Cynic cure
London Review of Books: Dancing in the Service of Thought
[…The philosopher, Søren Kierkegaard's] contemporaries knew him as a loner and an intellectual dandy—a dialectical acrobat, a philosopher agile in logic and dry in wit, and a virtuoso of satire and comic exaggeration. He was famous for his wry scepticism, as in this so-called 'ecstatic lecture':
Marry, and you will regret it. Do not marry, and you will also regret it. Marry or do not marry, you will regret it either way… Laugh at the stupidities of the world, and you will regret it; weep over them, and you will also regret it. Trust a girl or do not trust her, you will regret it either way. Hang yourself, and you will regret it. Do not hang yourself, and you will also regret it. Whether you hang yourself or not, you will regret it either way. That, gentlemen, is the essence of the wisdom of life.
This is not an example of wry scepticism; it's certainly wry, but what Kierkegaard is exhibiting here is cynicism.
It really pisses me off that people keep confusing these two words; they mean totally different things:
- scepticism (a questioning attitude), good
- cynicism (jaded negativity), bad
Mind you, don't you just love those Danish double-'a's? I'm thinking of changing my name to Richaard Caarter.
Sinecure
BBC Radio 4's PM programme had an item about the new US ambassador to the UK, Robert Holmes Tuttle, last night. (Of course, being the BBC, they said he was the US ambassador to London, but we knew what they meant.)
It turns out Mr Tuttle is a Texan used-car salesman, with no diplomatic experience, who just so happens to have donated an awful lot of money to George W Bush's re-election campaign. His predecessor in the post was another Texan Bush benefactor with zero diplomatic experience.
Shouldn't we Brits feel ever so slightly insulted by this? We're America's closest ally, for Pete's sake! Don't we deserve a career diplomat, or at least a politician? Who are the Americans to treat their ambassadorship in our country as a sinecure?
Of course, there's only one valid response to this: we should send them Timmy Mallet.
Crystal
Today is Stense's and my fifteenth anniversary.
I know friends don't usually have anniversaries, but Stense and I do.
Today marks fifteen years to the day since I received a post card that Stense had sent me from Nepal. Yes, that Nepal.
Stense had just quit her job as a barmaid in the pub I happened to frequent at the time. OK, let's be honest, I frequented it primarily because Stense was working there. Total babe, basically. As you can imagine, I had been devastated to hear that she was leaving, so I'd asked her to keep in touch.
And keep in touch we certainly have. Get this: I know this is really anorakish, but I've just checked, and I have sent Stense 417 decent-sized letters and emails over the last 15 years. On average, that's one every 13 days.
That's an awful lot of bullshit under the bridge.
Sorry for that, Stense. Happy anniversary! That'll teach you to go sending post cards to strange men you meet in pubs.
Excuse me while I kiss this guy
BBC: Hendrix 'quit army with gay lie'
Jimi Hendrix pretended to be gay so he would be discharged from the army, according to claims in a biography that has used his military medical records.
Do I look German?
Why has everyone suddenly started calling me 'Hun'?
The Germans found it offensive, so, in the interests of international relations, we quite rightly stopped.
So why is it suddenly OK to start calling me a Hun?
ANSWER ME THAT!
2003 UB313
BBC: Astronomers detect '10th planet'
Astronomers in the United States have announced the discovery of the 10th planet to orbit our Sun…
Designated 2003 UB313, it is about 3,000km across, a world of rock and ice and somewhat larger than Pluto.
This in the same week that an amazing ice lake was found on Mars. A fantastic discovery!
I do hope they don't name it Goofy, or Edna, or anything stupid like that.
I suppose the discovery of a new planet is going to force all those astrologers into a major rethink. If you think about it, it's strange they've been so uncannily accurate all these years, when they've unwittingly been leaving an entire planet out of their calculations.
Mind you, it's the late Gustav Holst I feel most sorry for: as if being dead wasn't bad enough, his most famous work is now hopelessly out of date.
Rixology
I've decided it's time to invent my own alternative therapy. It seems to me that, if people can get away with rubbish like homeopathy, reflexology, aromatherapy, crystal healing, acupuncture, Fraudulent psychoanalysis, and faith healing, why shouldn't I?
I'm going to call my alternative therapy Rixology, in honour of myself.
Rixology works by refocussing entropy. It harmonises imbalance brought about by chaotic flux and channels it back into the energy centres of the patient's aura. In layman's terms, it's a bit like recharging a battery, only it's far, far more complicated than that. In fact, it's nothing at all like recharging a battery.
Basically, Rixology counteracts the entropic effects of the Second Law of Thermodynamics by intercepting dissipating energy, reconcentrating it, and reflecting it back into the affected energy centre. This is achieved using a technique known as whisking. Whisking involves moving your hands rapidly back and forth over the affected area of the body while you emit medium- to high-pitched whistles in time with your hand movements. The pitch of the whistle is tuned to the natural frequency of the affected energy centre.
Rixology is, therefore, non-invasive, non-toxic, and every bit as effective as other alternative therapies (provided you don't admit it's total bollocks to your patients).
I reckon I'm on to a real winner.
Conversation with Vodafone Customer Services
V: …Right, that's your password verified, Mr Carter. How can I help?
R: I've just received my latest bill. It's a bit higher than I was expecting. It's usually around £25-30. This month, it's £275.74.
V: Wow!
R: I haven't used the phone any more than usual this month, but I might have sent one or two more text messages.
V: Where to, the moon?
R: I know exactly what's happened. I got a new phone last month, and I ordered a car-kit for £250. Vodafone took my card details, but then discovered the car-kit wasn't available yet and said they'd refund my money. My bill shows several in- and out-transactions of £250 as someone has tried to sort out the mess, but they've got their calculations wrong somewhere.
V: That's exactly what's happened. I'll sort it out immediately.
R: No wonder you lot can afford to sponsor Manchester United.
Bad Blair Day
BBC: Blair's make-up bill tops £1,800
Prime Minister Tony Blair has spent more than £1,800 of taxpayers' money on cosmetics and make-up artists since coming into office, it has emerged. Between 1999 and 2005 Downing Street paid £1,050.22 for cosmetics for Mr Blair's media appearances. Another £791.20 was spent over the past two years on make-up artists.
Is this a total non-story or what?
It is an established fact that anyone who goes on telly without wearing make-up looks like a total dog's breakfast. Yes, even Natalie Imbrulgia and Elizabeth Hurley. I don't want our Prime Minister to look like a dog's breakfast; I want him to look smart and be the part.
Did the British taxpayers moan about all that mascara they had to buy for Clement Attlee? They did not. Did they complain about having to stump up for Lloyd George's rouge? Not a murmur. Did they grumble about Thatcher the Milk-Snatcher's grouting subsidy? No way, Pedro.
I call £1,050 over six years a total bargain. That's only £175 per year. We probably pay for Tony's haircuts too. I don't care: the Prime Minister is a busy man—he has terrorists to distinguish between, Faith Schools to defend, and civil liberties to infringe—he doesn't have time to nip down the barber's for a bit off the sides. Mind you, he could save a few more precious minutes if he stopped desecrating his face each morning and grew a beard. A No. 1½ trim once a fortnight is all you need to keep a beard in perfect shape, Prime Minister.
Hey, yeah, there's a point: when did we last have a Prime Minister who sported a beard?
Apart from Thatcher, I mean.