Powerful

Another Sunday Scribblings post. I've never felt the desire to be powerful, maybe because I'm a British bloke and we take a certain amount of power for granted; around the world emasculated groups (essentially anyone who is not white, male, christian, middle class, straight and vaguely 'western') on the other hand are more interested in the concept of power, as it is something that they have to struggle with every day in our global society. I remember years ago in South Africa hearing the anti-Apartheid protesters singing 'Amandla', which, apparently doesn't mean 'freedom' interestingly enough, it means 'power'.

So those who don't have power, well I wouldn't necessarily say they 'crave' it, but it would seem to be a nagging itch that could be seen as a panacea; if only I had the power to change my world, what a wonderful world it would be. Well, from one white westerner to, well, whatever form you come in, it doesn't really help. It just means you have more responsibility, more decisions to make and more people to disappoint. It weighs heavily...

Hi, my name is...

Hi, I'm four. This was the first thing that Eric ever said to me. To be fair to him, he was four. I was six I think. It was one of those long hot summers of the seventies. We were doing this amazing trip across the states visiting my mum's friends and we'd got to Liz and Paul's in Minneapolis. He also had a one year old baby sister called Maija. I always remember thinking it was a really cool name, because there was this exotic alien on Space 1999 called Maija. She was only one though, so it was difficult to tell exactly how exotic she was. So in the week or so that we stayed there, my brother and I and Eric became firm friends.

Fast forward to 2004 and Eric is ill. Basically he had a tumour that was slowly eating his face away. All the staff in the hospital loved him because he refused to be a miserable bastard. And he died. It was a week before his 34th birthday. He was obviously not entirely thrilled about dying, but his main concern was for his family and the pain they were going through.

Liz was in a job she loved and suddenly found herself fired with no explanation. This happened just after Eric died. Then Paul was diagnosed with the early stages of Alzheimer's. One has to wonder what the family had done to deserve all this?

And now I find myself in receipt of another message from the States and I hardly dare read it. I know no more details other than Maija has died. 34 years old. I don't know how and it's completely out of the blue.

When I think about Liz and Paul and their family I get so angry that life can be so unfair, and find myself wondering how does anyone cope with so much tragedy? No one should have to bury their child, but how does one reconcile all this? Well it takes time. Grief and loss are healed with time, but one also needs a little introspection to try and step back a little and look at their whole life. I'm sure Eric and Maija are up there now looking down on those who knew them thinking, "Wow, we were loved! But we were alive for 34 years each, why is everyone only focusing on our deaths? Oi! Will you lot stop being so bloody miserable, it's not like all we ever did was die! We did loads of other stuff too you know! Don't forget that! Get a bit of perspective!"

Well, writing that was kind of therapeutic for me and I'm grinning now as I sit here typing. We all die eventually, so we just have to make the best of the time we have; that doesn't mean 24 hour partying, it just means, I dunno, be excellent to each other.

PS. You get extra points for spotting the two film quotes.

Rapid Eye Movement

This is a song by the Rapid Ear Movement chaps. I have the lyrics plugin in my media player and up they popped. Have to say I smiled, so I thought I'd share them with you. First time I'd ever really noticed the lyrics, despite having bought the album in 1988. The song is called Get Up, from the album 'Green'. Anyway, I'm much better now, or at least, I'm much better at the moment. Still, here you go;

Sleep delays my life (get up, get up)
Where does time go? (get up, get up, get up)
I don't know
Sleep, sleep, sleepy head (get up, get up, get up)
Wake it up, up (get up, get up)
You've got all your life (way up ahead) (get up, get up, get up)

Dreams, they complicate my life (dreams, they complement my life)

I've seen you laying pined (get up, get up)
I've seen you laying pined (get up, get up)
Life is rough, rough (get up, get up, get up)
I've seen you laying down (get up)
With the loving kind (get up, get up)
I know life is hard, hard (where goes your time?)
Where to turn? where to turn? (get up, get up)

Dreams, they complicate my life (dreams, they complement my life)

Dreamtime

Dreams, they complicate my life (dreams, they complement my life)
This time, no escape, I wake up (get up, get up)
Get up, get up
Get up
Get up
Get up, get up, get up

Collecting

The idea for the post comes from Sunday Scribblings; (here is an idea, go scribble about it) and my instinctive reaction to the prompt 'collecting' is an awareness that it's a symptom of insecurity and an inability to trust one's own judgement, then I realised that actually, I was confusing 'collecting' with 'hoarding'. I have hoardy tendencies, but I'm getting better; (piles of business correspondence, most of which I probably don't need isn't necessarily a sign of hoarding, perhaps just a sign of not wanting to deal with such a monumentally dull task as sorting through it all).

I guess one difference between hoarding and collecting is that hoarding is a passive activity where one is afraid to throw out stuff 'just in case' one might need or regret it, whereas collecting is a much more active pursuit, almost at the other end of the scale of how comfortable we are with decisions: Collectors know exactly what they want, whilst hoarders don't have a scooby.

So I hoard, a bit, but I do collect. What do I collect? Different answers are expected, depending on one the point of view of the one asking. So...

a) The western answer

I collect coffee cups, because I like good design and good coffee.

b) The sarcastic answer

I collect dust. The only exercise I get is with my mouse hand and typing fingers. I really must get out more.

c) The Mensa answer

I collect archaic English and use it in social situations to make myself appear intelligent.

d) The Buddhist answer

I collect experiences; experiences being instances of emotional note. I think this is my favourite collection. It helps me in life and aids calm decision making.

Obscenity

When you go to the cinema the films are rated - up to 18 here if there is sex or violence or other 'subversive' behaviour, such as drug use or young people enjoying themselves. Let's just deal with the sex and violence.

It's possibly an age thing, but certainly a 'good' age thing, something I notice not because I'm old and miserable, more because I'm older, wiser and understand the world a little better, and this thing is a growing unease with our (society, Australian and US films sensors, and more importantly film makers) treatment of what is obscene and what is harmless fun. So this is pornography and clearly corrupting reasonable adults all over the world. This however, is perfectly ok and won't create and reinforce twisted values in any human being, even the most unstable and psychotically violent. So why is one of these films to be raved over by critics in family newspapers and TV shows, shown as a 'milestone' film of Deep Cultural Significance on TV and worthy of shameless marketing campaigns in full view of children, whilst the other (sex between consenting adults) will quite possibly result in arrests and court cases?

I want to see a world where men in dirty raincoats have to go get their depraved obscene films from dodgy backstreet shops, where other equally seedy men will be shuffling embarassedly through DVD titles such as 'Mission Impossible 2', 'Reservoir Dogs' and '24 Series 6'. There will be different sections depending on your fetish; handguns? Over here sir. Explosions? That'll be in softcore. Headshots? Would that be adults or children being shot in the head sir? Might I recommend this title sir, as there is a particularly satisfying drawn out scream and a beautiful shot of the blood spattering over his family. Oh the look on the children's faces!

Contrast this with the scene in HMV where kids point at the promos for the latest Dirk Diggler movie. "Daddy, when I grow up I want to be like him. He's just so COOL, and he goes round making all those pretty ladies so happy." "They're films for grownups son. Now where's the Disney section?" I wonder if in this case the quality of 'sauce' on offer would go up? Assuming it can hardly go down, once the shame factor is removed and it becomes socially acceptable to understand that, say, people have sex and it's to be celebrated and doesn't necessarily do anyone any harm,,even to the point it might be argued that it does quite the opposite, maybe some more films will come to the shelves alongside the current tiny crop of 'thinking' films with explicit sexual content. Films such as 'Romance', 'In the Realm of the Senses' and 'Y tu Mama Tambien', as opposed to lowest common denominator popcorn that gets churned out currently. There are 'pop' shots and they're really bloody corny, hence popcorn.

Well, we humans are degrading ourselves with the current state of affairs; I really feel quite ashamed. Sorry, this was just something that for some reason got my goat, although I'm not sure why today in particular. It's not something I've really articulated before, so my explanation is somewhat disjointed. What do you think? Am I on to a hiding to nothing?

Holga

I've just bought a Holga camera. Well, I've paid for it at least. It might take a week or so to arrive, and then it'll take me another couple of weeks to find 120mm film, but I'm quite excited. Seeing as my last camera had a 12x zoom, took video, stills and audio and had a billion million mega pixel things (as opposed to ordinary pixels), and this thing has a plastic lens, costs about 50p to make and scratches the film & lets light in I think I'm moving in the right direction. It's all Susannah's fault. Can't remember how I came across her blog, but it's definitely her fault.

Tears

Not the kind of tears that the desperate put in their jeans to look 'fashionable', rather the kind that fall out of our eyes when we're really sad, or really happy for that matter. Or when we're looking for sympathy and chocolate. The kind that Emperor Ming's daughter thought were a sign of humanity's 'weakness'. Well, tears are a sign of our humanity certainly, in that they are a symptom of our emotions, unless you are eating a really hot curry or you're caught in a sandstorm, in which case they're a symptom of your body trying to get crap out of your eyes.

Over the past couple of days I've been finding myself rather teary. I don't feel particularly sad or particularly happy; I think the best word to describe my emotions at the moment would be 'intense'. It seems that however I feel at the moment, I'm living the emotion viscerally and physically, so my body decides to get the tears out to help it cope; watching a footballer score a goal, listening to Bach, seeing a man in tears in a film because he misses his family. All these are giving me surges of emotion which I'm frankly not used to. It's a bit odd, so I'll try not to do it in public.

A Milestone

Or a couple, actually. Be forewarned, this is long and will involve football. Aston Villa to be specific. So how much background should I go into? Villa is a historic club; we were founded in 1874 and one of our directors had an idea to set up a football league, which came into being in 1888, which now comprises the Premiership, and all those below it. We've won loads of stuff, albeit mostly nearer the 19th century than the 21st, but things are changing.

Why is this club important to me? Well my grandad, born in 1911 I think, used to go watch Villa when he was a lad and when I was small he said to me, "So are going to support birmingham city or Aston Villa?" A question that can really have only one answer, "Er, Aston Villa Grandad?" Now that I no longer live in the city, I guess Villa is my last remaining connection, having no friends there any more. The reality is, for people like me, it's not about football, it's about where you're from, it's about roots and it's about identity.

So Villa of late, and I guess since we won the European Cup in 1982, have stagnated. Is that the best word to describe us? I guess in sport if you're not improving, you're going backwards, being overtaken by those who are. We had a chairman, Doug Ellis, who 'loved' Villa, but ran it like a 1970's corner shop crossed with a mediaeval fiefdom. For those of you who haven't worked in a place where every decision has to go through the man (it usually is a man) at the top, the key thing is that good ambitious people don't want to work there, as they have no authority to take any action without approval from the boss. Ellis was proud that he signed and approved every cheque personally, be it signing a player or buying staples. What happens in this kind of place over time is that innovation and ambition is squeezed out, as people either leave or give up, with only the yes men, the corrupt, the unambitious and the incompetent remaining. For any business this is crippling over time, but for a sports organisation, especially a Premiership football club, lack of ambition seeping onto the playing staff is catastrophic. The end result under the Ellis years was a team that regularly gained and lost managers, as each over time became unable to dam the tide of inertia (tide of inertia - I like that) creeping onto the pitch. Why give that extra mile when all those above you have no goal other than existence? We regularly drew matches we should have won, lost those we should have drawn, never beat the 'big' clubs, occasionally had a semi decent cup run and gradually fell behind in our ability to attract good players, for both financial and footballing reasons. After all, why would the best players in the world want to play for Villa, a club going nowhere, no plans to change and no fight to win anything other than season ticket receipts? The Groucho Marx Conundrum - I wouldn't want any player at my club who would want to be there.

Things were coming to a head at the end of the 05/06 season when we barely survived in the Premiership, and not only were the best players not willing to come to us, the good ones that we had inexplicably managed to hitherto keep happy for so long had had enough and wanted to leave. Mr Ellis decided that it was time to sell up, for he was, at 86, the oldest PLC chairman in the country, and the only one who was also CEO. The one thing, the one and only thing I will ever be grateful to him for is holding out and selling to a certain Mr Randy Lerner; apparently even taking less money than other people were offering, as Mr Ellis felt that our Randy had the best interests of the club at heart. And boy, does he. So I guess there is my first milestone. Someone who who has the best interests of the club at heart, the cash to back it up, about $1 billion or so, but most importantly, an understanding that he doesn't have all the answers and a desire to find the best people he possibly could to run the place. My favourite quote from him; "Own is not necessarily a verb. You can't go in and own all day. Hey, what time is it? I think I'll get down to Villa and own for an hour." We now have an excellent, intelligent, forward thinking manager who is constructing a hungry, young, talented English team, a chief exec Richard Fitzgerald who has the experience and drive to make strategic things happen and another by the name of General Charles C Krulak who talks and listens to the fans, shares what he has discussed with the board and communicates back to us. They understand that whilst Mr Lerner technically owns the club, the heartbeat is with the fans.

So, onto the most recent milestone. We beat one of the big clubs. Really, honest. Chelsea to be precise. They were league leaders, and we beat them 2-0. Both goals at the Holte End where the die hard fans have always stood or sat. And in a league where some teams at times have no English players on the pitch, we had a midfield comprised entirely of young, talented, athletic, hungry English lads. And who scored? Two who were not only English, but were from Aston and had been Villa fans all their lives. And one, Zat Knight, on his debut. Only a couple of days previously at the press conference announcing his signing, he was like a little boy saying how it had always been a dream of his to come to Villa, and he and his family were absolutely over the moon. You could tell how excited he was. And then he scored. On his debut. Against Chelsea. At the Holte End. I used to dream of that when I was a kid. That is something money just can't buy. I was in tears of joy for him, and I'm actually getting very emotional now, typing this almost a week later. So what does it mean to me and to the team that we beat one of the 'big four'? It's, well it's a milestone. We turned the corner off the pitch in the Summer of 2006. On Sunday the 2nd of September 2007 the off pitch changes of last season for me finally filtered through onto the pitch. And do you know what? We played well. Not just successfully, but it was a cracking game to watch. What football ought to be about. Running from end to end, last ditch defending, incredible skill and athleticism.

I'm so proud to be a Villa fan.