John Walker's Electronic House

Penn & Teller’s Showtime show, Bullshit! is an often very good (and occasionally poor) debunking programming, in which the two passionate skeptics pick a subject of some manner of flim-flammery, and then mock it. They also do useful things like get experts to provide evidence, and less useful things like tricking members of the public in scams, to demonstrate how much people are willing to unquestionably believe.

When it’s good, it’s great. (When it’s bad, it’s last week’s about climate change, where they sort of muddle through talking about the business that’s grown up around it based on using people’s guilt, which is a valid subject, but muddle themselves with the larger issue, tearing Al Gore to pieces (which I don’t exactly disapprove of) and then pointing out that they don’t know if climate change is real or a myth). They’re never better than when attacking alternative medicines, but this week’s, on “stranger danger”, was unexpectedly superb.

But one moment was jaw-dropping. To set up the clip, you need to know the way the show works. Penn & Teller are in their white studio, taking the piss out of things between recorded segments, narrated by Penn. These segments are comprised of interviews with conmen/women, experts, or members of the public, and films of either the snake oil salespeople at work, or their own, mostly pointless, pranks. Penn interrupts the interviews to shout obsenities in frustration, or to point out where people are most openly lying. But mostly to shout, “Fuck!” So this episode has been about over-protective parents in denial of the realities of danger for children. They’ve been over the statistics, they’ve had idiots make stupid statements, and experts state facts, and then the following happens:

I think she is one of the most remarkable woman I’ve ever heard of. She is extraordinary. I write all this to celebrate her. The praise P&T give her is unique in the programme’s five year history, and is deserved. As Penn Jillette says, it’s humbling. This is her foundation’s site.

Oh dear me, Brown’s a goner.

I’m delighted for Scotland. I was also hoping the SNP would win purely because it’s the more interesting result. A Labour win would be a nothing – a big let-down after all the build up. But turning around a 13,507 majority to win (by 365) is incredible, and also funny. It demonstrates how deeply hated Labour have become. Not just disapproved of, but loathed.

Of course, the counter to this is the terrifying fear I now have – a certainty that the Tories will win the next general election. It’s indicative of Labour’s hopelessness, and while I’m as angry with them as anyone with a brain, they’re still a far better option than the horror that is the Conservative party. That Labour have openly abandoned all left wing principles is disgusting and abhorrent. However, this doesn’t automagically make the Tories an alternative. It makes them the further extreme of where Labour have headed. But they will win, and this country will swerve violently to the right, in line with an increasing amount of Europe. I’m genuinely scared.

And all the while the US is looking increasingly likely to be voting in Obama, who despite his current centerist behaviour is clearly a massively left swing for the nation, with a socialist agenda. At that point, with Cameron in power here and Obama in power there, surely I can apply for asylum?

Okay, that’s it, I’m ready to be gay now:

(The buffoons have prevented embedding the clip, because apparently they don’t quite understand how viral advertising works).

I went to America last week. I tend to go to America for work quite often, but this was for my much needed holidays – it’s always my first choice of destination, because dammit I love it over there, and it contains some good friends.

As has become an annual occasion, I went out to visit Kim and Nick, friends of many years. Except now it’s Kim, Nick and Elena – an eleven month old addition to the family. I met her briefly last year in December, but she was tiny and not very chatty at that point. Now she is walking and grabbing and opening and tearing and mumbling and squealing and giggling and chomping and crouching and dancing and putting on Billy Joel CDs. Which is FAR better.

Kim and Nick are two of Earth’s Excellent People. Both teachers, both driven by a remarkable passion for education, and both deeply caring. I’ve known Kim since I was 18, was a sort of maid of honour (except with a Y chromosome) at her wedding, and via the magics of the internet have communicated with her more than most of my friends in the same country as me. They hosted me every year when I went to visit the best place in the world, Chicago, in their spare room. Now they’ve moved to Philadelphia (or just outside of it), living on a school campus, so that becomes my destination of choice for using up any saved money over the summer.

This time I stayed in a B&B in the nearby town of New Hope – a fantastically bohemian place with a vibrancy of alternative cultures, a combination of gay, artistic and witchy areas. The B&B itself was about five miles away from the town (which would obviously be in another town by that distance in the teeny UK), but I was fortunate enough to have Kim chauffeur me about for the four nights I was there. It was The Pineapple Hill B&B, and if for any reason you’re staying anywhere near New Hope, let it be recommended. A wonderful couple called Cookie and Kathryn run the place (Cookie being a 6’2″, 300lb ex-Navy chef, rather than the small girl he points out his nickname suggests), and it’s just fantastic. There’s remarkable cooked breakfasts, lovely rooms, and an atmosphere that has all the guests happily chat with each other. Even with the astonishing cartoon character of a Republican I met the second night.

He deserves his own paragraph. After Kim dropped me off at the B&B, I saw a small group of people chatting outside, and they said hi to me. They were Cookie, and then an older guy and his wife, and their daughter who was back from living in Japan. All three were from California. Cookie and the guy – let’s call him Mr. Republican – were discussing how they were both in the Navy, and then talked about something I didn’t follow regarding whose fault it was (politically) that something had stopped working in the 80s. Cookie began ranting about how useless Reagan and Bush (Snr) were, and how much damage they had done. Mr. Republican was clearly riled by this, and then entirely thrown when Cookie added, “And I’m a Republican through and through.”

Mr. Rep had some peculiar argument about how it was all the postal workers fault (whatever on Earth it was), and Cookie very delicately disagreed with him in such a way that the loud man didn’t really notice. The conversation turned to New Hope, and Cookie explained how much he loved the town, and that he loved it because it was such a mix of people and lifestyles, all getting on and creating the friendliest place he’d ever known. “All those different people in one place,” he said. Mr. Rep interjected, “Yes, good to keep them all in one place.” Everyone squirmed. Cookie, firmly and politely replied that no, that’s not what he meant, but rather the town was populated by the most kind and welcoming people he’d met. Mr Rep didn’t like this much, pulling faces. But the best bit – oh boy, it was great – was when Cookie explained that his mother-in-law had just bought him a giant widescreen TV with digital and so on, and that he was always much happier, “With a small TV and cable, like you have in your rooms. So long as I have CNN, I’m fine.” “CNN!” blurted out Mr Rep. “You’re a Republican and you watch CNN?! A Republican should be watching Fox News!” Cookie smiled at him politely, and ignored the comment. I thought this was the best moment for me to get out the Obama 08 badge Kim had just given me. I’m good with timing. And it made me laugh.

After Cookie had left, the idiotic old fart continued to mutter, “Calls himself a Republican and doesn’t watch Fox News…” Quite astonishing. I sort of wanted to catch him in a big net and put him in a display case in a museum, with a sign explaining, “A living example of the stereotypical perception the rest of the world has of American Republicans.”

For the first couple of mornings, before Kim came to pick me up for our daily adventures, I walked down the road from the B&B to the nearby Delaware River, to a small pebbled patch on the edge of the water. I’d spotted it as we drove about trying to find the B&B the first night, and figured I’d take a look.

Of course, as rural and remarkably beautiful an area as this might be, it was still America so there was no sidewalk on the roads. Walking down I had to either walk on people’s front lawns, or in the narrow road on the many blind corners. Which made it more challenging.

The spot was perfect, in the amazing sunshine. To reach the stony mini-beach I had to wade through some disturbingly green and stationary water where a feeding tributory was too dry to spill over into the river, but I’m brave and fear not the slime. Certainly worth it. The patch of pebbles was about fifty percent flat, smooth stones, and the river enormously wide. Skimming! Two mornings of it. If you’d been there you’d have exclaimed in amazement and the number of jumps I was getting. You’d likely have suggested I find out if there might be some professional league of stone skimmers in which I could participate and likely be champion of.

While there I saw herons fly over (although fumbled my camera and only caught them as cartoon Vs in the distance), and teeny fishies swim by. It was all really rather idyllic.

So clearly there’s much more to tell, but this is long enough for one post.

1) I’m an uncle again! My sister just had her second, a girl called Sarah. That’s her in the picture below. The first picture of over four hundred thousand. That will be taken today. And every day. I swear there are about three photographs of me under the age of four in existence. If you rifled through the photos of someone born in the last couple of years you’d have a flick-book animation of their entire life. Let-alone the videos. If it’s embarrassing when your parents dredge out the couple of sepia-toned polaroids of you now, just imagine the fate of today’s kids in eighteen years when their mums project the video of that time they ate their poo in the paddling pool on the living room wall. Anyway, hi Sarah! Welcome to Earth.

2) This:

I just saw a woman texting while riding a horse.

And if the loofah reference means nothing to you, read this. (All text, but thanks to Bill O’Reilly’s astonishingly foul language, possibly NSFW). (I’ve previously written about it here).

I still haven’t written about Cloud Cult’s new album, Feel Good Ghosts. For this there is no excuse.

Graham reminded me today by linking me to this excellent Wall Street Journal article about the band, and the live painting during their performances.

Feel Good Ghosts has been looped on my mp3 players, both portable and on the computer, for a ludicrous amount of time. It’s one of very, very few albums I can listen to multiple times without growing tired, and in this case, a ludicrous number of times. Last year’s Meaning of 8 was similarly worn through, and Feel Good Ghosts shows little sign of losing my interest.

A lot of the songs on recent albums are dealing with the death of lead singer and song writer Craig Minowa’s two-year-old son. (His mother was Connie Minowa, one of the band’s resident artists as well as Craig Minowa’s wife). But rather than a cloying query of whether they’ll met up in heaven or whatnot, these are much more involved explorations of the subject, often so obsfucated that you’d never make the connection without the prior knowledge. Instead the swelling, exploratory tunes tend to focus more on celebrating life, and mourning the notion that one could stop celebrating life.

They are defiantly ecologically thoughtful, ensuring their tours are carbon neutral, and all their CDs are entirely recyclable. The WSJ comments,

“The group had to put up about $15,000 to have its most recent CD pressed and packaged, which cost the band 93 cents per CD. That’s more than double the typical rate because Cloud Cult insists on using non-toxic inks and recycled packaging instead of standard plastic jewel cases.”

Most importantly, they are entirely independent, and self-funded. They’ve had offers from record companies, but have turned them all down in favour of maintaining their principles. That behaviour alone deserves support, let-alone when they’re one of the most stunning bands currently producing music. Their music can be bought here.

There’s a couple of new videos to accompany the new album. They’re here:

When Water Comes to Life:

Everybody Here is a Cloud:

And here’s a ludicrously cute video of two kids singing along to Meaning of 8’s Pretty Voice.

My favourite song on the album, Story of the Grandson of Jesus, isn’t available anywhere, so you’ll have to buy the album.

Thunderstorms always make me want to write. Then I think I have to put in as much effort as I did that other time and don’t gather the energy. However, I think that time was a special property of having been woken up at 4am, along with all of Bath.

Tonight’s was pretty spectacular. Pretty, and spectacular. I’ve been so spoilt by Bath, and each time I think, “I’ve never seen lightning this good!” but of course I have. In fact, I don’t think that storm has been beaten since, although this one was pretty good.

It’s easy to mock ancient man for his superstitions (cue a thousand people snorting and making a joke about Jesus), but what on Earth were you supposed to make of a thunderstorm? The sky is filled with these vicious streaks of terrifying purple, and then the entire world furiously roars all around you. I feel like I have a fairly decent understanding of what causes thunder, but it’s still a conscious effort to fight off feelings of it being something more than ionic discharge.

I wish I were capable of more eloquent commentary when watching lightning. Tonight I found myself sounding horribly like Alan Partridge in The Day Today, saying, “Shit! Did you see that?!” But it’s just so overhwhelming when the sky suddenly gets dissected by the madly jagged violet electricity, and I either gasp, or swear in amazement. I feel like I don’t have enough response inside me to adequately reply to the moment.

My overriding thought this evening, however, was how sad I am that I’m the only person I see standing outside, dripping wet, with my face pointed at the sky. I don’t understand why every able person doesn’t immediately walk out their front door to watch it. What better thing are you waiting to see happen? Yeah, you get wet – you’ve been wet before, and your house is just behind you for goodness sakes. I’m really the only one?

1) I feel really sorry for Goths on hot, sunny days, but at the same time admire their dedication to layers and sleeves.

2) I’m really pleased that as an adult, I have no idea what High School Musical might be.