Peter and the Wolf

That David Attenborough gets around a bit, doesn’t he? I was watching the (fantastic, as it turned out) Elephants – Spy in the Herd documentary, with poo-cams (cameras disguised as lumps of elephant cack – including ones that went in the river, charming known as floater-cams) on BBC1, narrated by DA himself.

Ninety minutes later, the sod’s there again, narrating Peter and the Wolf for the Nation’s Favourite Proms. I used to have a recording of this on vinyl, narrated by someone else (can’t remember who, offhand – Johnny Morris or someone) and the DA version was a real trip back in time, and just as fun.

Divides

The Observer’s online edition has a piece in it about the divide between rich and poor – a stark portrait of one poverty-stricken family living within eyesight of one at the other end of the fiscal spectrum. Goes to show, it’s not just a “north-south divide”.

Movable Type

Well, I haven’t been writing much here today – and for one particular reason. The new domain, dummies-for-destruction.co.uk is getting set up, and part of it has involved the joys of setting up Movable Type on it. (Hopefully this’ll stop certain nameless ones nagging me to go to a decent comments system, non-blogger blah blah blah) Somewhere along the line I’ve norked the config file, so it’s not finding the graphics for the MT stuff, and that needs twiddling with.

And I’ve still got to sort out importing stuff, but that’s not high on the priorities just yet. First things first, setting up joys like an include file for all the site navigation (using PHP) and so on, figuring out a template (yes, d4d™ may undergo another minor revamp while I’m twonking about), and generally just getting it all laid out. I’m still waiting to hear from Wileys, but at the same time I do like the idea that they come looking for d4d™ with vengeance in their hearts, only to find it’s happily no longer sueable. (if that’s a word) We’ll see though. I could turn this place into a true pit of anti-Wileyism once I’m in the mood…

Overly familiar

Having managed today to pick up tickets for Radiohead in Newcastle a thought occurred to me – should I worry when the people at the ticket office know me by name?

Hulk

I couldn’t resist – it looked good, and also it’s directed by Ang Lee, whose stuff I love. Some of the effects from the trailer looked a bit dodgy, but decided to give it the benefit of the doubt.

And I’m glad I did – I have to say I actually enjoyed it a lot more than I thought I would. Adaptations from comics seems to fall into two fields – bloody good (X-Men, Spiderman, Blade, Batman) or fucking awful (Daredevil, Batman Returns, Spawn, Punisher) – Hulk is definitely a new member of the former group. The effects that look dodgy on a small screen work fantastically on the big screen. Other people have said it takes time to get going – and it does. But that’s justified, this isn’t just a comic strip, it’s a full story, covering two generations. But when Huk does make his first appearance, the film kicks up a gear.

I don’t know how Ang Lee does it – there really hasn’t been a film genre where he hasn’t excelled. Period Drama ( Sense and Sensibility ), Westerns (Ride with the Devil), “Romance” (the Ice Storm), Martial Arts (Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon), and now comic-book stuff. A truly impressive talent.

Hulk’s ending is a bit of a let-down, but it’s still better than the one that’s implied about twenty minutes before the end – final scene leaves enough potential for a sequel, should we need one. Personally, I hope that one isn’t made – not because Hulk is bad, but perversely because it’s bloody good, and a sequel would have one hell of a lot to do to simply break even, let alone be better than the original. As always, spotting the cameos is – both Stan Lee (the creator of the comic strip) and Lou Ferrigno (the original Hulk in the TV series) appear as security guards. (And yes, I was bobble-hatted enough to be able to spot them both), Sam Elliott is as sexy as ever, even when he’s being military instead of his standard cowboy self, and Nick Nolte is his normal stolid self, although still in danger of being out-acted by the furniture around him.

All in all, it’s a tour de force – don’t let “it’s the film of a comic” put you off, just go and soak up 2ish hours of pure entertainment.

And speaking of which…

The joys of irony. Following on from the No. 1 “people who should die” in the post below, I checked who’d looked at the site since. I present this image as proof that irony isn’t dead, and is in fact currently pointing at me and laughing.

UPDATED : And still when I got home there wasn’t even a nasty word from Wileys. How disappointed am I?

Sooner or later they all have to die
Or Misanthrope.com

Since Green Fairy’s post last Saturday on the 20 types of people who most deserve to die, I’ve been thinking along similar lines. Some are blindingly obvious, others are a more individual decision. And I’m sure I’ve missed some out. But (for now) here goes…

1. Litigious commenters who work for Wileys
2. People who stop at the end of an escalator, ignorant of their surroundings, and the people piling up behind who want to kill them.
3. Those who insist on repeating their every point twice, particularly when stating the fucking obvious, such as “it’s relaly hot, isn’t it?”, just in case some poor chuffhead in the next county didn’t hear it the first time.
4. Couples who insist on walking everywhere arm-in-arm, even when the entire pavement/alleyway has just enough room for two people. It’s easier to seperate Siamese twins than these simpering examples of humanity.
5. Anyone wearing excess nasty gold jewellery from Argos/Elizabeth Duke. You don’t look wealthy, you don’t look cool – in fact, you just look awful.
6. Women/girls with wonky pony-tails. They know who they are. You see them every day – the pony tail starts of at about 45° from the normal place, is invariably held up with a hairband that looks like it’s been cannibalised from a sweat-sock, and just makes it look like they’ve never even looked in the mirror.
7. Scallies. The first sign is normally the tracksuit/shellsuit bottoms. These are a bad omen, unless worn on a professional athlete. When tucked into socks, it is invariably a sign that the person should be killed to save the world any more trouble. The same can be said for those who wear a hooded top with a baseball cap underneath it.
8. Bagpipes. Unless it’s at the Highland Games, bagpipe players are a hazard to mental health and audio clarity. Especially the one outside Primark in Manchester. You know who you are.
9. Those who insist on repeating their every point twice, particularly when stating the fucking obvious, such as “it’s relaly hot, isn’t it?”, just in case some poor chuffhead in the next county didn’t hear it the first time.
10. BMW drivers. Just because.
11. Brand-obsessed people. Just because everything you are wearing has a label on it, don’t assume the “coolness” of these trends rubs off on you. In fact, the only label that really applies to you is “sad cunt”.
12. The freaks who look at you in amazement when you ask for one ticket to see a film, play, concert, or anything else that may represent “normally done as a couple” in your tiny minds.
13. Even more so, the ones who look at you in sympathy, or with the thought “Oh, how brave, being able to go out on your own to social events” when the same request is made.
14. People who can’t do more than two things at once. It’s obvious that walking and breathing are taking up all your available brain-power. Don’t tax it by trying to read a text message, or talk on the phone at the same time. Even more to the point, when you’re doing such a thing and walk into someone, don’t glare at them like it’s their fault. Broken limbs may result.
15. The fucktards who think that bigger warnings on cigarette packets will make people suddenly want to stop smoking. They know it’s unhealthy – stop preaching, find something better to do. Alternatively, light up a cigarette and help yourself to die faster.
16. TV programme planners. All week, nothing to watch. Then shove everything on at the same time on the same night. Thanks.
17. Those who say “we won the match”, meaning their favourite team/country/whatever. “We” did fuck all – you weren’t involved, neither was I. The team won the contest, and fair play to them. But you had bobbins to do with it. End of.
18. The designers of public-transport seating. We’re not all five-foot six. The distance between seat edge and back of seat in front is just enough for me to wedge myself into, at risk of being crippled by the time I’m 40.
19. Supercilious sales assistants. Yes, I know what I’m looking for, no I don’t want the extended warranty, no I don’t need batteries with it, no I won’t give you my postcode unless you can tell me your Data Protection policy and how I opt out of receiving anything from your shonky shop ever again – just take the money and get the fuck on with it.
20. Anyone else I’ve forgotten.