If Only Diana Were Alive!

Everything for the past few weeks has been to do with the Royal Wedding. Prince William and Kate (From today called Catherine) have made their vows and tied the metaphorical knot of marriage, unless Westminster Abbey was blown up and I didn’t get chance to remove this blog before it posted at it’s scheduled time of course (if that is the case, I apologise for my insensitivity). Anyway, let’s assume they haven’t been horrifically murdered.

Is it just me who thinks this looks like a promotional shot for a new Doctor Who alien?

Every media outlet has been bursting with excitement at this event. The news has interviewed Kate Middleton’s distant family who own chips shops and interviewing people she went to school with to find out what kind of girl she was. The news has covered all the preparation details from policemen checking drains for bombs and transatlantic TV channels setting up a media centre not far from Buckingham Palace. People watch the news to get updates on the days national and international events; not speculation about a wedding. There’s been speculation about what the wedding dress will look like, and whether she’ll wear long or short arms. Phoooar, I hoped she was to wear short sleeves; nothing like a bit of Royal elbow action!

We’ve had predictions about the weather, which I predict will have undoubtedly been wrong. There have been rumours of what David Cameron will wear. The SkyHDCopter has been circling the route for the past week, to needlessly pump fumes into the Ozone Layer and achieve very little else. Obviously, there have been many comparisons to Diana. There verb ‘commoner’ has insultingly been continuously used to describe Kate Middleton, and the emphasis has repeatedly been that on the 29th of April 2011, she becomes something meaningful – a Princess. Prince Harry dated a girl named ‘Chelsy’. Princess Chelsy. Now, that’s common. Kate is not.

This wedding has rekindled the argument of whether we, as a nation, still need a monarchy. Notice that only idiots say ‘No’ in that debate. The people that think we shouldn’t have a monarchy are the same people that idolise Katie Price and her weddings. At least Royal Weddings happen infrequently instead of it being a bi-annual event.

I would never use the word ‘Royalist’ to describe myself. I’m not their biggest fan. I haven’t got a display cabinet in my house which is full of Royal memorabilia like a mug for the Queen’s coronation or a plate with the face of Prince Charles and Diana on it and nor am I gaining an erection at the chance to buy more Royal wedding memorabilia. I just appreciate the history of our country, which always remains synonymous with the Royal family. Almost the entire World appreciates it, apart from the infuriatingly ignorant disciples of Katie Price.

Imagine a World where Britain never had a monarchy. England wouldn’t have its beautiful castles or other classic British attractions. Fairy Stories would involve back alleys instead of a Prince wooing his Princess. Disney wouldn’t have its Disney Princess franchise (This surprisingly upsets me). We Brits would be much more like Europe. Visitors wouldn’t flock to our country, and therefore we would be skint. Money would look a lot different. And the most horrifying: Blackadder may have never existed!

Okay, they are not the greatest reasons ever, but they should be carefully considered before we even embark on hinting at the possibility of starting to think about the removal of our Royals. Britain without a monarchy is like a dog without a bone: It will survive, but it would lose its spirit and never quite be the same again.

And Diana. We wouldn’t have idolised her if it wasn’t for the Royal Family! We wouldn’t have had a week of national mourning when she was killed in a tunnel in France. We wouldn’t find all the jokes about her death funny because we wouldn’t have a clue of who she was. Mind you, if it wasn’t for the Royal family, one could probably argue she would still be alive, but instead working as a checkout girl at Asda. Swings and roundabout aye?

So, the People’s Princess has been dead for over a decade, and we have slowly lost faith in our monarchy and its usefulness. Maybe Princess Catherine will tug on the nations Heartstrings to become the next Queen of our Hearts. Mind you, the Queen does have no power. All the decisions are made by the politicians and she just sits there pretending to care and nodding at the appropriate times.

We all secretly love the Queen though. It’s like the way we love our Mum’s. We have no actual reason to love them, but they’ve always been there and we know that society says we should, so we do. It’s instinctive, maternal love. We should take great pride in our Queen. We don’t have enough pride for her these days. We seem to have evolved into a cynical, stoical nation of people. And how many people actually know our National Anthem? Not many. Not even I know it. It should have been compulsorily taught to us in Primary school, along with the association of characters to letters of the alphabet, like Kicking King (For the letter K) and Kissing Cousins (to represent the letter X?), as well as learning about Autumn every Autumn.

It doesn’t matter what you think about the Royal family, because they are not going to just give up their power, and a military coup is very unlikely. So if you don’t like it, either get used to the Royal family or move to America where you can then look at us, full of admiration.

That is my biggest annoyance! Bloody indecisive Americans! During the civil war they kicked us out, and now, they want in. They admire our Royal family. They seem to even admire our British ideals. Bloody hypocrites! Then, ironically, we seem to admire Barack Obama and wish we had such a powerful, elegant leader. Typical neighbours; looking over each other’s fences (in this metaphor, the Atlantic Ocean is the ronsealed fence) at their lives, full of jealousy.

Well, I hope you Brits enjoyed your Street parties, filled with VE Day spirit with cupcakes, crumpets, bunting and the typical British weather, and I hope you Yanks enjoyed waking up early to see a wedding full of people you have never heard nor care about.

One last thought: Why didn’t we charge the Yanks an extortionate rate for the rights to show the wedding and pay for it that way, as opposed to letting them enjoy festivities for a cheap price? It would save our pounds sterling. I’m sure Fox News could afford it.

Good luck to the newest Royal wedding; they need it. And long live Princess Catherine. I hope she lasts longer than Diana. OH, IF ONLY DIANA WERE STILL ALIVE TODAY!

Book Review: Sh*t My Dad Says

I’m not a keen reader of book. For instance, last year I read none. The books I had read the previous year were actually compulsory for my English A-level. However, there has been a change for 2011. Maybe it’s something in the water, possibly the long, cold, harsh Winter has completely altered me, or probably because I’m finding the right books and have a lot of free time on my hands. Whatever the reason, I am currently on my third book of the year. The first one being a Charlie Brooker book I made an attempt at starting many years ago. The second one started life as a ‘Twitter Sensation’ before becoming a book and then an American sitcom, making it somewhat of an American institution.

This is called ‘Sh*t My Dad Says’, and as the title suggests, it has a hefty amount of swearing, so if your easily offended, this is not the book for you (mind you, nor are a majority of my blogs, so what are you doing here?). I had heard about this book long before buying it and even read the introduction on the Amazon website. Then, once confronted by the book in HMV, and a large amount of vouchers received for my birthday, I couldn’t resist purchasing it. The back of the book got me more intrigued by the book, and the following line from the blurb, I think, describes it perfectly. Better than what I will attempt to say anyway.

“More than a million people now follow Mr Halpern Senior’s philosophical gems every day on Twitter, and this book weaves a brilliantly funny, surprisingly touching coming-of-age memoir around the best of his quotes.”

The author is pretty unknown, but Justin Halpern is a comedy writer for varying websites and such. On a whole, his writing is pretty talented and knows the secrets behind comedy and can get as much laughter out of a scenario as is possible. However, his use of metaphors seem to be too often and sometimes are very forced. It is like he is trying desperately hard to come across as talented. They sometimes seem somewhat pressurised. For those amongst you who are not Sherlock Holmes, Justin Halpern is the son, writing down his father’s brilliant quips.

“So there you go. Your mother thinks you’re handsome. This should be an exciting day for you.”

So, the book. It shows the father and son relationship between a loving, but very straight talking, opinionated scientist in nuclear medicine (the Dad), and a young boy/man going through the regular ordeals of a growing American boy. It’s very light-hearted, and is in great detail. The two main characters, and others, have been created brilliantly so you can imagine these interactions happening, and I think that takes skill to achieve.

“A three-year-old doesn’t have a license to act like an asshole.”

Each chapter follows particular scenarios which are memorable in the life of Justin, and how his Dad either reacted to, or was involved in them. It may not seem that great when described like this, but trust me, it bloody well is. The first chapter starts off being about how this book came about, and the events that led towards it. The author had quit his job and been dumped by his girlfriend, on the same day, which led to him seeking shelter with parents, essentially.

“All I ask is that you pick up your stuff so you don’t leave your bedroom looking like it was used for a gangbang. Also, sorry that your girlfriend dumped you.”

The following chapters describe events that happened while Justin grew up, in order from six years old to the writing of the book. Such events include attending a family wedding, failing maths, going to college and working in the kitchens at Hooters. Hilarity ensues in every chapter, I promise.

“You’re not a cigar guy… Well, the first reason that jumps out at me is that you hold it like you’re jerking off a mouse.”

I absolutely love the father, and is actually quite inspiring for an angry person like myself. How can you possibly not laugh at someone who says “Your brother brought his baby over this morning. He told me it could stand. It couldn’t stand for shit. Big let down” or says “Hello… Fuck you” to a telemarketer. The book is absolutely filled with superb quotes like these, with there being two or three pages of odd remarks in between each chapter. These are a brilliant touch; with it is yet another way of filling the book with humour, and it really just makes the book look a lot larger than it is in reality.

“The baby will talk when he talks, relax. It ain’t like he knows the cure for cancer and just ain’t spitting it out.”

The book is 185 pages long, which is quite small in book terms anyway. The font is rather large; not much smaller than what you might find in a children’s book. It has a lot of chapters, but they’re relatively short with the longer ones reaching a peak of eleven pages. Then, between each chapter, you have two or three pages of quotes. This isn’t a book you take on holiday to read for days on the beach while catching some serious skin cancer, or you spend many weeks thinking deeply about. You could read and enjoy it on a long coach or plane journey to past the time with laughter, or do what I did, and read big chunks at a time over the course of a week. I still highly recommend this book to anyone who appreciates angry, straight-talking humour and can happily read page after page of the word ‘bullshit’.

“What are you doing with that rake?... No, that is not raking… What? Different styles of raking? No, there’s one style, and then there’s bullshit. Guess which one you’re doing.”

So, I recommend the book, but what about the sitcom?

Well, part created by Justin Halpern, it was produced for the American network CBS, and they, probably in an attempt at political correctness, called it ‘$#*! My Dad Says’. In the UK, it is currently being shown on the channel that is currently being called ‘Five*’. I have only watched one episode, and that was the opening episode. The following words will give you can understanding as to why I watched no more. The Dad is played by William Shatner.

“You’re going to run into jerk-offs, but remember, It’s not the size of the asshole you worry about, it’s how much shit comes out of it.”

I understand he is popular, but I have always thought that he does not suit comedy. I find his delivery of funny lines to very ‘wooden’ and it almost seems like he doesn’t get the joke he is saying. I personally think the TV adaption to be very poor, and I can’t be the only one to think so, otherwise it wouldn’t be buried away in schedules of what is a channel filled with bullshit in the UK. I hope Mr Halpern Senior gave a frank and more insulting opinion of the show, in his own unique, loving way.

“Son, you’re a good athlete, but I’ve seen what you call swimming. It looks like a slow kid on his knees trying to smash ants.”

     

The End Of A Blogging Era

I don’t want people to get upset at this, but I have some sad news that I feel I need to inform you about. A death, very close to my heart has occurred of a very close friend. In fact, my greatest ally when it came to writing rants about varying topics in usually over a thousand words. I now have to face a future in blogging without the help of this friend. I will continue, but it will be difficult for a long while. I miss having this companion by my side. The death happened Tuesday the 5th April 2011 late in the evening. It was sudden and unexpected. Attempts at resuscitation were futile. For once, turning it off and on again did not work. The cause of death was the failure of a vital organ: The graphics card. Yes my loyal reader, my laptop, imaginatively named ‘Laptopo’, has died.

Just weeks before his third birthday, the dreaded blue screen appeared. It’s like watching the life drain from the eyes of a loved one as they look at you for the final time, before collapsing in front of your very eyes. You become over whelmed by emotion. It happened so quickly you just don’t know what to do. You rush over and hold them in your arms, turn them off and on again in a vain attampt to rescue them, but it was too late: upon the reboot, it was obvious The Grim Reaper has taken his latest victim.

Evidence upon the reboot that Laptopo has died.

Tuesday was a normal day. That evening I had come home and switched on my laptop like I do every single day. I had sat on Facebook and Twitter reading boring update after boring update after boring update, while doing little bits of writing here and there for various projects. Like every evening, I also spent time bemoaning the slow streaming of videos on YouTube. I had watched my current favourite song (Patrick Wolf – The City) in staggered moments. Then, I began watching Stewart Lee clips for some comic relief, when, while Stewart Lee slatted Russell Brand on my screen, Laptopo died. I had a tear in my eye.

That tear was partly due to the untimely death of my friend, but also for the inappropriate timing of my friend’s death. Just when you need them the most, they bugger off it seems. As many teenagers of my age doing their A-levels will know, exam season is fast approaching. Therefore it is handy when your laptop, with all your work saved on, dies and takes it all with him. Some will cry ‘Well, you should have backed up’. Well, Mr Hindsight, I have been backing up. Once a month, I back up. A back up was due, so the past months work was lost. Not a lot, but enough to be a big pain up the royal arse.

The next day, I drove to PC World with the corpse of my fellow comrade on the passenger’s seat, to beg of them to save the memory of the deceased friend.

 Now, this were my blog changes tone from being a compassionate epilogue about the death of a loved one, to a rage against the machine.

 Bloody PC World! Like every corporate machine, they want money to even look you in eye.

This particular corporate machine back it’s customers into a corner, so they have no choice but to either be a computer expert themselves with all the correct gizmos, or to pay a PC World employee to do it for you. It cost £30 to get my stuff, which I created myself, back in my accessible hands. This was my own writing and my own photography. If you spent a week building a lovely shelving unit, then you had to pay a stranger for it, you would be fuming. Mind you, if the Coalition had its own way, they would start taxing people as freely as that.

The people at PC World were rather lovely, if not unnaturally obsessed with watching Loose Women and Janet Street-Porter’s lazy right eye. I still wouldn’t say the experience was worth the £30. All he did was dock my Hard Drive (If that isn’t a euphemism, I don’t know what is…) and put various bits of its contents on a DVD disc. £30! Pah! If I were a Gypsy, I’d put a curse on them; or sell them some lucky heather in an attempt to earn my money back.

Now, my computing life is very scattered. I have my music and pictures of an external Hard Drive. I have my current work on a number of memory stick. I’m borrowing a laptop to allow me onto the Internet for a few weeks (and indeed writing this very blog from). Then, I’m using my old laptop to do work on, such as using Photoshop. I was using my old laptop for the Internet, but then I remembered why it became my old laptop. Every 5 minutes, the Internet cuts out because the laptop stupidly decides to change the network password. I never named my old laptop because we never really ‘hit it off’, and now you understand why: he was a bastard!

Now, I’m going to have to spend hours pouring over websites to determine what laptop will be a sufficient replacement. You can’t replace love like what I and Laptopo had, but he was soon reaching retirement age. He became easily confused and was very slow to do anything; much like a senile old man you have to keep waking up whenever you want to have a conversation with him.

It looks like I will soon be entering the Windows 7 generation, and from what I have experienced on this laptop I have borrowed, it is exactly the same as Vista, just a bit more transparent and the use of any lexis is kept to a minimum. Obviously Microsoft spent billions of dollars on redesigning their new Operating System. I would get a Mac however if I had the money, but bloody Apple with their desirable, white, products, have to make everything so sodding expensive.

Now, please join me in a moments silence to remember my great friend. Rest In Peace Laptopo; you were one in a few hundred thousand!