Category: Random

Guy Ritchie, boss of a friend of mine, spouse of icon and creator of Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels and the upcoming Snatch (NB: snatch.com is not the film site!) is guest editing Time Out this week. There’s even a photo of him lurking by the back door of the Time Out building in London looking all pensive. I wish someone would have told me – I would have liked to have seen that in progress. I’m probably in the background pulling my hair out, to be honest…

When is all publicity not good publicity? Penguin Books have just released a book called katie.com [Full Article: Guardian]. The book describes the experiences of a girl who runs her own website and who came into contact and was finally assaulted by a paedophile she met in a chatroom. Unfortunately, katie.com isn’t the domain name of her site, but of a completely unrelated website. And now the second Katie is getting vast amounts of traffic, along with tons of e-mail talking about the issues surrounding paedophilia.

The latter Katie is extremely irritated, and asked them to change the name of the book. Penguin’s lawyers responded with a very firm no, stating that she had no case whatsoever.

So when is all publicity not good publicity?

1. When what should be your intellectual property (unless proven otherwise) is used without your approval or consent – ie. katie.com.
2. When the association between yourself and the book means that people think that you have been assaulted or raped by a paedophile.
3. When your traffic increases to such an extent that you must pay additional bandwidth charges (as seems likely in this case).
4. When your e-mail address is undermined by thousands of e-mails describing disturbing and upsetting events (not to place any blame onto those people who have written of course).
5. And when the distressed caused to you has been completely ignored by the company concerned.

It turns out that my mother was right. Neither she nor my brother liked Being John Malkovich at all. Not even a little bit. I could feel them next to me in the cinema squirming, desperate to get out. My mother thought it was inappropriate material for a 15 year old and that it was too long. My brother just thought it was boring.

Major flashback: Maggie Let It Go has finally got its arse in gear and scanned in the pictures from the epic collision of Mark, Katy, Vance and myself. The first thing Katy then did with them was write dodgy captions to them all, including the stylish “Ok, who farted?”. She’s so classy.

I am having substantial difficulty persuading my mother that she needs to go and see Being John Malkovich this evening. She seems convinced that she just won’t like it. The problem is, I go and see so many films, that I’ve pretty much seen all the new releases on in London at the moment. And there is no way on god’s earth that you’re getting me to go and see the Patriot again…

The weblogger’s new hair…

It’s surprisingly difficult to get a decent photo which adequately shows up what are essentially relatively subtle new hair effects, which may go some way to explain why it’s taken me so long to find something. This picture, in fact, actually doesn’t do it any justice at all, but it was the only one from my recent webcam tests that even vaguely looked right. Judge for yourself.

I also received a highly entertaining e-mail regarding this hair thing. It reads:

“Spotted: Strolling down Oxford Street on a muggy Sunday afternoon with
family in tow, one weblogger with new hair.
“Verdict?: Looking good!”

I’m really letting it all out today – venting left, right and centre – weblogging like there’s no tomorrow. Which might indeed be the case if I fulfill my ambition and become an Evil Supercriminal.

When I was a kid, the whole ‘evil’ thing really didn’t appeal to me. I had my hair cut very responsibly, I couldn’t handle conflict very well and whenever I went to see a movie, I would come home and desperately try to build the hero’s special car or bike or helicopter or plane or spaceship (I saw fairly generic movies) out of the all purpose panacea to being a kid in a village of eighty people in Norfolk with only a phone box for company: Lego.

My imagination would take flight when I was up in my room playing – the room would look like a complete wreck when I had done with it, with mountainous valleys made out of duvets, hidden subterranean bases (Bond) down the back of the sofa, vast forces of heroic lego people on small hover bikes (Star Wars), Helicopters bristling with missle launchers (Blue Thunder), Delorean-alike time-travelling cars (Back to the Future 1, 2 & 3) etc etc etc. But in all of this it was only the heroes that really interested me. Never did I pay the slightest bit of attention to the bad guys.

Until puberty that is, when I became completely and overwhelmingly confused by everything. I’d still frantically read the books with the heroes in them, the comic book good guys were always important to me, the films where the bad guy got trounced were staples of my imaginative life. But I started to get a darker thrill from the presence of the evil supercriminals – people who didn’t have respect for society, people who weren’t interested in puppies and blonde girls and apple pie and fudge brownies, but instead would prefer to annihilate Frankfurt with a huge gun and an over-fluffed white cat.

It has remained this way throughout my adult life. I want to be a bad guy. I want to rule the world. I want to be the Sherriff of Nottingham, “You! 12.30. You! 12.45. You! 1.00 … bring a friend…”

And now I know how I can make this dream come true: So You’ve Decided To Be Evil? [via glassdog]

Mothers: My mother never reads my weblog. I think maybe she did once, and then decided that she didn’t want to hear about what happened in my life after all. And then stopped. I don’t know if that’s true or not to be honest. It just seems likely to me. My brother does read my weblog either. I think maybe he’s scared to.

Mark‘s mother reads his weblog, and more than that, she reads mine as well. And Katy’s. When Katy and I met her when Mark was in town, she said how good she thought weblogs were, and how happy she was that Mark had an outlet for his thoughts, where he could write and get responses from it. I remember thinking at the time what a cool attitude that was, and how she obviously completely knew what she was doing.

Megnut‘s mother goes one better. Meg’s got her to write her weblog for a while. I can’t help thinking that that suggests a really really good relationship – when the mother takes such an active interest in the passions of her children. I kind of think my mother and I have called a truce on this kind of stuff. I think we’ve figured out between us that there are just some (many?) things that she just doesn’t want to know or talk about. So we don’t.

I don’t know what that says about our relationship.

My mother and little brother arrived in London yesterday. They are staying with me in my flat for a few days while Kate and Mella are out of town. I have to say that part of me was extremely worried about their arrival – I assumed that we’d find it difficult actually “living” together, even for a couple of days. But things have actually been going really well.

Yesterday they arrived about one, and we went out straight away for lunch. My brother is now 5’8″, which I find terrifying since he is only 14. Only two inches shorter than me. I’m not sure I like that. Afterwards we wandered into the centre of town, and went to Selfridges, Gap and various other clothes shops where my mother desperately attempted to buy me shirts, without much luck (I find it hard to find something I like when pressed). Then we wandered over to Leicester Square and saw The Whole Nine Yards. Which was, I am afraid to say, poor. A quick bite to eat later and I’m up on the net most of the night, while my family collapse in bed asleep.

Today has been similarly busy, albeit in a slightly more cultural way (although my attempts to foster my brother’s interests in modern art have failed dismally). We all went to the Tate Modern, and managed to work our way through about a third of the building before collapsing under the strain. I managed not to spend to much money in the bookshop either, which has to be a first. We’re now mooching around the flat and trying to work out where to eat this evening. It’s all very civilised…

The Onion is right on the mark again – this time let the chocolate giants feel the wrath of this mighty campaigning organ:

“The five-state class-action suit accused Hershey’s of “knowingly and willfully marketing rich, fatty candy bars containing chocolate and other ingredients of negligible nutritional value.” The company was also charged with publishing nutritional information only under pressure from the government, marketing products to children, and artificially “spiking” their products with such substances as peanuts, crisped rice, and caramel to increase consumer appeal.”