some don't like it hot

as it's going to be 41º tomorrow i'll be hastening, with the rest, down to the local beach. where the object is to jump in and stay underwater holding your breath for at least 8 hours. by then the heat will have abated a little. until the next day anyway.

a shame about tatiana

the bay area tiger who slipped the surly bonds of its enclosure and, commendably, killed two teenagers before being shot. don't feel bad for the teenagers. they aren't people—they're the reason shows like "american idol", "big brother" & "home and away" remain on tv. in any case there are plenty of teens to go around. tigers, alas, are scarce. and getting scarcer.

authorities suspect tatiana was abetted in its escape. an accomplice, what? there invariably is in these cases. there's a very guilty looking zebra skulking about the place. wouldn't be surprised if he gave tatiana a boost over the fence. probably a whole gang of 'em involved. there's more to this story. just wait and see.

saffron in the sky

could either be the sunset last night or a taste of life on mars. either way, hot.

i've got

writer's blocks.

what creature is this?

i know. i've met one. at a business function. he didn't have much to say, mind you. just a quick "hello, how are you" before the petit fours were served.

coom on, our valerie

it's been almost 20 years since valerie eliot published the first and only volume of t. s. eliot's letters, covering the period 1898-1922; taking us up to (but not including) the publication of "the waste land". and since then—nothing. except, occasionally, she totters out on to the pages of "the times literary supplement" to rebuff the cretinous charge of eliot's anti-semitism. meanwhile i've been stopping here, not doing much, waiting for the second volume. hurry up, old thing.

candy darling

peter hujar, court photographer to the warhol circle, currently has an exhibition in the mall, london. among the usual assortment of factory-studio 54-chelsea hotel chancers and lowlives is a picture of candy darling on its deathbed. (someone best known to non-warholians as the coverstar of the "sheila take a bow" single and ep.) candy darling's last words: "unfortunately before my death i had no desire left for life… i am just so bored by everything. you might say bored to death. did you know i couldn't last. i always knew it." the affinity with morrissey is obvious. it sounds exactly like something he'd say.

how the west was won

largely thanks to weston's wagon wheels.

stations of the cross country run: finale

12km mark. 6:06 a.m. stately burns manor. home of charles montgomery burns. ordinarily the view would be obscured by hundreds of pine trees. but in a fit of 'elf-n-safety madness they recently felled the lot—terrified a pinecone might conk someone on the head. crazy. and rather hard cheese for the nesting birds. but there it is. modern times, what?

stations of the cross country run: episode 11

11km mark. 5:59 a.m. the gatehouse of the local business school, where they hand out mba's like lollipops (after trousering $25,000). they need a gatehouse to prevent the unauthorised entry of fresh ideas. the masters in business administration is, without question, the biggest bullplop in the higher education racket.

stations of the cross country run: episode 10

10km mark. 5:54 a.m. bathing boxes. they're the size of a bedroom and cost half the price of a house. fancy one?

stations of the cross country run: episode 9

9km mark. 5:48 a.m. as bertie wooster said (quoting the psalmist) "joy cometh in the morning". especially when the bay is tranquil and perfect for swimming. the pole on the horizon is where i swim to. it marks the end of the reef, when the seafloor suddenly drops away. after that you're amongst the boat traffic, seadoo pests, the occasional shark, and who knows what else?

stations of the cross country run: episode 8

8km mark. 5:44 a.m. my favourite thing: pristine beach with no footprints in it. there's something nice about being the first to squash one's feet into the sand. but to do that you have be like hardy's heroine bathsheba everdene: "i shall be up before you are awake; i shall be afield before you are up; and i shall have breakfasted before you are afield. in short, i shall astonish you all” (from "far from the madding crowd"). also running is much easier on untrodden sand.

stations of the cross country run: episode 7

7km mark. 5:39 a.m. toto, i don't think we're in bournemouth any more. where are all the empty breezer bottles, lost scrunchies, and forgotten-to-put-back-on girls' knickers you expect to find on any well-patronised beach?

size "0" piggy

or the account formerly known as "savings". it's what this time of year is all about, innit?

stations of the cross country run: episode 6

6km mark. 5:34 a.m. it's a bit like betty's bondi, though without the surf, the traffic, the tourists, the nightlife, the pollution, the queers, the crowds, and the well-done english backpackers glowing crimson on the beach.

stations of the cross country run: episode 5

5km mark. 5:28 a.m. joy of steps.

missing, presumed lost

grimace. not seen (by me) since the 80s. is either dead, derelict, or moonlighting as the thick-witted dinosaur, barney.

metal fatigue?

kevin dubrow, lead singer of "quiet riot" died this week. is this the end of the noize? click (here) to see the original video and you'll see why "spinal tap" had to be invented. some of the worst 80s hair you'll ever see.

stations of the cross country run: episode 4

4km mark. 5:24 a.m. i know it's not skegness, or worthing, or grimsby, or even morecambe. but, dash it, it will just have to do.

the despairing bear

there were a couple of fresh reminders this week for the "new york times" set on the nature of the mohammedian enemy.

in saudi arabia a woman gang raped by 7 mussulmen was sentenced to 400 or so lashes. i'm not sure of the exact amount. after the first 100 or so the mind does start to wander. it was a nice round number anyway. never mind the rape, the beak said, she was seen in public talking to a chap who wasn't a relative. unchaperoned! her family must be horrified. i doubt they'll ever be able to be seen in the bazaars again. if the beating doesn't kill her, her family probably will. it's allah's law, innit?

meanwhile in the sudan a woman was locked away for letting her primary school class name a teddy bear after the heresiarch mohammed. naturally the people of sudan were appalled by this, and took to the streets demanding her death. as one would. unfortunately diplomatic pressure ensured her release (sans the beating). but, as "the sun" points out, the bear itself still languishes in captivity.

the sudanese should either release the bear or follow the example of the taliban (they used to publicly hang tv sets) and execute him. this shilly-shallying won't do at all.

dedicated to

well, you know who you are.

stations of the cross country run: episode 3

3km mark. 5:20 a.m. (episode 2 was cancelled: too dark to see anything). the playing fields of a posh girls' school. can't see anyone bonking behind the changing-room sheds, nor any st. trinian's-style hijinks either. no one larking about in the latest "agent provocateur" ensemble. pity.

the failure of deterrence

as a strategic doctrine "deterrence" has been obsolete for a while now (well, since 9/11 actually). this has been impressed on me again by the failure of my cd scheme to shoo off greedy parrots. they've eaten all the cherries. as usual. i did, however, manage to take this pix of some on their way to the "ready to eat" stage.

stations of the cross (country run): a serial

haven't been running for a while so i thought i'd take my camera with me this morning and take a snap at each of the kilometre stages. one pix a day is the arrangement.

right-ho. kilometre 1. 5:11 in the morning. can't see nowt. had to switch camera to "iso" to enhance the light. even the penguin hasn't got up yet to turn on the fridge light. can hear some kookaburras laughing in the distance. what's the joke? who laughs at this time of the morning?

3 christmas (shopping) curses

1. seniors on gophers. double points apply if you are inconvenienced by one reversing (yes!) out of the post office (as i was). it should be obvious: if you're too retarded to walk, you're too retarded to drive.

2. people who freeze on escalators. what's wrong with your legs, fatso? use 'em. (have they all been injected with that fiendish kaos neuro-toxin "immobilo"?)

3. piped shopping-centre carols. please, sir, i don't want any more.

even funnier

finding a circuitous way around copyright

after lots of fiddling around with acrobat professional and quark and photoshop, it was running the humble mac "grab" utility through "iphoto" which allowed me to swipe this "new yorker" toon.

crime is hard work. but worth it.

as dr seuss says

"did i ever tell you how lucky you are?". you see today i pick up my copy of "the complete cartoons of the new yorker". (at last!) and it's a jolly lucky thing i don't have a scanner at home or i'd be making a nuisance of myself by buzzing everyone in my address book with toons. and if there's one thing the world doesn't need it's more frivolous emails.

cherry thief

cctv footage caught this cherry thief red-beaked illegally hoovering up my fruit. now it's up to the magistrate to impose a long custodial sentence.