World peace... maybe

So, as discussed yesterday, I watched the documentary Zeitgeist which discusses a modern day utopian plan called The Venus Project. The idea goes a little like this:

The earth could, with current technological advances, be run entirely on free energy if we properly harnessed solar, wind and wave power.

If we then focused efforts on creating long-lasting fully automated machinery, it's plausible that, once this machinery is created, the produce of said machines would be free- providing it used sustainable natural materials.

This would basically mean that us humans get to muck about all day, get a bit bored of playing Call of Duty 37 on multiplayer and, with any luck, decide to contribute something worthwhile.

For example, even today one man can run acres of farmland single handedly. Suppose that man were to work for free- and the energy to power his farm was free -then the farm would be producing entirely free produce, no?

If our wax jacket wearing friend was happy to feed himself and others from the land, and clothe himself courtesy of the guy down the road who runs a fully automated clothing factory, then Bob's your uncle- a world without the need for money.

Would greed not get in the way you ask? No, according to those zany Venus buffs. An education system teaching nippers the value of technology and sharing would eventually lead to a self sufficient world with no fossil fuels or harmful effects to the planet.

The current system of chasing profit, they argue, necessitates inefficient goods and greed in order for people continue spending and consuming. Added to that, the pyramid scheme that is the financial system is fast reaching it's theoretical limits and will implode entirely in the next ten years. Apparently.

Venus go on to argue that, in a world with no money, crime is greatly reduced, so there's no need for government and laws (which is why it's "definitely not Communism" :-) no ruling elite). They would also do away with religion, which, they claim, does nothing but divide people and cause wars.

After first hearing these anarchic ramblings I was naturally shocked. I spat out my Cuban cigar, spraying ash all over my Louis Vuitton suit. My gut reaction was ridicule, I wanted to destroy the ideas- perhaps using a controlled demolition and some planes (wink, wink)- the notion was absurd, surely?

Then, I chilled out, donned some sandals, a hemp shirt and literally nothing else (deal with it squares). I eventually realised my previous thinking was sooo early 21st Century.

Peace, maybe.

No government, money or religion!

The use of exclamation marks is forbidden by my publishing house, which sees them as crass and unnecessary. I agree, but the headline above seemed to be a worthwhile exception. (I'm currently unsure of their policy on shocked orangutan pictures).

I've had a bit of spare holiday to burn these past few days and, due to the bank sending me incorrect pin numbers for cards that were cruelly half-inched from me last Friday night, I have no immediate access to cash.

My proceeding houseboundness has led me to watch two jaw dropping documentaries- both of which can be found here Zeitgeist the Movie.

I highly recommend you watch them both. The sources used within are highly reputable and the logic, undeniable and paced in a way that's easy to follow. The issues discussed are relevant to us all, and are frankly shit-scary.

To summarise, the videos show lucidly show how religion is used as a tool, how ruthless shadow governments start wars to profiteer and how poverty is literally built into the banking and financial systems. The second doc even goes as far as to suggest that technology is at a point where money is no longer necessary at all to mankind!

(Apologies, another exclamation mark just slipped out- I clearly need to tighten the bicycle clips on my punctuation-filled trousers)

Regular Life Guff readers will already be aware of my distaste for utter bankers. Their administrative error which has left me penniless and incarcerated in my own home this week, coupled with the recent Supreme Court whitewash has done little to endear them to me any further.

The Zeitgeist documentaries were the icing on the cake, albeit a big rubbish fruit cake made with too much marzipan and human excrement in the place of raisins.

So. Should we, and can we, move towards a system that does away all together with money? Life Guff is pretty sceptical, but never afraid to tackle the weighty issues.

Stay tuned for an impending update with my thoughts. In the meantime, check this site out- The Venus Project

Style tips

I'm drunk and I'm issuing men's style tips. This is the situation. Too many faux pas tonight and I can no longer take it.


1. Shirts should be worn under V-necks, not round necks. Roundnecks look good with a tee shirt, or nothing underneath.

2. Navy should not clash with black. This is why cords are a good call- you can get away with various colours of cords, but not jeans- which only look good in dark blue, or black.

3. Layer. Many layers of stuff should adorn your person. Scarfs, Jumpers, wrist wear, knitwear, suit jackets etc.

4. Grey is good. An Underrated colour, dragged down unfairly by ex-PM John Major. Grey looks cool in suits. It is acceptable to wear out, and at job interviews, and it goes with pretty much any colour.

5. Avoid wankiness. Flamboyance is cool, but keep it to a minimum. A lairy shirt, for example, should be subdued by a blazer, V-neck or cardigan. Show a little lairyness, but not a lot.

6. Invest the majority of your budget in the following items- white shirt, jeans, shoes, well fitting tee shirts.

7. Keep your shirt/tee shirt a lighter colour than your cardigan, suit jacket, or tie. It really just looks wrong otherwise.

8. Match your eye-colour to your clothes.

9. Dress with irony. If you look like a toff, grunge it up a bit- see Jude Law. If you're a recovering drug addict, dress like royalty- see Keith Richards.

10. Don't spend too much on gym wear. You'll look like a try-hard. Instead, opt for Uniqlo sweat pants, American Apparel or Topman tee-shirts and New Balance trainers from TK Maxx. New Balance and Asics are the thinking man's trainers. Functional, but not exorbitantly priced.

11. Avoid Chavvy stores and keep it basic. The following high street shops, in order of price range, are advisable: Uniqlo, Topman, American Apparel, Banana Republic, Full Circle, Levis, Reiss, Tommy Hilfiger, Diesel, Paul Smith, Ralph Lauren, Christian Dior.

12. Dress predominantly in one colour. It makes you look taller and slimmer.

13. Avoid logos. Style should speak for itself. (Small logos- like the polo horse and crocodile are borderline acceptable, I guess.)

14. Find a store that sells clothes that suit your shape.

15. Model yourself on guys with timeless style- Frank Sinatra, Steve McQueen, The Beatles (late years), The Strokes (early years), Interpol, Carey Grant, Andre 3000...

16. Don't emulate gangsters or douche bags. Leave bling, graffiti stylings, ripped tailoring and too much hair product to Italian American stereotypes and Persians.

17. You are not square shapped. So don't wear clothes that make you look rectangular or in any way boxey.

18. Feck, I'm up to 18. I really must be drunk... I dunno, my main advice is avoid simple carbs (rice, pasta, bread, sugar)- they're the only thing that actually makes you store fat as fat. I.e, you can eat excess amounts of protein, good fats and complex carbs and stay slim. However, if you eat less, but it consists of simple carbs you'll still look like the Pilsbury dough boy.

19. Loosen up. Ladies can sense an uptight chump at 1,000 paces.

Weddings

So my colleague, Chantelle, is getting married which has led me into the previously unchartered territory of wedding magazines.

I was unexpectedly engaged, so to speak, by the pages of whatever upmarket title Chantelle was reading, not to mention the curvaceous broads therein.

Despite only having been to three weddings in my life, my taste in bridal dresses has been much lauded by the ladies of Event towers. I pick good white gown, basically- a skill that would no doubt bring approving nods from The Pope, Gandhi and members of certain redneck racist fraternities.

This affinity for pointing at expensive things and expressing approval, I reason, has been honed by years of reading GQ magazine. The trouble with 'taste', though, is that it's so fleeting and, as Oscar Wilde said "fashion is what one wears oneself".

Face it, guys don't look back at their wedding snaps and say "Thank God my barber put those blonde streaks in my curtains. What a timeless look". Nor do ladies say "Darren, I'm still glad I chose a dress that matched our pastel wallpaper".

If I ever get married- which given my flakey commitment issues, nomadic tendencies and niche haircut- is looking unlikely, I plan to throw taste out of the window. For my big day, I propose (again, pun intended) a fairytale wedding. No, I mean literally a fairytale-themed wedding.

Firstly I would make my hapless bride dress as Snow White (my predilection for brunettes makes this particularly fitting), ordering seven of our shortest male friends to go as Happy, Doc, Grumpy and the gang.

I would basically use the wedding as an excuse to erk my entire extended family before eventually blaming my actions on pre-marital stress. And, what better way to do this, than by assigning them all characters based on their physical traits? The invites would be a joy:

Dear Uncle Nigel,

You're invited to my Fairytale-themed wedding but don't worry I've already hired your suit. Due to your offish stature and excess body hair I've pencilled you in as one of the three bears. Oh, and don't worry about your fibbing, socially awkward son. He'll be going as Pinocchio.

I'm really not big on the whole wedding-thing but, come to think of it, looking out on a church full of reluctant fictional characters, singing Some Day my Prince Will Come would probably be the happiest day of my life.

New Nightmare on Elm Street trailer and the death of the horror movie

Nightmare on Elm Street 3 was the first scary movie I ever watched, aged about nine.

These were simpler times when an advert featuring a cartoon giraffe's toy shop could cause spontaneous, aspartame-aided cartwheels. Then, suddenly I watched a horror movie and my perspective on life changed.

The film featured, amongst other delights, a teenage boy having his veins ripped out by the ghost of a hideously scarred child murderer- who then delighted in using the detached cords to guide the hapless adolescent off the top floor of a hospital tower block.

Bollocks to the Derren Brown, Nightmare on Elm Street 3 genuinely stuck me to my seat- in abject terror.

Despite the whole innocence-annihilating effect of the film, I still fondly reflect on it. Mainly because it probably helped me avoid becoming a more wimpy-minded teenager than I was.

So now they're re-making it, and the involvement of CGI wankfest guru, Michael Bay, doesn't bode well. To be fair, the trailer (below) looks okay, but I've rarely been scared by a horror movie that was produced pre-1990.

For me, the saturated colours and clumsy editing of films such as Don't Look Now and Halloween added a gritty realism.

Modern horrors are too knowing, too self-referential, they're not serious attempts at art. Scream is entertaining, sure, but you can't really believe the character's psychological toils. The acting has gotten worse, and I blame irony. Irony and botox.

I still look back fondly at Nicholson in The Shining, Peck in The Omen, Lee in The Wicker Man, jumpers for goalposts, drinking Tab Clear in Laser Quest, nagging my mum for remote controlled cars in Toys 'R Us.

I've gone full circle here, but yeah, modern horror movies, they're not as good and stuff, innit?

Roll trailer.

My contribution to the Kanye internet meme

Torriets, the Dark Knight of Twitter?

All hail this valiant Twitter subscriber.

Hark how he parodies the ephemeral nature of the site and its users' obsession with the cult of celebrity by employing the social networking medium itself as his tool.

Less learned readers may gasp at this moral knight's lewd application of the English language’s never-regions, but more fool them, for they fail to recognise this cloaked charlatan's higher aims.

By blaming a terminal psychological condition on his clearly pre-meditated prose he is aptly lampooning the banality and self-importance that plagues the post-modern era.

Only by using the sorid language of our kingdom’s feckless youth is he able to infiltrate the masses and mock the oblivious fools in their own native tongue.

On second thoughts, maybe he's just a ...

... the words elude me ...

The Beatles, and how over analysis ruins stuff

This week I've been thinking a lot about The Beatles. Decent remasters of all their albums will be made available on Wednesday September 9, prompting a week of BBC documentaries and countless articles in the press.

Despite my eagerness to hear the new revamps I have to admit that, having read a little too much on the project, I've emerged a little nonplussed from the experience.

The main issue is which version of the albums to get. Mono is how the original recordings were mastered and was the mop tops' preferred format. Stereo on the other hand, is how we're accustomed to hearing music, allowing the elements to be easily distinguished from each other.

In The Beatles case, however, some of the early stereo recordings are just bastardised versions of the original masters, sometimes slowed down, or with elements taken away to cater for the, then primitive, format. This issue has been occupying my inner geek for the past week. It's what guys who aren't in serious relationships think about.

Naturally I could discuss this topic in far greater detail but, in the end (Beatles reference intended), you have to wander whether over analysing things impacts on the enjoyment, especially when one of the reasons I love the band is because of childhood memories of listening to the original vinyls (sorry dad, it probably was me that wrote 'tOm's RecOrD' on the limited, numbered edition of the White Album).

Disregarding the fact that meddling little sprogs shouldn't be allowed near anything that doesn't have NASA construction standards, experiencing music as a kid was amazing, and all the better because things like structure, fidelity and stereo panning weren't dwelt on.

The same goes for film. One of the first movies I saw at the cinema was Honey, I Shrunk the Kids. As a nipper I was oblivious to the fact that no Hollywood producer would ever fund a PG certificate movie in which Rick Moranis' hound relentlessly massacres a troupe of primary school children, and the experience was all the better for this ignorance.

Sure, it's great that I no longer fear waking up next to a giant stag beetle (though I've woken up next to worse *comedy drum smash*), but is this is at the sacrifice of fully appreciating the music of The Beatles? I'll let you know on September 9th.

Daily Mail reader clearly bitter

Keeping up with my sister magazines' titles really paid dividends this week after this glorious tidbit landed in my inbox.

The letter, a complaint about the carnal nature of Haribo Maoam packaging, perhaps stretches the Daily Mail's archetypal reader beyond credulity, but is worth reading in full.

Maoam says carnal wrapper complaint is genuine.

Not to shoot fish in a barrel, but the sender obviously caused quite the scene in his local newsagent, implying he assumed the shopkeeper had a duty to studiously examine every item in the store for offensive content.

"Sorry Martha, we'll have to bin all these tins of sweetcorn because The Jolly Green Giant is clearly struggling to stifle his ample pan handle."

Besides, if two fruits did find a way to procreate, I'd be all for it. The offspring of a strawberry and a mango would probably prove so tasty that I'd start hosting fruit orgy nights at my flat.

I can picture it now, me, strutting around in a Hugh Hefner smoking jacket, pipe in hand, as a nectarine and a pear furiously get down to business over a Sony remote control, giggling away like it's the most natural thing in the world. Which it would be.

Best headline gaffe ever?

An issue I regularly debate over a cup of tea with my Grandma.

Daily Express headline gaff.

In other news, a fate worse than watching Glasvegas live?

Girl trapped in Leeds Festival poo pit.

Tarantino's 20 favourite movies since 1992... and mine

Tarantino interviews are great. Only he could get away with this quote:

"I am a filmmaker that critics have to deal with, and how they think about me will help define who they are and what they are about. So whether you accept me or reject me, I define you to some degree." (Shortlist, 6 August 2009).

I recently came across a YouTube vid where he talks about his favourite 20 movies. Unsuprisingly, it's a great list. Kudos for including Unbreakable, which is under-rated.



Off the top of my head, here's my top 20 films, in no particular order, since 1992 ... which is about as far back as I remember...

The Matrix
There Will Be Blood
Fight Club
Dead Man's Shoes
Battle Royale
South Park
American Psycho
The Dark Knight
Vanilla Sky
Pulp Fiction
Goldeneye
Lost in Translation
Jurassic Park
The Game
Casino
Old School
Momento
Carlito's Way
King Kong
Seven

Me mate Dave's blog

Is a great read.

This is a particulalry amusing post about tea, which is a subject close to my heart.

Because I haven't posted anything in a while...

Secret Histories: Phil Collins and the MOWO Awards

So, I've just written a news piece about the MOBO (music of black origin) Awards, which are happening next month. Event, the magazine I work for, may be attending the celebrations but, given what I know about the show's history, you'd have to hire a team of burly meatheads to force me into the star-studded ceremony.

My aversion to attending is not motivated by a belief that most modern r'nb is over-produced fluff (which it is) or because I'm a massive racist (which I'm not). The real reason I now carry precautionary cyanide pills is because of my ungodly fear of emerging from the ceremony with an newfound gravitas for the career of rotund drumming midget, Phil Collins.

You won't read this in your school text books, but the 2000 MOBO Awards was scene to the most heinous of mass indoctrinations. Its victims- entertainers from the world of black music- were subjected to a potent dose of pro-Genesis radiation, dealt by a so far unidentified pair of youngsters from stage-right during a particularly self-indulgent performance by Craig David.

The potent blast went largely unnoticed (such is the hypnotic lure of CD's unique beard topiary) but caused a spontaneous and unexplainable outpouring of bald drummer-love from black musicians everywhere, ultimately culminating in a veritable fruity guff of an album Urban Renewal: a tribute to Phil Collins.

The plot, of course, was masterminded by the pint-sized maniac himself who, since the dawn of disco music, had harboured a crippling rage at how white folk were being made to look uncoordinated and goofy by the emerging black music scene.

Collins' waking hours were spent searching for, and secretly financing, credible white alternatives to the likes of Michael Jackson, Tupac and the NWA. His bitterness, however, would only to grow stronger as he witnessed the public backlash to his carefully selected young fledglings: Rick Astley, Bryan Adams and Celine Dion.

Come 1998, fresh out of rehab from a harrowing Tab Clear addiction, Collins took matters into his own hands. He developed a mind-altering radiation frequency which, in tests, caused subjects to label In the Air of Tonight, "life affirming", "heartwarming" and "radically inventive".

For a while the plan worked, and Phil acted quickly to capitalize on his early-millennial success. His next project would be his most ambitious undertaking, the MOWOs, a celebration of white people's additions to rad new music, mainly focusing on the cutting-edge scenes in country and western, opera and English Baroque Chamber music.

The ceremony would be nothing if not memorable. East 17's Brian Harvey was set to make a speech about his influence on black fashion, whilst TV niceguy Ben Fogle had penned a stirring dialogue on how a Charles Mingus record inspired him to row across the Atlantic naked with another public schoolboy.

Sadly, after playing around with radiation, amongst other things, Collins was now an empty shell of a man, as documented to harrowing effect in this video, in which the once noble man is clearly docile, mute and in need of assistance from an entourage of rap musicians.



(PS- Yes, this was an overly long blog post to basically point out that I find Phil's presence in this video endlessly hilarious)

New Radiohead song

Is available free and, predictably, puts to shame most of the current indie scene even if it is one of their slighter efforts.

The song, These are my Twisted Words, is more about creating a mood than being lyrically insightful. The atmosphere, if you'll forgive me for being pretentious, is akin to driving at night in the fog with the suspicion that you're being followed.

The song follows the band's moving tribute to war veteran Harry Patch which features stunning orchestration by Jonny Greeenwood (who scored Their Will be Blood).

The band now seem to be planning random releases and EPs other than a full blown album.

Smug bank overdraft rant

I'm not a religious man, but I am partial to a pious rant as much as the next clergyman. A word doc on my desktop, addressed to my bank, recently reminded me what a self righteous git I am.

Woe betide anyone who crosses T Hall, for they shalt receive the most pompous strongly worded letter of their (quietly vindictive, pen pushing, serial masturbating, uncompassionate, computer-says-no) little lives.

Admittedly, I did enjoy re-reading my pull-pittin' rant as testament to power that comes when, as Kurt Cobain put it, "you know you're right".

The case in point was when I was fined £70 for going over my overdraft limit by less than a fiver, which then caused me to go over again the next month by less than the amount of the original fine.

This is a circle so vicious it would eat all the other shapes in the world and make everything spherical, essentially leading to a world full of Rick Wallers.

I won't put you all through the full version, but my reasoning for the banks utter immorality is pretty much this:

1. What do these transactions actually cost the bank? I would be more than willing to pay them the cost price, but for them to profiteer is retarded.
2. Granted, I should have been more careful, but banks, as we know, are not in a position to lecture us on foresight, and are the reason people are defaulting anyway. Gits.
3. The idea that punishing us will stop us doing it again is tantamount to making a spike come out of your steering wheel instead of an airbag.

Amen brothers. The collection plate is on its way around.

Testing video,.. new Scorsese movie

Takin' out the trash

So I just did what I usually do on Friday. I took out the trash. A phrase which definitely has a bad-ass sounding ring to it.

No, I didn't just dish out some street-level justice, like the phrase suggests. I did, in fact, actually do my bins. Sorry.

Anyway, whilst performing said task, it occurred to me that it's a part of my week I've always weirdly enjoyed. Why, you ask*, does tying up a stinking bag of week-old nosh enliven me so? Well, the answer is three-fold.

1. It's really the only 'manly' chore I do nowadays. One can almost imagine it's a slab of tender animal you've just killed- hoisted over your shoulder like an urban hunter gatherer.

2. The image of taking out the trash (yup, still sounds good) is used in the final scene of cult mob movie, Goodfellas. For all my chat show/sitcom guzzling neighbours know I could be on some Witness Relocation Programme, living amongst them after ratting out my psychopathic gangster cronies, who i probably still know. (I hasten to add this is not the case. My friends are mostly traffic consultants and editorial staff.)

3. The task itself only really takes thirty seconds, yet carries that Joe Shmoe, everyman kind of appeal. If I smoked, I'd imagine that this would heighten the affect.

So, this is the kind of life I, and I'm sure many, lead. One of harmless, but fun, delusion. It is also the reason I've set up this blog- to fill people's lives with so much pop culture and pointless crap that they'll have a cultural reference point to liven up nearly every task they do.

With these lofty aims, let's just hope I find the time to post between episodes of Fringe and sips of For Goodness Shakes vitamin enriched milkshake (a malty treat).

Goodnight.

*which obviously you didn't. My main problem with blogs per se- you're giving people an answer to a question they never asked.

The Beginning

Ahoy. This is a blog I have created to collate my thoughts and share stuff with people that I think is interesting, amusing or useful somehow. I also plan to write the odd irony-free American Psycho style music review.

Good times.