Palermo Is Rather Hangout at Night

Just back from Palermo, Sicily, a city (parts of which) are so run-down and neglected over the centuries that the Mafia moved in and ran a war through its streets. Now young people are taking over. Artists are building installations out of the ruins. I think they’ve grown sick of the division.

But Big Business doesn’t give a damn about Palermo and its active, creative, well-educated young people. The city is way outside the Blue Banana of European retail hotspots. The scale of dereliction is so vast, and the street markets so massive, it redefines People Power. There are few McDonalds in the whole of Sicily, and yet there are plenty of attractive retail opportunities in say, Liverpool, a city at the head of the Blue Banana, and looking towards Europe with open arms.

So here’s a young artist in Palermo who appears to be doing something by draping the derelict Piazza Garraffello with global brand names. Uwe Jaentsch.

Wikipedia’s wonderful translation from the Italian sums it up so very well:

“Garraffello Square is a square in Palermo.

The square is located in the district La Loggia or Mandamento Sea Castle in the historic center of Palermo, and is the heart of the market Vucciria.

Since 2008 the square, the theater during the daylight hours of the market is rather hangout at night and open air disco, reggae vibration between Muffn’, Funk, Hip Pop, Hard Techno, Breakbeat, Dubstep and gastronomy characteristic. In the center is the ‘ fountain of the same name located on site in the sixteenth century.”

Volcano Live and Kate’s Winnebago Moment

Yet more grim programming for the BBC. Volcano Live. How did this crazy idea ever reach fruition? I suffered ten minutes of Kate Humble and some professor competing in a breathless race to speak over each other and then run out of things to say.

On the surface, I liked the idea. Volcanoes are fascinating. Volcano Live was not. It took ten minutes for one terrible fact about Volcano Live to dawn on me. Oh please no. They couldn’t insult peoples’ intelligence any more. Oh yes they could. The BBC had actually wheeled a Winnebago to Hawaii, perched it ten miles from the crater of Kilauea, and they were actually waiting for it to erupt, preferably between 20:00 and 21:00 pm BST on July 9th 2012 on live TV. I just went to the website, and that really does seem to be the gist of it: “Ever wanted to know more about volcanoes or see one erupting? Well the BBC is finding out all about them in a series of special programmes from Hawaii. The show will feature volcanoes erupting.”

Phew! Apparently, they have live cameras everywhere, including Mexico, where a volcano, if it erupts during Volcano Live “could threaten Mexico City”. Gosh! “The scientists are keeping an extra careful watch on that one.” Are they, Katie? Why’s that? What would happen to Volcano Live if, heaven forbid, Mexico City was wiped out by sudden pyroclastic flow just before the credits rolled. “We’re staying with Kilauea. The scheduled edition of Antiques Roadshow will now be shown at a later date.”

Can they think up anything more stupid and insensitive? Why not Tsunami Live, or Earthquake Live? We might just catch millions of people swallowed by the earth or swept out to sea. Golly!

The two presenters were even sad and apologetic that they couldn’t walk right into Kilauea. Apparently they’re “not allowed near the lava lake because of toxic gases”. Damned Hawaiian Health and Safety ruining the BBC’s big moment in the Summer Schedules. In absence of Hawaiian Health and Safety, we could have seen right into the mouth of the volcano, maybe just as it unleashed the equivalent of three million tonnes of TNT. Wow! I’d double my licence fee for that. Instead, we had to make do with the insides of a Winnebago. Katie was dying to don a gas mask and a funny suit and brave the toxic gasses. If only we had volcanoes in the UK. The BBC would not be thwarted by those damned foreigners.

UK Hosepipe Ban Lifted After Murray Tears

Andy Murray’s outpouring on Wimbledon’s centre court might mark the end of the British Empire Mark II before it was even cleared for take-off. PM Cameron was present, desperate for a feel-good bounce. Minor royals Katie and Pippa were present, underlining the frivoulous nature of the whole thing. Sue Barker and the Beeb were there. Hello magazine was definitely there.

But the BBC were in forgetful mood. They seemed to forget to mention Roger Federer’s track record until the very end, terrified that the Sunday afternoon masses might switch to the Tour de France when they heard that Roger had won it before. And not just once. The bounder.

Then there was that speech.

“We tried (sniff). We pressed on with an out-moded class system (sniff), a monarchy, the pound (sniff). We even still play tennis on grass (sniff). For what? (sniff) To keep losing.”

It seemed strange that he was so cut up. Hadn’t he been watching Euro 2012? The tears and self-analysis were consistent with the perma-furrowed brows of oddly pale footballers, Rooney and Gerard, who seem to switch on the waterworks in the tunnel ten minutes before kick-off.

“We invented the game (sniff). We’ve got the best league (sniff). No one knows how hard we work. It’s like a foreign country out there. He pushed me over. ….. sniff.”

Stiff upper lips ordered for the Olympics. Get your stiff upper lips here.

I’m Beating a Trail to Pee

Visiting Britain for the Olympics? You may not have heard. Temperate Britain isn’t pleasant at the moment. I just discovered the dead Christmas tree in the garden. It had been sitting in a pot since January. The pot had filled with water several times over, a clear case of over-hydration. Just another casualty of the UK’s temperate climate.

The problem is humidity. Wiki “Humidity is a term for the amount of water vapor in the air.”

I just came back from Sicily. After a few days away I’d grown used to something far more suited to the human condition. Low humidity. Yes, it’s rained non-stop all year in the UK. Nothing odd about that. We’d already missed a few wet seasons. I know there’s no law of averages, but rain does have to go somewhere, and the UK is always in the drop zone.

Camping in Cornwall last May, and on one wet night, everything inside the usually-waterproof tent was soaked. Weather.com showed that it was a teeth-chattering 3 degrees combined with 100 per cent humidity. The air was literally condensing out inside the tent, showering my laptop with every gust of rain-laden wind.

Today in July, it’s a low 15 degrees and a high 84 per cent humidity. Cold and clammy. Compare this with Sicily where it’s 27 degrees and a staggeringly-low 8 per cent humidity. After a few days away, I can actually feel the water in the air on my skin as though it’s raining. The effect of 84 per cent humidity and low temperature is to slow you down, make you feel heavy-headed and thirsty. Joints ache. Throat is dry. Head thumps. Sinusitis.  Bleeding ears.

Okay, I’m exaggerating with that last one, but I am beating a trail to pee more than I drank. It’s the opposite to dehydration. Is there a medical condition called over-hydration. How do you cope with being cold and clammy? A Gortex duvet? A heated brolly? Something needs to be done before the Olympics become another British loo queue marathon. Or maybe they’ll have to bring in the Thames barrier to deal with the influx.

What Went Wrong With Colin Murray?

The mental health of BBC Match of the Day Euro 2012 host Colin Murray seemed to deteriorate badly as the European football championships progressed. I gave up watching the Beeb after a spectacular rant by Murray left Lee Dixon open-mouthed. Dixon was talking about Portugal, and then a strange knocking started. I’ve never heard anything like it in a TV studio. The strange knocking was Murray slapping the desk repeatedly. He stopped when Lee Dixon forgot what he was supposed to be saying and just stared, but then, not having made his point, Murray started slapping the desk again.

They even took the camera off both men and settled for a long shot, but the camera did briefly catch the Northern Irishman writhing in his seat like Cruise on Winfrey, his mouth twisted, his eyes popping out of his head. It was an extraordinary display. His problem was Helder Postiga, the nothing-worse-than-average Portuguese striker. Murray didn’t think Portugal should play him. But why the hateful histrionics? Was it an example of Jubilee jitters, Pre-Olympic nerves?

In Murray’s defence I can only think that some kind of youthful producer may have called for fighting talk from Murray, and through some kind of warped effort to reach out to the fighty 16-24 males, Murray decided to behave in a way that he hoped might make that group snap out of their late night drunken slumbers and join Murray’s cries for the execution of Postiga. It didn’t work, and Murray just looked insane.

So it doesn’t looked good for the Olympics if the Beeb, desperate to reach the yoof, start lobbing beer cans at each other. I’m dreading the boring but knowledgeable Brendans and Steve Worthy-Runners being elbowed after two weeks for mouthy comedians a la the BBC’s darkest day and the Queen’s damp squib flotilla. “So it’s over to Fern Cotton track-side where she’s interviewing Gordon Ramsay in a tracksuit”. Please help us someone.

So Murray’s peculiar forced hatred of Postiga. Well it was the embodiment of a laddish reaction to Postiga’s short and unsuccessful spell in the Premiership. He scored two goals, one of those against our beloved Liverpool. Basically, Postiga appeared to be a bit of an expensive-Alice-band-on-glass-ankles  foreign import, not suited to the outmoded take-yer-legs-out style of 1950s retribution football that has made English soccer so unsuccessful for half a century.

I switched to ITV’s Euro 2012 coverage with the excellent BBC escapee Adrian Chiles. My enjoyment of the Euros was suddenly quadrupled. My favourite Chiles comment on Spain’s staggering multi-faceted brilliance was “That’s not a diamond. That’s a cube!”

I found a great Chilesism on You Tube, “It’s temporarily rather quiet here now!”

Maybe that siren was an ambulance removing the ranting Murray from the BBC outside broadcast van.

The Gothic Shard and the Vampire Wounds of Capitalism

Like a giant canine tooth, here is Renzo Piano’s Shard London Bridge. Fanfare!

A canine tooth secretes toxin at its tip which it buries deeply into its adversaries. Charming symbolism, and for me, it just looks like a memorial to the casualties of capitalism. Not that I am one (a casualty). How could I be? I’m writing this, and blogging tools aren’t exactly available to everyone are they? But hey! that’s progress.

According to wiki, Piano was inspired by “the London spires depicted by the 18th-century Venetian painter Canaletto, and the masts of sailing ships” Really. It actually harks back to the spires of Victorian churches designed by E.W. Pugin, the nineteenth century neo-Gothic architect.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St._Mary_of_Furness_Roman_Catholic_Church

Pugin was also looking back to the medieval age because it was safe and easy, and that’s the problem. The Shard is just not modern enough.

So what did politician John Prescott see in 2002 when he gave it the go-ahead? There is, or course, a political agenda to the design. The shard.com website opens with the ubiquitous Thatcherite call to arms “Inspiring Change”. Oh yes. Change from what? Crazed deregulation of the banks and the financial sector?

The Shard is just another symbol of the same old same old, tacked out in glass and steel and labeled modern. It’s a failure of imagination, and like the tired old meaningless mantra that hangs over it and its future of To Let signs and developer phone numbers stuck in every window, it’s just about dishing out convenient thoughtlessness. Renzo Piano failed to express anything new.

New Particle Discovery Confirms Theory It Exists

So does Higgs-Bosun exist or not? Confused?

Not surprising. The scientists at Cern are almost 100% certain they’ve found the particle they thought was there because the theory they created said it was there. Thank goodness I believe in the Large Hadron Collider and its ability to confirm theories.

I was never happy in my work in science and engineering. Too much belief in theories. It was so unscientific and lacking expression. It’s like being in a mad cult religion but without the art. Everyone wants an answer. Any answer will do. Just as long as it fits the formula.

Something tells me that if you go out to look for something to confirm your theory (or belief) that it’s there, you’re almost 100% certainly likely to believe you’ve found it. But good luck to them. They’re happy in their work. And spending billions on the LHC stops them creating weapons of mass destruction somewhere else.

But this tedious statistical work to find / prove the existence of the Higgs-Bosun reminds me of the many extremely mundane tasks you can be expected to persevere with if you’re ever unfortunate enough to get work in Science and Engineering. Just a few years of this kind of white coat nonsense, and any sane person would want to run screaming into an art gallery full of people poring over pink balloons, and kiss every single one of them.

Much more fun is to read the BBC report and exchange particle for potato. Higgs-Bosun is a good steamer apparently, but a bit high on GMs. Quite a lot high on GM in fact. I’m steering well clear of Higgs-Bosun.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-18702455

50 Shades of Grasping Aspirations

Forget the nudge-nudge, wink-wink tabloid headlines about 50 Shades of Grey, the momporn bestseller by E.L. James. The runaway success of this load of old rubbish shows that publishers really do possess the data on the market, and writers can learn a lot from this.

The publishers’ target market is, of course, the big spenders of the day, and these are the new middle class, the product aware, aspirational and uneasy tribe described so brilliantly by Grayson Perry in episode two of his excellent In the Best Possible Taste:

http://www.channel4.com/programmes/in-the-best-possible-taste-grayson-perry/episode-guide/series-1/episode-2

These are the people who are turning the publishers’ wheels, and understanding this new, insecure tribe, and what they want is the way a writer can gain popularity and success. The problem is how. How could a writer possibly know that the new middle classes could have a taste for pornographic S&M literature? Did E.L. James discover it by chance?  Probably. Who knows? Who cares? I haven’t a clue about E.L. James’s background, but I do suspect she may be one of the target market herself, so she should know best.

I just listened to a good discussion about the novel on Woman’s Hour, but the ‘say-no-more’ arf-arf nonsense really got on my nerves. The BBC presenter kept saying “I’m finding out a lot more than I want to know about S&M”. Really? I don’t think so. In Tunbridge Wells, they want as much as they can get and more. And to prove this, a quick google on 50 Shades of Grey soon revealed that it’s not S&M that attracts the product aware wisteria keepers of suburbia, but the desire to revive their flagging sham marriages. The root of the very existence of 50 Shades of Grey is the suburban desire to have children as a mark of success.

Take a look at this staggering discussion on cafemom.com. It’s all about pregnancy, and talks about the novel as a sex aid.

http://thestir.cafemom.com/pregnancy/139103/moms_50_shades_of_grey?next=1

My favourite puke-making contribution has to be “Keep on reading… whether it’s for babymaking or not… staying sensually connected is SO good for your relationship… YAY!!”

Yeeeesh! Wipe down my Kindle.

Publishers know all about suburbia, and that’s why they published 50 Shades of Grey. I shouldn’t mock. I want a million of these double-income Range Rover-driving sprog-monsters to buy my textual viagra one day.

Big Pulp Summer 2012 and Dividing By Zero

My copy of Big Pulp Summer 2012 arrived while I was away, and what a treat it is. A very high standard of writing and production, and I’m delighted to be a contributor. So I’ll be a bit quiet for a while as I read on …

Or will I? I’ve been away, and meanwhile, my efforts on the writers’ website Authonomy haven’t done so badly. I’m keeping my work there until something better comes along …

Such as Linkedin. I’m improving my Linkedin profile because it allows me to promote my writing in a professional way, and it isn’t a social networking site, (or is it?). I’ll soon find out.

To misquote Kennedy’s Bay of Pigs joke “The worse I do, the more popular I get”, the more I social network, the more outside the social network I become. Leave it alone for two weeks, and my ranking improves. Eh? This is because I don’t pursue the dreaded consensus. My social networking potential is zero. I actively follow the path of most resistance. That’s how art works. And on a computer, dividing by zero can cause havoc. I wonder whether the algorithm that drives Facebook and Authonomy can cope. I think I know the answer – an emphatic NO.

It’s a feature of the algorithm that drives social networking, that it sweeps along the consensual Nielsen data A1 herd all sharing the same product aware aspirations. I don’t accept that a computer algorithm, a simple formula, should be allowed to form groups and polarise society in this way.

On a positive note, the social networking algorithm appears to be failing. There’s a decline in the take-up of Facebook, and I think I know why this is. There are many zero-rated people with no social networking potential out there. It would be perverse and against the consensus to say why I know this is so. Meanwhile I’m reading Big Pulp Summer 2012 and keeping quiet. But I will whisper BlackBerry. Whoops! Divide by zero error.

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