Listening to Karmacoma by Massive Attack

There are not many things that still get me really excited. Sometimes I might seem to be awed of my VB/Midi experiments but it is a momentary pleasure that evaporates when something is complete. I obviously used to get fired up about Christmas approaching but as my wife has pointed out, that is now just a remnant more along the lines of a welcome holiday in the dark part of the year rather than a small child’s excitement at the lights and presents. I once may have widened my eyes at Beatrice Dalle; had I lived in a large enough room I might even have been prompted to stick up that poster of 37 degrees le matin (though at the time I should have been concentrating on my single degree in four years). Now, despite Ms Dalle being only a few months younger than me, she seems like all the other forever-young actresses – a sort of forbidden and slightly shady icon for a (early) middle aged man.

However, waking up between Saturday and Sunday and hearing the snow against the window and realising that the room was lighter than it should normally be was enough to make me seven years old again. A good snowfall is the one thing that has not faded over the years. Of course it never lasts – we just get one good fall and then it turns to cold, wet mush in a day or two and that is a come-down of the highest order – far beyond the feeling a couple of days after Christmas when you realise it is time to return to work/School/Jail. I am cynical.

I am currently diverted from my heavyweight reading – The Devil's Doctor: Paracelsus and the World of Renaissance Magic and Science - by a book I found at the library called Utter Failure which should actually be monikered something along the lines of getting things into perspective. This is both interesting and funny. There is one whole chapter about the attempts on Everest which peaks (pun intended) with the successful attempt by Hillary and Tenzing. I am not sure if the Author’s brief dismissal of the current state of Britain as a land of skinheads, football hooligans and strip mines, is meant to be irony. Our own stereotype of Americans without an understanding of irony may be getting the better of me. There is also some reference to the British habit of installing puppet regimes which seems a bit much in light of recent events. However, the book was written in the early nineties which also explains and excuses the Author’s uncertainty about the future of such things as video phones etc. I should mention the Author’s name as he is a columnist for The Chicago Sun-Times and he is Neil Steinberg. It is a nice bit of synchronicity with the first article being about the kneecapping of science in the US. Can you believe that the FDA would really not approve a vaccine again the viruses which cause cervical cancer? The thought that a working AIDS vaccine may also be denied FDA approval is a horror too awful to imagine. You can write to the author if you like, maybe to undo the impression of us British as a bunch of buck-toothed, madmen descending either into unintelligent couch-potatodom or misguided reminiscence about our red-coated, empire-building past. I was fired enough to do just that last night after the hooligan paragraph but as usual my slacker past gets the better of me. Please don’t pretend to be a hooligan. I will hate you forever and come round and beat you up – unless of course you support Tranmere. Actually this should be Marine – must stick up for the local team.