Sunday, April 23, 2017

New Rant Vid! Photogenic People

If you hate people who always look great in a photo.... and hate people who always moan about how they look in a photo. Then this is the video for you!

(Ps It's been nearly a year since I made a vid so would love to hear your feedback! @theroryjohn

Saturday, April 15, 2017

5 Things I Loved This Week #2

Some of the things I've loved this week including Michelle Visage, a video at the Tate, the podcast everyone is droning on about, and this fella... 

1 Immigrant Song

I've been hearing a lot of this song recently and it's still never enough. 

Last week over on reddit someone posted about how the opening credits to 'The Girl with a Dragon Tattoo' (English version) make for a better Bond opening sequence than most Bond films. 

It's damn true you know.

That blood-thickening noise is Karen O and Trent Reznor's cover of Led Zeppelin's 1970 Viking anthem 'Immigrant Song'. I now listen to it every time I need a He-Man-esque 'I HAVE THE POWER' boost for work/a casual strut down a train platform/a trip to the kettle. 

This week the original popped up in the teaser trailer for 'Thor: Ragnorak' (which actually looks fun). This track is clearly destined to be my new life anthem. Enemies beware. 

2 S-Town podcast

From the people behind Serial, here's a new highly addictive podcast that will have you taking the long-way home with ears aching for answers. 

It begins with a murder mystery and pivots several times into something completely different - including a character portrait and ending in a philosophical pondering of what it means to live life well. 

To say more gives too much away but in short it's an evocative Southern Gothic filled with hugely colourful characters though at its conclusion (I finally got there during an impromptu three hour walk) I was left a little unsatisfied and felt well, a bit icky. 

A co-worker I argued with by the biscuit tin felt (like many who listened) that it is a work of genius but I wondered if this was a great journalist (Brian Reed) following a story wherever it took him or someone desperately shaping a story as their years of research whimpered out into nothing much at all. Some prompts felt oddly motivated (what was he trying to say exactly with Tyler's finger anecdote?) and most central pursuits fall away without explanation. 

That said it is most definitely worth a listen. A painting of (a) life that is in turns grimly dark and beautiful. 

3 Mark Leckey 'Dream English Kid' at Tate Britain 

I'm wary of dark rooms showing videos in galleries. Sometimes this is because the films are dull as a dry sponge but nobody leaves in case they look stupid, but mostly I stay away as (unlike some, no judgement) I don't savour the thought of sitting on a stranger in the dark. 

But I gave this a go and loved it. 'Dream English Kid' is choppy-changy visual poem, a montage of found footage and reconstruction broadly looking at hedonism and anxiety in the last quarter of the 20th century. 

Imagine David Lynch grew up in Liverpool on potato waffles, Angel Delight and nuclear warnings you might get a sense of what Leckey's piece is like. And like Lynch's work this is something to let wash over you and to feel rather than grapple to make sense of. 

4 The Diva Rules by Michelle Visage

Okay so I am a sucker for a impulse buy life-coach book and a decent 97% of the time I'm completely deflated by chapter 2, realising yet again it's just some joker selling common sense but sticking Capitalized Letters on Repeated Buzzwords to make it look like they are Inventing Bold New Concepts. 

This one falls into my 3%. Yes, there's nothing startlingly new in here and it's not a long read but it's delivered with sharp humour and zero bullshit. I'm all for anything that gives me some much needed workplace pep and Michelle is like a bollocking boxer's coach in your corner when it comes to work ethic. One of her rules is 'Don't get ready, stay ready' (ie always be prepped for big opportunities and work your arse off to jump to the next level). 

Oh and for those who might think it's only for girls and gays don't be afraid of the word 'Diva' (which she strongly distinguishes from being a self-obsessed bitch who judges others instead of celebrating them), Diva = Anyone who is an unstoppable powerhouse. 

Btw Who else is enjoying the new 'Ru Paul's Drag Race' episodes? Valentina for the win! 

5 Lessons from the Screenplay

Every award season I'm left frustrated as the world swoons over the best actor, best actress, best supporting actor, best supporting actress, best director, best picture (one for the producers) and always back 17 rows from the limelight is the ACTUAL PERSON WHO WROTE THE DAMN FILM.  

I love YouTube video essays about film (channelcriswell and Every Frame a Painting are brilliant) and 'Lessons from the Screenplay' is a great one that redresses this insane imbalance of appreciation. 

Also this week! 

Kendrick Lamarr's new album 'DAMN' was one of my big highlights of the week but due to my shocking rap/hip hop ignorance I don't think I could write much about without exposing myself the utter jackass I am. Great album though. 

Harry Styles' 'Sign of the Times'. I have zero shame about it. While Zayn and Niall have launched their own careers (and Zayn's album was class), it always felt like One Direction was a launching pad for the Harry's inevitable and colossal solo success. And it's time to launch. Admittedly this track took a listen or two to really get into but now it just will not leave me alone. It's a pure belter. I've already pre-ordered the album.

While we're on the subject I've also long admired Harry's 'dishevelled son of a rock star smelling of cider in Primrose Hill' style and in particular envied his crusty old Chelsea boots. Several years later and I've finally bought my own pair - grey suede from Kurt Geiger. I will wear them till they are stinking dead. 

(BTW while looking up that image I've discovered the same pair are on sale online for literally HALF THE PRICE. Well that's ruined that happy purchase for me.) 

I also saw 'Ghost in the Shell'. It was okay. I reckon if you're doing a sci-fi based on a graphic novel then the cinematography needs to be on-point in every shot and I felt there was ever-so slightly missed opportunities all over the shop. That said, if you're hungry for choreographed ass-kicking and Blade Runner android pondering then do check it out. 

I'd really love to hear any feedback or general waffle you have!

 I'm on Twitter @theroryjohn

Saturday, April 8, 2017

Fearsome: Mice, Pigeons, & Clowns - Oh My!

It seems I have the powerful animal attraction of Snow White. While she coaxed birds, rabbits and squirrels (with eyes the size of plates) into helping with the housework, I am a magnet for mice and ants. 

Or at least the housemates suspect I'm behind it. Due to the ever building evidence, I'd have to agree. I'm either a cursed witch or rodents just find me damn sexy.  

Since I moved in two months ago we've had a tiny biblical plague of 'things that make you go eww'. The ants issue is being handled with ineffectual sprays and hard stares but there was another guest that wreaked greater havoc. 

Housemate M (preserving anonymity so there's a slightly less chance of her telling me to quit detailing every bloody thing that happens) screamed as though possessed with the terrors of hell one night. She's spied a very casual mouse in her room (reports say he didn't scuttle, he strolled - which was rude). Housemate M does not like mice. So much so that she emigrated. Really. 

The next day we got a message saying she'd returned to the home-country until the mouse was dealt with. 'Dealt with' in the Mafia understanding of the phrase. Thankfully she's back and the mouse has not been seen round these parts since. I think he casually strolled off for a drama-free life.
My mum also hates mice. My brother found out just how much when he found a dead mouse in a trap, crept up behind her and held it beside her face before calling her name. She did not laugh. 

They don't bother me much. Granted I wouldn't like to wake up and find one taking a bath in my mouth but when I see them nipping about on tube platforms I think 'aww mouse!' instead of 'ARGH BURNDOWNTHESTATION'. 

I also quite like spiders, don't have issue with snakes, and I bloody love a good pigeon. My mate Louise goes into a trance-state of quivering dread if one comes within 30 metres. I on the other-hand was conditioned to love pigeons from an early age by the 'Feed the birds' lady (who, now I reflect on it, was only ever interested in peddling overpriced bags of crumbs to tourists). 

I'm not going to belittle or sneer at those with irrational fears - because people don't tend to appreciate that and because I have a few of my own. 

This week a new trailer for a remake of 'Stephen King's IT' brought back happy childhood memories for many. For those who don't know it's about a demonic razor-toothed clown who lurked in drains and guts children. 

The bit that scared the living bejesus out of me in the original was a girl spying Pennywise through a clothes line. He smiles, she giggles. We see him again and... well... 

So I don't hang out much with clowns. I don't tend to trust child-catchers either. But these fears are reasonable. One that is edging towards unnecessary is the dread that grips me upon seeing a 'costumed character' - ie some randomer dressed as a friendly cartoon with a giant head and huge white gloves. Their real faces lurking somewhere behind those dead eyes. 

I despise and resent their eager joviality. They are not fun. They are sweaty strangers who dress up as something you love so they can trick you into hugging them.. or just to get paid a small wage...or to kill you. Who's to say?!

If one of these jolly dickheads was found lurking under my bed I would not merely emigrate until it's killed, I would watch the city burn from space. 

And that's not an over-reaction. 

Do you have any major fears? I'm on Twitter @theroryjohn

Monday, March 27, 2017

5 Things I Loved This Week

I've become a believer in praising what you want to see more of in the world. If I've enjoyed something I'll try and tell the person behind it. Because....

- Creative types are stereotyped as praise-guzzling egomaniacs but more often are shy worrywarts who put heaps of work into something and are anxious about how it's received.

- People assume others are doing the praising. Often nobody is. 

- Sometimes they tweet back! (I know this is not cool but I am not cool.) 

- It's a nice thing to do.

In the spirit of sharing great stuff here are 5 things I bloody loved this week.


1 Edith Bowman's podcast 'Soundtracking' where she chats to directors about the music used in their films. It's that simple but Edith makes it brilliant. She's clearly done her homework on each director's filmography and they in turn clearly love joining her for a deep nerdy dive into the choices they agonised over but often nobody appreciates. 

'Kong: Skull Island' director Jordan Vogt-Roberts said it was one of the most enjoyable conversations he's had in a long time - further specifying he didn't just mean while doing press junkets, he meant in life. I particularly recommend Edith's recent joyful catch-up with Edgar Wright which just went up this week. 

If you're a fan of films you'll love it. If you're a fan of music you'll love it. If you're a fan of good conversation you'll love it. 

2 A few years ago over pints at the BBC, 'Harlots' (Hulu, ITV Encore) co-creator Alison Newman quietly tipped me off that she had a great wee idea stirring for a drama but wouldn't be drawn further. 

At the time she was trying to track down Lucy Beale's killer as DI Samantha Keeble. Keeble failed (damn you Bobby!) but Alison has far more bloody-minded determination. She and Moira Buffini have turned a spark of fascination with the hidden history of 18th century prostitution into a hugely acclaimed series. 

As you'd expect from a lavish drama, the cast is impressive (including Samantha Morton, Lesley Manville, and Jessica Brown-Findlay of 'Downtown' fame) and every costume and location is on point.  But 'Harlots' doesn't feel for a second like a politely dull but worthy costume drama. This 18th century is fresh, colourful and new (as it should be, most dramas seem to forget that the clothes and houses were brand new at the time). Packed with rivalry, bitchiness, sex, lust and backstabbing, this is not your gentle bookish Sunday night viewing, it's gripping gutsy telly. 

Judging from my housemates gasps & curses at characters (she watches telly like an American watches the Super Bowl) this is going to be huge. Probably best not to watch it with your mum though (there's lots of thrusting and wobbly bits). 

3 Bowing out this week was series 2 of 'The Great Pottery Throw Down' or 'Pots Win Prizes' as it blatantly should have been called. Like 'The Great British Bake Off', which it will forever be compared with, Pottery Throwdown beavered away in the background for the first series before really hitting its stride and capturing the Twitter audience in the second. 

Like Bake Off, the magic is in the casting - the contenders are all likeable, quietly quirky (but not in a 'I'm mad me!' way), impressively talented, and do care for each other (when Elaine left Nam sadly reflected "Elaine is the only one who actually took care of me..."). 

Unlike Bake Off there's a thumping soundtrack of 1960 British rock, a male judge who will cry if a plate feels nice, and with Sara Cox presenting there are cheeky nods to the obvious innuendos (rims, bottoms, handles being 'well hung') but it feels far less self-conscious. 

The finale has played and the winner declared but catch up on iPlayer if you missed out. I promise you will not look at a mug handle the same way ever again. 

4 'Walking music' doesn't sound like much of a compliment but for years The XX have been my soundtrack to aimless wandering whilst feeling big profound emotions about nothing in particular. They carved out their own distinct line in ambient tunes to muse to - so much so that for me their second album felt just that bit too similar to the first. 

I expected their third album 'I See You' would be yet more of the same but instead it's proved a quick addiction and I would wager their best yet. There's still the distinctive XX sound with Romy and Oliver's vocals dancing in and over each and it does move at the pace of hungover soul shuffling from the sofa to kettle, but the album feels much more robust  - there's more muscle in the flesh. Or to put it another way, it's damn catchy. 

5 'Yoga with Adriene' also comes recommended as Caitlin Moran's YouTube tutorial of choice and has been my weedy body's saviour. After decades of avoiding public exercise for fear that I'll be utterly shite at it, this easy home yoga series has helped me feel that my body isn't entirely defective. It's just a bit lazy and non-stretchy.

Adriene is a perky and insanely positive Texan yoga instructor and actor. I know, how insufferable does she sound already? BUT trust me you'll love her. She guides with a laid-back encouraging attitude and occasional tangents into rap, pop or a TV reference she can't quite remember (one of her more frequent phrases is 'Okay...shuttup Adriene'). 

Last year I tried her 30 day challenge and made it to the heady heights of Day 6 before jacking it in, this year I'm at Day 18 and counting - and that's mostly down to the fact that Adriene doesn't make me feel like a useless dolt when I fail. She will stretch you both literally and figuratively but won't frustrate you. 

You will never stand up without hearing 'head over heart, heart over pelvis' again. 

Anything you loved this week you'd like to share?

I'm on Twitter @theRoryJohn

Saturday, March 25, 2017

How Simon Amstell Changed My Sandwich

I do not have a fond history with Simon Amstell. A few years ago he got irked with me (& the rest of the audience) for not laughing on cue. 

Simon repeatedly reminded us that his live-recording of a show was not for really for those of us who had paid to be there but for a future DVD audience. He berated us for not laughing in the same spots when he lost his place in the script and repeated his jaunty off-the-cuff anecdotes over and over. And over. And over. 

This week he changed my life. Or rather this week he temporarily changed my options when I go to Pret. 

His mock-umentary 'Carnage' arrived on BBC iplayer. It's set in a 2067 where humans choosing to eat animals is a long forgotten shame. Talking heads and a mixture of fake and real footage charts our meat obsession over the last century and how we eventually woke (or will wake) to the magic of a salad bowl. 

When I hear vegan, mostly due to a few bad egg(plant)s, I think of a droning bore who clings to a holier-than-though label to compensate for a very apparent lack of personality/humour/success. While they profess to being on planet-saving mission I suspect they dread veganism becoming the norm as that would mean they don't have their quirky better-than-everyone 'thing' any longer. They would *gasp* be the same as everyone else. Just duller. Until they find a new thing that everyone else does wrong.

But 'Carnage' isn't hectoring or virtue-trumpeting, it looks at society from an outside perspective and says 'hang on lads, is this insane?'. 

Real clips taken out of context hammer this home in a light but oh-shit-we-are-weirdos way. One sees Gordon Ramsay and friends enjoying the sight of sheep frolicking about a garden and musing "I DO think happy meat tastes better". Another sees Nigella Lawson casually cracking a chicken's skeleton and putting the dead bird in her oven, seen from the year 2067 as resembling "a documentary about a lunatic". 

I've always felt that eating meat is a moral choice but have wimped out from owning that choice with various excuses such as 'I love fried chicken', 'There's not enough other options', and 'Seriously though fried chicken is yum'. But after watching the documentary I've decided to try a little experiment and instead of running from meat in horror I'll just see if life is easily survivable for a week or two without it. A positive choice to see what else is on the menu. 

So a few days in and I'm taking baby-steps by going meat-free but not completely dairy-free (dammit I need that cheese) and am surprised by how easy it's been. There's loads of alternatives and they don't all taste like mushed grass. Without milk, coffee doesn't churn heavily in my stomach, I feel lighter after meals but admittedly a lot hungrier by bedtime - which is okay as you can pretty much eat as much as you like, so long as what you're eating didn't once have a face. 

All in all, it's a piece of piss. Roll on 2067. 

Preview of next week's blog: F**k it fried chicken is good. 

I'm on Twitter @theroryjohn

Saturday, March 18, 2017

22 Things You May or May Not Know About Siobhan Fahey

This month marks 25 years since Shakespears Sister reached the UK & Ireland number 1 with this wonderful wailing power ballad.

The video was reportedly banned in Germany for promoting witchcraft (??) and those who were younger at the time (which is everyone who was alive) will remember that how mesmerising, dangerous, dark, powerful and demonic Siobhan Fahey looked in the video. 

If she was a witch (and she wasn't, she was an Angel of Death) then she was equal parts terrifying and alluring. You would be easily tempted into her gingerbread house for a piss-up even knowing she was going to eat you and wash you down with Strongbow & Ribena.

Afrer falling down a internet hole of exploration and appreciation, here's my quick tribute to this trailblazing no-fucks-given Irish rebel.

Below are 22 things you might already know about her but perhaps don't. 

Wednesday, March 15, 2017

The Dark Truth behind 'Row Your Boat'

A supposed human family live above my new home. A mum, dad, toddler, and baby. 

Through the ceiling they sound to all the world like the Honey Monster reenacting a WWE Smackdown between Hulk Hogan and The Undertaker, but I was assured they are actual civilised-ish human beings. Then I saw one. 

I caught first sight of the mum as she ambled past my window with the youngest in a buggy. She was singing - 

"Row, row, row your boat, 
Gently down the river, 
If you see a polar bear, 
Don't forget to shiver."

Inhuman! I was outraged on two levels. 

- Windows are a two-way system. You may stop to peer in at me as you sing your ditty, but notice how my eyes are fixed in the direction of your face. That's me seeing you. I am watching you do this. You don't know how windows work. 

- Those are not the lyrics. You're child will be mis-informed and will only realise your rogue nursery rhyme antics when it comes up during a quirky student pub chat 20 years hence. Your child will undoubtedly come to resent you as much as I do. 

The nursery rhyme 'Row Your Boat' is precious to me on two levels. 'Rowtheboat' is my dad's nickname for me because the first syllable of my name is 'Ro'. Very well thought-through and witty, as are all dad's nicknames for kids. 

Then there's the underlying message. I think 'Row Your Boat' is second to none when it comes to nursery rhymes with a powerful philosophical thrust. Even more so than that battle cry of socialism 'Baa Baa Black Sheep'* 

"Row, row, row your boat
Gently down the stream
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily, 
Life is but a dream."

The rhyme is presenting us with a cold and bold wake-up call; Reality is not real.  

It does not matter what you do in this world because reality itself is a mirage. Keep paddling away down that stream trying to get to wherever you think you're going but ultimately it's pointless. There is no end destination. 

One could dip headlong into existential despair at the realisation we are taking part in a elaborate farce but the rhyme offers another solution - go merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily. Life may be meaningless but fuck it, have some fun as you slip downstream. 

And this the mum upstairs substituted with a highly-doubtful polar bear sighting on a river!? The 'neighbours from hell' saga has just begun... 

I'm on Twitter @theroryjohn

*Notice how despite the signalled power structure, the master, dame, and little boy who lives down the lane are all treated as equally deserving in the eyes of the black sheep. 

Sunday, March 5, 2017

Disney's Death Obsession

Another wild weekend of mine rolls from hard-lived reality into the stuff of whispered legend. Future biographers will feast on tales of how I occasionally checked if the socks on the clothes-horse were dry yet whilst watching 'Cinderella' on Netflix. 

It's another one of those Disney's live-action money-churners which I'm quietly intrigued by but never so much so to spend 15 quid on a cinema ticket (I won't forgive you 'Malificent'). Again it features a simperingly perfect Pollyanna lead but is worth a watch for Cate Blanchett alone. 

She is a deliciously camp flash of evil but never strays into hammy pantomime. This arch villainess could become cartoony but instead we get an understandable human - a bitter twisted grasping human, but a human. With great clothes. 

What also struck me was the aggressive amount of parental death chucked at the audience. Elle's beloved mother dies but luckily she has a loving and stable father, who then dies. Meanwhile Prince Kit's mother is presumably already dead, and so he only has his beloved father, who promptly dies. The lesson seems to be 'if you love your parents they will die'. A comfort to any child.

Of course we have learned to brace ourselves for this kind of thing in a Disney film. 

For instance: Simba's father is trampled to death in 'The Lion King', Bambi's mother is shot dead, Tarzan's parents are eaten by a leopard and his adoptive father is shot dead, Shan's father killed in battle in 'Mulan', Quasimodo's mother beaten to death in 'The Hunchback of Notre Dame', both Cinderella and Snow White's mothers are dead, Tiana's dad is killed at war in 'The Princess and the Frog', Tod's mum is hunted down and killed in 'The Fox and the Hound',  Lilo's parents were killed in a car-crash in 'Lilo and Stitch', Arthur has no parents in 'The Sword and the Stone', Ariel's mum is dead in 'The Little Mermaid', Belle's mum is not mentioned in 'Beauty and the Beast' and she's held captive away from her father, Cody's dad is dead in 'The Rescuers Down Under', the parents drown in 'Frozen'  Mogli's mum was killed by Shere Khan in 'The Jungle Book', Dumbo's mum was locked up for supposed mental health problems, and more recently in 'Big Hero 6' both the hero's parents are dead. 

So what's that about?

I'm very far from the first person to notice Disney's mummy-death obsession and there's a great article on 'Hopes & Fears' here outlining the main theories. The most frequently raised is that Walt Disney was acting out his guilt over the death of his own mother. He bought his parents a swanky new home in Hollywood, but a year later his mum died by breathing fumes from a faulty furnace. Walt reportedly never forgave himself. 

Hmm. The issue there is that most Disney's stories are adaptations of stories written hundred of years before that faulty furnace. It may have been a subconscious personal fixation for Walt but to be fair, fairytales and fables have been bumping off parents since writing began. 

It's a simple story need. Stories are about change and parents represent stability. This is not just a Disney issue, Luke Skywalker, Oliver Twist, Annie, Dorothy Gale and Harry Potter are all orphans who follow the same route to independence. 

For our main character to grow they have to be thrust into a state of change. The archetypal story follows a hero as they go from stable contentment to a fragile state of uncertainty, to overcoming these fears and obstacles and becoming triumphant and self-sufficient. This is the outline of many stories because it's the outline we tell ourselves about life itself. It's one story we all relate to. 

If parents are in the story then the hero has no reason to tackle the world alone. We need death of stability as the catalyst for growth. 

As Disney producer Don Hahn says "One reason is practical because the movies are 80 or 90 minutes long, and Disney films are about growing up. They're about that day in your life when you have to accept responsibility. In shorthand, it's much quicker to have characters grow up when you bump off their parents. Bambi's mother gets killed, so he has to grow up. Belle only has a father, but he gets lost, so she has to step into that position. It's a story shorthand."

It does sound darkly morbid but if that uplifting story is going to work, there has to be a parental bloodbath.  

I'm on Twitter @theroryjohn

Friday, February 24, 2017

My Life: The Brand New Series!

This week my life began what was once dubbed 'a new chapter' but which I see as 'a new series' with all the hyped hyperbole that entails - "New faces, new challenges, new adventures... nothing. will. ever. be. the same. again!"

This time two weeks ago I lived in a bedsit which I had originally planned to be a three week stop-gap shelter but ended up being home for two and a half years; a testament to my intense aversion to organising, packing, and lifting.  

I lived a type of existence which was obviously signed-posted for and end of series twist. One where the protagonist almost gives up on this weary world only to win the lottery (having bought tickets thrice weekly to hurry this final twist along). The twist never happened. Instead I just moved. 

I went from what was a bleak comedy (without the comedy) in the style of Rising Damp, mis-matched souls bound together in a bedsit divided house, to what is closer to the show I always hoped adult life would be like - This Life

I'm now living in a house-share of young(ish) professionals though with less wine-swilling and ill-advised shagging and instead much more tea, early pyjamas, and scoffing at the telly. 

Am I alone in sometimes considering life as though it's a TV show? It may be because it is literally my day job as a TV producer, it may be because my generation were weened on simple story constructions with happy endings and dramatic cliffhangers, or more likely it's because I'm a raving narcissist who sees the world around him as a mere backdrop to his boring adventures. 

This thought first occurred to me at a friend's wedding a few years ago (there have been approximately 34 such occasions in the last five years, all brilliant). We were all friends from our teenage years but were soon to separate across the globe, our diverging paths and differing life choices clearly marked. As I took in the group drunkenly embracing and howling out Westlife's 'We Got A Little World of Our Own' (this has become oddly standard at Irish weddings), I remarked to a friend, 'God, this is just like an end of season finale!'. 

And it was. Old feuds were resolved, old romances put to bed (or brought to bed), everyone united in nostalgia whilst acknowledging deep change was ahead. Freeze frame on group happiness. Fade to black. Insert frustratingly small text on black background giving poignant updates on what happened next. 

And so my next season begins. Much may change but some show standards are expected - villains from past make unwanted reappearances (boo! hiss!), fresh romantic interests will prove unrequited ('jeez when will he learn? It's actually boring now'), and old fan favourites from seasons past will make welcome special reappearances to spike interest. 

Ideally the series' go-to storyline of 'hangover-never again-again-hangover-never-again' will finally die off due to critical mauling. Could I also request some episodes might slip into a post-watershed slot? Maybe that would push the limits of believability. We don't want to jump the shark. 

I'm on Twitter @theroryjohn

Monday, February 6, 2017

A Basic Bert

I have realised that I am more Bert than Ernie.

Despite what my autobiography may one day refer to as 'the questionable cider decades', I am not a wild child. I am no rebel. My spirit is not free. My spirit wears a cardigan and insists on strong tea. My Fitbit told me so.

For those who don't have one yet (they are an inevitability), the fitness tracker gives your arm a buzz when you reach the daily target of steps. My daily target is 10,000 steps which I always reach on the way home... outside the exact same Spar.

This may not seem surprising (or lets face it, even vaguely interesting). I take the same route to work and home so it adds up to much the same and YET this also means all my caffeine-addled dashes to the kettle, my impromptu consultations with colleagues (aka bad office flirting), toilet trips, lunch-break wanders, and any free-style jigs I partake in all add up to the exact same amount, give or take a margin of five steps. Sit down Alan Partridge, that's world champion level dull predictability.

Further evidence of this bludgeoning of spontaneity came with a recent trip to Topman. I bought two fresh identical plain black jumpers as the two identical plain black jumpers I already have are sometimes in the wash. These are always worn with one pair of my six pairs of identical plain black jeans. Topped off with one of two identical plain black hats. To add a cheeky dash of excitement to this outfit  I chucked in two identical plain black t-shirts because why the hell not? I was thrilled with myself. Or as thrilled as someone who dresses like Goth Rosie from Corrie (2005-2006) can be.

I have previously talked of my love off being a cafe regular and so it could seem my lust for ordered routine is turning into a mild obsession. But I just prefer to run the background bits of life on autopilot as much as possible. I know how some folk embrace the challenge of assembling a statement outfit and can imagine how creating and stepping into a fresh character each morning sparks joy as they strut the pavement. I whole-heartedly admire a put-together 'look at me' look in others. I'm just not arsed myself. I was not put-together, I hit the snooze button three times and nodded off again in the shower.

While I still have an Ernie side (yes, I have had spontaneous fun, reasonable night transport home allowing), I will always champion the Bert. The Bert side is old enough to know what it likes and how it likes it. The Bert side welcomes buying the same jumper again because the last one went bobbly in the wash. The Bert side shamelessly orders the same lunch five times a week because it's what you like to eat. The Bert side savours getting to bed before midnight. The Bert side doesn't need every banal life choice to be a whizzbangpopper of an adventure.

If you don't know (and secretly love) your own Bert side yet, you will. He's coming.

I'm on Twitter @theroryjohn

Sunday, February 5, 2017

Don't Have a...Cow!?

Some phrases are stealth nonsense. They creep into daily speak and hide in plain sight for generations. Accepted, maintained, and passed on without assessment or particular affection. But one day you might catch their shifty eye and see them for what they are - gibbering bullshittery.

Which brings me to, as ever, my bone-achingly dull commute to work. Somewhere between Mill Hill Broadway and Hendon I wondered where 'Cor Blimey' came from (I was fondly reminiscing over the rooftop sunset scene in Mary Poppins "...the rooftops of London, 'cor what a sight!", as you do)

With a quick google I discovered it's a corrupted pass-me-down of 'God blind me', which is an odd way of saying 'I'm quite surprised' to begin with.

Slipping down an etymology Google hole, I discovered that 'Crikey' was a mid-1800s substitute for 'Christ!'. It seems a decent chunk of our vocab stems from that familiar scenario of beginning to curse, catching your mum's eye, and swerving the end of the word - "Oh shhhhhhhh... ugar".

Another prominent example of a cursing u-turn is Bart Simpson's 'Eat my shorts'. A phrase the show trumpeted back when Bart was a t-shirt slogan spewing rebel and 'The Simpsons Sing the Blues' was THE cassette album to have.

(Note: Once I casually mentioned this album to a work-experience college student. They had never heard of it. Nor 'The Bartman'. To be fair this is because the album came out 27 years ago. Darkness fell across my emotional landscape.)

'Eat my shorts' was not a Simpsons invention and had previously been used in 1985 classic 'The Breakfast Club'. Looking at it afresh it's a very obvious censor-appeasing swerve on 'Eat my shit'.

And what of Bart's "Don't Have a Cow Man"?

Roughly speaking it means "don't freak out like you're trying to push a calf out of your down-below bits". It stems from "to have kittens", a more familiar phrase on this side of the Atlantic which means 'freaking out' as cats are notoriously nervy during kitten-birth. 'Don't have a cow' became the US adaptation, because Americans just had to go one bigger.

And about other early 90s tshirt-friendly-cartoon-slogans? (And nothing is more early 90s than a tshirt-friendly-cartoon-slogan.) 'Cowabunga' long predates Michelangelo. The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Michelangelo that is.

The pizza-loving 'party dude' brought it to a new generation but surfers used it when catching a 'narly wave' in the 1960s, and it debuted on the 'Howdy Doody Show' in 1953. The wild-west puppet show featured some questionable Native American stereotypes, as was the fashion at the time.

On some lowly corners of the internet it's rumoured to be derived from the actual Native American exclamation 'Kwa Bungu', though it seems to be a neat coincidence considering 'Howdy Doody' writer Eddie Kean says it was pure nonsense babble he made it up.

If you can think of any other familiar slogans or phrases you'd like me to investigate just give me a shout (because let's face it, this is what I do with my weekends now).

I'm on Twitter @theroryjohn

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