Klinker Comes Alive, Again I'm ever ready to say "I knew him when" about anyone I know so, when one of my fold makes good, its an occasion. Take for example my old pal Scott Klinker who, like rust, never sleeps. For evidence, take a keek at his fantastico, eletrico, dynamite website. I'm really pumped about his Icon Vending Machine - it's awesome! I wanna be an icon. I could use some Klinkertime, man.

Roundup Some things on our agenda lately; our first comment from an unknown blogger turns out to be from a pretty good photographer. This damnable SONG that is knocking me for six every time I hear it - Mylo just keeps coming up aces as far as I'm concerned. On a related note, there's a current TV ad here for some crappy real estate thing or whatever, that uses this song "I Can Make You Feel Good" that I'd never heard of before by someone called Kavana. It's a total 70's dingdong of a song that has me in reverie, or something like it, every time. Apparently, though, it is but a pastiche for it was recorded in the 90's and Kavana appears to be a white male mod-elle looking cat rather than the sequined jumpsuit, afro daddy I had him down for, embarrassingly. And finally, on a horrifically sinister note - I had the sad occcasion yesterday, after seeing a bit in the Guardian about these websites where dumbass GIs in Iraq post silly and sometimes horrifyingly graphic pictures of their various misdeeds abroad, to come across some terrible pictures. Doing a search, I was stunned to read for the first time that, at the same time as the Abu Ghraib scandal was coming to light, there was a lesser (though God knows why) scandal involving US servicemen or guerillas hired by the US, RAPING Iraqi women, whether prisoners or not. Good God in heaven, what is going ON in the world? Anyway, if you've the stomach for it, though it turned mine, I warn you - here is some of the evidence presented at the time.

TeeShirts We know you need a new tshirt so here y'are

Cidade De Deus is still one of my most cherished films of all time, and this follow up story I found today does a really good job of rounding up what happened to the all-amateur cast, catapulted from the favelas to Cannes. Not exactly a rags to riches tale, but it's beautiful that they still feel pretty proud of what they have achieved and not any way short changed by the fact that they are, more or less, still in the favelas. But, Goddamnit, I'm stoked - now I've got another Brazilian hiphop star I never heard of to start getting stuck into! Elvis - howcome you never hooked me up with this cat?

I took this picture at Uchinada beach this summer. They built a skate ramp outside Apre, the bar there. I'm pretty pleased with it, apart from that fact that I shot it in jpeg mode and not RAW. I'm limited in what I can do with it. I bet Elvis could really go to town with it though. Hint hint...

There is plenty of debate about the merits and demerits of reality TV. I’m not certain how I feel about it…..until I actually watch it, that is. I then get strong feelings against it – which appears to be the more vocal of the two camps, all in all. But the rest of the time, I can’t look away – it’s like a drug, man. Anyway, here in the UK, typically, they have taken the idea of reality TV and kicked the shitter right OOT of it in spectacular fashion. No lowest common denominator is too low all of the sudden. The show that springs to mind is a Saturday night phenomenon in the old fashioned sense, called The X Factor . Armed with a dreadful logo a decrepit glittery image, sets that reach new lows in “don’t give a fuck”, is talked about all week in the tearooms and canteens of the country and gives rise to miles of newspaper columns and hours of radio airtime. The basic premise is not only cringe worthy in the most alarming way, it really is the bitter end in embarrassing. Based primarily upon man’s inhumanity to man – it masquerades as a talent search going up and down the country, auditioning thousands of young hopefuls who think they can sing. Now, as anyone knows, EVERYONE, on some level, thinks they can sing – a fact that is both bread and butter to the 'Factor. They dredge through the candidates and net only the absolute worst and very best – forsaking all else. Mostly the one hour show consists of an endless, shambolic parade of the UK’s worst fucking horrors, whining and shouting and making a terrible spectacle of themselves. Last week, there was an old lady who said she was 48, but looked about 98, toothless and with a face like an upturned mushroom as a result. She had this high, shaky, whinny of a voice in which she proceeded to have a whack at some Celine Dion song or other – the kind of song that everyone who can’t sing picks at Karaoke, you know? Now here is the real low point of the Factor – a panel of three “celebrity” judges slobber like wolves chained up in a slaughterhouse, making absolute unadulterated fun of these wretched specimens from the moment they walk into the room and address the dais. They are Simon Crowell who has managed to manufacture a career out of simply being a bastard. Sharon Osbourne who is suddenly an expert in talent and all connected points – despite that really she’s just a mauchit schemie scrubber who married lucky and then there's some Irish midget who isn’t funny or interesting or anything like it. It’s absolutely grotesque but you know what? You can’t look away. You really can’t. All across the nation families and friends are gathered at the box, in the finest tradition of television – like in the old pictures from the forties and fifties (to say nothing of the Roman forums where christians were fed to lions). Only instead of Muffin The Mule and fucking Pathe newsreels, we now want to watch some unfortunate, (preferably at least a smitch less fortunate than ourselves) get flayed to hell by some over-privileged people who are famous only for being famous, or by their association with fame. It’s a trend you’d not want to get to deep into, examining-wise.

Indolence It's refreshing in some way, to find that I've not lost my knack for not posting. I've had moments where I've remarked to myself "I must remember to post that on the blog" but my memory is fucked, lets face it. Recently, I've had a few good moments though. Lizz Wright (above left) is one. Heard her session on KCRW andd it took me by surprise. She's a bit earnest at times and will make an easy target for anti-idealogues but I like her, in an early Tracy Chapman kind of way. She's got a really deep 70's feel in places that raises the neckhairs. In places she gets a little too jazzy and mellow fo my taste but you take the bitters with the sweets. On a related note, I see Tracy Chapman herself is actually touring right now. Someone recently asked me whatever became of her Speaking of music, I'm trying to get used, again, to living in a place where you might be able to go and see a good live show again, where acts actually visit. I scanned through The List last night and jesus, even on a dry month - you can go and see about anyone in Glasgow or Edinburgh. An old Gaijinworld fave, Richard Hawley has a new album out and should be touring soon - I vow I'll see that if he's in Glasgow. The track "I Sleep Alone" is currently burning up my iPod.

Frying The Flag Another obserrvation that escaped me yesterday - tons of people are flying the Saltire (Scottish St. Andrews' Cross flag) in their garden! I never saw a flag in a Scottish garden in my life before. Have we imported that sort of blind & hollow patriotism so prevalent in the US, along with everything else? The kind of breastbeating ignorany that sees people cursing their government upside down every waking hour, yet voting them back in again and again and flying the flag off the garage roof with teary-eyed pride! Dearie me. Mind you, it being hereabouts, half the flags I saw were Ulster flags with the red hand and that - purely meant as a statement of arrogance and antagonism to any catholic neighbours or nearby Celtic supporters. Orangemen! Oh! and here's a good wee story I found while looking for the ulster flag - sums things up quite succinctly.

Observations More than a few random observations have hit me about my homeland and about myself in these past few weeks. Today, for example, I bought a lovely warm sausage roll at the bakers at lunchtime. I then walked to the bus stop where I had to wait on a bus for about half an hour. Evveryone else, at lunchtime, is walking about eating whatever, food in one hand, drink in another. Some of them, you'd think if they had access to a three course dinner, they'd grow two more arms on the spot! But I found myself incapable of opening the paper bag and, even surrepititiously, nibbling at a sausage roll. Completely unable. This despite that schoolkids were walking past, chins slathered in mayonnaise, eating sandwiches, pies, salads and all sorts. Japan has changed me, man. Another observation is about how picky the Scots are about what they eat - which flies in the face of the fact that we appear to eat even more unhealthily now than ever before and most of us are fat as fuck. But you mention something like mango or chilli powder and you get "oh I don't know if I like that," response and a sour face! I used to be like that - I remember when I first left here and went to Germany, asking for even a hamburger "with nothing on it!" As a result, even food that looks great here, like these Chicken Tikka sandwiches from the local bakery that look awesome, is bland as fuck. Even a cursory nibble reveals that there is absolutely no seasoning, no sauces, no shake of salt and pepper - nothing. Chicken, a minute dusting off curry spice,white stuff that cannot even be mayonnaise for it is so tasteless - one piece of lettuce and a roll. I'm gonna have to start carrying a salt shaker and a malaca of MSG at my side.

I went for a walk today up to the site of the old church of my village. I mean , it hasn't been the church of my village for a really long time, certainly not in mine or my father's time or even my grandfather. But there has been a religious gathering site there, it appears, since at least the ninth century and probably even before that. There was a young man there working on a "Set In Stone" restoration project currently underway and he very kindly talked me through the scene in some detail. It was pretty amazing - I mean some of this stuff is seriously OLD. There was a piece of a genuine Celtic cross monument carved in what is known as "Wigton Style" from around the ninth century. He showed me symbols used on grave stones at various times in history, like the crossed bones of the 17th c. that represented the end of life - they also interestingly, used skulls. Also the simple step arrangement supposed to represent the steps to Calvary, that was usually crowned with the tools of the deceased's trade. They are keeping a sort of web diary on the restoration project, if you dig around a little. It was a beautiful day too, and I even have a little bit of a sunburn.

"I am absolutely disgusted. After the tsunami, our people, even the ones who lost everything, wanted to help the others who were suffering. Not a single tourist caught in the tsunami was mugged. Now in the US, we can easily see where the civillized part of the world's population is." Chinthaka, 36, watching a cricket match in Columbo, Sri Lanka I read over the weekend that Sri Lanka was one of the first nations to offer help to the flood victims in the southern US. Even before the US government, apparently.

Shots The river along which I walk, these mornings, and the sunset on Friday night from my mum's back door.

Greystone Avenue This (second from left) is the house I grew up in. I walked past it the other day and I felt gigantic. I felt like I was ten feet tall at least. I had this strange feeling in my stomach too, this deep, deep longing for simplicity and innocence and the easy days of summer, growing up on Greystone Avenue. But above all else it was all about scale. It was all about how much bigger life has become in the years since I lived here. I used to spend tons of my bored summer holidays dreaming these stupid boyish dreams about the world beyond this little valley here. I always had the theme tunes to Marine Boy (which I only just found out now, was Japanese) and White Horses swimming around my head. But this was it - this WAS my world - not just this street or this village, but this block. All my friends were here, all my things were here, my family - the river just over the bank, the bridge just up the road, the hayfields we used to take girls up to to try and get a pash, the 30mph limit signposts signifying the edge of the village. Sometimes it felt like the edge of the fucking earth to me, cos all I could think about was getting out of it. Here I am back. It doesn't feel that bad. Despite all the fucking miles and heartache and much deeper longings and weirdness and joy and great and shit things that have happened, all the foreignness I've been through -- this, this row of council houses? It still feels like home. Are we just like salmon and geese?

New Start Well, from the ashes of disaster grow the roses of sucess, as the song goes. We'll see. Gaijinworld was a long term project that I like to think was a success. The readership was not phenomenally large, nor did it appear to grow much over the course of the three years plus it was running, but it was a quality band of troops, aye and faithful. I'm not sure how I feel about blogging after all is said and done, and Gaijinworld is definitely done - I let the domain renewal slide while I was in Thailand, doing nothing but get drunk and stoned. As a result, all the files etc that had gathered up, all the hard work - was suddenly a goner. I'm not that upset about that, I don't suppose - Blogging is, be definition "throwing words into the void," as Mango Pudding Blues once put it. On top of that, though I kept it from the pages off Gaijinworld, I have just undergone a rather difficult period personally, that has led to me, sitting here in my parents' back room in Scotland, and my wife, the illustrious and beautiful M, back in her parents' basement in Calgary. A separated man? Gaijinworld has well and truly split up. As I said to someone recently of the masssive feat of rebuilding that lies ahead, "I feel like I'm standing at the foot of Mt. Everest with bare feet and a spoon in my hand". But I'll spare you all the details of that shit - I can handle it. The important thing is this; can I live without blogging? I've not thought really about it in the lost few months siince I last posted to GJW, certainly not missed it. This new face could fall afoul of the same indolence so let's none of us get too attached to things, shall we? For the time being let's say I'm healthy, positive and looking ahead. I'm looking for work, and that, too, if it goes according to intent, will be a new start. I'm looking for work in the relief care worker field. Curiously, all of this personal upheaval has made me want to do something for someone else, something that will directly benefit humankind in some way. Man, doesn't that sound like a lot of wank? Seriously though - I'm tired of working just to line my pooch or make some machine tick over - I've been miserable in my job for a long, long time and wholly unfulfilled. I'll give this a try anyway. One job that is sort of in the offing is at a housing association in Glasgow that deals with fomer homeless young people and kids just out of jail, giving them a secure environment in which to get a taste of "normal" life. Another is a termporary safe haven place for children who are the by product of family crisis interventions and who have been in bad situations in Foster care. This one is in nearby Lockerbie, famous only for cheese and poorly landed jumbo jets. I like the sound of that one since they encourage creativity as a means to draw these kids out and get them feeling normal again. Maybe me and them can heal each other if it works out. The depressing thing I've found through combing the job pages is that the only growth industry in Scotland appears to be in social work and this type of thing. Also, people seem disinclined to get into this type of work, even when most places are offering free training to anyone who will help, and pretty decent wages too. I may be a rare thing to them as someone who has come to it through idealism.