:: Burn, Baby, Burn ::

The fact that I've burned and labelled 105 data CDs today gave me an appropriate theme for my blog post. In an Oscars-style acceptence speech, I might have thanked Verity Systems who provided us with a multiple high-speed CD burner. Ripping off 7 discs at a time makes me want to spend more time at the office. I could start a music piracy racket from my desk. So if Wideboy's looking for a distributor for copies of The Grey Album, which he recently downloaded (and "saved for the nation"), he knows where to come.

Other burn-related shavings from Devukha's cyber-workshop floor. (Those allergic to puns should look away now):

  •  Shrove Tuesday with La Gribouilleuse was a great success. I did not have to endure any burnt offerings. Highlight of the meal for me was the hefty Galette Bretonne, made with buckwheat flour, which we enjoyed with bacon, roasted onions and cheese...

  •  Today's Popbitch mailout included the following gem - "Pet Shop Boys and Pete Burns' new single collaboration is called Jack and Jill Party"

  •  This thing called Burn-Up Scramble looks rather interesting. Is it a game or a Manga cartoon? ...which reminds me. Those bastards at Tesco online never sent me a DVD I ordered before Christmas. This was the fantastic sounding Daft Punk collaboration Interstella-5555, in which their album, Discovery, is the soundtrack to a Leiji Matsumoto animation. They sent me the wrong thing (Pirates of the Carribean!) and never sent a replacement after I returned it.

  •  One of my favourite literary works involving combustion is the tale of Matilda(who told lies and was burned to death) by Hilaire Belloc. A mainstay of my childhood, chunks of this poem are still retained in my increasingly lacuna-prone memory. Here is the final stanza, accompanied by one of the original drawings:

"For every time She shouted 'Fire!'
They only answered 'Little Liar!'
And therefore when her Aunt returned,
Matilda, and the House, were burned."

  • Continuing the nostaligia trip, it also occurred to me that in the days of Spuggie et al, Byker Grove's arch-rivals - in everything from football matches to carnival float design - were the kids from Denton Burn. I wonder if that's still the case?

  • And finally... I'm off to meet Popsicle and Wilverine. Also present will be a rather large Glaswegian, a friend we met in Russia, who will no doubt remind us that Burns Night was a month ago yesterday. Or not as the case may be...

:: Tsk... ::

The job may have changed, but certain things are very much the same. The crap coffee for one thing... If only those dastardly cleaners hadn't trashed my cafetière. Then I might be able to enjoy a nice morning cup courtesy of these people. As it is, I now make an effort to get up an extra 20 minutes early each morning to prepare an espresso pot full of oily black goodness.

There have been unexpected bonuses in my new freelancer support role. The "Thou Shalt Not Download" commandment has effectively been waived so I can contact our staff round the world via ICQ and MSN Messenger. And there's nothing to say I might not use these programmes a little recreationally from time to time. As I'm currently engaged in burning multiple data CDs, there seems to be a fair amount of dead time when I can't really run too many other applications. Perfect then to peruse the news and compose the odd post or two. So here we go...

On Planet Ananova, things seem to be carrying on as ever: the terse news stories are bulked out by countless Quirkies. For the uninitiated, these are usually a showcase for the less fortunate - a chance to cock a snook at overtight Thai police uniforms or the exploits of a Romanian killer nun. While some of these makeweight factoids emanate from the UK, it's a safe bet that most poke fun at those who are about to join us in the EU or at those crazy oriental types. Here's a taster from today's bizarre buffet:

  • The polar bears at the Singapore Zoo have turned green. In order to avoid serious punnage, I should simply point out that this was due to algae growing in their hair in the damp tropical conditions. They are soon to have a peroxide job.
  • Apparently the residents of West Bromwich consume more baked beans than anyone else. What transforms this from a mere eyebrow-raiser to a flatulant fanfare is that the average shopper buys 11 tins of beans a week!
  • And in case you might have thought that my mind has turned from the ravages of alcohol, read this! I just wonder whether the extra kidneys are used in rotation or in combination. No doubt Wideboy will be able to tell me...

As for other sites, I was disgusted to see that on my return to the site for the first time in ages, The Onion now has fucking pre-site advertising. And as ever, Popbitch ain't worth the time of day. Just stick to their erratic mailout.

Well, even slackers have to go at some point. I off to enjoy pancakes chez La Gribouilleuse. Russians, however, have a whole week to enjoy pancakes - Maslenitsa. Due to the vagaries of the Julian Calendar, to which the Russian Orthodox Church still subscribes, this happened last week (16th-22nd February). No seasonal blini for me then...

:: Silence Isn't Golden ::

No, I haven't died. It's not as if the tributes would have poured in anyway. I could bluster away about the fact that my job has changed radically, or proffer the feeble excuse that my home computer is on an interweb sabbatical, but I shan't.

Whilst my webtrawling exploits are partly on hold (restricted to 30-second news-browsing in my lunch break and the odd 5 mins at Gawain J's machine at home), my fellow bloggers are mining ever richer seams of web-u-tainment (a Chris Morris-ism if ever I heard one). That is to say, Taxloss provides an eclectic mix of thought-provoking politics and ephemera, Hypatia showers us with her golden vignettes of life in the Meeja Circus and Wideboy appears to capitalise on an inordinate amount of spare time (or a dire case of insomnia) by writing about anything under the sun. I, on the other hand (when I can be bothered to write) seem to dwell on matters theatrical, linguistic and whimsical. At which point I should note that a furious bout of typing has just displaced a Russian letter "sh", which I had carefully glued on to the relevant key on my English keyboard...

So perhaps it's time to pull my socks up. Perhaps I will finally get my home computer sorted out. Perhaps I will eventually devote some time to the original aim of setting up this blog: creative writing. Until then, I suspect mine will remain the South Eastern Trains of blogs - a patchy service of varying quality, not usually on time, but with extravagant promises of improvements in the near future...

:: Cunning Stunts... ::

So farewell, then, Johnny Rotten. 28 years since harrassing Bill Grundy with multiple "fucks" at tea time, the nation is a bunch of "fucking cunts" for not voting you off a silly reality TV show. Storming out of the sanitised jungle settlement to shack up in some luxury hotel, Mr Lydon has left eager columnists faux-scandalised and gleefully rubbing their hands at the material on offer.

Few have mentioned that only 100 or so of the 11 million primetime audience bothered to complain about his use of the rudest word in the language. In today's Grauniad, Mark Lawson wonders if swearing is losing its bite. I'm inclined to agree that many words which used to shock have little such value in modern parlance. However, as is frequently pointed out, it is racist, anti-religious and homophobic jibes which form today's publicly unacceptable lexis. The BBC's collection of interviews on the subject reminded me of the range of usage and opinions around. The religious, who may find blasphemy offensive, strike me as justified in their misgivings. However, the rise of casual obscenity in everyday life is such that it seems pointless to shield children from the literal or inferred meaning of rude words. It is important to assimilate the sense and context of words to assess their suitability for use. That words exist as expletives is a good thing; that bad language may be used to demean, denigrate and defame is more unsettling.

Still on the subject of acceptability, the Janet Jackson Boob-Flash is preoccupying the internet's chatterers and voyeurs. This euphemistically described "wardrobe malfunction" has invoked more American puritan ire than Judy Finnigan's tit-dangle a couple of years ago in the UK. This article mocks the hypocrisy of the situation - how can a country whose marketing relies on sex and innuendo claim to be so outraged at the momentary (and "accidental") baring of a breast?

Another paradox is revealed in this article from yesterday: Bill Gates plans to give away £28bn to charitable causes. This garnered him a controversial honorary knighthood last year, but I'm intrigued by his claims to want little influence over the recipients of his philanthropy...

Finally, reports are not emerging that there was "no failure of intelligence" in the build up to the Iraq War. The US and UK seem justto have wilfully ignored the advice that Saddam was a minor threat to the world. It's enough to make you want to swear, isn't it?

Oh well, if you really feel like spouting off, here's a handy guide to multilingual rudeness.

Basszon szájba a veresseggü ördög!

:: Puff and Nonsense ::

No much to report from a hectic weekend. Having had a "sensible" amount to drink on Friday, I pushed the boat out with a vodka frenzy on Saturday. Didn't feel too clever at a production meeting for Amadeus on Sunday afternoon, but never mind. I made up for it by cooking copious amounts of Dal. Somehow I've managed to get involved with a Youth Theatre group - teaching on Monday evenings. My Mum says I'm a glutton for punishment. I tell her I do it because I love it and she shouldn't use clichés so much...

Meanwhile, more from the big news story of the past week. A BBC radio presenter got their greens mixed up. And then was forced to apologise for advising listeners on how to grow the newly reclassified Class C drug cannabis.

And in case you thought Groundhog Day was just a film, you should check out that link. Apparently Punxsutawney Phil has seen his shadow so the US will be cold for another 6 weeks. What I want to know is: how often do they have to change the groundhog? He always seems to be called Phil, but what happens if the poor critter gets cataracts? Would his inability to see his shadow make the spring come early?

One family can't stay out of the news: apparently an investigation will be held into Janet Jackson's Boob-flash incident at the Superbowl at the hands of Justin Trousersnake.

As if that wasn't enough, haemorrhoid ads have been banned in China. I'm sure Hypatia will have something to say about this, but I suspect piles are a relatively uncommon ailment in China due to a better diet...