Marconi Plays The Mamba

Socialism In An Age Of Waiting links to a story about the legend of “Midgetville” today. It opens by saying that the likeliest candidate is a place called Jefferson Township. I couldn’t concentrate on the rest because all I could think of was a bunch superannuated hippies singing:

“Don’t you remem-ber?
We built this city,
We built this city,
We built this city for lit-tle folks.”

For The Encouragement Of Learning

[UPDATE: Yes, this is a reply to a real email message I received today. It showed every sign of being from the National Portrait Gallery, scoring only 0.8 out of a possible 5.0 on X-Spam’s spam-o-meter. I haven’t emailed my message directly to the original sender yet. I may yet tone it down, but if I do so I will change this post accordingly and keep you up with developments. Of course, if anyone thinks I should go in more heavily I’d be happy to hear your thoughts.]

Hello Bxxxxxx

Bxxxxxx Hxxxxxxx wrote:

> Dear Sir / Madam,

Sometimes I wonder myself.

> We notice you have an image on your website which is of a portrait in the collection of the National Portrait Gallery, London. The image was detected via Digimarc tracking software and the image is attached.

The image is not on my Website. There is a text hyperlink on a page of my Website which links to the image on yours (the National Portrait Gallery’s). This is how the Web works. People with Websites embed links in the pages they host. Frequently these links point to items on other people’s Websites.

> As we do not appear to have licensed a copy of this portrait for use on your website, we wondered whether you would let us know the source from which you obtained the reproduction.

You tell me. It’s on your Website. I hope you have a licence to use it or someone might send you a form email complaining about your breach of international copyright laws.

> All photographs, scans, text and other material on the National Portrait Gallery’s website are protected by international copyright laws. Unauthorised reproduction of such content may be an infringement of such laws.

Thank you for the attached copy of the image from your Website. It’s consistent with the understanding of electronic media shown in the rest of your message that, instead of sending me a simple link to the original, you chose to embed its entire 7K of data in a 90K Word attachment.

> I look forward to hearing from you regarding this matter.

Happy to oblige. I can stop linking to your Website too if you like. Wouldn’t want people looking at pictures without an appropriate licence—not that anyone could view the portrait in question because, according to your database, it’s not currently on display.

Incidentally, PooterGeek is a satirical Website. It’s hard work trying to be witty on a daily basis and I was a bit stuck for material today. Thanks for your message. It’s funnier than most of the stuff I write. You’re not a regular reader already are you, by any chance?

all the best

Damian

Middling Along

My previous boss in London had a Catholic friend who was a dedicated Crystal Palace fan. He used to take his kids along to every match. During a particularly bad patch in their modest history he used to joke that when he was getting one of his sons ready for the game one Saturday the boy asked if he could go to church instead. Aston Villa, by contrast, used to be a great football club. I once got off a plane in Frankfurt, got into a car to Heidelberg and had a conversation on the way about Villa’s midfield with the German taxi driver. He supported them as his English side. Bottom-of-the-table Palace beat Villa today. If there are any lively Sunday league footballers reading this in the Birmingham area who are interested in trying out for an ever-so-slightly more serious outfit they should call David on 0121 327 2299.

That Time Of The Month Year

Last year I had the unusual and unblogged pleasure of attending a birthday party where the majority of the guests were professional opera singers. It took place in the basement room of a London restaurant. If you try hard you can imagine what the rendition of “Happy Birthday” sounded like. The birthday girl has a teenage daughter and a fiancé my age. His male friends have given him an obvious nickname. Today I found out that the mother of a ‘Blogger who links here thinks I’m a “cute guy”.

Anyway, further to this discussion, sex mag Nerve declares 2004 to have been “the year of the MILF“. Parts of the linked article will leave ordinary men scratching their heads in the way they do when, despite evidence to the contrary you could hang a towel on, their girlfriends suddenly decide that their boyfriends don’t fancy them any more:

“…a cute young thing will always peg on the babe-o-meter…”

“…the public imagination has grown tired of what seems so manufactured and manipulative[: the high-gloss teen queen]…”

“To baldly state that grown women have longings that exceed the bounds of conventional marriage and domesticity falls somewhere between bad taste and heresy”

“The eroticism of motherhood seems like a contradiction in terms in our culture, which keeps women’s roles so rigidly stratified.”

Yeah, the line of our straight male trousers can only be broken by brainless, skinny, blonde teenage virgins with saline-filled breasts. We never even so much as glance at brunettes with children. Mind you, this piece was written by a former stripper and, given the job they did, former strippers can be forgiven for having developed a skewed outlook on what it is men want, especially if they seem to be more interested in the contents of a man’s pockets than whether he’s pleased to see them or not.

I’d also like to point out that the term “MILF” was in use long before American Pie made it popular.

Man-Made Disaster

When the first reports came in we had no inkling of how bad things were going to get. Now the full horror can be revealed:

“Some of the UK’s biggest musical stars have pledged their support to a new charity single aimed at raising funds for victims of the Asian tsunami disaster.

‘Grief Never Grows Old’ is described as a melancholy ballad by radio DJ Mike Reid [sic], who penned the track prior to the Dec. 25 disaster but refrained from releasing it due to it’s sombre mood:

‘It’s a natural home for it because people kept saying to me, ‘it’s such a good song’, but it’s such a sad song,’ Read told the BBC.

‘I’d only be pleased in terms of what it meant for sales if it got to number one.’

Sir Cliff Richard has reportedly already recorded his vocals while on vacation in Barbados, and Boy George is set to follow suit while in New York. Former Boyzone star Ronan Keating is also expected to contribute, and a studio is currently being sought in Switzerland where the star is currently holidaying.”

Bracing!

Insert Joke Here is quoting Richard Dawkins on the bracing effects of atheism:

“There is deep refreshment in standing up full-face into the keen wind of understanding … Safety and happiness would mean being satisfied with easy answers and cheap comforts, living a warm, comfortable lie. The daemonic alternative urged by my matured Devil’s Chaplain is risky. You stand to lose comforting delusions: you can no longer suck at the pacifier of faith in immortality. To set against that risk, you stand to gain ‘growth and happiness’; the joy of knowing that you have grown up, faced up to what existence means; to the fact that it is temporary, and all the more precious for it.”

You can tell Dawkins went to public (private) school. It’s like listening to someone tell you that cold showers are good for you. Prof D, mate, atheism is intellectually sound. I’m with you on that point. But it makes me feel good in the same way leaving my warm bed early on winter mornings to run in sub-zero temperatures makes me feel good: I can feel superior to people who lack my (not unbroken) resolve. And, er, that’s it.

This space was ready to contain my grudging defence of Dawkins against something Norm wrote recently, but I’ve just visited normblog and he’s changed it. Thoughtful academics: always revising their conclusions after further reflection, the bastards.

I think what Dawkins needs is a spell singing in a Gospel choir. That’d fix him.

Who Guards The Guardian?

While the smelly Lefties sleep off their hangovers, The Graun‘s Middle East desk is taken over by agents of the Zionist Conspiracy:

Winners and Losers in Israel

It was a good year for … Ariel Sharon

Sharon seized the initiative by declaring that Israel would unilaterally pull all Jewish settlers and most soldiers out of the Gaza Strip… The settlers called Sharon a traitor to the Jews, the prime minister’s political foes tried to bring him down and his own party rejected the Gaza pullout.

But Sharon outmanoeuvred them all, and survived two corruption probes besides—even though much of the Israeli public thought he was guilty.

It was a bad year for … Yasser Arafat

He left behind a Palestinian nation less optimistic about the future than when he arrived in the occupied territories a decade earlier. The resulting corruption, maladministration and lack of a strategy against the Israelis rubbed the sheen from his leadership.

The Web

[cliché]As the year draws to a close[/cliché], I’d like to thank the global network of PooterGeek operatives who make this site the nerve centre of international happenings that it is, both the core team of:

  • Special Agent Berlinski: Paris operative and roving European reporter;
  • Special Agent Levy: “the Mossad Mother”, our Middle East observer;
  • Special Agent Savant: based in Manila with an eye on activities in Asia;
  • Miller Of The Congo: ex of the PooterGeek Africa office*; and
  • Special Agent Leasey: representative of the Young People and proofreader

and our deep cover personnel: The Anonymous Economist; The Cryptic Celt; Our Man In Washington; PixieGirl; and others too numerous to be listed or too embarrassed to be linked with me.

Plenty of prominent and discriminating Lefties have, however, linked here (Chris the Stoat, Eric, Hak, Harry’s collective, Norm, The ‘Bloggers Known As SIAW), but I’d also like to take this opportunity to thank and link back to a politically diverse collection of boutiques who also had the good taste to forward business to PooterGeek in 2004: Anti-Climacus, Attempting Escape, bytehead, Bill’s Comment Page, The Cabarfeidh Pages, Councillor Andrew Brown, Chiasm, A Cloud In Trousers, DM-Andy, Dr. Frank’s What’s-it, Doctor Vee, Elan Ecu, Gwydion The Magician, A General Theory Of Rubbish, James Hamilton, Lewis Collard, Let’s Be Sensible, Mo Morgan, Mugged By Reality, Non-trivial Solutions, The Non-Bloggish Blog, Pearsall’s Books, Quacky, Shuggy’s Blogspot, The Sock Thief, Sound And Fury, Stumbling and Mumbling, The Uncertainty Principle, WhatsThatSmell?, What You Can Get Away With, and Who Knew?. Pick a site from the list at random and visit it back.

If you haven’t donated to the tsunami relief effort already, give generously.

Have a splendiferous 2005. There’s a job to be done and that much less time to do it in. To quote Leasey: run, don’t jog!

[*Since my Auntie Clarina isn’t exactly plugged into the InterWeb thingie I am on the look out for volunteers for the position of Dark Continent Observer. All you need is Net access and to be resident somewhere within these 11 million square miles.]

Oldie But Goody

Better post this one before it’s next year here. From The Guardian in January, children under eight years of age review classic rock:

Jimi Hendrix: Crosstown Traffic (1968)

What the grown-ups say: “In a sense, Jimi’s Stratocaster is more articulate and speaks with more poetic beauty than he, or almost any other singer, possibly could… The music possesses a oneness which allows it to move as a whole, creating a more euphonious appeal.” (Teen Ink)

What the kids say:

Beth: My sister played this at her school concert. They played this and Bare Necessities. This is better than Bare Necessities.

Holly: It’s a bit boring.

Benjamin: I’d give this a trillion out of a billion.

Gabrielle: It’s making me feel all dizzy. Can I have some juice?

Benjamin: It’s about a crossed-out Christmas. Maybe Father Christmas has been crossed out.

Gabrielle: Maybe he’s been run over.

Attention span: One minute five seconds.

Better than Busted? “No.”

and, especially for Norm, here are their collected views on His Bobness:

Bob Dylan: Like A Rolling Stone (1965)

What the grown-ups say: “Dylan drives his inspiration and imagination to even greater heights… Anger, hatred, disgust, defiance, disbelief, apathy, ignorance, repugnance; it’s all here.” (Earthsound)

What the kids say:

Beth: This is not good.

Holly: He said bums.

Ben: Brilliant, this is just brilliant.

Sophie: He sounds like he’s just smelled something really bad, like cat poo.

Holly: Bums on sticks.

Ben: It’s great. I actually really like it.

Benjamin: Twenty trillion out a septillion.

Holly: This sounds really really old.

Benjamin: It’s like mouldy old bread.

Attention span: 15 seconds.

Better than Busted? “It’s stupid, Busted aren’t stupid.”

Far be it from me to defend Dylan, but I beg to differ.

Happy New Year, Maoser!

I’ve just tried ringing you to wish you a prosperous 2005, but all I get is a severe Englishwoman saying, “Sorry. There is a fault. Please try again.” Course, I might have just accidentally speed-dialled Mistress Spank’s Correction Line again.

Pistons At Noon

Our former colony across The Pond preserves the tradition of duelling suitors in its own special way:

“The parking lot of C & W Auto Glass was the scene of a violent automotive encounter Monday, when two Godfrey men repeatedly rammed vehicles in a quarrel that broke out over the affections of a woman…

“…The vehicular tangle broke out between Charles A. Bonney, 63, of the 6400 block of Godfrey Road, and Victor L. Harris, 36, of the 1800 block of West Delmar Avenue, at 12:26 p.m. Monday in the business’ parking lot in the 6300 block of Godfrey Road.

“[Sgt.] Wells [of Madison County’s Sheriff’s Department] said an ‘ongoing feud’ over a woman precipitated Monday’s incident.

“‘What we are being told is that Harris was in Bonney’s driveway, just up the road. Bonney saw Harris leaving the driveway, and Harris went down to the parking lot. Bonney followed him down to the parking lot and started ramming,’ Wells said.

“‘Witnesses saw Bonney ram his black Chevrolet Camaro into Harris’ white Acura Integra three times, and they saw Harris ram Bonney back two times’, Wells said.”

Check out that age difference.

“Okay, here’s the pitch: Bonney is an ageing French aristocrat transported forward in time from the 12th century court. He meets a modern woman, discovers Viagra, but, despite the efforts of his streetwise buddy, still can’t shake off the moral codes of his time. I’m thinking Sean Connery for Bonney and Jamie Foxx for the black sidekick.”

“Hmm. Right now Foxx is a little too hot for our budget. But we might be able to stretch to Ice Cube.”

[also via Fark]

Still More Bimbo Fun

[Via Fark] Gawker brings us priceless interview quotes from actress and raconteur Kate Bosworth. My favourites:

“There was just a study done actually, I saw it on ‘Regis and Kelly’, I can’t remember how many hours a year a person uses being in their car in L.A., but it’s, like, a lot of time.”

“It’s so weird how life works out. I never would have imagined all of this. Like, never. When I was a little kid, I wanted to be a waitress on roller skates.”

Unfortunately, Gawker blows it by confusing “peak” with “peek”, but please, please follow the link to Deep Thoughts From Supermodels:

“Because modeling is lucrative, I’m able to save up and be more particular about the acting roles I take.”

–Kathy Ireland, star of Alien From L.A. and Danger Island

Perhaps we can get one of them onto the Booker committee for next year?

Post Office Counters

Good morning, Mr McKafka.

Mr Counsell, we meet again.

Not very often, what with your window only opening for business minutes at a time on days of the week with a “K” in their names.

Your ready wit never fails to bring a smile to my routine. What quotidian but essential goal can I divert you from today, sir?

I’d very much like to renew my road tax.

A-ha. My favourite. I take it you have your V11 form?

Yes.

Valid insurance?

Voilà!

An up-to-date MOT for that motorised wheelbarrow of yours?

But of course.

And a skinned water vole?

Nice try. [Rummages around in holdall and produces slimy ex-rodent with a flourish.] I took the precaution of reading up on that particular parish amendment to the UK Vehicle Excise and Registration Act 1994 and furnished myself in advance with the same, courtesy of the druid who works at Libra Aries. Hit me with your best shot, old timer.

You do realise that you cannot renew your tax too far in advance of the relevant expiry date?

I’m exactly on the button, McKafka. Anyway, I can’t be too early; I have my V11.

[Flips watch open and regards its visage through half-moon reading glasses.] By my reckoning you are 2 minutes and 15 seconds premature, young Jedi Padawan.

Well, I’ll just have to wait at the front of this queue until the moment is upon us both.

I think not. [Presses the “Next Customer” button and a cheery Scottish voice comes over the PA inviting another punter to step forward.]

[Left eyelid twitching slowly] Bastard! In the past hour I have listened to Doris and George discuss their respective offspring’s garden furniture; I have watched you fail to make any allowance for Mrs Johnson’s Parkinsonism while she attempted to stamp her grand-daughter’s birthday parcel; I have endured the spectacle of you trying everything in your power to destroy the spirit of Mrs Saffron—a spirit, I might add, that the Allgemeine-SS failed to extinguish—with your litany of infinitesimal quibbles over her various requests for state assistance; and now you try to turn me away on this trumped up technicality? Do you think I am going to join the queue again behind the man who runs the online videogame exchange and his menagerie of parcels, each requiring a different arcane Royal Mail handling procedure?

But of course.

Well, you’ve got another thing coming, you obstructive scumbag. [Pulls sawn-off shotgun out of holdall.] Everybody back against the wall with their hands up! Move it! You! Put down the People’s Friend and put your thermal mittens where I can see them! Right, you Orwellian Jack-in-office, no one is leaving this shop alive until I have a tax disc in my possession. And no tricks—or I start killing your customers one at time, beginning with the ones who can walk unaided.

[Grudgingly, but still checking the angles] Very well. [He sets to work.]

Wait a minute! Hold that date stamp up to this mirror. [Peering at the tumblers] Good. I’m not having you fiddle your way out of this one, you devious scrote.

[McKafka slides the requisite documentation under the glass.]

Excellent. It’s alright Mrs Saffron; it’s just an ordinary black raincoat. Now everyone can just stop whimpering and drooling. Nobody was hurt. I got what I came in for. McKafka here had a lesson he won’t forget till the blessed day when he is finally functus officio. And I’ll be driving legally for another year.

You’ve overlooked one detail, Counsell.

What is it now?

I can’t process this without payment, you know.

Sweet Mother of God.

We accept many methods: exact cash sum in groats and farthings, cheque drawn against the Bank of Bahrain, promissory note bearing the wax seal of the House of Windsor, Green Shield Stamps…

Twisted Firestarter

As a child I would watch my dad make a fire in the morning, kneeling down in his vest, putting paper from old copies of The Guardian underneath the coal (and then quite likely lighting his first cigarette of the day with the flame—he’s been smokeless now for years). Susurration has stolen a lead all other ‘Blogs by finally identifying a reason why my father was wrong to prefer The Graun over The Mail.

Buy Tin!

I seem to have upset the proprietor of Blognor Regis lately. Apparently I “was wetting myself over David Carr’s prehistoric Band Aid rant“. I think the figure of speech he was looking for was “taking the piss out of“. Taking the piss is a traditional British craft that some of the Beavis and Butthead types who post at Samizdata (my friend Claire excepted) need to work on before they practise it successfully.

Now I am stating “the bleedin’ obvious” by citing an article in the FT questioning the wisdom of markets. The article contains three well-documented examples of supposedly intelligent and respected people disagreeing with said bleedin’ obviousness. He further claims that “markets are whatever people want to make of them”. This is so silly that I might have to set the Anonymous Economist on him. I know too well that (s)he delights in using techniques acquired doing his/her Harvard PhD to humiliate ‘Bloggers who think they understand economics. Tim Worstall, with whom I have disagreed over a related question in the past, responds in a more considered way. Perhaps one day we’ll find a means of coupling the wills of informed and rational agents, via money, to an efficient system of exchange, but in the meantime we’ll have to make do with Ebay—a beautiful example of how savvy regulation and peer review can turn naked capitalism into something that actually works. Where else would a true believer be able to realise the full value of a cheese toastie?

Every time there’s an asset bubble of some kind, it vibrates to the tune of “experts” in the media confusing an “is” with an “ought” and touting the latest craze as an example of a new paradigm—because the market really must have some collective knowledge to have set such high prices. Isn’t that lovely?: ideologues hoping to spray rigour onto their idols by misapplying a misapprehension of the nature of science. Here’s just one of the many loonies currently encouraging the young and fearful to squander their savings by buying a depreciating asset on margin—I mean by investing soundly in the prevailing insights of the UK property “market”.

There are plenty of people who not only believe that markets are rational, but build businesses, cults, and recessions on this error. The record shows that there are many things that markets do well and many others that they don’t. When they work it is often because, to borrow Blognor’s accurate words, “really clever people” … “organise them on behalf of us fools who keeping screwing things up”. When they don’t it’s often because people have been left to their own devices. Even in the absence of endemic ignorance, inequality, and corruption, without supervision, humans will do all they can to wrench any system of buying and selling away from the textbook ideal—because real competition is bloody hard work and humans are lazy.

I am glad, for example, that I live in a country where pure pyramid schemes are banned, rather than, say, liberalised Albania. When many (if not most) adults in the UK have no grasp of the difference between nominal and real interest rates, it’s the job of those clever enough to know—at the Bank of England and the Treasury, perhaps—to prevent this innumeracy from destroying lives. Recently many Britons have taken out “low-interest” loans secured on their homes, loans that ultimately they will be unable to repay. When they bleed equity and thrash around in panic the sharks will come for them, but, in an interdependent economy like ours, some of their more sensible neighbours will also be dragged under during the frenzy. It doesn’t help that those pimping products designed to uncouple the victims’ incomes from their purchasing power (interest-only loans, self-cert mortgages) have fallen for the money illusion themselves.

Dear Reader, please return to this page throughout 2005 for more of the bleedin’ obvious. I predict that I will be pointing out again that sentimentality does no useful work, that Bush≠Hitler, that Marx was wrong, that we did not wink into existence within the last 10 000 years at the whim of a benevolent creator, and that pricing mechanisms are (usually) no such thing. Why? Because there are millions of people out there who still believe in media emotionalism, cartoon relativism, unreconstructed Marxism, literal creationism, and in deriving policy imperatives from neoliberal economic theories—people who are willing to interfere negatively in the lives of others who don’t share their delusions. I can’t stop them, but I can tell them in public that they are wrong and that they should leave me alone to get on with my sad little existence. That it’s unwise to walk under ladders is, however, a superstition with a sound empirical basis. In the absence of further data, I promise to leave it unchallenged for the next twelve months.

iTunes Revisited

Following online discussion with the Anonymous Economist, who is a PC-based iPod addict, I should point out that the main problem I had with the Windows version of the iTunes software that accompanied my sister’s iPod Mini was her not being broadbanded up. It didn’t help that the program kept trying to dial out to download megs of stuff from the ‘Net, but the real pain was typing in track details without the system filling them in automatically from a central database. For example, every Windows software package ever written uses the tab keys to move between fields—except frigging iTunes. There seems to be no consistent rule separating clicking to insert text in a track, clicking to select a track, or clicking to play it; and the sensitive areas of each row are both small and unmarked. All of this is probably something you don’t have to think about if you have a reasonably large pipe to the Internet, but users in that situation shouldn’t be discriminated against by programmers’ laziness.

Fashionista Politics

My friend Matthew is a token male straight in the world of fashion (but no, Ms Savant, not another metrosexual). Just before Christmas he phoned me from a clothes-shop queue on his mobile. He was so bored he had a half-hour-plus conversation with me at cross-network rates. At one point I told him that The Telegraph had recently interviewed one of his clients and that I still had the cutting for him to read if he was interested. Let’s just say that she’s very high up in a multinational famed for the beigeness of its legwear.

He replied that he liked her and thought she was a hell of a lot smarter than most of the people he knew in the business. Then he undermined that compliment somewhat by telling me about a conversation he had had with a fellow Leftie-in-fashion about the then upcoming US presidential elections. After Matthew had expressed his dismay at the likely re-election of the incumbent his partner in conversation had replied, “Yeah, but things will get a bit better. If Bush wins then at least we’ll have Kerry as Vice-President.”

Hello! Tackles The Big Issues

The online version of Hello! magazine covers the persecution of Sikh playwrite [sic] Gurpreet Kaur. Why? Because some celebs are supporting her. I wonder how Samuel West will take to having his appearance as Dr Frankenstein in Van Helsing cited as his most noteworthy contribution to the dramatic arts.

Meanwhile, over at the Fox News Website, one of the top stories is “Model Hurt in Tsunami“. The question on readers’ lips: “Is Tsunami, like, one of those European labels?”

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