Word-whore. I write 'em. I talk 'em. Information, politics, media, and the cybers. I drink. I use bad words. All publication is a political act. All communication is propaganda. All art is pornography. All business is personal. All hail Eris! Vive les poissons rouges sauvages!
No, this isn’t an apologia for Nazis, far from it. It’s a plea to reserve “fascist” for situations which actually warrant the term.
There may (may the gods forbid!) come a time when we need to label a government fascist and be taken seriously. So please, don’t devalue it by calling every little disruption of personal choice “fascist”. It’s a very poor media strategy.
Continue reading “Reclaiming Fascism: perspective please, people!”
The exhibition Emotional Architecture at Tap Gallery on Tuesday night. Stained glass work by Jeffrey Hamilton (for a preview, check the photos and more words by The Other Andrew), and photography by Jenn Tao. Worth a look.
And several thousand bonus points to Tajine at the Republic for providing excellent food and stunning service to our, erm, boisterous crowd.
The classic Parker Brothers game Monopoly has been “updated” for the 21st Century. In the Monopoly Here & Now limited edition, the familiar player tokens of the top hat, the boot, the old-fashioned sports car and the rest are gone — replaced by a laptop, a mobile phone, trainers, a coffee cup and a bag of fries.
Inflation has struck. No longer do you collect $200 when you pass “Go”. Your salary is $2,000,000 — but then the real estate prices are up in the millions too. The railway stations have been replaced by a cell-phone service and an ISP. Community Chest cards include “You are runner up on a Reality TV show. Collect $100,000,” and in a Chance card you get a tax break for driving a hybrid car.
But in the ultimate concession to the New Century, there’s product placement. The coffee cup token is Starbucks-branded, and the fries are McDonald’s.
Should you wish to try before you buy, there’s an interactive demo.
According to that ever-reliable journal, The Sun, fitness instructor Sam Connell is the Royal Navy‘s first ever male trainer to be accused of a sexual liaison with a male recruit. That’s right, the very first. Ever.
Now it just so happens that Mr Connell is a finalist in Mr Gay UK. And while the prize money is only £5000, it strikes me that having his photo in The Sun won’t harm his post-RN career path. A hunky “I was a sailor” fitness instructor should do quite nicely.
And thank you to Richard Watts for keeping his eye on the tabloids. It’s a tough job, but someone’s got to do it.
These three cleverly-designed clocks make the world look nicer… and the gods know we need that on a Monday morning!
Until now I’ve avoided adding to the 11 September outpourings. It’s important, yes, but it takes time to reflect. And I don’t really remember it anyway. Garth Kidd‘s phone call woke me. A plane had crashed into the World Trade Centre, he said. I told him it wasn’t my fault, I couldn’t do anything about it — and went back to sleep.
Oops.
Five years on, I’m not mourning. I didn’t know anyone there. There’s only subdued anger. I’m angry that the deaths of 2749 human beings (plus 19 terrorists) have since been used for questionable political ends. Angry that Australia seems to have gone along with everything that’s come out of it, like a faithful little lap-dog. (However even the most cowardly little lap-dog will bark when he’s asked to do something wrong.) And angry that America’s worst ever terrorist attack has such a stupid name.