[vimeo http://vimeo.com/14213044 w=700&h=500] More Black Cab Sessions here.
(as told to Huffington Post - read all the way to the bottom)
So it's 10 years since The Office launched into the world.
And 50 since I did.
How the fuck did that happen?
The 20 year-old on the left is thinking, "I hope I don't live long enough to look like that grizzled old bugger on the right."
But luckily, the grizzled old bugger on the right is thinking, "at least I don't look like that poncey little prat on the left."
I don't know whether that suggests that everything changes or nothing changes.
But I love what Muhammed Ali said on the subject...
"The man who views the world at 50 the same as he did at 20 has wasted 30 years of his life."
I certainly don't view the world the same. It's slightly more blurry.
My body is crumbling but not my passion. I work harder than I ever did and enjoy it more than I ever did too. I'm probably the fittest I've ever been. Which proves that it's never too late. Or it proves that I was so out of shape that it was easy to beat. Doesn't matter. And I think I'm more chilled out about things.
And fucking angrier about other things. I'm still very angry. When I'm not anymore, there's a problem.
I don't know what happiness is but it's definitely NOT just going with the flow. Going with the flow, for Christ sake? Don't ever go with the flow. Stop the flow, go against the flow, start the flow, but don't under any circumstance just go with the flow.
It may ruffle a few feathers, but some people's feathers need a little ruffling.
And remember: just because someone is offended doesn't mean they're in the right.
You have the right to be offended, and I have the right to offend you. But no one has the right to never be offended.
And never just try to offend either. That's churlish, pointless and frankly too easy. But always say what you mean. Be honest. No one should ever be offended by truth. That way you'll never have to apologise. I hate when a comedian says "Sorry for what I said." You shouldn't have said it. You shouldn't say it if you didn't mean it and you should never regret anything you meant to do. As a comedian I think my job isn't just to make people laugh but also make them think. As a famous comedian I also want a strict door policy on my club. Not everyone will like what I say or find it funny. And I wouldn't have it any other way. There's enough comedians who try to please everyone as it is. Good luck to them, but that's not my game I'm afraid.
This is not a democracy. No art form is. I love the creative process and I love being a complete dictator when it comes to my work. It's my way or no way at all.
I'm quite Darwinian about it. I do my thing and I survive or I don't. I'm here now though.
Enjoying life. While it lasts. Because that's all, folks. Make the most of it.
At the moment I'm seeing more of life that usual as I'm getting up three hours early to film my new sitcom Life's Too Short.
This is what happens when actors get it right:
This is what happens when they get it wrong:
Life IS too short. Particularly if you just go with the fucking flow.
• White socks only from May onwards. Black socks are for winter months.
• Yes, vintage jerseys - 20 years old or more - can look rather chic but, let’s face it, you do not ride for the US Postal/Quickstep/Liquigas team and you do not get paid big bucks to wear its garish livery, either… so who are you trying to kid?
• All road cycling kit should be road cycling-specific. Men who wear floral board shorts intended for the beach whilst on the road should be banned from the sport. Training shoes, baseball caps, Aviator sunglasses etc are also totally unacceptable. And those novelty jerseys printed with Heinz Baked Beans, London A-Z and Marmite logos? Not funny or clever.
• The only exception to this rule is a wooly hat for winter riding which can be of generic outdoor or hand-knitted provenance. Ski hats with big, comical bobbles, perhaps emblazoned with the name of a Dolomite resort or Alpine mountain, are also allowed. Wear with clear or yellow-lensed glasses – spectacle arms worn over (not under) wooly hat. Persol sunglasses, as worn by David Millar, are also OK.
• At cafés, bars and pubs cyclists must always sit outside, no matter what the season. Why? Well it looks more European and you can keep an eye on your bike, but mainly because there is no place for Lycra in a public bar and a nice Sunday-lunching family does not need to stare at your ugly lunchbox.
• Acceptable drinks to enjoy halfway through a ride include French/Italian/Spanish lager (strictly bottles only), a glass of cold shandy (refer to it as “un panache”, if it makes you feel more French), a glass of ice-cold rosé (Duralex tumbler please) and, particularly during winter, a slug of brandy from one’s back pocket to “correct” your coffee. Citrus juices are a bit acidic but apricot juice straight from the bottle is good. Coca Cola, Fanta etc are only acceptable served in bottles. No vodka-based drinks or pints of bitter.
• Cycling food. During a ride lunchbreak; pasta, slices of proper, thin crust pizza, Caprese salad, steak frites, toasted panatone, ham and cheese baguettes. Full English breakfast is also acceptable when riding in UK.
• Cyclist’s tan; brown forearms, brown shins and calves, brown nose, ears and cheeks, brown stripe on back of neck, dry, chapped lips, brown fingertips, sunburned triangle at sternum, weird little brown circles adjacent to the thumb where there’s a gap in the mitts. Everything else – feet, ankles, tummy, thighs, forehead, hands etc; sparkling white.
• When two roadies travelling in opposite directions pass each other, brief eye contact must be made and the cursory but crucial “cyclists’ nod” administered. This is as close as we get to a Masonic handshake.
• Cycling, like rock ‘n’ roll and flower-arranging, is an alpha male lingua franca. You can bond with like-minded riders and tag onto club rides all over the world. But when not in the company of fellow cyclists, the first rule of cycling club should always be: don’t talk about cycling club. All road cyclists should have plenty of non-roadie friends who have absolutely no idea what they get up to of a Sunday morning. And that’s just the way we like to keep it. Why? Well, non-cyclists simply don’t understand us. In fact, they think we are weird. (To be honest, we are… a bit.)
• Learn some basic repair skills. This is not nerdy, it is essential. Knowing three bits of simple maintenance could be the difference between a long, wet walk pushing your bike to the nearest taxi rank or train station and a simple trundle in to the nearest town. Master the mysterious ways of a chain breaker, get the hang of fixing a flat tyre and carry the appropriate tools at all times.
• Be friends with your local bike shop mechanic. He can do stuff you can’t. Bike shops are essential for not just buying bits but also for hanging out in and drooling over hardware.
• Appreciate the elegant efficiency of your machine, taking time to look down at your chain and mechs doing their magical stuff as you change gear. Your bike needs to feel your love.
• Try not to rock your shoulders too much when climbing. It’s a waste of energy and it looks silly… and remember to breathe.
• Always black shorts. White shorts are for aerobics teachers.
• Having lots of bikes makes perfect, rational sense. Road bikes in carbon, steel and titanium are all essential. Consider owning also; a meticulously restored vintage Hetchins, Holdsworth or Colnago; a gentleman’s bike for when you ride around town in a suit.
• Unless you are astride a touring bike, any extraneous equipment should be kept on the body, not on the bike. Pumps, tool kits, rain jackets etc look naff, twee and nerdy mounted to the crossbar saddle or bars and spoil the elegant lines of your titanium frame. So stuff all your bits and pieces in those three pockets on the back of your jersey.
• The only exception here is a folded up tyre, rakishly attached to the rear of the saddle with an old fashioned pedal strap.
• Use of a handlebar-mounted Garmin or iPhone for navigation is OK but stopping to consult a crease-worn Ordnance survey map is much more the thing.
• When stationary, always complain of being cold; it makes everyone think your body fat percentage is really low.
• Clip-on aero / TT bars? Non.
• Make like the Italians who like to ride slow and long. It’s stupid, uncool and very rude to burn off at top speed at the beginning of a Sunday morning jaunt. Cyclists that do this always end up struggling at the back anyway.
• Do not refer to a sportive as “a race”. Racing is racing, everything else, even the mighty Etape du Tour, is a jolly.
• Bar tape should be finished off using plain-coloured, bog-standard electrical insulating tape.
• Presta innertube valves should be left nude (ie no dust caps) and collarless.
• Clean your bike with a brush and a bucket of warm soapy water. Using a jet wash is vulgar and insensitive to your bike’s feelings.
• Too high seat posts; look sporty but your arse looks bad rocking about on the saddle. Go for a low Belgium style. Same goes for stems that a far too long for your physique…you’ll be seeing the osteopath soon enough.
By Simon Mills. Via Rapha.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uaUIvY3BVQc&w=700](nice spot Adam!)
From Passiveagressiveletter.com comes this work of genius: Writes Carolyn in Brooklyn: “My youngest daughter, Annisa, clearly had a problem with her recalcitrant tooth fairy. This is a series of letters, including an envelope, that I saved from her early years. I have no doubt that her finely tuned negotiating skills were developed as a result.” The best part? Annisa, who just turned 31 on Saturday, is now — no joke — a Director of Human Resources.”
(I really didn’t think this tooth-fairy letter could be topped, but in terms of sheer precociousness — not to mention determination — I think we have a new winner.)
Beautiful. [vimeo vimeo.com/25401444 w=700&h=550]
"In a world increasingly concerned with questions of energy production and raw material shortages, this project explores the potential of desert manufacturing, where energy and material occur in abundance.
"In this experiment sunlight and sand are used as raw energy and material to produce glass objects using a 3D printing process, that combines natural energy and material with high-tech production technology.
"Solar-sintering aims to raise questions about the future of manufacturing and trigger dreams of the full utilisation of the production potential of the world’s most efficient energy resource - the sun. Whilst not providing definitive answers this experiment aims to provide a point of departure for fresh thinking.
"This project was developed at the Royal College of Art during my MA studies in Design Products on Platform 13."
(more at MarkusKayser.com - stumbled on this link thanks to MotherLondon's excellent twit feed)
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qKpxd8hzOcQ&w=700]
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=85LUuF6ZXaU&w=700] Holy holy holy, Lord God Almighty.
Al Kennedy gets round to the subeject of procrastination for The Guardian: I have a small blackboard in my study. On it, I carefully chalk all of the writing-related tasks I have not yet completed: essays, scripts, treatments, rewrites, short stories, letters, novel-planning, crying in a corner, talking to my kettle ... There are days when I love this blackboard and its anal-retentive attention to detail: its tiny chalk-holding flange, its even tinier rubbing-out cloth: and there are also days when it feels like having a debt-collector in the room with me, smelling of broken legs and hardened hearts.
Having pretty much lost two months to illness, I am currently ignoring the board completely. I haven't allowed myself to approach it closely, never mind study its listed assignments, or consider how many others I am hiding from myself by simply keeping them in my head. Off the board and in my brain, I know they will come adrift from their deadlines and end up getting tangled in each other, but I don't care – a visible inventory would simply drive me back to the kitchen where I would end up giving the kettle abuse. And actually my kettle's very nice.
Why do I have such a deep and intimate relationship with my kettle? Because for 25 years, give or take, I have been a person who knows they have something to write. I have written when nobody wanted to hear from me, I have written when I could earn as much as £30 in year by my writing, I have written when I was tired from my day job, when I was filled with the terrifying elation of a new idea, when I was starting my first novel, when I was starting my sixth novel, when I was rewriting something apparently insoluble, when I was trying to prove myself employable and when I was just fooling about until I could see what might happen. In all of these circumstances and more, what was the common factor? The kettle. As soon it's inevitable that a writer must begin their first word, it becomes (almost) equally and conflictingly inevitable that the writer must do something else really quickly before scribbling breaks out. Hence the kettle. Tell you what, I'll just go and make a fresh beverage, then I'll get down to things properly. Absolutely. Of course I will.
Writers can generate industrial quantities of procrastination before their first sonnet is rejected, or their first novel-outline-plus-sample-chapter is exorcised, burned and its ashes buried at sea. Are my pens facing north? Or magnetic north? What's that funny noise? Oh look, it's raining outside. My fingernails need cutting. I think my computer is going to break, better get it checked. Do I have toothache? Will I have toothache? The possibilities lend new meaning to the words eternity and purgatory.
When I began writing, distractions were all low-tech. I had to worry about typewriter ribbons and correction fluid, for God's sake. There was no possibility of spending an apparently productive day making backup files, defragmenting already tidy hard drives, emailing, watching grainy online movies of cats falling over, or playing virtual patience. (I once tried a more sophisticated computer game and, after many months, managed to advance my character by one level and put him into a loop of crouching, rocking and saying, "Oh, no.") Nevertheless, I could still burn away whole pre-Amstrad weekends in keeping busy, rather than writing. Ever re-hung and filed your clothing along a colour gradient, or cleaned all your grouting with a toothbrush? I have.
Robert Louis Stevenson once said that he didn't like writing, he liked having written. And I think I know how he felt. The act of writing is delightful, once you've entered into the proceedings, it's simply that - like many other intimate, involving and tiring activities – writing creates nervousness, fumbling and an intense desire to run away before it can really take a hold.
I do love to write and I worked out relatively quickly that I should preempt as much of my delay and dismay as possible by removing sources of distraction and rendering myself as comfy as a Calvinist can be, prior to embarking on my opening sentence for the day. I then reached the point where I had to earn my living by writing, rather than the less-profitable avoidingwriting option. This means that, over the years, I have developed, abandoned and refined various preparatory manoeuvres to ease things along – the typist's equivalent of dinner and a tastefully naked European movie. Before I could afford a comfy chair, I propped myself up with pillows and cushions. I made myself a cuppa, all ready in advance. I eliminated noise with nice music. I conditioned myself to associate pieces of music with having already started to write and went through – as time passed – more and less complicated routines of exercise, or meditation, or horrified staring. And there are, naturally, the time-honoured favourite forms of self-deception – I'm not really starting, I'm just mucking about for a bit. I'm going to write this, even though it's not what I'm really meant to be doing and therefore a bit of fun. If I finish another page I can have a treat.
Now, perhaps because I am old and tired, I may kick off by doing a bit of voice work to wake myself up, I may embark on a new project by having a thorough wash and brush-up, or I may just tell myself – Here we go, then.
I am aware that there are writers who successfully avoid ever having to write at all. Whatever creative energies they may possess have been completely absorbed by displacement activities. These activities often include dressing, sounding and standing (if not drinking – in fact, usually drinking) like an author and so these individuals can seem far more convincing as artists of the well-turned phrase than many people who actually have been published. When I was starting to write, I found this type very confusing. Indoors, I was bewildered by both writing and not writing. I didn't know how to say what I wanted to, or if I really wanted me to, or if anyone else wanted me to. Out in the world, here were these amazing excuses to never bother about such things again. They were a temptation. But I did realise that they were also a horrible, horrible dead end.
I have, in my professional life, met numberless writers who seemed paralysed by their own desire to write, who had intelligent and reasonable excuses for not starting, not committing, not getting on with it, who could trump any arguments or suggestions I might make towards putting anything on paper. It is nice to win arguments, but not if it means you deny yourself the chance to do something beautiful and intensely alive. Win or lose, you have to be in the game to play it and writing is a game which can deepen and enrich any player's experience, moment by moment. We can all feel we're not really up to it on any given day – and sometimes we're right, we should take a break. But not writing – that would be like not speaking, not touching, not kissing. Pauses are probably unavoidable, but perhaps use yours, enjoy them, shorten them until you can find their edge. We might look at it like this – kissing is good, but kissing after five or 10 seconds of well-informed waiting – that can be better. Onwards.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=POOzdESbppk&w=700] He makes a very good point.
First recorded by Big Joe Williams in 1935 (on a nine string guitar)[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ikxLNaAYu5k&w=700]
Then Lightnin' Hopkins nailed it [youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d49m6G9vOrI&w=700]
Here's AC/DC smoking away, with Bon Scott in drag - a ROCKING version [youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1VlRUIHwygc&w=700]
And of course there's THEM (with Van Morrison up front) in 1971 [youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d7qNnyF3wtQ&w=700]
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vvObfrs3qoE&w=700] (via J Dyson Snr.)
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bFnkp_LA1RY&w=700] This aria is from Puccini's La Rondine. It's the first act. A cocktail party in Paris. Prunier says that love is in the air and starts to sing his latest composition - this one - which Magda completes for him. She explains that as a kept woman she has never really known true love, but recalls her youth and a young student she loved briefly:
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zyAd51f1i-k&w=700]
If you want to know what happens in the rest of the opera, read on, but be warned - it's not necessarily a comedy...(summary from Wikipedia)
The young man, Ruggero, enters with an introduction to Rambaldo and asks where he may find the best place to spend an evening in Paris. All the guests agree that it is Bullier's and, after they leave, Prunier returns in secret to escort the maid Lisette to that cabaret. Later, on a whim, Magda disguises herself and also goes.
Act 2 At Bullier's, everyone is singing and dancing. Magda meets Ruggero, and they dance and fall in love. Lisette recognizes Magda, but Prunier tells her she is mistaken. At the table, Lisette confesses to borrowing Magda's clothing and jewelry. Rambaldo enters, and Magda quietly has Prunier hide Ruggero. Rambaldo demands an explanation; she explains that she has found true love and wants to leave him for Ruggero. After Rambaldo leaves, Ruggero returns, and the couple confess their love.
Act 3 Magda and Ruggero are living in a cottage by the sea. He has no idea how they will pay their mounting bills and he tells her that he has written to his parents for permission to marry her (Aria: Dimmi che vuoi seguirmi). Magda is deeply touched, but knows that she can never marry him because of her past. Prunier and Lisette arrive. She has had a disastrous and brief career as an actress, constantly criticised by Prunier; she begs for her job back, and Magda consents. Prunier delivers the message that Rambaldo wants her back, and tells her that she cannot maintain a life in the cottage. Ruggero returns with the letter permitting the marriage, but Magda finally tells him everything. Like a swallow, she flies back to Rambaldo, leaving Ruggero heart-broken.
Alternative Ending As staged by companies such as the Washington National Opera and the Los Angeles Opera (following research by and under the direction of stage director Marta Domingo), Ruggero receives a letter from his mother revealing the true name of "Paulette" (the name Magda has used during her time with the young man) and that she is the mistress of Rambaldo. He is angered and asks who she is and why she lied to him. She says that she thought he could save her from the life she was leading. He leaves her, and distraught she looks towards the sea saying she will fly there like a swallow. She walks into the sea to drown herself as the opera ends.
Rocking piece from DudeFoods.com, a site I will revisit regularly: [slideshow]
I don’t plan on going to prison any time soon, but if I do somehow end up there I’d at least like to be prepared. I’d imagine that a day in the life as a new prisoner can be quite stressful, and what better way is there to relax after a long day of making license plates and trying not to get shanked than with a nice glass of wine? Since prisons ban all alcoholic beverages however many inmates have taken to making their own wine, or “pruno” as it’s often called.
There are plenty of different pruno recipes out there, but I decided to use the most popular one, which is attributed to a man named Jarvis Masters, who is currently on death row at San Quentin State Prison. Making prison wine is actually surprisingly easy, and all you really need is a one gallon plastic bag, ten oranges, eight ounces of fruit cocktail, some sugar cubes, six teaspoons of ketchup and a towel.
The first step is to peel your oranges and toss them in the bag along with the fruit cocktail. Then you’re going to want to mash up the oranges as much as you can and add 16 ounces of water to the bag as well. The next step is to seal the bag up nice and tight, put it in your sink and heat it with hot running water for 15 minutes. After that you’re going to want to wrap your bag up in a towel to keep it nice and warm to help with the fermentation process and then stash it somewhere safe for 48 hours.
Once the 48 hours are up you’ll need to check on your bag of mashed up fruit. Does it smell completely disgusting and look like it’s about to explode? That means it’s working! This is when you add the sugar and six teaspoons of ketchup to speed up the fermentation process even more (and to give the wine a little better taste). Jarvis’s recipe calls for 40 – 60 sugar cubes, but the more sugar you use the higher the alcohol content of your wine will be (up to a certain point) so I added 60 of them. Once the sugar cubes and ketchup have been added you need to seal the bag back up, place it under hot running water for 30 minutes, wrap it back up in a towel and let it do its thing.
Three short days after adding your sugar and ketchup you’ll have your very own prison wine! All you really need to do in that final 72 hour span is to open the bag once a day to let all the gasses out and then seal it back up and run hot water over it for 15 minutes before wrapping it back up again in the towel. Once the three days are up just separate the fruit mash from your pruno and enjoy!
If you’re reading this I know that you’re probably wondering how it tastes. It was actually a lot better than I expected it to be. The smell kind of throws you off, but it pretty much just tasted like a really thick orange juice with a hint of ketchup flavor. It obviously isn’t the best wine in the world, but then again, if you’re in jail it’s certainly better than having no wine at all.
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[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ezj0lz4quRo&w=700] Sweet sweet revenge or an interspecies "friendship"? Cat videos are not all cute, it seems. I actually feel a bit dirty having watched it. So dog-rading.
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JUdpFN4O4B0&w=700]
You would NOT want to find one of these bad boys at the bottom of your garden.
As the comments say, it's good, but if you want something a bit less organic (freaky) then check this out too.
Via the Derren Brown Blog: “Cognitive fitness” is defined as the results of the overall functioning of brain processes such as comprehension, decision-making, problem-solving, learning and retention of knowledge. Most interesting are the capacities of abstraction, generalization, and meta-cognition (thinking about thinking) – which all aid in the ability to assess our environment, solve problems creatively and act decisively.
Roderick Gilkey and Clint Kilts claimed in Harvard Business Review—”Cognitive fitness is a state of optimized ability to remember, learn, plan, and adapt that is enhanced by certain attitudes, lifestyle choices, and exercises. The more cognitively fit you are, the better you will be able to make decisions, solve problems, and deal with stress and change.”
Evidence of very strong mental ability in later life can be seen in the likes of Arthur C Clarke who at 90 was still giving advice on the future, David Attenborough (85) continues to produce excellent books and TV programs and Noam Chomsky (82) is one of the most quoted intellectuals alive today and is quickly approaching his 200th book publication.
Also joining the list of brilliant octogenarians is 82-year-old Moreshwar Abhyankar. He has a string of degrees and diplomas to his credit, including a masters in arts, business administration, LLB, MMS and diplomas in journalism and social work.
It took Abhyankar nine years to complete the PhD on the subject ‘Impact of training interventions on the development and competencies of employees in private sector units in Pune’.
Abhyankar, who retired in 1988, chose this particular topic for his thesis because of his teaching experience of over 50 years.
“During my experience in training and teaching, I often wondered if the training programmes designed and conducted by the companies helped these employees at practical level.”
More on Abhyankar Times of India
Prelude from Bach Violin Partitia #3, played by Bela Fleck: [youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4sYgllgF7lc&w=700]
Gnarly. Well worth a look. (via)
[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o3SXKLas-ko&w=700]