It’s quite upsetting to read the papers every morning, because without fail one of the headlines is going to tell us all about how a musician, previously admired, has gone off the rails. There’s a massive problem in Britain, and not many other countries have it quite as bad as we do, where the media can’t stand to see someone succeeding in life. Not just the media, but the general public too. As the uber-wise Emily Haines once put it, “there’s an obsession with seeing how people aren’t their dreams.” It’s quite sad. And now that Amy Winehouse is a daily fixture in the papers, and it’s impossible to turn a corner without hearing people whispering dirty rumours about Duffy (note: lie), there’s a growing feeling that Britain is losing identity. Step in Wilftonville, heroic champion of the underdog, in all the forms that it can take. We don’t like to see this going on; and we know for an almost fact that what you’d like to read about is something positive, instead.
We can help with this. Instead of picking up a newspaper from now on, we suggest that you bookmark this blog entry, and re-read it every time you feel an interest in what the news of the day might be. It’s difficult to go cold-turkey, but if anyone can do it then you can. Here is a list, of singers who have managed to make us feel proud about Britain again, in their own different ways.
1: Alex Turner (Arctic Monkeys, The Last Shadow Puppets)
A young lad from Sheffield, our Alex isn’t afraid of a bit of hard graft from time to time, as proven by his strong workrate over the past three years. He released an album a year with his first band, The Arctic Monkeys, and then went on to release another album earlier this year with a side-project called ‘The Last Shadow Puppets’. All three of ‘em take a look at British culture and declare it revived, in a way. A smart fella with a wry sense of self-deprecating humour, Turner is the sort of person you want at your award ceremony. It doesn’t matter what he’s done, just give him an award of some kind, let him go up to the mike, and enjoy.
2: Alison Goldfrapp (Goldfrapp)
Her music may have been brash and aimed directly at getting people onto the dance-floor, but Alison Goldfrapp has never been the kind of person who could be called socially active. Quite shy in front of a camera (although not as shy as her musical partner, who refuses to take the stage at their concerts), she shows a level of quirkiness that has been a part of Britishness for decades and decades. From Syd Barrett’s music-making to Churchill’s crazy decision to attack Germany for no reason, the British are known for being an odd sort, and Alison Goldfrapp is a pioneer of oddness. Dancing with giant owls, dressing up as an old woman, and all the while singing about breast implants, she needs to be recognised as the modern-day icon that she is.
3: Paul Heaton (The Housemartins, The Beautiful South)
Paul Heaton is from Manchester, a place synonymous with bricklaying, housing estates, and crime. He’s never let this get him down, though, and his songwriting has often tried to make Manchester seem like a much nicer place than it really is (sample lyric: “If rain makes Britain great/then Manchester is greater!”). Heaton is well-known as a collector of anything he can – he collects crisp packets, ‘do not disturb’ signs, and autographs, amongst others. What could be more British than the inbuilt desire to keep as much junk in your house as possible? He’s a funny bloke, too, although his choice to always wear a tracksuit top – even in concert – is baffling.
4: Ricky Wilson (The Kaiser Chiefs)
There was an incident a while ago where Ricky was walking through the streets of Leeds at night (oh what a beautiful sight), but was caught up in a hit-and-run incident, which left him with a broken leg. How, then, was he ever going to be able to complete the tour his band were currently partway through? Why, with a cast on his leg, of course! The dirty humour of Wilson is well-liked in Britain, and his reputation as a cheekie chappie is certainly bolstered by the strong, retro-fitted lyrics he’s given to sing by bandmate Nick Hodgson. With a constant grin on his face, and typically battered, Wilson represents the very noble spirit of stamina. The show must go on, after all.
5: Dame Shirley Bassey
The Dameship alone should be enough to fill you in on her legendary status, but if you want more: she has sung three different James Bond themes. The brassy Welsh diva – was she the first real diva to emerge from music? She’s certainly one of the most beloved – has an extensive career to date, and miraculously her voice has remained as powerful as ever it was. How does she celebrate this? By turning up seemingly every year for the Royal Variety Performance to sing something for the royals, who love it. When she went to Glastonbury to perform for the first time, she was smart enough to bring along wellies to keep her feet safe. However, she was also glam enough to have said wellies encrusted with diamonds that spelt out “DSB” on each leg. Class doesn’t cover it.
6: Dizzee Rascal
This list isn’t a fair representation, as Dizzee Rascal is the only black entrant. But race doesn’t matter – we’re more interested in Dizzee’s personality. As a rapper, you would expect his reputation to be linked with drugs, brawls, and so on. Heck, fighting and drugs were all that kept So Solid Crew in the papers. Yet Dizzee Rascal is not thought of in that sort of way. Instead, he’s seen primarily as a great spokesperson for young Brits, and also as a strong, charismatic performer. These traits, along with his recent barnstorming performance on Newsnight with Jeremy Paxman, make him a Brit to be proud of.
7: Jarvis Cocker (Pulp)
Any list of true British heroes, who should only ever be spoken of in faltering, praise-filled hushed tones, is incomplete without Jarvis Cocker. An incredibly articulate and astute man, Jarvis writes songs which capture a moment in great detail, and in doing so raised points about class and culture which reverberated through Government. Although he has chosen to live his life in France, which is a terrible mistake on his part and will probably end in his brutal sacrifice just as soon as the French harvests fail, Jarvis manages to be filled with everything that symbolises Britain. He’s smart and funny, he was raised in Yorkshire, and he takes the piss out of everyone he sees. On top of this, he’s also a superb dancer.
8: Tom Jones
A true gentleman knows how to wear a suit, and Tom Jones can wear a suit better than anyone else in the World. He can also wear not a suit better than anyone else in the World. Continuing the strange trend of powerful singers from Wales (Shirley, Duffy, Cerys Matthews… The Automatic), Mr Tom Jones throws off class and sophistication everywhere he goes, even though somehow he has never lost his ability to appeal to the working man. With a collection of songs which would be the envy of any singer; Mr Jones has managed to sing tunes which have crossed continents and charmed millions of women, the suave geezer. And has he ever been caught up in drugs scandals? Has he ever been sent to rehab because of drinking? No. Because he’s a legend.
9: Neil Hannon (The Divine Comedy)
Speaking of gentlemen, Neil Hannon surely epitomises the look of a modern Irishman. Instead of being dressed in the slave dungarees that are traditional for all who work in Ireland down on the potato fields, Hannon wears a suit and can recognise the idea of having a melody in his music, instead of histrionic shouting. Conducting together superb, baroque pieces of orchestra in order to compliment his deft use of words, he has created music that sounds more English than anything the English themselves could ever hope to make. In the process, he has suffered many hardships, but came through them stronger, and his recent output are arguably his best records to date. A superb musician to admire.
10: Kylie Minogue
We're claiming her.
Showing posts with label Heroism. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Heroism. Show all posts
Tuesday, 18 November 2008
Friday, 26 September 2008
The Da Vinci Toad
Part 1:
“Dash it all” and “gosh confound it” and “fiddlesticks to spring cleaning” the mole thought to himself. “I don’t even know what season it is above my house right now, now is certainly not the time to fritter away my time doing all of this confounded spring-cleaning!” With a groan, he threw down his duster and scrabbled himself a small hole to the world outside, popping out into a European, continental breeze which cooled his face. Sniffing the fresh air with joy, the mole went off for what he felt was a long-deserved walk along the fields of the countryside. He made sure to sniff every flower and enjoy every new breeze which blustered past him, until he suddenly happened upon a river.
“Oh now, Ratty is going to be terribly upset to have missed out on this beautiful stream,” the mole said. “I’ll have to try and remember the way here so I can give him directions later. What a jolly old stream this is! It seems like such a delightful place for a boat-ride.” The mole scampered down to the bank of the river, and wandered along in perfect happiness. It was such a decent day, and to think he’d been cooped up in that smelly old home of his for so long!
There was a sudden parp of a horn behind him, and the mole jumped in shock as a bicycle whizzed on by him, occupied by a rather fat young creature dressed in full outfit and accessories. “Wheee!” shouted the creature. “Oh I say, wheee!”
The mole would recognise that high-pitched exclamation anywhere. “Toad? Toad, is that you?” he called out after the bicycle, but by now the toad had gone entirely out of hearing, and pedalled away furiously into the distance. “Well I wonder where Toad is going to in such a rush?” the mole asked himself. “I hope this isn’t going to be another of his hare-brained fads that he gets so excited about, before he moves on to the next thing. I had rather hoped he’d gotten over such silly hobbies.”
Forgetting all about the toad, he walked curiously away from the river and towards an odd new sound he could hear from beyond the willows. It was a dashed confounding sort of noise, like the sound of a hundred ants marching one-by-one in formation, a spectacle which the mole had long become used to down in his burrow, but which seemed completely out-of-place in the outside world. He pushed his way through the bull-rushes only to find that the hill dropped away sharply without any warning, and he soon found himself tumbling down the side of a hill, turning up over heads and under tails and all around in a bizarre fashion. Luckily he managed to steady himself once he reached the bottom, and he brushed the dust off his waistcoat. “What a silly mole I am!” he exclaimed. “Now I feel quite dizzy.”
He staggered forwards, but the sight in front of him made him stop and stare in awe. A large Thing, completely see-through and standing formidably against a line of buildings the like of which he had never seen before, was blocking his way forwards. Although he could see straight through the triangles, the mole found that when he tried to walk through them he banged his face on some unknown barrier. As is the very nature of moles, he cried out aloud when faced with such a new sight, and he burrowed underground then and there, tunnelling forwards enough that he would gain some strong distance between him and the Thing.
One the mole had calmed down, and this took him quite a while, he resurfaced again but found himself in an old building which reminded him somewhat of his own burrow, which he started to miss terribly. “What have I got myself into this time?” he wondered out loud, only to be stopped in his tracks by an entirely familiar-sounding voice:
“Don’t take one more step, old boy.”
The mole turned round with excitement, and confirmed that it was, indeed, his old friend the rat stood there in front of him, although he had forgone his traditional blazer for a long beige jacket and deerstalker cap. “Rattie? Is that you?”
The figure gasped audibly, and moved into the only light of the dim room, to get a closer look. “Mole, my dear friend, I don’t believe it! However have you managed to get to France?”
“France?” the mole squeaked, astonished. “I’m in France?”
“You are, old bean, you are quite in France. What a curious but welcome twist in proceedings! I could do with having a voice of reason here to help me show these fuddy-duddies who’s boss round here. What do you say, Mole? Fancy lending me a hand?”
“Oh, absolutely, Ratty!” the mole squeaked, clapping his hands together with enthusiasm. “What do you need help with?”
The rat turned slightly and nodded down at the floor, and the mole followed his friend’s gaze downwards to see a bloated figure stretched out on the floor, hands spread out in a star formation. It looked curiously familiar to the mole, who walked forwards timidly towards the body, only to blanche as it became clear to him what he was seeing. The corpse, lying flat on his back and with an odd carving scraped over his stomach, looked straight up at the ceiling in bulbous surprise. The rat walked over to put a hand on the mole’s shoulder in comfort.
“It’s Toad, Moley. Someone’s dissected him.”
“Dash it all” and “gosh confound it” and “fiddlesticks to spring cleaning” the mole thought to himself. “I don’t even know what season it is above my house right now, now is certainly not the time to fritter away my time doing all of this confounded spring-cleaning!” With a groan, he threw down his duster and scrabbled himself a small hole to the world outside, popping out into a European, continental breeze which cooled his face. Sniffing the fresh air with joy, the mole went off for what he felt was a long-deserved walk along the fields of the countryside. He made sure to sniff every flower and enjoy every new breeze which blustered past him, until he suddenly happened upon a river.
“Oh now, Ratty is going to be terribly upset to have missed out on this beautiful stream,” the mole said. “I’ll have to try and remember the way here so I can give him directions later. What a jolly old stream this is! It seems like such a delightful place for a boat-ride.” The mole scampered down to the bank of the river, and wandered along in perfect happiness. It was such a decent day, and to think he’d been cooped up in that smelly old home of his for so long!
There was a sudden parp of a horn behind him, and the mole jumped in shock as a bicycle whizzed on by him, occupied by a rather fat young creature dressed in full outfit and accessories. “Wheee!” shouted the creature. “Oh I say, wheee!”
The mole would recognise that high-pitched exclamation anywhere. “Toad? Toad, is that you?” he called out after the bicycle, but by now the toad had gone entirely out of hearing, and pedalled away furiously into the distance. “Well I wonder where Toad is going to in such a rush?” the mole asked himself. “I hope this isn’t going to be another of his hare-brained fads that he gets so excited about, before he moves on to the next thing. I had rather hoped he’d gotten over such silly hobbies.”
Forgetting all about the toad, he walked curiously away from the river and towards an odd new sound he could hear from beyond the willows. It was a dashed confounding sort of noise, like the sound of a hundred ants marching one-by-one in formation, a spectacle which the mole had long become used to down in his burrow, but which seemed completely out-of-place in the outside world. He pushed his way through the bull-rushes only to find that the hill dropped away sharply without any warning, and he soon found himself tumbling down the side of a hill, turning up over heads and under tails and all around in a bizarre fashion. Luckily he managed to steady himself once he reached the bottom, and he brushed the dust off his waistcoat. “What a silly mole I am!” he exclaimed. “Now I feel quite dizzy.”
He staggered forwards, but the sight in front of him made him stop and stare in awe. A large Thing, completely see-through and standing formidably against a line of buildings the like of which he had never seen before, was blocking his way forwards. Although he could see straight through the triangles, the mole found that when he tried to walk through them he banged his face on some unknown barrier. As is the very nature of moles, he cried out aloud when faced with such a new sight, and he burrowed underground then and there, tunnelling forwards enough that he would gain some strong distance between him and the Thing.
One the mole had calmed down, and this took him quite a while, he resurfaced again but found himself in an old building which reminded him somewhat of his own burrow, which he started to miss terribly. “What have I got myself into this time?” he wondered out loud, only to be stopped in his tracks by an entirely familiar-sounding voice:
“Don’t take one more step, old boy.”
The mole turned round with excitement, and confirmed that it was, indeed, his old friend the rat stood there in front of him, although he had forgone his traditional blazer for a long beige jacket and deerstalker cap. “Rattie? Is that you?”
The figure gasped audibly, and moved into the only light of the dim room, to get a closer look. “Mole, my dear friend, I don’t believe it! However have you managed to get to France?”
“France?” the mole squeaked, astonished. “I’m in France?”
“You are, old bean, you are quite in France. What a curious but welcome twist in proceedings! I could do with having a voice of reason here to help me show these fuddy-duddies who’s boss round here. What do you say, Mole? Fancy lending me a hand?”
“Oh, absolutely, Ratty!” the mole squeaked, clapping his hands together with enthusiasm. “What do you need help with?”
The rat turned slightly and nodded down at the floor, and the mole followed his friend’s gaze downwards to see a bloated figure stretched out on the floor, hands spread out in a star formation. It looked curiously familiar to the mole, who walked forwards timidly towards the body, only to blanche as it became clear to him what he was seeing. The corpse, lying flat on his back and with an odd carving scraped over his stomach, looked straight up at the ceiling in bulbous surprise. The rat walked over to put a hand on the mole’s shoulder in comfort.
“It’s Toad, Moley. Someone’s dissected him.”
Tuesday, 29 July 2008
Seven Reasons I Don’t Watch Smallville
1: Why is Lex Luthor played by a young, bald person? Everybody knows that Lex Luthor is Gene Hackman in disguise. I cannot comprehend why anyone would want to watch a programme which pretends that Gene Hackman does not exist. In the X-Men films they got Captain Picard and Gandalf and made them look younger with technology; why couldn’t they have done that with Gene? Then, perhaps maybe the show would be worthwhile.
2: Nobody likes Superman. He’s a perfect hero with only one weakness, which happens to be a magical kind of rock. Apart from that, he always wins and he always gets his way. I want to see a program about an interesting, flawed, and complex comic-book character, which is why I religiously watch Dennis The Menace. (Gnasher is my favourite)
3: I’ve never heard of this ‘Smallville’ place before. Superman lives in Metropolis, doesn’t he?
4: Clark Kent doesn’t wear glasses on the show when he's not Superman. He does in the movies and comics, and the only reason I can think for why he doesn’t wear them on this show is that the show’s producers are prejudiced against the short-sighted. Hopefully Clark will have a horrible accident involving his eyes sometime soon.
5: I’m led to believe the show is about farmers. I do not care for farmers, and never will.
6: My main issue: there is no interest in “Superman; the early years”. Y’know what’d be more interesting? “Superman; the killing aliens and fighting as a superhero to save the world” years. Then we could have him flying around with his costume and Lois Lane would be around and he’d fight aliens and baddies and save the day all the time. That’s a much more interesting premise for a show that watching a teenager mope around a lot about the girl he fancies (and he’s not even going to end up with her! Way to waste our time, Smallville producers!)
7: No Batman? What’s up with that?
2: Nobody likes Superman. He’s a perfect hero with only one weakness, which happens to be a magical kind of rock. Apart from that, he always wins and he always gets his way. I want to see a program about an interesting, flawed, and complex comic-book character, which is why I religiously watch Dennis The Menace. (Gnasher is my favourite)
3: I’ve never heard of this ‘Smallville’ place before. Superman lives in Metropolis, doesn’t he?
4: Clark Kent doesn’t wear glasses on the show when he's not Superman. He does in the movies and comics, and the only reason I can think for why he doesn’t wear them on this show is that the show’s producers are prejudiced against the short-sighted. Hopefully Clark will have a horrible accident involving his eyes sometime soon.
5: I’m led to believe the show is about farmers. I do not care for farmers, and never will.
6: My main issue: there is no interest in “Superman; the early years”. Y’know what’d be more interesting? “Superman; the killing aliens and fighting as a superhero to save the world” years. Then we could have him flying around with his costume and Lois Lane would be around and he’d fight aliens and baddies and save the day all the time. That’s a much more interesting premise for a show that watching a teenager mope around a lot about the girl he fancies (and he’s not even going to end up with her! Way to waste our time, Smallville producers!)
7: No Batman? What’s up with that?
Thursday, 17 July 2008
Saving Everyone From Global Warming: Part 1
Global Warming is coming! The Earth has this shield around it, you see, that protects us from the Sun and makes sure we don’t get turned into the most multicultural barbeque in the Universe. This is a good thing. Sadly, the shield is being weakened by humans (and cows, oddly enough, in the first known case of bovine-human forces uniting on a common front) whenever we burn things because the smoke goes and uses up the shield, which is made of gas, and… well it’s very complicated and scientific, but basically the shield is weakening and everyone is running around in laboratories shouting and squealing about the forthcoming Sweaty Apocalypse™. But while every scientist in the world is busy proclaiming doom, I’ve thought up at least three things that nobody has tried yet, in order to protect us from Global Warming. Sorry, Al Gore - your evil campaign to destroy the Earth has failed! I have not seen that movie.
I’ll only put one of my ideas up at a time, because sometimes it’s really quite a horrific struggle to find something to write about, but the first one, below, is a doozy. Ask yourself: hat does the Earth have an unlimited supply of? If you are currently telling your computer screen “DIY shops” then you are both right and a little wrong. The human race needs to gather together and go shopping for hosepipes. When we’ve collected all the hosepipes on sale worldwide, we link them all together using a revolutionary new technique I call ‘slotting one into the other’ we attach one end to a tap and launch the other into space, towards the Sun.
It might take a while to reach the Sun, so we’ll have to develop super sonic boosters in the meantime, to quicken this whole process – get to it, NASA! Don’t make Britain have to do it, because we’ll only bugger it up somehow. We haven’t even gotten to the Moon yet. We still struggle a little with getting a train to reach Scotland on time. So the hose makes it all the way up to the Sun, and sits around a short distance away so it doesn’t melt (did I mention that the last part of the pipe should be sunproof? If not, then I’d like to make this point now). Then we turn the tap on.
I’ll only put one of my ideas up at a time, because sometimes it’s really quite a horrific struggle to find something to write about, but the first one, below, is a doozy. Ask yourself: hat does the Earth have an unlimited supply of? If you are currently telling your computer screen “DIY shops” then you are both right and a little wrong. The human race needs to gather together and go shopping for hosepipes. When we’ve collected all the hosepipes on sale worldwide, we link them all together using a revolutionary new technique I call ‘slotting one into the other’ we attach one end to a tap and launch the other into space, towards the Sun.
It might take a while to reach the Sun, so we’ll have to develop super sonic boosters in the meantime, to quicken this whole process – get to it, NASA! Don’t make Britain have to do it, because we’ll only bugger it up somehow. We haven’t even gotten to the Moon yet. We still struggle a little with getting a train to reach Scotland on time. So the hose makes it all the way up to the Sun, and sits around a short distance away so it doesn’t melt (did I mention that the last part of the pipe should be sunproof? If not, then I’d like to make this point now). Then we turn the tap on.
The water will go into the Sun and cool it down for us! This will give us much more time to live on the Earth, so we can do all those cool things we wanted to until as a race we started procrastinating. Hovercars, for example. And even if the Sun, as some people have suggested, would actually not be affected by being soaked in water (what kind of negative thinking is that, you gits?), then at the very least we can drain the sea level by a bit, so that when the ice caps DO melt it won’t drown us all.
This is “Plan A”.
This is “Plan A”.
Monday, 19 May 2008
Reviving “Spastic”
I’m currently involved in a few different campaigns, several of which have stemmed from this very blog here. Among other things, I’m currently waiting for Robert Mugabe to accept my challenge of a fist-fight, pushing my religion “Vagueism” for tax breaks from the Government, and debating the need for Jenny Lewis to marry anyone else while I’m still here. Well I’m going to put on my campaign trousers again, friends, because I’ve discovered another cause which I feel is vital and worthy.
Bring back the word “spastic”.
Now I realise that in the past the word “spastic” was used to refer to people with disabilities, and was a mean-spirited slur which was highly offensive to people. The word was created after the medical condition spasticity; which refers to people with tight joints. Cerebral palsy is one of the diseases which is in part caused by, or features as a symptom, spasticity. To help people who suffered from this, the Spastic Society was formed, but this term quickly became a tool for the general public (or at the very least, children of the general public) to attack people who annoyed them. “You spastic” or “you spacker” (a derivation of the term caused in no small way by Blue Peter – seriously) became a common insult on the playground, used on people who weren’t very athletic, or when somebody did something that was perceived to be silly.
To combat this the Spastics Society changed their name to SCOPE in 1994, which effectively shut down the term as an insult against the disabled. Although some people continued to use the term, it had lost all meaning and became effectively worthless as an insult. To call someone a spastic now has no effect, because people with learning disabilities are no longer looked after by the Spastics Society. It’s like “ITV digital” – gone. Kaput. There’s no use for the word anymore.
And I want to change this. I like the feel of the word spastic, the spelling, the way it sounds when you say it. I want to revive the word spastic and give it a meaning once again, a meaning which will obviously have nothing to do with people who have learning disabilities but will instead be focused on the general silliness that it causes. For the word spastic, in my opinion, sounds like a word to describe a friend who is messing around and being funny. Someone who is spastic shall from now on be someone who is inadvertently funny. I’m reclaiming the word from the icy void it was sent to, giving it meaning and purpose in the world, and I strongly urge you to join me. Together we shall make spastic a word to be proud of! If we all work together, then we can do it.
Bring back the word “spastic”.
Now I realise that in the past the word “spastic” was used to refer to people with disabilities, and was a mean-spirited slur which was highly offensive to people. The word was created after the medical condition spasticity; which refers to people with tight joints. Cerebral palsy is one of the diseases which is in part caused by, or features as a symptom, spasticity. To help people who suffered from this, the Spastic Society was formed, but this term quickly became a tool for the general public (or at the very least, children of the general public) to attack people who annoyed them. “You spastic” or “you spacker” (a derivation of the term caused in no small way by Blue Peter – seriously) became a common insult on the playground, used on people who weren’t very athletic, or when somebody did something that was perceived to be silly.
To combat this the Spastics Society changed their name to SCOPE in 1994, which effectively shut down the term as an insult against the disabled. Although some people continued to use the term, it had lost all meaning and became effectively worthless as an insult. To call someone a spastic now has no effect, because people with learning disabilities are no longer looked after by the Spastics Society. It’s like “ITV digital” – gone. Kaput. There’s no use for the word anymore.
And I want to change this. I like the feel of the word spastic, the spelling, the way it sounds when you say it. I want to revive the word spastic and give it a meaning once again, a meaning which will obviously have nothing to do with people who have learning disabilities but will instead be focused on the general silliness that it causes. For the word spastic, in my opinion, sounds like a word to describe a friend who is messing around and being funny. Someone who is spastic shall from now on be someone who is inadvertently funny. I’m reclaiming the word from the icy void it was sent to, giving it meaning and purpose in the world, and I strongly urge you to join me. Together we shall make spastic a word to be proud of! If we all work together, then we can do it.
Wednesday, 19 March 2008
Heroic Moments I’ve Had
1: Helping Rosa Parks
Back when segregation was still an active part of life in America, citizen Rosa Parks, a black woman, took a bus. She sat down, as she had to, in the area designated for blacks, and the bus set off. However, on this particular day the bus route was very busy, and quickly the white section of the bus grew to be completely full. As most conductors did at the time, the man on this bus came over to tell the black citizens to get up and get out of the way so that the white folks could sit down. I was there when this went down.
As I was sat behind Rosa at this time, I realised that this could be a way of gaining momentum for the cause of the black people, and I quickly gave her a dead leg just before the conductor came over to her. He asked her to get up and she refused, because her leg didn’t work and she wouldn’t be able to get up properly. She turned to look at me and I gave her a wink, which was the moment when she realised what I intended to happen. She turned round and sat there, holding steady in the face of segregation.
That evening I walked up to a church and went inside, going up to one of the men who was sat inside. I told him to turn the TV over to the news channel. He did what I asked, and the main story for that day was all about Rosa Parks. The man stood up, and he said that he would have to do something about all this – so I suggested he go visit a man called Ralph David Abernathy. I watched with pride as this young man, called Martin Luther King Jr, left the church for the evening. My work was done.
Don’t thank me: I was just doing what was right.
Back when segregation was still an active part of life in America, citizen Rosa Parks, a black woman, took a bus. She sat down, as she had to, in the area designated for blacks, and the bus set off. However, on this particular day the bus route was very busy, and quickly the white section of the bus grew to be completely full. As most conductors did at the time, the man on this bus came over to tell the black citizens to get up and get out of the way so that the white folks could sit down. I was there when this went down.
As I was sat behind Rosa at this time, I realised that this could be a way of gaining momentum for the cause of the black people, and I quickly gave her a dead leg just before the conductor came over to her. He asked her to get up and she refused, because her leg didn’t work and she wouldn’t be able to get up properly. She turned to look at me and I gave her a wink, which was the moment when she realised what I intended to happen. She turned round and sat there, holding steady in the face of segregation.
That evening I walked up to a church and went inside, going up to one of the men who was sat inside. I told him to turn the TV over to the news channel. He did what I asked, and the main story for that day was all about Rosa Parks. The man stood up, and he said that he would have to do something about all this – so I suggested he go visit a man called Ralph David Abernathy. I watched with pride as this young man, called Martin Luther King Jr, left the church for the evening. My work was done.
Don’t thank me: I was just doing what was right.
Wednesday, 30 January 2008
7 Things YOU Can Do To Save The World
After being sent a link to www.7things.org, a site which tries to give us seven simple things we can do to help protect the world from all the problems it currently has, I was inspired to create my own list of seven things we can all do to help our planet. So here, in no particular order, are my own 7 Ideas. Sure, some of them are "illegal", but when the fate of the planet is at stake, which side would you rather be on? The Law, or The Environment?
1: KILL. Whenever animals breathe in, they use up precious oxygen and breathe out carbon dioxide, which is bad. There is no way of filtering this, so the best thing to do is to kill anything you see that breathes, thus lowering the carbon dioxide/oxygen proportions. Killing cows is especially a good idea, as they are the worst offenders here, and taste delicious.
2: Only buy things built through child-labour. By only buying things built in cramped Taiwanese sweatshops, you can guarantee that MORE of your money goes towards the children. As an added bonus, these are generally the cheapest items on the market, so everybody wins!
3: Stop reading Illicitly Eating Flowers. You’re wasting electricity just by being here. Thanks and all, but – go away. For the sake of the planet.
4: Hunt down predators. Did you know that Salmon are an endangered species? Well they are, and the main reason for this, obviously, is bears. By taking to the forest in our hundreds, armed with rifles, we can try and put down these grizzly killers before they get rid of all our salmon for good. Whales also do a lot to whittle down the numbers of fish in our seas – we need to get some electrified spears and get them before there are no cod left to make the fish-fingers we all love.
5: Illegally download things. Think about all the plastic used in making CDs and DVDs and all those little things you like to buy. Plastic can’t biodegrade, making it bad for the environment, and creating it causes bad gasses that cause global warming or something. So next time you think about buying a lovely new ‘thing’, think first – "could I download this online?" If so, then go do it. It’s your duty as an environmentalist.
6: Never wash. Running water is a waste of electricity. We were given the gift of rain (especially in England), and we should make the most of it. Also don’t use deodorants, because they use CFCs which are bad for the O-Zone.
7: Have less sex. Having children means that there will be more people to potentially ruin the planet in a few years time. If you follow Rule 6 though, this one will be easy enough.
See? You CAN make a list like this without having to make any reference to cheerleaders. Take that, corporate America!
1: KILL. Whenever animals breathe in, they use up precious oxygen and breathe out carbon dioxide, which is bad. There is no way of filtering this, so the best thing to do is to kill anything you see that breathes, thus lowering the carbon dioxide/oxygen proportions. Killing cows is especially a good idea, as they are the worst offenders here, and taste delicious.
2: Only buy things built through child-labour. By only buying things built in cramped Taiwanese sweatshops, you can guarantee that MORE of your money goes towards the children. As an added bonus, these are generally the cheapest items on the market, so everybody wins!
3: Stop reading Illicitly Eating Flowers. You’re wasting electricity just by being here. Thanks and all, but – go away. For the sake of the planet.
4: Hunt down predators. Did you know that Salmon are an endangered species? Well they are, and the main reason for this, obviously, is bears. By taking to the forest in our hundreds, armed with rifles, we can try and put down these grizzly killers before they get rid of all our salmon for good. Whales also do a lot to whittle down the numbers of fish in our seas – we need to get some electrified spears and get them before there are no cod left to make the fish-fingers we all love.
5: Illegally download things. Think about all the plastic used in making CDs and DVDs and all those little things you like to buy. Plastic can’t biodegrade, making it bad for the environment, and creating it causes bad gasses that cause global warming or something. So next time you think about buying a lovely new ‘thing’, think first – "could I download this online?" If so, then go do it. It’s your duty as an environmentalist.
6: Never wash. Running water is a waste of electricity. We were given the gift of rain (especially in England), and we should make the most of it. Also don’t use deodorants, because they use CFCs which are bad for the O-Zone.
7: Have less sex. Having children means that there will be more people to potentially ruin the planet in a few years time. If you follow Rule 6 though, this one will be easy enough.
See? You CAN make a list like this without having to make any reference to cheerleaders. Take that, corporate America!
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