Being a short discourse on pop-culture’s ill-defining of stereotypes. Part TWO

It came to my attention shortly after writing the older sibling to this post, that I actually know a little bit more than I claimed.

I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. It was very wrong of me.
But I do. I know stuff. And apparently, to know stuff is a good thing. The stuff I know is not quite as robust or well-rounded as I may wish it to be, but I am pretty sure that between strategic exaggeration of the fact, and outright lies, I can probably cover myself adequately in that field. You will leave this piece convinced of the veracity of my writing, and you will spread the word, not unlike a gospel from a messiah.
Or a particularly virulent infection.
I’m not fussed – both work a-okay with me. On with the show!


Werewolves
To prove a point I only just made, I’m going to open this section with a warning: I don’t know much about werewolves.
At all.
What I do know is the following:
- They love Chinese food.
- They always have perfect hair.
- They howl around the kitchen door.
- They like London.
- They like dancing with the Queen.
- They drink Pina Colada’s.
As you can see, this is by no means an extensive or thorough analysis. But let me make the following suggestion:
AWOOOO.

Oh yeah. NOW you see. Outside of the above, the only other things we know about werewolves are the clichéd ‘silver is deadly’, ‘full moon makes them transform’, ‘re-runs of “Friends” irritates them’ kinda stuff. The other things I can say, without a doubt, are that werewolves are in fact one of the main ingredients in humans.

If humans are made of werewolves, and soylent green is people, then it’s a fair statement to say that soylent green is werewolves. Which I think you’ll agree makes a tremendous amount of sense out of the current events.


Clowns

Ah. A subject I know a whole lot more about. The modern interpretation of the idea of “clowns” is a gaudily dressed performer who is a possible master of a range of arts including (but not limited to) juggling, acrobatics and macramé. Derived from the character “Arlequino” and the traditional role of a court jester, it’s a clown’s reason for existing to be silly and amuse many.

Unfortunately, modern society hasn’t allowed clowns that opportunity, and due to this shortage in jobs, they are becoming a twisted version of the once permanently happy entertainers. They are becoming twisted and evil. Just look around you! Any examples of clowns you can think of, are a horribly perverted version of the above described performer. Krusty The Klown, Pennywise, The Joker – all are evil, twisted individuals whose lingering trademark is their pasty white complexion, affixed grin and shock of wild hair. All dress in outrageous manners, cackle maniacally, and scare children. I know personally that I have a problem with clowns, and it’s something I’ve had other people also relate to me – clowns are a hideous source of trauma and sleep-loss.

I put it to you, that pop culture has elevated and promoted this traditional prat-falling physical comic from light entertainment, into the coveted role of the Bogeyman.


Things go bump in the night. And now we know that they also go honk, wear red noses, and leave banana peels to be stepped on.

Q: Is There Someone Who Pops Into Your Head At Random Times? Ronald McDonald
Song For The Day: "Mexican Hitler" by the Doug Anthony All Stars

Fortune Favours The Bald

You know things are really beginning to suck when you’re listening to Roxette, and not only can you identify with the lyrics emotional content (odd European accents notwithstanding), but you also feel that they were an awesome band.
There’s an inordinate amount of broken glass in my world at the moment. It’s making life quite a delicate process to conduct. Egg shells are bad, but at least the most they offer in regards to physical sensation is odd discomfort, akin to walking on floorboards of peeling varnish. Walking on broken glass is just nasty - just when you think you’ve cleared an area, more of the stuff pokes it’s nasty transparent way into both your life, and the fleshy pads of your foot.

NOT. AMUSING.

Well, okay. The hopping and whinging routine is slightly amusing in retrospect, but only the first time. Getting three shards and the associated injuries in one day lessens the chance of me catching up with the event in a few years time and chuckling at it all over a beer.

My original post for today was to be the second part in my updating of a number of stereotypes spawned by that ADD-suffering social concept that we call Pop Culture. I guess it has kids, I don’t know. If it does, then I’m assuming they had a rough childhood, one of the parents being scatterbrained and changing it’s career daily, and the other being absent. Maybe due to work, maybe due to not existing, I don’t really know. All I can say is that those kids are messed up.


So that post is now waiting until another day for it to see the e-light of the internet. It’s okay, I still have it written, but the last week got me incensed and I had to write about it instead.

I had my car broken into midweek. Something about my car must have attracted the crème de la crème of thieves with an automotive leaning, but more on that later. I remember reading those urban legends about cars where the owners put a sign on the windshield reading “NO RADIO” only to return later and find a sign inside reading “JUST CHECKING”. Or cars locked up safely in a garage with all kinds of safety measures only to be found the next day facing the opposite direction, with a note describing that it was just to prove a point. I was always hoping that when the criminal element finally got around to my car, I’d come back to find the gearbox put in backwards, or the number plate re-arranged into a humourous slogan, or rebuilt as a 1960’s Volkswagen. Something I could be impressed by, shake my head at and keep as an anecdote for later.

Instead the perp in question is probably someone who wears Velcro-tabbed shoes, has a name they’ve reduced to a single syllable, and fists of solid iron. Returning to my car after a highly entertaining show, my closing comments to my friend had been jokes along the line of not being able to find the car due to the crazy backstreets. For a moment, I actually thought I HAD lost it, but then I saw the sleek grey shape that has this extraordinary ability to not reflect paint. OOO. Running all crazy-like to my vehicle, I flick out my keys and notice something odd. The locks on my car have a small glowing light behind them, hidden by a small panel that keeps the lock covered until a key is used. What this means is that without using a key, you barely can see the light, so imagine my surprise to return and find a veritable beam of light shining out. Yes, the alarms bells started a-ringing. The lock now is a bit chunky, but still works. (I think it’s sheer luck that the assailant couldn’t figure out what they were doing, as the lock was neither sprung nor ruined – it’s integrity and reputation are intact!) So I unlock and jump into the pilot’s/driver’s seat, start the car and zoom off into the night.


Then I noticed the breeze.

Turning in my seat, I saw what appeared to be a rolled up windscreen sun-protector in the back seat. Odd, I thought – I don’t own one. Reaching out, my hand came into contact with cold hard reality. My fingertips soon established themselves as the first officers at the scene of the crime, and politely informed me that the curled-up object was in fact the passenger-side rear window. We cordorned off the area, and awaited CSI, Columbo or Inspector Gadget. None of them arrived, I was crushed.

Which made me not that dissimilar to the window…


All right, I’m all out of anger now. One final thing to say: Lex Luthor, Daddy Warbucks, Ernst Stavro Blofeld, Dr Evil – They all wear suits, they all have no hair, and they all have lots and lots of money. I think my future is now secure.

Q: What do you see when you turn out the light? I can't tell you but I know it's mine.
Song For The Day: "Hit Me Baby One More Time" by Kind of Pluto (they make it sound good)

Being a short discourse on pop-culture’s ill-defining of stereotypes.

(thenick thinks he’s being intelligent with that phrasing…)

I thought I’d give you all a bit of a treat today, and expose you to a side of my life I have previously kept hidden from this blog. Yes, the time and effort I devote to stupid photoshop jobs is indeed a large proportion of my life…it could be for the best, if I end up replacing the head of God on the Sistine Chapel, for example.

Instead I do this

Also, as the title suggests I would like to give my point of view on the way that a number of valid professions/ways of life have been distorted. These stereotypes have been given a fair amount of stick through uninformed commentary that has spread through the geek community like some kind of mental wildfire, igniting the dry-brush of your collective minds. (see what I did there?)

If there’s one thing I know about, it’s zombies and ninjas.
If there’s two things I know about, it’s zombies and ninjas and how to rip off Monty Python routines. (see what I also did there?)

Zombies

Zombies are not quite the shambling idiots you have been led to believe they are. If anything, they are actually a whole lot better than you or I. Their new state of being has left them completely oblivious to social convention, and so they live a blissful life of no stress. Man at the supermarket gets angry at you? Eat his brains. Getting booked for not having a Metcard? Eat the inspector’s brains. Cops going to shoot you for eating brains? Eat THEIR brains. Yes, zombies have it good.

Plus, zombies are never ever in a hurry. They live an idyllic, easygoing life that has them doing what they want when they want. It’s like living a perpetual holiday, and it doesn’t have the looming back-to-work date that a normal holiday is accompanied by. To be brutally honest, if it weren’t for the fact that they have such an insular community and are hard to find, I’d have signed up already. (in fact, at a number of parties people I have encountered have been convinced I’ve achieved this already)

The only thing that is preventing zombies from enjoying their post-lifestyle? Fascists like George A Romero, Danny Boyle and Zach Snyder. People who create their propaganda pieces portraying zombies as a swarming menace of unstoppable cannibals, or at best an allegory for consumeristic behaviour, and issues such as racism. Why they can’t have zombies represent what they are: a group of individuals expressing post-mortal athletic behaviour, I don’t know…

Ninja

The internet has got this one completely wrong. COMPLETELY. Like, so far off the mark that if it was any further off, it would hit itself (that sort of makes sense. Think “in the foot”). Ninja also lead a blissful existence. How can you do so, when your entire existence revolves around killing in a professional manner? I’m glad you asked. Ninja do this through the power of…well, I don’t really know. They refuse to tell me. In fact, real ninja refuse to do a lot of things with us normal people. Because we don’t share their same exclusive skill set, they look down on us. Real ninja don’t make public appearances, or make their profession known, or record regular blog videos.

Real ninja are machines of such destruction, that they have to be registered with all authorities (this includes the Spice Girls Fan Club), and monitored at all times. Due to such restrictions, real ninja don’t usually own up because living a life where you have to sign in every second gets old real quick.

Real ninja are a complete unknown. But like with zombies, because the stories are so persisitent, the chances of them actually existing are pretty good. They are out there, running the rooftops at night, and having a hell of a good time, whilst we slumber away…

Ninjas are real. And they love Danish pastries.

24 Today...24 Today...

Why didn't anyone ever tell me I talk out the side of my mouth?!?!



Oh, and everyone should head over to Trash Europe and wish Drummerthan a very happy birthday!

WITH CAKE!!!

JESS WINS! FATALITY!

fwawess victowy...

Wow, check this place out! I’m away for a month, and it DOESN’T fall down! I’m pretty damn well impressed. And here I was, having been convinced by certain ne’er-do-wells that without my constant attention and manipulation, it would fall in a deadly heap of broken words, and sharp fragments of mental imagery.

Harsh…

SO yeah. Through a campaign that involved pressuring of me to write, suggestions for titles, and a deluge of fan mail demanding I update (read: one comment pointing out the time gap), I have bent to public opinion and returned with a tirade of half-thought out opinions and even less-thought out plans through which I aim to make the world a better place.* (hint hint: spread the word and get more people reading- then I will be that much easier to guilt-trip into updating!)

And I have news. Oh yes…such news that you will not be expecting AT ALL! It’s true. In this last month, I have delved into those uncharted areas of science. The little cracks that form between rock-solid theories and discoveries. In these crevices of the unknown are the mysteries that we know are out there, but have yet to ask. They are the secrets of the cosmos that will change our world, but we have yet to unlock.**

But what is it? You cry with your mind-words. (Oh yeah, I know all about mind-words. Discovered in 1901 after a meteorite struck Russia and uncovered the first natural-occuring source of vodka.) It’s quite simply A NEW STATE OF MATTER! Yes! Naturally, we have four main states of matter: solid, liquid, gas and plasma. Well, now I know of a FIFTH.***.

It was a few weeks ago, I bought a container of jelly snakes with the intent of devouring the tasty reptiles during a particularly long and arduous meeting. In my infinite wisdom, I left them in the car. DUMB! But, by doing so, I completely forgot about their existence. (Reptilian hypnotic suggestion? You never know. Hiss) A week later, I returned to my car from somewhere, and was ravenous. I was so hungry, that the friendly neighbourhood horses looked panicky and tried to assure me their meat was stringy and tasted of old tyres. I ignored the horses (I had no sauce…in rhyming slang, ‘sauce’ is replaced with, ah forgeddit), and got into the Rhino**** And there, was the container of snakes – I had to eat them.

I popped the lid, and stuffed the first of the squirmy-looking lollies into my ravening maw. My teeth closed on it, almost ensaring my fingers in their eagerness. And they sunk in, chopping the snake into smaller jelly fragments, and then it happened – what had been a solid piece of confectionary, had altered it’s form and become a liquid substance not unlike PVA glue. My frenzied mastication paused, for at that point I realized I had made a significant scientific discovery. Jelly Snakes, left in the sun, take on a new form – for all intents and purposes, they are solid, but as soon as you damage the fragile ‘skin’, they dissolve into a gloopy, gelatinous mess.

But they still taste awesome.

I existed on a diet of these morphic snakes, and Kool Fruits during the training courses that were held last week. Kool Fruits are surprisingly addictive. They have something in them that gives you an initial rush, and then leaves you with a piece of rubberized lolly that you can only finish with, by crushing back down to it’s base molecules.
And then you want another one.

I had a shower this morning at President Ford’s place (I crashed well and truly last night. Indeed, there was a trail of debris that led to the site at which I came to rest at), and his bathroom has full-length mirrors. In those mirrors I caught sight of an out-of-shape, pale blob of a figure that depressed me and gave my self-image a beating*****. So on the strength of that, I made a resolution.

I’m not having a shower there again.


In other news…

-We have started our rehearsals for CABARET! I urge you all to get in early and get tickets – it’s bound to sell out this year.

-Big Big News: Warren Zevon’s back catalogue is getting re-issued, along with a brand spanking new collection of never-released material. Very happy thenick, indeed.

-Big Big BIG News: Ivy cat has returned! Yep, my itinerant cat has been re-captured and brought home. Harley cat was very pleased to see her sister, although is mystifed as to why Ivy felt the urge to go travel the world and not bring back and souvenirs...

Q: Would you get your nipples pierced? Highly unlikely. More so if the piercer is a guy named Ahab carrying a harpoon...
Song For The Day: "I Want To Par-Tay" by the Crash Test Dummies

*just not for Martians.
**much like the ability to balance a spoon on your nose.
***it’s not Milla Jovovich.
****The Rhino is my car: It’s grey and runs into things.
*****probably with a phone book.

Words To The Wise

A double-post: I highly doubt this will ever happen again, but I'm incensed.

DRINK ON YOUR OWN
There are many benefits to this - if you get sad and morose, there's no one there to have their ear talked off. So you deal with it on your own. Also there is no need to try and keep up with everyone else.
You can play drinking games: hide your wallet, drink a bottle of scotch, and try to figure out who you are.

BELIEVE HALF OF WHAT YOU SEE AND NONE THAT YOU HEAR
Simple as that. The world is full of garbage, and the meaning of a sentence can be changed with a single word. A healthy level of skepticism will keep you alive and well. Much like the proverbial apple, if you believe that...

THE FORCE IS A CROCK - BUT GUTS ARE COOL
There are fanboys haemorrhaging right now, but I stand firm. There is no fate, no destiny, (karma is a dodgy concept that I think really just hinges on interpretation of coincidence), but GUTS, they have a level of perception that we can't gain with our minds. At least not consciously. Trust in their guidance, they know all kinds of stuff and they are rarely wrong.

WHATEVER DOESN'T KILL YOU ONLY MAKES YOU STRONGER
Neil Finn found a punchier way of saying that, and it's true. (one person I knew extrapolated this to a ridiculous conclusion - if you survive having your arms and legs removed you're NOT stronger, in fact you're in a very poor position)
We live and learn. If you learn, then yes you are stronger for the experience. If you don't then you deserve to go through whatever ordeal it is, again.

BE SELFISH - RULE YOUR OWN WORLD
It is a virtue to be able to consider the effect your actions have on others, and to work accordingly. It's also time consuming and highly inefficient. There are times when you should throw caution to the wind and live for yourself. Just do it. Don't think twice. LIVE A LITTLE.

Enjoy!

I’ve Got The Music In Me

(so someone please call a doctor – invasive surgery urgently required)

For those who don’t follow my every waking moment, I am going to give you a little insight into my musical history, and aspirations relating to said area. For those who DO follow my every waking moment…

Stop. Now.

At a young age, I fear I must have shown some aptitude at arranging noises into sequences. Whether this was done consciously, through a trial-and-error process to find the combinations that were least uncomfortable, or whether it was more of a Rain-Man-esque ability, I don’t quite know. But I do know that I was put into violin lessons at a very young age.

This was so far back that I often don’t believe it happened. But it did, we have proof – a very small violin which squeaks just the way I dream/remember it to. As you may have guessed (and quite rightly), I don’t play the violin anymore. There is no empirical proof, but I believe this is about the same time I discovered cartoons, such as Astro Boy, Voltron and Transformers.

Interesting Yet Useless Fact: Astro Boy and Mickey Mouse both have a peculiar design rule that requires both of their ears to be in sight, no matter what angle they are viewed from.

Next cab off the rank was what I can assume is some kind of industry standard – the piano. At the time, I don’t remember particularly liking it. And lessons were held before school, so we had to be up and out earlier than usual. (anyone who does know me, knows just how much I LOVE mornings. LOVE THEM.) But I soon grew bored of the piano. An instrument that allows you to accompany yourself, is fairly easy to pick up, and I now hold in the highest regard, and not even bribery/incentives could keep me playing. HOW FOOLISH WAS I??
(note: past tense – I’m no longer foolish. Ask anyone.)

Then there was the compulsory battle with the recorder in primary school – that instrument perplexes me to this day. It does not record. It does not AID your own ability to record…the name is a complete misnomer. I hate the name. I hate the instrument too, by the way.

Interesting Yet Useless Fact: In the original story that “The Little Mermaid” is based on, she had to kill the Prince and his wife for her to become a mermaid once again…rather than kill them, she threw herself in the sea and dissolved into foam.

During high school, I still wanted to play something. Something capable of creating pleasing noises. I ended up dabbling with the clarinet for a number of years, but the real problem with woodwind instruments (apart from very few being made of wood), is that it takes so much damn effort! Anyone who plays the bag-pipes is some kind of pulmonary masochist. Nay, I say, no more of the black and silver blowpipe.

Interesting Yet Useless Fact: “He-Man and The Masters Of The Universe” was created after a fantasy range of Conan-styled action-figures had been commissioned. To all intents, the cartoon series was just a collection of 22min ads for the toys.

So for a long time I had to do with no instruments, as I was pretty crap at them, and I really had no interest to master a piece of expensive and intricate machinery that I really had no use for. So I sang. That’s been an activity with mixed responses, let me tell you. But now I have SELENE! The black beauty who is always close at hand, morning noon or night, and is easily coaxed into life by a quick strum.

Yes…years later…I have aspirations of starting a band, with my new-found talent that is slowly emerging. Over the last year, with nothing but the internet, an awesomely thorough book and at least a good dozen hours of practice, I have been teaching myself to play guitar. And yes, the aspirations of a band. I’ll be the first to admit it, but I’m not really that crash hot at being serious about things. So if I was to be in a band, it’d have to be a band that took the piss out of itself, or was one big joke that everyone was in on. I like to rock, too, so the band would have to do that.

The line up is yet to be confirmed (I’ve called some people who know some people, and they are all going to go have lunch), but it looks like this could actually be happening. The band’s name? The most important element – the feature that will draw in the crowds, and make them wonder at the bizarre performance that will unfold.

SLAPSTICK APOCALYPSE!

Oh yes, we are here to rock and laugh your socks off. YOAH!

Q: Do you remember singing any songs as a kid? The Indiana Jones theme. Repeatedly.
Song For The Day: "Strange Condition" by Pete Yorn