Mutant rat giveaway!

I have recently started walking through town on my way home from work and I eye up Games Workshop every time I pass it. I’ve never really been tempted to go in – I love gaming, however I don’t have a console and I’m more attracted to shoes and books. Plus I’d have to cross the road to get to the shop and I can’t be bothered when all I want to do is get home out of the cold.

By the way, it so turned to winter sometime yesterday between lunch and my afternoon “fresh air” break (code for nicotine fix – I never did quit smoking). It is bitterly cold out there and I was skidding my way to the bus station this morning!

I went in this evening – I think I’ve caught Christmas shopping fever and this was the only place open bar John Lewis which I perused yesterday. I knew I wasn’t going to buy anything – trying to stick to a budget for once, even if it is 100 quid over what I actually have in my account at the moment…but I didn’t realise how much I would gain from the impulse.

I expected to see X-box games lining the walls and instead found Warhammer. I had never heard of it before so the sales assistant gave me a brief introduction and I ended up having a wee game against him. It looks like more work to get into than I’d like – he was getting out all sorts of books and magazines to explain how many inches each character can move – and I’m not much into fantasy, however I loved the concept and even more so the folk that come in on Tuesdays to paint their characters and have massive battles downstairs – guys so geeky you’d think they only exist in film!

I went away with a Skaven, a mutant rat, and an invitation to come back and learn how to paint it! Had a look at it and the detail is really quite impressive. I’ll definitely take up the offer and maybe watch a game or two, possibly even make some new friends!

The difference: Iranians do heroin, Arabs coke.

This Iranian dude Maz Jobrani talking about the difference between Persians and Arabs.
So true!

Jeffrey, Are You Listening?

Here’s a poem by Serj Tankian, most noted for his role in System of a Down. It was performed on the Concert Series Volume 1 album by Axis of Justice. It is also in his book of poetry, Cool Gardens – totally on my Amazon wish list!

I don’t know the exact punctuation and layout, but here’s my interpretation. Corrections are welcome as are thoughts on who or what Jeffrey represents.

I’d also like to add that “who pays the bills sets the ways” applies not only to foreign policy. It’s fundamental in capitalism and although it has its benefits, there are dire consequences when unrestrained.

Serves plenty of food for thought and the word play is delightful.
 

Jeffrey, Are You Listening?

Blessed are the criminals that pursue crime as a hobby,
as soldiers who kill the enemy for fun,
as hookers prostituting for joy,
tall trees and submarines,
skin deep abrasions.
Gods children serving dearly should be forgiven.

Jeffrey, are you listening?
Are you listening?

Out of their fierce bellies
like a swordfish dance hall metholyptus cough drops you on your ass.

I’m encountering a strange revival:
that of the mind.
Thinking, unobsessed, scrutinising
mechanism of our human experience
unlike the staggering loop forced contemplations
of the ego-based mind of trouble and canoes.
I am re-encountering the thriving pinnacle
of the expansive existential thought processes.

Jeffrey, are you listening?

Out of their fierce bellies
like a swordfish dance hall metholyptus cough drops you on your ass.

On the other foot,
why not laugh?
Laugh of well being
for it is that which drives us men to evolve.
It’s the trick of life.

Jeffrey, are you fucking listening?

We are freezing
standing in front of our electric heaters, nuking our food.
We are tired of your transparent “Who pays the bills sets the ways” foreign policy.
We are tired of sending our troops to foreign soils to die,
not knowing why
and who’s interest they were sacrificed for.
We are ashamed to see the way you take care of your people
by cutting social services and aid to those most in need.

Explain me something:
How could the richest country in the world have starving children?

Here’s the fucking point:
Nations and their governments should provide, protect and serve its citizens.
Not the interest of the multinationals.

Jeffrey, are you listening?

A Monk Swimming.

Malachy is Frank McCourt’s wild younger brother. His tale begins in America working the docks as his older brother did, stealing as much as he could conceal on his bodice and drinking far more than recommended. From there a wild string of events takes place: he works his way to (minor) stardom in the theatre and TV chat shows, opens up “Malachy’s” with a few buddies which quickly turns into the hottest saloon in New York, weds a not-quite-girlfriend and has two children by her which he abandons to engage in excessive drinking and general hedonism, smuggles gold to India…

It’s an interesting read for a number of reasons. I’ve read both Frank McCourt’s Angela’s Ashes and ‘Tis, and now I’ve seen parts of those books from a different point of view. Malachy is also the entertainer of the family and this is portrayed in his writing style. It’s very colloquial, easy to read yet he is obviously well-read. The dictionary had to come out a few times. He is, in his own words, an erudite. Still, reading his book is just like listening to him telling stories at a pub.

The stories themselves aren’t overly impressive. He’s led an exciting life, but I think we all do, so this is to be expected of a biography. If there wasn’t anything exciting or different to write about there wouldn’t be much point. What I did like, as I just mentioned, is his writing style and therefore have to recommend it. In my opinion he’s superseded his brother. Very entertaining.

Miss Gomez and the Brethren.

Miss Gomez discovers the Church of the Brethren of the Way in Jamaica in a paper left behind by a client at a brothel in London. She begins corresponding with them and eventually ends up on the desolate Crow Street, doomed for demolition. She is convinced that a sex crime is about to occur between Alban Roche, previously incarcerated for sexual misdemeanors, and Prudence Tuke, daughter of the owners of the Thistle Arms. No one listens to Miss Gomez when she intervenes and tries to prevent the act with prayer. When Prudence doesn’t return that night a huge investigation takes place.

There was a little too much preaching in this one for me. Miss Gomez, once converted, tries endlessly to convinces others to join her church. It’s main concentrated in one section of the book, but that was more than enough. Because if it, it took nearly a month to finish!

The writing is delightful though. Very funny and descriptions are original. The omniscient point of view is also well used, adding thoughts from random people passed on the street or updates on characters only briefly involved in the plot. It gives the story a profound sense of realism.

The plot is really interesting and characters well developed. Miss Gomez goes from being the sole survivor of a horrific fire to a disturbed child at an orphanage in Jamaica to a hooker in London to a fanatic Christian trying to save people. Prudence’s mother, Beryl Tuke, is a gin-guzzling, sappy romance-reading, promiscuous woman. Alban Roche is a man deeply disturbed by incest.

It certainly makes for an interesting read and Trevor’s style is great. I’ll have to read some of his other works.