Okay, I freely admit I’m an extrovert. Or rather, I’m a damn fool: something in me wants to show off, regardless to potential cost to life and limb. Whenever there’s an opportunity to make an arse of myself, you bet I will.

I better explain. Every night this week there has been a performance at art school of some description. Local school kids come onto campus and perform either dance or drama or whatever. At the end of this evening, there was a little time left over, so a couple of my fellow MMU students went on stage and started to rap. I was sat by the ramp up to the stage, and suddenly the urge took me. I flew up the ramp; the defiant went up on her back wheels, I stopped on stage, dropped my lightwriter, picked it up, turned my hazard lights on and danced my head off!

Apparently, everyone loved it. I was cheered! My two rapping mates said I should do it again tomorrow, and told me not to apologise. It was fun, either way. Being an extrovert rules.

Today, I took it easy, having exhausted myself lugging chairs yesterday. It was, I think, a quieter day at art school, with fewer kids, so there was less to do. I spent most of the day at the stage, watching proceedings, or on the help desk, or zooming about campus offering help to people. Tomorrow, I’m due to be a student helpertype for Springfield school, who are coming in to perform. Springfield is a local special school – one must raise an eyebrow at the choice of yours truly as liaison for that particular school though.

I better not get political with them: they man not like me explaining away their schools right to existence.

Another long, tiring day it’s been. this afternoon we had to lay out 500 chairs on grass, which meant carrying (or dragging) them about 40 metres from their pile. I’m shattered: we cripple writers aren’t built for manual labour. it was fun though. must get to bed. for the reason why being a crip rules (or one of them) go here.

I’m out and about every day this week; believe it or not, I have a job (kinda). It’s at uni helping to look after kids in art school. They do performances, artwork etc, and we ‘student ambassadors’ just help out running and fetching. Today we had about ninety kids on campus; tomorrow there will be 400.

I need my rest. It’s going to be a long day! However, I promise to post a nice long rant here sometime soon – my blogs been crap recently.

ok, so what the feck is this?

had to be posted

David Cameron, I note was on Jonathon Ross’s show last night. To be honest, he came across as quite a decent guy. The interview made me re-think my attitude towards him – he seems genuine and I think he told the truth. Too much of politics is reduced to childish bickering, whereas it should be about adult discussion, and I think mr. Cameron made that point. I shouldn’t have called him names.

He has the air of a PM in waiting, just as Blair had. After that interview I am a little more comfortable with this, and less inclined to decry it as a facade. Yet the fact remains he is anti-inclusion: for this reason, I cannot support him. The simple fact is that special education ruins kids prospects in life, and inclusion, despite the claims of condescending parents who I frankly doubt understand the issue, is the best way forward. It is vital, of course, we implement it properly, but I genuinely believe it is the best option. I therefore cannot fully endorse Cameron, but the prospect of having him as PM seems, this morning, a lot less abhorrent.

Mind you, Ross was right when he pointed out that there isn’t a lot of difference between the two main parties these days. When Cameron is elected, it’ll just be Blair mark 2.

It has been a long day, and tomorrow will probably be even fuller. I’ve got a job helping kids do art, although i’m not sure I’m much help. Since i’m not very enthusiastic tonight, I’ll send you somewhere quite interesting instead

Blimey! I have never seen so many chavs!

I went to the pub with my neighbour, Mark, to watch the match last night. It was the first England game I had ever seen in a pub and it was quite5 an experience. The place was packed; I mean, chock full. Most people there were wearing red England shirts and odd trousers which were white and too short.

Here be chavs!

Truth be told, it was ok. Steve and jen turned up for the first half, and we talked for a bit, but then went: I think the place was too crowded. Me and mark were seated, so we could barely see any of the numerous screens dotted around the establishment – there were too many heads in the way. Mid you, we didn’t miss much, although the sheer intensity of the roar when England scored was something to experience.. amazing!

The match was not the best, but at least we are through.

I love my independence; these last two years at university have granted me more freedom than ever. The freedom to come and go as I please; to scoot over to the library; to go to the pub with my mates ad win the pub quiz; to stay up till nigh on midnight reading; to go to Chester to see my friends band (if your reading this, charlotte, when should I come again?); to go to discos dressed as a fairy; to hang around campus in a skirt; to do a billion things I previously thought impossible.

Yet while I love all this, I also feel the need to go home. I am, now , my own man, with agency, but I am also a son and a brother. In short I feel the need to collect the Diaspora of the goodsells: I want to sit again around the kitchen table drinking proper beer while both my brothers take the piss out of me and the I call physics a waste of time! I want to hug mum and dad. I want my father to read to me again.

It’s quite a coincidence that a week after I finish a book which focuses on whaling (as allegory or otherwise), it is reported that pro-waling countries have moved one step closer to lifting the ban. Frankly, I do not see the point. We have plenty of meat and no longer need spermaceti to fuel our lights. Why do they need to hunt the graceful leviathan once more? I hope one rams them!

Don’t they know they’re dangerous?

Further to my posting yesterday, here’s a link to a site which has the text of what appear to be most of the classics – anything from Aesop to sophocles, all free! amazing, this interweb thing, innit?

I was hanging around the pc rooms with steve this mornig, surfing randomly. We were on you tube, and look what I found. this clip – the first contact scene where picard quotes Moby Dick – I reguard as one of the finest sequences in all of cinema. Its finely written and masterfully acted. I love it, I cant reaklly explain why though.

Steve rules!

Although I love to actually own books – the physical objects themselves seeming to be possessed of a metaphysical aura – I recently found this site. It’s a huge collection of books re-printed online, and what is wonderful is it is free to access! Here , for instance, is moby dick; here is heart of darkness; and here is the u.s declaration of independence.

Go read.

Moby-dick got me thinking. In literature we have the plethora of humanity itself: books – indeed, all art – has the capacity to show us what it means to be human. It can illuminate the world, be it prose, play, poem, opera, painting or dance.

Thus, on Wednesday, I came to the conclusion that I should try as many of these art forms as possible. Not only should I read as many books as possible, but go to as many plays, galleries, operas etc as I can. Basically to see what the authors, through their various media, have to tell me.

It goes without saying that this extends to film and TV. Leaving aside contemporary work – for there there is no author – the exception to this is reality TV. This can say nothing to us, but simply is crass voyeurism and lust for celebrity. Thus, thinks I, how can I run away from this?

Thus on Wednesday I came to the conclusion that I needed to ground myself in the classics. In a way, Greek tragedy is about as far from big brother, culturally speaking, as is humanly possible. And besides, how can I call myself a homme du monde without reading the classics.

And that’s what I am doing: I went to the library and collected four books of plays. They’re only short, so I can whiz through one in a morning. Yesterday I read king Oedipus by Sophocles.

Only problem is, its dry and miserable stuff! Shakespeare could sometimes be humorous (think the porter scene in Macbeth; a few of caliban’s lines in the tempest); Melville had his funny lines too. Most writers, no matter how serious their subject matter, add at least some touches of humour to there work. Not so the Greeks! In Oedipus, the main character pokes his eyes out! They really should lighten up, and I hope they get more cheerful.

I was in the pub last night and I managed to catch the ITV news after the Germany/Poland game. They were coveting the paedophile story. I know it really is quite scandalous, no doubt about that, but I hate the way David Cameron looks so smug. It’s as if he knows he’s scoring points.

Well, this problem would have been even worse under the Tories. It is only now labour put the appropriate checks in place that we can grasp the extent of the problem; same goes for immigration, although that isn’t a ‘problem’. Thus I wish mr Cameron would wipe that stupid grin off his stupid mouth.

The Tories haven’t changed; they can’t without distancing themselves from their core voters, so Cameron’s show of compassionate conservatism is just that – a show! Beneath it, they’re the same old party which brought so much strife to this country before Labour sorted everything out. I just hope other people see that.

the problem to which I referred earrlier seems to have righted itself.

odd

Something is up with my rollerball. it is misbehaving. luckily, I think its tempory, but it really has pissed me off – I’m using keyboard commands.

what really does irritate me is when myy neighbour starts playinbg music – chav music. the type everyoe is listening to, thinkig theyre original when theyre just being sheep: part of the crowed. kieser chiefs are so uncool.

to remidy my pevedness, I just put hendrix on full volume, now jupiter’s playing. hopefully the zarking mouse will right itself soon. loud music cures all ills at least tonigt is pub night!

Last night I finished reading Moby-dick, and I doubt if I will ever read a finer book. i suppose the character I feel the most for is poor Starbuck, the first mate: he warned Ahab that what he was doing was insane, and I actually think there was a glimmer of hope when they both looked into each others eyes over the side, but Ahab was Ahab, and Ahab must have his whale! He knew that what he was doing as insane, but he was too wrapped up in the idea of revenging himself to stop. The first mate, Starbuck, should have killed him – he had a chance – but he was too much of a man of honour. As much as he wanted to see his wife ad son again, his sense of duty was too strong. I really feel for him, and, in a way, admire him.

Not for nought is Moby-Dick called one of the greatest books ever written. It is so layered, ranging from episode to episode, symbol to symbol, myth to myth that it begs to be re-read, and I plan to in a while. It is just so packed with thought-provoking metaphors, allusions to classical literature, and the most magnificent use of language that I was barely qualified to read it. Nevertheless, next time I’m asked what my favourite novel is, I’ll say Moby-dick.

I cannot give it a proper review after just one reading. I will, however, say this: Herman Melville, although at one stage poignantly predicting that the sperm whale would never become extinct, in a passage which jars against the conscious, was ahead of his time. In his book, we see the Piquod, under the megalomaniac Ahab, but today we also might see America itself on it’s own quest for revenge. The question is, is there a Starbuck who will stand up and stop the old man before it is too late?

[quote=”BBC news”url:http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/americas/5068606.stm”%5DThe suicides of three detainees at the US base at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, amount to acts of war, the US military says.[/quote]

I’m sorry, but I don’t see how suicide can be an act of war unless you are so desperate to stir up patriotic support for your poxy damn fool war that you’ll say anything!

What…

Just what?

It is, most definitely, too hot. It’s a peculiar thing about the English that we crave the heat all year, and when high summer finally comes, we flake out and start complaining about the heat. I must admit, I’m the worlds worst for this – I keep thinking ‘when will summer come?’ then, when it comes, long for cool rain.

Possibly the best thing about summer is cricket. Long, lazy afternoons, watching a game slowly unfold, beer I hand. There is nothing better: watching the tactical battle between bowler and batsman, as the…

Hold up. Apparently, if memory serves, a few men are playing football in Germany. This will mean the capital sport that is cricket will be ignored. Humbug! Thou ball-kickers, I gesticulate noisily at you!

Seriously though, I think I speak for us all when I say COME ON ENGLAND!

Woohoo; today my blog exceeded 100,000 hits! thatd definitely a milestone, but uite why all you lot want to read the garbage I post here is beyond me!

seriously, though, thanks for reading; lots more ramblings to come.

There is nothing I loathe more than bigotry. Today, I read on grouchy old cripple that islam could be considered a cancer. I am, I should point out, an atheist, and view all religions with concern, but the fact that this fool-of-a-blogger singles out Islam enrages me. It’s like me calling all Americans warmongers, just because bush is. There are fools in every tribe of man, but we shouldn’t hate all because the actions of the few. I like Americans; I have a few American friends. I have a Muslim mate, a nicer chap you will never meet. I’m quite sure that we all know people of different faiths, and we all get on peaceably. Why, look at Ishmael and Queequeg, from Moby dick (incidentally written by an American).

I do not hate anyone as a people; I just hate bigots.

Given the date, I thought I might link to this. it’s a bbc article about the day tv was switched back on. I love the popular folklore about the mickey mouse cartoon how like auntie, symbol of the stiff upper lip, to equate the second world war to a ‘rude interruption’?

I was rather confused when I saw Christmas decorations up in the canteen this morning. It struck me as odd, but then it left my mind – I had bigger things to ponder, like breakfast. The matter was not resolved until it thickened even further, when I entered the canteen to see the staff decked out in festive garb serving turkey for tea. Had I overslept by 6 months? No: it was the hottest day of the year.

This almost pythonesque scene was explained when one of the kitchen staff explained that the had surplus figgy pudding which needed eating. I collapsed into giggles, and asked for the stuffing.

Perhaps I sometimes forget my parent’s perspective. this is the extremely well written blog of an American with a young VOCA-using child; some entries illustrate how very concerned he is for his daughter, and how worried he is for her future. While I have no doubt that the child in question will succeed in whatever she may care to attempt, to a dad this may not be clear. The result is a poignant, beautiful blog. a great read

I suppose I better say something about ‘Pete’ from big brother, as apparently he has tourettes. I am, of course, all for increased portrayal of disabled folks in any media, as, by and large, I believe increasing the profiles of us cripples will lead to less prejudice towards us. This much is fairly obvious. However, I believe big brother is being very cynical in including a person with tourettes in their circus, as I have no doubt that they intend this ‘Pete’ fellow to exhibit the behaviour commonly associated with tourettes – the verbal twitch – for their own gratification. ‘Oh look, this chap cant stop swearing; isn’t it funny?’

In short, they’re taking the piss. Admittedly, the guy volunteered to go into the house, but no doubt he was chosen for his ‘comic’ value. It is as if we have not progressed from the days of the elephant man. Thus, this kind of representation will stifle rather than enhance understanding of disability.

Needless to say, I have nothing but contempt for the makers of this programme, those fools who seek fame my going on it, and the countless thousands who watch it. Why do we need this mindless drivel on our televisions? It teaches us nothing, it says nothing. It’s just cheap and pathetic: we could be watching a great drama which exposes a truth about being human, as all great dramas do; we could be watching a documentary showing us the wonders of our planet. Fiction or not, television can teach us things, but instead we are supposed to watch a few ninnies in a house. Its absolutely stupid.

Perhaps me and Esther should both get pigtails and pinafore dresses, for we were both jumping about like schoolgirls. A big wasp entered my room this morning and it might as well have been the Devil itself. We were both petrified, especially when it landed on my jumper. Esther ran out of the room, for a second I wondered what to do as I watched it crawling over me, then I decided to run out of the bungalow. Then I thought that it had disappeared, so I decided to go back in, but Esther said it was on my collar. At that moment I was almost I was almost wetting myself, I took my shirt and top off and threw it into the spare room. Both the wasp and my jumper are still in there, as we are both too scared to go and retrieve it.

I think pigtails would suit me.

Look What I’ve found: the new bond movie trailer, a film for which I cant wait. several questions arise though – the original was set during the cold war, shortly after ww2; how can they have a newly-promoted bond, but retain judi dench as M?

Rather ccooly, michael palin is off once more on another trip. this time he’s off to eastern europe. Something in me – the same part that makes my feet itch – loves his programmes; I can’t wait.

go look

What is the circumference of a moose?

Michael Palin with his face in a pie times Douglass Adams squared. lmao. had to be posted. link

My brother luke just made me aware of this site. It contains videos of an odd gentleman claiming to be a ninja. I think he is lying, but am too scared to tell him. Anyway, go watch.

Me, mum and dad just get in from the theatre in stoke, where we saw The new Statesman. It had been so long since I saw a play I had forgotten their unique joys. Granted, I have seen operas at the RNCM,, but they are entirely different; I have seen extracts at college performed by my friends, which, although entertaining, are unsubstantial; I have seen plenty of films, which are my first love but do not offer the ambiance one gets in the theatre. No, plays are things unto themselves, and I want to see more.

The new statesman starred Rik Mayall and is a very bawdy political satire: it is extremely up-to-date, including references to David Cameron, new labour, the war and terrorism. I would be willing to bet that the script is updated every morning after the director reads the daily papers. Much of it is spot on, but I felt, however, that parts were rather conservative, which got my goat. Mind you, politics in general gets my goat with more and more people being hoodwinked by Cameron and his acct. what is this crap about ‘happiness’ anyway? It’s a nonsense, but people are buying it. Stupid segregationist!

See? Every time politics comes up I end up getting angry. Pfft. It is, however,, a good thing that we have some media which can raise my heckles. The play had valid statements to make of politics. What statements does reality television make? None? I’m going to the theatre more often.

As a person who always opposed the Iraq war, I find this admission of errors from blair and bush very amusing. Mind you, I’d prefer them to admin they are both numpties, but it’s a start.

This is my first night home in two weeks, and between my trip to paris and to the Jones’ house, I have fallen out of touch with the news. Only this evening could I catch up, and I’m already sick of it. David Cameron’s call for ‘happiness’ seems a cheap ploy; Galloway is still a tosser; and the press seems obsessed with either big brother or Wayne Rooney. It’s all very silly: I could, and may well, blog on each item soon.

in the meantime, i’m off to bed – I need sleep.

When writing about Mrs Weasley, JK Rowling could have drawn inspiration from Mrs Jones, mother of my good friend Charlotte. Me and a couple of friends of mine were staying at their house in Chester last night, as we went to a gig there. It was kind of a techno/rock gig, which is not usually my cup of tea, but I must admit I did enjoy myself! It was a great atmosphere in general, and we had spent the afternoon walking around Chester talking shopping and drinking, so I was rather happy.

However, I must say I love the Jones’s house. First off, there is a trampoline in the front garden, which was lots of fun! Secondly, the place is chock full of books! They’re everywhere! I loved it for just that. Even in the bathroom. There’s also a wonderful music room, complete with baby grand piano. I fell in love with the house as soon as I stepped over the threshold. It felt like home.

Mrs Jones herself is an extremely homely woman whom it seems impossible to phase. By most accounts she is an excellent cook, and made some excellent baked spuds last night. I will almost certainly try to get myself invited to their place again! (that is, if they’ll have me)

I’m enjoying life more and more these days; even cool seems an inadequate adjective. My friends are so cool, I’m doing stuff I once doubted I ever could – like sleeping at a friends after an awesome gig. ‘Cripple’ my arse! I can do anything anyone else can…even trampolining!

Wanderlust is a strange thing indeed, for the more you try to quench it the stronger it gets. Now, having returned from Paris last night, it’s stronger than ever. In short, my trip to Paris ruled; it was the trip to end all trips. The six of us who went got on rather well, everyone chipping in with my care, even my lecturer Alan. Must admit, given the hassle we had getting me through the Paris metro I couldn’t help but keep apologising, as I felt guilty. Alan and the guys told me t stop apologising, but I couldn’t help it. I stopped when Alan threatened to give me a third.

Where can I begin to sum up the greatest weekend in the greatest city? It’s impossible! The weather was awful at times, but that did not stop us; the food was brilliant. Goddard is a genius, and the festival was amazing, although the Pompidou centre managed to totally balls up the screening of Weekend. Mind you, it was Goddard, so only we could tell the difference. Heretics!

It was all simply amazing. I loved every minute. Just…WOW! I love Paris, I love my life, I’m just happy!

To Steve, Darren, Jenny, Nat and Alan, thankyou; I love you all.

Today is a good day – a very good day. I have finally finished my film essay and will hand it in at eleven at Crewe. Hurrah. Not sure about it’s content though: Alan Fair will either think it a work of genius or bin it, decrying my predilection to go off on tangents. I’m just happy its finished, but at the same time I’m rather proud of it. It’s on the extent to which film can be seen as a language; given the chance, I’d like to continue the subject at MA or PhD level, for it is quite fascinating, especially trying to work out the role synesthesia plays in it. I may be wrong, but I think synesthesia may underlie all film form.

Anyway, we also once again won the pub quiz yesterday. Huzzah! Mind you, there were ten of us, so the odds were stacked. In the end, it was won on a tie break, and who else did we get to pick the key but good old switch. I’m a tenner better off this morning, which more than covered the cost of my beers.

University is probably the best thing I ever did – looking back at the shy little individual I once was, I am amazed. Once I was afraid to leave home, but while my parent’s house has it’s creature comforts, I find it too restrictive. I feel more independent than ever before.

Tomorrow I’m off to Paris with some of my film class. While I’m apprehensive, I’m really looking forward to it. Whereas I used to fear going anywhere without mum and dad, non of that fear resides. The demarcation point, I believe, was the berlin trip, for it was then I realised that, given the proper support, I could do anything I wanted. Moreover, it was during my trip to Berlin, that Becca and Kate first came into contact with me.

Those two women changed my life; they convinced me that I was fundamentally no different than everyone else; Becca – I hope she won’t mind me saying – taught me I too could be loved for who I am. It was Kate who introduced me to Onevoice, an organisation with which I’m proud to be involved; in fact it is this aspect of my life which I’m most proud of. I’m happy these two people came into my life.

Anyway, I better get to Crewe to hand that essay in. have a good day everyone.

I have been thinking about the words I used a couple of days ago which some readers objected to. At first, I was looking for ways to justify my use of the word c**t as I feel that any word is a tool to be used; but then I did a bit of analysis. I realised that this word is a metonym – that is, part of something used to stand for the whole of something. Hence the word keel is used as a metonym for a ship. This made me realise how foolish my use of that word was: in effect, it reduced all women to a small part of their anatomy, which is quite abhorrently sexist, and also meant that I was calling mr Cameron a woman, which is very juvenile and foolish, especially since I like womens so much! Indeed, I dress as one sometimes!

Seriously though, I am sorry I used that word; it is a silly word to use, especially given the plethora of other words I could use. I apologise for any offence.

For ten years I have hunted something: ever since I saw first contact, I have sought the quote from Moby dick cited by Picard. I tried reading the book online a couple of times, but always got distracted somehow. So, two weeks ago I bought a copy, at last, and today I found what I was after on page 185/6 of the Penguin classics edition, also to be found here.

[quote=”Moby dick”]He piled upon the whale’s white hump the sum of all the general rage and hate felt by his whole race from Adam down; and then, as if his chest had been a mortar, he burst his hot heart’s shell upon it.[/quote] the captain’s memory must have been fading

this is more proof that the torygraph is written by halfwits up their own arses. It’s an art review by a supposed critic decrying the fact that the art of mentally ill people have been placed alongside the works of the likes of bacon. Now, as a man currently going through the ‘great’ that is Moby-dick, I cannot deride classicism; I just think that all art is worth something, be in by Mellevile or myself. Just because its by someone outside the range of what is considered normal does not mean it is worthless.

The writer of this report should get off his high horse: everyone can contribute to the human experience, not just those considered to be great. I mean, is myy writing worthless because I have CP? No.

I am, I must admit, exhausted today. Yesterday was the night of the summer ball at university, and it was, as last year , spectacular. As promised, my friends switch,

Vikki and charlotte did a fire-poi display (I especially like Switch’s impression of the bunny of doom); there was a waltzer, which I rode with charlotte and Emma (yay!) and, in general, we had lots of fun.

The one down side was the footballers – they were particularly crass and stupid last night; some were dressed as Hitler, giving the Nazi salute and grinning as though they were being clever; some were picking on my friend Emma, of whom I have become particularly fond recently (well…I am fond of most of my friends: they are all dear to me). I was, in short, disgusted by the footballer’s behaviour.

I had intended to stay up, but somehow, in brandies, I was oozing off by the end. It was also quite cold in my costume. My friends kept wanting me to dance, but I was falling asleep on my feet. Where they get their energy I’ll never k0now.

Nevertheless, it was a great night, and I think we all had fun, especially Spiderman, aka Steve, who was happy as a schoolboy in his costume.

On another, more serious note, I apologise for my language in yesterday’s entry.