Slow News

Looking at the date on my watch, it's been a full 12 13 days since the last time I published anything.  How awful!  I have been alternately depressed and busy over the preceding fortnight, so there's that.  I have been thinking about what I should write about, but not really hitting any bulls eyes:

• I have a new phone now and I have no idea what I'm doing
• How the hell did a Bejeweled clone take over Facebook
• What I'm going to do with The Scholary when everybody else leaves
• How much I hate everything and what that actually means

I think you get the point.  It's been a dry fortnight, shall we say, with very little exciting happening and then DESPAIR and then A NEW PHONE and then back to absolutely nothing again.  And now we're here!

There's little new to report, and that's the problem.  Another week of unsuccessful job applications and aborted attempts at asking people on dates, and then last Thursday I had the closest I've come to a complete breakdown when I lost my wallet and basically just lost it and ended up rocking backwards and forwards in the Cathedral Office and stammering so badly that I legitimately had to reassess my vocabulary and restart sentences so I could avoid whatever syllable I was stuck on it was awful I wanted to die.  I mean honestly, how can one little tiny thing that goes wrong like that upset me so much?  I think I apologised to everybody about ten bloody times after I found the offending item in the interior side of the reclining sofa (who no longer reclines).  Vomit.  I mean seriously...

Okay, but the next day, excitingly enough, I finally sorted out a new mobile telephone.  Instead of upgrading to a Windows 8 handset (which actually I rather fear I should have), I now have a top-of-the-line Android handset, the Sony Xperia Z.  And I almost have absolutely no idea what I'm doing.  It's been...what?  5 days already, so I'm blundering my way through, although it is one hell of a fag getting all my contacts over (and I'm sure that there's some that have been missed out anyway).  Of course, the Sony has two things that I really wanted out of a phone and that's a good camera and the option of expandable storage... The only Windows 8 phone with anything approaching both is the expensive and difficult to find Samsung Ativ S.  One thing I've noticed is this insane hardware arms race with phones nowadays, even more so that home videogames consoles - I'm pretty sure my phone now has more RAM than my laptop, the HD touchscreen, 13.1 Megapixel camera blah blah... Of course, there isn't anything that has Windows 8 in it that can come close, hardware-wise, let alone when you get to the whole waterproof thing.  It's early days. 

Maybe Android will grow on me, much like black mold grows on anything left alone for too long in the Scholary Kitchen.  It's a shame I have swapped out really, as Windows Phone is a pretty good mobile OS.  Microsoft really need to get their finger out and actually get the more popular applications like Instagram and more app support across the board generally.  Too many websites have links to iTunes and Google Play alone, without the Windows Marketplace alongside.  As for the hardware race?  One of the things I noticed about the running speeds of my old and new handsets is that I can hardly notice anything at all.  What Windows did was great, press the back arrow enough times and the apps shut down, they're not shuffled to the back like on the Xperia and have to be closed manually, which may well be the cause for Android getting beefier hardware.  The Windows desktop is tiles that rotate, not up to 7 homescreens with widgets that rotate in 3D.  It doesn't need to have huge amounts of power to run, because it's optimised down.  Although at this rate I'll be on course to pick up a Windows Phone 9 handset once this contract is over... I'll be talking about phones again later this week.  I know how exciting that must be.

Something else I've been puzzled with recently is the appearance and the supposed "addictiveness" of 'Candy Crush Saga', a Bejeweled clone that has taken over Facebook, phones, people's lives, taken their children away &c &c... And I just don't get it!  Sure, it's a fine game to burn a half hour on, but other than that I don't really see it.  I am only truly addicted to one game, and I have to be careful when I choose to play it - this year's tour to Sweden will see hours stacked away YES BECAUSE I MEAN TETRIS.  I actually have to limit myself because it's just too easy to get sucked in to beating my score all the time.  I don't go by the string of numbers, I go by line count, and I currently stand at 192.  I swear to God, and you as my witness that by September 2013, I will have broken the 200 barrier.  I may have to sacrifice higher brain function, but whatever, I don't care.  Where was I?  Oh yes, Candy Crush Saga.  Where a cheap story line has been wrapped around some colourful graphics laid over the top of the 12 year old Bejeweled engine.  Okay, maybe it isn't the same on before any sort of copyright action takes place, but the process is exactly the same.  Match three of the same symbols to blast them off the board, BUT WAIT WIKIPEDIA HAS MORE TO SAY ON THE MATTER where in fact this concept comes from a Russian game, Shariki, programmed in 1994.  That's older than this generation of school leavers.  So that's why it's so addictive.  Another great game from the frozen north! 

So, almost 20 years of colour-matching later and it's finally taking over Facebook.  I wonder what message lies therein?  If you want a good game that's simple and eats up your every living second, call Russia, circa 1984 to 1994?  In a world where the hardware war between console generations is reaching simply ridiculous heights of power and realistic, High Definition graphics rendering, it doesn't half amuse me that things like Candy Crush and even Temple Run are so popular and addictive - perhaps a necessary tonic to the sheer power of console and PC gaming.  As for me, I'm playing my way through the Legend Of Zelda: The Wind Waker again, and bar the ridiculous sea journey aspect of it (which is roughly half the game), it's just great fun.  The actual dungeon design and combat improvements over the legendary Ocarina of Time and the brain-bending Majora's Mask are really well done.  Not bad for a game over 10 years old.  It may well be showing its age, but it's still really just a fun game.  It's a Nintendo thing, really.  They got out of the hardware arms race with the launch of the Wii, and have continued on their business plan with the WiiU. 

Maybe I did have a lot to say after all?  Don't worry folks, I still haven't forgotten about how much I hate everything (and what that really means), which will form the core of a future post, probably alongside the fate of The Scholary.  For now though, I shall retire... But not for too long.  Honest.

Are you there God? It's me, Khan.

Okay okay I knew there was something else that I was supposed to complain about last week.  I've just been reminded by happening upon a short review of the new Superman picture, Man of Steel, starring Henry Cavill in the eponymous role.  Another serious, gritty reboot of a franchise that's decades old just as a film series, let alone the original appearance if the character in the 1930s.  Let's get things straight, I haven't seen Man of Steel, but I think I will.  I might even...

...No, I couldn't.  Anyway. 

It hasn't taken me long following a few links to find out that a sequel has already been fast-tracked.  What?  Already?  What the hell you guys.  This is the heart of my final problem with Star Trek Into Darkness, and I'm so glad that I remembered it because I knew that when they killed Kirk...thay couldn't really kill him.  The main cast for the new Trek have signed on for three movies.  Three movies!  Another Trilogy!  This wasn't like the early 80s and the original cast, where tensions between the studio and Leonard Nimoy in particular had grown to a fever pitch.  To begin with, Nimoy wanted an out, which is why they kill Spock off within the first ten minutes of Wrath of Khan.  It survives from an early draft where it was permanent.  Of course, it became the bait-and-switch we know and love and weep over, but really...we could have seen the true 'end' of Spock right there and then.  Nimoy pulled the eternal "I'll come back if you let me do whatever I want" card, took a pay rise and ended up directing the next two films: The Search for Spock and The Journey Home (or Star Trek: Save the Whales).  The relationship between Leonard Nimoy and William Shatner played a big part in all this, which you can find exposited at some length in Shatner's book, Star Trek Movie Memories.  It's the companion piece to Star Trek Memories, the latter of the two detailing his experiences on set in the Original Series, and touching on his acting career before being flung into space.  I really like Bill Shatner anyway, and these informative, amusing and highly illuminating books (alongside Get a Life! and Up til Now, his autobiographies) are firm favourites.  

I'm getting away from the point though.  The final reason why basically Kirk's death in Star Trek Into Darkness is completely empty is because of the widely publicised fact that the cast had signed on for a three picture deal.  They can't kill off the Captain!  Not if he still has another film to star in!  It's a no sweat operation.  As soon as I realised this, sat there like some sort of hot mess, I immediately got what little shit I have together and rationalised that they would find some sort of magic McGuffin to...oh yes there it is KHAN'S BLOOD YOU KNOW THE STUFF THAT RESURRECTED THE TRIBBLE (nice reference to The Trouble with Tribbles, huh?  Almost as good as the DS9 episode where they go back in time and Benjamin Sisko becomes the first black man in space and meets Kirk with some top-notch editing).  This is it, the final key.  Not content with playing the pivotal moment almost beat for beat, we have already been cheated out of the consequences.  When they killed Spock, you had to wait two years for the next film, and even then his character only remembers himself at the very end of the film, none of this ten minutes rubbish.

The whole sequence is bereft of the emotional weight and significance of the original.  Everything will be fine, because if they killed him for keeps what would the third film be?  The Search for Kirk?  It is illuminating, finding vox-pop style quotes from not just William Shatner but also George Takei about the difference between this 'Nu-Trek' and their Star Trek.  It seems that a lot of heart has simply gotten lost.  Of course, things are different now we have the internet and the sheer size of the film industry the world over is much larger than it was in the 80s - the budget for Star Trek II was a mere 11.2 million dollars, comapred to the $190 million for Into Darkness.  This isn't hitting out so much, but merely commenting on how much easier it is to get hold of information about any film these days if you have an internet connection.  I myself used to scour one particular site for news on the Transformers sequels daily for anything I could possibly learn.  The upshot of this was that I had discovered enough clues to piece together enough of the plot to Dark of the Moon, along with the very spoiler-heavy TV spots to basically predict what would happen.

Sorry.  I just get a little animated about how everything gets turned into trilogies at the moment.  Don't think I'm detracting from the performances on screen as well: not only were they highly enjoyable, but critically very convincing and believable.  Once you can get the audience to believe in your performance, of course, they are in the palm of your hand.  The little domestic sequence in the flying Hamburger really zings back and forth, before Spock ends it with what basically amounts to a Holocaust-style reference to the death of Vulcan.  It's tense, and importantly, it's emotional.  I'm getting away from the point again though!  Let's face it though, three is a good number.  Even though I'm a gently lapsing gamer, I can still name a few trilogies off the top of my head - Metroid Prime, Halo (now moving into a second trilogy), the Batman Arkham series, Fallout... Also Sam Raimi's Spiderman trilogy and Christopher Nolan's Dark Knight trilogy... And Michael Bay's Transformers (also moving into a second trilogy)!  Having a trilogy is fashionable, it seems.  Of course, the original trilogy is and always will be Star Wars, the epic saga of the Skywalkers, which is itself set to become a trilogy of trilogies (a meta trilogy?), the first new film of which is to be released into the wild in 2015, directed than none other than Mr. Lens Flare himself, J. J. Abrams. 

There's just something inevitable and slightly disappointing now every time I see that a trilogy is planned or optioned or whatever... Like film makers see it as a no-fuss ticket to big bucks.  A license to print money.  I suppose it's also connected to the subject of rebooting film franchises, especially comic book movies: the first film deals with the new interpretation of the origin story, and then a story arc is started, picked up in the second film and concluded in the last of the three.  But sometimes, it seems like a trilogy for the sake of it.  Like The Hobbit!  Yeah.  The fact that that's been spun out into a trilogy is kind of... Well, it almost seems like a waste.  Sure Lord of The Rings (especially the extended cuts) makes a hefty trilogy, where each film is worth two books.  But where three films is one book, especially a book that's much smaller?  Hmm.  I'm almost kind of glad that Hellboy never made it into a third film...

Is this the end of my Wrath of Wrath of Khan?  I doubt it.  I haven't even approached the issue of 'whitewashing' Khan, because that has no real impact on what I have to say.  I'm sure there'll be another one of these posts once I've seen Man of Steel, although from what I've read already it doesn't quite slavishly homage the older films with the inimitable Christopher Reeve.  Don't forget guys that 2006's Superman Returns, as deep into homage territory as it went was also a kind of sequel to the older film series as a whole.  Who knows whether Man of Steel will be spun out into a trilogy, or perhaps the third film of its lineage will be the first act of the Justice League idea that's been floating about even before The Avengers (Jesus there were so many different titles for wherever that film was released I can't even be bothered picking one)? 

To finally conclude, I obviously feel pretty passionately that a huge oppourtunity was missed here.  Rather than go for the 'go-to' sequel idea of the most lauded Star Trek Villian ever, they could have done something completely different.  Heavens, they could have brought V'Ger back instead!  The lack of imagination is... Disappointing.  You know, they could have left Khan out of it until the third film, where the Botany Bay went undiscovered, crash landed on a planet (killing 9 of the augments), leaving Khan and the surviving 72 on board to conquer the planet and be discovered by the Federation in the future - with wildly different consequences.  Oh well.  I suppose I can wait for the next reboot.

...Khan?

Since first seeing it some... Oh I dunno, thee weeks ago, I've gradually been coming to terms with Star Trek Into Darkness.  Of course, this amazing summer movie has been nothing short of an event, whether you liked it or not.  The thing is, I absolutely fucking loved it.  Went to the cinema, saw it in 3D, waved my arms about, probably shouted out loud a few times, and cried at the appropriate moments.  I did say I was going to see it again and take notes on all the 'Old Trek' universe references, but the time has been and gone and it's now no longer on at The Plaza on the cheap night.  What I did do however, was track down the classic 1967 episode of The Original Series Space Seed.  I don't really need to watch Star Trek II Wrath of Khan again (it's not a necessity at least), because various parts of that film are BURNED INTO MY MIND AND WILL NEVER GO AWAY.  Because of being steeped in Trek history, I basically have three major problems with the film:

• The emotional crux of the film is essentially empty
• Not only is it empty, but it becomes a race for the McGuffin
• It is one reference after another and cherry picks elements from the above mentioned Khan stories
  

 Also a really funny thing I came across in one of trawls through the internet is that this film is like the John Harrison Ford action movie Raiders of the Lost Ark, where the film opens with the protagonist being chased by angry natives, and closes with the superweapon being safely locked away... Who says Hollywood has run out of plots?  Anyway.

Are you sitting comfortably?  Are you ready to hate me, possibly yourself and maybe everything you know already?  Let's go then.  Don't worry though!  Because I hate absolutely everything already, so I am way ahead of you.  DID I MENTION I WILL SPOIL LITERALLY EVERYTHING IN THE FILM JESUS CHRIST YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE EVEN READ THE TITLE.
 We open to a brilliantly shot set-piece with Bones and Kirk pegging it through a jungle away from spear-toting natives, cut with Sulu and Uhura in a shuttle, about to dangle Spock (dressed as a disco ball) into a Volcano.  Turns out the Enterprise has been sat in the sea for the best part of two days, on a self-ordained mission to rescue the planet from the cataclysmic eruption of said volcano, by dropping a cold fusion bomb that freezes the eruption.  The one important moment in this section is where we end up with Spock stranded in the volcano READYING HIMSELF TO DIE after the immortal line 

• "The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few... Or the one."
  

FORESHADOWING no?  Anyway, it wouldn't be much of a film (seeing as this is an impersonation of Wrath of Khan rather than The Search for Spock) if they killed Spock off before the opening titles, so of course, they raise the leviathan from the waves and rescue the green blooded son of a bitch.  We know that this isn't the only Star Trek sequel that does the old bait-and-switch on Spock dying.  For once we get to see the great and mighty ship in the atmosphere, which is something I really liked!  I remember that they put landing gear on the crate in Voyager, but I only saw the one episode where they landed the big ship?  There may be more, I didn't see every single one.


Okay.  We get introduced to 'John Harrison', the man with the magic blood (remember that).  The ultimate expression of Sherlock Holmes - cold, calculating, intellectually superior, misanthrophic, a gifted tactician and a talented combatant.  Just say if you know any old Star Trek, just say, who else do you know fits all those categories?  No... It can't be him?  Anyway.  He orchestrates the explosion of some super-secret research facility in the basement of London, not a stone's throw from Wren's St. Paul's OF COURSE IT'S STILL THERE Seriously guys they still have red buses.  Sherlock also performs a daring assault on Starfleet high command (only seconds after the comedy block-head Kirk works out why they've all been gathered there on that day ahead of everyone else in Starfleet including Spock) before beaming off to the Klingon Homeworld when Captain First Officer Kirk knackers up his snub-nose starfighter (transworld beaming because Starfleet pinched the transwarp equation without crediting Scotty - some sort of satire on Intellectual Property rights I think), only moments before Kirk swears REVENGE.  The Wrath of Kirk!  After a tense meeting with Admiral Marcus, as portrayed by Robocop (check the desk out for yet more classic references), Kirk gets his Captaincy restored, his Spock returned, the Enterprise given back... and orders to kill 'John Harrison'.  Further to this, the Enterprise is armed with 72 super-secret long range proton photon torpedoes (does that number mean anything?).  When this magic missile payload appears in the engineering section, Scotty won't sign for them!  Not at this address mate!  He's not happy because they won't let him look at the secret ingredients.  The upshot of this is that Scotty gets kicked off the Enterprise, complete with his little wee Ugnaut man.  This frees him up to advance the plot later on after being absent for at least an... hour?  In his place, Eastern European stereotype Chekov stands in.  Alongside the torpedoes arrives Carol Wallace, who occupies the 'fit bird eyecandy' character archetype, that all Sci-Fi must have.  When they reach Qo'noS, holding position miles out with the magic missiles pointing at 'Harrison' Ford, while Kirk, Spock and Uhura (with two redshirts) dress up as smugglers and fly the Kessel Run in a prototype for the Millennium Falcon.  Spock and Uhura have a full on domestic in the flying Hamburger. While all this is happening, Sulu is sat in the captain's chair (Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country, anybody?  Sure, it's no Excelsior...)


Another high-speed fight scene gets cut, with the mirror universe Klingons... who look just like their Prime Universe (thankfully.  Right?) counterparts, which starts to get pretty hairy...until Sherlock appears and literally just kills the shit out of everybody who isn't in the principal cast.  He surrenders instantly after a grueling battle once he learns the exact number of torpedoes pointed at him.  Why?  Why would such a furious badass simply yield in a heartbeat like that?  What importance does the number 72 have?  And then Kirk punches him alllllllllllllllllllll day without Holmes even flinching.  They drag him back to the Enterprise where it is finally revealed that yes, Sherlock Holmes IS Peter Guillam!  Ho ho!  Of course, he is Khan Noonien Singh, the most dangerous of all the despotic genetically modified human beings from the Eugenics Wars of the 1990s in the Star Trek Universe (multiverse?).  Remember, the timeline only split when the Kelvin was destroyed at the start of the first film of this franchise.  Literally everything else up until that point was exactly the same - First Contact and even Enterprise is still canon at this point.  I hope you remember the models on the desk?  Not just another nod, for once. After the underplayed reveal, he soothingly rumbles about the torpedoes, what's inside them?  What's inside is a game changer, and explains why the SS Botany Bay  isn't in the film, because we discover that as well as a highly explosive payload, they each contain a cryo-stasis pod with Khan's crew safely tucked away!  Before this we see Carol Marcus Wallace in her underwear.  Phwoar.  It serves no narrative purpose.  Around this time, Khan gives Kirk a space postcode, which moves James Tiberius to call his friend and now free agent... Montgomery Scott!  Who is drinking whisky in a club.  He drives a shuttle craft over and discover a huge shipyard and manages to infiltrate... Dr. McCoy also takes a sample of Khan's blood.  Keep hold of that.

But it seems that this Khan is not a bad Khan?  It transpires that the Botany Bay was found in space, just like it was in the 'real' universe, but this time by Admiral "Robocop" Marcus.  Khan was awoken and used, used I say, to create weapons of mass destruction for space war (this is most unlike Khan Prime) with the Klingons.  Khan's crew are used as leverage by Marcus, and are included in the payload of each and every torpedo that was supplied to the Enterprise.  All of a sudden, loyalties are compromised.  A new ship appears, the USS Vengeance.  The captain is none other than Admiral Marcus, who is hunting down Khan as well.  Marcus orders that Khan be transferred aboard the Vengeance, as he is a war criminal and must be executed.  I've missed out part of the debate here (most of which happened before the torpedoes' cargo was discovered) but basically Kirk, rather than follow the orders of his Admiral, follows Spock's suggestion of bringing Khan to trial on Earth, a deeply legalistically ethical suggestion.  It's what Kant would have done.  Marcus, of course, doesn't like this one bit.  The Enterprise escapes at warp speed... But is chased down and fired upon!  This is a real surprise to see one ship not only caught up on but attacked while in hyperspace at warp.  It's really amazing on screen, make no mistake.  The Vengeance makes a fearsome noise.  Still, it adds up to make this Khan almost a sympathetic enemy at the least - yes, he may be the Khan of the Eugenics Wars, but so far he hasn't seemed to be trying to take control of the Enterprise and his crew are in danger and he has been kept prisoner and taken advantage of.  All things that can be sympathised with. 

Okay, let's relax on the whole plot synopsis here.  There's one point I haven't yet addressed which I'll get to, but I'm sure if you've seen it already you know what's happening, if you haven't seen it but don't mind finding out there are several, less cynical and more detailed synopses, and if you want to see it but haven't WHY THE HELL HAVE YOU GOT THIS FAR.  Let's get to the cut and thrust of this...review?  I dunno, but the climactic death scene.  As I said earlier, this film oscillates between Space Seed and Wrath of Khan, and by now it's definitely swung into the latter.  However, this is the mirror universe so it's not going to play out quite as you expect.  Or quite as you remember.  The Enterprise is wrecked, barely holding together in Earth's upper atmosphere.  The power's out, because the warp core is misaligned due to the preceding battle, and time is running out before the ship crashes and the crew liquidised by the force.  Thing is, Bones is in the Medical Bay, and Spock is strapped into the Captain's chair as per the space jump that Khan and Kirk did in order to infiltrate the USS Vengeance.  Scotty and Kirk are in Engineering.  So the usual "you can't go in it'll kill you!" happens, and Kirk... Punches Scotty out.  That's it.  Sits him in a chair, and puts his seatbelt on... and goes in the reactor chamber.  What.  Seriously.  Kirk goes off to his death.  Let's cut here.



Now, there are three critical things that raise Wrath of Khan above other Star Trek films primarily, and these are as follows:

• Ricardo Montalban straight up OWNING every line (the performance of a God)
• The Enterprise and the Reliant playing Battleships in 3 dimensions
• The death of Spock

Aside from this, the scenario where the crew are beginning to age (Kirk gets reading glasses for his birthday!) and the stirring faux-naval score really help the sort of campy atmosphere.  You will notice that Into Darkness has none of these things.  The 18 year gap between Space Seed and Wrath of Khan is almost exactly mirrored in real time, the episode coming from 1967 and the film from 1982. 

As noted earlier, this Khan does not think in three dimensions.  The superbly played and brilliantly tense final shootout between the Reliant and the Enterprise is at a stalemate...until Kirk remembers that unlike the sea, space operates in three dimensions (with which Khan is not experienced), and uses this to his advantage.  As a final act of bitterness, Khan, shattered and dying, makes one last-ditch attempt to vanquish his enemy by setting off the Genesis device before expiring.  The Enterprise limps away, but can't break into the run that Warp speed is because the warp core is misaligned.  Engineering is cut off due to the inhuman amounts of radiation pouring out of the warp core, and there's no way to get in... Or is there?  Not all of the crew are human, remember.  It is at this point that I start weeping with no sense of regret.  The only crew member who could biologically withstand the radiation is... Mr. Spock. 

Spock's self-sacrifice is the emotional climax of the movie.  It is Spock's Kobayashi Maru test - by his own admission.  He slips off quietly while everyone else is panicking, and gets it done.  Bones tries to stop him, but Spock nerve pinches him and then mind melds.  "Remember".  Of course, he manages to fix the vital component of the reactor in time for the Enterprise to escape, but fatally irradiates himself in the process.  His final breath is so touching not because it's Spock and Kirk, or the fact that they're in space or anything... It's seeing a man watch his best friend of almost twenty years die in front of him, totally unreachable.  The one person he needs, he can rely on is... just slipping away behind the glass.  Just give me a minute you guys.  I'll be okay.

This is where Wrath of Khan pulls ahead, because it's also about the way that their lives have changed through time.  This theme continues through all the original cast films, as the surviving cast of Star Trek TOS have a combined age that is greater than the Rolling Stones.  These guys in the mirror universe haven't even gone on their 5 year mission, they've known each other for all of 5 minutes, so the death of Kirk is deeply unfortunate and still pretty sad - rather than deliberately choose himself, he is the one man who makes the choice.  The emotional hook in this is remembering Spock's death, and, rather than the Captain being trapped inside the planet, it is in fact the mirror Spock who utters the famous scream before chasing Khan down on foot, so that famous Vulcan physiology gets referenced after all... After a fraught punch-up on aerial platform vehicles, Uhura gets beamed down and stuns the living shit out of Khan with a phaser.  They need him alive for (drum roll yes that's right it's McGuffin time) his magic blood!  If it can resurrect a tribble, it can resurrect a Kirk!  I have another problem with this, that I realised even in the cinema was there are 72 frozen supermen on board in Medical who have the same genetically superior blood.  They even turf one of the Botany Bay crew out of their cryo-pod in order to preserve the gradually decaying body of Kirk, so they can pump him full of Khan's blood... Whaaaaaat?  Why can't they use that one?  IT ALWAYS HAS TO BE KHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN.

And look at that.  Ten minutes later, (two weeks in the movie time) and we cut to Kirk in bed.  Laid up with a case of the Khans, he has miraculously recovered from being dead (just like that tribble earlier), and Khan himself is safely locked in his chiller cabinet with the rest of the surviving Botany Bay, who knows how long for this time.  The one thing I said I was going to come back to was when Kirk and Khan do their space jump (in which Khan saves Kirk's life no less!), he rings calls Spock Prime on Space Skype in order to ask him about Khan.  Khan is a bad man, and was only defeated "at great cost" (although this cost is not elaborated on).  Spock to Spock, we finally hear what we knew about Mr. Noonien Singh all along, "He is brilliant, ruthless, and he will not hesitate to kill every single one of you".  This brutality was seen on Qo'noS, and also in the corridors of the Vengeance, where Khan, Kirk and Scotty work their way up to the bridge where Khan has his showdown with Admiral Marcus.  During the course of this Mexican stand-off, it is finally revealed that Carol Wallace is in fact Carol Marcus, the Admiral's daughter and another classic Trek reference.  That's not terribly exciting, sorry. 

Even though I found the experience of watching Into Darkness deeply enjoyable and very exciting, I ultimately feel a little disappointed.  A plot jammed with elements from two old stories (one of which is a feature length resolution of the first), laced with top of the line special effects and visual set pieces, then mixed in with more references to classic Star Trek than  you can shake a stick at to keep it all together.  Lens flare does not replace character development.  Disappointed is the wrong term, too strong perhaps.  Underwhelmed?  Now I've had the time to think about it (and write it all out) especially.  I'll definitely watch it again, buy the DVD you know it, but still.  Having split the timeline in 2233, and planet Vulcan being destroyed in 2258, the alternate universe is different enough already, without comparing how much more emotional this particular Spock is: we see him and Uhura conduct a relationship in public, something that Nimoy's Spock would never do.  Chronologically speaking, there was no need to make Khan the villain of the piece, seeing as the film is set 8 years before the Prime crew discover The Botany Bay (or perhaps this is another repercussion of being on an altered timeline?) anyway.  I feel that it was a bit of a cheap shot using the exact same plot device in the shape of the damaged warp core.  Even down to the critical use of the word "friend".  By making Khan's blood the only thing that can save Kirk, they make the baddy into the source of their deus ex machina, and also make sure the other augmented humans are left inhuman by leaving them as the cryo-pods, basically.  However, the memorial presided over by Captain Kirk at the end of the film rededicates Starfleet's purpose: rather than prepare for war either in secret or openly, and the famous five year mission is finally launched.

A reboot like this would always be tough.  Imagine if they rebooted Star Wars like this, where perhaps... I dunno, Qui-Gon Jinn survives the lightsaber duel but Anakin Skywalker still becomes Darth Vader in a series of very strange but similar events?  Maybe it was some sort of attempt on the writers' and director's parts to make a statement that these characters are 'destined' to interact in this sort of way, regardless of where we find them.  Or maybe they wanted to put their spin on an established part of Trek history.  Or... I don't know.  Even though Wrath of Khan's no world beater itself, I think Into Darkness can't even dream of touching it.  Sorry, but Montalban beats Cumberbatch any day.

Oh, Khan.  For Hate's sake, I type my last words at thee.

One Whole Month

Right, three days late, let's finish this once and for all...

I discovered Blog Every Day in May purely by accident.  Having taken an unscripted two week break from the weekly blog round, I found myself apologising, disappointed that I had been defeated by a busy schedule and erratic mood patterns.  Sometimes it's difficult!  Sometimes I just think that perhaps there has been nothing worth writing about, which is kind of where BEDM started to look like a good idea: ready made titles just waiting to be filled in by me.  Rather than review the suitability of titles and how I might get on with them, (well, I looked at some and thought I might like them, but didn't really overthink it), I just dived in and started straight away.  Already a day behind, the maiden journey was posted past midnight on the 2nd.  

It's been... Interesting.  Sometimes it's been a real struggle, having to think about concepts that I wouldn't normally ever.  Things as simple as exclamations marks and favourite this or that are things I'm unfamiliar with.  Usually, following the pattern of being a day behind, I'd post at around 1am (technically the next day), which ended up being a more regular posting time than when I kind of got things together and clawed back the daily schedule and posted in the middle of the day, funnily enough.  Where I've missed out the title for the day I have subbed in with my own observation of how things are, one of which was far more popular than what I did with the prescribed.

Of course though, the obligatory stat-attack.  If there's one thing I do enjoy, it's telling everybody how much I've written, as anybody who was my Facebook friend while I was writing my dissertation with the daily updates will attest to.  I dimly remember putting a running total out about half way through the month, something to the order of... 12,000 words or so?  Anyway, let's hit it:

• Out of 31 titles there are 4 missing posts
• Over the course of May, I have written 32,308 words in total
• The average sentence length is 19 words.
• 17 out of 31 posts were published between Midnight and 3:30am
• There are in fact 31 published posts!
• Thanks to BEDM, this year has almost double the amount of posts that 2012 had, 2 less than 2011, and 10 more than 2010

This has been one hell of an undertaking.  I've written while drunk, worked through a hangover, queued posts, written two at the same time... all for free as well.  It's been enlightening, actually, and in a way quite pleasing - not only explaining how I managed to write my dissertation in 8 days, and giving me some sort of hope for the possibility of Masters or PhD level writing: if I can churn out an average of 1042 words a day without any real basic idea of what I'm doing before I start, then think about what I can do when I know?  The mind burbles.  I was asked whether I had thought about writing a novel by the time the third week had dawned, but it's a bit different.  Most of the time I have enough difficulty writing convincing and interesting narrative about what actually happens in my life, let alone that of completely fictional characters.  How would I make them believable when I have more than enough difficulty believing in myself?

I think I'll go back to my old weekly schedule now.  I did actually find myself struggling with coming up with enough to actually write some days, I guess you can't win 'em all, huh?  Seeing as I always write at least a 1000, and anything up to 2000 words for every post that goes out anyway, I suppose that these titles weren't designed to be written out so much.  A more mixed-media effort might have rescued a few titles, but I can't be bothered taking photos: having gotten used to technology that only works when I'm as patient as is possible - a weighty effort if ever.  While my laptop works much better nowadays, I still can't really be bothered.  I quite enjoy having a writing blog for writing, and have actually got out of the habit of taking pictures anyway - I haven't uploaded an album onto my Facebook for ages and ages, I should really get that sorted out...I don't think there's been anything serious since Christmas?  Oy.  Now and again I put single pictures, such as the latest round of self-shots and the recent poster.  

Only recently have I started to think seriously about blogging, as well.  Well...more like writing on the whole.  Having to think about moving out and finding new and permanent employment in order to actually afford to live in Truro; the Lay Vicars' remuneration is sadly less than enough to fund a flat.  Things are going to get very difficult for a little while before it call gets sorted out.  I can't pretend at all that I'm looking forward in any way to the tumult of having to move out for the fourth time in five year, let alone the upheaval of actually having to get a job and do some actual work...

Anyway.  You'll all be pleased to hear that I'll be taking a rest (I already have since the weekend, but I thought I'd best close the whole thing off once and for all), and back at the end of the week again.  Who knows what I'll have thought up by that time, as long as I've survived another of my infamous mother's visits...

Thanks for tuning in, and for your comments both sent to me up here and people who've got in touch personally.  There will be a much longer hiatus in store for us once I have to move out again, but hopefully this summer will be much more fruitful than the last one was.  But it's time to sign off for the last time and say farewell to the punishing madness that was Blog Every Day in May...

That's all.  For now.

Morning Ritual

To cut through a huge swathe of narrative already, my morning ritual revolves around the first tea of the day; if I miss it, I become some horrid abortion of humanity.  It isn't pretty.  Eucharist is ruined and I'm in danger of swearing at well, everybody, regardless of age or station.

I used to have a ritual pretty much set in stone when I was younger, and any deviation from it would result in TERROR and SCREAMING on my part and SIGHING and ROLLING OF EYES from whichever parental unit was in charge.  Always always breakfast first, then drink, then get washed and dressed.  Simple.  Should any part of that change, I would have a hissy fit of varying degrees, and generally be mardy for most of the day (no change there then).  Over the years, the routine has really basically never changed, only the things that make up each part.  Breakfast is still cereal (but never toast), followed by Tea (once Orange Juice but never coffee), followed by a shower (or sometimes just a shave), and then putting my suit on (or perhaps some shorts?).  In leaving the house, ready to take on whatever calamities that will be thrown at me, only steps 2 and 4 in that sequence have become completely imperative - without these I am without hope (and sometimes if I get up too late on a Sunday I have to miss out step 2, which makes me as grumpy as hell, as I'm sure my fellow Alto Lay Vicar can testify to).  Missing out on breakfast, while in strict opposition to my weight regime, is a survivable act.

Hiatus

Having neglected to complete this at any point yesterday has actually given me a chance to recognise when these rituals fall apart as well, i.e. this morning...

As I've gotten older (and had less help getting up, although my dear mother will ring me on occasion when requested), I have realised that actually, the world will not endand I will not die should any part of the above mentioned routine be broken at any point.  I used to get straight up nasty when I had to change it, especially if I hadn't chosen to do so at all.  Even now, having a shower before breakfast doesn't make me happy but I can survive!  Things at University sort of allowed me to get back to basics; either clawing back what little strength of mood that I could in second year, or sailing though those critical months of writer's block in third year (where I had little else to do but research and attempt to put some readable material on the page).  Either by having few responsibilities or sometimes choosing to avoid them when nobody else was dependent on me (shocking), I could return to my old habits, and not have to rush through them at that.  There's not much worse than not doing something properly because you don't have the time, right?  On the other hand, there's nothing quite like leaving things until the last minute to give you motivation, something I've clung to for years now (with equal amounts of success/failure along the way).

Anyway.  Nothing like oversleeping to test what really matters when you're supposed to be somewhere looking presentable, is there?  Oh dear.  Haaaa...
To my shame, I merely overslept.  No wild partying, no drinking, no seducing, no staying up chatting with people through the internet until 5am, just... Overslept.  How boring.  How pointlessly boring.  Even now I'm trying to think of more interesting things I could have done that would have justified waking up almost an hour later than I should have.  As you may have gathered, I have been working in the Cathedral Office 9-5 this week, in my on again off again role as Relief Secretary on the front desk.  Seeing as it's midterm, it's remarkably quiet, which is how I'm getting all this stuff typed up.  The PA to the Dean and Chief Executive knows I'm doing this as well, because, well, she asked!  In the meantime I'm still answering phones and sending emails and sorting post and photocopying as per the terms of what I should actually be doing.  Point being though that I still woke up 11 minutes after I was due to start.  Whoops. 

I spring into action much before conscious thought can establish itself and cause a short yet highly effective episode of panic.  What do I need to do in order to quick-start my humanity for the day?  Priorities: Make tea, but while the kettle's boiling, brush teeth, freshen the visage and wash glasses.  Once that's done, the kettle had boiled so I poured, and then hurried upstairs to brush my hair and sort myself out with my suit for the day, including this snazzy red bow tie I'm wearing.  I wear bow ties now.  Bow ties are cool.  Okay.  Once that's done and I've adjusted my tie, it's time to get... Wait.  Where are my keys?  Shit.  Small keys are on the keyboard so that's fine (I pick them up but put them in a different pocket)... Where are my big keys?  I don't need them today, but where the hell have they got to?  Drat.  I shake my raincoat on the way down the stairs for the familir chink of massed keys: good.  By this time, the tea is steeped to perfection (but maybe the tiniest bit too much milk), but before I reach the kitchen I pat my pocket to discover that clavis minor are not there OH GOD NO PLEASE NO I run halway up the stairs again to discover they have found home in at alternate pocket (what a simpleton).  Back on track, Tea stirred and de-bagged, I take the mug with me out the door and round the corner, ready to faces the good-natured ribbing of my colleagues and my eternal embarrasment... It wasn't even an epic error, like missing the day out, I'm not hungover or even sat here still drunk... How boring.

I will, of course, survive.  I know that turning up late is terribly unprofessional but we all make mistakes every now and again, and this was a genuine unforced error.  Would there have been any benefit of trying to formulate some lie as to why I was late?  It's far easier to accept the responsibilty of actually telling the truth.  Had I have woken up and arisen on time, I would have been able to have got some cereal to quench the fires of hunger that rage within me, not rushed through Tea prep and not put too much milk in.  I'm getting bogged down in details here but you get the point.  It's not so much that a shower was imperative today, more that I feel uncomfortable having been late.  My morning ritual is something I have worked on over the years to keep my feeling safe - just one of the almost innumerable strategies I use every day to make sure I can cope, and make sure nobody asks me any questions if I seem disquieted.  I know there are plenty of people that can postpone their rituals without feeling stressed about it, and to you I say "how do you do that that's amazing if only I could do the same".  Of course, seeing as I still get annoyed if I miss out, I obviously need to work on a back-up strategy for...well!  Times like this!

That's all.  For now.

Meta thoughts

I've just been talking about my blog, you know, in real life.  It still feels odd doing so, actually!  I've also been reading the wikipedia article on blogging too, specifically the 'Legal and Social consequences' part, which as I'm sure you can imagine, is very interesting...

I do not use a nom de plume, I self-promote all the time, of course, and I do talk freely about the things that happen in the places that I go, the people that I meet and work for and with.  In Norwich, it was easier to...project an air of anonimity to the people I was writing about.  On a University campus with any number of thousands of staff and students on-site at any one time, it was simple, coming up with names that reflected a person's character, or who they were to me rather than name names (although I'm sure the post about best friends in particular was almost completely transparent to those of you who have known me for a long, long time), that could have been interpreted in many ways.  The titles become symbolic.

However, that was Norwich, and this is Truro.  It's almost the case that everybody knows everybody round here, and a certain...bravery, perhaps straight up foolhardiness comes of commenting directly on the actions of other people (especially if it happens to be a derogatory light), because well... I'm sure it'll get back to them not just somehow, but probably quite soon.  But having a personal blog like this, almost a diary (except for the #BEDM rush), an identity published into the anonymity of the internet (I'm sure that I know most of my readership, especially you who text, tweet or engage me in public...but who could I know in Hungary who's reading?  Is it you?  Say hello!), I mean, there has to be a percentage of my audience that I may never meet, so none of the names or titles here will mean anything except for the association the reader themselves build thereon.   

Even though I've moved on from my formative diaries, there's still some cringeworthy stuff hidden deep away in the distant past; not just content but also in style.  I guess having to write daily instead of the weekly schedule I was clinging on to (barely at that) has forced me to practice.  It's still the same sort of stuff, but I find that hitting my stride in the post has become a little easier - it's not just what I write but the vocabulary and syntax of how I do it that matters, not just in media res, as well as the finished product.  If it isn't remotely enjooyable to read, even for me, it's scrapped.  31% of all my posts I've ever written are still in the draft stage.  There are a few that are complete: finished but not published, usually due to some nagging doubt in the back of my head, then left overnight, re-read and abandoned.  Sometimes I have stuck with my original title and completely changed the content, other times a retitle halfway through the process has served far better than a whole reset. 

Blogging every day in May has been quite hard.  Sometimes, coming home from perhaps Evensong and having to get the dinner ready, or considering going out (or even coming back half cut), thinking about having to write has sometimes been... a responsibility I have sometimes chosen to neglect.  Woah!  The 'r' word?  Sure, it's totally my choice to write to whatever schedule the hell I want it to be, but if I'm supposed to be writing every day then I should be writing.  I chose to take this challenge on.  Just like I chose to move out and go to University, and yeah sure there was the odd day where I was just paralysed by depression, but I didn't give up on that.  I had people who wouldn't give up on me as well, and more triumph has come out of those friendships than I could ever have guessed.  What about if it was my job to write though?  I definitely enjoy writing (or I wouldn't be doing so three years on) but I'm sure there are many journalists and copywriters out there who would love to swap out and be a Cathedral musician instead, I mean, the grass is greener on the other side after all. 

I don't really do pictures, either in my posts as a post in and of themselves, because writing in an extended fashion is how I engage with the blog.  I guess this is an opinion column, as much as a personal lifestyle web log, and while I do attempt to portray events that happen in quite a factual manner, I am aware that authorial intent is different to audience interpretation.  Thankfully, one's professional engagements so far have not brought any real consequences.  Like my personal Twitter account, these are my views and my views alone; sometimes incendiary, often controversial, but without the aid of another...unless explicitly stated.  Perhaps I should have a disclaimer page. 

As we race towards the end of the schema so kindly written by Elizabeth, I wonder how I will progress?  It has been exciting watching my pageviews ramp up to almost 10,000, I mean, even almost 8,000 at three years is quite good.  I don't do much other than write, but then again I hope that the daily schedule has attracted a further audience to those of you already established, who might like to stick around once it all calms down again.  This is the second post of the day though, and writing what's going to end up as over 2000 words on different subjects can be a bit draining.  I'll finish work soon though, get home, hang m ysuit up and slap an LP on, and not have to think about dinner until way later this evening.  The weather has picked up, and the chance to just go home and not have to worry about Evensong or the Men's rehearsal that follows on a typical Wednesday evening is the blessing of half term.  Still, I could only ever have one week off.




Author's Note: I think that's enough for today.  The #BEDM title passed down was "Bad Advice", for which I have even less answer than the contents of my fridge.  I can't really remember serious bad advice, that is, bad advice couched seriously rather than sarcastically.  I only seem to recall good advice that I haven't taken notice to, like..."never mix your drinks", receiving almost weekly ignorance.  Maybe I've never really had bad advice: I can't remember a single episode off the top of my head,so I suppose that makes me very lucky.  But obviously, very foolish for not taking the good advice.  Anyway.  Tune in tomorrow for wha should have been today's post about... the morning ritual.  Good good

That's all.  For now.

Secret Talent

See, the thing about writing about secrets is that they don't stay secret for long.  Especially when you publish it on the Internet.


This is a stumper, actually.  What talent do I have that people don't know about that I could discuss here?  Half decent musician, half decent writer, half decent cook, shirt ironer and kitchen cleaner (all round domestic Godhood, obviously).  I guess the extent of my musicianship is quite a surprise to people in Truro, we might as well start there.  Those who remember me from School and University will be well familiar with what I can do, not only being able to at least get a tune out of most any instrument but also my main 'disciplines' of Countertenoring, Tenor Banjo, Bass, assorted Recorders and the Organ.  The Assistant Organist of this very Cathderal in fact seemed terribly surprised when I reminded him that I too was once an Organ Scholar, at the Church of the Parish of St. Peter Mancroft in Norwich, seeing as I exhibit a critical lack of abilities usually expected of an Organ Scholar, i.e. actually being able to play things like hymns and accompany: still arts that are hidden from me.  The more... Practical aspects, like registering, page turning, preparing music and the like are more my forte.  Two years of lessons at the Collins, that altar of Neo-Classicism were very well received, if often quite stressful, as I never had any formal training or even Piano lessons when I was younger.  The Chief pushed me because he knew he could though, and the efforts he made at introducing me to the finer points of both the music and literature associated with the North German Baroque and French Classical and Romantic schools of composition are still part of my personal study and reading.  Anyway. 

I guess the Banjo thing really came out of the bag when I played my amazing recital in St. Mary's Aisle in Truro Cathedral, of the entire first Cello Suite.  In fact, only on Saturday it was brought up in conversation to me as "your Cello suite" by a young man preparing it on his Viola.  MY Cello suite indeed!  BWV 1007 still sounds pretty good on the old Banjo after all.  I should definitely think that it's not what was intended by, well, anybody... But who am I to care about that?  I may not be the world's greatest Banjo player by any respect, but I'm still learning my chords and scales and trying to improve my technique whenever I do actually practice - the thinner neck on my newest Banjo means that the wrist has to be held high - much more correct playing posture.  I've been playing Tenor Banjo since the age of 14 (well, Christmas 2004, I think...), so I know most of the positions for chords (which can then be just slid up and down the neck)

I had the great priviledge of playing a Tenor Banjo made in 1938 the other week as well, quite cheekily asking without any sort of prior introduction, just an identification of which exact type of Banjo it was.  It belonged to a man who had been playing as part of a little Jazz band on Lemon Quay while there was a market on.  I quickly reeled off a couple of characteristic things, The Minsky being one, and then played the chords for the verses of that classic George Formby number, The Window Cleaner.  A little bit of respect was earned from the instrument's owner, although grudgingly, as one of his band mates noticed how much louder it was when I played it in comparison. 

While I feel that I don't exactly keep my talents a secret, I certainly don't play them up either.  If you'd have told me 9 years ago that I would be preparing a recital in a Cathedral Church I'd probably have laughed you away.  Perhaps my secret talent is so secrect that actually it's a secret even from myself?  A great cop out, sure, but poor fare for writing.  Then again, perhaps none of my talents are secret to me myself, but the fact that I know what I can and can't do coupled with the fact that I don't usually share that information (except in episodic format here) means I can't think of anything I don't know already, and aren't really sure how much you'd want to know.  Anybody confused yet?

I suppose that my musicianship is my greatest innate talent - nobody taught me to play the instruments I still do (I had Clarinet lessons for years and even though I probably know my way round most of the scales still I wouldn't claim to be able to play it any more).  I even blundered my way through the start of my countertenoring without proper instruction.  Sadly I can't lay any claim to ability in fine art, like drawing, painting or sculpture, but if there's any painting and decorating to be had I'll gladly join in.  I know, so mundane...

Either that or my ability to create strategies to cope with the world, the business of day to day living.  True, I receive a lot of help sometimes, but every talent needs nuturing to flourish, right?  I'm an adult living with a disability after all, the classic symptoms of Asperger's syndrome still in effect: limited social empathy, precise interests (and language), and difficulties with non-verbal communication.  Every single day throws up challenges, be they repeated or entirely novel situations.  I am often at loss describing how being autistic really is for me, as I have deliberately shielded myself from the recognised symptoms in order to not obsess about them; even reading up on the usual social difficulties as information for this very paragraph is proving quite upsetting, recognising problems I still have not overcome.  Martian Time Slip by the science fiction author Philip K. Dick, and even The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon (even reading the precis is making me feel uncomfortable with the familiarity of the main character's behaviour) are books I started but never finished due to how much of myself I recognised in them.  As much as I am different (I am not a fictional character, although I guess we all have doubts sometime) to the protagonists of these stories, there are many aspects of them that are identical to how I was when I was younger, and some behaviours I still continue to exhibit. 

If there's one thing I hate though, and really utterly detest, it's being questioned.  Being questioned calls me into doubt, and why should I doubt myself any more than I usually do?  I use my strategies to ensure that I am questioned as little as possible throughout my life, even though I'm sure that the successful execution of these strategies shows a fundamental bipolarity to my life: I am autistic, and suffer from different degrees of anxiety when presented with the unfamiliar, be it people, places, practices or anything I do not know already... But I'm working a desk job right now in the Cathedral Office, answering telephones and dealing with people I've never met before, most of whom I never meet again.  Even reading that back, it's obvious that they do not match up.  There's a lot that goes off behind the curtain though, much like the Wizard of Oz, that explains how I can do it - my morning routine (however truncated) must always  involve certain repeated aspects in a certain order (which actually is the topic of an upcoming blog anyway) in order to make sure I feel safe.  I've said it before, I live my life deliberately in a particular fashion (the way I dress, how I eat and how I communicate) in order to feel as safe as possible.  I have learnt that different strategies work at different times, and while I do receive a lot of help, it's something that I have found within myself to live my life how I choose.

I'm sure many others on the #BEDM trail have had more luck that I have with this topic, especially those who write shorter posts than I do.  I rather think that modesty is a large part of this as well, not willing to seem in any way egotistical at all.  Of course, I probably have a talent that none of us are aware of at all... I mean, maybe I will one day leave behind the trappings and politics of Cathedral Music, emigrate, and find a masterful ability as an artisan baker...

That's all.  For now.