever get around to it, I might even post them up on here someday.

I've set myself a small film-making challenge for this week, too, so I hope to get that started and finished in the next couple of days.

Italy went out of the European Cup, losing to Spain on penalties. That sucked, but they didn't play so great.

If you've not been over to my movie reviews (such as they are) in recent weeks, there has been some activity there, though I confess to having been a little lax. I'm trying to get on top of that shit, cos I'm watching some good films at the moment.

I'm sure I had some other stuff to write about, but it's gone clean out of my head. Oh well, probably wasn't very important. Not as important as me getting downstairs to deal with the washing up, anyway. So, off I go.

More cookery for y’all

Here is me and Red trying to make pancakes:



And here, in case you missed it, is Shea and Andy's original video of the same recipe:

Haha, she must of dun dis 4 tha lulz, rite?!!11

I pissed myself reading this Faith Book post this morning. Come on, puh-leeze? It makes me puke a little in my mouth.

Cat. Arm. Shagging.

I get quite a few hits to this blog from people typing "cat humping arm" and similar search terms into Google. This is because of this post written more than two years ago.

In the time that has passed since, Cat has completely given up on shagging my arm. I think it's because -- SLIGHTLY DISTURBING MENTAL IMAGE ALERT! -- one night, as he, ahem, finished, he caught his, ahem, cathood(?) in my bracelet. Since that night he has shunned my forearms in favour of Red's. She's getting it every which way most evenings. In fact, if she doesn't get a visit in the dark as we're readying ourselves for the Land of Nod, we suspect the wee lad is feeling under the weather.

But today a new low (or high) has been hit.

Checking our respective mail, Facebook, MySpace, forums, etc before breakfast (my God, we've become Intraweb slaves!) we were joined by Cat in the office space.

"Mau," he said.
"Hey, kitty," I replied.
"Mau."
"'Sup dude?"
"Mau."
"Yeah, just a minute and we'll come and have breakfast with you."
"Mau."
"Shhh."
"Mau. ... Mau. ... Mau. ... Mau. ... Mau. ..."

Red decided to go see what he wanted. Five minutes later she returned.

"He just wanted sex," she said. "He's quiet now." And so he was. I'm wondering now whether it was "Ma" that he was saying. And also whether I can learn a thing or two from him when it comes to getting my wicked way.

Blogging. And Candy.

It's almost a cliche that when a blogger doesn't know what to write about, he or she will write about blogging. Well, that's not really what this post is, but it kind of is.

When I woke up this morning, I had this feeling that the bottom has fallen out of blogging, but then I thought, "No, perhaps it's just me."

When I started this, about 27 months ago, I was writing a lot. Writing often, that is, albeit often short entries, and these tended to be based on news stories.

Lots of other folks seemed to have started at about the same time. I won't link cos I'm lazy, but you all know who they are: Cappy, Four Dinners, Candy, Steve Dullard, The English Ranter. These few peeps seemed to be my first contacts in blogland, and it was great.

Over the two years that have passed, Cappy and 4D have reinvented themselves a couple of times; Steve disappeared, reappeared and disappeared again; and the English Ranter slowly wound down. I've slowed my pace and have sometimes wondered whether I can be arsed to continue.

But Candy stayed strong, educating us with both high-brow and low-brow posts, mixing pop and politics and everything in between.

Until now.

Although I've never met her, she's one of the best friends I've made on the blog circuit, and I've had some great mails and blog exchanges with her, not to mention that we send each other video care parcels on a regular basis, sharing some of the best of our respective countries' TV.

But The Gnostic World Of Candy Minx is now on hiatus. For how long, who knows? One thing is for certain: the world's a duller place without it.

Let's hope it's not dead and just sleeping. Thanks Candy.

Three things to write about

1. Monday I went and had another 2 hrs 15 mins tattooing done on my backpiece. It's really coming along now. We're probably just over halfway through. It's looking awesome, guys -- or "sick", as Gallows frontman Frank said when he saw it as Xam was working on me, because Frank was tattooing at the shop that day, too.

Some of you have seen how it's looking so far. If you haven't, I'll mail pics to any regulars who are interested, so just leave me a comment to say you wanna.

2. The British government has won the first round in its attempt to increase the detention time for terrorism suspects, taking the time allowed to keep prisoners without charge up to a mammoth 42 days, or six weeks, while they gather the requisite evidence to take them to court. Um, excuse me, but what the fuck?!

This is such bullshit. How many people have we seen arrested and held for the current 28 days only to be released without charge? Quite a few is how many. Holding someone for six weeks, potentially someone who doesn't even know why they are held, since there is no obligation for the police to tell them, is completely fucking bogus. And Gordon Brown (who spookily has the same initials as that other fuckwit) could not even have won this without pulling in reinforcements. The man's a complete arsehole and should be got rid of asap.

3. It's 12 June, and it's thundering. Thundering?! Holy shit. Welcome to summer.

I think Mexico should become the 51st state of the USA

I can't take full credit for that headline; it was inspired by something Red said. Why? It was just a response to George "W for Wanker" Bush and his assertion that Turkey must join the EU. What the fuck does it have to do with that cock?

Turkey is fast heading towards being an Islamic nation. The current separation of church (or should that be mosque) and state is looking wobbly. And Meathead Bush thinks this is a prime candidate for EU consideration.

Why don't you go back to what you know best, Georgie Boy? Which is... oh yeah: fuck all. Do we come into your house telling who the fuck should be the next US state? No. Why? Because it's none of our business, just like Turkey being in the EU is none of yours. Dickhead.

In other news, the wife and I are celebrating 12 years since our lips first met across a crowded sofa after a day of sitting in the park chit-chatting and eating in cafes in north London. Twelve years! Awww.

And what better way to celebrate than to mourn the appalling performance of the Italian squad in the Euro Cup football tournament last night? 3-0 they lost to the Netherlands (or Holland, or the Dutch). Buffon is a buffoon. Maybe George Bush could have a word with coach Donadoni about who should be in the Italian goal...

Stuff, with a bias towards clothing

So, the weekend was nice. No need to work, which is always a bonus. Instead the wife and I shopped, watched films and football, chilled, and did a little bit of house-cleaning type of stuff.

I'd been to a work meeting in London on Friday, and whenever I get ready to leave for one of those I tend to lose my mind, realizing I have no clothes to wear. There are very few downsides to working from home 99 per cent of the time; the downsides come, though, when you remember that you don't know what real people look like in a business environment.

Fortunately, being in a "creative" industry means that most people (except managing directors and the like) tend to dress down. Smart casual, y'know. What a great catch-all, almost offensive term that is, right? Jeans are fine, a pair of Converse no problem. T-shirts even.

Except... because I've made the decision to tattoo my forearms, I tend to cover them for meetings at which I'm looking for work. This, in turn, means that, come the hot months, I have to choose lightweight long-sleeved attire. And that's usually my first hurdle when it comes to choosing my "meeting clothes". But like they say in Italy, "Volevi una bicicletta... Pedala." ["You wanted a bike... Pedal." Akin to our "You made your bed, you better lie in it."]

That problem tends to be overcome quickly (if not necessarily always comfortably). The great British summer poses the next hurdle. You never know if what you see through the window at 9:30am is anything like in the same ballpark of what might be happening 50 miles away and one hour later. It's likely, at this time of year, that it will stay warm (if it's already warm), but that doesn't mean you won't get rain, sleet, snow, or who-knows-what else.

So it came to pass that I went looking for a lightweight, mid-season jacket. And I got one, too. Which is a miracle, since when I shop with intent for clothing I'm usually left empty-handed. The best jacket I tried on was a Hugo Boss blazer. Very nice and an absolutely beautiful fit. You can't go wrong with a man who clothed the Nazis, but I wasn't thinking of spending £300 (US$600), so back it went on the hanger. Afterwards I wished I'd haggled. "I'll give you 200," I should have said. What's the worst that could happen?, as Dr Pepper might ask. I'll wait for the sales, perhaps.

In the end I bought something far less dashing but arguably more multipurpose for a third of the price. It'll do the job.

Anyway, I've gone on long enough about my sartorial woes. I'm gonna go have some breakfast and head off into London again. Today, though, it's pleasure not business, for it's time for my next tattooing session on my backpiece. Another three hours of fun.

Have a good week, amigos.

To adapt from MCR: “Evangelists scare the living shit out of me”

A week or so ago, I watched the Oscar-nominated documentary film Jesus Camp, and while this blog isn't the place where I put my movie reviews (such as they are), I felt I had to at least comment on it here.

You see, it's stayed with me, the evil, vile, manipulative, deceptive, child-abusing nature of these people who run such camps.

How else can you describe people who instil such a fear into children about the devil solely to boost the numbers of Christian followers ready for the holy war against Islam that they are certain will come?

It may well be that one day a holy war will come. I won't deny that. This is not least because Muslims will never be content until the whole world is rid of infidels. That's a problem. But is the solution to this problem really the brainwashing of our kids? (I say "our" in a figurative sense, since I don't breed.)

They tell these kids that they must not read or watch Harry Potter. This is because Harry Potter is a warlock and, as such, to partake of him is sinful. If he were alive in Jesus' time, he would have been put to death, they say. (Well, listen up, freak: he's not alive in our time either. Duh! Yes, this is the one and only time you'll see me defending Harry Potter!)

They tell these kids that they should not tell each other ghost stories in theie dorm room in the dark of night. It's not the Christian thing to do, you see, to dwell on bad stuff.

They fill these kids heads with the belief that babbling incoherently is actually speaking in tongues and a sure sign of the Holy Spirit within. Puh-leeze.

How Middle America cannot see this as the child abuse that it is is beyond me. Jesus Camp "pastor" (read: evil prick) Becky Fischer should burn in Hell, if such a thing exists. Better still, since it's likely Hell doesn't exist, she should burn here on Earth.

I was heartened, however, to read that since the film was made, negative response to the Jesus Camps was so intense that they had to be closed down. Thank Christ for that.

Trailer:


Bill Maher on the movie: