I daresay Lyn’s productivity puts me to shame: if she isn’t creating music she’s writing or doing something else constructive. My main output these days is this blog, although I do have one or two ideas for films I’m working on. Anyway, I just wanted to flag this up tonight – L’s blog entry about the new music software she is using with her instrument. I think you can glimpse a bit of it in the photo she includes.

I think I touched upon this subject a while ago, but I think it’s worth returning to. I noticed recently that what could be called ‘crossover films’ are becoming increasingly common. A crossover is where a character from one fiction is made to enter into another, such as having Harry Potter go to Middle Earth. They are a staple of fanfiction: many fans like to draw together their favourite characters from their favourite fictions. Until quite recently, though, such crossovers have been unheard of in the so-called mainstream. Obviously, this was probably due in large part to copyright, yet I also suspect there was a sense that fictions had to be kept separate to maintain their artistic integrity, and that merging fictions was somehow puerile or childish.

This has obviously now changed. A couple of days ago it was announced that Batman will soon appear in a film with Spiderman, and that The Simpsons will soon meet the Griffins. Thus the mainstream seems to be taking on aspects of fandom. I find that quite interesting: my masters is about the merging of fandom with cinephilia, but it also now appears that fan culture is seeping into the mainstream too. As I wrote here, textual play is becoming mainstream: old barriers between texts are being broken down. What was once the province of the fan is becoming legitimate. I’d be interested to see the pretexts given for such mergings, and how it works narratively.

What, then, do all these textual merging mean? What are their artistic implications? Truth be told I do not really know. As with my musings concerning the meeting of bond and the queen a year ago today, I have an overall sense that this new phenomenon is somehow important; yet I cannot put my finger on how. That I must say worries me – is my brain losing the acuity it once had? Am I harping on about things nobody else is interested in? Are these crossover films really exciting new evidence that mainstream film is branching out into postmodernity, or merely a gimmick designed to excite fans and deprive them of their money? Have I been away from campus too long? do I need to read more? Possibly. Yet I am Still intrigued by this new phenomenon, as a scholar of fandom and as a cinephile. I find it interesting to see the mainstream taking on aspects of fandom. What I need to do now is to start looking deeper. It raises questions over where this departure will lead: if mainstream film is indeed now taking cues from fan culture, that implies the birth of a totally new aesthetic for film, one in which the old rules no longer apply.

As I noted here, a new instrument has been designed for Lyn. It arrived today! it is essentially a midi input device made of eight joined pieces of card big enough for L to hit. these can be paired to individual notes or snatches of music which L can pre program. She just got it working, and, although we still need a way to stop it siding over the table, I have a feeling this is the start of something great! More on this amazing device soon.

A couple of days ago I mentioned that I had smashed the screen of my Ipad. Coming down the hill the other night, it slipped from my lap and went under my wheel. Of curse, I was horrified – I was so disgusted with myself for letting it happen, I couldn’t even look at the broken screen. After all, that was the Ipad which Lyn used to perform before the entire world! Thus I thought Lyn would be angry, but in a combination of cheek and wisdom that only m wonderful girlfriend possesses, she had predicted it would happen some time and had planned for it. Lyn knew exactly were to order replacement screen, and did so.

That arrived this morning. We ha looked up videos on how to swap the screen ourselves, but it looked very complicated, so this afternoon I scooted off. According to google, the nearest Ipad repair store to us is in Bermondsey, just a short tube ride away. I’m now used to having a map on my lap, though, so it took me a while to find it. I asked in one computer repair store with no luck, but the staff in the second couldn’t have been more helpful. After I had explained that I needed my Ipad to communicate, their promise to have it fixed by tomorrow became an attempt to fix it in an hour; and indeed when I returned an hour later, there it was, as good as new. I was very impressed, and very thankful. I hereby fully endorse London Laptops Ltd, and will probably be going there again, ‘though hopefully not for a while.

Now I need to find a way of securing the Ipad to my lap or my chair properly.

It being far too hot to write anything more constructive, let me just direct you here tonight, to a view of Earth taken from Jupiter’s rings. In a way, Every human that has ever lived is in this photo; that certainly puts your life in perspective.

Waiting for a royal baby.

Does it matter? Maybe.

So much for just one child

Royal sprogs send the press wild

So we all wait out in the sun

For a princess to drop her bun But I don’t much care about the we’en

For I just scratched my Ipad screen.

It has been another of those lazy sundays. Lyn had a bath, and, having gone out every day this week, I decided a day at home was in order. Yet that decision now seems ironic: while L was doing her ebullitions, I decided to watch A Test of love. I have been intending to watch it ever since I read Annie’s Coming Out, upon which the film is based, at uni. It is a gut-wrenchingly harrowing story of discrimination against a young lady with cerebral palsy, and th woman who fought so hard to free her from her prison. To think that Annie spent fourteen years in an institution, nobody believing she had normal cognitive abilities, turns my stomach and fills me with rage. Yet her story also inspires me: annie never gave up, and cared too about her fellow long stay patients.

I keep thinking ‘that could have been me’; fuck, Lyn grew up somewhere similar. I find that thought chilling. Yet there’s irony in the fact that a bloke with athetoid cp would chose to spend a Sunday afternoon watching such a film: that, while his fiancee – who also has cp – was in the shower, he used an ipad to go onto youtube to access such a film. There is a scene where these children were taken off the ward into the hospital garden for the first time in fourteen years, and there was I, choosing to stay in. Times have changed, but I can’t help thinking that it is only because of people like Annie that Lyn and I can live here, now, in this splendid little house of ours like any other couple. The generation of crips before mine went through hell, but then set themselves free; and in doing so they freed us all. I now feel humble and grateful – even slightly guilty. I don’t think I can explain why I am so taken by this story, but I think I have a new favourite film. Above all, it inspires me to keep fighting.

Stratford is a disappointment. I was just up there: still being somewhat obsessed with the olympics, I was hoping to explore some of the olympic park. I was up there yesterday, too, but given I didn’t stay very long I thought I’d give it a second chance today. Lyn has a new music app to get to grips with, and since it isn’t difficult to get to, I thought I’d whizz up there. What I found, however, was hellish; the place is utter bedlam, full of people who don’t think twice bout walking straight in front of my chair. Of course, the olympic park is connected to a huge shopping mall, so I had expected it would be busy. What I did not expect, however, was that level of utter chaos! On top of that, I didn’t actually get into the park: I hear the parkland around the stadium is quite pretty, but somehow I couldn’t find it, the place was so crowded. Oh well – there are plenty of other places in this vast, maddeningly intriguing metropolis to explore.

I think I better clarify my entry yesterday: I may have been too eager to condemn that which I should have supported. After all, finding ways to get people with disabilities into work must be a good thing, regardless of which political party launches it. I would love a job, and know I’m capable of holding one down, assuming the right support structures are in place. This conference was about creating those support structures – why should I have condemned that? Rather, my objection was more about the tone and context of the conference: it comes in a climate of harsh cuts, most of which are just beginning to bite. Disabled people are among the hardest hit: People out there really are suffering, and all the government can say, apparently, is ‘go get a job’. That is what I objected to, why I felt insulted. Employment is a good idea, but for this government to hold this conference right now was to rub salt into a wound. I wanted to go up there and tell them just that yesterday, but failed somewhat, as you know.

I am writing this on the bus home from Westminster, feeling rather irritated with myself. When I got up this morning, I checked the news as usual. The first thing I saw was that there was a conference about getting disabled people in to work on today at the queen Elizabeth conference centre. Sensing an opportunity to do some direct action, I set off into london shortly after one. I got up there in very good time, but it was then that I made my big mistake. I assumed it was invitation only, so I stayed outside. I was happy enough chatting to the reporters from the beeb, telling them what an insult it was that a government inflicting such harsh cuts on disabled people is now figuratively saying ‘just get a job’. While I do think that people should be encouraged and helped to work, something about this conference just smacked of hypocrisy and patronisation: reducing benefits means it is harder to enter the workplace – thinking it will incentivise work is false logic. The guy said he would use my comments, but unable to get myself on tv, I decided it wax too hot to hang around. I thought I would just have a walk then go home.

I was just going up mill bank.though, when it occurred to me that I could at least try getting in to the conference. I turned back and, predictably, was told I could have gone right in, but that – even more predictably – there was no point as everyone was about to go home. I could have kicked myself! Dejected, I set off home, sad that I had missed an opportunity to meet so many big whigs of the disability world, but happy that I had caught the ear of the bbc reporter. In a way, that is just as good.

I just stumbled over* this news that in Gothenburg, Sweden, bars and restaurants with good disability access are being rewarded with beer instead of a certificate. I love that idea! Apparently, The Gothenburg Cooperative for Independent Living has started to give bars which have good access batches of a specially-brewed beer, called CPA. It is said to be a hybrid of Indian pale ale and American pale ale and has a picture of a woman with cerebral palsy on the front. I might be trying to cut down on my alcohol intake right now, but that is something I have to try.

*pun wholeheartedly intended!

Continuing yesterday’s ‘gay culture’ theme, and not having much time to write anything substantial, let me just direct you to this odd, almost absurd article. It concerns a group of gay neo-nazis. I’d have thought that any such oppressed group would know better, but it just goes to show that sexuality is no barrier to bigotry. A fascinating read, anyway.

I heard on the BBC local news today that london is planning to bid for the 2018 ‘Gay Games ‘, and I ust want to say that the idea struck me as very stupid indeed, yet is on I fully support. For starters the very idea of a gay games is foolish: why would LGBT people need a games just for theirselves? There is no reason why they can’t compete with straight people. We crips need our own games, the Paralympics, because the playing field would not be level. Just imagine a race between runners and wheelchair users, and the carnage that would inevitably cause. The two events must be kept separate for obvious reasons, then, and even then I would favour greater integration between the two. My preferred option would be to get rid of the two week gap between the Olympics and Paralympics and run the two simultaneously, as that gap, however big, implies difference.

Why, then, would gay people need or want their own games? They compete like everyone else, so the segregation is unneccesarry and artificial. Why deliberately create a division? On that level I find the idea repugnant. And yet I love it. How great would it be to revive the spirit of 2012, to host another monumental sporting event in this great city? Let’s face it: we aren’t going to see another Olympic games here in our lifetime. Even if we do bid for the games of 2032, we will be bidding against new York or Paris. They both intend to bid for the 2024 games, and since no city can bid for two games in a row, whoever looses in ’24 will bid in ’32. Given that London has hosted the games three times and so recently, it would be unfair for the IOC to choose London over either of those two. Thus these gay games might be our only chance to host such a party for a very long time.

And party it would be! Take the Olympics and multiply it by mardi gras! We in the LGBT comunity know how to put a show on, and a little pride right now would not go amiss either. The segregation debates aside, along with reservations about the cost, i really think this is a great idea. Indeed, maybe then it will be the other kind of queen which parachutes into the stadium with James Bond.

Yesterday was another awesome day, although I drank a little too much. In the afternoon took a roll to the park, where I caught the cricket match. I introduced myself to the local cricket team last year, and they remembered me. I sat with them, watching the game: it was a great afternoon, despite the fact ‘we’ lost. After the match, they invited me back to their club house, and, after whizzing back to check with Lyn, I went with them. Needless to say, I woke up this morning rather hung over and very tanned, but pleased that I’d made some good friends and looking forward to the next match. Now all I have to do is get Lyn into the game.

Yesterday turned out to be quite a day. A friend of mine had told me about a cool-sounding gay/drag bar up in London I wanted to go investigate, so at about three I took a roll up to charing cross. The place in question, Half Way To Heaven turned out to be very easy to get to, and even after ten minutes in there I had decided I liked it. I now want to take Lyn up there as soon as possible: the atmosphere was just so relaxed, open, friendly and free.

We didn’t stay too long: I wanted to be home before ten, preferably sober. I’ll hopefully be getting acquainted with that place soon. We stayed about an hour before getting some dinner and heading back to the station. However, it was there that something much less cool happened: we had to wait for our train, so we took the opportunity to grab one last beer. We headed into the station bar, and asked for two beers. To our utter astonishment, the barman refused to serve me on the grounds that he didn’t know my medical condition. That has never happened before – I was not drunk, but even after we explained that it was fine, he still point blank refused. To be fair there may have been some kind of misunderstanding, as the guy clearly was not born locally, but I still felt quite patronised and insulted. We caught the train in a foul mood – it had been a great evening, rather spoiled by that small incident. Oh well, at least I have somewhere to take Lyn now.

As you might be able to tell from yesterday’s poem, I have been fretting about my thesis this week. My submission date is fast approaching so I have spent a lot of time tidying it up. Yet, after reassuring words from lyn, dad and my tutor, I feel far happier about it now. Time, then, for a break: time to see a bit of London in the sunshine. I am writing this on a bus – the great thing about iPads is the ability to blog on the move. I do feel sorry for lyn, though: I left her working at home, somewhat stressed over her own deadline. Mind you, again thanks to my IPad we are still in constant contact, and she might appreciate not having me in her hair for the afternoon.

I wake up in despair

But roll over to you lying there. When I think the roads too long You remind me to keep strong.

When I Skype nonsense with dad

You chuckle and things are less bad

When I fret about nothing real

I look at you and suddenly feel

As happy as I should be

Now that I have you to love me.

I just came across this little piece of incredibleness on the One Show. They just had a short segment about a young lady called natasha lambert, who, despite having what appears to be quite profound cerebral palsy, just sailed the english channel solo. Now, I don’t want to sound over romantic or patronising, but…seriously….Holy shit! We often hear al sorts of crap about ho brave we crips are, even for going to the shop, but this young woman is far braver than I’ll ever be; she must surely be an inspiration, absolute proof that all dreams are possible. I really am in awe. What an achievement!

Murder is murder, abhorrent to all sensible people, but like any crime it can and must be forgiven. The moment we start refusing someone’s right to appeal, and insist that life means life, then surely we have lost part of our humanity. Yet earlier saw Chris Grayling do just that: he went on tv to denounce a european human rights ruling that said lifers should have the prospect of release. He was speaking as if certain criminals should just be locked up and left to rot, and that this was a sensible,popular and civilised thing to do. It is the very opposite! It shows a lack of faith in and understanding of humanity; a willingness to subjugate and punish; an arrogance and inhumanity that I find disturbing. How dare the tories refuse a man hope, the opportunity to redeem himself? It is their ‘we know best’ attitude I can’t stand; the way they think they are the arbiters of justice, and that criminals are scum to be locked up at their will. Indeed, it was pointed out that they only allowed the end of capital punishment on the understanding that ‘life meant life’. Is this the kind of arrogant, judgemental snob we want running the country.

All I have to say today is this: rugby – won. Wimbledon – won. Now, how about those Ashes!? I’m not usually a sporty person, but I must say this is fast turning into a great british sporting summer, the second in a row! Surely it is impossible not to get carried away, ever for us cripples.

Go Andy Murray, go!

Last night I found myself remembering the day when I fed myself dinner for the first time. I was eleven or twelve when my parents got me a neater–eater. Before then, of course, I had to be fed my food, but my sudden ability to feed myself made me ecstatic. It was so much fun: my mum and dad were quite amused when, one night shortly after,, they caught me playing with my food.

I thought of that day last night. We were at a charity event in a pub not far from here raising money to get my friend Luke a Neater-eater. I got mine through school, but luke is funding his privately; he also needs the electric version, whereas mine s manual. It was a great night; Lyn was with us for the first part, but then came home, a bit tired. I felt it important that I stayed, having used a neater eater for most of my life and knowing how liberating it was for me. I suppose few people can understand the feeling one gets the first time you scoop a spoonful of ice cream and put it in your mouth – for me it was sublime. Thus I stayed, Luke’s mum sally kindly driving me home about midnight. I had great fun, singing a little karaoke for the first time since uni, talking to people and partying in general; yet I know that feeling will be nothing compared to te one Luke gets the first time he feeds himself, or plays with his food.

Tories in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.

Just remember who pays for their second homes Labours relationship with the unions is nowt compared with those who hypocritically shout of underhand dealings and illegality: it is the tories who are the ones hiding the stories.

So next time you see a tory cackle about Labour’s affairs

Ask yourself whether the problem is Labour’s, or theirs.

I was in the shop earlier, just getting a few odds and ends, when something quite exasperating happened. I was paying for my things, when some woman commented on how brave I was. I didn’t say anything but it wound me up. How is going to the shop to get brunch being brave? To me, an act of bravery is doing something you know to be dangerous, yet despite having the option not to, you do it anyway because it serves some greater good. Where is the danger in going to the shop? The fact I use a chair to get there is irrelevant. I just try to live my life as anyone else does; it’s kind of patronising when people think that simple ambition is something special.

It gives me great pleasure to announce the birth of Heitor David Lopes Vinson, born this afternoon to my cousin Alex and his wife Suelany in Brazil. My hearty congratulations to them both. I can’t wait to meet the newest ember of our family.

I watched PMQs earlier, but I may soon stop watching it. It’s becoming unbearable, Every week we have to endure the sight of David CaMoron standing at the dispatch box, as if it was his birthright to be there, arrogantly batting away question after question with total non-answers. Today I noted every one of his replies were not in fact answers to questions he was asked, but attempts to draw attention to Labour’s relationship with the unions. I know that labor have heavy union backing, but it went too far. What CaMoron was doing was attempting to merely slander the opposition, deflecting attention away from his failed policies. And when he did comment on those policies he merely arrogantly batted the criticisms away, saying they were wrong with the air of a school master correcting a pupil. Day after day, I read reports of the savagery this government is inflicting on people, the hardship their cuts are inducing; to see this unelected snob stand up in parliament every week and tell us that things are getting better is becoming too much for me to stomach.

I laughed out loud last night when I heard the news from Egypt. I know the situation is quite serious there, of course, and no laughing matter: the army has threatened a coup if the government does not sort itself and the country out within 48 hours. That is quite an ominous threat, but what took me aback was the fact that the army used facebook, at least in part, to get it’s message out. Does that not strike anyone else as quite hilarious? The same medium through which parties are organised and nights in the pub are arranged is now being used to threaten coups. I find it staggering how one website, one social network, has become so ubiquitous, so culturally dominant, that it is now a common way of getting such messages across. Indeed, even british institutions, such as the bbc ad our army, use it as a point of reference. It seems to me that the web these days has become reduced to three gigantic websites known to everyone – facebook, twitter and youtube. These sites have become something we all have in common: meet a random person on the street, and you can just assume he has a facebook account. For the most part, I think this is probably a good thing – it certainly makes keeping in touch easier, especially if you don’t like using telephones and can never remember email addresses. Yet at the back of my mind there is a worry that a kind of social monopoly is forming, and that facebook is becoming too big, too omnipresent, too powerful. It is, after all, a company intended to make money, run by humans not immune to the temptations of power.

There isn’t much for me to do today, save to direct you here, to Lyn’s brilliant new website. I’m not just saying this, but it really is very cool, with a lot of fascinating stuff about the megastar I’m honoured to call my fiancee. Go take a look.

”I thought I got away with it…”

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Sorry, but I simply must send you to this bit of random genius from Peter Jackson, commemorating Orlando Bloom’s last day playing Legolas. Too funny not to flag up, although it is an interesting example of a piece of fan art being taken up by the original texts creators. Thus this could be a fascinating new step in the relationship between author, text and fan.

Get well soon, Mr Mandella.

You inspire me, as you do so many Reminding me never to give up never to stop fighting oppression

And that just battles can be won

Yet all I can offer you is this poem-blog This secular prayer into the electronic ether Which you’ll probably never see.

Yet my thoughts and hopes remain with you.

It might surprise some of you to hear that I still haven’t thought of a name for my new chair. I got a new powerchair, a Volt, two or three weeks ago: sturdy and reliable, it’s great for city life. It’s slower than my old F55, so I wasn’t sure I liked it at first, but it has proven ideal for getting on and off busses etc. And although the charger makes quite a din, the battery life is good too. Time, then, to give her a name, as I did with her predecessors, Defiant and Bat’leth. The problem is, I can’t think of one. I usually chose something Star-trek related: Defiant was named after a cool little warship from Deep Space nine; Bat’leth was named after a type of klingon sword. They were both sleek and powerful, and thus needed sleek and powerful names. My new char is different: More practical and reliable than sleek and powerful. So what can I call her? To let her remain unnamed would be dull. I’m thinking of calling it Yosemite, after the ‘old faithful’ geyser there, but I’m still open to suggestions.

Bibliography reformatting is dull It gives me time to think bores me out of my skull Takes me to the brink

But now it’s over, done

It’s time to relax, have fun

Time for a walk into a city

That, in the evening light looks so pretty.

My reward for my labour

So many smells, so much flavour.

Aye, a good stroll at the end of the day

Is enough to keep bibliography boredom at bay.

Last night I stumbled upon a film taken by an audience member at last years Star Trek London event, showing all five captains at a question and answer session. About halfway through, it emerged that there was once a short lived plan to resurrect the franchise with a film in which all five captains were brought together in some sort of time distortion and had to spend the rest of the film getting back to their own time frames. Of course, this would probably have sucked, which was probably why it was abandoned, but I must say it caught my attention too. It may well have worked; handled the right way, it might have been what the franchise needed. We live, as I see it. In an era where nothing is too far fetched: given that last year we saw the queen parachute out of a helicopter with James Bond, something which, before then, would surely have sounded totally absurd, we can’t rule anything out. That’s why I think that clip is so important: no idea can now be seen as too silly, too implausible. Thus why shouldn’t Kirk, Picard, Archer, Sisco and janeway unite in one more star trek epic? It would be a brilliant way to resurrect Trek. Indeed, before the 2009 reboot, such a stunt would have been the only way star trek could have been returned to its former cultural position. Now the reboot has been made, however, and the trek I loved has been superseded, there is little chance of that happening. Yet my point is nothing can be ruled out, so if others feel as I do about the return of proper Star trek, surely as dubious as this idea sounds it must be made so. Such a stunt would be the only way we could get proper star trek back, the way we fans knew it.

It has been quite a cool couple of days. Firstly, yesterday afternoon I made a couple of friends. Last sunday I was out for a walk when, just as I was passing a pub, a woman asked me to stop. She asked if I had cerebral palsy, and I said yes. Apparently, her on has cp too, so that, from a distance, she thoughtI was him. She invited me in for a drink, and, never one to turn down a beer, I accepted her offer. I went in, and we got talking. I could tell from the way she spoke and acted that her knowledge of disability was good, so she probably wasn’t lying or trying to dupe me. She introduced me to her partner, and said she worked in the media. I decided this contact was worth making, and gave her my email adress.

However, despite her promises, a few days later I hadn’t received anything from her. I suspected, though, that rather than her not bothering, she had simply taken down my email wrongly. So yesterday at about the same time, I set off for the same pub, just on the off chance she would be there again. To my surprise, she was, this time with her son, Luke. He is a powerchair and communication aid user, and, more importantly, an actor and writer. I instantly decided I liked him. Again we got talking, exchanging stories and proper contact details. It seems that they are in the process of fund raising to buy Luke a mechanised Neater-eater, and I (together with Lyn) was invited to the event. I came home happy, feeling that I’d made some new good friends, and eager to introduce Lyn to them.

Today was another cool day: some guys are designing a new instrument for Lyn, a ‘Lynstrument’ (their name!) They came to show her their latest work today, and I think we were both mightily impressed. I won’t say much about it, as it is a work in progress, but it is very exciting indeed. I cannot wait to see Lyn do a gig with that thing: she will have even more ability to get a crowd thronging with it. And I daresay I would not bet against Luke and his mum being here too, all being well.

I get disability living allowance, and I don’t mind admitting to that, but I must say that I find this call in the daily mail for the publication of weathfare recipients details very offensive indeed. In fact it has made me quite furious. Of course, whoever wrote this article seems to think to perfectly reasonable, and that tax payers have a right to know where their money is going. I find the arrogance and patronisation staggering. We benefit claimants have rights too: a right to privacy; a right not to be seen as scroungers; a right not to be perceived as inferior to those who pay tax; a right not to be seen as the effective property of the state, as whoever wrote this article seems to imply we should be. Such a list would render anyone on it second class citezens, underlings expected to be grateful. I am beside myself with rage that such a hurtful, despicable idea could be seriously proposed in a national newspaper. It is one thing for me to chose to be open about claiming DLA, and quite another to be automatically placed on a list of ‘scroungers’.

My friend john just sent this my way. It must surely be one of the most incredible things I’ve seen in a long, long time. It concerns a woman who goes diving in her wheelchair, performing a type of underwater wheelchair ballet. I must say, if there wasn’t video evidence, I would have dismissed it as some kind of joke, but the proof is there and it is absolutely beautiful. Check it out!

Chugging along on a bus

For to a bank I must

Bumping through the city backwards

In the crip-only space

In a bus going southwards

Through this mad chaotic place.

I recently decided that it is high time I found something new to obsess over. My three main interests in terms of media – bond, Star trek and Lord of the rings – are all cultural megaliths, and cornerstones of popular culture. While I think that there is something in all three that I’ll always love, I now think I need something new to squeal about, something less mainstream. After all, they are all sort of passe; everyone knows about these mainstays of american post-classical film. To admit to being a fan of any of the three franchises sort of marks one out as a bit nerdy, a bit uncool. Time, then, for me to find something more niche, something less wellknown, for me to become a fan of: the question is, what? Sometime soon I plan to go on to Youtube to look for new narratives and characters – narratives completely unknown in mainstream media. I have no idea what that new obsession will look like, but I just want it to be the antithesis of the queen-escorting, multi-oscarwinning cultural phenomena I have been occupied with for so long. Any suggestions?

I have a bit of coolness for you today: check out this recent talk by charles hazlewood followed by a performance by two members of the paraorchestra. I find it interesting because charles explains a bit about what he had to go through to get their monumental olympic gig last year. Truth be told I haven’t heard much from the orchestra recently, what their plans are (lyn hasn’t told me whether she’s heard much either), but I’m sure something will be in the pipeline. It is cool to relive some of the glories of las year anyway, and then chill out to some cool tunes on what is turning into a very hot afternoon.

I must say that, while I agree that this story is rather sad, I can’t help but see a bright side. It concerns a class photograph in which a disabled young man is pictured sitting separated from his young classmates. Of course, semiotically that sends out precisely the wrong message: it implies that all wheelchair users are diseased and should be kept apart from ‘normal’ pople. No wonder the boy’s mother was so upset. Yet the fact remains they are in the same photograph: yes the boy could have been positioned closer to his friends, but what matters is they are friends. The picture proves this boy is being included. Not so long ago, there would have been no boy in a wheelchair at all in this picture, as such children were all dumped in special schools. That’s why I can’t feel too negatively about this image: there may be a gap, but at least they are all in the same frame.