Word of the day

Eunoia.
Not only is it the shortest word in the English language to include all five vowels, but its meaning is 'beautiful thinking'.

Irony For The Unintelligent

The band James have just revealed the sleeve design for their upcoming album release; it features a baby playing with some toy building blocks and a gun. It refers to a recent incident in the good ol' US of A where a ten-month old child was legitimately granted a firearms certificate! The Advertising Standards Authority (ASA) in the UK have banned this design from being featured on any billboards for fear that it may encourage younger people to use guns...What?! I ask you, how do these authority figures in the ASA get superior positions of employment with mighty powers of censorship when they can't even understand the use of irony? To anyone with more than three brain cells to knock together it's clear that the James album is anti-guns and is in fact mocking the ridiculously liberal (or should that be right-wing Republican) American gun laws. And exactly how stupid are the British youth in the twenty-first century meant to be? Does the ASA truly believe that gun crime originates or is vitally encouraged by billboard promotions? The contradictory madness of society never ceases to amaze me: while pacifist James fans listen to the pleasantly inspirational tunes and consider an ironic front cover that they weren't allowed to see advertised beforehand, they can be secure in the knowledge that a ten-month old child somewhere in America may grow up one day and become a little bit unbalanced by perpetual social repression just in time for him to shoot up a school and blame it on people who will refuse to listen; because that's how gun crime really originates.

Word Of The Day

Iconoclast.

Beards, anyone?

I have recently tried to grow a beard. My god, the hysteria. As I work in an office, numerous people have been chastising me for looking unprofessional or messy. Even though I have blonde hair and it takes me slightly longer to go from the stubble stage to the beard stage than it would for most people, I still found it difficult to comprehend why my work colleagues had such an issue with it. Since when was facial hair a social sign of negativity. Apparently, with the air of vagrancy that I was demonstrating, I may as well have taken off my tie and wrapped it around my forehead! To the people in the world who care so much about public appearance rather than the individual personality underneath, I simply say, "Pay more attention to your own lives and stop concerning yourself with mine, I truly have better things to be thinking about."

Suck On This Humbug!

Reasons that I hate Christmas.
1. Commercialism. Now I'm certainly not gonna spout out religious sound bites that Christmas has lost its true meaning because 'Jesus died for us' bollocks. But there are some people (especially those with young children) who enjoy the magic and sparkle of Santa Claus bringing presents on his reindeer and all that jazz. Yet this notion has seemingly been eternally corrupted by the new spirit of Christmas: shopping! A pastime which people indulge in far too much anyway the rest of the year round becomes a national obsession in December; so much so that stress takes over any feelings of joy. It's almost as if (and sorry about the religious reference again) 'Glory to god in the highest' has been misconstrued with a simple spelling mistake to become 'Glory to god in the High St'! Which brings me on to my second point.
2. Child competition. Some mothers even fight in stores nowadays in order to get the last fashionable toy off the shelf for their beloved children who are apparently somehow better than anybody else's children. Perhaps if parents bought their children little gifts all the year round then they wouldn't feel so much pressure to perform at Yuletide. Or perhaps - and this is a big one, I know - children should be brought up to understand that money and materialism don't encapsulate all of the saving graces of this planet. Wow, wouldn't that be something, to have a child with a sense of morality regarding wealth.
3. Inane happiness. If I'm generally pissed off with the world then - believe me - a few baubles, a bit of tinsel, a fake tree and a fat man in a bright red suit drinking Coke ain't gonna make a damn bit of difference to me. But some people seem to think that Christmas gives them the right to lecture me for being too serious. It simply doesn't. And finally...
4. The same bloody simple-minded music. There are a few good Christmas songs, especially The Pogues and Kirsty MacColl's 'Fairytale of New York'. But most of them are just shallow attempts at cashing in on the festive season with very little real effort. I wish that Slade and Wizzard would fuck right off.
I'm looking forward to being visited by three ghosts this year; only I don't think that the ghost of Christmas past will have much good to show me.

The Eternal Drudgery Of Working Class Existence

A state of tranquil repose is rudely interrupted by a buzz-beep drone, so I reach over with an apathetic frame of mind to switch off my alarm. I become a walking contradiction: various little routines of preparation for work help to calm the inspiration which may have tormented me during the night, while watching a DVD that I like or listening to a fine piece of music will prevent the mediocrity from entirely devouring my soul; maintaining the balance of rage and love is paramount. When I get to work it isn't long before customers commence wielding their attempts at power play; they know they can always get the last word for that is the nature of 'professionalism'. They talk down to me with demeaning tones secure in the knowledge that if I show a hint of independent spirit they will simply complain about me and thereby threaten to remove my financial livelihood. I want to yell at them,"You think I'm afraid of you, you fuck! I could whip your ass through the fucking streets if I wanted to, and you sure as hell couldn't beat me in a battle of verbal volleyball; my gift with words is unparalleled, my capacity for independent thought allows me to dwell on concepts that you will never even consider, and you dare to patronise me just because you can manipulate this greed-ridden society more to your advantage than I can!" But of course I can't say those things. The institutionalised economic repression has nearly as much of a hold on me as it does most people, only their blinkered ignorance allows them to not be bothered by it.
Lunchtime comes and half an hour's reprieve develops as I'm able to stroll around town in a pleasant little world of my own. The college girls are all around and a momentary inspiration hits me that if I could get a cool girlfriend my general malaise in motivation would lift, possibly allowing my life to progress at a more steady and decisive pace. But nothing brings my otherwise calm insecurities more to the surface than being confronted with an attractive young lady accompanied by the expectation of wit and inane jollity. So my morale is sapped once more as I stand in a stilted frame of anxious contemplation; if I can't even form a long-term relationship then how in the hell am I ever going to advance my career to a state where I will wake up each morning smiling?
The afternoon passes exactly as the morning did and I get to go home knowing I have a few hours of freedom to explore. A stimulant is required to redress the balance of perpetual mediocrity. Alcohol. It will not only numb the anxiety but also give me hope that tomorrow will be different, that I am capable of world-shaking, that fear itself is largely an illusion; perhaps everything truly can have a purpose, perhaps my screaming unfulfilled potential can finally reach the fore and achieve that greatness which forever tempts me at the edge of my fingertips. Surely it must be possible? But the hyper-sensitivity that so easily takes me to the pinnacle of mental agility will of course slam me right back down to the ground again when the tranquil repose into which I glide ever so gently will once more be rudely interrupted by the eternal drudgery and its intermittent companion, the hangover. Is this really all there is?

Cancer Equals Hysteria

Cancer! Say the word and it immediately conjures up a hysterical reaction in most people. This isn't necessarily all their fault, a major catalyst is the media. A report was released today from the World Cancer Research Fund outlining how lifestyle factors can help to prevent cancer, thereby suggesting that people are currently significantly contributing to their own demise. The main recommendations of the report are that certain types of food should be avoided such as alcohol, sugary drinks, red meat, bacon and ham; everyone should be exercising each day; weight should not be gained through adulthood; and even people with a Body Mass Index of just under 25 should try to lose some more weight. Forgive me, but does this perfect person actually exist?! If they do, I'd like to meet them and shake them by the hand. We lead hectic, pressured lives nowadays in a world which is riddled with imperfections; how are people meant to adhere to these stringent lifestyle regulations when they are perpetually accompanied by long working hours, family commitments, money worries, and (heavens forbid) the opportunity of a social life? And the media does not help! Today's news reports have almost entirely focused on negativity; cancer has been portrayed solely as a "matter of risk" for people to deal with themselves. It is not mentioned that two-thirds of cancers are NOT preventable, you can get them regardless of what you eat, just like you can sometimes get lung cancer without ever having smoked a cigarette; these non-preventable cancers amount to a whopping seven million cases per year which the reports have not taken into account. It's no wonder that people get hysterical with worry when they are near enough blamed for getting cancer themselves even though this is often not the case; and let's not forget that stress will make any condition worse given the opportunity, the media certainly don't help with that. So I leave you with a quote from cancer specialist Karol Sikora which I wholeheartedly concur with: "The main message I would have is not to worry about it, to enjoy life, if you like a glass of wine have it". Hear hear.