Greetings everybody,

I've not much to put up today so I thought I'd share with you this brilliant headline which I "did" see over on BBC News a few days ago. Let me stress that I have "not" edited it in any way...


I knew it!

First up, thanks to Ginny for this link. I think we can all agree that that is the best thing ever? Good, let's move to the MEAT OF THE MATTER:

"Rude, unconsiderate and lacking in a due respect"

Who am I describing here? No, it's not the youth of today, it's the people who talk about "the youth of today".

It has long been a contention of mine that old people are majoratively a lot nastier than the young people they spend so much of the time complaining about, but the issue crystallised today during a half-hour visit to tesco when I experienced not one but THREE encounters which I will outline below before thrusting an argument in your face:

1) The Parking Lot - Going In
I'm waiting for a space. An old man gets into his car. He has two car lengths behind him, and ample space either side. It takes him 7 minutes to get out of the space. I know this because a 7 minute long song was on Brian Davidson at the time. I'm not suggesting this would have been any less annoying if he hadn't been old (and I'm hardly Mr. Swift Car Action myself) but in the light of what followed I found this interesting.
Comment that you'd think an old person would say which this elicited from me: "He oughtn't to be allowed on the road"

2) Within the Store
An old woman who for the purposes of anonymity we'll be calling "Mrs. Halitosis" comes up to me and, breathing all over me (holy God, no really), asks if she can have my trolley. Well, my trolley had my bags in it, and though I may be young and ungrateful I still havent developed the ability to carry six shopping bags and 4 baguettes to the car by myself yet. Also, the trolley had a pound of mine in it, and there were loads at the front of the shop, so I didn't feel too bad about saying no. OFF SHE SKULKED WITHOUT A WORD. How incredibly rude.
Comment that you'd think an old person would say which this elicited from me: "They just have no respect"

3) The Parking Lot - Going Out
As I get into the glorious Peug, past me shuffles an old woman we'll be calling "Satan Incarnate And She'd Better Damn Well Hope She Never Crosses My Path A Second Time". Here comes our exchange in full, verbatim (I remember it very well):
SIASBDWHSNCMPAST: Oh, very disabled!
Me: I beg your pardon?
SIASBDWHSNCMPAST: I said, "very disabled!"
Me: Oh, well actually this isn't a disabled space - it's near the front of the store but it's the first space which isn't a disabled one. Sorry. Take a look!
SIASBDWHSNCMPAST: [cryptically] Yeah, well...
Exit, Stage Right
Comment that you'd think an old person would say which this elicited from me: "If I ever see that woman again I'm going to give her some of George's Fucking Marvellous Fucking Medicine because that's what she Fucking Deserves*"

Called to the stand in defence of young people accross the world who have endured this shit for too long, my Exhibit A would be the last example above. I'd have immediately forgotten encounters one and two if the third hadn't distilled this argument into my speech-brain; the third is objectionable. It's disgusting.

But let's be clear about this: it's not disgusting because she felt it her duty to chastise me for stealing a disabled space. It's disgusting because she didn't apologise when she discovered her mistake, even superficially; because she is, I would wager a significant amount, right at this moment telling her loved ones (if she has any**) about the disrespectful young man who had full use of his legs but was parking in a disabled space at the shops HAS NO-ONE GOT ANY RESPECT ANY MORE?

Let's look at language, because I'm an english student and that gets me going. Check out how she opens the conversation: no greeting, no polite lead-in... ah, sarcasm! Excellent.*** How does she close it? By walking off, mid-sentence. Check out everything I say. I'm civilised, polite, and apologetic. Oh my god, I'm apologetic. I apologised to her because she was wrong? Perfect

This is particularly interesting when you consider that instead of apologising, I'd have been well within my rights to punch her in the face, put her in a spaceship, and fire her directly into the sun****. Of course there are young people who are not as deferential as I am, and many people my age are downright scallions who deserve the spaceship treatment just as much as my evil friend from today, but what I can't stand any longer is to hear "young people" spoken of in this diminutive fashion, and though I know several elderly folk who are sterling examples of wonderfulness (such as my own grandparents), I have determined IN PROTEST to speak diminutively of the old in general terms until such a time as the hatred on the other side goes the way of the albatross.

If all you've learned from an extended lifetime is that there is no joy in anything, please don't take it out on us. We are horrified by your conclusions for your sake, but we reject them out of hand. We are young and joyful and our day is coming. Thank you.

* Okay, I admit you're unlikely to see an actual old person saying this one.
** Yeah that was harsh, I take it back
*** Irony
**** Not true, of course. Waste of spaceship.

Ladies and gentlemen, myspace now holds an unmastered draft mp3 of Californian Styled #2, a recently completed album track featuring two entire seconds of the Hectic Eclectic Folk Choir! Once again, this is a very rough mix, so be sympathetic listeners, and enjoy! It's in some respects a ROCKIER track than is general chez FaceOmeter these days, so you might enjoy it. Go have thee a listen?!

So here's the thing, right:


Remember this? When I were a young lad, the professor here was like a member of your family. And if it wasn't him and his genius cube, or whatever he had that week, it'd be Tony the Tiger, or the Shreddie [sic?] monster, or any of that bunch. But the professor has now been retired from Weetos. He was initially replaced by a photo of a kid on a swing made of a giant Weeto [sic?] but even this was clearly deemed too potentially interesting for the bright young minds of tomorrow, and has now been excised from the packaging in favour of pure, unadulterated boring.

This is how people start becoming conservatives, I swear. Give me my fucking cereal back! They may taste as good as ever without the prof, but not only was my latest box of Weetos devoid of him, there was no free stupid decoder robot toy either and (deep intake of breath) there were no puzzles on the back! There was just lots of information about how healthy Weetos are. Oh my god! I can't wait to meet the child who grew up just reading THAT every morning!

Imagine, if you can, that you're 10. I know, I know. But try. Now tell me which of the following sentences, read daily, is going to engage your mind most effectively:
a) "47 weetos contain a gross average of 52.81% of your RDA allowance of blandium. Do not eat more than 53 weetos or you will become obese and Gordon Brown will put you in a special squishing machine which-" WAIT too interesting, let's try again. "Weetos are made from the grains of crops, which are harvested by men, and then put in a box. Eating just five weetos a day will help you to stay healthy, fit and active"
Typing those last four words was so intense that my right bollock fell off, but I'm commited to bringing the message to you people so let's have a look at sentence B:
b) "A Tyrannosaurus Rex weighed considerably more than your mum's car, and its teeth were longer than your head. Look inside this pack for a free plastic one you can build forts with"
Answer the same question, this time pretending you're your actual age. OMG, did you get the same answer?

It was my intention to segue neatly into a general argument about the pernicious way we treat the education of our young (thanks Philip Pullman), but you're all people of intelligence. You all see where I'm going with this. This isn't a fight one man can win. Join together, people. Hold your hands aloft. Let's reclaim breakfast. Let's have catapults, and cut-out puppets, and holograms, and aliens. Let's have puzzles, and interesting facts, and new words to annoy our parents with. Let's have one area, just ONE AREA of our society where we eschew our self-concious magazine-imposed regime of physical fitness in favour of being interested, and excited, and entertained.

I'm not saying cereal shouldn't be healthy, just that if you're spending more than one A4 side of the box telling someone that it is, you have a problem. And I don't speak from the point of view of someone who is terribly nostalgic for the 80s, I'm just out here to suggest that these modern beliefs are destroying our kids perhaps even more than violence on TV is.

Friends, Romans, Countrymen: tonight was going to be the basis for the brilliant third episode of the FACEOMETER WEBLOG. Yes, I know the first two aren't out yet, I'm waiting on the animations! It'll be worth it I promise! Anyway, the third episode was not to be because, and I'm going to stop circumventing this issue now:

CARLING ARE WANKERS

Yes folks, you heard it here first (?last)! Here are some reasons:
* Overpriced Tickets
* Dingy, Souless Interiors
* Toilets in which EVERY cubicle's lock is missing
* A small lemonade? £1.95
* Universally atrocious sound (this should, on reflection, perhaps be at the top of the list. Or it should be the list)

and, especially relevant tonight:
* Wouldn't let me take my camcorder in to their bloody venue, presumably because it would provide high-quality documentary evidence of the above and shame them internationally (yet every single member of the audience was carrying a mobile phone and they can record almost as well as &c.)

THAT SAID, it is therefore even bigger props to MC LARS that he managed to put on such an awesome show! Sure, his mic didn't work and you couldn't hear any of the actual instruments, but his love sallied forth to the crowd, where it danced a hornpipe of beats over the tarnished fragments of my soul and (drivelling nerdcore fanboy rant continues indefinitely)

Goodness me, is it that time of year again already? I'm not getting any younger.

Season's greetings to the lot of you; I'll be "celebrating" by curling into a little ball and wondering when it's all going to go away.

Zing.

Edit: Stalwart associate Julia Mandelbrot has picked this auspicious day to launch a myspace presence. Check him/her out!

Props to the Dapper Swindler, who in a rare moment of knowing what the Internet is sent me this link to a fabulous looking Weltmeister Caprice. Now I can't afford it (obviously), but I can afford to reproduce the brilliantly translated disclaimer at the bottom of the page. Or should I say "beside the anterior of the webbed location"?

"For shipment damages I do not take over adhesion. Everything which I auctioneer is before for its condition and function - if differently not indicated - examined. Complaints after dispatch cannot be accepted (even if no outward damage is identifiable by the package) I sales fair, which one sees also on my evaluations. I can be responsible however for it if a courier driver the package with your article, inadmissibly and not with ensure-fall to enough treated.Insured postage ! (DPD International Express) The article (like that as it is) from private sells to request to have it understanding for this reference. Because after the new legislation I am to be pointed out obligated that I do not take over warranty / guarantee for the offered article. This does not mean that the article is not correct, but rather that I cannot naturally carry the guaranteeing out required by law as a private person."

Hey though, before we get too merry... this is still way above my German. Just bear it in mind the next time somebody tells you that there are no rules in language so long as meaning is clear. Take THAT, Orwell!

Well there's a newcomer in the race for the coveted FaceOmeter "best short story ever" competition, in which so far none of the candidates are disadvantaged by having been dead for many many years. Alongside James Joyce* and Roald Dahl**, up pops Katherine Mansfield:


Much to my shame, I'd not encountered Kathy before, but now her stories are large trees going into the sawmill of my brain and coming out as delicate little shards of love. If, like me, you were IGNORANT of her before now, do yourself a favour and pick up her selected stories, available annotated with an excellent introduction in OWC for an outrageous £6.99 (£2.25 from the amazon marketplace, bless it). The best story so far is named after the Coleridge poem "Something Childish but very Natural", which I've reproduced below because it, too, is awesome. For my money the story sits up there alongside "The Dead" and "Taste", and this is probably the only place in the world you'll find those three stories mentioned in the same sentence. FaceOmeter: proving arbitrary judgments of artistic merit arbitrary since 2003!

*I know, but you know.
**Yesssssss


If I had but two little wings
And were a little feathery bird,
To you I'd fly, my dear!
But thoughts like these are idle things,
And I stay here.

But in my sleep to you I fly:
I'm always with you in my sleep!
The world is all one's own.
But then one wakes, and where am I?
All, all alone.

Sleep stays not, though a monarch bids:
So I love to wake ere break of day:
For though my sleep be gone,
Yet while 'tis dark, one shuts one's lids,
And still dreams on.

Ladies and gentlemen, it is with great pleasure that I announce the newest FaceOmeter sister initiative, the FaceOmeter Web Log (fOwl). fOwl will incorporate this blog and a series of video podcasts filmes by ME and cut by ME, perhaps from the streets, like ME. For the video podcasts we at team Face are incredibly lucky to be under the caring eyes of Ceridwen Brown, who's making us a stop motion animation for the opening credits. Footage for the first two episodes is also complete, and they'll be appearing soon.

In episode one I go to a Jeff Lewis gig, and in episode two Max and I drive to Exeter to play a gig. Compelling viewing. And if you can't wait till I sit down and beat my head against the rock that is WMM to produce them, I've got a song from that Exeter gig live right now for you to look at. It's here, and also embedded over at myspace.

This is the final in what is, for now anyway, a quartet of essays on the subject of the vibe. If you haven't got it (/got "it"?(!)) by now then there's no point continuing, but in an effort to combat the sectarianism which is already arising from the tendancy amongst some to use words like "multi" and "super" interchangably, I take this chance to lay out an exact heirarchy of terms, starting with the best and moving down. A-like so:

Poly
Pulti
Multi
Hyper
Super
Special
[normality]
Standard
Blandard
Hatred
Breaktred
Destructo
Terror Zone

Other posts in the 'Vibe' series:
What is "it"?
The Vible - A fragment
An exposition