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Chrissie

The Academy Award for Tackiness Goes to…

The war trundles on. Did I say war? That should be invasion, right? Even a couple of journos are using the term lately.

Nothing to add, really, except—if you haven’t already seen it (it’s being linked to a lot), go here to read a blog by an Iraqi, right on the spot in Baghdad, seeing some of this stuff first-hand. Some people have doubted its veracity, but I’m willing to take it at face value. Anyway…

Don’t mention the war! I did once, but I think I got away with it.

I stayed up watching the Oscars last night. Hell, my sleeping patterns are screwed anyway (see time for this entry). Of course, it was a load of rubbish—business as usual, then. Even so, their giving an award to Roman Polanski was surprising and rather pleasing. Rather less pleasing was all the kudos given to Chicago, which strikes me as a frankly tacky pile of bilge. But what do I know.
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I Can’t Support the War

So the war atrocities are well underway. I would prefer to not even think about it, let alone rant about it, but there it is on the box incessantly.

Blair wants us to give our support to this sordid affair. His ‘address’ last night was even less convincing than usual, because he didn’t even seem able to muster his usual wild-eyed fervour. F**k you, Mr. Blair. Whether Saddam Hussein is stockpiling chemical weapons or not, we are the aggressor in this instance—we’re causing innocent deaths, the number of which our official propaganda will never disseminate. I can’t/won’t ‘support’ a cause that produces the hideous carnage we’re seeing all over our screens. I will sympathise with the troops who have do this filthy work; I hope most of them come out of it in one piece.
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The New Real Deal

Countdown to war. What a surprise that Saddam showed no interest in the Bush ultimatum. This is really the kind of ‘history’ I have no desire to live through… but who gets to choose?

My Jobcentre appointment today didn’t go that badly, really, in spite of my being awfully uncooperative.
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Comic Relief

I’ve rather annoyingly got interested in that Comic Relief Does Fame Academy thing. Generally, anything to do with Comic Relief is anathema to me—this has nothing to do with the cause, which is terrific, so much as the second-rate standard of the shows. But there has been a compelling, macabre kind of fascination generated by Ruby Wax’s performances, and Kwame (the black bloke out of Casualty) has a damn fine voice, actually. He looks damn fine too. You won’t get great odds on him being the winner.

The Comic Relief night itself looks to be the typical banal lineup. Lenny Henry doing Michael Jackson, presumably on serious steroids, promises to be as funny as herpes. The Martin Bashir interview literally defies parody, in any case.
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London Etc

Catching up… I made my trip to London on February 14th, meeting up with my old friend Paul, along with Martin Skidmore. I was a bit stressed for a few reasons (not least of which was some truly intolerable problems with the train I was on), but I relaxed after a while and things were pretty good.
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Too Much Analysis

I’ve been thinking about human interaction a bit. Bad idea. Thinking usually ends up troubling me.

Sometimes, it seems to me that a lot of human interaction is bullshit. You pretend to feel better than you really do whenever possible, pretend to be more interesting than you think you really are, and generally ‘sell’ yourself. I’m absolutely useless at doing this. You’d think, understanding the theory, I might not be quite so pathetic at it—then again, part of the problem is understanding it, because then you start to question its futility or dishonesty and open another massive can of worms. Oboy. Too much time on my hands = too much analysis.

Work situation… a brief rant…
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