This Is This

There should be a word for “the day after tomorrow”. It a term that comes up enough, there should be a name for it. Like “snoober”. It even has a “day after tomorrow” sound to it. The French have the word “lendemain” which means “the next day”, but it’s all in the context, because the meaning depends on what day you were talking about to start with.

But think about it:

“Heavy showers are expected tomorrow with brighter skies snoober and right on into the weekend.”

I also think it could be a popular term with people who build national stadiums.

Yeah, OK, I know it’s stadia, but I didn’t want to go saying it, because people who say that are annoying. Like when they order risotti or (snork) two cappuccini. Or folks who ask for pints of Guinni down a pub instead of Guinnesses. They may be right, but they sound like peni.

Hey thanks to my home(page)y Iain for publishing this while I was away. Handing your blog over to someone else feels a bit like lending someone your toothbrush, but the secret “How’s My Publishing?” email alert I set up remained comment-free over my holiday, confirming my suspicions that it was always going to be in better hands than mine.

(Wink to Iain in the wings of the draft posts)

Cheers pal.

So, here we are.

I work in a busy newsroom, and my entire professional life has been related to journalism. This is not a romantic job, as here are a few truths about the industry.

1. Breaking news
The electronic age means that no one is really first with the news. They may be first to YOU, at that moment, but someone else somewhere was first at the same time. We’ve come a long way from Mr Reuters’ pigeons.

2. News is history
Mostly, it’s just 5 per cent telling people what could happen 5 per cent telling people what is happening, and 90 per cent telling people what has happened. Even the self-importance of the phrase “the first draft of history” is pretty meaningless, because the second draft is about 15 seconds behind that.

3. Journalists do not make sense of the world
People make sense of the world. News journalists just tell you what’s going on. Or what HAS gone on. I would like think I am helping people make sense of the world, but I’m probably just telling them what’s going on. News is very rarely a public service, history often repeats itself and most people have very little control over the things that take place.

4. The biggie - I make a living because of the suffering of others.
I do. I might think I’m not, but I am. To my knowledge, I have even contributed towards the suffering of others, but they were bad people and they deserved it. By this I mean telling people about the bad things that bad people do and getting them in trouble. But without the original suffering of events, I would be out of a job.

Do I sleep at night? On my side.

I figure that suffering is a part of the human condition. I am not cold and heartless, there’s no bubble that’s going to burst when I hit fifty; I know what’s going on. Pretending people don’t suffer is like pretending a football match isn’t going to end. It will, and when it does, there’s going to be a score at the end of that game. And people will want to know what that score is.

It’s the same with a ferry sinking. Ferries contain people. Ferries float. Things that float can sink. Floating, like life, is a temporary state - it’s engineering against the elements and the elements are always an opposite force. If you don’t oppose that force I the right way, they win. So ferries sink.

I’m not waiting for it to sink, but when it does, I can tell you what I think you’ll want to know.

Now, a critic would argue: “Hang on, people also take drugs. Does that mean it’s ok to sell heroin?”

No. Wait. What? Drug dealers provide a harmful product. A news report about a ferry sinking is not harmful. It may even prevent future disasters from happening again. Maritime security regulations may be improved. People may find out that their loved ones survived. Good things could happen.

I make a living because of the suffering of others, but I’m not making a living from the suffering. There’s a big difference.

I’m able to do my job because suffering exists. And whether or not I’m there to do my job, it still exists. And whether or not I exist, guess what? Suffering exists. I don’t depend on the events any more than the events depend on me. People depend on me and I can do some good there every day, with the constant reminder of suffering.

What could be better practice than that?

It must be hard being a sidekick.

Tonto, Prescott, Rubble, Oates*, Gareth from The Office.

Sidekicks generally are rubbish. Unless they know they are, crap like Hank from the Gary Shandling show, Karl Pilkington. Or Niles from Frasier and then that make them ace.

Sidekicks need to know their place. And they should lay low after their leading man/lady has moved on. This is why I kind of admire Pliers for not carrying on after Shaka Dimas of “Tease Me” fame.

Musicians take note, if the biggest billing you ever had was a “ft.” on someone else’s single, leave it like that.

Remember Artful Dodger “ft.” Craig David? Enough said.

Also - brothers and sisters of famous performers who follow in their footsteps? Don’t stop fucking off until I tell you otherwise. Apart from Ira Gerswhin and Ashley Simpson - they’re cool. Also, step forward Mike McCartney, who was not only rubbish, but in the 60’s when he wanted to bring a record out, he did so under the name Mike McGear (which is fab) so it would do well on its own merits.

*There would be those who argue that John Oates was not a sidekick of 80’s Philly soulpop sensations Hall & Oates, but it wasn’t Oates and Hall, was it?

If you could freeze time, would you? Seriously. Have the happiest afternoon of your life last forever? Sounds pretty tempting.

I bet after a while it would start to suck. It would fade like the smile while you’re waiting too long to have your picture taken. All the elements of fun would be there, but the soul would gradually dissipate and be gone.

The plants would all die for a start. If it’s sunny they would dry out and if it’s rainy they would drown. Maybe not the ones near you - perhaps you could water them or give them shelter - but all the plants you couldn’t care for would perish and you have to care about that.

So you’d say the afternoon would last forever with variable weather. Plants are OK, job done. What about the guy who empties the bin you threw your ice-cream wrapper into. He’s not going to empty the bins because the afternoon will last forever and the rubbish tip won’t be open tomorrow, because there is no tomorrow. And the other ice cream guy will run out of ice cream. And he’s not going to see his family because he only sees his kids twice a week and this afternoon is going to last forever.

And all this is just to make you happy?

You can’t freeze time. You can’t be a kid forever. You can look homeward but never go back there and it’s OK and there’s always tomorrow.

Customer: Can I have Batman Forever
Staff: No.
Customer: What about Another 24 Hours?
Staff: It’s daily rental only.

Customer: Can I have Apocalypse Now?
Staff: I’ll just finish serving this lady, sir.

Staff: Can I help you?
Customer: Steel Magnolias?
Staff: I’ve gone straight. This is my life now.

Customer: I’m looking for Little Women.
Staff: Have you considered Thailand?

Customer: Have you got The Goonies?
Staff: No, it’s just these trousers.

Customer: I’m looking for Bad Boys Two.
Staff: Speak for yourself, love.

and while I’m gone:

 if it gets any better than this, you have to let me know.

It seems that everyone has a blog these days. I was looking around the BBC site and they have editors writing blogs there.

http://www.bbc.co.uk/blogs/

For those of you who are interested, its people who publish things for a living writing for free and publishing about the things they publish. Not writing things you want to read, writing about the things you want to read.

OK, it’s a little like the thing I did on Wednesday, but I thought blogs were about giving people a voice, rather than giving people with voices an outlet to talk about what they do in their media careers.

I have a blog. I work in the media. I do not blog about my work in the media. I do not write news stories about my blog. But someone at the BBC thinks it is important to publish more than the stuff they are meant to.

Hey I know: we should strike while the iron is hot. Whenever you read anything on the BBC, write to the editor and ask to read the person’s blog about the thing you just read. Ask the editor to write on their blog about the email you just sent. Then publish the reply to the email in your blog, and write an article about the whole sequence of events. Send that in to BBC News online for them to run as a story. When they run the story, write a blog post about it and invite member comments which you can send to the original editor’s blog. Then try and get a publishing deal and get invited on to BBC TV to talk about it and stick the whole interview on YouTube and send it in an email to everyone you know.

Can we please calm down with the publishing? It’s going to be OK.

As you can tell, it’s time for me to go on holiday, so my mate Iain is going to publish these pages while I am away.

Colleague: I’m thinking of taking a holiday in the near future.

Me: I went to the near future once. It was rubbish.

Colleague: When was that?

Me: A while ago.

Colleague: Where did you go?

Me: Now, actually.

Colleague: What was it like?

Me: A lot like this.

Colleague: Oh.

Me: It was good for a break, but you wouldn’t want to live there.

Colleague: No.

The days you can make a programme on the TV if you have a good title.

That’s it.

Mostly, anyway. Stick in a couple of B list celebrities, one ailing A lister host, bimbo sidekick, regional voiceover artist, lunch at the Ivy with a producer and you’re all set.

Last night they had this show on called Excuse My French, where Ron Atkinson and Esther Rantzen shack up in a villa in Provence and learn French.

And that’s it. All in the title. Change one word and make it a pun - you’re good to go.

This follows in the same footsteps as Only Fools On Horses, and Never Mind The Full Stops. So here are a few ideas of my own:

Pilates Of The Caribbean
Famous faces get makeovers and yoga therapy on a pirate theme, but who will be first to walk the plank? Treatments include Arrrrr-uveda, Smooth Man’s Chest and essential parrot fashion advice.

Personnel Jesus
Human Resources departments from rival companies put a series of pitches together. First to get twelve disciples wins.

Noise In The Hood
Gagged stars with cloaked heads identify mystery sounds.

Home Despot
Former dictators swap countries and give them a new look using only the respective nations’ annual budgets.

Welcome To The Bungle
Comeback show for Rainbow’s cuddliest bear. Celebrities battle it out in a high octane, heavy metal fuelled dash across the rainforests of Borneo. By George, they better be Zippy!

Old Man Liver
The transplant show with a difference. Recovering alcoholic stars get a lesson in the dangers of drinking and they’ll need a stead hand in the operating theatre when the pressure’s on.

Klu Klux Flan
Celebrity bigots have pots of fun when panel show meetings cookery programme. It’s racists against the clock, there are recipes for disaster and this is dessert warfare.

Week 5 is now live. Hope you’re enjoying it - there’s a lot of work going into it.

Nine Rooms updates every Tuesday - Gina - Nick - Claire - Alan - Joey

Nine Rooms is a dramatic comedy on the web based on five characters who share a house in Bethnal Green in London. Follow the story by visiting the characters’ blogs, which are updated every Tuesday with their own perspective on events.

Without a doubt, the hardest thing about love is the feeling of helplessness in the face of suffering. It must be impossible to love everyone, because if you did, you would have the inhuman quality of being comfortable with being helpless in the face of everyone else’s misery.

You can’t love everyone. You can be kind. You can have a connection. You can have a profound acceptance of the way things are. You can maybe try to get along with everyone and get along on your way. But you can’t love everyone.

Jean Paul Sartre said to live each day with death on your shoulder. I agree, but also live with the possibility that today won’t be your time. I hate it when my kids have colds. I am sure I feel worse than them when they are ill, because while they know how bad they are feeling, I have no idea and we are both suffer and I am helpless.

I know I will die. I know they will die. I know that it’s possible that my great grandchildren will grow up in a world that I won’t know, and I know that these words will not help them understand that place any better than the people around them at the time.

And I know that one day, someone, somewhere will hit delete and get asked if they are sure before this page disappears forever.

But thanks for reading today.

I wanted to say a big This Is This hello to readers of Mandala, the excellent American Buddhist periodical. If you’re visiting for the first time because you saw the address printed in the magazine, then you’re very welcome and I hope you enjoyed my article. I don’t really have things sorted into categories and I hope to one day, but in the meantime you can search for articles using the box in the nav bar to the right. There is plenty on here from the Buddhist (mostly Mahayana) perspective here, but it’s not labelled as such because that puts people off. And since I’ve just pointed that out and alienated the audience, that means you’re pretty much it.

Visit the archives, print stuff out, talk among yourselves, send this site round to friends, add it to your favourites, subscribe to the feed and whatever you do ask questions but do whatever you want.

Thanks for stopping over, look after yourself and be well. That is if you want to.

If you want to buy Mandala in the UK, the only place I actually know of is in Brighton - the Green Buddha Bookstore in Bond Street there, but you can probably get it in other specialist places.

Hey! How you doing?! Come in. Seat there if you want it? OK.

I’ve seen a number of films lately and I’m here to tell you what I thunk.

Brokeback Mountain
I wanted to like this, but that’s often the way with films that other people rave about. Then I seem to magnify the bad points, like I can balance out the vibes of hype. It’s just something I do. I liked the dialogue: “Hell, the most travelling I’ve ever done is around the coffee pot looking for the handle” and I liked the way they didn’t talk about love, because people in love don’t do that. But people do in films when they are in love. (Woody Allen in Hannah and her Sisters: “The heart is a very resilient muscle” Yes it is, but who says that?) I also like films that span many years of a lifetime. (Goodfellas, Blow, Boogie Nights) A film can be pretty average but I will like it if it spans many years of a lifetime. But I thought this was average.

Shopgirl
I liked this. I loved the relaxed sexuality without it being sleazy. I think Steve Martin is a really good actor when he doesn’t do his flappy arms thing. He’s great with the hangdog eyes. I like the way the girl in it isn’t all boring cheerleader sexy, which makes her more desireable, and I love Jason Schwartzman for having a style all his own.

The Usual Suspects
For years this fell into the category of “Classic Films I Have Not Seen”. This is an illustrious category which includes Citizen Kane, 2001. Raging Bull, On The Waterfront, Streetcar Named Desire, Alien, and (until recently) The Godfather. I knew how it ended but still enjoyed it, but can’t talk about because other people will enjoy it more if they don’t know how it ends.

Solaris
Immaculately shot, and I love the woman in it. The film is all beautiful and weird although for me in dipped into philosophy when it should have taken a dive. I guess it didn’t because some people would have said they were spending too much time there, but for me they should have. Or maybe that’s the point - people who think about things a lot can go away and think about them after the film instead of having it done for them. OK, good film.

Vanity Fair
This was so-so to OK, but moved too quickly because there was a lot to cover,in the space of a couple of hours. Then again it picks up extra points for, that’s right, being a film that spans many years of a lifetime.

Sideways
Now this I liked. It was lots of things and not too much, but enough all the time in terms of characters, jokes, dialogue, actors looks, photography, pace and sentimentality.

I had never heard countries referred to as “she” until I was 14 when a new history teacher said one day:

“Russia pushed the Germans back partly because Stalin could not afford to lose her warm water ports.”

It seemed weird and strangely personal, but my teacher always did it. I wondered if world leaders referred to their countries in the same way.

King Juan Carlos: “My country, she’s great. A little cranky at times, but she keeps me out of trouble. But I was talking to President Chirac the other day, and that France is a bitch. She’s out of control - she is loco. She’s always on the phone sending text messages to whoever and the other say she say she want to move in with Portugal, who everyone knows is a slapper. It’s not fair. It is always same old story. I wish I could help somehow.”

George Bush: “You have stood here before beside the pouring rain, with the world turning circles running round your brain.”

King Juan Carlos: “I guess I’m always hoping that you’d end this reign, but it’s my destiny to be the King of Spain.”

George Bush: “King of Spain?”

King Juan Carlos: “I will always be King of Spain.”

Once something bugs me, that’s it.

Last night I was sitting down with Wife to watch Lost, surely a highlight of anyone’s television week. And there in the writing credits was the name Adam Horowitz. Hang on, I thought - “Adam Horowitz AKA MCA, the husky voiced Buddhist rapper of Beastie Boys fame?”

Except what I said was: “Fuck! Um…. Horowitz. Adam Horowitz. You know. Ad Rock!!! No. Hang on, MCA. No. Yeah! Adam Horowitz! The Beastie Boys. What the hell?”

It bugged me for about two seconds before I was out of my seat and onto the computer trying to find out if MCA was co-writing scripts for runaway smash Lost, even though it cost me the first four minutes of the show.

Turns out Adam HoroVitz is in the Beastie Boys, Adam HoroWitz with a W is a Hollywood script writer. But I had to find out and now I know.

I rarely let things like this lie. And now because we’ve always got information at our fingertips, things don’t stay unknown for long. At least not with me.

Plus I love a Fun Fact. Here comes one right now.

The Cenotaph in Whitehall (that’s the WW1 memorial London’s Whitehall) is 1801 feet and eight inches around if you were to go around it and measure every edge and side. And the sides don’t go straight up. They look like the do, but they are slightly slanted but you wouldn’t notice unless someone said. It would actually form a point it if were really, really high. How high? Like 1801 feet and eight inches high.

Yeah.

How cool is that? Like it would make perfect sense if it was all there, but it does although it doesn’t because it’s not. And it’s even cooler that people don’t know how much sense it makes because they don’t know that it’s part of the design, except now they do.

Nine Rooms updates every Tuesday - Gina - Nick - Claire - Alan - Joey

Nine Rooms is a dramatic comedy on the web based on five characters who share a house in Bethnal Green in London. Follow the story by visiting the characters’ blogs, which are updated every Tuesday with their own perspective on events.

Week for is now live - with added feeds.

They aren’t all that essential. Would the Iraq War have been fought over vials of lavender and tea tree?

I have mixed feelings about fighting wars over oil. I think it is justified, but not for the reasons we did it in Iraq. It’s wrong not to share resources as vital as oil. Yes, the UK traded slaves and robbed countries of their diamonds and all kinds of shit. No amount of living in the past will atone us of those sins. Nor does it absolve other countries of their evils.

Imagine if the UK had three quarters of the world’s food, and this was the only place that food grew. Then picture us selling that food for six, seven times what it was worth to other countries whose governments tax the hell out of it. I can seriously people invading us to ensure fairer distribution and I probably wouldn’t protest too much because of our greed.

Oil is just the same. It is vital to our economy, nearly on the scale of food. We’re not talking diamonds any more.

Many anti-capitalists protest about the war. Hang on. Aren’t they defending a country stance of hoarding all the oil and price fixing? Wow, how right wing are these anti-capitalists? What about the distribution of the wealth? What about property being theft?

But the war against Iraq was a war on its people who have nothing to do with it. We now keep them down and fan the flames of civil war while the Saudis fix the price of oil from right under the nosecones of our Tornados and that’s fucked.

Last week if you had bet against me you would have got pretty good odds, but I’m here to tell you that they’re not taking any more bets.

I am feeling streets better and never stopped getting on with doing my thing. Thank you for all the very cool messages - they rocked when I couldn’t. Like I said, my dip was brought on by nothing circumstantial and it wasn’t an attention seeking thing, This is a blog, OK? It’s what goes on in my mind, even when I think that I am sinking down.

I have learned some valuable lessons, the most important of which I will now relate in what could become possibly a new feature.

DIY Tip Of The Week

Say you’ve removed a shower curtain rail from a bathroom wall. You’re going to possibly have holes in the tiles where the fixtures were screwed in.

As every handyman/woman knows, Polyfilla is the home decorator’s best friend after swear words. It comes in a tube. You can get different colours. Wood effect! Quick drying! Fine surface for a glass-smooth finish! Waterproof! Exterior formula! It does everything. It fills cracks, crevaces, crannies, and crags, leaving you free to paint over or drill again. It allows you to paper over the cracks literally but not metaphorically and it is wonderful stuff. Forget houses - it has held marriages together

So after you get yourself some Polyfilla, you’re going to want to fill those holes and smooth them off so the surface is flush with the tiles. Then you’re going to leave that to dry, downing tools and telling your beloved: “I can’t do any more until that dries. Fancy a cup of tea?”

After several weeks, when you are absolutely certain the surface is dry, get some very fine sandpaper and rub it gently over the top. This must be fine grade so that it does not scratch the surface of the tiles but is abrasive enough to wear down the dried Polyfilla to give you a perfectly flat surface.

Now you will notice that dried Polyfilla has a matt finish, whereas tiles are often shiny. This difference is more noticeable in rooms with harsh lighting, such as bathrooms, or areas where the surface will get wet, as in, say, bathrooms.

If you are a bit of a perfectionist like myself, you’ll want to give the dried Polyfilla a glaze somehow so it shines like the white tile around it. You may also be reluctant to go to the hardware store to buy a tin of something for three areas the size of your thumbnail. You may perhaps be thinking of things you have lying around the house which can glaze an area of this size.

However, it would be a mistake to rifle though your wife’s nailcare box to find a product such as Revlon’s Hardwearing French Manicure Clear, because not only will she not approve, you will look stupid. Because although it does make the area shiney, for some reason it reacts with the dried Polyfilla and turns it a pale shade of yellow.

This does not happen straight away. No - the colour changes after a couple of minutes, so you’ll probably find you have applied nail polish to all of the carefully prepared areas before the colour starts changing before you eyes. And if you’ve never put nail varnish on anything before, you’re probably going to get it wrong and it will be all gloopy and messy and rubbish because you won’t know what you’re doing.

Not only will it look bad, but you’ll have to explain to your beloved when she returns home what you were thinking when you started touching up your home improvements with nail polish.

Anyone who did this would probably feel very annoyed at themselves for a while afterward, which is why I make it this week’s DIY Tip Of The Week.

Stay thinking.

You know, it’s funny. It’s a strange thing writing this some days. Depression is kicking my ass at the moment. Or maybe not, because that’s not fair on people who can’t face getting out of bed, but right now I’m like: “There’s a lining? Good for clouds.”

These are the sunniest days of the year, I have a loving family and I’m in a creative slump perhaps, but nothing’s really wrong. Guess that’s just the way it shows itself and always has. Maybe not depression. Melancholia maybe. On the downturn. Between the moon and New York City. Whatever you want to call it. I’m OK - I’m just hardly dancing a jig over here.

If I could put my finger on it, I’d say I’d like to be in a position where people say about me: “Oh yeah, him - he’s that guy who…” but I can’t finish the rest of the sentence. If I could maybe I’d feel better, although there’s the double-edged thing of not actually wanting to be “the guy who”. Although it might be cool for a bit.

So to bloggers the web over:

It’s not enough to have talent these days.
It’s not enough to have skills.
It’s not enough to be kind to all things.
It’s fame that pays the bills.

Your turn of phrase alone won’t help.
Your cheques will only bounce.
Your wisdom will not help you eat.
It’s being known that counts.

Although the planet’s infinite,
you’ve only got your quips.
The world becomes your oyster
once your name is on their lips.

But while the fruit tree stays in shade,
these thoughts go into blue.
The more I say about myself
the more I fade from view.

Girl to Shakespeare: “Write a sonnet.”
Shakespeare to the girl: “I’m on it.

” ‘Shall I liken you to Spring?’ ”
“Summer’s day’s a better thing.”

Shakespeare: “Yeah, you really think?”
“Certain.” (Will dips quill in ink)

“And why not try ’shall I compare?’ ”
Shakespeare shoots a steely stare.

“Instead of ‘you’, I’d go with ‘thee’.”
Shakespeare: “Yeah, but you ain’t me.

“You needn’t be so heavy handed.”
“Read it back,” the girl demanded.

” ‘Shall I compare thee to, ‘ quote:
‘a Summer’s day.’ ”
“That’s what you wrote.”

It’s Tuesday. It’s Nine Rooms. (Cue theme music: Daaa daa dip dip dooo. Daaa daa dip dip dooo. Daaa daa dip dip daaa daaa diddle-ooo! Daaa daa dip dip DOOOOOOO.)

Nine Rooms updates every Tuesday - Gina - Nick - Claire - Alan - Joey

Planes touch down beyond my shoulder,
Time stands still but I get older
Sun comes up but it gets colder
I’m heading into work

Six lane din and rolling west
On the screen from off my chest
I take care but not requests
I’m heading to work

Girders, glass and metal piping
Music, shades, self-conscious typing
One more post and all self-hyping
I’m heading in to work

It is so hot. The heat is personal. I do not like hot weather. I do like the new Dixie Chicks album which I got last week. But even the Dixie Chicks are no match for this heat.

I can not write much today apart from saying that I would like the generally accepted ridiculing of men to stop. It is not acceptable to portray men as bumbling wingeing victims. It’s something that has been on the increase over the last five years and people love it. I blame John Major and Tony Blair.

If it continues, some equally shortsighted idiot will start a masculist movement. Before that happens, let’s stop it with the “pathetic man” jibes.

Unless you’re talking about England’s footballers, in which case it’s fair game. 

Rubbish. Absolute rubbish in the football.

Nothing amusing today. OK, there was is this one thing this morning where I went to the supermarket to buy some beer and nachos (again with the Mexican food) and I was going through my list.

 Me (thinking): Beer, Pimms, nachos, dips, goat’s cheese, lemonade, strawberries.* All good. Just the ice to get. Oh - they are out of ice. There’s a member of staff, I’ll ask him.

Me: Excuse me.

Member of Staff: Hi, yes.

Me: Do you have any ice?

Member of Staff: Hmm. Ice?

 Me (thinking): Yeah, you know - frozen water?

(but) Me (saying): Yes please.

Why do they do that? Why do they ask what you have just said however simple it is?

Anyway.

Did you see how well the French played? Did you see how the Brazilians weren’t hoofing the ball upfield when they were one nil down with 10 minutes left?

Did you see any of them standing around like they were selling gloves when they should have been getting stuck in? Can we please stop mentioning 1966? Can we just go to staight penalties in the next World Cup? It doesn’t matter who we play. It doesn’t matter who takes them. I’ll take one myself if you like. So what’s the deal, if I miss this and they save the next one then we’re out, yeah? I’ll be right back.

Wayne, you awful, awful twat.

*Actually, I’m not really that posh. It’s just this list makes me look like it because we had a party and I was trying to carry off the illusion of being an exceptional host while cushioning the blow of another ugly withdrawal from world class sport.