Mimicks and the Mumbles

Interwebz forum and message boards. Love or loathe them they are here to stay (as long as the webby is) and they are the social setting of the future. The digital chat in the local pub (sadly minus the ale) between friends and occasionaly enemies. I am currently a contributing member on two forums but have been around them since the Sega Dreamcast hosted a chat room via Dreamarena.
They are generally great places to hang out and debate, and I have made many good friends through them. Folk I would dearly love to meet in the real world.
There is one thing I find annoying however, even more than the trolls. I like to call them the Mimicks, because they like to believe themselves knowledgable and full of great quotes but its all stolen.


A real cuckoo last week

These people simply turn to Google, that great faux intelligence enabler and copy and paste 'their' ideas and thoughts on a particular subject into a forum thread. Nobodies standing on the shoulders of giants, unable to arrive at an original idea themselves, they hide amongst the writings of people who can. Wordsworth crops up in a particular thread? No problem, head on over to a website dedicated to his quotes and copy/paste them as if you were a learned student of the poet. Something of a medical nature in another thread? Easy peasy, copy and paste your way like you were a real doctor. Result!
The trouble is, its not a result, its pathetic like the spelling pedants that also seem to inhabit interwebz forums.
There used to be a few on a board I no longer frequent. On any given thread one could virtually guarantee one of them would throw in a few quotes by George Bernard Shaw or Churchill in an attempt to show how well read or cultured they were, when in all likelihood they had never picked up a book in their lives. Certainly not ones written by the likes of the aforementioned Bernard Shaw.
Another one of these irritants would delight in pasting medical advice, whenever another member had some kind of ailment. I often wondered if he ever suspected most of us knew he was a fraud and was resorting to lifting articles from genuine medical websites. On second thoughts he probably did not, as the type of person who would stoop to this behaviour is so full of his own self important wind that they no doubt sh!t medals to themselves.
I find it almost vulgar if I am honest. That some anonymous fool with access to the innterwebz can spout off on subjects that he or she has little or no knowledge about, taking ideas that don't belong to them and passing them off as their own. Its like those Walter Mitty type, fake soldiers who attend Rememberance Sundays wearing medals they have not earned.
They claim to be fountains of knowledge and point other forum members in the direction of classic works of literature to read, when they haven't read those works themselves! The most obvious ones are the types who quote Shakespeare because you can tell (well I can being a real fan of the playwright/poet) that they have never read a sonnet of his in their lives. But of course every notable writer or philospher are used by these Mimicks.
It i s a very sad note indeed because at the end of the day, when the computer is turned OFF and the mask of the message board put away for the night, the only one they have fooled is themselves. And its a sorry reflection that looks out from the mirror of a conman.

In Comaville to Dream of Plant Razors

Recently I ave been suffering from a bout of crazy dreams. To be fair 'crazy' isn't the right word, these dreams are more eerie with a touch of the disturbed. They are not nightmares, there is nothing horrifying in them in the typical sense of horror. No demons or grisly deaths. No hell beasts intent on tearing my throat out. No being tortured by one footed goblins with diamond crucifixes for eyes. The terror is more subtle than any of those. But its there.
I could use many words to describe the 'atmosphere' in these dreams but none would be as good as the photo below. This was a photograph I myself took in Cenarth Falls here in Wales, with the negative effect on. Usually it is a beautiful part of the country but with this effect, Cenarth took on a completely different look. The mill house looks so sinister, so deserted. Indeed to me the scene below looks like it is waiting for something terrible to occur. Something from the devil's chapter of tales, and this is how my dreams feel.


Photo courtesy of 'Eyes Beneath the Skin'.

Outright there is nothing to fear from them. (At least at the start). I find myself slipping off into a pleasant world beneath the cider and whisky clouds, a land that is definately Wales but nowhere I could say for certain. Some scenes mimick the beaches of Burry Port and Pembrey where I grew up, while others, the mountains and rugged coastlines could be anywhere in the country, from Portmeirion in the North right down to Angle in Pembrokeshire.
No monsters inhabit these lands. In fact once my feet touch down on the feathery, silk grass, away from the alcoholic buzz, I am often met by much missed family members such as my mother, who have crossed from the mortal sleep into the realm of spirits.

In It To Win It, Not Bin It

It would seem that great old British tradition of school's sports day is upon us. (I know other countries have these also so don't get picky). Now some schools are scrapping 1st Place so that every child is equal and they don't feel the shame of coming 3rd or God forbid last! As is commonly said in interwebz speak WTF? We are in danger (real rattlensake bite type danger) of raising a bunch of lily livered pansies and baby poofs. There is no learning on that path, let me tell you.
If the great Michael Schumacher had thought like this he would never have been seven times world champion. Ditto Sir Steve Redgrave or any other sporting champion you care to name.
YOU NEED THE DESIRE TO BE FIRST IN ORDER TO WIN.

A winners ass yesterday

Children are not stupid. They know if they've come last, and they will not be fobbed off with guff like, "its okay, you came 5th but you're still a winner!" What utter nonsense! No they don't feel like a winner because if they've come 5th in a race they bloody well know it was 5th and not 1st, and no amount of pussyfooting around will stop them feeling like sh!t.
I took part in plenty of school's sports days and had my share of 4th places, and it did me no harm. In fact it spurred me on to do better the next time it came around. Telling children (and adults) that everything is equal is not natural and robs people of a thirst to succeed. Better to face it head on; you are going to have bad days and failures, that is where most of Life's lessons are learned. Your spirit will thank you for understanding this.

Bacon & Egg Tarts

Here is a delightful little recipe I picked up from the family somewhere down the line. It includes two of my favourite foods: bacon and eggs. Win!

Bacon & Egg Tarts

Stuff you'll need ~

375g (12oz) of packet ready~rolled shortcrust pastry.

8 rashers (200g/7oz) Smoked or unsmoked finest back bacon.

1 small red onion, finely diced.

1 tablespoon of olive oil (don't tell Popeye).

2 tablespoons of chopped sage.

75ml (3fl oz) single cream.

1 egg, beaten.

6 egg yolks, seperated. The whites can be frozen in case you fancy making meringues or something. Don't waste grub, people are starving so im told.

Ketchup which is optional.

Now that lot will serve 6. Takes 10 minutes (plus chilling) to prepare and cooks in 30 minutes. Lovely.

How to mix it all up ~

1. Preheat oven to gas 4, 180c. On a lightly floured surface, roll the pastry sheet out until it is a few centimeters larger all around. Trim the edges, cut into 6 even squares, then use each square to line each hollow in a large, 6 hole muffin tin, or 6 individual ramekins. Don't fret if the corners stick up or look untidy unless Michael Winner is popping round. Chill for 20 minutes.

2. Line each pastry cup with a square of non~stick baking paper and fill with baking beans or dried pulses. Bake for 10 minutes then carefully remove the paper and beans and return to the oven for a further 5 minutes, until the pastry is just golden.

3. Put on some Slayer and lay 6 of the bacon rashers on a baking tray and bake for 10 minutes. Set aside.

4. Hungry yet?

5. Chop the remaining 2 rashers of swine and gently fry with the onion in the olive oil for 10 minutes, until the onion has softened but not coloured. Transfer to a bowl and stir in the sage, cream and beaten egg. Season. (Seasons In The Abyss. Slayer).

6. Tuck a bacon rasher into each pastry cup, curling it around to fit. Divide the onion and cream mixture between the tarts and place one whole egg yolk in each. Bake for 10-15 minutes, until the pastry is golden and the bacon rashers are just brown.
Set aside to cool for 10 minutes before turning out, then grind with a little pepper and serve with a dollop of ketchup if ketchup is your thing.

7. Tuck in and enjoy!


If you haven't f**ked up, they should look like this.

Hitchhiker's Blues (Open Letter to God)

Bingo!

This is just a quick open letter to God.

Dear Big Guy,

When I travel through your beautiful countryside, I gladly give thanks to you for Mother Nature and all of her wonderful sights. You truly are an inspiration and if ever I get to become a God of something (God of Drunkeness perhaps?) then I want to be just like You. But with more tattoos. It must be a thankless job, what with a lot of the planet ignoring You and using 'text speak' to communicate their horrible thoughts to each other but I DO thank You. I know You are up there somewhere, pottering around and taking holy shots with Coleridge. In short, You sir, rule! (Literally).
However I do have one grumble. When I am out driving with lush, rolling hills to my left and golden rivers on my right, can You not ruin the scenery by tossing in a hitchhiker that looks like a cross between Rasputin the mad monk and Richard Ramirez? If we must have beggars needing to casge a lift, can you make them like the lady in the photo above please? Pretty please?

Diolch (thanks)

Your humble, perverted servant

Steven x

Inanimate becomes Animate to Cause Death

During the history of this world, humans have devised hundreds of ways to kill a man. Some techniques have been merciful towards the condemned, while others (especially in early times) have been downright cruel. Crucifixion, Stoning, Crushing, Burning, Hanging, Gassing, Drawing & Quartering, Electrocution. All these methods and more have been employed to bring about death.
Indeed when one considers that only one method is really needed throughout the world, then having such a plentiful choice of grisly devices is proof (if proof were needed) of how just how dark mankind's mind can be.


Infamous: The Gallows and the Chair

Most of these lethal contraptions will be largely unknown by most people. Who really, apart from the ghouls among us, has ever heard of the Brazen Bull? A hollow iron bull into which prisoners were locked and slowly roasted over an open fire. Or the Cave of Roses, where the condemned were sealed inside a cave filled with highly poisonous snakes?
But which deadly designs delivered the quickest death? And which are the most recognisable? Surely the Crucifix has to be the best known if only for the fact that a model of it swings around the throats of millions of Christians (and rockstars) every day.
For me personally, I believe the Gallows and the Electric Chair are top of the bill in terms of infamy and quickest to despatch the inmate to eternity. Britain's most famous hangman Albert Pierrepoint had the prisoner hanged in under 30 seconds, and most of those seconds were going from cell to scaffold. Death at the end of the rope would have been instant and painless.
As for America's legendary Electric Chair, as soon as 2,000 volts are jolted into the condemned, expiration would follow pretty quickly should the execution go smoothly, and be as pain free as the hangman's rope.
The ancient civilizations like Greece and Rome had their share of well known devices of destruction but nothing comes close in recent history as these two icons of execution.

Boxes, Boxes Everywhere!

Recently my presence on the the interwebz has been restricted to mobile Facebook and Twitter as ive been moving house and boy im glad its a thing you don't do every week! Take a look at the photo of me below (taken in the back of a removals van) to see why. And its not only the lugging of heavy things that is the pain, its the stress of legal documents and paperwork that must get nailed down, along with the 'exercise'.
It truly seems like a never ending task, one which must be concentrated on until the very thread of ones spirit has been almost unravelled. I cant recall another time where I found myself beating my head against the wall of 'officialdom' and red tape as much as this. It was mind boggling. Still is in fact. We have only been here just over a week now and im kidding myself if I think its over.

Nurse! Drink!

Food was also an obstacle during this stressful time as we had no oven or fridge for days and had to resort to chip shops and takeaways. Not too much of a problem for yours truly but when you figure in our daughter who only ten months old then you can see where what I mean.
The internet too was a pain in the ass and where as folk of decades past did not have to deal with this, we in the 21st century certainly do and its yet another bauble on the Tree Of Frustation©. We rely on the webby like never before, its turned into a third arm or leg, so I was rather muted when British Telecom informed me that it would take them over a week to change the details of my address, from one place to the other. A week!? I always imagined a few clicks here and there would get me back blogging within a few hours.
Although to be fair, they were true to their word, and this post is evidence of my safe return into the online womb, so thank you BT for that. We are quick to shout unpleasantries from the rooftops when big companies get it wrong, so its reassuring and lovely to know that occasionaly they get it right.
So anyway, am I know ablt to life a glass or six in celebration that all the hard graft is done? Not on your Nelly (whoever she is). There are still companies to be informed of address changes and boxes to be collected and plonked from one place to the other. Simply put, moving house can bring about unpleasant things to the human soul, which can have one damn near to bouts of collapse (both physical and mental)and despair. Oh yes, the despair can be extremely erm...despairing.
Now to get back to those boxes. And shelves. And cables.And laying in the hall, wishing for a tooh fairy to come along and swap collecting teeth for house removals. Happy trails!