Wednesday, March 29, 2006

THE ARMY RECRUITMENT DRIVE

The worst thing about being incarcerated in Camp X-Ray has to be the fact that it's called Camp X-Ray, surely. When you hear "Camp X-Ray" it brings to mind the image of a skeleton standing in the "I'm a little teapot" pose. That's no name for a prison for hardened soldier-wannabes, is it? I think that this may constitute both cruel and the oft-mentioned, rarely defined, unusual punishment.

The US military do like to refer to places as camp, I've noticed; Camp David's the most obvious example. It gives the impression that these places were built that day, they're just there to bed down, roughing it, at one with the elements, eating rabbits they've killed with a catapult made from two sticks and a sock.

While I appreciate the macho sentiment, I'm not entirely sure that this is the impression that an organised military force should be giving. I mean, they've moved on from bivouacs and tents, right? It's like calling aerial support "the hot air balloon people". Let's snap it up a little, move this stuff into the 21st Century already, okay, guys? (Or not. Please don't shoot me.)

Tuesday, March 28, 2006

THE PICCADILLY

The "Panic button" news story is irresistible to me. I can't imagine being in a panicking situation and still having the presence of mind to press one particular button.

I imagine it's just one huge red button, maybe with a huge "panic" decal on it. Actually the panic button probably uses the internationally recognised symbol for panic - that's a stick man pulling his hair out on a yellow triangular background. Because, if there's more than one button on that dashboard of panic, you're really in trouble when you lose your head. You'd be there, slapping all the buttons - your desk lamp would be going on and off, the fan would switch on, there'd be papers blowing about. You don't want too many options when it comes to the panic button.

My trouble with the panic button would be knowing when to use it, I think. I'm one of those people - I've got four heavy bags of shopping, one of the handles has split, it's pouring with rain, I still don't catch the bus, you know? "Grrr... I can... make it... I'm... fine." I think I'd be like that with the panic button. The accused attacks me - no panic, I'm not ready to panic yet. The accused stabs me with the shiv he's knocked up in the prison-workshop - no panic, I'll be fine, I'm just losing blood. The accused gets behind me, strangles me with the chain from his handcuffs... I was fine up until then but now I'm getting the spots before my eyes, I can't breathe properly, I've lost all sensation below the neck... Okay, now I'm panicking. Now I'm reaching for the panic button. Let's make it official. Let's panic.

What does the panic button connect to anyway? I think it's just a crew of low-paid security guys watching cctv screens and reading the sports results in the newspaper. That panic button goes, it sets off the spinning red light, there's an arooga noise, it's anarchy in that squad room. The first thing hitting that panic button does is sets these guys into one.

What you really need is to work up to using the panic button. Maybe they could install a "slightly wary" button and a "in a tizzy" button next to it.

Friday, March 24, 2006

THE MATHEMATIC CLERIC

Why do dictionaries have page numbers? What's that for? Are there people who refer to words by the pages they're on? Is there some weird reading circle that reads it from page one to page 450? I cannot think of any possible benefit to having those pages numbered.

You know what I think it is? The numbers people have put pressure on the word people to include them. The word people, they know all about bigotry, intolerance and exclusion - they know what these terms mean. They don't want to alienate the numbers people so they included their tin pot belief system in the dictionary.

But do we have to pander to the mathematicians? They want their own schools, their own books of learning, but they still kick up a stink when they're not included in our dictionary.

You want to follow the ways of mathematics? Go back to wherever you came from and stop preaching maths to us.

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

THE SOUND OF SILENCE

What is the perverse rationale behind the silent treatment? "I'm not going to talk to you, but I'm going to be right here, right next to you, not talking to you." I've known a few people who've indulged in the silent treatment as their weapon of choice (and if they're reading this - please, make yourself known, leave a blank message in the comments field!). It's so pointless.

I mean, if you're mad at me, tell me. Otherwise, I'm not only ignorant but I'm living in some weird Buster Keaton movie now.

Is it possible for monks to give each other the silent treatment? Because to them, the silent treatment is normal. It's part of what they're signed up for there. Would they even know if they were getting the silent treatment bestowed upon them?

Thinking about that reminds me of that famous monk morality story - The Monk Who Didn't Cry Wolf. That's why you never see sheep in a monastery.

Monday, March 20, 2006

THE BRONZE

Why isn't there anything after the bronze medal? You've got your gold for first, silver second, bronze third - but it just tails off there. Would it be so hard to give a medal to the guy who got fourth place? He did almost as much training as the first three guys; there are, like, three people in the whole world who are faster than him - isn't that worth a little recognition?

I don't really see where the medals are coming from, anyway. Gold for first is fine, because it is a rare, highly prized metal to represent the rare, highly prized individual who leaps hurdles or swims lengths a tenth of a second quicker than some other guys. Silver, for similar reasons, I guess - still highly prized, still plenty rare.

But bronze?! Bronze is just an alloy, copper and tin. None of this is very rare. I mean, there was a whole Age named after Bronze, it's so common. What is this medal telling the third quickest sprinter on the planet?

"Gold, silver - they're rare. You, bronze guy? You're everywhere. Two a penny, my friend. It'll be a cold day in Hell when we call on your running services."

There are plenty of other alloys out there. What about giving the guy who came in fourth place, I dunno, a steel medal. At least he managed to find the stadium.

Friday, March 17, 2006

THE ENGLEHART

Suicide bomber seems like a strange career choice to me. I can't really see where that career ladder is headed. Once you're a suicide bomber, that's really your working life over with. There's definitely a glass ceiling in that occupation, and I'm pretty sure they don't have a pension scheme or private healthcare.

I'd guess you have to work your way through the terrorist ranks to become a suicide bomber. I mean, you don't just get suicide bombing as your first assignment, there's got to be more to it than that. It seems to be mostly young men who do this suicide bombing stuff when you see it on the news, there aren’t a lot of old guys in this occupation, I've noticed.

I'd guess it's really more of an assignment than a job. You know, you get into work in the morning, over at the secret terrorist cell and find a note in your pigeonhole or your name on the rota under "suicide bombing". And what is with the terrorist cell anyway? You want to overthrow the current regime and you're working in a "cell"?! Couldn't you come up with a more encouraging name?! I'm thinking "terrorist nirvana" or "terrorist Shangri La" would be, y'know, something.

So, the boss is handing out the week's assignments, you know, and it's: "Terrorist A, I want you to do some petitioning on the street, drum up some support against the current regime; Terrorist B, I need some photocopies made of our superior doctrine; Terrorist C, you'll be suicide bombing the home of democracy and commerce; and Terrorist D, I have some dry cleaning to pick up..." (You'll note here that, like terrorist trials in the news, the terrorists themselves are referring to each other only by letters. Call me a stickler for accuracy.)

Everyone's rushing off to fulfil their respective tasks, and Terrorist C is like... "Hang on a minute - you want me to do what? But, I don't wanna be a suicide bomber."

"Well, look, son, we've all really admired your work with the pamphleting and the terrorist recruitment. We cannot fault that. We all talked it over and we think you're the right guy for this suicide bombing stuff."

"Waitaminute, you all talked it over? Where was I? Don't I get a vote?"

"'A vote'? Son, you've really not been paying attention at our terrorist rallies, have you? We're trying very hard to overthrow the regime of one man-one vote here. No one gets a say - that's, like, our whole credo, friend."

"Is there any chance I can swap assignments?"

"I wouldn't think so."

I'd guess that the suicide bomber is really just the most unpopular guy in the terrorist cell, the one no one likes very much. You know the sort - he's keen to please but he's very annoying. The other terrorists keep giving him bad assignments just see how far he'll go in the hopes he'll take the hint and leave them alone.

Thursday, March 16, 2006

THE CHILD'S RATE

What is with the child's fare? How come they're paying less than I am to go anywhere? The Mayor of London is introducing free transport for the under 16s, what's that about?

It seems to me that it's the grown-ups who need to get to places. When you're young you're full of energy and you've got nowhere to go. You're just wandering around aimlessly, bumping into stuff and eating toxic sweets. When you're a kid you can run across town without a second thought. It's once you're out of school that you need to get to places in a hurry and you don't have the energy to walk it.

It's no wonder everyone's so obsessed with these obese children. Make them pay double fare on the buses - see how many obese children you can rustle up after that initiative.

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

THE NEW SCIENTIST

How many documentaries do we need to tell us that "The sitcom is dead"? They're all at it these days, aren't they? You cannot turn on the television without some "expert" telling you that the sitcom is dead. It's the number one topic of documentaries today.

What happened to all the science topics? Did they use all of those up? Have people stopped inventing new science we can talk about in documentary-land?

And, here's the real kicker: Will & Grace. My Name is Earl. Friends.

We have sitcoms. Popular sitcoms. Sitcoms that run and run. Sitcoms that still get the highest viewing figures worldwide of any single television programme. The documentary is certainly showing signs of senility here, but the sitcom isn't dead.

I'm tired of having the documentaries picking on the sitcoms. They're only jealous because the sitcoms are getting higher viewing figures and have cornered the sell-through TV market. How many Horizon and Equinox box sets are in the top ten DVD rentals this week? There's no Everybody Loves the Money Programme box set.

Where are all the sitcoms heralding the death of documentaries, huh? That's what I want to know. Let's make a fight of this.

Tuesday, March 14, 2006

THE AIR ATTACK

The spitfire's a wacky name for an aeroplane. I mean, spit fire? This is a whole health and safety lawsuit just waiting to happen.

I'm all for the strong name for the military aircraft, but I'm not sure I want to be in a vehicle whose main attribute is that it spits fire. Spitting bullets might convince me, but it's that whole issue of being on fire while hundreds of feet above the ground that worries me.

The US helicopters are all named after American Indian tribes. There's the Apache, the Tomahawk, I dunno, probably a Navajo in there somewhere. That seems like a pretty random way of naming them. I mean, how many Native American's were taking to the skies? How much peyote are they taking to pull off that stunt?

It's a curious mark of respect to name your helicopters after the people you ousted from the land where the factory building them now stands.

Friday, March 10, 2006

THE PRESSURE

Amnesty International have been out in force in my local town this week. You can't walk two shops without having another one of these guys rush up to you with their "Can you spare a minute for Amnesty?" If I'm honest, I find it all very intimidating.

It doesn't help that, for reasons I can’t begin to fathom, the Amnesty International colours this year are black on black. Really, it's like something out of a samurai revenge flick, a group of sinister night stalkers approaching me in the evening twilight while I'm minding my own klown business.

One of these Amnesty guys I could handle, maybe two or three, but eight in quick succession is overpowering odds. I'm suffering from enforced walk deprivation, I'm being battered with questions from different interviewers, it feels never-ending and all I want to do is get out of that situation, get home and see my family just one more time. I feel like they're trying to force me into making a statement I wouldn't make under normal conditions.

None of the pro-torture guys are hassling me on the streets like this.

Thursday, March 09, 2006

THE BONG

An Oxfordshire nursery has changed the lyrics to the classic nursery rhyme from "Baa Baa Black Sheep" to "Baa Baa Rainbow Sheep" to "avoid offence to people based on race". You know, I'm getting really tired of this. Rainbow Sheep is clearly an effort to promote hallucinogenic drugs to young children.

"Man, have you seen the rainbow sheep?"

Why bring this whole race issue nonsense into it? Do the stoners who run this Oxfordshire nursery really think anyone is falling for that old excuse? Are they that high on LSD that they think we won't spot what's going on there?

Rainbow sheep my eye!

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

THE 20 A DAY

You really have to admire the way the Metro newspaper targets those niche markets - a competition in today's edition offers readers the chance to win a "quit smoking kit". Yep, you heard me - a kit.

I'm interested to learn what is contained in the quit smoking kit. I'm guessing you have some soggy matches, one of those cigarette lighters that's run out of fuel and just sparks in vain when you roll the ignition wheel, and, of course, a packet of cigarettes. An empty packet of cigarettes.

But even with all those items in the kit, there are some people whose addiction is just too deep rooted to halt - the ever trusty chain smokers. I love the term "chain smokers". "Smoker" just sounds like a pastime, but "chain smoker" - that's a whole occupation you have there. You have to go on training courses to become a chain smoker. They have their own union.

For these people, I feel that sleep is really the only time they're guaranteed not to smoke. What they need in that quit smoking kit is a tranquilliser gun filled with that stuff they use to fell elephants.

"Great news, guys I haven’t had a cigarette for two weeks! I've finally quit smoking! It's a triumph of man's will power over the evils of nicotine."

"Get real, Rip Van Winkle - we just shot you with an elephant tranq."

Thursday, March 02, 2006

THE WASH OF NOSTALGIA

If there's one thing I really miss it's tidal waves. In the 70s, all you ever heard about was tidal waves. Everything was tidal wave this and tidal wave that. Without fail, every news bulletin you saw had a tidal wave just breezing past the camera, the inhabitants of Hawaii or Brighton being swept away or scrambling up one of those high storm walls, trying to get the heck out of the way of that thing.

These days it's all about the tsunami. Nobody cares about lowly old tidal wave anymore. He's passé, out of fashion. The tidal wave has missed the boat. That ship has sailed. Tsunami is the sexy Asian equivalent of the tidal wave, all kung fu moves and Eastern philosophy. Tidal wave just can’t compete with that. He's a relic from a simpler time.

I think what we have here is what students of language call a sea change.

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

MY FLORIDA COMPLEX

Whenever you see films of pre-World War I factories there seem to be a lot of 12 year old boys running the show. It's the same when they show the early telephone exchanges. You look at photographs of who they were sending down the coal mine in the Nineteenth Century, who was working the mill, even the newspaper sellers - it's all 12 year old boys. Where are all the adults in these pictures? What were they doing when they filmed the factory at work? They're all at home, living it up.

Now, far be it for me to fly in the face of 100 years of social reform and child labour laws, but doesn't that seem a better life to you? Sure, you start work when you're seven years old, you're working down the mine until you're 16 or 17, but after that you're retired, your life is your own.

I tell you, if it hadn’t been for those employment reforms I'd be living in a beach house in Florida right now, laughing about the long hours I used to put in at the factory in my childhood. Who's the real winner here, huh?