Rendezvous with Planet X

We hit our tenth anniversary earlier this year, which is a good run for a blog, if not so long in cosmic terms. Even in that brief spell though we have managed to survive two predicted apocalypses, in 2011 and 2012, and probably a few more that we didn’t hear about.

So I think I can be excused for being fairly relaxed about the forecast that tomorrow will bring the end of the world (or at least the start of the End Times; the details are a little sketchy). My insouciance seems to be fairly widely shared; the overwhelming reaction of even the more credulous sections of the media has been one of amused ridicule, and I haven’t heard any stories of people leaving their families, selling all their possessions, or otherwise acting irrationally in anticipation of the Rapture, as has happened in the past.

I don’t know if this means that the general appetite for doom-mongering has waned, or if we’re all just so numbed by the routine craziness of the world these days that global annihilation doesn’t seem that big a deal. Whatever, I’m still making plans for next week, whether Nibiru shows up or not.

Grant Hart RIP

Sad news about Grant Hart. The one and only time I saw Hüsker Dü play live was more than 30 years ago, just after Candy Apple Grey came out, but I can still remember it clearly. It was in a tiny venue, and I was right at the front, about two feet away from the PA, which probably explains why I couldn’t hear a thing for about a week afterwards. Temporary deafness seemed like a small price to pay to be in the vicinity of genius though.

I’ve subsequently seen Bob Mould play loads of times, solo and with Sugar, but I never managed to catch any of Grant’s later shows, and now I never will. That’s obviously a trivial concern, when we’re talking about a man passing away at a tragically young age, but it’s another reminder that the list of things that I always just assumed would happen some day, but probably, or definitely, won’t, is getting longer all the time, and that perhaps I should pay more attention to the ephemeral nature of life, and how important it is to be in the moment. That sentiment isn’t a million miles away from the themes that Grant touched on in his best work, and I guess that that’s an epitaph that he might have appreciated.

King of the Living Dead

Regular readers will know that we have a bit of a zombie obsession here at SLS, so I was sad to hear of the passing of George Romero, who, more than anyone, defined the undead aesthetic that underlies just about every modern zombie-themed film and video game.

Night of the Living Dead is a groundbreaking classic of course, but, for me, Romero’s masterpiece is Dawn of the Dead, which inserts its shambling horror into the all-too-recognisable mundanity of everyday life to truly terrifying effect. If it has a fault it is that it’s too terrifying; despite it being one of my favourite films I haven’t watched Dawn of the Dead for years, because I know that a viewing will give me vivid nightmares for days afterwards.

Anyway, here’s a link to our very first zombie post from 10 years ago, which I think is still relevant today, and some valuable tips for when the worst happens…

They shoot Youtubers, don’t they?

I may affect indifference towards the fact that, according to the merciless WordPress statistics page, virtually nobody ever comes to visit our little blog any more, but the truth is that I miss the days when we had lots of traffic, and I’d do anything to attract a few more views again.

Well, perhaps not anything; I’d probably draw the line at having my partner shoot live ammunition at my chest in a misguided attempt to capture the attention of the notoriously fickle YouTube demographic. Depressingly this story isn’t an aberration; there are plenty of examples of would-be social media stars abusing their children, leaping from high places, lighting themselves on fire, or doing other stupid stunts in the hope that it will be their ticket to internet fame, and the fabled wealth that comes with it.

The spectacle of the desperate poor demeaning themselves for our entertainment is nothing new; there were dance marathons and other indignities during the Depression, truck-touching contests have a proud history, and as recently as 10 years ago people were dying to win a video game console. Now, in our wonderful modern world of 24/7 digital connection, it’s not even necessary to leave the house to join in; that’s progress I guess.

Ten Years After

Rather remarkably, today is the 10th anniversary of the very first post on this blog, and, while I started out full of enthusiasm, I don’t think I would have predicted that I’d still be churning them out a decade later.

It’s not been a steady stream of course – when I did a retrospective on the occasion of our 5th birthday back in 2012 I had a lot of material to work with; the pickings this time around are somewhat slimmer. There have been a few highlights though; here are my favourites:

2012

2013

2014

2015

2016

2017

So there you have it, 16 worthwhile pieces in 5 years. Is that a good enough return to justify keeping this blog going? On balance, I think so, though I guess we can revisit the question in 2022. In the meantime I’ll revive one of our traditions, which had sadly fallen into abeyance, the contrived musical link.

Trouble in paradise

I was thinking about Second Life for the first time in ages today, prompted by reports in several publications about the SL Bunny apocalypse. The ever-dependable New World Notes has the full story (and updates); the abbreviated version is that ersatz pet dealers Ozimals have shut up shop due to various legal entanglements, cutting off the sole supply of virtual rabbit food, and thus dooming countless beloved furry companions to an untimely demise.

This unhappy tale reminded me of a couple of columns I wrote in the early days of this blog, wherein I noted that one of the few ways of making money in SL was to induce residents into becoming dependent on some substance you controlled. Of course I never acted on this insight, partly due to my high ethical standards, but mostly due to laziness, and so missed out on my share of the millions of dollars that Ozimals were reportedly taking in.

I guess that with that sort of money washing around it was inevitable that things would come to a sticky end, but it’s still sad that there should be so much collateral damage. The whole sorry episode can be read as a parable of what happens when ugly commerce encroaches upon an innocent Eden. Bunnies – even virtual bunnies – should be free.

Well, how did I get here?

Back in 1985 I moved right across the country to go to college in a new city. For various reasons I arrived a couple of months before the start of term, and consequently was pretty much on my own until the other students started showing up a few weeks later.

One evening, to ease my isolation, I ventured out to the cinema, which seemed quite adventurous at the time, as the movie I wanted to see was showing at a place on the other side of town, and I hadn’t really figured out even the basic geography of the city, let alone complicated things like the bus schedules. I eventually made it to the cinema though, and was rewarded with an enviable double bill; Talking Heads concert documentary Stop Making Sense, with the Coen brothers’ debut feature Blood Simple in support.

I came out of the movie theatre around midnight, facing a long walk back to my lonely flat, but buzzing with the excitement of living a new, free, life where such cultural delights were mine to enjoy on a whim.

That feeling lasted a good few years, probably until my late 20s, but, without me really noticing it happening, my life eventually became complicated by responsibility, and these days even something simple like taking in a new movie requires so much planning that I seldom manage it.

So it’s kind of bittersweet to recall that night; as it recedes further into the past the memory becomes increasingly infused with a sense of loss. I’d hate to forget it altogether though, since I don’t want to believe that it’s impossible that I’ll someday feel that way again.

Anyway, I was thinking of this tonight after hearing that Jonathan Demme had passed away. I have Stop Making Sense on DVD somewhere; I’ll have to dig it out for old times’ sake…

Unexpected excitement

Regular readers will have noticed that we’ve settled into a fairly regular one-post-per-month rhythm here at SLS, as I try to cling to the illusion that I am still an active blogger, despite all the evidence to the contrary. I was all set to make April’s post on our traditional 4/20 theme – probably something about the good news from Canada – but I’ve been jolted into action a couple of days early by the somewhat surprising news that we are to have a General Election in June, three years ahead of schedule.

Theresa May’s reasoning – go to the country now, before the full disastrous reality of Brexit becomes apparent, and while the opposition are a shambles – may be transparently cynical, but it is undeniably smart, since it is very difficult to imagine any outcome other than a solid Tory majority, which would give her the personal mandate she needs to take the country even further to the right.

So I’m not exactly optimistic right now, but I’m not hopeless either. Labour may be well behind in the national polls, but the support they have is geographically concentrated, and their recent turn to the left has brought in a new and energised layer of supporters, so there is a chance that they might manage to hang on to more of their seats than expected. The SNP are likely to sweep the board again in Scotland, which will deliver another block of anti-conservative MPs, not to mention unstoppable momentum for another Independence referendum.

Interesting times ahead for sure…

Guiding Light

Television’s Marquee Moon was released 40 years ago today. I’ve listened to it countless times, but it still sounds as alive and exciting as it did when I first encountered it. In these troubled times it’s good to have a reminder that some things are timeless.

Eve of destruction

In an hour or so Donald Trump will be sworn in as President, and, if one believes what one reads in the liberal press, the End Times will begin. Personally, I’ve been alternating between optimistically hoping that, once in power, Trump will dial down the crazy a few notches, and gloomily recalling that people expected the same thing from Hitler back in the 30s.

We’ll just have to wait and see I guess. Trump’s capacity for mayhem will be limited to some extent by his compromised legitimacy, the substantial opposition that exists within the country, and the fact that a massive bureaucracy like the US government is well able to resist the whims of the executive, but I’ve no doubt that life is about to get substantially more difficult for a large section of the US population.

At least Trump’s reign will be limited to four years at most; here in the UK our flirtation with insane populism has landed us on the path of no return out of Europe, which will cripple the country for generations. Our only hope is that this disaster will kindle some sort of revolution, but, the state of the left being what it is, that doesn’t look very likely.

Oh well, we’ve been here before and lived through it. Something will turn up