I know: Not exactly Saturday Night Party material but if I could I would show it in every high school, all over the world.
You’re in luck though: I just saw I had another link going – or open, or whatever you call it. Something I’d started to watch yesterday and then forgot about.
Okay, first a short excerpt from the transcript of an old BBC 4 ‘Point of View’ programme, titled ‘The Golf Ball Potato Crisp’, written and read by Clive James:
“Shakespeare was only one of [Montaigne's] many readerswho caught fire at that idea. Shakespeare knew Montaigne’s writings inside out. They helped set the standard for the way our greatest playwright separated what he knew from what he didn’t know. But not even Shakespeare had an opinion about the golf-ball potato crisp, because it had not yet arrived in the world.”
James, in his typical Janusian way of looking at stuff in both a goofy and an intellectual way, links golf balls, dead French philosophers, Global Warming, Shakespeare and potato harvest machines with the importance of scepticism and still manages to weave a tightly knit and very pleasant little aural carpet (waving his knitting gear with the assured ease of an old composer/director but with a wide and slightly wicked grin on his face.)
The point he ultimately makes is a valid one, I think. Not many human beings are like Montaigne and probably none of us asks that question ‘What do I know?’ often enough.
The whole Global Warming discussion is a very good example of this. How many politicians, journalists, pub sages, bloggers or internet newspaper commentators who bombard us with their varying versions of the ‘I-am-right-and-I-am-righteous’ truth actually know anything about the science? How many scientists do?
Me, I have no axes to grind here. I declare myself a floating agnostic: Sometimes, I seem to tend to lean slightly into this direction, sometimes slightly into the other but always with that rock solid certainty at the core of my being that informs me that I truly don’t know shit about the whole subject. Dylan sang about not needing to be a weatherman to know which way the wind blows. I’m more like an old-fashioned weathervane, perched on top of his stone tower of doubt, not knowing which way to turn.
Still, I do read the papers and I try to follow these issues – and I admit that has led me to some pretty firm conclusions, which I am quite happy to share with you.
Here goes:
1) On the one hand, I truly would love it if that soi-disant vast majority of climate change experts were wrong. Firstly, for the simple reason that I wouldn’t like the earth to warm up that much, and that fast. A Tibetan monk may be able to keep his cool about that but if, like me, you live in Holland, of which about half lies under the sea level as it stands, you’d prefer the oceans not to rise by much more. Secondly though, I have to admit that I would simply love it if that self-important majority was wrong, because I will always root for the maverick minority view. Pit the might of the Roman Catholic Church against Galileo Galilei and I will wear my ‘E pur si muove!’T-shirt proudly. (Come to think of it, scientist Freeman Dyson would make a most wonderful Galilei…)
2) On the other hand, it would almost be worth it for my country to become a latter day Atlantis (even though that might inconvenience our coffee shop owners and clients somewhat) for the simple reason that so many of the very loudmouth Global Warming deniers are such ugly little oiks. Know nothing types who broadly fall into two categories: Right wing dingbats and conspiracy theory freaks. (Okay, maybe that’s just one category, after all.) Again, I’m not saying everyone who seriously doubts the reality of (a man-made) Global Warming belongs to that sick tribe but too many do – and too many of them, if forced to choose between the sure destruction of the earth and giving up a few luxuries, would close their eyes and ears and go “NA-NA-NA-CAN’T-HEAR-YOU!!!!!”, while driving their 4WD SUVs through the gates of a Global Hell.
3) On the other hand, yet again, I would also prefer the majority of these doom-selling scientists to be wrong, because so many of their lay followers are such terrible, terrible people. Don’t get me wrong: I still donate some money each month to Greenpeace. I may not always agree with all their ideas and I do find a lot of their campaigning material too calculatingly sentimental but I do think it is important to have strong environmental organisations, if only as a counterweight to industrial lobby groups. However, there is a type of fanatic eco-church member that is utterly insufferable. They’re like the warped mirror images of Ann Coulter and Sarah Palin – but without the charm. If you would give them a pair of God Buttons that, if pushed, would decide whether Global Warming would be real or not, they would push the self-destruct button without a minute’s thought. This bunch would rather have all of us die than to live in a world where people could drive their cars, eat fast food and fly Ryan Air with no real consequences to the health of the planet. Obviously, as it is with their opponents, not all environmental activists are like that at all but there are still way too many of those loathsome hair shirt types around and people like that never ever deserve to be right.
Ah well, but what do I know, after all? I’m that weathervane, remember?
Which, perhaps, is not such a bad position to be in. There is something restful in admitting that you simply don’t know enough about stuff to get caught up in this really ugly (and, by now, frankly rather boring and repetitive) debate.
Plus, if those sea levels would indeed happen to rise, any time soon, the top of a church tower would not be the worst place to find yourself when you’re in Holland.
(Dawkins and Auden: Truly great minds never think alike…)
Okay, so, today, I almost decided not to write my daily post - for the first time in nearly two years…
… because, yesterday, I had to leave both Prague and my lady, to return to boring, rain-soaked Holland…
… but I quickly came to the conclusion that that would, even for me, take grandiose, self-indulgent solipsism to unacceptably toxic levels.
Not that I feel like writing much, mind you – let alone reading newspapers – but I do have something else for you. I arrived back here in Utrecht early in the evening, yesterday, which gave me time to wallow in self-pity and, when that became too boring to sustain for another pitiful minute, I sought and found some solace listening to a few pod-casts.
I ended up spending more than two hours listening to interviews – or rather: conversations – Clive James held with a number of writers, actors and philosophers.
So, since I’ve been boring everyone here with my personal Country & Western stories, the last few days, I thought it would only be fair to give you the chance to recover from those self-centred laments by listening to two of these interviews yourself. (Not that you have to restrict yourselves to those two: You can read and watch and listen to tonnes of stuff on his web site, HERE.)
You could start with these two, though.
In the first one James is talking with Richard Dawkins, about evolution, and how our creative capabilities might simply be a function of that process. They talk about language, monsters and Gods – it’s all good stuff
The second one is a discussion Clive James held with John Clarke about the poet W.H. Auden, which is really much fun, with lots of artistic quarrels and gossip, some good poems being read aloud and how the first world war changed the way a new generation of poets could actually write poetry (and the way the horrific crimes of the Nazi regime led Auden to the conclusion that poetry ‘makes nothing happen’.)
Remember Dick Cheney, or Charlie Manson, or Jeffrey Dahmer? Or, let’s say, that guy who blew up the FBI building, or the ones shooting abortion doctors? Or the good little demagogues of FOX news (and all their disciples)? Or the millions of children and grown-ups, whose fast food eating habits make them look like drowning victims, whose grotesquely bloated bodies have been fished out of the water after a week? Pretty, no?
No.
Anyway, I remember once making a joke about someone being so stupid he would drown in the shallow end of the gene pool.
That was before I realized how shallow people really can get?
“Americans are the most attractivelooking people in the world, according to a new survey.The United States, home to George Clooney and Jessica Simpson, came top in a poll of more than 5,000 globe-trotting Britons.In second place was Brazil while Spain, which boasts Hollywood actress Penelope Cruz as one of its natives, was third.”
I’d say that if a few film stars can raise a whole nation to most-attractiveness, then these opinions held by 5000 tourists make either Britain or the whole tourist species the most moronic on earth – but why spend more time and thought on these imbeciles?
It’s time to make lunch for my lady. See you tomorrow.
Yup, the guy who wrote Watership Down, which was later made into a movie in which John Wayne played the alcoholic naval captain on a boat that was chased by Nazi submarines.
What? Oh, alright. Aesop was that old Greek story teller who wrote all those fables. Stories about animals that served to teach the reader stuff about the human condition – so, in a way, Aesop is the great-great-grandfather-squared of Richard Adams. (Yes, the guy who did write Watership Down.)
Anyway, I was reminded of old Aesop when I read the following story in today’s Telegraph:
“The Scottish SPCA has put 10 hedgehogsin its care on strict calorie-controlled diets to help them shed fat they put on during the recent cold snap. The hedgehogs started piling on the pounds because they spent longer than usual in the care of the Wildlife Rescue Centre in Fife. They were kept in their warm enclosures during the severe weather conditions which hit the country in December and January, because the cold could have killed them.”
Now, isn’t that just like one of Aesop’s tales (with a touch of Orwell’s Animal Farm.)
I mean, replace hedgehogs with politicians and you have a perfect tale about Members of Parliament who wouldn’t be able to survive outside their Westminster shelter and who grow fat and lazy.
Me, I’m all for tolerance, though I have to admit that I would like anyone who plans – or even condones the idea of – suicide attacks to take his or her explosives to some desert and do as many practice runs as it takes to perfect their technique.
It’s a bit like that trope about a tree falling in the forest with nobody to witness it. In other words, if a trainee terrorist blows him or her self up in the desert with no-one around, does it count as a true martyresque act?
To which the only reasonable answer would be: Who gives a fuck?
Anyway, people who read this blog on a regular basis know that I have very little patience with religious nutters, be they of the Christian, Muslim, Scientologist or any other brand.
So, anyone who opposes fundamentalist attitudes and sings the praises of tolerance would normally have my sympathy.
Though I’m not so sure about this one:
“Muslim fundamentalists should “learn how to drink wine”because it would make them more tolerant, according to a philosopher. Roger Scruton, 65, urged “lunatic fundamentalists who have set their heart on giving Islam a bad name” to imbibe, although it is considered against their religion, claiming it would help them to a more moderate view.”
As I said, I have my doubts.
I mean, look at any English town, just after closing time. You can say a lot of things about the hordes of brainless oiks who take their vomiting, fighting and raping business to the street but ‘more tolerant’ would probably not be the term you would use.
So, thanks but no thanks. I don’t think the world is quite ready for an army of suicidal drunks, sporting Millwall and Bin Laden tattoos.
I suppose that all of us know by now that smoking is bad for you. Of course, living is also bad for you. More people die from being born than from any habit they pick up later on. Life’s a 100% killer disease; smoking is just one of the possible complementary threats…
… and yet there’s this, almost world wide, hysteria about smoking. It’s been banned in bars, restaurants and parks, at bus stops and on beaches. There are plans to ban smokers from adopting children and old movies that still have actors smoking are no longer shown in an ever growing number of cinemas.
Total madness, really – and I say that as a non-smoker.
On the other hand, we know that humans always overreact. It’s what we do best. (That, and totally ignoring certain other problems. When we don’t want to see the elephant in the room, that sucker is SO not there, you know – but that’s another topic entirely.)
So, you could say overreacting isn’t a form of madness, really. It’s perfectly normal for our species.
Still, when I read the following news story, I did think that those anti-smoking activists are now really starting to get a little bit out of control:
“An Indonesian man lost six teethwhen the cigarette he was smoking exploded in his mouth. Andi Susanto, a 31-year-old security guard, said PT Nojorono Tobacco Indonesia, the maker of the brand of cigarette he was smoking, had offered to pay for his medical treatment. A spokesman for the company said there were no plans for a recall.”
(Never mind those eyes: It will get your fucking teeth…!)
Today, I have two vaguely related stories for you – and we will move from absurd comedy to unintended satire…
… helped by two protagonists with sex on the brain…
… and who are both quite willing to let their feelings be known in both an unrepressed and quite maniacally agressive manner.
First, there’s this story of a New Zealand kakapo parrot:
“The New Zealand prime minister has given the country’smost famous parrot a job in his government, it has emerged. An endangered kakapo parrot, named Sirocco, which rose to fame last year after it attempted to mate with the head of Mark Carwardine, the wildlife presenter, during the BBC’s ‘Last Chance to See’ series, has been appointed by John Key as the world’s first “spokesbird for conservation”. “
It’s kind of cool to have an avian sex addict as a spokesbird of anything – though one feels it would feel more at home as spokesbird of Playboy. It would be interesting to see what the parrot would do to Hefner’s head (or to that bunny, come to think of it.)
Anyway, let’s leave the parrot and move on to the second story, in which an old guy that dresses up like a bird is also making the news - again… - ranting about his favourite obsession: The things that other people do in the privacy of their bedrooms.
Though I, for one, would prefer to be fucked by a parrot than listen to the hateful homelies of Herr Ratzinger:
“Benedict XVI says legislation safeguarding rights of same-sex couples violates ‘natural law’. Pope Benedict XVI has condemned British equality legislation for running contrary to “natural law” as he confirmed his first visit to the UK later this year.”
To which the only sane reply would be to tell him to – quite litterally – mind his own fucking business.
(Of course, this would be funnier if the Norwegian Blue had been a Papal White but you can’t have it all…)
Sometimes, it’s hard to be a Muslim. I mean, look at the state of the world. When the IRA was bombing the shit out of England and knee-capping God knows how many of their own country men, did the international airlines start to strip search priests and nuns? Did the police stop & search anyone wearing a crucifix?
No, they did not – even though the IRA was much better at this whole bombing business than those demented Muslim ‘martyrs’, who would be much better off if they joined some self harm group instead.
Still, because of some imbeciles who set fire to their own shoes and underwear, all Muslims are now treated as potentially rabid dogs. Which ain’t very nice.
From Muslims now to Jews though. So, if it is, at times, hard to be a Muslim, it’s always hard to be a Jew. The writer Dan Simmons once told a story about how he and a few colleages, in 2000, were asked to write a SF story that had to be set in the year 3000.
Now, predicting what will happen in the next ten years or so is tough enough but speculating about stuff a thousand years from now is sheer madness.
Until, as Simmons wrote, he realized that, however vast the oceans of times between now and any possible then, there would always be people who would want to kill all the Jews.
Anyway, you know all of that – and I wouldn’t have brought it up if I hadn’t come upon a news story that, once again, proved that life always lands Muslims and Jews with their peanut butter side on the floor.
Here it is:
“Eating pork is at least as effective as popping a Viagra pill to spice up your romantic life, according to Argentine President Cristina Kirchner, who claims to have tested the theory. “Pork consumption improves sexual activity,” Mrs Kirchner informed a gathering of business people at a meeting at the presidential palace. “This is not a small detail,” she said at the gathering to announce a reduction in the price of pork. “Besides, some nicely grilled pork is much more gratifying than taking Viagra.”
