bubbling enthusiasm for $arbitrary_topic
Seems that having a regular spank of the monkey might do you guys some good, actually protecting you against prostate cancer. I don't suppose for a second that you need any sort of excuse to go play with your little friend, but at least now you have the perfect comeback to anyone who tells you that self abuse is evil. Hell, if this catches on 'wanker' could become a word of advice rather than an insult.
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Thousands of rubber ducks are about to end their 11 year voyage around the world which started when they escaped overboard from a container ship during a storm in 1992. I just hope that when they're washed up in New England, some kind souls will find them a nice hot bath in which to end their little rubber ducky days. Via Sandhill Trek.
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I was looking today for information on the London Underground, specifically, good hard statistics that might be useful to someone thinking about potential solutions to the perennial issue of the whole system heating up to near boiling point every time the outside temperature rises above 5. Kelvin.
Instead I found a fragment of a rather amusing spoof underground map, which featured in the book Have I got 1997 for you, which is apparently (and unsurprisingly) now out of print. Being a law abiding and responsible citizen aware of the issue of intellectual property rights, the web site owner has posted only a teaser, but as I'm a maverick mp3 downloading cyberpunk who spits in the face of intellectual property rights (unless they're mine, of course), I want to see the whole damn thing. So if anyone out there knows the whereabouts of a full copy, please let me know.
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If I were standing on the top of a cliff right now, the steel grey sea lashing the rocks below, all white horses and froth, the boom of rollers beating the shore into submission, giant tankers reduced to a speck on the horizon as they head for safe harbour? If I were standing on the top of a cliff right now, the sky perfect in its anger, low clouds hurtling eastwards, breaking occasionally to reveal a scrap of blue or the icy white of cirrus clouds, driving the seagulls sideways as they race inland not entirely of their own volition, the sun filtering bright gold through the evening air, concealed, revealed, but sinking surely from sight? If I were standing on the top of a cliff right now, the wind eddying furiously about me, sometimes pushing, sometimes pulling, clearing the day’s haze from my mind and filling it instead with thoughts of freedom? If I were standing on the top of a cliff right now?
Would I fly?
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Adam Ant was one of the first pop stars I was aware of, and certainly the first I mimicked, the first one I wanted to be like. He was the object of one of my first crushes, along with Terry Hall of The Specials. I think it was the cheekbones, to be honest, and the amazingly beautiful green eyes. Possibly the style. The voice. The sparkle. The confidence. The gold braided into his hair.
When Adam ended up in court a year or so ago and his manic depression became headline news, all I felt was sympathy for him. The press, on the other hand, seemed to quite enjoy ripping him to shreds. It seems it doesn’t matter how many years ago your poppy grew tall, they’ll cut you down even when you’re old enough to have little poppies all of your own. Once a target, always a target.
This evening on Channel 4 was a documentary about Adam’s battle with manic depression, about how it both fuelled and damaged his career, and the external influences that amplified it and lead to him putting a car alternator through a pub window in 2002. It was quite a heart-rending watch.
You don’t get cured of depression, manic or otherwise. I think the best you can hope for is to get it under control and learn to see the danger signs ahead of time so that you can do something about it. I also think that it takes a lot of courage for a public figure like Adam to allow his demons to be dissected on TV, to do interviews about what it’s like to live with mental illness, how it feels, how it affects you.
There are a lot of ignorant people kicking about who think that depression is something that you ?get over?, that you just need to ?pull your socks up? and ?cheer up?, and then miraculously everything will be ok. Anyone who’s had depression knows that’s not the case, that even when you’re feeling fine, these demons aren’t going away. They’re there, sitting on your shoulder for the rest of your life, and if you’re not strong and you’re not in fighting form, then they can easily take the reins and bingo, you’re back in the thick of it again.
It’s so not the done thing, particularly in the UK, to stand up and admit that you’ve suffered depression (or any other mental illness for that matter). You risk marking your card, blotting your copybook, being seen forever as a nut. Of course, it’s slightly easier on the net, because you’re not actually facing your audience, you’re just typing into oblivion.
To stand up and be counted in public, on tv, to me, that’s almost unimaginable, and I am completely in awe of Adam Ant for doing that. I have nothing but respect and admiration for him, and I sincerely hope that he can get his demons caged and start to enjoy living his life fully again.
Me, I’ve never dealt with anything quite as severe as what Adam’s gone through, but I have suffered with depression in the past. These days, my demons are shackled, but not caged. Currently I see they’re straining in their bindings, struggling to get free. But I’m not going to let them. If I have anything to do with it, the little fuckers will rot in their chains until hell freezes over.
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I love reading David Weinberger's blog, particularly when he blogs about his battles with his computer and learning Linux. (Boy, do I feel good knowing that the author of the Cluetrain Manifesto has computer problems!) Now I get to listen to him speak in an excellent interview with Chris Lydon. I like hearing people speak, I like hearing their accents, how they talk, how they communicate their thoughts and passions. I like being able to peg a voice to the words, and to be able to hear that voice in my head as I read. It reminds me that there's a person, a real living, breathing, thinking, feeling person on the other end of the keyboard.
But not only is it cool to be able to hear David's voice, it's also a really interesting interview. Go listen.
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Every year, on May Day, a young woman is stolen away by the faeries to become their Queen for a year. This year, though, the faeries have bitten off more than they can chew. Shakti Nayar will do whatever it takes to get her own life as a botanist back. As she struggles to work out how to get home, she uncovers Faerie’s dark secret and finds that she is not the only human who needs saving.
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