• SERIES

  	morning / coffee
  	| off the shelf |
  	>> postcards to spira

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

• COLLECTIONS

  	armchair activist
  	red shoe rumba

  
  
  
  
  
  

• CATEGORIES

  • b au courant (26)
  • b brazen (9)
  • b candid (22)
  • b erudite (6)
  • b geekly (17)
  • b informed (42)
  • b inspired (20)
  • b radical (24)
  • b.side (32)
  • b.zarre (13)

I THOUGHT I had escaped, leaving the winged rats in my wake somewhere in London or Valle San Lorenzo.

But I forgot: this is America, promised land, port of the Puritans, bound by the Bible belt. Of course there would be freaking pigeons doves.

And so it came to pass that today, in the swell of the nascent spring noon, I perambulated parkwards. And before you think that’s doing something rude, I walked, ok? Gratuitously pretentious, yes. Ribald? Not even close.

So there I was strolling around the lake, its fountain spurting suggestively. Even the grass was growing in a provocative manner. Spring definitely has sprung.

I skirted old women on benches sunning themselves, dog walkers becoming dog runners and a mother teaching her offspring about the cycle of life and how to break the law, i.e. encouraging her toddler to feed ducklings. Beneath the “Feeding ducks strictly prohibited” sign.

I LOVE the thought that some day, somewhere, I may walk into a facility which has barely recognisable variations on our regular porcelain thrones, faucets in unusual places, lubrication stations, and possibly mirrors where one might least expect them.

No, I’m not dreaming of a seedy motel somewhere off Route 66, but interspecies (possibly intersentient) restrooms. I love that I might have a reason to enter such a place; after all, where on earth in the universe might I be when the call of nature drives me to negotiate such a strangely marked portal?

In any event, some folks are well primed for such eventualities. These signs (above) are found at Science Fiction Museum and Hall of Fame, in the Experience Music Project (pictured below), Seattle, WA (although I suspect the facilities may still be sadly conventional, for my taste anyway. The world’s just not ready. Sigh).

IMAGINE being a hardened mineralogist, possibly even sporting tweed and a bowtie. (Don’t all the British dress like that?)

One day you’re sitting in your dusty university office surrounded by heaps of books, sandwich crusts and a bunch of rocks, and the phone rings. When you finally find it under the petit-point cushion you inherited from your great aunt, there’s this chap from Serbia on the line and he has a job for you.

Next thing you know, you’re the other end of nowhere at the wrong end of a microscope trying to figure out what in tarnation you’re looking at. Months fly by, and slowly you unravel the chemical composition of this chunk of white stuff.

(Nope, the punchline has nothing to do with any illegal substances, even if they do prop up various economies. There is no punchline.)

AND SHIVER me timbers — th’ day be already upon us. Avast ye scurvy dogs an’ saucy wenches, belay that lubber talk! There’ll be no more bilge from ye. What’s that thar I hear? Ye do nay reckon me? Aaaar fear not bucko, be usin’ th’ capstrat translator. And if it be helpin’ ye, harken t’ th’ talk of Ol’ Chum Bucket and Cap’n Slappy who be turning a pretty phrase wi’ their quills fer folk with th’ lights ‘n liver of a buccaneer. Cast yer deadlights over this: aye, tis a treasure chest t’be sure, an’ ripe fer th’ plunder.

THE LONDON Wankathon has come and gone, Channel 4 has it taped and the sky did not fall on our heads.

For years we’ve been told that sex sells and now charities like Marie Stopes International are turning that to their advantage. Europe’s first sponsored Masturbate-a-thon this past weekend raised money to address sex-related issues including HIV awareness.

The event also tackled the taboo that still surrounds an act which, after decades of bad press, is finally believed to be normal and healthy. If the personal is political, the pubic has certainly become both public and politic.

Funny thing is, despite bringing masturbation to the masses, the fact remains that wanking with an audience is classified as a form of exhibitionism. And generally things that are named, ranked and classified in any kind of medical directory indicate extreme interference, usually called treatment. Let us not forget female circumcision was used in the west up until the middle of the 20th century to discourage masturbation.

I THINK Senator Ted Stevens is a genius. I really do. He makes Dubbya look good, and that is a truly remarkable achievement.

And it takes a very, very clever man to know how to successfully confuse the enemy thoroughly by explaining that whole internets and net neutrality thing. One of the finest minds of our time, quite evidently.

I just the other day got, an internet was sent by my staff at 10 o’clock in the morning on Friday and I just got it yesterday. Why?

Because it got tangled up with all these things going on the internet commercially.

So you want to talk about the consumer? Let’s talk about you and me. We use this internet to communicate and we aren’t using it for commercial purposes.

We aren’t earning anything by going on that internet. Now I’m not saying you have to or you want to discrimnate against those people [ø]

THIS VID was literally all the rage a few months ago. But it’s a difficult one to live down and is still doing the rounds in a rather robust manner, much to the consternation of educational authorities — and the stars of this short and bittersweet moment of truth.

Words fail me, but fortunately suffrage isn’t one of them. Actually I do have a comment. Padua Academy is a all-girls Catholic high school in Wilmington, Delaware and as it happens, suffrage also means a short intercessory prayer. So these women are not only in favour of losing the vote, they also want to put a stop to any divine intercession on their ignorance, too …

I THINK I’ve finally got my winged stalker sussed. She’s a guard pigeon to the flat next door and her name is Madge. She looks like a Madge: all sinewy but still dressed like a pigeon half her age. No soft murmurs emanate from her throat; it’s more caw than coo, rather like a bird who smokes a pack a day. And it’s not sexy, believe me. I think she may have Crow blood. Certainly her caw does. She takes pigeon patrol very seriously and flies at me when I’m standing on the balcony, innocently enjoying the view, because I’m a threat to her charges. I might unfurl hitherto unsuspected wings and suddenly take to the skies to effect a break-in next door. Or possibly an arial assault on the laundry.

IF YOU can’t arrive on Sunday morning driving Dad’s dream car, nicely buffed and beribboned, what are the options? After all the fad gadgets, awful ties, cartoon socks, puce cardigans and World’s Greatest Dad breakware, you might ask yourself what else is there?

Look to South Korea for inspiration. Back in the ugly old days, flowers or money were the last word in parental appreciation.

But now love and respect in Seoul mean coupons for cosmetic surgery: botox bargains, facelift credits and hair transplant tokens are apparently just the ticket to pamper the parents. Surprised eyes, stately noses and carved calves are all high on the shape shifting wishlist.

And isn’t it nice to give what you have received? So if your folks gave you a nip and tuck for your graduation, the least you can do is return the favour.

IT STARTED out innocently enough last Thursday. It was a bright and happy day. It made me want to sing. Out of respect for the neighbours, I didn’t.

I was on the patio repotting lush, variegated plants, delighting in the effect of a tropical climate on their growth. Earth up to my elbows, a song safely relegated to my heart. A whispery rustle made me look up. A forlorn-looking dove alighted on the ledge of the balcony, cocked its head at me, and coo’d.

I became all colours of playdough. Oh, thought I, how sweet! Look at how trusting it is! Practically tame. A trim and healthy-looking specimen, not like its pudgy acid-crippled London cousins, fed and hated in equal measure.

As I went to fetch a crust, I marveled at this creature — female on closer inspection: softly grey and quizzical with a slim dark feather choker adorning her fragile neck, she was perfectly formed. Beautiful. Serene.

keep looking »

• SEARCH

• RECENTLY POSTED

  • RIP Adrienne Rich
  • Solar eclipse
  • Talking poetry
  • grey / brocade
  • Help – at what price?
  • Haiti hit by 7.0 quake
  • Shame on you Annie
  • The origins of District 9
  • Palin steps down under a cloud?
  • Religious habits: nuns and the Vatican
  • WASP golden girls deserve their medals
  • Here, Caulfield stays frozen in time
  • South Pole doc succumbs to cancer
  • White House and Stonewall
  • Signs of the times

• In Focus

  ~ The Columbine Phenomenon

  ~ A Tall Ships Tale

  ~ Condom Culture

  ~ Planting Oil or Greasing Palms?

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

• Archives 2006-2009

  Select Month March 2012  (1) July 2010  (2) June 2010  (1) January 2010  (2) September 2009  (2) July 2009  (4) June 2009  (7) May 2009  (21) April 2009  (20) March 2009  (32) October 2008  (1) June 2008  (1) May 2008  (4) April 2008  (5) March 2008  (11) February 2008  (2) November 2007  (1) October 2007  (1) September 2007  (1) August 2007  (2) July 2007  (1) June 2007  (10) May 2007  (2) April 2007  (8) March 2007  (5) February 2007  (12) January 2007  (14) December 2006  (10) November 2006  (5) September 2006  (10) August 2006  (14) July 2006  (15) June 2006  (14) May 2006  (8) April 2006  (12) March 2006  (15) February 2006  (7)