Music "Less than two weeks before the planned Jan. 3 release of her sophomore Columbia album, "Pretty Little Head," singer/songwriter Nellie McKay has voluntarily left the label, sources tell Billboard.com. At deadline, the fate of the album is unknown; a spokesperson for the artist had no comment and McKay could not be reached. The parties apparently reached an impasse over the length of the project. McKay insisted the label release her 23-song, 65-minute version, while Columbia sent out promotional copies of a 16-song, 48-minute album." -- Jonathan Cohen.
Oh that's just nuts and indiotic and infuriating. I mean I'm glad that McKay left the label rather than compromised, but were back in Fiona Apple territory with a possibly great album in limbo waiting for release, and this so close to the time it should be hitting the shops. AI'm hoping for a situation somewhat like Terry Gilliam's film Brazil in which the critics get hold of a full uncut version and start reviewing it well until the record company is embarassed into releasing the whole version. Otherwise -- what's up with those seven tracks that the record company doesn't want to let them see the light of day? [via]
Attack of the Graske.
TV About half an hour after Attack of the Graske was first broadcast, an online discussion board was already fired up trying to decide whether it was canon, giving explanations as to why The Doctor would be talking to the camera. The point that they and others appear to have missed is that some of us had the opportunity to see the new model in action for the third time this year, and to witness the genius of actually how well defined the character is this early in the game.
I've no idea how far into the new shooting schedule this was filmed but the timelord's personality is already perfectly refined. David Tennant is funny, exciting and authoritative, even when he's asking the audience to make selections with their remote. Here, even more than in the preceding dramas we see that capacity of the man to spin comedy on a dime -- witness the moment when he dashes around the console explaining what the game is about then dropping that hilarious incredulity of 'Including you mate ... how'd you get the energy?' We haven't seen anything this manically brilliant (in the television version of the series at least) since Tom Baker.
It was an excellent piece of scripting from the always underrated Gareth Roberts in his first tv work, filled with cherishable moments which play to the same strength we've seen in his previous work of adding detail to minor characters. Witness the tragedy of the patronised grandfather in the family scenes being ordered around by his madam of a granddaughter, bemoaning the lack of inspiration in his Christmas present ('Another year I've got vouchers. Vouchers. Anyone would think I don't have a personality. I quite wanted a foot spa. I do have a personality.') and told off by his daughter ('Put the wrappers in the bin not in a box. It causes confusion and disappointment. People think they're reaching for their favourite and realise it's only an empty wrapper.') This is a depth of character much greater than the average interactive game.
The costume design of the Graske was very good, presenting a plausible menacing alien. The plot, grabbing people from throughout history and replacing them with zombies might not have had the greatest depth in terms of storyline, but was perfectly fine for such a short adventure. Not to forget that this is actually the first time the new series has traveled to a new alien world, which is an innovation even if we didn't see too much of it.
Other mini pleasures included the cohesive use of onscreen graphics, particularly the Gallifreyan script, which I'm really beginning to warm to after some initial cynicism; seeing the TARDIS console up close; the Victorian Christmas; seeing what looked like a new form of Zygon or even an Ice Warrior in one of the storage containers on the planet; the new Slitheen animation which seemed more plausible and integrated than anything that appeared in Aliens in London; the revelation that this might not be the last we me not have seen the last of the Graske.
The only weakness was really the 'interactive' element of the show, although this was largely due to the technology available. On Freeview at least, this was a sequence which ran from start to finish, the only variations being whether the player selected the correct answer, the box moving between the two interactive channels. But hey, this was an experiment and fun to play.
And at the end of it all, we had The Doctor wishing us a Merry Christmas through the tv. Just like the old days ...
Changes.
Life I want to write about a dream I had last night.
I hardly ever remember my dreams too vividly and want to write them up on here even less but for some reason this has stuck with me all day. The start is foggy as these things are, but I remember walking out of the back door of a house which only ever seems to appear in my imagination and knock on another back door which is opposite. It all happens from my point of view. This isn't one of those occasions when I appear in the dream and I'm watching from the third person.
A girl opens the door.
I don't know who she is. I've been wracking my brain but I really don't know how she's been summoned and were I might have met her before. But here she is standing in the doorway. For some reason I remember seeing her before with short cropped hair, but now she had long brown tied back hair. She seems to be slightly younger than me and she's wearing a light green t-shirt and jeans. I think. Colours in dreams are always indistinct.
She's just glaring at me. I remember being worried. She doesn't say anything.
"Are you OK?" I blurt out.
She continues to look at me. She her face is blank now.
"What's wrong?" I ask again.
"I don't like you." She says.
I'm hurt.
"Why?"
"Many reasons. Mostly the conversation we had about focaccia."
I'll interupt here and say that I have no idea why she said that or what this dream is about. I'm describing it and actually it seems like the perfect opening for a film. A low budget indie picture from in the 90s, a Sundancer, but a film nonetheless. But Italian bread?
The oddness continues because I remember having the focaccia conversation with the short haired version of her in a previous dream. I remember it not going well and me being me a lot and being nervous and possibly boring. Dreams are relating to each other, but at no time do I realise. This isn't a lucid dream then.
"I know. I remember." I say. "I'm sorry. I'm not really like that."
"So what do you want?" She asks.
"I wanted to see you again."
"No."
"Just for a minute or two..."
And she lets me into her house. The backdoor leads into a large, lounge area with wood paneling, hundreds of books and a grand piano. I don't remember seeing this house before although now that I reflect back, it does remind me of the apartment which appears in the Woody Allen film, Deconstructing Harry.
Anyway I don't remember much after that, I'm sorry. I mean I don't remember experiencing it. Dreams have a habit of drifting, scenes in and out of each other.
But the next thing I remember is running down a corridor which was at my secondary school, through a door into a large 70s American style woodpanel bank, dodging customers up and storming up to an information counter were the girl (now in a tellers uniform) is standing with her manager. Neither are happy to see me. I try to talk to the girl, but the manager, who is about my age I think, keeps telling me that it is inappropriate. I just keep saying...
"But we had a good night. I want to see you again."
And eventually, the girl smiles and says OK. I smile and turn and walk away. I remember thinking "I sat up and talked all night with her..."
Actually when I say that I can't interpret the dream I can take a guess. I've been feeling a bit isolated lately. The few friends I made at the beginning of the year haven't been around much since mid-October (or rather if they have been going out I haven't heard about it...) and somehow, as is the way of things, I'm back into the routine of spending far to much time without a peer group. Things are worse than that. For reasons I hinted at during my Review 2005 entry I think my subconscious is probably getting annoyed. It's trying to tell me about some things I already know and need to change.
I hardly ever remember my dreams too vividly and want to write them up on here even less but for some reason this has stuck with me all day. The start is foggy as these things are, but I remember walking out of the back door of a house which only ever seems to appear in my imagination and knock on another back door which is opposite. It all happens from my point of view. This isn't one of those occasions when I appear in the dream and I'm watching from the third person.
A girl opens the door.
I don't know who she is. I've been wracking my brain but I really don't know how she's been summoned and were I might have met her before. But here she is standing in the doorway. For some reason I remember seeing her before with short cropped hair, but now she had long brown tied back hair. She seems to be slightly younger than me and she's wearing a light green t-shirt and jeans. I think. Colours in dreams are always indistinct.
She's just glaring at me. I remember being worried. She doesn't say anything.
"Are you OK?" I blurt out.
She continues to look at me. She her face is blank now.
"What's wrong?" I ask again.
"I don't like you." She says.
I'm hurt.
"Why?"
"Many reasons. Mostly the conversation we had about focaccia."
I'll interupt here and say that I have no idea why she said that or what this dream is about. I'm describing it and actually it seems like the perfect opening for a film. A low budget indie picture from in the 90s, a Sundancer, but a film nonetheless. But Italian bread?
The oddness continues because I remember having the focaccia conversation with the short haired version of her in a previous dream. I remember it not going well and me being me a lot and being nervous and possibly boring. Dreams are relating to each other, but at no time do I realise. This isn't a lucid dream then.
"I know. I remember." I say. "I'm sorry. I'm not really like that."
"So what do you want?" She asks.
"I wanted to see you again."
"No."
"Just for a minute or two..."
And she lets me into her house. The backdoor leads into a large, lounge area with wood paneling, hundreds of books and a grand piano. I don't remember seeing this house before although now that I reflect back, it does remind me of the apartment which appears in the Woody Allen film, Deconstructing Harry.
Anyway I don't remember much after that, I'm sorry. I mean I don't remember experiencing it. Dreams have a habit of drifting, scenes in and out of each other.
But the next thing I remember is running down a corridor which was at my secondary school, through a door into a large 70s American style woodpanel bank, dodging customers up and storming up to an information counter were the girl (now in a tellers uniform) is standing with her manager. Neither are happy to see me. I try to talk to the girl, but the manager, who is about my age I think, keeps telling me that it is inappropriate. I just keep saying...
"But we had a good night. I want to see you again."
And eventually, the girl smiles and says OK. I smile and turn and walk away. I remember thinking "I sat up and talked all night with her..."
Actually when I say that I can't interpret the dream I can take a guess. I've been feeling a bit isolated lately. The few friends I made at the beginning of the year haven't been around much since mid-October (or rather if they have been going out I haven't heard about it...) and somehow, as is the way of things, I'm back into the routine of spending far to much time without a peer group. Things are worse than that. For reasons I hinted at during my Review 2005 entry I think my subconscious is probably getting annoyed. It's trying to tell me about some things I already know and need to change.
Neil's Review 2005 piece is further down the page. Scroll down.
TV "David gets it ... What's really fascinating is that the Doctor doesn't settle on his character immediately. He plays with his persona. He tests it out. To put it simply, he uses the current threat to discover who he is and what he's capable of. And while it has become de riguer to echo past Doctors after a regeneration, the 10th does so in such a way it left me feeling dizzy with anticipation. For a moment there it could have gone either way. We could have ended up with a right bastard or a fey fop. What we get is an incredibly natural amalgam that simply screams Doctor! without ever feeling forced or a diluted parody." -- Neil Perryman captures the excitement of the Christmas Doctor Who perfectly, and says all the things I would really want to say. I hadn't noticed the yellow Hitchhikers style JCBs.
Review 2005
Franchesca Puehler
Forgive me for seeming greedy, but this one experience actually killed 2 birds with one stone so to speak.
I was visiting my best mate who's at Manchester Poly as was, and we went to one of their themed nights at the student union. It was Karaoke. Not being much of an exhibitionist myself I'd never tried this before. Besides, my only singing experience had been in junior school for the Xmas Nativity and that was so long ago I can hardly remember that. My best mate was actually a good singer so I always let her take centre stage while I cowered in the safety of my chair by the bar. Anyway we had a few drinks and she went up to put her name down for a song. I'd told her it was something deep down I'd always wanted to try but could never ever find the courage to do. She tried to persuade me but there was no way I was going to do it here and now in front of soooo many people.
Anyway she got up and did her Alanis number as usual. It was good but I've lost count of the number of time's I've heard her do Ironic, but who cares. The next thing I know my name is being called out and I'm up to sing next ! I was stunned. You know like in the movies when the camera does a close up on your face and the background zooms away, or something like that. My friend came walking back over to me grinning like a Cheshire cat. She said to me "you'll be great, I know you will" and she kissed me on my cheek and whispered "knock em dead girl".
The next thing I knew I had somehow reached the stage - mental note, never drink too many screaming orgasms as it seems to leave you with the impression you have powers you don't really posses ! Anyhow, I hadn't even noticed what the song was during these few moments of terror. Oh my god ! How cheesy can you get? I Will Always Love You by Whitney ! I thought to myself, oh what the heck. I can't chicken out now, I guess its now or never. Then the backing track started and the words lit up on the monitor in front of me. This was it. It was really happening. There was a hush that descended on the room and eyes from what seemed like every corner where fixed on me. I went for the first note, and I hit it just how I'd imagined I would - terribly lol. But soon enough everything seemed to fit into place and the right notes started to flow. I was doing it! And you know what, it felt good too. At a break in the singing I eventually plucked up the courage to take my transfixed eyes from the monitor and look out into the crowd. As I did I could see my friend standing right in front of me just staring into my eyes and smiling. I expected her to be pulling faces or cheering, but she was being very subdued. Anyway I managed to get to the end of the song and the relief of getting there overwhelmed me. I'd done it and people were actually cheering.
I stumbled down the steps of the stage and made my way over to my friend, who now I wasn't so desperate to strangle like I had wanted to minutes early. I noticed something about her. She had a tear in her eye. She was stunned. "That was amazing. And you said you couldn't sing !". I was flattered. She came to give me a hug, but instead of a drunken sloppy kiss on the cheek like she'd given me moments before I'd got up to sing, she looked my straight in the eye and kissed me on right on the lips ! I'd never experienced this before, but it just seemed so right for that moment. I'd secretly had a bit of a crush on her in my teenage years and had even thought about kissing her back then, but now after all this time it was actually happening. It was only short, but it was like something I've never felt before. It was one of those brief moments when everything seemed to just click perfectly into place.
Now I can safely say I've finally done something, well to be honest two things, I've always wanted to do! That reminds me, must check when the next Karaoke night is . . .
For an introduction and list of contributors to Review 2005, follow this link.
I was visiting my best mate who's at Manchester Poly as was, and we went to one of their themed nights at the student union. It was Karaoke. Not being much of an exhibitionist myself I'd never tried this before. Besides, my only singing experience had been in junior school for the Xmas Nativity and that was so long ago I can hardly remember that. My best mate was actually a good singer so I always let her take centre stage while I cowered in the safety of my chair by the bar. Anyway we had a few drinks and she went up to put her name down for a song. I'd told her it was something deep down I'd always wanted to try but could never ever find the courage to do. She tried to persuade me but there was no way I was going to do it here and now in front of soooo many people.
Anyway she got up and did her Alanis number as usual. It was good but I've lost count of the number of time's I've heard her do Ironic, but who cares. The next thing I know my name is being called out and I'm up to sing next ! I was stunned. You know like in the movies when the camera does a close up on your face and the background zooms away, or something like that. My friend came walking back over to me grinning like a Cheshire cat. She said to me "you'll be great, I know you will" and she kissed me on my cheek and whispered "knock em dead girl".
The next thing I knew I had somehow reached the stage - mental note, never drink too many screaming orgasms as it seems to leave you with the impression you have powers you don't really posses ! Anyhow, I hadn't even noticed what the song was during these few moments of terror. Oh my god ! How cheesy can you get? I Will Always Love You by Whitney ! I thought to myself, oh what the heck. I can't chicken out now, I guess its now or never. Then the backing track started and the words lit up on the monitor in front of me. This was it. It was really happening. There was a hush that descended on the room and eyes from what seemed like every corner where fixed on me. I went for the first note, and I hit it just how I'd imagined I would - terribly lol. But soon enough everything seemed to fit into place and the right notes started to flow. I was doing it! And you know what, it felt good too. At a break in the singing I eventually plucked up the courage to take my transfixed eyes from the monitor and look out into the crowd. As I did I could see my friend standing right in front of me just staring into my eyes and smiling. I expected her to be pulling faces or cheering, but she was being very subdued. Anyway I managed to get to the end of the song and the relief of getting there overwhelmed me. I'd done it and people were actually cheering.
I stumbled down the steps of the stage and made my way over to my friend, who now I wasn't so desperate to strangle like I had wanted to minutes early. I noticed something about her. She had a tear in her eye. She was stunned. "That was amazing. And you said you couldn't sing !". I was flattered. She came to give me a hug, but instead of a drunken sloppy kiss on the cheek like she'd given me moments before I'd got up to sing, she looked my straight in the eye and kissed me on right on the lips ! I'd never experienced this before, but it just seemed so right for that moment. I'd secretly had a bit of a crush on her in my teenage years and had even thought about kissing her back then, but now after all this time it was actually happening. It was only short, but it was like something I've never felt before. It was one of those brief moments when everything seemed to just click perfectly into place.
Now I can safely say I've finally done something, well to be honest two things, I've always wanted to do! That reminds me, must check when the next Karaoke night is . . .
For an introduction and list of contributors to Review 2005, follow this link.
"If you switch to ITV tonight, the galaxy may implode..."
The Christmas Day overnight ratings have been released. Here's the top ten ...
1 EastEnders 10.1 million (BBC1)
2 Dr Who 9.4 million (BBC1)
3 Coronation Street 9.4 million (ITV1)
4 Two Ronnies Christmas Sketchbook 7.9 million (BBC1)
5 Shrek 6.7 million (BBC1)
6 Emmerdale 6.6 million (ITV1)
7 Toy Story 6.5 million (BBC1)
8 Celebrity Millionaire? 6.3 million (ITV1)
9 The Queen 6.2 million (BBC1)
10 BBC News 6.50pm 6.2 million (BBC1)
In the only war we care about, BBC1 beat ITV by some 3 million viewers. They were generally beaten for much of the day. I actually can't think of a reason why Coronation Street wasn't scheduled up against Doctor Who other than some understanding that it would be detrimental to viewing figures overall. That said -- doesn't this demonstrate once and for all that television is no longer the force it once was over the festive period? It will be interesting to see what the numbers are for multichannel homes and how many of them stayed with the terrestrial stations.
1 EastEnders 10.1 million (BBC1)
2 Dr Who 9.4 million (BBC1)
3 Coronation Street 9.4 million (ITV1)
4 Two Ronnies Christmas Sketchbook 7.9 million (BBC1)
5 Shrek 6.7 million (BBC1)
6 Emmerdale 6.6 million (ITV1)
7 Toy Story 6.5 million (BBC1)
8 Celebrity Millionaire? 6.3 million (ITV1)
9 The Queen 6.2 million (BBC1)
10 BBC News 6.50pm 6.2 million (BBC1)
In the only war we care about, BBC1 beat ITV by some 3 million viewers. They were generally beaten for much of the day. I actually can't think of a reason why Coronation Street wasn't scheduled up against Doctor Who other than some understanding that it would be detrimental to viewing figures overall. That said -- doesn't this demonstrate once and for all that television is no longer the force it once was over the festive period? It will be interesting to see what the numbers are for multichannel homes and how many of them stayed with the terrestrial stations.
Boxing my ears
That Day Boxing Day feels like The Negative Zone from the Superman comics. It's that place after Christmas were the all the energy you spent leading up to the big day goes to and dies. I've never really known what to do and it's often quite a wierd day. I end up doing things like watching documentaries about the making of Battleship Potempkin or hours aimlessly online looking for the overnight ratings for last night's extraordinary Doctor Who. One of these years, much like New Years Eve, I'll understand what the day is for and how to spend it. Look at the Wikipedia and it really isn't any hope. Oh well, Holiday Tuesday to come. On the upside, my mp3 player is talking to my computer and I've this new way of listening to music. Probably the headphones but for a few minutes I thought Madeleine was singing just to me.
New Year?
Economics "Is it me, or is New Year's Eve the Emperor's New Clothes of nights out? I'm not saying I've have never had a good night out on the 31st of December. Wait, yes I am. I have never had a good night out on the 31st of December, because every single commercial night out that is overpriced and full of people who, under pressure to have the time of their lives because they?ve been told That's What Happens and they've paid so much to be there, have had too far much to drink and turned into uncomfortable, hideous (mute plaural). These days I try and stay in." -- Ste Triforce. Yup.
I started off somewhere in between nerd and cool . . .
History "The sixth grade I started off somewhere in between nerd and cool. I didn't hang out with the most popular kids, but I hung out with the second most popular clique. Halfway through the year I broke through my barrier and actually became one of the elite. It happened just like in the movies where I had to break my best friend's heart when I went to go sit with my new friends at lunch. We were mean to people that were outside of our likes. Being a part of this group meant that you listened and obeyed everything Emily said. If you didn't then you were out as fast as you could say geek." -- Kiki Oshkosh proves that teen films can be really true to life.
Review 2005
Anna Pickard
It's Weird
I've been sitting, and screen-staring, and mentally shuffling all of the things that have happened to me in the past 11 months. From rental flat to rental flat. From mouse infestation to cauterised IKEAness. Conversations sublime and ridiculous. From 8-4, 10-6, 11-7, occasionally overnight, work, and work, and work. One professional moment I thought I'd never see, then another, and another. The moment my tiny nephew first walked towards me on shaky legs. My first beetroot.
"... describe a moment when you suceeded in doing something you've always wanted to do this year."
My mind riffles and flips through the hundreds of words I've seen move from my brain to various kinds of pages this year. Some were important, some were exciting, and some represented some kind of success. But for some reason, these don't seem to hold, to keep focus, as the thing that should be written about. I have the feeling that there are too many words to write about words, and I think I should be looking for just one. It's weird.
"It doesn't need to be a life changing event, but it really could be... what counts is how it made you feel."
It was strange. It was odd. It was - it was weird, but the first time I realised it, it felt good.
This year - for the first time in my life - I have finally driven into my head the correct spelling of the word 'Weird'. It's "e" then "i", apparently. Not the other way around after all.
I've known a lot of people who've had problems similar to mine in the past. People who always use two p's where one would suffice, people who have to write "accommodation" on a piece of paper in three various spellifications before they commit it to its waiting home - people who are underconfident about their sense of "necessity" and will slowly plod through it, repeatedly adding and deleting s's and c's with growing glumness of heart until they reach the y.
And why? Because it happens to everyone - everyone has that word, I think. That word they just can't spell. For me, it was 'weird'. It was always 'Weird', and before it was simply 'weird', it was all other words with e's and i's in as well. I often had problems with friends, found it difficult to talk about weight issues, or even height ones. I would avoid caffeine, if at all possible, and never, ever used the word inveigle. Until now, obviously.
Over the years I've tried desperately to teach myself - little incantations of "I" before "E", except after "C" - even way after the moment I realised that it was a stupid rule and barely applied to anything I was trying to spell at all. I before E, except after C. But weird started with a 'W'. So according to the stupid rule, that would mean it to be "i" and then "e"? Wierd. No?
Confused, I would try the tricks my mother had taught me. I would write the word down one way. And the other. Wierd. Weird.
Well it *was* weird, because the Law Of Jan said that when you wrote the possible spellings next to each other, one of them should look desperately wrong.
But Neither would look wrong. They would both look fine, and perfectly plausible. Weird. Wierd. I would read them out loud. They both sounded right too. Weird.
Eventually, I would give up. A bloody dictionary. The bloody internet. The chagrin of asking a passing competent speller. Or just the bloodyminded decision taken that whoever was reading would have to love me regardless of my pissy e's and i's.
It was a great problem. No matter how many times I looked it up, made my peace with it, and carefully folded and placed it in my brain, the next time I went to find it, it would have fallen out again, and the hole in my mind where it was meant to live would simply hold a mocking note, saying "ei? ie? 'oo knows?".
And for some reason that note would be in a French accent. I don't know why
But it sounds undeniably more disparaging.
It drove me insane. Every single time this cropped up - and it's a word I like to use, I like to use it a lot, I would stumble, and stumbling would slow me down, and I would lose my thread, and losing my thread would make me grumpy, and my appalling memory would make me grumpy, and the e's would just sit there and the i's would swim before mine and I wouldsit and grump and swear.
Because I couldn't, for the life of me, work out why I could remember whole swathes of scripts, song lyrics from chart hits long forgotten, and facts about ridiculous things that I would never ever need to know, but couldn't for one second remember whether weird was spelt with and i-fecking-e or an e-fecking-i.
Then, this year.
This year, for some unknown reason, something changed. One day I looked at the word "weird" and said "You know what? That is how you spell it. I think that's how it might have been spelled all along". And immediately wrote it on the side of my monitor.
And since that day, whenever I've had a momentary panic, I've simply looked down at that little 'weird' note, and smiled. Smiled, and typed, smiling.
It's weird, you see. Weird.
The "e" goes before the "i".
Anna Pickard writes little.red.boat
For an introduction and list of contributors to Review 2005, follow this link.
_______________________________________________________
I still can't spell the name Micheal though. Michael. Michel. Micheal. Oh arse.
I've been sitting, and screen-staring, and mentally shuffling all of the things that have happened to me in the past 11 months. From rental flat to rental flat. From mouse infestation to cauterised IKEAness. Conversations sublime and ridiculous. From 8-4, 10-6, 11-7, occasionally overnight, work, and work, and work. One professional moment I thought I'd never see, then another, and another. The moment my tiny nephew first walked towards me on shaky legs. My first beetroot.
"... describe a moment when you suceeded in doing something you've always wanted to do this year."
My mind riffles and flips through the hundreds of words I've seen move from my brain to various kinds of pages this year. Some were important, some were exciting, and some represented some kind of success. But for some reason, these don't seem to hold, to keep focus, as the thing that should be written about. I have the feeling that there are too many words to write about words, and I think I should be looking for just one. It's weird.
"It doesn't need to be a life changing event, but it really could be... what counts is how it made you feel."
It was strange. It was odd. It was - it was weird, but the first time I realised it, it felt good.
This year - for the first time in my life - I have finally driven into my head the correct spelling of the word 'Weird'. It's "e" then "i", apparently. Not the other way around after all.
I've known a lot of people who've had problems similar to mine in the past. People who always use two p's where one would suffice, people who have to write "accommodation" on a piece of paper in three various spellifications before they commit it to its waiting home - people who are underconfident about their sense of "necessity" and will slowly plod through it, repeatedly adding and deleting s's and c's with growing glumness of heart until they reach the y.
And why? Because it happens to everyone - everyone has that word, I think. That word they just can't spell. For me, it was 'weird'. It was always 'Weird', and before it was simply 'weird', it was all other words with e's and i's in as well. I often had problems with friends, found it difficult to talk about weight issues, or even height ones. I would avoid caffeine, if at all possible, and never, ever used the word inveigle. Until now, obviously.
Over the years I've tried desperately to teach myself - little incantations of "I" before "E", except after "C" - even way after the moment I realised that it was a stupid rule and barely applied to anything I was trying to spell at all. I before E, except after C. But weird started with a 'W'. So according to the stupid rule, that would mean it to be "i" and then "e"? Wierd. No?
Confused, I would try the tricks my mother had taught me. I would write the word down one way. And the other. Wierd. Weird.
Well it *was* weird, because the Law Of Jan said that when you wrote the possible spellings next to each other, one of them should look desperately wrong.
But Neither would look wrong. They would both look fine, and perfectly plausible. Weird. Wierd. I would read them out loud. They both sounded right too. Weird.
Eventually, I would give up. A bloody dictionary. The bloody internet. The chagrin of asking a passing competent speller. Or just the bloodyminded decision taken that whoever was reading would have to love me regardless of my pissy e's and i's.
It was a great problem. No matter how many times I looked it up, made my peace with it, and carefully folded and placed it in my brain, the next time I went to find it, it would have fallen out again, and the hole in my mind where it was meant to live would simply hold a mocking note, saying "ei? ie? 'oo knows?".
And for some reason that note would be in a French accent. I don't know why
But it sounds undeniably more disparaging.
It drove me insane. Every single time this cropped up - and it's a word I like to use, I like to use it a lot, I would stumble, and stumbling would slow me down, and I would lose my thread, and losing my thread would make me grumpy, and my appalling memory would make me grumpy, and the e's would just sit there and the i's would swim before mine and I wouldsit and grump and swear.
Because I couldn't, for the life of me, work out why I could remember whole swathes of scripts, song lyrics from chart hits long forgotten, and facts about ridiculous things that I would never ever need to know, but couldn't for one second remember whether weird was spelt with and i-fecking-e or an e-fecking-i.
Then, this year.
This year, for some unknown reason, something changed. One day I looked at the word "weird" and said "You know what? That is how you spell it. I think that's how it might have been spelled all along". And immediately wrote it on the side of my monitor.
And since that day, whenever I've had a momentary panic, I've simply looked down at that little 'weird' note, and smiled. Smiled, and typed, smiling.
It's weird, you see. Weird.
The "e" goes before the "i".
Anna Pickard writes little.red.boat
For an introduction and list of contributors to Review 2005, follow this link.
_______________________________________________________
I still can't spell the name Micheal though. Michael. Michel. Micheal. Oh arse.
Review 2005
Neil Perryman
2005 - the year I finally came out of the closet.
After spending many lonely years hiding my feelings and lurking on the fringes of the "underground" scene, I can now finally hold my head up high and declare to my friends, my family, and my colleagues at work that YES!, I *am* a 'Doctor Who' fan!
Then again, who isn't these days?
In 2005 you couldn't move for Daleks, TARDISes, and Christopher Eccleston's ears. These days, when I buy the monthly 'Doctor Who' magazine from WH Smiths I don't have to hide it inside a copy of FHM, and I still can't get over the fact that many of my lunch times this year were spent filling in newcomers on the subtle complexities of Gallifreyan history or the finer details of the Doctor's regenerative cycle.
I'm still pinching myself. Did it really come back in such a triumphant blaze of glory? Seriously, did it really happen or am I lying in a coma and simply imagining it? I suppose it's a bit like faithfully supporting a Conference League Football Team for years and years and years, and then they suddenly win the FA Cup *and* The Champions League.
Anyway, besides the return of my favourite Time Lord, 2005 was a fairly eventful year for me: construction work finally started on our severely delayed barn conversion; I started work on my PhD; I started a couple of blogs; I saw my first short story in print; I saw Edgar Froese play wah-wah guitar; I played in my first real life poker tournament (and won!); I saw the 'One-Man Star Wars Trilogy' in New York; I made some new friends and I managed to re-establish ties with some old ones, but when I try to pin-point a moment that really sums up the year for me, I am drawn to Friday October 7th at approximately 6:25pm. On the A19, just outside Stockton.
I'm on my way to see 'Serenity' for a second time, which is reason enough to remember the date, I suppose, but what really marks the moment out for me is the fact that my daughter is the one driving the car.
She had passed her driving test the day before and we'd somehow managed to scrape enough money together to buy her a second-hand VW Polo (I think we had to sack some of the builders). Now, I can't drive (I've never really seen the attraction, although living 25 miles out in the middle of nowhere is beginning to challenge that long-held position), and this was the very first time that I had been in the car with her. And it felt... weird. As a father I was supposed to be responsible for her, but when she disengaged the hand-brake to that car I suddenly felt the ground shift beneath me. I had a flash-forward to the moment where she finally drops me outside the Old People's Home and I knew in that single moment that things have changed forever.
As she took the roundabout to the cinema with a self-assurance that masked her limited experience, it hit me - she was all grown-up. It was a profound moment for me - a mixture of pride, terror (where did all the years go?) and the growing realisation that 2005 would be the last full year we would spend together as a family; this time next year she'll be living it up at a university somewhere and we'll probably only see her at Christmas time or when the loan money runs out. It really knocked me for six, I can tell you; this was compounded a few moments later when she asked me to explain 'Firefly's back-story to her, and if you know my daughter then you'll appreciate just how surreal a moment *that* was!
Finally, as it's Christmas, I can't really end this without a list. I love lists, me. I could watch Channel 4's 'Top 100 Christmas Moments' on an endless loop until the end of time (as long as you cut out all the Jimmy Carr links, of course). And so, without any further ado, here are my picks of the cultural year:
TV Drama of 05: Part of me wants to be controversial and say 'Bodies' (I programme I really do watch behind the sofa) but 'Doctor Who' wins simply because it reinvented television for the 21st century, and you can't say fairer than that.
TV Comedy of 05: Not exactly a golden year for comedy. Sandwiched between the thoroughly predictable 'Catherine Tate' and 'Little Britain', and a terrible second series of 'Don't Watch That', 'Extras' surprised me by being just as good (if not better) than 'The Office'. But the clear winner has to be 'The Thick Of It' for its semi-improvisational realism and Peter Capaldi's surreal Scottish sarcasm.
Reality TV of 05: While I enjoyed the rackety philosophical experiment that was 'Space Cadets', the Americans still produce the best reality shows bar none. Best of the bunch has to be 'The Apprentice' with Donald Trump. This season's finale also featured one of the most gob-smacking moments of year when the winner, Randall, refused to let Trump hire the second-place contestant as well - the jerk!
TV Moment of 05: A tie between Pink Floyd at Live 8 and a certain cricket match being rained off.
Music of 05: Coldplay's 'Talk' went from being annoying as hell to really quite wonderful the moment I finally worked out that the melody was sampled from Kraftwerk's 'Computer Love', and while Depeche Mode's return to form was welcomed with open arms, the album of the year has to be Kate Bush's 'Ariel'. A work of such unparalleled genius it even managed to make Rolf Harris sound good.
Film of 05: 'Serenity' was everything I wanted it to be and more. Except, sadly, the runaway hit it deserved to be.
Neil Perryman writes Behind The Sofa Again
For an introduction and list of contributors to Review 2005, follow this link.
After spending many lonely years hiding my feelings and lurking on the fringes of the "underground" scene, I can now finally hold my head up high and declare to my friends, my family, and my colleagues at work that YES!, I *am* a 'Doctor Who' fan!
Then again, who isn't these days?
In 2005 you couldn't move for Daleks, TARDISes, and Christopher Eccleston's ears. These days, when I buy the monthly 'Doctor Who' magazine from WH Smiths I don't have to hide it inside a copy of FHM, and I still can't get over the fact that many of my lunch times this year were spent filling in newcomers on the subtle complexities of Gallifreyan history or the finer details of the Doctor's regenerative cycle.
I'm still pinching myself. Did it really come back in such a triumphant blaze of glory? Seriously, did it really happen or am I lying in a coma and simply imagining it? I suppose it's a bit like faithfully supporting a Conference League Football Team for years and years and years, and then they suddenly win the FA Cup *and* The Champions League.
Anyway, besides the return of my favourite Time Lord, 2005 was a fairly eventful year for me: construction work finally started on our severely delayed barn conversion; I started work on my PhD; I started a couple of blogs; I saw my first short story in print; I saw Edgar Froese play wah-wah guitar; I played in my first real life poker tournament (and won!); I saw the 'One-Man Star Wars Trilogy' in New York; I made some new friends and I managed to re-establish ties with some old ones, but when I try to pin-point a moment that really sums up the year for me, I am drawn to Friday October 7th at approximately 6:25pm. On the A19, just outside Stockton.
I'm on my way to see 'Serenity' for a second time, which is reason enough to remember the date, I suppose, but what really marks the moment out for me is the fact that my daughter is the one driving the car.
She had passed her driving test the day before and we'd somehow managed to scrape enough money together to buy her a second-hand VW Polo (I think we had to sack some of the builders). Now, I can't drive (I've never really seen the attraction, although living 25 miles out in the middle of nowhere is beginning to challenge that long-held position), and this was the very first time that I had been in the car with her. And it felt... weird. As a father I was supposed to be responsible for her, but when she disengaged the hand-brake to that car I suddenly felt the ground shift beneath me. I had a flash-forward to the moment where she finally drops me outside the Old People's Home and I knew in that single moment that things have changed forever.
As she took the roundabout to the cinema with a self-assurance that masked her limited experience, it hit me - she was all grown-up. It was a profound moment for me - a mixture of pride, terror (where did all the years go?) and the growing realisation that 2005 would be the last full year we would spend together as a family; this time next year she'll be living it up at a university somewhere and we'll probably only see her at Christmas time or when the loan money runs out. It really knocked me for six, I can tell you; this was compounded a few moments later when she asked me to explain 'Firefly's back-story to her, and if you know my daughter then you'll appreciate just how surreal a moment *that* was!
Finally, as it's Christmas, I can't really end this without a list. I love lists, me. I could watch Channel 4's 'Top 100 Christmas Moments' on an endless loop until the end of time (as long as you cut out all the Jimmy Carr links, of course). And so, without any further ado, here are my picks of the cultural year:
TV Drama of 05: Part of me wants to be controversial and say 'Bodies' (I programme I really do watch behind the sofa) but 'Doctor Who' wins simply because it reinvented television for the 21st century, and you can't say fairer than that.
TV Comedy of 05: Not exactly a golden year for comedy. Sandwiched between the thoroughly predictable 'Catherine Tate' and 'Little Britain', and a terrible second series of 'Don't Watch That', 'Extras' surprised me by being just as good (if not better) than 'The Office'. But the clear winner has to be 'The Thick Of It' for its semi-improvisational realism and Peter Capaldi's surreal Scottish sarcasm.
Reality TV of 05: While I enjoyed the rackety philosophical experiment that was 'Space Cadets', the Americans still produce the best reality shows bar none. Best of the bunch has to be 'The Apprentice' with Donald Trump. This season's finale also featured one of the most gob-smacking moments of year when the winner, Randall, refused to let Trump hire the second-place contestant as well - the jerk!
TV Moment of 05: A tie between Pink Floyd at Live 8 and a certain cricket match being rained off.
Music of 05: Coldplay's 'Talk' went from being annoying as hell to really quite wonderful the moment I finally worked out that the melody was sampled from Kraftwerk's 'Computer Love', and while Depeche Mode's return to form was welcomed with open arms, the album of the year has to be Kate Bush's 'Ariel'. A work of such unparalleled genius it even managed to make Rolf Harris sound good.
Film of 05: 'Serenity' was everything I wanted it to be and more. Except, sadly, the runaway hit it deserved to be.
Neil Perryman writes Behind The Sofa Again
For an introduction and list of contributors to Review 2005, follow this link.
No snow though
That Day Evening. I'm full of dinner and very happy, especially since my Mum and Dad loved their presents. I'm just checking my email whilst I listen to the last fifteen minutes of A Bach Christmas which completes with a final blast of The Christmas Oratorio (organs and altos) playing through the crystal clarity of my new DAB Digital Radio. I hadn't anticipated how much of a difference there is between this and a really good FM signal. I can actually hear the turn of the pages and the shuffle in the seats on the recording. Elsewhere, presents included dvds of Mr & Mrs Smith and A Bridge Too Far and the music of Enya, Madeleine Peyroux and Sugababes, which I could be playing on my new USB Mp3 player if my clapped out computer would recognise its existence without crashing (if anyone knows how I can get a Technika ML-2 to work in Win 98 let me know). Have a great rest of the day.
Review 2005
Laura Póvoa Tintori
3am. Yes, sounds like the "clise" hour for doing things but since a few days it's the moment when I can get to breathe a little bit. I'm trying to enjoy myself despite the merengue songs the police department near my apartment is playing out loud right now. Caracas has been a chaos as Christmas approaches. Just like any other city this time of the year I guess. I'm used to its traffic jams, subway delays and neverending noises, along with all the unstoppable smog and fast-walking -sometimes incredibly annoying slow walking- people. It all can be a highly effective stimulant as a deeply depressing background.
However, though I do not intend to make a compilation of bizarre events in Caracas or any other city, there is a great feeling going on while stopping to see. And sometimes, just sometimes, it comes to me the clearest view of where I'm standing on: A giant, luminous, envolving and spectacular valley filled with as many houses, buildings, cars, people, lights, trees, highways, and pictures one can think of. I enjoy the beauty of it when it comes to my eyes then to my mind. Of course it's hard to remember that while living the worst part of it: daily routine.
For an introduction and list of contributors to Review 2005, follow this link.
However, though I do not intend to make a compilation of bizarre events in Caracas or any other city, there is a great feeling going on while stopping to see. And sometimes, just sometimes, it comes to me the clearest view of where I'm standing on: A giant, luminous, envolving and spectacular valley filled with as many houses, buildings, cars, people, lights, trees, highways, and pictures one can think of. I enjoy the beauty of it when it comes to my eyes then to my mind. Of course it's hard to remember that while living the worst part of it: daily routine.
For an introduction and list of contributors to Review 2005, follow this link.
Good clean copy.
Books "No 84 (Charing Cross Road) is now a Chinese medicine shop prominently advertising "herbal viagra", and Borders, with its inevitably Starbucks branch, has muscled in on the old traditions of Foyles and Blackwell?s. (Although it must be confessed that its "open until 11pm" convenience does on occasion come in handy, when you emerge from the theatre just desperate to read the text of the play you just saw, or clutching your head at the memory that it is young cousin John's birthday tomorrow.)" -- Natalie Bennet offers disappointing news in the round-up of the bookshop made famous by Helene Hanff the premises which surround it. I mean I'm not one for the heritagification of anywhere mentioned somewhere in the arts but really ...
Optimism
Christmas "Once again the spirit of Christmas creeps in through my kitchen window. Normally it would smother me with loneliness, choke me with its alcoholic fumes of regret, but this Christmas is different, special, miraculous. I have finally found my place on this earth. I have finally found peace. The tinsel on my tree glistens with optimism. The mince pies in my cupboard taste of hope. And the mistletoe in my mind is held tightly above an angel sent by God." -- Andrea
Teens create Hamlet 'in the Hood'
"Brainstorming ideas for a project promoting nonviolence, the students chose a work in which almost all the main characters are dead by the time the curtain falls. But in their version, Hamlet openly discusses his troubles with his mother and friends, and his murderous uncle ends up in jail instead of dead at Hamlet's hands in a second, "rewind" ending." [via]
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