Tuesday, October 30, 2007

Facebook.

I joined Facebook a while back. I didn't feel under pressure to do so at the time, as only a few people I knew had mentioned it, and I didn't realise that upon joining it I would find just about everyone I ever knew in life has a profile on it. Which it seems they do, not least most of the people in my pharmacy class.

For some reason, this site has mushroomed way beyond Bebo, Hi5 and other networking sites in popularity. I'm kind of liking it, though still getting used to the friend requests from people I have never met in real life (Though some of them, such as Oscar Soria, have interesting profiles about political activism and meeting Naomi Klein, which is cool).

Of course, where there are mass gatherings, there will be bears.

Such as this throbbing vortex of hotness


And this one


And this one



And... Oh, you get the picture.

There are also groups you can join, such as ...erm... Facebook Bears, and Bears Cubs And Their Admirers, and...

...

Other groups, such as ones for appreciation of cinema. I've joined that too!

Still, the whole concept on online networking is looking interesting for once, might stay with it for a while. All people have to do is stop getting me to install all the crap extra applications...

Update: Jesus, just how much shit can come out of this website? Werewolves, vampires, zombies? Constantly being poked by people? Survey questionnaires? Give it a rest!

Sunday, October 21, 2007

Control

Anyone who's into moody alternative rock knows the story about Ian Curtis. He was the singer for a band called Warsaw, who later changed their name to Joy Division. They released one album called Unknown Pleasures to critical acclaim, started to become popular, and were poised to go on a tour of America. Things were scuppered, however, when Curtis was unable to cope with personal problems, and killed himself. The band had accumulated enough recorded material, however, to release 'Closer' posthumously, which makes everyone concerned with it regard it as Curtis' personal suicide note. It was after that that the band decided to carry on, renaming themselves as New Order. Sound familiar?

A few things about this film:

a) The actors in this film looked almost exactly like their real life counterparts. You think Val Kilmer looked like Jim Morrison in The Doors? That likeness has nothing on how much Sam Riley resembles Ian Curtis.

b) The film didn't deify Curtis in the way that many journalists and artists are irritatingly prone to doing. It presented him as flawed, struggling to deal with the circumstances imposed on him in a less than ideal way.

c) In spite of the fact that the film makes Manchester (and Macclesfield in particular) look as grim as shit, it still comes across as interesting, and somewhere I wouldn't mind visiting.

The film was based on the book written by Curtis's widow Deborah, Touching from a distance. I never bought it, but read through most of it when it was on sale in a bookshop near where I lived, years ago in Dublin.

I didn't have much sympathy for Ian Curtis after reading the book. He came across like an egotistical prima donna, and an unstable father figure to boot. The latter is where I draw the line: Once you have children, your live is no longer your own and you have a duty to other people (the main reason why I will probably never opt for parenthood). He didn't really seem to care about his wife either.

But of course flicking through a book doesn't give you the proper picture, and the film helped put his life into perspective a bit more. I didn't know about the extra-marital affair, and I didn't know about how his epilepsy only started to figure in his life at the same time as his band were starting to take off. His appointment with a neurologist was interesting. Standard guidelines on prescribing didn't really exist back then, so Ian simply had a bucket of anti-seizure medication thrown at him, and told to get on with it. I've seen people struggle with an ongoing course of Carbemazapine, one anti-seizure medication. Curtis (if I remember rightly) had three to deal with, as the doctor adopted a sledghammer-to-kill-a-fly approach. This was where he started to get my sympathy.

All things considered, I can now kind of appreciate where it all came from. He had problems imposed on him - some of his own making, some not - and finds it too much to bear. He gets married at an age that would now be considered ridiculously young, and then decides to have a child almost on a whim. I get the feeling if he waited and got his head together, he would have made a better fist of his life, but instead he goes ahead and takes all this responsibility at a time when he should be cutting down on his stress levels. He has an affair with a woman, and then falls in love with her, and finds himself unable to finish it, in spite of his wife issuing him with ultimatums. Top this all off with the fact that he's not exactly swimming in money, and you have some idea of what he's going through. And so he decides not to hang around.

Other than that, you get a good insight into how the machinations of a local music scene works. Their manager was desperate for someone with talent to look after, because nothing was going to happen for him of his own accord. I remember when I was growing up, my brother was a roadie for a popular local band. Their songs were good enough, but egos and in-fighting fucked it all up before they could even get a record deal, and they've all since moved onto sensible jobs, though not without having a laugh along the way. One thing I remember was the older musos hanging around them, people who had never made it themselves and looked just too plain grown-up to be involved with that kind of thing, but didn't really have any other options open to them. There were a few people in this film like that.

One other thing I knew nothing of was how Curtis used to work at employment exchange, and seeing him having to deal with people on their terms rather than his own was funny.

Lastly, I was always a bit dubious about some of Joy Division's music. I felt that they walked a fine line between atmospheric and turgid, and only really started to get things fully right in their incarnation as New Order. It was only in the last while that I realised that there were some undeniably good songs in the back catalogue of the beleagured former though, I can't take that away from them, and they certainly offered a blueprint from which just about every 90's miserablist claims to work these days.

The rugby is over

...it wasn't as good as last saturday, for the following reasons.

1) I had been out the night before, and had a stinking hangover on saturday as a result.

2) I organised it badly, trying to get into a pub in town 10 minutes after the game had started. Not surprisingly, I was turned away, as the pub had reached capacity. I ended up watching it at home, which of course wasn't the same.

3) England lost, so the prevailing atmosphere of good cheer was dispelled soon enough.

4) There weren't half enough close-ups of Lawrence D'Allaglio, reason enough to suggest he should have been substituted into the game earlier. If he had been, perhaps the result would have been different?

Oh well, at least I managed to locate the guy with the beard to some extent. He's one of these two here, George Chuter I think?

So that's it for a while. Setting my sights back on the bears again...

Monday, October 15, 2007

Jumping on the bandwagon

Saturday saw me sit (or stand, rather, in a pub into which we were all squashed like sweating sardines) through my first competitive team sport match in quite some time, England versus France in the Rugby World cup semi-final. Yes, dear readers, I was more preoccupied with the players than the playing, but hey, Lawrence looks as good as ever and I've noticed another player on the team sporting a hot beard, but whose name escapes me, in spite of a careful search over the internet.

I was kind of going for France, although Sebastien Chabal looks like an untamed gorilla. At the end, I got quite the land when England pulled ahead, and cheered loud and long when Lawrence appeared on camera, and the pub I was in erupted. An Irish pub, though there still wasn't any mean-spirited Anglophobia, and now I'm looking forward to England playing against South Africa next weekend. Beer, good cheer, and hot men on screen. What more could you want?

After that, I went to a 21st and got hammered, along with everyone else, and got to bed at 4am.

Roll on England versus South Africa...

Thursday, October 04, 2007

John David Lake. RIP.

This entry was going to be a rant about what a dreadful shower of cunts Boots Alliance are (again), but then I came across something on the net that put things into perspective.

A chap in Kansas City who went by the name of John David Lake passed away on Wednesday evening. He was 50 years old. He is survived by his partner Tony and his dog Spud.

I never met him in real life. I happened across his online journal one day via a comment he left on someone else's, and was hooked. As a writer he was funny, and from the stories he told, he came across as a person who was funny in real life too. His blog was studded with gems about:

- Weirdoes he had to deal with at work
- Having crushes on his co-workers
- Feigning heterosexuality during NASCAR season
- Bluetooth device users
- Ogling hot men
- Video games
- Bad spelling and grammar (we very much shared the same opinion on this)
- Having to suffer a zit on his nose
- His dog Spud, and the conversations he had with him.

and my personal favourite,

An ode to toast

So with that, I direct you to go over to the blog entitled A Spasmodic Attachment and read. You will like it. Hopefully it will be left up there and not deleted. It would make for a nice epitaph for him, I think.

It made me think about other related things in general. No one in Mallow has any idea about my blog that I'm aware of thus far, and in common with a lot of gay men who grew up in provincial areas, most of the life that I've built for myself since I left is separate and distinct from my life in my home town. If, God forbid, I were to die, most of the people who would turn up for the funeral would be unknown to my parents, especially all the people I've come to know in Brighton. Is building a life for yourself so separate from your parents and where you grew up a good thing? I imagine it's par for the course for a lot of people.

When I was at Joop's funeral, I remember thinking about whether or not it would be a good idea to have the address of my blog given out to people at my funeral as a way of remembering me. It would probably cause a little bit of discomfort to some of my family, but in the long-term, I think it's a good way of remembering someone for ever. Like a mark that someone made while they were here, whatever it amounts to.

I've often planned a road trip across America, going from place to place, living in different cities, meeting different people. I thought to myself more than once that I would like to meet John, Tony, and their dog Spud in real life, to put a personality on their internet story. Now that story has taken a sad twist, and lost one of its leading players.

Oh, the power of the internet.

Farewell John. You were funny, you were a good writer, and you were hot. You died too young. Rest In Peace.