Happy birthday to John II Komnenos, Byzantine emperor (1118-1143). The date range presented represents his reign not his life which was somewhat longer. Apparently I do have to explain such things.
John II was the second emperor of the Komnenos dynasty and spent his reign rebuilding the empire. For those who came in late a quick recap is in order. In 1071 due to a combination of over confidence, mismanagement, treachery and suicidal idiocy at the highest levels of government the Byzantine empire suffered a major defeat at the hands of the Seljuk Turks at the Battle of Manzikert. Normally a serious military threat would prompt a rallying round the flag. Instead the Byzantine aristocracy chose this moment to engage in a series of crazy civil wars, throne seizing, plotting and anarchy. As a result after the battle (which needn't have been such a major setback) the Seljuk Turks, much to their own surprise, were able to pretty much wander into and conquer by default about half the empire.
Finally in 1081 one military thug managed to beat the crap out of all the others and bring the tattered and bankrupt empire some much needed stability. His name was Alexios Komnenos father to our birthday boy. Somehow Alexios dragged the empire back from the brink and managed to see off multiple threats from the Seljuks, Normans, Pechenegs and Paulicians. He was further aided when a group of heavily armed psychopaths turned up at Constantinople asking for directions to Jerusalem. Alexios lent them a map and as they slaughtered their way across Asia Minor he followed and stuck Byzantine flags on everything still standing. The capture of Jerusalem by this force (which history has dignified with the term The First Crusade) gave the Moslem population something else to worry about and Alexios gained a much needed breathing space. Finally after nearly thirty years of rule Alexios died (much to the joy of the populace who kind of hated him) and his son John took the throne.
Not without difficulty however; John's elder sister Anna had imperial ambitions for her husband and she had hated John from the day he was born. Anna and her mother (who like most people seems to have disliked Alexios despite being married to him) formed a plot to put Anna's husband on the throne. John moved swiftly and Anna spent the rest of her life in a nunnery where she occupied her time writing a biography that praised her father to the skies and insulted John as much as she dared.
Alexios had shored up his power base by promoting relatives to key commands but John who had learned not to trust his relatives looked to outsiders for support. Principal among them was a Turkish former slave named John Axouch who would act as John's commander in chief and closest confidant.
With the empire at least stable (if badly battered) John could start the process of restoration. It was probably beyond the depleted resources of the empire to regain everything that had been lost after Manzikert but what could be done John did. He shored up the European provinces (very important now that most of Asia was gone) and defeated both the Hungarians and the Serbs when they tried to raid imperial territory. Many of the defeated Serbs were transplanted to Anatolia in a typical piece of internal immigration. The imperial government would take rebellious subjects (or captured enemies) and dump them in the middle of a war zone with a strong hint that if they didn't want to end up slaves or dead they might like to defend the place.
John maintained good relations with the Holy Roman Empire in the west which was handy since his relations with Norman Sicily varied between hostile and outright war. With his European rear secured John then campaigned in Anatolia pushing back the Seljuks and recapturing a good deal of territory. Most of this territory was along the coast, the most valuable and easy to capture land. The rugged Anatolian hinterland remained beyond his grasp but with the Seljuks pushed back and the most financially useful territories back in the imperial fold money again started to flow into imperial coffers. Using his new gains as a springboard John moved down into the Levant where the Crusader states were nominally his vassals. Unfortunately while they liked the idea of imperial protection the rulers of Edessa and Antioch were less crazy about having the emperor backed by a victory hardened army in their midst. They sabotaged his campaign against the Muslim rulers of Damascus and eventually John had to pull back.
After a reign of twenty five years John suddenly died after scratching himself with a poison arrow while on a hunting trip. He was succeeded by his younger son Manuel.
Throughout his reign John was noted for his piety, frugality and mercy. It is said that no one was executed or mutilated by his order during his entire reign. Unlike his father (who admittedly had a harder row to hoe) John was loved by his people which may explain why one of the ugliest of the Byzantine emperors was given the apparently non ironic nickname "John the Beautiful".
Monday, September 13, 2010
Parental Discretion Advised but Not Expected
Keen readers of this blog (I fondly imagine there are some) will know that I celebrated my hundredth blog entry by doing a knife job on Stephanie Meyer. That entry required a little research. Actually since all I did was look her up on wikipedia it occurs to me I should probably remove the preposition from that last sentence. Anyway, one of the things the wikipedia entry mentioned was that a feminist newsletter claimed that Meyer was writing "abstinence porn". This is grossly unfair since most pornography I have encountered has been better written than Twilight.
More importantly though; what the hell is abstinence porn? And do people who get off on that really have to wade through the Twilight series in order to get sexually aroused by the lack of sex. Ok, so maybe Bella doesn't engage in sex before marriage. Perhaps Ms Meyer is sending a subtle message to her readership about not engaging in premarital intercourse. If so she is showing a level of skill evident nowhere else in her writing and does anyone else notice that as long as you marry a corpse apparently its ok to have sex with it?
When did making a point or sending a message become pornography? And if it is pornography why are children allowed to have mobile phones? If Twilight constitutes abstinence porn then I think we can make a case for the bible and the koran being classified as religious porn. The argument is a lot stronger at least on the basis of explicit intent. You could carry this argument to ridiculous lengths or rather, to be more accurate, even more ridiculous lengths. Could our court system be considered an example of "justice porn" which, after all, "must manifestly be seen to be done". Somebody was looking to attract voyeurs from day one. Possibly court transcripts should come in plain paper wrapping with a warning label, "Caution, the following pages contain explicit depictions of hard core justice. Reader discretion is advised". Of course there would be the little disclaimer down the bottom, "all participants were over the age of eighteen, we do not tolerate child justice".
Since there is virtually nothing that some person will not find sexually arousing possibly we should just classify the entire human race as suitable for adults only and send our children to Mars until they turn eighteen. Or possibly we should stop using emotive and wildly inaccurate words to describe something we disapprove of. I'm thinking the children on Mars scenario is the more likely.
Does anybody else remember a simpler, more decent time when pornography merely consisted of naked people having sex? Apparently our innocence is long gone.
More importantly though; what the hell is abstinence porn? And do people who get off on that really have to wade through the Twilight series in order to get sexually aroused by the lack of sex. Ok, so maybe Bella doesn't engage in sex before marriage. Perhaps Ms Meyer is sending a subtle message to her readership about not engaging in premarital intercourse. If so she is showing a level of skill evident nowhere else in her writing and does anyone else notice that as long as you marry a corpse apparently its ok to have sex with it?
When did making a point or sending a message become pornography? And if it is pornography why are children allowed to have mobile phones? If Twilight constitutes abstinence porn then I think we can make a case for the bible and the koran being classified as religious porn. The argument is a lot stronger at least on the basis of explicit intent. You could carry this argument to ridiculous lengths or rather, to be more accurate, even more ridiculous lengths. Could our court system be considered an example of "justice porn" which, after all, "must manifestly be seen to be done". Somebody was looking to attract voyeurs from day one. Possibly court transcripts should come in plain paper wrapping with a warning label, "Caution, the following pages contain explicit depictions of hard core justice. Reader discretion is advised". Of course there would be the little disclaimer down the bottom, "all participants were over the age of eighteen, we do not tolerate child justice".
Since there is virtually nothing that some person will not find sexually arousing possibly we should just classify the entire human race as suitable for adults only and send our children to Mars until they turn eighteen. Or possibly we should stop using emotive and wildly inaccurate words to describe something we disapprove of. I'm thinking the children on Mars scenario is the more likely.
Does anybody else remember a simpler, more decent time when pornography merely consisted of naked people having sex? Apparently our innocence is long gone.
What Will We Do When the Robots Get Rusty?
It is amazing how permanent our civilisation looks to the untrained eye. A swift glance around shows me towering buildings, harbour spanning bridges and roads, fat, wide and black like the arteries of a smoker. It all looks so solid, you can punch it as hard as you like without any result except broken fingers. Yet without constant maintenance the buildings would crumble, the bridges fall and the roads would resemble, well something close to what they are right now.
As we build more and more there is a commensurate rise in the amount of maintenance required to keep it all humming. Of course there is some rationalisation, old buildings and infrastructure are torn down and replaced with fresh and the maintenance assets can be reallocated accordingly. Indeed one of the main reasons for replacing old infrastructure is not because it has ceased to function but simply because the upkeep is getting too expensive. Since we continually build more, build bigger and build more sophisticated there must surely come a day when all of our resources are dedicated to patching up what we already have and there will be simply no capacity for new construction of any kind. We will become a race of squatters inhabiting the decaying monuments of our ancestors expending all of our efforts in a desperate attempt to stop the roof from falling in. Of course one day the decay will outrun our efforts to prevent it and then civilisation will crumble around us.
Once those structures are gone we won't be able to build new ones. Knowledge is like every other skill. If you don't use it, you lose it. Over the past few thousand years we have lost an incredible amount of knowledge as the applications for it became less and less relevant. In Britain some years ago a group of rail enthusiasts built themselves a steam engine. They were able to do this because one of their number, by sheer coincidence, found a copy of the original blueprints. If they hadn't made that discovery they wouldn't have been able to do it because nobody in Britain knows how to build a steam train engine from scratch anymore. It has been less than a hundred years since steam trains were the very symbol of modern civilisation and yet now we would be more successful in reconstructing a dinosaur skeleton. There is nothing really wrong with losing such knowledge because, of course, the steam trains have been replaced with more efficient substitutes. As long as we continue to do that we'll be all right.
But we won't continue to do that. The problem will arise when, after a few generations of doing nothing but maintain and repair existing infrastructure, we are called upon to build replacements. We won't be able to do it. Nobody will know how. We will become like the Mayans, hiding in the jungle hunting with spears a few miles away from a crumbling supercity that their ancestors built. The Mayans didn't suddenly become stupid, they just stopped building cities for a while and suddenly they were running through the jungle trying to avoid Mel Gibson. Rust and cobwebs gather about our civilisation and it is obvious that the human race is doomed.
Wait a minute! Of course; its so simple. Robots! We don't need to spend all that effort maintaining our civilisation. We'll just design robots to do all that for us. Then we can concentrate all our efforts on raising our civilisation to greater and greater heights. Hear me ye Gods, for the human race is rising and we shall challenge for your unapproachable throne. Our time of glory is coming and none shall equal our might and power. We shall gaze down from the pinnacles of our triumph and laugh at the scurrying ants beneath our feet.
Until of course we have to spend all our time maintaining the robots. Then we really will be doomed.
As we build more and more there is a commensurate rise in the amount of maintenance required to keep it all humming. Of course there is some rationalisation, old buildings and infrastructure are torn down and replaced with fresh and the maintenance assets can be reallocated accordingly. Indeed one of the main reasons for replacing old infrastructure is not because it has ceased to function but simply because the upkeep is getting too expensive. Since we continually build more, build bigger and build more sophisticated there must surely come a day when all of our resources are dedicated to patching up what we already have and there will be simply no capacity for new construction of any kind. We will become a race of squatters inhabiting the decaying monuments of our ancestors expending all of our efforts in a desperate attempt to stop the roof from falling in. Of course one day the decay will outrun our efforts to prevent it and then civilisation will crumble around us.
Once those structures are gone we won't be able to build new ones. Knowledge is like every other skill. If you don't use it, you lose it. Over the past few thousand years we have lost an incredible amount of knowledge as the applications for it became less and less relevant. In Britain some years ago a group of rail enthusiasts built themselves a steam engine. They were able to do this because one of their number, by sheer coincidence, found a copy of the original blueprints. If they hadn't made that discovery they wouldn't have been able to do it because nobody in Britain knows how to build a steam train engine from scratch anymore. It has been less than a hundred years since steam trains were the very symbol of modern civilisation and yet now we would be more successful in reconstructing a dinosaur skeleton. There is nothing really wrong with losing such knowledge because, of course, the steam trains have been replaced with more efficient substitutes. As long as we continue to do that we'll be all right.
But we won't continue to do that. The problem will arise when, after a few generations of doing nothing but maintain and repair existing infrastructure, we are called upon to build replacements. We won't be able to do it. Nobody will know how. We will become like the Mayans, hiding in the jungle hunting with spears a few miles away from a crumbling supercity that their ancestors built. The Mayans didn't suddenly become stupid, they just stopped building cities for a while and suddenly they were running through the jungle trying to avoid Mel Gibson. Rust and cobwebs gather about our civilisation and it is obvious that the human race is doomed.
Wait a minute! Of course; its so simple. Robots! We don't need to spend all that effort maintaining our civilisation. We'll just design robots to do all that for us. Then we can concentrate all our efforts on raising our civilisation to greater and greater heights. Hear me ye Gods, for the human race is rising and we shall challenge for your unapproachable throne. Our time of glory is coming and none shall equal our might and power. We shall gaze down from the pinnacles of our triumph and laugh at the scurrying ants beneath our feet.
Until of course we have to spend all our time maintaining the robots. Then we really will be doomed.
Sunday, September 12, 2010
What Would be Written on the Pope's T-Shirt?
As I sit in my favourite cafe (Satellite Expresso, still hoping for a free coffee) I look around and realise that virtually everyone, myself included, is wearing a black t-shirt. With a single exception all the t-shirts have witty or humorous or socially relevant comments on them (the exception has a dalek on it).
Once upon a time people needed to develop opinions and be able to expound on them at length either verbally or in print. Now they just buy the appropriate t-shirt. All of the philosophical and political beliefs of humanity have been boiled down to the cloth equivalent of twitter. I'm not the first to notice this; one of my favourite Americans, PJ O'Rourke, once wrote that if Martin Luther were alive today he would have had to nail ninety five t-shirts to the door of Wittemburg church to have the same effect.
Nevertheless wearing a t-shirt with a supposedly pithy saying is still better than the current habit of "designer" clothing having huge labels announcing their provenance plastered all over them. I've never quite understood why people would pay a large amount of money to act as a walking billboard for a clothing designer. In days gone buy people used to be hired to wear sandwich boards advertising clothing shop's wares. Now apparently people will pay good money for the privilege. Imagine if you went to a tattoo parlour and as well as giving you your tattoo the owner insisted on branding the name of the shop across your forehead.
People seem to be prepared to put up with a lot from clothing designers. Clothing long ago lost its primary purpose of keeping us warm in the cave during ice ages and has now become a method of self promotion. Every hierarchically inclined organisation seems to insist on a form of clothing and self presentation that will announce their presence and status. One automatically thinks of the army or the church but masons or indeed an office with a dress code are doing the same thing. I wear a suit to work, something I wouldn't do if my employers allowed me to turn up in my pyjamas.
But people expect it; I very much doubt if the pope would command quite as much respect when speaking from the balcony over St Peter's square if he did it while wearing jeans and a t-shirt. At least not until we get some younger, hotter popes. Clothing is one of the ways we identify ourselves to others. We indicate to some that we might be agreeable to their approach while discreetly warning others to stay away. If we didn't have clothing we would have to write down various facets of our personality on cards and hand them out to strangers. This would be very irritating, especially as we would have no pockets to keep the cards in.
Once upon a time people needed to develop opinions and be able to expound on them at length either verbally or in print. Now they just buy the appropriate t-shirt. All of the philosophical and political beliefs of humanity have been boiled down to the cloth equivalent of twitter. I'm not the first to notice this; one of my favourite Americans, PJ O'Rourke, once wrote that if Martin Luther were alive today he would have had to nail ninety five t-shirts to the door of Wittemburg church to have the same effect.
Nevertheless wearing a t-shirt with a supposedly pithy saying is still better than the current habit of "designer" clothing having huge labels announcing their provenance plastered all over them. I've never quite understood why people would pay a large amount of money to act as a walking billboard for a clothing designer. In days gone buy people used to be hired to wear sandwich boards advertising clothing shop's wares. Now apparently people will pay good money for the privilege. Imagine if you went to a tattoo parlour and as well as giving you your tattoo the owner insisted on branding the name of the shop across your forehead.
People seem to be prepared to put up with a lot from clothing designers. Clothing long ago lost its primary purpose of keeping us warm in the cave during ice ages and has now become a method of self promotion. Every hierarchically inclined organisation seems to insist on a form of clothing and self presentation that will announce their presence and status. One automatically thinks of the army or the church but masons or indeed an office with a dress code are doing the same thing. I wear a suit to work, something I wouldn't do if my employers allowed me to turn up in my pyjamas.
But people expect it; I very much doubt if the pope would command quite as much respect when speaking from the balcony over St Peter's square if he did it while wearing jeans and a t-shirt. At least not until we get some younger, hotter popes. Clothing is one of the ways we identify ourselves to others. We indicate to some that we might be agreeable to their approach while discreetly warning others to stay away. If we didn't have clothing we would have to write down various facets of our personality on cards and hand them out to strangers. This would be very irritating, especially as we would have no pockets to keep the cards in.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Birthday Greetings #12
Happy birthday to Honorius, Roman Emperor of the West (395-423). Honorius was the son of Theodosius who was the last emperor to reign over a unified Roman empire. Theodosius gave the Eastern empire to his other son Arcadius who was a non entity and the western to Honorius who would struggle to reach non entity status. Admittedly since he took the throne at the age of nine he couldn't really set his stamp on the empire immediately and later in his life there were far too many other people stamping on the empire for him to be noticed.
Honorius had the misfortune to reign at a time when various disasters, idiotic decisions and geopolitical events of past years came to a head in a perfect storm of barbarian invasions. One problem was the army. The western empire needed a bigger army than it could afford. The eastern empire had managed to get most of its army destroyed some twenty years earlier at the Battle of Adrianople and since then had been scraping by through the simple expedient of hiring the Goths who destroyed it. Over in the west a combination of revolts, civil wars, high costs and general disillusion with the army as a career had led to a significant recruitment of barbarians as well. The barbarians could fight but they had little intrinsic loyalty to the empire itself although by this time neither did anyone else.
Honorius muddled through the first years of his reign under the guidance (or more accurately, thumb) of Stilicho his half barbarian commander in chief. Stilicho was a capable soldier and under his leadership the western army (now a collection of grumbling conscripts, underpaid auxiliaries, unreliable barbarians and sharp characters looking for an opportunity to proclaim themselves emperor) could and did win battles. Which was handy because due to a series of events elsewhere virtually the entire barbarian population of Europe upped stakes and headed for greener pastures within the empire. Stilicho drove off the first attacks but then fell victim to court intrigue and was executed. Honorius had lost the only capable man in his administration just when he needed him.
Various tribes of barbarians poured across the Rhine and Danube frontiers overrunning Roman Gaul and pushing down towards Spain. The British legions helpfully revolted and invaded Gaul themselves under a man named Constantine who proclaimed himself emperor. Taking swift action Honorius moved his capital to Ravenna, then the most easily defended city in Italy and thereafter did nothing. While Gaul descended into bloodshed as various Roman garrisons, barbarian tribes and the British legions disputed control Italy was visited by Alaric the Visigoth. He was very nice and agreed not to sack Rome if he was paid a huge ransom. Next year he came back and sacked Rome anyway. It is not entirely clear if Honorius even noticed. Fortunately Alaric soon died and his followers (most of them anyway) left.
Over in Gaul Constantine, now in control of about a third of the region decided to invade Italy. At this point Honorius got another capable general who managed to defeat Constantine and even retake a little Gaul from the barbarians. The barbarians responded by moving into Spain and capturing most of that instead. Honorius spent his time hitting on his sister and eventually, probably to the astonishment of everyone, died of natural causes at the age of thirty eight. He was succeeded by his nephew Valentinian who would turn out to be even more of a worthless tool.
Honorius had the misfortune to reign at a time when various disasters, idiotic decisions and geopolitical events of past years came to a head in a perfect storm of barbarian invasions. One problem was the army. The western empire needed a bigger army than it could afford. The eastern empire had managed to get most of its army destroyed some twenty years earlier at the Battle of Adrianople and since then had been scraping by through the simple expedient of hiring the Goths who destroyed it. Over in the west a combination of revolts, civil wars, high costs and general disillusion with the army as a career had led to a significant recruitment of barbarians as well. The barbarians could fight but they had little intrinsic loyalty to the empire itself although by this time neither did anyone else.
Honorius muddled through the first years of his reign under the guidance (or more accurately, thumb) of Stilicho his half barbarian commander in chief. Stilicho was a capable soldier and under his leadership the western army (now a collection of grumbling conscripts, underpaid auxiliaries, unreliable barbarians and sharp characters looking for an opportunity to proclaim themselves emperor) could and did win battles. Which was handy because due to a series of events elsewhere virtually the entire barbarian population of Europe upped stakes and headed for greener pastures within the empire. Stilicho drove off the first attacks but then fell victim to court intrigue and was executed. Honorius had lost the only capable man in his administration just when he needed him.
Various tribes of barbarians poured across the Rhine and Danube frontiers overrunning Roman Gaul and pushing down towards Spain. The British legions helpfully revolted and invaded Gaul themselves under a man named Constantine who proclaimed himself emperor. Taking swift action Honorius moved his capital to Ravenna, then the most easily defended city in Italy and thereafter did nothing. While Gaul descended into bloodshed as various Roman garrisons, barbarian tribes and the British legions disputed control Italy was visited by Alaric the Visigoth. He was very nice and agreed not to sack Rome if he was paid a huge ransom. Next year he came back and sacked Rome anyway. It is not entirely clear if Honorius even noticed. Fortunately Alaric soon died and his followers (most of them anyway) left.
Over in Gaul Constantine, now in control of about a third of the region decided to invade Italy. At this point Honorius got another capable general who managed to defeat Constantine and even retake a little Gaul from the barbarians. The barbarians responded by moving into Spain and capturing most of that instead. Honorius spent his time hitting on his sister and eventually, probably to the astonishment of everyone, died of natural causes at the age of thirty eight. He was succeeded by his nephew Valentinian who would turn out to be even more of a worthless tool.
Stephanie the Vampire Castrator
This is my hundredth blog entry. There should be a party, a celebration or at least some weary reader wondering "Don't you have anything better to do?". The answer is "No, I don't" so you'll have to put up with this blog for the foreseeable future.
It was my intention to write a serious piece on blogs and blogging and the minor milestone I have reached despite a combination of laziness and lack of imagination. However something else has grabbed my attention in the last few months. What is with all the vampire books that are infesting bookshops all over Sydney (and possibly the world)? This really came to a head tonight when I was browsing in a shop and came across a book entitled Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Slayer. At that point my mind stopped boggling and simply refused to work at all. Don't even get me started on the Twilight series (or saga as I believe it is inaccurately known). Then there is True Blood, somewhat less wretched than most, and a series of books called the Vampire Academy series. I haven't read this last but from the cover it appears to be across between Enid Blyton's Mallory Towers series and a party set in a morgue. I also noticed that relics from previous vampire fads have been popping up. Anne Rice novels were everywhere showcasing her particular talent of taking a bunch of whiny self absorbed pissants and turning them into whiny, self absorbed pissants who drink blood and stay out of the sun.
The latest incarnation of vampire books seems to be basically Sweet Valley High stories with a high body count. Not that I think that last is a bad thing. Then there are the werewolves, oh god enough with the werewolves already. Apparently nobody can write a single book about vampires nowadays without tossing in werewolves and making much of the apparently legendary rivalry between two non existent groups of monsters who would have been much better served simply dividing the human race between them as cattle to feed on.
Vampires: What happened to you? Once upon a time you were terrifying stalkers of the dark. Now apparently you just hang around looking moody and competing for the attentions of not particularly interesting teenagers. I remember vampires; sure they were sexy in a sort of tie me down and hurt me kind of way but essentially what they were was killers. They murdered people. They did it with aplomb and they did it with pleasure. Oh that Christopher Lee is alive to see this day (he is still alive right? He must be about six hundred years old by now). Let's get something straight right now. Vampires were dead. Cold, animated corpses that ripped the throats out of the living in order to sustain their dreadful existence. Sure they might have been sexy (ok they really were), sure they might seduce the occasional human who was drawn to their aura of dark power but essentially what they were about was the bodycount.
The appeal of vampires; their allure and sexiness was not based on anything as healthy as adolescent love however badly presented. The attraction of the vampire was corruption. The thought that if you were prepared to debase yourself in the most fundamental way you could cheat death. The vampire calls to the sickest and most selfish parts of the human psyche and uses a superficial glamour to help its victims justify their betrayal. "Let everything else die," shrieks the vampire to be, "let me feast on the flesh of my peers only let me live beyond my years." This is the vampire; the immortal cannibal stealing the years of the young to prolong its own old age. It is not within a million miles of what Stephanie fucking Meyer would recognise. Anne Rice got it more right and Poppy Z Brite even more so. At least their vampires killed people all over the place even if they had the collective personality of a cheese platter.
Vampires have been castrated, broken and tamed. The deathless creature that terrified us at night is now a pale skinned little puppy gambolling at our feet. Oh wait, maybe that's the werewolves. I can't really speak about werewolves, they don't interest me so much. Vampires are icy, sexy and murderous. Werewolves put me in mind of a fleaguard commercial that has escaped from its handlers.
The real danger is that with vampires so domesticated in print if anyone meets one in real life they will probably walk up and say hello rather than screaming in appropriate Hammer House of Horror style and running for their lives. Personally I suspect its all a vampire plot. Once nobody is afraid of vampires anymore the thirsty little buggers will be popping out of coffins all over the place and feasting to their hearts content. Hopefully the first under the fangs will be Stephanie Meyer.
It was my intention to write a serious piece on blogs and blogging and the minor milestone I have reached despite a combination of laziness and lack of imagination. However something else has grabbed my attention in the last few months. What is with all the vampire books that are infesting bookshops all over Sydney (and possibly the world)? This really came to a head tonight when I was browsing in a shop and came across a book entitled Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Slayer. At that point my mind stopped boggling and simply refused to work at all. Don't even get me started on the Twilight series (or saga as I believe it is inaccurately known). Then there is True Blood, somewhat less wretched than most, and a series of books called the Vampire Academy series. I haven't read this last but from the cover it appears to be across between Enid Blyton's Mallory Towers series and a party set in a morgue. I also noticed that relics from previous vampire fads have been popping up. Anne Rice novels were everywhere showcasing her particular talent of taking a bunch of whiny self absorbed pissants and turning them into whiny, self absorbed pissants who drink blood and stay out of the sun.
The latest incarnation of vampire books seems to be basically Sweet Valley High stories with a high body count. Not that I think that last is a bad thing. Then there are the werewolves, oh god enough with the werewolves already. Apparently nobody can write a single book about vampires nowadays without tossing in werewolves and making much of the apparently legendary rivalry between two non existent groups of monsters who would have been much better served simply dividing the human race between them as cattle to feed on.
Vampires: What happened to you? Once upon a time you were terrifying stalkers of the dark. Now apparently you just hang around looking moody and competing for the attentions of not particularly interesting teenagers. I remember vampires; sure they were sexy in a sort of tie me down and hurt me kind of way but essentially what they were was killers. They murdered people. They did it with aplomb and they did it with pleasure. Oh that Christopher Lee is alive to see this day (he is still alive right? He must be about six hundred years old by now). Let's get something straight right now. Vampires were dead. Cold, animated corpses that ripped the throats out of the living in order to sustain their dreadful existence. Sure they might have been sexy (ok they really were), sure they might seduce the occasional human who was drawn to their aura of dark power but essentially what they were about was the bodycount.
The appeal of vampires; their allure and sexiness was not based on anything as healthy as adolescent love however badly presented. The attraction of the vampire was corruption. The thought that if you were prepared to debase yourself in the most fundamental way you could cheat death. The vampire calls to the sickest and most selfish parts of the human psyche and uses a superficial glamour to help its victims justify their betrayal. "Let everything else die," shrieks the vampire to be, "let me feast on the flesh of my peers only let me live beyond my years." This is the vampire; the immortal cannibal stealing the years of the young to prolong its own old age. It is not within a million miles of what Stephanie fucking Meyer would recognise. Anne Rice got it more right and Poppy Z Brite even more so. At least their vampires killed people all over the place even if they had the collective personality of a cheese platter.
Vampires have been castrated, broken and tamed. The deathless creature that terrified us at night is now a pale skinned little puppy gambolling at our feet. Oh wait, maybe that's the werewolves. I can't really speak about werewolves, they don't interest me so much. Vampires are icy, sexy and murderous. Werewolves put me in mind of a fleaguard commercial that has escaped from its handlers.
The real danger is that with vampires so domesticated in print if anyone meets one in real life they will probably walk up and say hello rather than screaming in appropriate Hammer House of Horror style and running for their lives. Personally I suspect its all a vampire plot. Once nobody is afraid of vampires anymore the thirsty little buggers will be popping out of coffins all over the place and feasting to their hearts content. Hopefully the first under the fangs will be Stephanie Meyer.
Monday, September 6, 2010
Beware the Daffodils for they are Angry
Spring is well and truly upon us. As I walked home tonight I heard the twittering of nesting birds and the buzzing of insects. All around me nature was preparing for the oncoming Summer and as I walked I thought "can't you guys just shut up?". Spring must be the noisiest season in the year. It's as if every living thing has decided to celebrate the death of Winter by screaming at the top of their voices. Ok, I get it. It's Spring and you're happy to have survived another season but for god's sake give it a rest.
No doubt soon the nighttime air will be alive with the droning of mosquitoes, I sometimes wonder how I get to sleep at all in the Summer months. Honestly what is all the big fuss with Spring? It really is a nothing of a season, not hot enough to be Summer and too warm for Winter. The only thing Spring really signifies is that I'm going to be dragging the doona on and off my bed as the nights fluctuate between freezing cold and boiling hot.
It isn't just animals either, plants too have suddenly taken more of an interest in proceedings although they are mercifully more quiet about it. The tree outside my window is now trying to pick up all of the leaves it carelessly tossed away last Autumn. Daffodil day, another harbinger of Spring has come and gone. For those who don't know, daffodil day is when we take advantage of the flowering of daffodils to rip them all out of the ground to adorn our dwellings and places of employment. Apparently this is done to aid cancer although as far as I am aware cancer is getting on pretty well without our help. Daffodils must hate Spring; all year they sit quietly in the ground sucking up nutrients and minding their own business. Spring comes by and they risk flowering in a desperate attempt to propagate the species only to have some bunch of disease crazed freaks come along and commit mass floracide.
I am organising a petition to ban Spring, I have the signatures of a million daffodils already and I know the carnations are down. If our demands aren't met we will have a million plant march on parliament house. If the politicians still prove resistant it will be time for direct action. I can't say much here but our numbers are growing and we have started setting up camps to indoctrinate new recruits. What are we doing there? Let me put it this way Day of the Triffids is a training video. My mossy friends and I will not be denied, before we are finished Spring will be a bitter but distant memory.
Once Spring has been banned and people who celebrate May Day are languishing in reeducation camps we will redefine the seasons along the Goldilocks principal. Summer will become Too Hot, Winter will become Too Cold and Autumn will be Just Right. Spring will be "The Season that dare not speak its name". During this period there will be a ninety day period of mourning to commemorate all the plants that fell for the cause. There will be a ritual destroying of lawn mowers and anyone who even mentions cancer will be burnt at the steak. No, that's not a misspelling, rather than sacrifice a tree victims will be strapped to a cow and set on fire. Admission to the executions will be free but you'll have to bring your own barbecue sauce. Cows are going to really hate this time of year. No doubt they will be the centre of an underground Spring revivalist campaign but my shock troops are ready. I have battalions of suicide pollinators on standby. We will show no mercy to revisionists.
I would like to apologise for the preceding blog entry. On closer examination I have discovered that my brain is channelling old Captain Kremmen episodes. Please enjoy Spring and tell the cows I said sorry.
No doubt soon the nighttime air will be alive with the droning of mosquitoes, I sometimes wonder how I get to sleep at all in the Summer months. Honestly what is all the big fuss with Spring? It really is a nothing of a season, not hot enough to be Summer and too warm for Winter. The only thing Spring really signifies is that I'm going to be dragging the doona on and off my bed as the nights fluctuate between freezing cold and boiling hot.
It isn't just animals either, plants too have suddenly taken more of an interest in proceedings although they are mercifully more quiet about it. The tree outside my window is now trying to pick up all of the leaves it carelessly tossed away last Autumn. Daffodil day, another harbinger of Spring has come and gone. For those who don't know, daffodil day is when we take advantage of the flowering of daffodils to rip them all out of the ground to adorn our dwellings and places of employment. Apparently this is done to aid cancer although as far as I am aware cancer is getting on pretty well without our help. Daffodils must hate Spring; all year they sit quietly in the ground sucking up nutrients and minding their own business. Spring comes by and they risk flowering in a desperate attempt to propagate the species only to have some bunch of disease crazed freaks come along and commit mass floracide.
I am organising a petition to ban Spring, I have the signatures of a million daffodils already and I know the carnations are down. If our demands aren't met we will have a million plant march on parliament house. If the politicians still prove resistant it will be time for direct action. I can't say much here but our numbers are growing and we have started setting up camps to indoctrinate new recruits. What are we doing there? Let me put it this way Day of the Triffids is a training video. My mossy friends and I will not be denied, before we are finished Spring will be a bitter but distant memory.
Once Spring has been banned and people who celebrate May Day are languishing in reeducation camps we will redefine the seasons along the Goldilocks principal. Summer will become Too Hot, Winter will become Too Cold and Autumn will be Just Right. Spring will be "The Season that dare not speak its name". During this period there will be a ninety day period of mourning to commemorate all the plants that fell for the cause. There will be a ritual destroying of lawn mowers and anyone who even mentions cancer will be burnt at the steak. No, that's not a misspelling, rather than sacrifice a tree victims will be strapped to a cow and set on fire. Admission to the executions will be free but you'll have to bring your own barbecue sauce. Cows are going to really hate this time of year. No doubt they will be the centre of an underground Spring revivalist campaign but my shock troops are ready. I have battalions of suicide pollinators on standby. We will show no mercy to revisionists.
I would like to apologise for the preceding blog entry. On closer examination I have discovered that my brain is channelling old Captain Kremmen episodes. Please enjoy Spring and tell the cows I said sorry.
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