Buying futures

Buying futures
When will the future join the Euro?
Most futuristic movies seem to claim that the currency of the future will be the rather unimaginative “credit”. As many have correctly realised, science fiction is the state of the art when it comes to storytelling. It frees the imagination like no other genre and allows for a reflection of a human spirit in the most entertaining and therefore often the most powerful and useful way. But when it comes to basic economics the writers almost always let you down.
The credit!!! For Pete’s sake. At the very least you might think that a dollar might be the currency of choice. Not sounding futuristic enough? Then stick a couple of exes or a zed in their somewhere.
If Mr Spock has to buy the intoxicating blue drink with the same currency as Han Solo and Captain Zap (a chilling character from The Dandy), then there is something pretty weird going on with the future. Especially if one of the futures was long, long ago.
What happened? Did the credit undergo a primordial crunch in aeons past? Did it return and go on to seed and populate the universe? Was there a forgotten secret history of interplanetary financial unity? Which governments argued to their people that their new improved credit was the universal way to go? Did anyone propose the debit?

No, it’s all too much to compute.

It is time to devalue the credit.

Sweetness

I met an 82 year old lady today who while she had her own problems was also concerned about her husband’s blood sugar reading which at 29 was very high.
Yesterday he had to have an early breakfast as it was only 1.9 (extremely low).
“He is missing a pancreas”, she explained. “He’s very erotic”.
“Don’t you mean erratic?” I said.
“I know what I mean”, she said.

Mincing matters

Today I am going to mince an oath.
I can only apologise.
“For Pete’s sake” I learned today (after a quick afternoon Google) is a piece of fudged swearing called a “minced oath”, as in “mincing your words”.
Pete may be St Peter (it does not hurt that it sounds a bit like “pity”) and Pete (and sometimes Mike) are used as God’s stand-ins to avoid offending the monitors of blasphemy.
So a timely Gadzooks may indeed be a way of referring to God’s hooks – the nails in the cross. Judas Priest may be ageing hard rockers but the term can be used in place of Jesus Christ. Crikey for that matter is Christ. England loves a euphemism.
But surely the brightest of these useful neologisms must be the sitcom which was loved and brilliant in equal measures. What would Father Ted or Father Jack himself have to say about all this wordy nonsense? I can hear him now.
Feck It!

Streetwear 08

I saw many fashionable people walking the streets today.
People who were able to dress to wander the streets in style without any sex-for-sale connotations.
Church-fearing family folk. Smart locals who could accessorize better than Freddy from Scooby Doo.
If you were trapped in the 80s, when Italy for example last had style and for them time froze, you might even call it a European chic. (I fear for the national outrage when someone tells them that high waistbands have been out for 20 years. Please read the papers and avoid Sicily around that time).
This afternoon, a young gentleman might be mostly wearing his gently placed cashmere scarf with aplomb.
A silver haired pensioner might be carrying off a smart jacket with distinction.
A middle aged lady might belie her true years with sophistication and carefully applied make-up attracting the eye of the youngest man.
Or you might see what I saw today, a teenage girl with a huge arse, wearing a pink that shocked in more ways than it had number of gut-covering layers.
She carried it off alright.
Kicking and screaming.

Not Talking Turkey

Today I saw a duck. Having walked though a Winter Wonderland of Christmas markets in Hamburg and its non teetotally appealing mulled drinks, it was the simplest thing. They were bobbing up and down and doing what I was taught at school as surface diving.
With a kick they would almost clear the water then, beak first, straight down they plunged, grabbing something that passed for food from the bottom. It was very entertaining. Moreso because it reminded me of my favourite joke at school: What has a duck got in common with the gas company? They can both stick their bills up their... well, you get the idea.
The ducks would always scout around for where they were heading first and then they would always shake their hair dry afterwards. The wintry chill seemed to lift.
I called the manoeuvre the Look-And-Duck. I suppose that is why they were called ducks in the first place. Was I the only person who missed that memo ?
Then I saw another sign that all was well in the world. A poster for Freiheit’s new album. Yes, German pop music funsters Freiheit. It seems like the game will never be over for the Eighties one hit wonders. They are still Keeping the Dream Alive. Perhaps a Christmas number one beckons. If the album does not turn out to be a Christmas number two.
And the poster next to them was for singing pensioner Roger Whitaker’s latest tour. (What happened to the days when fame was for only 15 minutes?) Roger Whitaker! And his white beard!
One more scrap for today – an aphorism new to me. If you run into difficulty with someone, prescribe kindness – if it doesn’t work, double the dose. A suitable Christmassy message for a suitably Christmassy day.
Apart from the ducks.

We, the freaks

Facing down the expectations of society can be a tough call for many of the more disadvantaged.
It is easier not to even try to appreciate the extra difficulties that many face on a day to day basis through prejudice, ignorance or the feverish desire for fame, fashion and vanity.
I talk of those ostracised by bullying or politics or any other thinly veiled arrogance that represents human expectations.
This diary is not a confessional but I am going to offer you this insight into my soul as I too have been on the receiving end of being marginalised from society. I have peered through a chink in the window and felt the searing heat of the glowing rod of human pity.
Anyone who has actually seen me get some dust behind my contact lens, have to take it out, lick it and put it back in will know something of the prejudice I have faced down.
Should those that see me fear me or throw me change ?
Only they can decide that for themselves.

A Size Trial

I have made a shopping error.
I am not proud of it but I offer it up for your judgement.
First a little background.
I tend to buy medium.
And I don’t mess around.
I saw it in the window. I tend only to buy things that are in windows as I always know they will have at least one in stock. Over the years, I have paid for more display models than Rod Stewart.
Within two minutes I was at the till having spotted a Medium, solicited the opinion of the Portuguese shop assistant and was at the till entering my PIN number before catching up with the friends waiting outside the shop whom I had not informed of my intentions after seeing the item in the window.
With me so far?
Good.
As I walked along I found I had chosen the wrong size (I wore it to go and it felt loose).
How? Surely I could not need a Small. I have never bought small clothes. It creates an arms war and exposes my long wrists and cheap watch to public ridicule.
I returned home, looked again at the crumpled label and saw my M (for Medium). Then I uncrumpled it and noticed something else. Above the M was an S. And below the M was an L. And below the L was an XL.
And the XL was in RED.
Hmmmmmm.
Being about the leave the city realised I had 90 minutes left to get back to the shop and exchange the item. I was back within 20 minutes to spare with a Large jacket and a small voice in my head.
Tell the world, it said.

We who are about to try on clothes... salute you

Today, I was ready for trouble.
All I wanted to do was buy a jacket but the only mirror was in the Men’s Fiting Room. I presumed this to be a turbulent area of semi-literate tributes to the male of the species.
I entered.
There was attitude, men in trunks and talcum powder everywhere.
Someone offered me a massage.
I declined.
I put the jacket over my shoulders.
Eye of the Tiger played in the background.
It was animal.

With a polyester lining.

Nutter Sighting

Today, I saw a nutter.
In the streets of Lisbon on a Sunday afternoon, he enthusiastically directed traffic in the most random manner possible. I have been to Lisbon many times and every time have been offered Hash in hushed tones. I tend to decline as my computer keyboard comes with all the hash I need to get through the day. And a lot more besides.
His arms thrashed and waved as he waved at cars that were slowly driving up the road, vigorously blocked their way and pointed them onto the pavements or towards some trees. He leapt and threw his heart and soul into the bogus directions. No car escaped his attempts to direct them off the road. I defy you not to have laughed.
Then I noticed something. A woman gave him some money. What was this?
Pity? A friendly “push-off”?
So I looked again.
Yes, he was directing cars onto the path because he had spotted in his unique viewpoint, as an eagle-eyed pedestrian, two things.
One. A place to slot your car on a busy Sunday in a capital city.
And two. A gap in the market where he could offer a new service of parking space spotting for the beleaguered weekend driver.
He went up in my estimation.
Hats off to the European entrepreneur.

At the foot of Mount Hilarious

Have you ever seen a comedian?
Has he made you laugh? Or perhaps even just smile.
Ahh but then have you recommended him to someone else?
Perhaps you have the power to influence a lot of people, say writing movie reviews? Then you may have stumbled across the world's most overused and abused word.
The worst offenders are the reviewers who write their reviews so that they get their name on the front of the comedy movie DVD release which pronounces their esteemed opinion.

The movie I can tell you will be "Hilarious".
Just imagine the level of gut-punishing laughter that it would take to reach something that could be described as hilarity. A level of amusement so high that 'adjective plus laughter' would be simply inadequate in transmitting the message of how funny the movie/show/book/comedian truly is.
Imagine that level. Then double it. Twice. Congratulations. You are at the foot of a steep mountain that leads to the mythical world of hilarious, a trip that criminally overpromises.

Maybe you were feeling down and you wanted, you needed, hilarious. Simply insert DVD with recommendation. Press play. Absorb hilarity. Feel different? No, more likely these movies will be crimes against comedy. Likely they may be likeable. But make you laugh even once? Not so likely.
The foot of Mount Hilarious can be a confusing place.