The Life and Times of Miblo del Carpio

Do you remember a time when the world seemed almost magical; when everything in it had its own joys to be discovered; when life itself seemed positively to pulsate with endless possibilities? Long since the myths of Father Christmas, Jesus and God have been relegated to hopeless yet perhaps well-meaning lies; along with them, the innate humanity of mankind has proven only to be the misplaced hope of an optimist; and instead of expecting to grow up into a world where we can rise through the ranks and become the most honourable people of Earth, it becomes apparent that it is the ones at the top who are the scum of the earth, with their flash cars, their cheap wives (for it may possibly be mostly the men who are such scum, including that hag from that dreadful television programme, who can hardly be considered a lady) and with their offices, big enough to house at least two families very comfortably, while those who work their skin right down to the bone to keep the place running smoothly for all of us, not just for themselves, are left virtually homeless, or on the verge of homelessness. And the number of obstacles - money being the main one, time another, and people's general fatheadedness and inconvenience accounting for much of the rest - barring the way to a swiftly and successfully completed task; all conspiring to make the world a less homely place than it at first appeared to be.

Word of the Week

Disillusionment, from disillusion

disillusion n. & v. —n. freedom from illusion; disenchantment. —v.tr. rid of illusion; disenchant.

Definition courtesy of the Concise Oxford Dictionary

My keen and cunning readers,

You will no doubt have identified by now the theme of this chapter's Words of the Week, them all of course being abstract nouns, specifically ones with which is possible for a person to be (for example) filled or over-flowing, e.g. over-flowing with hubris, filled with chagrin; over-flowing with happiness and full of fear will be other such examples of this type of abstract noun. But 'winter' - would it be possible for someone to be filled with winter? Over-flowing with winter? I would beg your clemency and allow me to let it be so, and so leave you now with this week's WoW (beautifully reproduced, I hasten to add), for I have now spent some long cold hours mulling this over, and my seat by the fire - or, as the case may be at this time of night, my bed in my room - is now the place for me. I can argue the case no longer, the brain and limbs are much in need of rest - or, indeed, in need of much rest. As the weather warms, the articles will lengthen.

Your humble and well-meaning author,

Miblo del Carpio.

Word of the Week

Winter

winter n. & v. —n. 1 the coldest season of the year, in the N. hemisphere from December to February and in the S. hemisphere from June to August. 2 Astron. the period from the winter solstice to the vernal equinox. 3 a bleak or lifeless period or region etc. (nuclear winter). 4 poet. a year (esp. of a person's age) (a man of fifty winters). 5 (attrib.) a characteristic of or suitable for winter (winter light; winter clothes). b (of fruit) ripening late or keeping until or during winter. c (of wheat or other crops) sown in autumn for harvesting the following year. —v. 1 intr. (usu. foll. by at, in) pass the winter (likes to winter in the Canaries). 2 tr. keep or feed (plants, cattle) during winter. [OE f. Gmc, prob. rel. to wet]

Definition courtesy of the Concise Oxford Dictionary

No longer content with my own nostalgia, I've recently begun adopting other people's yearnings for the past. Or perhaps imposing any possible such yearnings as I may care to contrive. You may call me something of a glutton for nostalgia, and with fair reason.

Only just a couple of days ago, courtesy of a recent article on The Walrus's blog, I was thrown back wistfully through the mists of time to the days when computers were big, chunky boxes with tiny screens, with all the hardware coming with instructions on how to program it directly, and which wasn't infested with the product of a totalitarian corporation, intent on making our computing experience as opaque (i.e. not transparent, and jealously hiding all its inner workings from the user) and unsatisfactory as possible.

But, of course, this was in the days before I was even born, let alone hungrily discovering the infinite pleasures of writing the tightest, most efficient computer programs I could as a youngster. In fact, I could never, and still can not, do that, and yet I have this nostalgia for a time when such endeavours would have been possible, and indeed accessible, for every computer-owning personage. Of course, programming in high-level languages is a perfectly feasible activity for the relatively common man (or woman) today, but I mean the real nitty-gritty tasks of programming hardware directly in binary, using the instructions which came with the device. This is nigh on impossible in today's climate of proprietary software, and hardware companies intent on jealously guarding the innermost secrets of their creations. But the present point is not whether these such companies are in the right or wrong, whether they should or shouldn't enable all users of their devices to have the capability to interact directly with them, as was possible in the olden days, and which is nigh on impossible today; the point is whether or not I have any true claim to these nostalgic thoughts, or if I ought to be condemned as 'an unsatisfied idiot, who should stop thinking about yesterday and start living for today. This is the real world, after all!' they cry.

Word of the Week

Nostalgia

nostalgia n. 1 (often foll. by for) sentimental yearning for a period of the past. 2 regretful or wistful memory of an earlier time. 3 severe homesickness. [mod.L. f. Gk nostos return home]

Definition courtesy of the Concise Oxford Dictionary

P.S. Sorry about the lateness of a few of my recent posts. I'm trying to stick to my pact, but I occasionally just find myself having to spill over into the next day, if you get my drift. It doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things, of course - just a minor point - but one which it is only right to acknowledge, I'm sure you'll agree. A sort of nostalgia for a time when things were done good and proper, if you like.

It must have been the coldest evening of the year so far, Friday the 23rd November 2007, just the very evening when a seat by the fire with a hot cup and a book would have been very much in order. But, I was lured from the comfort of my lair by the prospect of hearing five bands - all unknown to me until I arrived and looked at my ticket - performing their music at Manchester's Academy that evening. Much warming music was required on such an evening, so out I headed, well wrapped up, to find some. About an hour or so later found me outside the main entrance to the place, with testicles almost freezing to cracking point, nipples the same, and the extremities - nose, ears, fingers and toes - all ready to give up the ghost and fall off, when I joined up with my companion, discovered the names of the bands on my ticket (see image), and went in to the warmth of the newly refurbished Academy.

No such luck, I'm afraid: it was equally freezing inside as out, and the music unfortunately wasn't to do much to heat up the fading embers of my heart. But, in we were, and in fine timing to see Reemer begin proceedings. These are the guys we were there for, my host for the evening knowing their drummer from his days at school.

I had seen them play before, and I can't honestly say that they're one of my absolute favourite bands. The previous time, they were playing on the stage at the Printworks - not a venue dedicated to music, but a sort of indoor shopping area (the first time I'd been there, actually) - and the difference from when they played there to now at the Academy was pretty immediate. It was generally louder, and the drummer was seriously giving it some. But he (the drummer), for me, is the stand-out member of the band. Not because he's my fellow gig-goer's friend, but because I could sort of trust him more than the rest. The singer I just found irritating, and the bassist was nondescript - no good, honest feeling about either of them. And as for the guitarist, oh dear! - when he broke into solos he gave the horrible impression of being ready to send copious amounts of semen soaring over the heads of those in the first dozen rows and right down the throats of those in the thirteenth. You know what I mean? That sort of wankery noodling crap that impresses far too many people. Not my idea of art. Copious amounts of hubris might have fitted the bill equally as well. Needless to say I didn't trust him much either. No, the last word can only be spared for the drummer.

So that was Reemer, done and dusted. Then along came The Hems to give the audience something to tap their feet to. Not my cup of tea, they were like a sort of schoolboy pop group, with their instruments looking way too big for them. The drummer, the driver of any good band, was no good at all, just seeming to be going along with whatever everyone else was doing - not good. I'm sure they were having a jolly good time, and the singer, complete with resplendent hair down below his shoulders, certainly seemed to be doing so, but it wasn't that much fun for me. No redeeming factors, other than the fact that they have plenty of years in which to get their acts together. And gimmickry, such as whistles, need to be got rid of.

So long to them, and then it was the turn of The Mekkits. These guys showed a little promise, but they seemed to have been completely unprepared, with one member continually bemoaning the fact that his guitar wasn't working. They had some brass instruments, which was a nice thing (if only for its difference from there previous bands), and two 'wenches' who came on for a couple of numbers to play their (I think they were, or at least one of them was) violas, but, as with so many groups who include 'string sections' for certain numbers, what I could hear of them would have been something of an insult to any serious and well-practised viola player. You know, the generic long held notes. However, despite this, it was nice to see them there, and the singer's referring to them as 'wenches' was light and charming. I enjoyed the trumpeter and the drummer, and the overall atmosphere wasn't too bad.

So that was them, and then along came The Virgin Marys. I didn't care much for these. They were basically a generic classic rock group, taking their influences from bands from decades ago. That in itself isn't such a bad thing (for who could argue with anyone who considers the 150 years-dead pianist, Chopin, as an influence?), but the type of music which obviously floats their boat doesn't do that for mine. Pretty regular stuff, the trio were all uniformed up in black, the drummer was fairly technically proficient, but there was nothing there to warm my heart. No subtlety.

So, off they went, after having a marvellous time, I'm sure, and then on came the main event, the band we'd all been waiting for, the ones we'd paid our tickets to see, Whisky Cats. They were okay, they had a nice enough atmosphere about them (if I remember aright), but they weren't the kind of band I'd have sought out and bought tickets to see. In fact, if I hadn't been keeping count and didn't realise they were the headliners, they could really have been another support band. But they held enough interest and I was happy enough seeing what they were up to - i.e. nothing much, other than getting on and playing their instruments and singing.

So it wasn't the greatest gig the world's seen, some may even say there was plenty of electricity and time wasted on it that could have been better spent, but it wasn't all a waste because my partner in crime got to see not one old friend he hadn't seen since school, but two! So that was very nice for him, and soon after they'd both scarpered, we also made good our escape into the blistering cold, and that was that.

Word of the Week

Hubris

hubris n. 1 arrogant pride or presumption. 2 (in Greek tragedy) excessive pride towards or defiance of the gods, leading to nemesis.

Definition courtesy of the Concise Oxford Dictionary