Writer, Filmmaker, & Procrastinator
Tried not to be freaked out by these faceless clones…after all it’s not their fault that Marks & Spencers are so out of touch with what it is to be “down with the kids’!
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I just heard some so-called breaking currraaaaazy news: Gillian Anderson (of The X-Files fame) has announced that she would be more than happy to have a sex change and become James Bond. Or perhaps just remain as she is and play Jane Bond; that would make more sense. Or…well…whatever – she wants to take over the role and now people are freaking out.
Some have taken to punching the air and gasping “woooo yeah double oh heaven!” or words to that effect – but from what I can see most comments from flabbergasted fans have been filled with the typical internet-ish sort of vitriol:*
“…how can a lady run, jump, and make grunting sounds? Only men can do that! Don’t even get me started on shooting guns and storming out of offices. Keep out of our domain, will ya?!”
“…women shouldn’t play agents, it’s just not believable – apart from that red headed one in the alien files thing. She was okay, I guess.”
“…the name’s Bond, James Bond – not Jane. Jane is a different name to James. Get your own movie franchise, and name – women have taken everything and now they are trying to take our names too. Despicable.”
Now I of course, couldn’t care less. And not because I am some sort of spectacular progressive or a constant warrior against discrimination at every single turn (I am to some extent but I have other things like bacon and TV going on which take priority), the thing is that…well…I couldn’t give a flying fuck about James Bond. At all.
I suppose I do think it odd that a woman would play the role of a man, and that after so many years it would suddenly change – but not enough for me to kick off and become red in the face. Take the Ghostbusters reboot for an example – it looks dreadful. That’s my opinion and I don’t need to dance on a table and scream it from the rooftops so people know it…I can mention it and then move along. Same here.
Or if someone told me there was going to be an all men Sex and the City for some bizarre reason…I would politely reply with: “oh really…hmm, how interesting” – which would be good manners code for: “I couldn’t give a shit, why are you boring me with this information?”
I mean, is it a big deal? Was it even worthy of this rambled non-sensical article? Are there not more important things to worry about? Like making sure you don’t have holey socks, nailing small talk with the person at the supermarket checkout, or well…anything else really.
James Bond is an action film, something you watch if there is nothing else on, if you are stuck on a long haul flight, or if you are a die-hard fan. It’s not awful, but let’s not pretend it is something sacred and that if a lady were to play the role hell would freeze over and David Cameron would go skipping along with Donald Trump dealing out free marshmallows for everyone no matter their race or tax band.
Simply put it’s just a movie! And she likely won’t get the role anyway, after all it was mostly suggested in fun…but if she does and it pisses you off: just don’t watch it.
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Malaysia ~ Kuala Lumpur – 2016
You often make bad decisions whilst travelling; especially so in hindsight. And of course by you I really mean me…and by me I mean a great lumbering buffoon who is simply trying to blame someone else for all his problems, or at the very least involve you in these calamities. Awfully sorry for dragging you down into these dark depths with me, and I do hope you’ll forgive me as we fall into the abyss of it all together hand in hand…it’s just that I don’t like the thought that I am just a sole wandering moron devoid of any grasp of how to make good choices (even if that is strictly true according to my stories).
You see the other day I could have just flown directly from South Korea to Thailand. That seems normal, that seems like the thing that a person should do if they are wanting to fly from South Korea to Thailand…they book a flight and then…they follow that up by taking said flight from Thailand to South Korea.
Why is this even a fucking story, I hear you ask? Well…let’s get to it shall we…
The things is, instead of doing the aforementioned typical and sane thing – I opted for something which to most would be absolutely unthinkable (and rightly so). I decided to defy conventional wisdom and make a short(ish) stop in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia…after all why not see another place, and find out what it has to offer? The idea came to me from an article I’d read where this fella intentionally gets unusually tedious and long-way-around-ish transfers…this guy is extreme, having day trips in Canada, breakfast in Italy, a few hours shopping in Paris and – well you get the point, he goes through all of that inconvenience just to see a little more. But I thought it was pretty cool, actually I was blown away by it, and he instantly became a hero in my eyes.
So after following some of his tips I found my first long layover would be in Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia…haven’t ever been there so, wonderful! I’m already well on my way (or so I thought)! Oh, and about seven or eight hours! That’s enough time to have a good look around! I can see the sights and meet the people, try the food and –
KNOCK KNOCK – hi, don’t mean to be a negative Nancy or a cautious Chris, but shouldn’t you check the time you get in on the night because if – SHHHHHHHHHHH! Just because John, you could end up – SHHHHHHH SELF, SHHHHH!
So yeah, that was me. Not even sparing a thought to consider how crucial the actual arrival time could be with such delicate arrangements. I actually ended up realising it at the last second, but still felt positive…despite the fact I would be getting in at 22:10…
This wouldn’t have been all that bad, but I didn’t end up getting my bag back until fucking 23:00. What the hell were they doing with it all of that time? I swear they had been having a little five a side football kick around using my bag as one of the goalposts, or had perhaps been rifling through my possessions hoping to stumble across my stash of treasure (you’ll never get it you dirty bastards I’ll take it to my grave!) but whatever it was it meant that I was now very pushed for time. After all, it’s a 30 or 40 minute journey into the city itself.
Despite how infeasible it all looked, I thought I would ask the lady at the desk anyway: “Hello there!” – hai sir. (They say sir a lot in Malaysia and I think I like it, makes me feel rather regal and important, rather than smelly and worthless – which is what you truly are after a long haul flight)…“When is the last train back to the airport from the city please?” 00:30…”Ahh – do you think it would be crazy for me to go now – and then come back?” Very crazy sir. “Oh.” Very, very crazy. “Got it – it’s crazy…because the thing is I have a flight at 7am but -”
Sir, it’s too crazy with bag and distance of this, and time is crazy…it’s just – “Okay yeah, yup, thank you, got it…” I said with a sigh and the best fake smile I could muster.
And so it was there and then that my little dream died. It was probably the most polite version of a dream dying ever to come about, but it was still a dream dying. It was also insufferably hot at 28 degrees, and the air was thick and grossly stifling…sticky sweat meant everything stuck to everything, and I had to lumber about the airport like a lost cause until the morning. It felt like there had been an apocalypse.
That is until I realised there was a 24 hour McDonalds. I don’t remember one of those in Mad Max, so I guess it was only right to be thankful. I almost crumbled at the three or four in the morning mark, seriously considered getting a taxi driver to ride me around just to make time pass in a more interesting fashion…but YouTube just about did the job instead…
Anyway sir, let’s put that in the lessons learned book, shall we sir?
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Nepal ~ Pokhara – 2014
It was just another day in Nepal, like any other. You know – toilet trouble and searing heat…these are the things that a tourist encounters most vividly whilst spending time in this country. You feel like you want to go places, and that you should do things…but you are scared that on route your backside will explode into your underpants, or that you will faint from heat exhaustion due to the sun, which seems friend only to mosquitoes and a band of overzealous rickshaw drivers…
“REEECKSHAW SAR, REEECKSHAA-“
“ARGHHHHHH, NO, NO, NO, JUST LET ME CURL UP AND DIE IN FUCKING PEACE!”
South Korea – Jeju Island ~ 2013
I am pale. Very, very pale. Like Nosferatu pale. Really I shouldn’t ever see sunlight – that would probably work out best for me. But the heart wants what it wants unfortunately, which is to go outside and not live in a cave all of my life. So factor 5000 it is. Except they don’t make that (if they do then please send me a private message, PLEASE), so more often than not I am burned to a red crisp every single time there is even a peak of sun.
Let me take you back to last year, on a long weekend trip to Jeju Island…
It will undoubtedly surprise you to hear that there are numerous things I don’t know…in fact, I would go to say that I don’t know many things at all. So yeah, I don’t know most things. That much is true, at least I know that.
When looking for someone or something to blame (rather than just accepting I am a brain-dead oaf, or lazy slacker), I have landed on school as my main source of ignorance to date…
1. Social Science: Making excuses for being late:
Oh yeah, great idea! Teach me all about how alcohol, drugs and sex will turn me into a hollow husk of a human devoid of any and all trace of hope – but neglect to teach me how to make even the most basic of excuses! Clearly this has a profound impact on every single day of your adult life…and is something which should be taught in schools from a young age.
Less is more, remember that. So claiming you were late to your best friend’s wedding because you are actually an elf who had to assist in a battle against the hordes of evil who threatened to enslave all of Middle Earth…his new wife included – is probably a little too much. You should go for nothing too ridiculous, but also something they can’t argue against for fear of looking like a horrible person; so maybe you helped a blind person across the road, or you helped a crying child find his lost mother, or you have diahorrea (no one ever contests that).
You could always try the truth I suppose: “I am late because I really don’t want to be here, and was honestly hoping to cancel but couldn’t come up with a good enough reason. Also I hate your face, it grosses me out.” Although it should go without saying that use of this method should be attempted sparingly, and with extreme caution.
2. Languages: How to talk to people without looking weird:
It’s taken for granted that we will just magically pick up these skills as we go along, thatching together what we think is a presentable personality and manner, but really having no clue at all. Like how much grunting and hair smelling is acceptable around strangers? No one ever told me!
I, like everyone else – just do my best with severely limited proficiency…there’s a lot of smiling and nodding…a lot of “haha, yeah”s, and even more deafening silence – that is until I can’t take the charade any longer and decide to let loose. Aka: be myself…and it is in that moment that I am considered weird – ah well.
Oh, and there would also have to be a module on oversharing, and how it is something that is best avoided…I mean, just because it is happening to you doesn’t mean you need to tell the whole universe about it…we get it you are at the zoo, we get it you really don’t like cranberry sauce, we get it you are an attention seeking drama-queen intent on boring the entire global population to death – jheeez.
3. Geography: How to locate and deal with a knobhead:
I like maps, erosion, and sediment charts as much as everyone else! But to be honest there are more pressing and more problematic problems we must contend with! And they are more often not fuelled by knobheads…or assholes, dickheads, douchebags, mean poo-poo heads – whatever you want to call them! So if there were some way in which we could locate such people then we would all save a lot of time and heartache in the process…
It sounds a little too Nazi for most people, but perhaps some kind of badge or brand could be applied? Then it would make it easier to locate those who are up to no good…so we’d know not to hire that guy to fix your dear old grandmother’s sink who will inevitably try to steal money from her purse (he has the knobhead brand on his forehead after all) – and we’d take on the guy without it instead. We wouldn’t get in the relationship with the serial cheater, or mistakenly go on a date with a violent racist…we would actually see a lot less of the annoyance on social media too…
With that said, any school who was to teach this…yeah, shut that thing down immediately. I don’t want to be responsible for Hitler mark II.
4. Physical Education: Movie style fight scenes:
It is everyone’s dream to enter into a Fist of Fury type of altercation…where you go all Matrix on the bad guys and pull off an amazing Mortal Kombat type of finisher that has everyone in awe…
But the sad reality is that normal people don’t get much practice beating people to death in unusual and fascinating ways…largely because they are law-abiding citizens who are just trying to get to work, pay into a pension, or get to Starbucks before it is too busy. So it’s the criminals who get all the practice, hence why they are so damn good at it!
But the world is quite a horrendous place at the best of times, and many people are rightly scared…however if there was even the most basic self defense class taught in schools people would stand a better chance defeating those which disgrace humanity; muggers, rapists, and people asking if you want to do a survey.
5. English: When and where swearing is applicable:
I find it rather odd that schools come down so heavy on swearing as far as I can remember…but are so dogmatic when it comes to doing monotonous and drab lessons that demand the use of such language – it’s almost like a test in itself; which one will say “fuck this shit!” first? Hmmm…double maths and then a chemistry lesson, yeah let’s really mess with him!
Personally I think language is just a collection of words. And words can have many different meanings, and it is really how you use it rather than what exactly you are saying – just go to any English football game and watch tearful men with shaven heads screaming “you beautiful cunt!” at a player who has just netted a hat-trick for their team…are they trying to ridicule and humiliate him? I don’t think so.
So I guess what I’m saying is that swearing is okay most of the time! It adds spice and humour – enthusiasm and passion; and I didn’t really need school to fucking teach me that. (Perhaps refrain a little around your mother, kids, and old ladies – don’t be the aforementioned knobhead).
6. Mathematics: Removing yourself from awkward equations:
My struggle with mathematics is well documented – and continues to be a great source of difficulty. Well actually no, it would be if everything wasn’t automated, and done through electronics these days…
“John you won’t always have a calculator with you, you know?!” Well, how wrong you were Mrs. Martin! Even if I am a little bit sorry that I didn’t pay more attention…
Anyway, the lack of ability in coping with awkward situations is much more detrimental to our mental health and quality of life than algebra and long division ever will be. That guy at the bus stop asking which type of cheese is best to put in your bath…the stranger massaging your back out of the blue on the subway…or when a kid asks you where babies come from – all of these and more are a constant struggle. And one which I still feel ill-equipped to deal with at all…if only there had been a lesson to steer me in the right direction…
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And there are many reasons for this as it is such a vivid combination of so many arts; cinematography, music, sound design, editing, storytelling, acting…they all play a part in this unparalleled form of expression. It also possesses the sufficient wizardry required to transport us to faraway places and times – both physically and mentally…we can also experience a character’s life and gain an insight into their point of view, however wacky and odd their personality may be. This can serve to make us more accepting, and less prejudice people…or more unaccepting and discriminatory people – with great films comes great power, and (often) well…irresponsibility.
For a quick example I watched the new James Bond film recently (Spectre), and I found myself nodding along like…“yeah…yeah…I AM in essence 007!” I mean I like clothes, travel, and alcohol – also I’m not a huge fan of overpowering authority figures – the only mark against is that I don’t shoot people for money: but that’s only a minor part of the whole movie franchise, so there we go! I am Bond, James Bond: and I don’t want to hear any arguments about it…
In other news my kindergarten kids have just got into Star Wars…I suppose they’ve been playing it on the TV recently, what with the new one coming out next month – and we’ve been delighting in having non-stop lightsaber battles throughout the duration of the day. I’ve also realised that I am more than likely closer to the dark side than most would say is normal…case in point I have been delighting in killing my six year old Jedi students with my force lightning ability. I mean someone has to be the Sith bad guy – and the red swords are a lot better looking…and yeah, yeah, I know I will eventually lose – but at least I get to look cool while doing it…
It’s always been this way though: perhaps I’m easily influenced, but there’s never been a time I can remember where films and their characters haven’t played a pivotal role in either how I want my life to be, or who I wish to be as a person. And naturally I haven’t adopted these roles entirely like some mad life-long method actor – but rather I have just absorbed certain elements which I then begin to endorse…case in point with The Lord of the Rings I became aware through Gimli that running for long distances wasn’t fun – and with Merry and Pippin, that second breakfasts were not something to be embarrassed about. And in Dumbo I learned that if you drink too much bloodthirsty pink elephants will appear in a frenetic dream sequence intent on killing you. All of these things are totally necessary, and I’m thankful for the world of film for enlightening me in so many ways…
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this ramble…would love to hear of some characters and movies which you have enjoyed – especially ones I haven’t heard of! Always on the hunt for a new favourite!
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The other day I laughed like I haven’t done in months…and it wasn’t from a well-crafted and intelligent political barb either, or an amusing satirical comment on Western society’s culture – or anything else that demands some level of brain activity to “get” – no…it was a lot more simple and pure than all of that, but not any less meaningful. Well, maybe a little…
Anyway it was undoubtedly something silly; and it came about by me walking into a classroom, and coming across a rather strange sight – a small hunched character who couldn’t have been more than five or six years old. It was one of those moments where it takes a few seconds to take it all in and process…
You see this kid had pushed his shoulders up, and his head down – basically eliminating his whole neck…making him look vaguely reminiscent of both Frankenstein’s monster and a penguin with a spinal problem at the same time. To keep the shoulders in shape he was forced to waddle as he walked to maintain composure…and felt it was necessary to emit a few R2-D2 style “BOOP-BAP-BEEP”s every now and again, which (thanks to his missing front teeth) had an eerie and creepy sound to them…this was all probably necessary though, just to remind people he was still there circling the table.
I also noted that he would occasionally outstretch his right hand slightly as if reaching for an imaginary walking stick which he had sadly misplaced…which led me to believe this was perhaps an older Frankenstein’s monster penguin model. But that was of course an assumption I am still yet to verify. Either way I felt in my heart of hearts that if I had some spare teeth lying around I wouldn’t hesitate to offer them to this bizarre yet amusing creature, he was just trying to live dammit – and seemed like a pretty nice guy.
There was just something about the whole spectacle which made me burst out laughing, and as he inevitably began to giggle too the shoulders began to droop slowly but surely…and the beeps turned into baaps, and the baaps quickly turned into “ba-ha-ha-ha”s. Before I knew it we were both in hysterics with laughter, and so the rest of the kids in the class took the baton: copying the same character, busily circling the table with their now neckless bodies.
Such little weirdos, seriously!
But it made me think though…where do we lose this? And when…and WHY?! Because I know I still behave like this – but I’m seen largely as stupid, childish, or immature (there are other words but it’s a family show). However I do feel like if we were all a little more like this, just having fun and amusing both ourselves and each other…then life would be that little bit more enjoyable. In other words if the elderly had as much of a laugh imitating children as these kids had imitating the elderly then this world would be a lot less dreary.
All I know is I’m writing a mental note to do the Frankenstein’s monster penguin shuffle at age 93. Don’t let me forget…okay? Even if I scream at you to get off my lawn and begin a rant about “kids these days”…make me do it.
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It seems more and more common in this day and age to force ourselves to do things which we know to be uncomfortable, or in some cases totally impossible…
We sign up for classes in which you actually pay money to jump up and down until you feel like your intestines are about to fall out…we buy books and download language apps – promising ourselves we will be fluent in French, Chinese, and Elvish in one year…we say we’ll never drink again: but the thing is this kind of talk is as far from reality as Legolas himself – it’s a complete fantasy land, or at the most too much of a pain in the arse to ever be worth it. But it’s this whole “no pain, no gain” mentality that pushes us on, as if it only really counts as an achievement or a success in the end if you suffered, cried, and almost died to get it. But why is that? Why do we have to have a horrible time for it to be something worthwhile – what ever happened to just enjoying life?
I’m rambling, I know, I know. I’m just upset because amidst the Halloween celebrations on the weekend I overdid it and spent an absolutely monstrous amount of money…and I’ve being hating myself ever since because I was trying to force myself to save money for next year’s travel budget. I was planning on living like a monk – very minimalist; perhaps I would treat myself to a sprinkle of salt over plain uncooked rice every now and again – but aside from that it would be a rather grim and unexciting existence, days spent staring at blank walls to avoid being suckered into buying things, refusing to listen to music in case Jay Z convinces me to splash out where I know I shouldn’t.
But apparently when I dress up as a vampire I become an entirely different person, like a Jekyll and Hyde transformation…and suddenly I’m buying people I don’t like drinks, and announcing it’s no big deal that guys have to pay double the amount that girls do into clubs (I mean, what?! Why?!) I almost had a heart attack the next day looking at my bank balance – and then ate some bacon to make myself feel better, so a real one may be coming any day now…that’s not a lofty target, that’s just science unfortunately.
I need to set realistic goals, as does everyone else – making huge claims and promises are all well and good…but normally you’re never going to meet a finish line which you have placed a million miles away, it’s just not going to happen. So I’m rethinking my savings forecast and being a little more lenient, allowing for splurges here and there…whenever Count Drac decides to surface for large pizzas, imported ales, and tequila shots: hate and love that guy. In the meantime I will try and take on a little more work to make up the difference financially, after all it is true that most good things don’t come easy, but all work and no play makes Jonny and Drac very dull boys indeed.
To put it simply: pain and barely any gain – just make a person insane; so don’t be so hard on yourself.
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I often notice that spending a night in an igloo is on quite a few people’s bucket lists…and I think it’s clear why this may be; after all it’s out of the ordinary, a one off experience, and at the very least there’s potential for fun (if not frostbite and/or hypothermia.)
As children we see drawings, cartoons, and photographs of these strange and snowy lands…and the igloo is a constant if not integral feature of this setup – it fills young and old minds alike with wonder as to whether the inside is warm and toasty…despite being made completely of chunky slabs of ice. I mean surely it is right, or how would people survive the bitter cold?!
Well while I was in Finland I was lucky enough to get to spend a night in one…it was a now or never situation as soon the slightly hotter March temperatures would melt them to the ground. So of course it was a yes without much hesitation. I had some slight reservations mind you, so I piled on all of the clothes I had just in case (glad I did), from socks, to long-johns…hats, scarves, gloves…jackets, body warmers – the lot! I ended up looking like a cross between the Michelin man and a greasy German sausage; the only skin showing being my pink chubby face and my constantly snivelling wet dog-like nose…
I went in with a friend I worked with, and my older sister: and we began to note how the outside looked rather bizarre, like a goblin barbarian camp – not sure where that idea came from, but it just looked otherworldly, you know? A long way from the winding uniform streets of my hometown, the clanging of old clock towers, and the hustle and bustle of the bus schedules. Here there were strange ice huts, looking completely different to the post-card type of igloos my imagination had always held on to…instead they were draped in the skins of dead animals, and held together with strange sharpened wood…I could have sworn I had witnessed something similar in one of The Lord of the Rings movies – but anyway, I digress…
I was first into the igloo and threw myself straight into the center – meaning I was going to be a lovely cosy hamburger pattie with two agitated (and rather jealous) human bread-buns on either side…I had to ignore that and think of the bigger picture though: there was now a much lower chance of me freezing to death that night – try not to judge please, sometimes in the arctic wilderness you have to be savage like that:
The inside was just as bizarre as the outside and almost as cold; so I got straight into a sleeping bag still fully clothed like Joey on that episode of Friends – and then from my little cocoon surveyed the whole area…as my sister kicked me in the side and made every excuse under the sun as to why she should get to be in the middle as opposed to me. No sale.
The place was adorned with even more animal skins, and there were a number of candles scattered sporadically around the outer ring – probably serving as both ways to warm as well as to add a little more quaint beauty to the otherwise sinister looking unlicensed fur store…I mean sure they were relatively comfy, but it made me feel slightly sadistic to be lying on Rudolph and all of his other now dead pals…
Anyway, I tried to forget about how some of Christmas had died just to keep my bum comfortable – and actually started to warm up a little…was still shivering though – so we passed around a bottle of the Finish spirit Minttu, hoping slurps of it’s 40% alcohol charm may work wonders and ease some the discomfort. It sort of did…we then fell asleep sometime after that whilst talking about the stars, the animal furs, and of course – the horrendous cold which was mostly all we could think about:
I woke up the next morning warm and toasty though! Well all apart from that small opening I had for my face…which was now covered in frost on my eyelashes, and bogey icicles from my nose – but hey, at least the rest of me was okay – who needs a face anyway? Not me!
But there was one monumental problem…I had to pee…desperately. And that would mean both going outside and leaving my lovely cosy cocoon, as well as potentially losing out on my commanding human hamburger position – this could not happen, no way…there was just too much on the line, the pee would have to wait. So I thought of other things…like…snow, ice, water…and…urgh…forget it…
As soon as I stepped out the -20°C temperatures hit me like a steam train and I knew that there was no getting back to my previous state – the other two were up now anyway, complaining about me leaving the door open (ooops) and the fact that they had to go to work in ten minutes…whereas I had managed to arrange a late start: “you sneaky bastard! How did you get that?! Totally not fair!” – this meant I could get my stuff together, brush off all of the animal hair (which was no small task!) and head back to the “Santa House”
as it was known, and get some solid sleep in a real bed…within, you know: four solid non-ice walls.
Sometimes it’s the little things in life. Like, not dying of hypothermia. Know what I mean? Still a fun experience and one I would recommend to anyone! But…just make sure you pack a bottle or two of that Minttu, it really does work wonders.
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John Lee Taggart 