I noticed this Zombie Haiku book yesterday: http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1600610706
Which reminded me of this zombie haiku I wrote when I was about 12 (27 years ago - ouch):
A noxious zombie
eats a mouldy, worm-filled leg
in a rancid cave.
Which isn't very good (though vivid enough for me to remember and obviously ahead of its time); and not strictly haiku (it has no "kireji", or its closest equivalent in English, i.e. "a dignified ending, concluding the verse with a heightened sense of closure" - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kireji). So I rewrote it while in the bath last night (probably too much information there...):
An ashen zombie
gnaws a muddy, worm-filled leg:
tears run over bones.
Hopefully, this will enable you to see how much I've progressed as an artist.
Update: After having written this, I read this surprisingly relevant blog entry about how we see our artwork when we're young (by way of Rotating Corpse), how our perceptions of it change, and even how art comes to have value.
Last year I only managed to read 18 books. Pretty poor going. They were:
Microserfs - Douglas Coupland
Magnetism and other stories - F. Scott Fitzgerald
Everything Is Miscellaneous
The Eternal Champion - Michael Moorcock
Phoenix in Obsidian - Michael Moorcock
The Sailor on the Seas of Fate - Michael Moorcock
Dying Inside - Robert Silverberg
Breakthrough - Richard Cowper
Brontomek! - Michael Coney
To Your Scattered Bodies Go - Philip Jose Farmer
Childhood's End - Arthur C. Clarke
400 Billion Stars - Paul J. McAuley
The Road - Cormac McCarthy
Tactics of Conquest - Barry Malzberg
Secret Harmonies - Paul J. McAuley
Inside Intel - Tim Jackson
Imperial Earth - Arthur C. Clarke
A Canticle for Leibowitz - Walter M. Miller Jr.
Of those, The Road was easily the best. I dread to think what a shambles the film will turn it into.
I've also updated my list of important books to include one or two I read last year, and some others I remembered. Plus I created a separate section for my favourite sf books.
This year I'm planning to read some sf classics. Here's the list I'm starting from (as I already have copies of all these):
A Case of Conscience - James Blish
Downward to the Earth - Robert Silverberg
Man Plus - Frederik Pohl
Venus Plus X - Theodore Sturgeon
Davy - Edgar Pangborn
The Space Merchants - Frederik Pohl & C.M. Kornbluth
The Diamond Age - Neal Stephenson
Blood Music - Greg Bear
Stand on Zanzibar - John Brunner
Time Out of Joint - Philip K. Dick
The Embedding - Ian Watson
The Fifth Head of Cerberus - Gene Wolfe
I Am Legend - Richard Matheson
On Wings of Song - Thomas M. Disch
Ringworld - Larry Niven
The Child Garden - Geoff Ryman
Let's see how I get on.
I was going to put "probably", but then decided that, no, this is my favourite:
http://ageofuncertainty.blogspot.com/
I love the way this chap writes. Mainly about second-hand books he's found and/or read, but often about their cover art, the ephemera he finds inside them, brilliant expositions about small towns he's visited, and other bits and pieces. There's a certain gentle Englishness, quiet pathos, and calm reflection about his work which strikes just the right balance for me.
Great Christmas holiday. Shame it's over.
Enjoyed watching lots of films through Sky+. Jonathon Creek, Gavin and Stacey, and Wallace and Gromit were good. Got the broadband working (though Sky's DNS servers are knackered at the moment).
Joel started eating solid food: he's starting to get the hang of it. Chloe and Ian came for Christmas day and we spent most of the time playing on the Wii and eating.
Presents I got:
Back to work Monday. Also need to stop eating so much crap, as I think I've put a few pounds on over Christmas.
And yes, Happy New Year and all that.
Seems to be passing more and more quickly.
We got Sky+ last weekend. The best thing about it for me, at the moment, is that it's great being able to watch a different comedy film every night. I am still in the "bewildered by choice" phase of engagement, but gradually working out where stuff is.
I feel quite unprepared for Christmas. I've done most (all?) of my shopping, but I need an audit to decide whether I need to get more stuff.
Joel is getting to the point where he recognises me when I come home, and he's all smiles. Lovely. Makes up for him waking up at 5.30 some mornings: after which he ends up on the lying on bathroom floor while I'm having a shower, so Nicola can get some rest. He goes onto solid food next week, having breakfast with me and Madeleine.
Madeleine is getting on well with her reading (can read most short words), likes doing number squares and crosswords, still does drawing every morning when she gets up. She's growing up fast. For her birthday she got several games, so we've been playing Junior Monopoly a few times.
I haven't been doing much. I've played with Google App Engine a couple of evenings, but apart from that, haven't been coding outside work. Too tired. Went to see John Shuttleworth live at the weekend: well worth seeing.
Another year nearly over. Personal achievements have been thin on the ground (far fewer extra-curricular activities). I've read about the same number of books I do every year; still not managed my goal of one per week. 35 to be precise. Here's the list:
Paul responded in a comment to this post. He pointed out that the small thing we may have lost (the ability to concentrate hard on "slow" pleasures) is more than compensated for by what we've gained: almost unlimited horizons, the wealth of the world at our fingertips, i.e. the internet. He's right. I was just being an old curmudgeon. Must have been a downer of a day.
Last night I watched The Rolf Harris Show (the link is to the episode on iPlayer), originally broadcast in 1969. I've always been a bit of a fan of Rolf (mainly because of his Cartoon Time series when I was growing up), but I hadn't seen his variety show before.
What was interesting to me about this show were its expectations about the audience's attention span. After Rolf's intro, we were treated to Ivan Rebroff's rendition of Kalinka. Ivan sang in Russian for 4 or 5 minutes (across 4.5 octaves), standing alone on stage, dressed like a cossack. There is no way you'd get something like this on prime time family television in 2008. There was also an over-long, godawful, but in its way charming, skit on Robin Hood (starring Rolf and Barbara Windsor); an overwrought (but quite entertaining) song by Vince Hill; Val Doonican incongruously singing The Answer (is Blowing in the Wind) and one other; plus The Young Generation doing a dance number called The Continental (here they are dancing to something else).
In some ways, it's a good thing that we no longer have to suffer some of this tedium. But when I found my own fingers itching and my attention drifting, it made me ask myself whether I (and people more generally) have lost something: the ability to enjoy simple pleasures, like a person singing alone onstage. I know that's what BBC 4 and Radio 4 are about, and I know there are plenty of people who appreciate culture in that way. But perhaps the difference is that it's no longer a general feature of the population. TV was much simpler, naive, and dull when I was growing up. Life was much more dull, to be honest. Partly because I grew up in a tiny market town, but largely because everyone was poorer, at least where I lived. By comparison, life today seems to be accelerating, getting bigger, brighter; we get more and more stuff; we endlessly throw things away, change things; and our attention spans narrow, flitting from the old to the new. (I know this isn't an original insight, but Rolf's show brought the issue vividly to my attention.)
My daughter has never had to wait until a particular time of day to watch children's TV; she's always had access to computers, where you can watch virtually any event on YouTube (bees making honey, the moon landing etc.); she's got her own CD player in her room (no TV, for as long as we can prevent it); she gets to go out to lots of parks, museums, the cinema etc.. Thankfully, she loves drawing and writing, and will spend hours making pictures for friends and family, so she can entertain herself. But she has endless opportunities and a wealth of "stuff" which just wasn't the norm when I was growing up in the 70s. Everything is just there, all the time. We try really hard to make sure she appreciates what she's got, and realises how lucky she is. (Though it's hard to instill those values when she earns two or three rewards of pencils, keyrings, stickers, badges etc. for good behaviour at school every week. When I was at school the reward was a book, once a year, for pupils who'd done really well.)
I also watched Survivors last night. Fairly bleak dystopian sf (perhaps the credit crunch is to blame), and I thought reasonably realistic. It made me think along similar lines to watching Rolf: as well as moving further and further into the unreal realm of the media (the hyperreal simulation of the media, even, as Monsieur Baudrillard would have it), we have also moved further and further from our hunter gatherer origins. I thought this show reflected that pretty accurately. The characters in Survivors, faced with a world decimated by a virus, react in a variety of ways: denial, bewilderment, displacement activity, land grabbing. Mostly, though, they hope it will all go away, carry on arguing with each other, blunder around blowing up petrol stations, and don't really know what to do without the infrastructure that modern society relies on. I think I'd be the same in their situation, without my computer and TV and electricity, which makes me a bit sad. Though I can grow vegetables.
One last thing: talking about dystopias always reminds me of what I consider the dystopia par excellence: The Genocides by Thomas Disch. I don't think you can get it in the UK at the moment, but you can probably get it second hand (here it is on Amazon US). The basic story is that aliens have planted crops on the whole of the earth, gradually killing off all the native life except for people. People end up living in the stalks and roots of their gigantic plants, like field mice. The characterisation is fantastic (as with all Disch's work), but what I liked in particular was how the impending extinction of humankind did nothing to dampen their bickering and infighting. I'm sure that's how the world would end.
The West Midlands is the Home of Metal. I hadn't really grasped this until I read this blog entry and had a browse around the Home of Metal site. I'm not particularly a fan of metal (except maybe some of the tracks by Scorn by ex Napalm Death chap Mick Harris, and despite the best efforts of Jono); but it would be good if the West Midlands and Birmingham got more recognition for the good stuff it's brought to the world. You can have a look at Famous Birmingham People for starters (though Arthur Conan Doyle is a bit of stretch: wasn't born here, he just lived here a while). Most notable for me:
I've lived here since 1994 and feel very defensive of and proud of the region: great people, great places to go, great atmosphere. It's a fine place to live, and I'm glad my children are growing up here.
So, the main growing season is largely over. Obviously you can grow some winter salads, plant bulbs and the like, but the garden is less active than it was a few weeks back. It was a fairly decent season for first-time vegetable growers (me and Madeleine); here's a summary:
For the rest of this year, I think I'll carry on planting salads, some in the greenhouse. Next year, I think we'll do sweetcorn again, plenty of salads, radishes and peas outside; then try squashes, courgettes, aubergines and tomatoes in the greenhouse. Just need to get my seed order sent off.