Schizophrenia for Dummies

So ventriloquism; surely one very very small step away from multiple personality disorder? I mean, to be objective about this, take away the puppet and what do you have? A grown man or woman talking to his or her hand, and the hand quipping back. Not only that, but this hand even has it's very own wants, needs, goals and quirks. It's pretty scary stuff. And as an audience we laugh it off when, for example, Emu launches into Parkinson's groin for the third time that night. But hello? I think Rod is involved somewhere along the line. All I'm saying is that anyone who chooses to spend their working life conversing with a hand they've shoved up a stuffed animal concerns me. Deeply.

Philosophy for Peanuts

Damnit. I hate stupid personality quizzes. They're stupid and lame and stupid. You may have guessed I don't do particularly well in them. I just hate those crappy probing questions like 'do you prefer sunrises or sunsets'? And then whatever you say is supposed to reveal your deepest darkest innermost feelings, rather than the fact that you like to sleep in. So someone asked whether I called the Peanuts strip Charlie Brown or Snoopy. I said, obviously, Good Ol' Charlie Brown! Well, apparently that shows I identify and align myself with the wishy-washy wonder rather than his Joe Cool dog. Well, duh! But shockingly, after a survey of my friends, it turns out I'm in a minority! It's all about the dog for everyone else, or Linus, or Lucy, or basically any of the other characters other than the isolated, world-weary, lonesome little protagonist. Damnit!!! Why does no-one warn me about answering questions like these!! I would have thought more seriously and discussed the implications with at least 12 strangers. So I'm fed up and grumpy now. And I've got the beginnings of flu! (Well, it might be a cold.) So I'm not going to write anymore, hmph. To pass your time, here's a link on Sartre and Peanuts, and some smug-assed woman smugging on about the difference between Charlie Brown and Snoopy. Incidentally, Charlie B's answer to the sunrise/sunset quandary was 'I've always sort of preferred noon'. What a great guy.

Who came up with these?

Boys will be boys - What? What else would they be? Sorely missed? Isn't that like saying 'Trees will be trees', 'Kites will be lost', 'Cats will be awkward'... ... ...And you're point is??

Nice weather for ducks - Who's asked them? And why do we believe whoever it was that did? How do we know they're not lying? Perhaps a duck actually prefers a crispy winter's morning, a fine blanket of snow on the ground and a thick covering of ice on the lake? They could be world class figure skaters for all we know.

Plane sailing - Surely it should be plane flying? Plane sailing is plane sinking, crashed plane; unless it’s a seaplane, but they never really took off. ha ha ha ha. (And I know it's spelt 'plain' before you email.)

42

On a sunny day, it takes 6 cats 37 minutes to drink 4 glasses of milk, at an average speed of 21 licks per unit suppage. The wind chill factor is -7. On a separate occasion in California a small child loses a bright red balloon, as the string slips through her slender grip. Taking into account a fur-to-skin ratio of 0.23, the universal average of 4.32 cats per square mile and Planck's constant, calculate the force required (in fl. oz.) to move a very small clown 47cm at an incline of 17°. You may wish to note that the fourth cat from the left is called Steve.

Bananadrama

I love bananas, especially on toast, or mushed up with evaporated milk and sugar; mmm, that is some good eating. But apparently there’s enough quinine in fifteen bananas to kill you, dead! I don’t know if that’s a fact, a friend told me a doctor had told her, but it’s not something I really want to put to the test. In fact everyone else I tell this to always doubts the theory, but never enough to actually set out and prove it false. Imagine if they did? What would happen? Would it be a slow gradual decline into fruit poisoning, or would you be ok until the fifteenth banana and then suddenly drop dead? And what if you lost count? ‘Is that 14 or 15?’ ‘I can’t remember.’ ‘How are you feeling?’ ‘Fine...’ ‘Have one more then.’ ‘Ow! Ow!’ [doff] ‘Looks like it’s true guys, fifteen it is- Oh no wait a minute, he’s still moving. Do we have anymore?’ ‘Argh, no wait! I, I think I’m gonna be ok...’ ‘Well just hang on and we’ll try another five.’

Dictionary Corner

flammable - \Flam"ma*ble\ 1. Capable of being easily ignited
inflammable - \In*flam"ma*ble\ 1. Capable of being easily ignited

I was led to believe that prefixes usually altered the meaning of a word: possible/impossible, kind/unkind, sane/insane. What's happened here? How do you say 'not flammable' in one word? Err... well... you could try... umm... You can't do it! The only way is to say not flammable! Surely it should be unflammable or imflammable? But no, at some point, some scholarly jobsworth decided to use the intensive prefix derived from the Latin preposition -in , rather than the much more sensible and sensical Latin negative prefix -in, which is related to the English -un and appears in such words as 'indecent' and 'inglorious'. To clarify further, the prefix actually used is of course the same prefix that appears in the word 'enflame', though that one is spelt with an 'e' and no longer in use!! Honestly, what is the point in trying to write using a language seemingly concocted by gerbils with a hangover. Hmmm, I think that's enough dictionary.com for one day...

Po-et

I always thought that
Writing Haiku was easy
But it appears not [to be very easy]

all is full of lovE

'How could I be so immature
to think he would replace
the missing elements in me?
how extremely lazy of me' -- Bjork

too blue to write more today. sad and miss you. sorry.

Shadows of the night

So last night I had an incredibly vivid dream that a theatre offered me the chance to run a show at 11pm at night. Intending to use the space to develop a show, I just went on with a deck of cards, adlibbed the whole thing and stormed it. Night after night they rose to their feet as I came out with line after line of wildly spontaneously original gems of wit. Nothing was too complicated for me to juxtapose, no link too tenuous to make. Eventually articles began appearing in the press and the listings, until I finally achieved my very own glowing Time Out review. (They don't do stars, otherwise doubt not that I would have had five.) For some rather strange and now forgotten reason, a guitarist appeared and sat in a corner trying to transpose one of my favourite Ink Spots classics. The theatre begged me to extend, and I, bemused by my runaway success, accepted. You can imagine my disappoint then, when I finally opened my eyes to find myself in my bed, in my parent's house, on my own. Not so cool.

Cue

Please, it's been bugging me for ages now, I need to know; what is the point of the letter ‘Q’? I mean really, what is the point? It has to be one of the most useless concepts ever created by anyone anywhere ever. Why is it so pointless? Because you can’t use the damn letter by itself! You have to stick a ‘u’ next to it. What is a point of a letter you can't use on it's own? It makes absolutely no sense whatsoever. You wouldn’t get that in maths; you don't have to put a 6 after a 7 do you? No! Because it's a rubbish idea that no logical person would ever even remotely conceive of, let alone allow it to infiltrate their wonderful system of numeric finesse. Aside from wasps, it is just about the most uselessly pointless piece of point on this whole pointlessly useless planet. Why doesn’t it just make the 'kwa' sound on it's own? I mean what noise does a Q make? It's kuh! Just make it kwa, and scrap this useless need for u! Now, I know some pedantic pedants will come back at me saying you can use it at the end of words, like Iraq for example, but purrrlease! Iraq rhymes with bark so just grow up and use an 'rk'!

Slated

I'm out for dinner, late night at Soho House with two friends, Fay and Laura, both magicians. Into the room walks Christian "Brat Pack" Slater. Laura and I look on in awe, Fay however, starts waving. And then it gets stranger. Christian Slater sees us, sees Fay, and waves back! Not only that, but he begins to walk over! Now Fay knows a lot of people, and I mean a lot of people; McCartney, Madonna and more celebrities who don't begin with an 'M'. So it's not that surprising that she may know Slater, until she says, as he's walking over to us, "I went to school with him!" Laura and I pause for few seconds as we digest this fact before exchanging deeply concerned looks. Surely there is at least few years difference between their childhoods, and the Atlantic ocean. However by now it's too late as Chris has arrived with those eyes of glint and that raise-hell smile. "Hey!" he says, "Hi!" we say, except Fay who utters the immortal "Hi- oh wait a minute... no, no sorry! I thought you were someone else. Sorry!" Chrissy is more than a little thrown. "What?" he bemuses. "Oh it's just that from the distance you looked like someone I knew. Sorry!" Fay cheerfully responds. [very awkward pause] "You're welcome to join us though, if you're on you're own," she offers. Chrisso thanks us kindly for our offer, pats me on the back, and takes his leave with a "Well... Great to meet you guys anyway!" What a nice chap we think.

Spiderbaby

I have to say I think the animal kingdom has it a lot easier than humankind when it comes to mating. Take spiders for example, sure the males may get eaten by the females once the night's over, but at least they don't have to call! Or meet the inlaws! And salmon; so maybe they have to leap up waterfalls and struggle through rapids just to get to the place of their birth so they can lay their eggs, but have you ever seen a girl getting ready for a date? If a salmon saw that they'd hangglide off cliff edges, ride a bicycle and flop a marathon just to avoid the plucking and the shaving. And by the way, if there are any salmon reading, when you're born just stay where you are! Take it from me, the world's not that exciting, stay where you are and I'll send you the postcards. When it comes to delivery time you'll thank me more than you could ever know.

Spectres

Here's a little advice for those train travellers amongst us. If the ticket inspectors come calling and you are found wanting, just say "I'm sorry to announce the John of van der Put has been unable to purchase a ticket. This is due to a shortage of available funds. I'm sorry for the inconvenience this may cause to your turnover. Please listen for further announcements." Whatever their reply, continue to stare blankly. Once they begin threatening bodily harm start repeating the above statement over and over until they implode.

LoneStar Fish

Apparently if a starfish's limbs fall off, not only does it grow another one back, but the fallen limb grows into a brand new starfish. How unfeasibly weird is that? If only starfish were useful for something! Anything! Imagine if you got hold of a cheese grater? You could breed them at an exponential rate. Actually how do they breed? Maybe they get into fights? Going round the sea taunting sharks so they'll be ripped to pieces and propagate the whole ocean. Thinking about this whole idea though raises an interesting philosophical question: What happens to the soul of the starfish? Does it become schizophrenic? Is it aware of being in two places at the same time? Does its consciousness schism and form two separate identities? Are they telepathic? If they can communicate with each other, perhaps we could start using starfish as very cheap, all natural WalkieTalkies! That would be even cooler than Bravestar...

Last Christmas I gave you a start

The second strangest gig of my life took place last christmas in the London Planetarium. Although it's supposed to be some spacey thing, the place is littered with wax works! Everywhere you turn! I kept bumping into Patrick Moore all night, which is an experience nobody needs. Not only that, but when they fed us (a perk of a perky job) they let us eat in the 'Blush Room'; a room designed to look like a VIP party with about 50 very motionless celebrities. So there we are, just the two of us, at a quite comically romantic table, eating dinner in silence surrounded by a paparazzi world on pause. Anyway back to the gig; I pass the evening as usual doing card tricks like some performing seal, and towards the end of the night a girl came up to me and said 'I just wanted to tell you something: I hate my job, I hate the people and they hate me, they don't even know my name. Two weeks ago my boyfriend broke up with me, I have no friends inside or outside work, and my sister has just moved out of my flat. I've had the shittiest year, and the shittiest night, and I am dreading the next few months. But I want you to know, that card trick you did earlier? It made me feel the happiest I have felt in such a long time. Thank you so much, I can't thank you enough.' A card trick? Can you believe that? And as I stood there, listening to all of this, staring into those deep dark puppy dog eyes of hers, I couldn't help but think: What a weirdo!