That's How It Happened

This article about the new LotR Pinball Machine, has the fascinating spelling error of SEGWAY for SEGUE. It's like the author had been planning to use the word "segue" for ages, but couldn't figure out how to look it up in the dictionary; then Dean Kamen invents the Segway and his illiterate hunch is erroneously confirmed. I haven't seen a LotR pinball yet, but I did see a dude rolling about on a Segway last week and it looked stupid and lame.

Partying tonight with Rob 'n' Lucille, as well as with James Manning (II) and family. (I sometimes wonder if I will be the last person I know without an IMDb page. The great film masterpiece "String" is languishing on the editing deck, hampering my rise to fame.) Obviously I shall be seeing in the new year in style. Crystal will be flowing like water. If you want to "bling it on" like me, you'll need to be checking BrandStand. They let you know what's bling and what's ming, based on Billboard chart mentions. Jacob Da Jeweller still rates as joint 60th, despite the fact that he sold Nas a $50k engagement ring, that Kelis had appraised as worth only $7,500.

I wish I had an everlasting tube ticket. Prices are going up shockingly for New Year. My humble carnet will go from £1.15 a head to £1.50, so I splashed out on 100 this morning. It makes far more sense for us inner city dwellers than a new-fangled Oyster Card. Also you get the fun of carrying around a block of tickets the size of a pound of butter. I feel like a real commuting high roller.

I've been bidding my ass off on eBay, buying up back issues of Grand Royal at extortionate prices. I wanted to recapture the heady days of my youth when magazines told me what was cool not the internet. Then all of a sudden issue 4 of Deadstock dropped throught my letterbox this morning. A real monochrome onesheet fanzine. It's been months since issue 3, and it just feels so refreshing to have a real fanzine to absorb.

I had no idea that Superman is in need of very advanced assisted conception techniques.

El Bulli must be the world's most oversubscribed restaurant. They have only 8000 seats available during the six months of the year they are open. (The other six months the chefs are in the lab experimenting). 300000 people try to get a seat each year, the result being that all seats sell out on January 1st when booking opens. I have tentatively submitted an enquiry, I guess if I do get a table I could scalp the tickets to other gastronomes.
PS The "Write to the Editor" Link is sucking. If you have a long or important message you should email it too me direct.

I am half wondering if I already mentioned this, but I do not like the McTasty Burger. (Norte Americanos, you know this blight as the Big 'n' Tasty for copyright reasons). It's a foul synthetic disk of reconstituted cow head flesh, dressed with so much sauce and fake cheese that it's reminiscent of the Gardie's Burger from Cambridge. In other words rank.
Neither do I like JT and the Neptunes involvement in marketing McDs. In general I enjoy a Big Mac, but the crummy "I'm Lovin It" song has started even to put me off Pharrell.
Other people are complaining about McDonald's but on the back of falling beef prices their stock is rising.
Maybe now would be a good time to launch Krusty Burger restaurants outside of Springfield: it could only be surefire success.

I drove to work in 4 minutes today. That's the joy of London at 7am on a Sunday. Wide empty boulevards, free of traffic, or police. I didn't drive especially well, I am no Colin MacRae, but I did drive fast. I like lots of things that are bad for me: speeding, krispy kremes, drinking diet coke too fast so that the fizz goes up your nose and the bubbles kind of burn your tongue.
My brother claimed that Sean Paul was half chinese, half peruvian. For the record that's horseshit, he's half portugese, half jamaican. He also claimed that Pharrell Williams was 36, I checked and he's only 30. I finally figured out what Sean Paul was talking about in "Like Glue". Contrary to my mishearing, he does not need "a lot of cheese" up in his head, but a "lot of trees". And using the magic of Urban Dictionary and knowledge gained from The Fortress of Solitude, I know that "trees" is prison slang for joints.
Incidentally Urban Dictionary has no consensus as to what Kelis is on about in "Milkshake". I can't honestly believe it's a song about titty $£*!ing though.

Never let it be said that the internet has not brought literacy to a generation blighted by MTV and progressive schooling. As if to prove my literary worth I now present:

What I read on my holidays, by Rufus Cartwright, aged 26 and 3/4

The Book of Eels Tom Fort
This book is an extremely engaging work of popular science, exploring the history of eels. I have long been fascinated by the fact that all eels are born in the Sargasso Sea, and this book really digs into the history of how that was discovered. It also investigates modern eel fishing and cuisine worldwide. This is all achieved in a readable tone that is never patronising.
The Life of Pi Yann Martel
Everyone has probably already read this book. I enjoyed it, but felt its simple premise and lack of dialogue or character made it a very undeserving Booker winner.
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time Mark Haddon
This book uses an extremely original voice. Its written in the first person supposedly by an autistic 15 year old. It tells a warming tale, part mystery, part family drama. Its a short gripping read, but I feel it fails due to its inherent inauthenticity.
The Fortress of Solitude Jonathan Lethem
This is the best book I have read in at least 6 months. It a fantastic moving journey through Brooklyn and across America from the 60s to the 90s. It encompasses the birth of hip-hop, the evolution of graffiti, the crack epidemic, experimental film, and a great deal of insightful human drama.
A Few Short Notes About Tropical Butterflies John Murray
This is a rather brilliant collection of pithy cruel short stories, all set in or around the colonies. Excellent.
Eats, Shoots and Leaves Lynne Truss
This little diatribe against bad punctuation gave me rather a kick in the pants. I hadn't realised how slack with apostrophes I had become. Perhaps my grammatical resolve had been weakened by " St Thomas' ", a glaringly ugly apostrophe.

That was my reading list for my two weeks abroad. Having slunk back to London I shall probably return to an unthinking life of X-Box and alcohol, but meanwhile I feel somewhat edified. I can wholeheartedly recommend all the books on my list, though The Fortress of Solitude stands out as being really special.

Since every other blogger has produced an end of year round up, I thought I might add my own listmania. I begin today with my top 10 songs of 2003. These weren't all released this year, I just enjoyed them this year.

1. Hey Ya, Andre 3000 Great single, great video, dull album. I kinda want to be Andre 3000
2. Feeling This, Blink 182 Their best record ever. David La Chappelle video.
3. Alive, Beastie Boys "Wouldn't it be nice to be alive" Enough said.
4. A.D.I.D.A.S., Killer Mike So true. (Yeah you remember: All day I dream about...)
5. What's The Difference, Dr Dre It turns out that the difference between me and Dre is that he has a garage full of fine cars, and those cars are packed with hos sipping champagne and tooting drugs.
6. Like Glue, Sean Paul Best video of the year.
7. What is the Problem, Graffiti Mikey Streets with a Bastard Classic
8. Hip Hop, Dead Prez Broke my home cinema amp, that good.
9. Intro, MoB Because Farmageddon was the best night out all year.
10. Where Is The Love, Blackeyed Peas Best No 1, and they tried to bring break dancing back to the mainstream.

That whole list is depressingly chart/MTV/pop oriented. I guess that's a reflection on my age. Anyhow I don't suppose I'll be updating before christmas, so a merry christmas to all.

I am a long term non-subscriber to the cult of Dunk. However I do happen to think that the Paris Dunk is a very beautiful shoe. I can't find a picture of it at present (try ebay), though an actual pair live in the locked cabinet at NY Trainers in Cogent Varden. Anyhow now the London Dunk (takes forever to load, but scroll down for the pic) has been revealed on the afore-linked French sneakerholic site. Lo and behold its a scruffy grey atrocity that remind me of how my Pony football boots used to look after a muddy prep school match. I hate this shoe, and I think London deserved better.

All this intercontinental biographical blogging has proved only semipopular with my loyal readership. So for the first time in almost a week I present actual internet based fun. (I may be the world's last person to have heard of this, Dave covered this weeks ago, but its even funnier now you just need one search term). Following on from the Google "French Military Victories" Cheese Eating Scandal, Google now presents the George Bush Feeling Lucky "Failure" Debacle. Christmas cheer for all internet nerds to enjoy.

The most prolific South African pizza chain is called St Elmo’s. The name is a reference to their wood fired ovens used to bake the pizzas. I ate there yesterday, a pizza called the Carribean, topped with banana, garlic, and bacon. It tasted as you might expect, but that’s beside the point. It got me thinking that St Elmo’s is a microcosmic parable of the perils of globalisation.
They have two classes of waiter. One uniformed service ambassador to serve the food, and one ununiformed nameless drone to clear and clean the tables.
They serve bottomless cola, cheap and thirst quenching, but watered down considerably compared to the canned product.
They have their own patented pizza topping, the “Elmodew TM”. This is a spicy tomatoesque fruit, derived in some manner from the “Peppadew TM”. This god-awful fruit itself is one of the only GM products to have maintained its place on Waitrose’s shelves.
I felt like these little Elmo’s oddities represent the way in which global corporations exploit local workforces, plunder local resources, and produce global products less diverse, less healthy, and less interesting than original local products.
Obviously I am not the first person to think of this. Despite St Elmo’s being a proudly South African owned and run company, they have already been the subject of a sustained pre-al queda moslem fundamentalist anti-american bombing campaign.

Went to see the Boulder's penguins today. There are over 3000 of the fishy little critters. Mostly they just hang out on the beach moulting. They are the only colony of penguins in Africa. All the signposts claim they are "African" penguins, when any fool knows they are Jackass penguins.
The first penguins arrived in Cape Town in 1982. They must have come an astonishingly long way from Antarctica. I guess Cape Town residents must have been a little suprised to see them hopping around the beach. Anyhow they seem happy in the sun now.
I spent some of the last 2 days fixing dings in the collection of surfboards we have hanging around the house. Surfboards are stupidly fragile. The merest contact with rock, reef, or even head will cause a crack in the outer resin layer. Small cracks can be patched with wax, big holes and broken fins need real repairs. Its a deeply satisfying process involving oodles of sticky UV catalysed polymer resin, hours of patient sanding, and the result is a heady carcinogenic smell that instantly recalls for me the shaper's workshop where I bought my first board.

Cape Town nightlife is a slap in the face for London clubbing. Its utterly thoroughly unironic. There's only ever one really cool bar. Everyone looks like they just left a Abercrombie and Fitch catalogue shoot. Its perfectly normal to get smashed on sweet cider and tequila shots, have a giant punch up, then drive home. Last night we went to last years hip spot "The Caprice", and left following a nasty bar fight, then dropped into this year's glamour joint "Eclipse". The DJ played a succession of eighties anthems (MC Hammer, Vanilla Ice, Salt n Pepa), and no-one batted an eyelid. I guess they were all too busy getting bladdered on cheap shots. The watermelon martinis ruled. It appeared to be a mix of fresh watermelon, SKYY vodka and syrup de gomme. Perfect.

Marc Newson picked Mr Zog's Sex Wax to go into the 2001 Design Museum Collection. "Never Spoils" and "The Best For Your Stick", well I can't argue with that. They do different versions for warm and cold water surfing, (different melting points), which is essential for Cape Town waves. I enjoyed both chilly Atlantic waves and warm Indian Ocean waves today.

Woke up this morning to the sound of 10ft crashing surf. A beautiful sunny day in paradise. London seems very far away. My biggest problems here are which wax to put on my board and how many langoustines can be crowded onto the braai tonight.

Safely arrived on foreign shores. Got upgraded to business class for the first time in as long as I can remember. Drove down to Llandudno to be greeted by 8 foot crashing curling breakers. Have already seen 1/2 ton seals chasing fishermen along the docks in Hout Bay. Not missing London at all....

Practically about to leave for the airport. If i was in London tonight I'd be attending Daisy's book signing at the Tate Modern, followed by the Lebowskifest at Streatham Megabowl. Will attempt updates from RZA, but its 56k dial up only so don't expect too many glorious technicolour pics.

I wish this tattoo were real.

More Ebay hilarity. Best auction ever....

This article is a very amusing read about the sucka who invented Skatestoppers. I found the link either at Skateboarding Sucks or Crailtap both of which provide daily skate related content. I haven't even picked up my skateboard in a month. I will probably convert it to a Snow Deck if we get any snow in January.

As ever Vice Dos and Donts is fanfuckingtastic this month. I am also v excited about the forthcoming Relax 83, of which more at Being Hunted.

New update at mantleofbeez.com detailing forthcoming gigs, and with DJ Charlie Beez as a new contributor.

I had checked Coarse Toys, a couple of days ago, they still rule.

In other news: the Nike Talk forums go mad for a shoe that looks like a novelty condom for your feet. I may previously have worn some fairly orthopaedic kicks, (I'm thinking grey Nike Rifts, white Nike Foamposite 1s, and those natty blimpy Northface shoes that looked like snowboarding boots), but this is a sneaker too far. See-thru Air Force II? I don't want to see your rotting socks and fungus encrusted toes, kicksologists. Put your manky silver Huaraches back on now.

Research day turned out to be a failure. My other burning questions were:

1. Is the term "crocodile plates" (meaning traffic flow plates) a reference to the bony armour plates on the back of the crocodile, or is it a reference to the throat plates that enable crocodiles to confidently drown large prey. (Steve Irwin excepted). I had hoped it was the second meaning, it being rather more apt given how effective crocodile plates are in grounding cars. It turns out that "crocodile plates" is actually ungooglable, practically a googlewhack. Mystery unsolved.

2. Is there an operational policy at Starbucks determining who should get free christmas chocolate coins, or does it just depend on whether the barista likes you? This was ungooglable for the opposite reason, that "Starbucks" elicits 2900000 hits rendering any attempt to delve into their corporate psyche impossible. I shall have to assume that the cute Czech girl who serves at Millenium Wheel Starbucks doesn't fancy me, where as the butch biker dude at Marylebone Starbucks probably does.

All this research failure led to me drowning my sorrows in fine style. I was entertaining Tom Macrae (who doesn't get an IMDB credit on Nine Lives(with Paris Hilton no less)) and Adrian Christopher who does. Three bottles of champers and numerous cocktails later.......and this has been my worst work day in years. This hangover will probably last until I escape to Cape Town on Friday.

Research Day Part 1:

It occurred to me that the Tube announcers no longer say "person under a train", instead tube delays are due to "passenger action". I had initially interpreted this phrase as concerning consumer group protests about poor service. However 10 minutes hard googling produced this and this and this all confirming that indeed "passenger action" is a euphemism for train assisted suicide. Further knowledge gained: 11am is the peak time for tube suicides.

Saturday night I went to see Jumpers, and ran into Vladka and Simon by chance. It gets my vote as play of the year. A fantastic production, a great cast, and a brilliant script. Then on to the Istanbul restaurant for a birthday of one of Katy's workmates. I got my ass thoroughly schooled in Bollywood dancing. It was a crazy scene, packed to the rafters with smoking drinking young turks. After that I retired to the cosy world of x-box live for a little Amped 2. I am now in the top 600 worldwide, and you can check my ranking at XSN the web home of x-box sports competitions.

I spent Saturday afternoon at the opening of the Vans store in Kingly Court. There was a miniramp, and some skaters and bikers pulling mostly little stuff. One dude was nailing tail whips to nosepick, making it look easy. The interior of the store is sweet, v conducive to shoe purchasing. They were auctioning off 50 pairs of celebrity customised kicks. I kinda wanted the Geoff Rowleys, which Geoff had customised by spraying all over with red spray paint. Vans have some fantastic new action figures, similar to Michael Lau's Crazy Children but instead of snowboarders they are blood spattered surfers. I shall hunt down a URL shortly.
I hooked up with my most wanted kicks though. The Geoff McFetridge designed Unstoppable Champion Vandal finally arrived in London. Katy now has one of only 108 pairs in the UK (500 worldwide) stashed at her flat, and I can't get customising until christmas.

Been too damn busy this weekend. Thursday night was Christmas Bastard, somewhat subdued compared to usual. I was just saving myself for Friday night when I hit up the Googlism party. There was a true old skool crowd, a mix of cambridge fly-girls and the enviro-posse. There was a super sooped Moscow Mule, and I shall petition Miss Howes for the recipe, obviously not being able to reconstruct it from memory. There was also a crazy dance scene going down, many many peeps was busting whack moves at euro-beat dance revolution.

If I could sing, play any instrument, or even whistle I'd be in a band. And that band would be called the 7-10 Splits, and the B-side to their first single would be I Love Your Mom. (Lyrics not entirely SFW if played loud). As it is I lack even a shred of musical talent.

More than a metre of snow has fallen on Chamonix overnight. I so wish I was somewhere except Southwark. Posh John's at the Rusticana is where I ought to be. Instead of real snowboarding I am making do with Amped 2 on X-Box Live. Its like crack for the post playstation generation. I played 8 straight hours yesterday without taking off the headset. I had severe playstation thumbs, awful Doom-eyes, and bilateral hydronephrosis. If anyone wants to get their ass whupped tonight my gamertag is King Rufus.
Tonight is Christmas Bastard with extra special guests. No flyer yet available.

Two photos in two days, this blog is getting out of hand. I am entrenched at work again, so no real post now, only some hot hot links.
Julie Burchill has left the Guardian for the Times.
The Rat Olympics starts tomorrow, if I could only get my shiznick togethnizz I could win that hands down. My rat training skillz is unparalleled.
There are many many sites with star wars fan fiction, and action figure stories. This one is just totally insane. Its just astonishingly off kilter.
I often thought of sending myself a letter in the future. Luckily futureme.org enables me to do just that. This would be the letter I would like to receive.

Some damn fool bin drivin ma car in da bus lane. Don't peeps got no sense?
Watchdog, consumer champions of the BBC, ran a feature tonight about the Smart Car exploding roof problem. This self same thing happened to my car: a sudden bang and the glass roof collapsed on my head in a hail of prickly glass fragments. Smart denied all knowledge of other cases, swore blind it was due to an external impact, and I had to shell out the greenbacks to get it fixed. I sense a class action lawsuit coming on. Any advocats wanna represent?

Someone has discovered a good way to deface the Starbucks mermaid logo so it reads "Fuck Off". (STARFUCKS COFFEE.) None-the-less today I broke my self imposed no-frappucino rule. I indulged in a post lunch venti-mocha. After 14 straight caffeineless days I was expecting a psychotropic revolution. As it happened I felt startingly alive for all of 10 minutes before settling back down to my usual autumnal funk.
Turning on morning TV on Sunday I came across a documentary titled "G-Girls". Ordinarily it would not have caught my eye, but I naturally assumed from the name it was another fly-on-the-wall documentary about strippers. Imagine my surprise when it turned out to be a behind the scenes look at Milan fashion week starring my old quiz mucker Jess Wood.
This takes the number of people who have become famous after meeting me to 7:

1 Sophie Dahl
2 Hugh Dancy
3 Trent Ford
4 Christian Coulson
5 Daisy de Villenuve
6 Conrad Shawcross
7 Jessica Wood

I exclude from this list all writers and journos, whose numbers are legion, but whose fame is scant. It is my observation that almost all those on the list have rather eschewed me as a friend, somewhat putting paid to claims that "fame won't change me a bit". On the other hand almost all who gained celebrity before meeting me (Clooney excepted), have turned out to be the kind of idiotically gregarious starfuckers who submit to Gawker Stalker.