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In the midst of calamity…

Five links illustrating that even in the midst of calamity, the net remains full of variety, news and weirdness – in almost equal measure: The Smoking Gun has images of the envelopes that contained anthrax. Apple is to announce a breakthrough digital device – no one knows what it is, but it’s not a Mac. Derek’s going to be battling Heather – boyfriend versus girlfriend in photoshop tennis tomorrow. A Russian newspaper claims that all the evidence for Taliban involvement in terrorist attacks on the US is a farce. And a student teacher has swallowed her own toothbrush. You couldn’t make this stuff up.

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Saving Harry from fizzy sugar water…

Despite my vast daily consumption of Coca-Cola, I have to say that I’m weirdly drawn to the Save Harry campaign to keep Mr Potter off cans of fizzy sugar water…

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Language

On workaholics, sexaholics, alcholics and etymology…

I have a bone to pick with you. You’ve all had a drink in your lives, I assume. You’ve all gone out and bought some alcohol? Some of you may have got rather too keen on alcohol. You might even have become addicted. you might have become an alcoholic.

The term alcoholic is a slightly strange one. It sounds like a religion or philosophical position. Like Marxism. But more logically it sounds like a medical condition. Like necrotic (it means ‘dead-like’) or neurotic (someone with a neurosis). It’s clearly an adjective derived from a noun – in this case “Alcohol”. Alcohol, according to various dictionaries, comes from a word meaning any distillation or essence – and eventually only to what was previously called “alcohol of wine”. So alchohol goes to alchoholic, right? It’s simple! Alcohol is a substance, and the person who is obsessed with that substance or dependant upon it in some way is an alcoholic…

Now answer me this. When in your life have you ever drunk sexahol? Or workahol? Or chocahol? I’m not saying that a couple of drinks of sexahol wouldn’t go amiss at the moment. Nor, for that matter would a draught or two of chocahol. But they’re not substances. They don’t exist! So how can there be someone who is a workaholic? Or a sexaholic? Surely a more plausible description would be a workic or sexic or chocolatic? Well of course, the derivation of each of those words is different – they come from different languages and have evolved in different ways – so you can’t generalise quite in that way. But what is clear is that workaholism is just wrong. Plain wrong. Offensively wrong.

According to this model, alcohol becomes to be based around the idea of addiction. That the ‘alc’ part refers to drink, and the ‘ahol’ the addictive quality. But where is this phrase when you look at truly addictive products? Where’s the nicotinaholic? Where’s the crackaholic? Where’s the heroinaholic? It’s absurd. They’re just ridiculous words. They mean nothing.

Addenda: This rant was yet another one to emerge from a cursory viewing of Ally McBeal, the most annoying television series of all time.

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Damn you, Simon, I don't

Damn you, Simon, I don’t have time to play worm games all day. You wait til I get my hands on you, young man…

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I love Gina Snowdoll.

I love Gina Snowdoll.

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I was on the tube

I was on the tube this morning from Maida Vale to Farringdon, on my way to work. I normally change at Baker Street, so when I arrived at 9.15am I disembarked and started walking across to the Metropolitan line. Very quickly I became aware that something was wrong – there were raised voices from staff on a couple of platforms around me, and people were starting to move. A message came over the tannoy, “Due to a reported emergency, would all customers please leave the station immediately.” A couple of months ago, I’d just think it was a hoax bomb threat or something from the IRA, but suddenly you start thinking if it’s related to current events. And of course it probably is. Everyone left, no one got excited – it takes a lot to panic Londoners who are used to being pushed around by the vagaries of the metropolis – and pretty much everyone seemed to assume it was some kind of anthrax-related incident. And pretty much everyone thought it was probably a hoax. But if you step back a couple of feet from the edge of the neurotic precipice that Londoners live on all the time, you have to ask yourself – how on earth did we find ourselves here? And why are we all so comfortable with it?

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Matt Jones on "Rulespace"…

Anyone involved in website creation and the structuring of information and informational spaces should probably go and read Matt Jones piece on Rulespace.

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Jennifer Aniston is Wonder Woman!

One of the things I did at work yesterday:

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On Unspeakable Fucking Gall…

Now this is funny:

“if I see one more would-be guru tagging along on a rickety late-period goldrush line up unsupportable declarations (lookit me) to pique the five or six remaining executives (lookit me, sir!) to be convinced however temporarily that the web offers exciting ways to separate people from their money, and who have the UNSPEAKABLE FUCKING GALL to infantilize the work of individuals into an avoirdupois commodity called ìcontentî …”

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The Emptiest Place in Britain…

I grew up in a village in Norfolk which contained eighty people and fifty houses. We had no pub, we had no shop. We had a boat-hire place, a church and a phone box. The odd pylon. And for several years I really thought it was the most boring place in the world. And then I saw this.