The Name Game

I recently was forwarded a mail by a zealous pastor commenting on the US elections. Whilst I fully agree that everyone is entitled to their own opinions I was disturbed by the playground politics angle, where he chose to associate the name McCain as "son of Cain" and place it into a biblical context to denigrate the Republican candidate. Now, I do not suport McCain even in he slightest, but it makes me angry when people in positions of influence (like the pastor) try to whip up a frenzy of fear over NOTHING!!! Good Lord, there is enough legitimate shit to bash McCain and the Republicans over, why be so pathetic as to choose his name? It just makes you look as damn stupid as those who point out Obama's middle name is "Hussein".

Anyway... you know me, I couldn't resist... here is my reply:

Dear Sir,

I was forwarded this mail by an ex-colleague and was intrigued. Whilst being from the UK I am not a registered US voter, and despite the fact that I personally would like to see Obama become President, I find your analysis of John McCain's name not only gob-smackingly ludicrous in it's assumption that a name from a non-English background would have a literal English meaning without tracing the translations, but also borderline superstitious in the assumption that the name we are born with will dictate who we are.

The commonly accepted history of the name McCain is that it is the Scots equivalent of the Irish McKean, which is itself an anglicisation of Mac Iain, or "son of Iain" - not "son of Cain"!. With Iain / Ian being a variation of John the surname McCain is essentially the same as the surname Johnson. Another less likely origin is that it is a contraction of "McCathan", meaning "son of a warrior" which, whilst perhaps ironic in this case, certainly does not make all McCains violent!

But if you are going to judge a man on his name have you considered where the name Obama comes from? The surname Obama appears when the Europeans colonised Africa and enforced family names on tribes who had, until then, only had first names. What most did was (as in our own cultures) take their fathers name as a surname (I believe the word "surname" derives from the idea that it was your "sire's name" anyway), which in this case was first bestowed on Barack Obama's grandfather. The name is taken from the Luo verb meaning "to be twisted" or "to be slightly bent", probably relating to a deformity that B.O.'s great-grandfather may have been born with. In any case "twisted" and "bent" are two connotations with which the Senator probably would rather not be associated!

Please, please... vote Obama. But do not be so childish as to take McCain to task over his name! It just makes the whole thing petty.

Cheers m'dears!

Tony Stark's a girlie!

If we consider that, in scientific terms, iron can be designated by the symbol "Fe" and a man is "male" are we suggesting that the superhero Ironman is a woman?

Hmmm...

Why, when describing something that has proved unpopular, do people use the phrase "That went down like a lead balloon"?

If you hold them a a little way off the floor most balloons, the plastic/rubber/whatever-it-is-kind, will drop down fairly slowly and gently. If filled with helium or some other lighter-than-air gas, the won't go down at all - at least not straight away. However, if you take a balloon made of lead and let it go it's a fairly safe bet that it would plummet pretty decently... or in other words, go down very well.

English - it's a funny old language.

Cheers m'dears!

Access All Areas

There I was, sipping on a glass of red, munching away on some little patry thing, when George Clinton wandered past, heading to join the rest of his Parliament Funkadelic. He glanced at me, I nodded, he didn't notice (that's what I choose to believe anyway, in my own little bubble world). So I shamble over to the bar for a top up and to rub shoulders with Earth, Wind & Fire just as Broken Social Scene appear from the stairs, fresh from the stage. At least they saw me and returned the friendly nod. Shy as I am I couldn't manage to strike up a conversation with any of them (all of whom are undoubtedly my musical superiors) and was contenting myself with chatting to Miles from Sinless City based act The Disclaimers when along come The Great Spy Experiment, another local act but one destined for international semi-stardom at the very least. Playing on the local scene myself I knew the guys (and gal) well enough to exchange greetings and complement them on their earlier set, in the process inviting them along to mine (this evening, incidentally. Not that any of you will be there). And then I helped myself to some more free wine and food and set about seeing who else I could spot. Unfortunately Jools Holland hadn't flown in yet... well, there's always the wrap party! It's a hard life sometimes...

Incidentally, do check out The Great Spy Experiment... they are fucking awesome!

Cheers m'dears!

Returns, Reasons and Revelations

Brewski has been reborn, after one year and 16 days MIA, under the new name of Gaius - those of you who don't have a Scooby what I am on about please visit the now disused Hotrocks and get an education... those who do will find him at The Dizzy Celestial.

He has been doing some catching up on various sites and as such has left a comment reading "Binty I find it fascinating to know that you are a professionally trained actor. Fair play." If you find that fascinating, my friend, the revelations in this post might really take you aback...

The post I had been concocting this week dealt with issues that, again, involved my ex-wife, Persia... yes, I know, I recently seem to have been obsessed with the past, but it has been a cathartic process that I badly needed, so cut me some slack! But the curiosity here, with Brewski's re-emergence, is how he ties in with my ex, and my reason for blogging in the first place. You see, what no-one knows (almost certainly including Brewski) is that he and my ex were old, old friends who were at school together.

Let me point out that I have never actually met Brewski face to face, nor have we spoken or emailed. Our only form of contact has always been via blog. But it was interesting hearing many stories about him from Persia and other friends (none of which I will ever repeat here - they are his stories, not mine)... especially with Persia often pointing out similarities between us and telling me how much we would get along, should we meet.

When I first moved to Sinless City I had no job and Persia was working quite long hours. With no income of my own, and loathe to spend too much of hers, there wasn't much I could actually do or see, and so I spent a great deal of time on the net. When a friend of ours (who had also been to school with Brewski and lived on The Demented Isle with him for some time) came to visit he introduced me to the Hotrocks blog, which I instantly loved... and through which I came across El Barbudo and The Anti-Barney (dubbed by me "The Unholy Trinity", together with Brewski) and eventually Doc Maroon, FMC, Andraste, etc..... the original blog-gang that I began virtually hanging out with.

Naturally, with so much time to kill, I began my own blog - look back now at me trying to find my own voice and you'll see shades of the others, but especially Brewski. I'm not just talking about me using the words "fuck" and "cunt" regularly - my "Cheer's m'dears!" sign-off came about simply because I liked the way he always ended with a "Sirrah!", and my original choice to write about things that were not personal but that I felt personally about stemmed from the passion he seemed to find both in subjects that were seemingly insignificant and those that had a worldwide impact. There was a lot more politics in my earlier writings and, whilst at the time I would have preferred to think of myself as independently aware and knowledgeable, it was actually his writings, (alongside Philip Chalinor and later Tubthumper) and his insistence that we should "unlearn" that played a part in dragging me out of the Market Town insularity of my life into the bigger world that I had moved into.

Ah, yes... the market town where I had previously lived. It's the same one that Brewski mentions toward the end of the Hotrocks posts, the one he returned to briefly after departing The Demented Isle. It felt strange reading that he sat in his friends garden, as I wondered if that was the same friend who had introduced me to his site and whose garden I had often sat in... and also "skinned the fuck up and drank Stella". But as weird as it was reading the musings of one I had never actually met yet knew so much of it was nothing like how I had felt when tragedy hit his life...

We all knew something was wrong, every last blog-friend left concerned messages, but through Persia I knew exactly what had happened and felt absolutely impotent in not being able to say or do anything. Oh, condolences were passed on through Persia, but he didn't know me... he knew Binty, and Binty had no way of contacting except through blog comments. I had never met the guy, but considered him a friend, more so than I considered other bloggers because of the mutual real-world friends we had. And no-one wants their friends to go through that kind of shit.



Anyway... enough of all that. Brewski / Gaius... welcome back mate. It's all gone to fucking pot since you left. Most of the old gang have either fucked off or barely bother (including myself), but there's plenty more that can be done and said and I know you're just the right cunt to do and say it all! And if at anytime you feel like you might want to even things out and see behind the Binty mask (seems fair, after all!) drop me an email...

Cheers m'dears!

Words to live your life by.

Being a sad, lonely, fat, middle-aged man I have to hang on to every positive thought or feeling I can. Which is why I can be content to know that, despite all the shit, one of these days I will either be happy or dead. Or as a friend recently pointed out - quite possibly both.



If anyone is still reading Random Drivel (perhaps I should rename it "Sporadic Drivel"?) then don't forget to take a look at the new Blunt Cogs series that I am writing. It's better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick. Unless you're a dirty pervert with a fetish for that kind of thing. Like Sarah. Or possibly Footeater.

Cheers motherfuckers!

Plenty more fish... but they're in the sea.

Every time I see her - be it in picture form online or (rarer) in the flesh, I cannot help but think of Pink Floyd...

"We're just two lost souls swimming in a fish bowl, year after year..."

I feel an affinity with her that I can neither describe nor escape. I feel drawn to her, yet obliged to push away at the the same time. I feel love for her, but have to also contend with that knowledge in the pit of my stomach that it is an unrealistic love with too many cultural, temporal and psychological barriers to overcome.

If I continue doing circular laps in my fishbowl at least I can be content in the knowledge that I will, once in a while, meet her swimming in the opposite direction... and for that fleeting moment there will be something in close proximity with the ability to melt this cold, cold heart - however briefly.

Cheers li'l fishies!

It's all meme me!

I hate memes and I hate being tagged with them, as you can see here. Oh, I know that despite the mutterings about time-wasting from a great deal of the blogging world many out there actually do like them - Scout loves them, for some reason. But I generally hate them and have only actually completed one in my two and a half years blogging (jeez, it seems like it's been so much longer).

Perhaps it is unsurprising, therfore, that my last "tag" came via e-mail rather than the traditional nominating on the originators blog - and it came with a note attached begging me not to publicly humiliate the sender for having wasted my time! Fair enough - I'm not an unreasonable man. I will not name you in public for the cunt you are but expect a lengthy e-mail listing (in meme "ten things I hate about you" format) all the ways in which you are a twat. All in good humour, of course.

Despite this I have decided - in the absence of anything interesting going on in my life, and not wishing to bore you all with more of my recent miserablist shite - to accept this challenge. This is a similar meme recently done by both Scout and Kim (neither of whom sent the e-mail - they both know better!) whereby you post links to eight of your previous posts, relating them to the following eight categories - family, friends, yourself, your love, your hate, something very personal, something funny and one on anything at all. All sounds a bit like navel-gazing, or worse - shouting "Look at me! Look at what I did" whilst simultaneously patting yourself on the back. But bollocks to it. I've got fuck all else to do

So, family... shit, that's a killer. I don't really write about my family, the only mentions having been in my last few posts where I mention my dad and my ex-wife. So I am going to direct you to "Hill-billy Orangemen and Scottish Rednecks" instead. Sounds like family to me!

Friends... well, I dealt with an issue of Flo's in "Irony, Schmirony!", but that's more about me ranting than anything, and even though the first paragraph of "XX or X-Why?" talks about a friend that's not the crux of the post. Again, most of my mentions of friends have come about recently, but I suppose my attitudes to friendships come across best in "For Auld Lang Syne?".

Myself... well, despite all the personal shit I have been spewing recently I reckon that the easiest post to mention here is "I'm It Apparently....", with the one meme I actually completed.

My love... well, you all know how complex that issue has been for me recently. Well, the painful side of love that I have felt can be seen in "Reading Between The Lines...", which confused many at the time but which I will now reveal was the response to finding out about my wife's infidelity when she sent me a message meant for her lover. But a better post, perhaps the only post where I allowed feelings of love to come out in my words, my descriptions, is "Right Here, Right Now..." where I talk about the early, tentative days of my relationship with Lovely. I still have many, many memories of these early days, all seemingly in soft focus and sepia tones, and I think that the feelings of love I had for her - right there, right then - seep out of my writing.

My hate... where do I begin? I have ranted about inconsiderate public transport users, the death penalty, bigotted Scotland supporters giving the rest of us a bad name, Orange Marches, general racism, anonymous commentators... but my favourite post about stuff I hate has to be "My Kingdom For A Restraining Order....", all about the twats I have to put up with at the Cinema. Although this short lecture comes a close second, purely for being succinct.

Something personal is easy. My post simply titled "Suicide". There are other personal posts but I have often related them in the third person, kind of hiding behind a mask - in this one I am very upfront.

Something funny... well, I know it's crass to laugh at your own jokes but sometimes I read back and these are the posts that make me chuckle - "Cuddly Monsters...", "Super-Scrooge" and my "100th Post", if only for the play on words in my second update. I still think it's funny!

And one on anything at all? Well "The Hitler Youth..." post still makes me very sad and I like my revisionism in "The Patronising Saint", but here it really has to be the post that grossed out everyone... "Talking Absolute Crap".

I do believe I am now supposed to "tag" eight other bloggers, but I have never been one to deliberately pass on a debilitating disease so I refuse. If you want to do this, your choice people!

Cheers m'dears!

You can't fool the children of the Resolutions

I've never believed in New Years resolutions. It's not the resolution aspect that I have a problem with - that's all well and good - but the fact that we feel obliged to make these promises because it's that specific point in time that has been arbitrarily given the honour of beginning our next trip around the sun. Surely if something is worth making a resolution about you should make it any time of year? And if you're just pulling something random out of the hat for New Year what do you really think your chance of success is?

So in absence of a resolution I instead offer up a selection of things I've taken with me from '07 and hopefully learnt enough from to live my life a little differently in '08...


I regret...

Allowing myself to fall badly for two women, one in spring and the other in autumn, despite the fact that I knew before entering relationships with them that they would never really be mine, that there were other men on their minds. In the case of Miss Spring it was her son, in Miss Autumns her ex. Despite some great times with Autumn in the end I couldn't go on, and so instead I suppressed my feelings as best I could (failing on the odd occasion - those relapses being a related regret).

Being naive enough to allow an old malicious rumour to catch up with me and play havoc in my work life. I should perhaps have made allowances for the fact that I live in a small country where everyone knows everyone else, and also the fact that the boring truth will never travel as fast as the scandalous lie.

Not having made a real effort to speak to my sister, even though the truth is that she was the one who backed off from me during my divorce, staying much more in touch with my ex-wife. In my own self-pity I had failed to see her going through the failure of her own relationship and was shocked when I finally did learn of it - bizarrely through a slip-of-the-tongue from my ex-wife! We have talked a little recently, and it's been good to hear her voice - I do miss her.

Drunkenly sharing some personal info and some unfounded gossip with someone I hardly knew, who then proceeded to spread it like wildfire. Having been on the receiving end many a time I should have known better.

The way my blog has changed. I like the old stuff better, the less introspective stuff. But you can only put out what you have got inside, so that's just how it is.

...but I don't regret...

Ending my relationships with Miss Spring and Miss Autumn, despite how hard it was. In both cases we were good for each other in the start, we gave each other confidence that the future could be bright, but eventually I relised that it was better for them without me, even if one of them didn't see that at the time (I think the other was actually a little relieved!) - Spring needed to focus on her son, Autumn needed to focus on herself and perhaps her friendships.

Changing careers - it was a surprise, my new "temporary" job to tide me over that has actually become one that I relish. And it's one where those old rumours mean bugger all, so bollocks to the bitches that started them!

Remaining estranged from my father. I can waste no more time on his selfishness and arrogance.

Sharing two of my most personal and hard-to-share memories with Miss Autumn. In fact, sharing any personal stuff with her, but particularly the tough stuff. That was one of our strengths when we were together and I know we both benefitted.

The fact that this blog has more recently allowed me to assess and examine myself, my actions and my thoughts. It's a good self-regulatory device!


And so...

A mere two weeks since the 2007 was officially relaunched as the new improved 2008 let me continue to hope that I can learn from all that has gone before... and maybe we can all have fewer regrets!

Cheers m'dears!

Happy Hogmanay!

Here's wishing us all a 2008 full of good shit!

Happy New Years, m'dears!

D-day

Today it arrived, in a fairly ordinary white envelope appropriately postmarked with the equally ordinary "Swindon". But that indication of origin was enough to forewarn me of the emotional letter-bomb hidden inside. "Certificate of entitlement to a decree", it began, continuing with a little legalese essentially informing me that I had a small window to contest this decree. A window which, owing to the distance the certificate had travelled, had long expired.

I was not going to contest anything anyway. Oh, it still irks that in the eyes of the law it was my "unreasonable behaviour" that led to an "irretrievable breakdown" in our marriage. But that is because she was the petitioner and the only other causes she could give after such a short marriage would have been abandonment or infidelity. And least "unreasonable behaviour" could be justified (everyone is unreasonable in someone elses eyes, right?).

Of course I could have petitioned... Infidelity? Check. Abandonment? Check. Cheque? Ah... well... Okay then. Maybe I couldn't have petitioned, at least not in the finacial situation I was then. I know in my heart that this is just an excuse, though. I would never have filed for divorce.

Yesterday's post was almost as sad. A late Christmas card from her and her "bump". Yes, she's pregnant. Yes, by that guy. In fact she may have given birth already - it was due around now, a mere 18 months after she left me for the last time. Although it could have been 8 months after... now that would have been much worse!

I''d like to say I've thought of her a lot recently, but that's both true and untrue. I've thought about her a lot, yes, but no more recently than I have done every day for the last year and a half. In many ways I moved on, but in more than I ever before cared to admit I was solidly stuck in my memories and my unfulfilled wishes.

We have spoken and emailed - it's tough sometimes, but we always promised we would be a part of each others lives. And I hear resignation in her voice, read doubt in her words... or is that just me? I wonder, is she just settling for a man because he's fathering her child, or is this another chance at love? If this hadn't happened would there still have been hope for us in the long run... after all, we were talking reconcilliation before the pregnancy.

I don't know. All I know is that I failed at the one thing in life I wanted more than anything to be a success at.

Bah Humbug!

You all know I'm a miserable cunt when it comes to Christ-almighty-when-the-fuck-will-this-nightmare-end-mas, and I'm not about to change for any of you wankers. So fuck off, the lot of you!

Cheers m'red-nosed-reindeers!

The Wedding - part two of two.

The lights dimmed and a giant screen at one end of the hall flickered to life, a seemingly endless montage of snapshots of the Bride and Groom in their early days. It was at this point that he realised he was attending his first ever marriage of chilhood sweethearts - those that had actually met each other in childhood, not just when they were sixteen. Until now he had thought that relationships like that only existed in Hollywood films set in the deep-south in the 1940's, yet here he was witnessing a love that had grown and stayed true over two and a half decades and despite the thousands of miles that had been between them during the Groom's University days in Canada. He felt his eyes moisten slightly... but was it because of what they had or because of what he hadn't?

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, please join me in being upstanding for the Bride and Groom!"

The double doors at the back were flung open, allowing dry ice to billow in as the musical accompaniment kicked in...and, in a fashion more akin to televised wrestling entrances than to any wedding he had ever been to before, in strode the happy couple. Again, there was a dampness in his eyes, as something about their smiles gave him a sense of deja vu...

The wedding proceeded along these theatrical lines, with the first course of the traditional Chinese Wedding Banquet being carried in on silver trays to bombastic music, waiting staff moving around each other in a choreographed manner to take up their initial positions... course after course arrived, including the infamous and politically and environmentally sensitive Shark's Fin Soup (for which he was grateful that he could use his dislike of seafood to abstain from - a wedding is not a good place for personal ethics to clash with tradition!). And eventually the speeches began... and another tear developed in his eye as the Grooms words became like distant echoes to a speech of three and a half years earlier.

Being used to wedding meals that devolved into drunken debauchery, usually to a cheesy covers band or the spinnings of a middle-aged balding DJ, he was quite surprised to return from a bathroom visit to find the crowd on their feet and filing out through the door, shaking the hands of the newly-weds on their way. That was it - the wedding was over. Although to be honest he was a little relieved! After several goodbyes and fake promises to stay in touch with people he had already wished never to see again he strode out into the humid evening air and made his way across the river to a bar where he was well-known and well-liked... somewhere he could breathe again.

"I... I'm so in love with you"

Even before he reached the door he heard the acoustic duo start up...

"Whatever you want to do is alright with me"

They were good friends of his and later would dedicate The Stones Wild Horses to him - one of his favourites...

"'Cause you make me feel so brand new"

The barmaid smiled her familiar smile and poured an equally familiar vodka...

"And I want to spend my life with you"

He settled into his seat, letting the girls interpretation of Al Green wash over him...

"Let's... let's stay together"

Marvelling at the one-in-a-million chance that they would be playing this song right now...

"Loving you whether - whether"

Appreciating the irony of the lyrics that he had once danced to...

"Times are good or bad or happy or sad"

Remembering the first dance at his own wedding.




He only took the one drink before heading home. Once there he walked into the spare room, reached up to the top shelf and pulled down a dusty photo album, filled with crystal clear images of that day a little over 41 months ago. And as he slowly picked his way through the memories his eyes welled up once more at the thought of what could have been... maybe even what should have been.

This time he let the tears fall. And later he cried himself to sleep...

The Wedding - part one of two.

It was the first Chinese wedding he had ever attended and he was perhaps feeling overly self-conscious. It wasn't just the fact that he was a head taller than most of the other guests, or that he had inexplicably chosen to wear his glossy pink striped shirt, although both of these had contributed to his growing gawkiness since he had arrived at the hotel. It wasn't even the fact that many of the other guests were ex-colleagues from the workplace he had been obliged to "disappear" from amidst rumours and half-truths, or that one year on conversation with these former associates was at best stilted. It was simply that he knew all too well how important a wedding can be to the families involved, especially when they come from a culture steeped in tradition and ritual, and when it came to etiquette and expectations he didn't have the faintest clue.

He had slipped in, hunching his shoulders as if that would somehow make him less obvious, and furtively looked around for a familiar face. Fortunately it hadn't been too long before he found his eye drawn to the waves of the rotund and beaming Mr Absolut, one of the few who knew the truth and had remained a close friend throughout everything. Unfortunately Mr Absolut was at that time in the company of Mr Claw, the man whose ineptitude and lack of spine had contributed to the events a year previous, and whose eagerness to sweep even the tiniest hint of scandal under the carpet had closed the door in such an ignominious fashion. But then Mr Claw's underlings would be swarming all around this evening - perhaps confronting him from the get-go was not such a bad idea.

As he was new to this he had arrived punctually, not wishing to offend. He was soon informed, however, that Chinese weddings have a habit of not "getting going" until late... and so he found himself trapped in a cycle of repeatedly saying the right things, giving the right answers, whilst trying to remain nonchelant and ignore the forced smiles and slightly too probing queries. He rotated between glass of beer and glass of water, determined to remain in control (quite a feat after the abandon he had displayed during the last 12 months), and even stepped outside to smoke a calming cigarette with Mr Book, the man largely responsible for much of the gossip that had struck him down. All in all it was a relief when Dr Dance and her husband arrived...

Dr Dance had been his closest confidant. Having left the workplace a couple of months before his world had imploded she had been the only one with enough distance to give him the support he had needed. And here she was again to provide him with some degree of safety. She was not the only real friend there but seating arrangements had resulted in his segregation from the others. At least he was also at a safe distance from the pack of whispering vultures who were obviously relishing their chance to once again pick the corpse of his reputation clean - even if the hairs on his neck were still on end seeing them glance his way and give each other knowing looks as he pulled his seat up to the table....