I had a curious evening on Monday, when I headed down to London for a Neil Gaiman signing. He has a new novel out: The Graveyard Book, and I have a, er, contact in the industry who invited me to what I assumed was a private signing for people in the book trade. The last time I went to one of his signings it turned out oddly - I stood in a queue for hours before getting himto sign a book on photographic theory - but this was a whole new level. It was a private event, but not like I thought.

There I was, in a private room underneath St. Martin in the Fields church at Trafalgar Square, feeling very out of place and trying hard not to look it. There were maybe 100 people milling about stone columns and becostumed ghouls, all drinking wine, looking very smart, and being worryingly well known. Here’s a guy who draws political cartoons in the Observer. Here’s the author of that children’s series you’ve been seeing everywhere. This lady runs the purchasing at x major publisher. Over there is a Telegraph reviewer. And is that Ruby Wax?! 

I was so out of my depth it’s ridiculous. So I instigated Emergency Socialising Plan: stand up straight, keep head up, smile, do not drop glass, stick very close to friend. Thankfully I was at this point unaware of the enormous spot on my upper lip. This seemed to work.

A lady stops my friend to say she likes his shirt. Thank you, he says, and you are…? Oh, I illustrated some of Neil’s Sandman comics, she says. Holy crap, I think. General chit-chat occurs. I try to think of something clever to say, but then she’s gone. Said author, meanwhile, is mingling gently a few feet away.

Have a copy of The Graveyard Book, my friend tells me. Ok, I say. Do you want the Dave McKean or Chris Riddell version? The Dave McKean, please. Ok, let’s go get him to sign it.

Hi, Mr. McKean. I thought Mirrormask was totally beautiful - I made all my friends watch it. Also I want your tarot cards. Would you mind signing this, please? That’s wonderful, thank you.

Mingle mingle mingle. Do you work in the book trade, I’m asked. Not so much, but I’m trying to learn, I say. How are things going, asks the publishing rep. Ok, we say. Have you met Neil yet? No, not yet. Ok, I’ll bring him to you.

What do you mean, you’ll being Neil Gaiman to me? What? How is it possible this is really happening?

After a few minutes Neil Gaiman appears to sign my book, at which point my friend gets called away. I’m in a little bubble with just me and one of my favourite authors ever, and I am obviously unable to think of anything remotely interesting¹, so I say something about being a long time blog reader. He’s very nice, does a wonderful little illustration in the front of my book, and grabs Dave McKean, who’s nearby. We both indicate he’s already signed it, and they move on. Not particularly coruscating on my part, but at least I didn’t say anything cringeworthy.

Later I’m chatting to Mrs McKean, who is quite possibly the nicest woman in the entire world, and she grabs her passing husband so I can say hello. I expect Dave McKean was sick of the sight of me by the end of the evening.

Overall, I think I held my own. A part of my brain said ‘be lively! be impressive! be memorable!’, which certainly didn’t happen; but I was ok, and I got to meet some very interesting people. And here’s the other thing that happened: a woman my own age came over to talk to me. I genuinely cannot think of a time this has happened before (I’m honestly not playing for sympathy, I just don’t go to the kind of places/events where it would). Admittedly I think she’d had a bit to drink, and I might have accidentally said something about not being in a cult, which was in hindsight a bit weird, but hey - that’s something new.

So it was an unexpectedly exhilarating evening. Worryingly, I quite enjoyed it. I’d quite like to be at such a thing without feeling like I shouldn’t be Many thanks to my friend for wangling me a ticket.

1. ten thousand things occurred on the way home, naturally [↩]

Here’s the problem with The Dark Knight: it was just a bit unrealistic. Here’s how things would actually have gone down:

In your heart, you know it to be true.

1. David Tennant resigns from Doctor Who.
2. Russell Brand resigns from the BBC.

Well, that sucks. I enjoyed both of those people very much. A twitter friend suggested Steven Moffat should invite Russell Brand to be the next Doctor, which would be tremendous.

I guess it’s not too surprising that David Tennant’s leaving, but I was hoping the lure of Steven Moffat scripts would be enough for at least another series. Oh well.

It’s ridiculous that RB was forced to resign. An apology was obviously appropriate, but demands for resignation? Get a grip. It’s all a right-wing BBC-hater’s wet dream, and their cacophony of outrage doesn’t ring true.

And I bloody wish they’d stop calling them ‘prank’ phone calls - that’s a broken definition of ‘prank’. It wasn’t set up, preplanned, or, imho, intended to be malicious. Calling it a ‘prank’ call gives completely the wrong impression. Call it thoughtless, say they should have known better, demand apologies, etc.. But calling it a ‘prank’ is undeniably unfair.

I still think the whole event is entirely explicable as a regrettable mistake without intentional malice, and that anyone listening to the show would see this. But maybe that’s too subtle for the rabid prudes and BBC-haters. Not that everyone who complained can be classified as such, obviously. But many undoubtedly can, and they’re very, very loud.

(edit) His resignation video is impressive and worth watching, imho. It confirms the impression I had of the guy, too.

*grump*. The story has caused some fun around here, mind: my Brand / Ross / Sachs post got linked to from Radio 4’s Today Programme website yesterday, and that plus Google searches nearly killed the webserver.

Two links on international comedy that made sense to me. First, here’s Stewart Lee on Germans’ supposed lack of humour:

At a rough estimate, half of what we find amusing involves using little linguistic tricks to conceal the subject of our sentences until the last possible moment, so that it appears we are talking about something else. For example, it is possible to imagine any number of British stand-ups concluding a bit with something structurally similar to the following, “I was sitting there, minding my own business, naked, smeared with salad dressing and lowing like an ox … and then I got off the bus.” We laugh, hopefully, because the behaviour described would be inappropriate on a bus, but we had assumed it was taking place either in private or perhaps at some kind of sex club, because the word “bus” was withheld from us. Other suitable punchlines for this set-up would be, “And that was just the teachers”, “I was 28-years-old” and “That’s the last time I attempt to find work as a research chemist in Paraguay.”

There is even a technical term used by those who direct comedy on camera to describe this one-size-fits-all mechanism. Eddie Large is gasping for air as a hot dog falls into the end of his snorkel. The shot widens to reveal Sid Little, whose sausages are flying into the air out of his hot-dog buns because he is using too much ketchup. Pull back and reveal. But German will not always allow you to shunt the key word to the end of the sentence to achieve this failsafe laugh. After spending weeks struggling with the rigours of the German language’s far less flexible sentence structures to achieve the endless succession of “pull back and reveals” that constitute much English language humour, the idea of our comedic superiority soon begins to fade. It is a mansion built on sand.

and Simon Pegg on the (lack of) differences between UK and US comedy:

I hated Friends when it first aired. The very title was anathema to me. It immediately evoked the embarrassing, droopy-eyed longings of the sickeningly hug-happy new American youth. The thought of all that togetherness, untempered by ironic undermining, made my skin crawl. Yet it drew me in. Due to a fine ensemble cast and some genuinely funny scriptwriting (”You’re over me? When were you under me?”), Friends was readily accessible, even to us closed-off Brits. In fact, it arguably even opened us up a little. I certainly went from sneery to teary at Ross and Rachel’s passionate, reconciliatory smooch. This moment might actually hold the key to a middle ground between British and American humour, specifically when it comes to heartfelt, emotional expression. The British aren’t against it; we just believe it comes at a price. The success of the emotional climax in that particular scene is due entirely to the comedy preceding it. Ross’s perm, Monica’s fat suit, Rachel’s nose all go toward setting the tone for the payoff, which the audience wholeheartedly accept. The sentiment is a reward, rather than a device to engender a sympathy laugh or, worse, a big, soppy, “Awww”.

This device works in the best situation comedy on both sides of the Atlantic. The difference is perhaps simply that the average American is prepared to accept it sooner. Still, who could deny Del Boy a tearful pat of Grandad’s chair, after his Keaton-worthy tumble through the wine bar? Or scoff at the field of poppies that fills the screen at the close of Blackadder Goes Forth? Similarly, Hawkeye’s breakdown in the final M*A*S*H or Sam’s switching off the lights of the Cheers bar for the last time both suggest we are prepared to take our comedy with a side of emotional drama. So perhaps we’re not so dissimilar, after all.

I’m not so keen on the generalisations of how British / American people react, but it’s certainly true for some people. Maybe it works if you average it out. Maybe. He’s also good on Americans’ supposed lack of irony, which is always a red flag of this-person-is-worth-ignoring.

Both links via Mind Hacks.

Clearly the Guardian website has an editor with a sense of humour. There’s no other way this article on annoying atheists could have been published:

Far from relaxing and enjoying life, most atheists I have encountered are gloomy blighters with a depressing and nihilistic message that there is no purpose to life so where’s the point of anything? They so often fall into the category defined by GK Chesterton: “Those that do not have the faith/Will not have the fun.”

I’ve never really understood why ‘there not being a purpose to life’ would imply there being no point to anything. I also like the argumentative tactic of quoting someone else talking bollocks in the hope nobody notices. But I only quoted the above to show the context of her next line:

You only have to attend one of their dreary humanist funerals to see that – I am never going to another of those, just to be made miserable.

I don’t think there’s anything to say to that. Via B&W.

Russell Brand has apologised to Andrew Sachs for answerphone messages left during the former’s Radio 2 show. Now, I listened to that particular episode yesterday, and I laughed a lot. And I’m the first person to turn off comedians who crudely insult people for laughs - that’s not my thing at all. So I think this is all a bit odd.

This particular episode had been on my to-listen list for a while, as the guest co-host was Jonathan Ross. I’m a great admirer of both men, and I was looking forward to hearing them spar. And I wasn’t disappointed - I like that kind of fast wordplay and wit. I don’t remember thinking they were doing anything particularly offensive or awful, but here’s how the BBC described their actions:

Both Brand and Ross made obscene comments about Sachs’ 23-year-old granddaughter on a series of messages which they left on the actor’s voicemail during the segment.

That’s one way of phrasing it, but it’s hardly fair. They make it sound like a cruel prank, which it wasn’t - if you listen to the show, it’s clearly neither malicious nor deliberately insulting. Russell had, it turned out, slept with said granddaughter, and he and Jonathan agreed that this was something they definitely shouldn’t mention. Like, you know, the war. But when ex-Fawlty Towers star Andrew Sachs wasn’t in, they got his answerphone. And while trying to think of a message, things degraded into innuendo. I’m sure you can imagine. They later agreed that they felt bad about this message, so phoned back to apologise. This took a few phone calls, and the final one was pretty much ’sorry. we’re sorry.’

I found it pretty funny. Others likely didn’t, which is fair enough. But to call it anything more than joking around is to assume a certain malice on the part of the presenters, which I don’t see. If you’ve spent any time watching or listening to Jonathan Ross, he’s obviously either kind, liberal and decent, or one a hell of an actor. Russell Brand is less someone I’d like to be friends with¹, and he can sometimes be unpleasant during his trademark flights of verbal diarrhea, but when push comes to shove he has - to my view - a similar sense of kindness. 

But still, even if you’ve never heard either of them before, listening to the show in context should clear it up. They simply weren’t being nasty.

It’s unfortunate that Andrew Sachs apparently reacted badly, and I suppose the whole thing hinges on his reaction. Many people would, I suspect, have found the messages amusing. But that’s just unfortunate, and it shouldn’t be difficult to explain and demonstrate that no offence was intended. But a quick google blog search finds lots of reactionary right-wing whiners calling for them to be sacked. Which isn’t surprising, but is a bit pathetic.

These situations always remind me of the spectacular hissy fits after Jonathan Ross asked David Cameron whether he’d ever masturbated over Margaret Thatcher. Lots of prudes old right-wing prudes decided it was 1875 and any talk of sex in public should result in a jolly public hanging, or at least the stocks. It’s vulgar and disprespectful and blah get-off-my-lawn blah. They, as ever, failed to appreciate that rational people can talk in this way without being unpleasant. It’s about intent, not the simple words themselves. If you watch the video, the style of interview and questioning is obviously not cruel or malicious, and the reasons it’s funny are interesting in themselves. I’m not going to start analysing the comedy, but if you can’t figure out what’s going on there, maybe you shouldn’t be commenting on appropriate behaviour. If you don’t find it funny, fine, but to declare outrage and indecency and disrespect is making yourself look like a stuffy, empathy-less Victorian with no sense of nuance. If you can’t handle jokes about masturbation, I really don’t know what to say.

Anyway. If you’d like to hear the show for yourself, it’s still on the podcast feed here (it’s the show from the 18th October).

1. My Booky Wook isn’t the nicest read ever [↩]

I haven’t done much this week other than work on a ‘film stills’ photo project. This has seen me, amongst other things, splatting fake blood onto my parents’ drive, gaffa-taping a monkey to my steering wheel in a public car park, projecting a silhouette of Mickey Mouse onto the side of a friend’s house, and visiting Tesco late at night to buy a long, black wig and a bunch of roses. This is great. So it’s been an interesting few days, and it’s a good job I haven’t had much proper - you know, paying - work, but sometimes you get lucky.

It’s finally all done, anyway. It’s about malevolent toys, and the flickr set is here. I haven’t properly named it yet, mainly because I can’t think of any atrocious puns. There’s gotta be something…It’s not due in till tomorrow, so I’ll see if anything comes to mind.

The main item on the BBC News technology page as of five minutes ago:

Yeah, I’d say that’s analogous.

(not part of a series. It just kinda happened)

This morning a Comment is Free post (of all things) launched a campaign to counter religious advertising on London buses. Quite brilliantly, it’s already raised enough to buy space for an advert on 30 buses, which will say:

There’s probably no God. Now stop worrying and enjoy your life.

Love it. It’s in response to adverts for the Alpha Course, which linked to a website telling of the tremendous suffering that will come to unbelievers. That kind of thing really pisses me off. The Alpha Course isn’t on the fringes of UK Christianity - it’s everywhere. If it were all flowers and bunnies, it might be polite to let it go by. But it’s not, and I’d say it’s rude not to counter it. 

I’m looking forward to the whinings over this one. Not from the religious lobby - though that could be entertaining - but there’ll be claims of militancy and why are you being so aggressive and this isn’t the best way to do things and blah superior blah. Fun times.

Eek, I nearly went to this:

US comedian Sarah Silverman was heckled on stage during her UK stand-up debut in London.

Fans, who had paid about £50 a ticket, slow hand clapped and shouted they wanted their money back after the star’s short 40-minute set.

After the audience refused to leave, Silverman was forced to give a Q&A session as an encore after admitting she had no other material prepared.

I’m glad I didn’t cajole anyone into it.

A lecture last week mentioned this color perception test. It’s quite entertaining. You have to rearrange the blocks into rows of continuous colour, and it sends your brain screwy after a while. With my colour-calibrated monitor I got a score of 4, but I don’t think there’s any point taking the test if you don’t have a calibrated monitor -  you could be arranging them perfectly according to your monitor display, but still be technically wrong.

I’ve been on an improve-my-appearance kick lately, completely due to my unexpectedly falling head-over-heels for a girl over summer. She was, it turned out, unavailable - but also uninterested (though very kind about it). This kicked me into action, possibly because - and I hope this doesn’t make me sound like a total dickhead - of the five women I’ve asked out in the last decade, she’s the first to properly say no. I don’t mean by this that I was surprised or anything - god no - but until now I haven’t actually had to think about what I might be doing wrong, if you see what I mean¹. I wasn’t thinking I could win her over, because I couldn’t, but in the throws of what-am-I-doing-wrong I realised I was worrying about things everyone else figured out in their teens, but I somehow missed: the right kind of clothes to wear, etc.. I obviously know that appearance isn’t everything, but it’s also obviously naive to claim it’s irrelevant. I decided to start educating myself about this stuff, so that, even if I didn’t change anything, I’d at least be making informed decisions. Then the next time someone turns me down I can unambiguously blame my looks, tastes & personality

But where the hell do you start? It’s an awkward thing to ask people about, and general googling results in thousands and thousands of often contradictory answers. But I found a solution that works for me: Ask Metafilter. It’s a standard ask-questions-and-get-replies-from-commenters site, but with a twist: it costs to join (but not to read). It’s just a small amount - £1 or so, I think - but enough to filter the diamonds from the soup. As a result, the community is both knowledgeable and kind. This means people are willing to ask all sorts of personal questions, and the responses are always compassionate and helpful. It rocks. So I hit the Ask MeFi archives, looking for people in a similar situation to mine.

I found many. Lots of questioners - mostly men - have no idea how to even start thinking about how to dress ‘well’, and the replies provided lots of helpful advice, as well as links to the better online guides. I’ve replaced much of my wardrobe in the last couple of months, because some of it was years old, some of it far too big (it’s amazing how obvious this is once someone points it out) and some of it just dead boring. I don’t claim any great skill, but I’ve at least some idea of what to think about, and I’m told there’s been an improvement. Definite progress. Next task: haircut.

Now, I’ve had pretty much the same (lack of) style since I was five². I thought it looked all right, and I couldn’t be bothered spending much time thinking about it. I just went to the local £10 barbers every two months and had it shortened. Sorted.

That was until this week, when I went into a local Not-A-Barbers and said ‘do whatever you think looks good’, then shut my eyes and hoped for the best. Turns out that, as promised on Ask MeFi, proper hairdressers do indeed do a better job. It’s not lots different, but certainly enough to be obvious. Nice Hairdresser Lady told me some five-minute-not-annoying stuff to do in the mornings, which I’ve been trying ever since, and I’ve had quite a few nice comments - it’s possible people are just being polite, but hopefully not. So that’s pleasant. I can’t understand why I didn’t think to do this years ago, but whatever. Next: shaving.

I wasn’t anticipating needing to learn anything about shaving - I mean, it’s not the most complex procedure ever. But while browsing Ask MeFi I remembered a debate my friends and I have had for years over the best way to shave: should you go with or against the grain? I said against, they said with. So I investigated and found many online shaving guides, which were often contradictory, but, I had to admit, almost all said ‘with the grain’. Ok. But, in a surprise twist, every single one also recommended using aftershave.

I’ve never used aftershave. It always seemed very expensive, I didn’t see the point, and I remember that bit from Home Alone. But since I was changing things anyway, I thought I’d give it a try (the guides also said that it’s definitely not meant to sting).³ Well, if my local Boots has a shelf for aftershave, I couldn’t find it; I figured I’d drive to the bigger store outside town, but then I spotted the single available bottle in Somerfield: it was by Nivea and the size of a baby gerbil, yet cost £5. This seemed bonkers, but I bought it anyway, rationalising that the petrol would come to that much, or something.

I have discovered that shaving with the grain is both better and worse. I can’t get a clean shave, but it means I don’t cut my face to shreds. After a couple of weeks I tried going against the grain in a couple of areas, and promptly started bleeding in a thousand different places. So I’m pretty sure I’m doing the right thing. But as I said, I can’t get as close as I used to - I guess I’ll have to be one of those permanently slightly-stubbly people. Nobody seems to address this problem. Maybe I have a freaky head. As for the aftershave, I have no bloody idea what it’s doing. It says it ‘calms and protects’, which is pretty vague. What does that mean? Still, you need to use so little that the teeny bottle should last months, so that’s good. I’ll be an advertisers’ puppet and assume it’s doing *something*…

So. Um. Yes. That’s what I’ve been thinking about lately, and it seems to be going ok. It all feels a bit vain, but it shouldn’t - everyone does it, right? My confidence has certainly increased as a result, anyway, and I thought I’d post about it in case anyone else is in a similar situation. But the primary message is: for advice about things you feel a bit stupid asking anyone about, and general googling doesn’t help, Ask Metafilter is your friend.

1. hopefully that came out right, and I don’t seem like an arrogant prick [↩]
2. well, ish. Abi once happened across this picture and said it would haunt her nightmares [↩]
3. interesting fact: men and women’s razors are identical but for the handle. Well, I thought it was interesting. [↩]

The last 30 seconds are priceless.

(part of a toy series)