Strange queues for stranger things

A Queue for Inquiry

Everywhere you go in Manchester, there are queues. I am often tempted to ask someone in one of them what they are waiting for.

When it is for entrance to clubs or entertainment venues, you do wonder what event has attracted such interest or who is playing at the venue, but my curiosity does not go as far as learning the truth.

However, the stranger queues are those for people wanting to access a restaurant, or for when a product is launched and people queue up overnight to be the first to get into the shop. One finds oneself sneering about the need for some people to have a bit more purpose, but then, maybe that constitutes purpose.

Food Queues Are Not It

One rather peculiar queue was for a doughnut shop in the Victoria and Alfred Waterfront mall in Cape Town, Krispy Kreme, I think it was called. We surmised, Brian and I, that there was something in the doughnuts that was attracting the patrons: an elixir, a drug, a potion that suggested virility, or something of the sort.

I have nothing but suspicion and paranoia about such arrangements. If food attracts people like flies to faeces, to the point that they need to join long queues instead of going elsewhere, can there really be so many people so led by their stomachs?

Having no answer to that question, and possibly no full insight into the motivations of such people, imagine my surprise when I stepped out of my apartment block and saw a queue across the road. It extended beyond the front of two apartment blocks, all for a Japanese fluffy pancake meal.

The restaurant in question has already gone through one name change, and its opening hours were changed the other day. How I notice these things, I cannot tell, but they are there to be observed. It is not that I have been tempted to venture in for anything; it exists literally beside another Japanese restaurant that I once visited over eight years ago, though they are divided by a street.

The Queue Is Inviolable

As an Englishman, I like the orderliness of queues and detest queue-jumpers to the point of withstanding them at the risk of harm to myself, as was once the case in a Dutch venue. The principle, however, cannot be violated: you take your turn on a first-come, first-served basis.

I will queue for the bus, to enter an entertainment venue, at the airport, or to pay at the till. For the other kinds of queues, however, I have neither the patience nor the time to waste being a poster boy for indolence. All right, let’s not castigate them. They have a purpose for being there; I just happen to have more purposeful things to do.

Thought Picnic: Big Brother contributing to the decline in human civilisation

An appeal to the savage

If reality television had an audience like me, that genre of entertainment would have long since died out like the dodo, never to be revived again, except for a retrospective on one of the darkest ages of humanity, where the surfeit of education and enlightenment, along with significant technological innovation, has made our behaviour resemble that of wild animals driven by nothing but survival instinct.

Readers of my blog are likely aware that I am hardly a fan of these unscripted interactions that caricature the worst of a few for the spectacle of the many. I have allowed myself the occasional glimpse into talent shows, experiencing some surprise or shock, especially from the unexpected gems that can bring tears of sadness or joy.

Our escape is not enviable

Everything I observe is usually through snippets and playback on YouTube, because something has crept into my social media feed, or it has been granted more importance in the news than is ever necessary, considering everything else happening in the world. Yet, these are seen as an escape or distraction, and somehow these fleeting shots of the dehumanisation of our civilisation have become hot topics of public engagement.

By now, you may have realised that one aspect of this reality television series encompasses every variation of the Big Brother shows, whether featuring celebrities or everyday people. At times, one might think that the money paid to celebrities to subject themselves to scrutiny, or the prize offered to public participants, lures them into this macabre theatre where humans are caged for titillation and entertainment. It is popular culture, sadly.

There is more to this—a quest for a spectrum of notoriety, alongside the cohesion or dispersal of virtue, expressed in word, deed, contest, chicanery, or some other unwholesome thing. People have gone on to forge careers from either fame or infamy displayed in these settings.

This theatre of the worst

In my view, Big Brother represents the absolute worst of everything; the house is, in fact, a cage. The 24-hour camera focuses on everyone, with edited versions of the sensational and controversial being spewed from a broadcast drainpipe, reeking of sickening human waste on our televisions.

It contains every element of an animal zoo, where curiosities taken from their natural habitat are brought to a location for our fascination. I have long since eschewed visiting zoological gardens or sea life centres that are nowhere near the sea.

I see in Big Brother a schemed setup that gathers many people with issues and problems better kept from view—opinions that should barely be invited into thought, fragile egos, those too easily offended, and others with rather forthright views considered too confrontational for the baseline of the insipid inclusivity that defies essential common sense.

Imagine placing a chicken, a fox, a cat, a mouse, a crocodile, a venomous snake, a mongoose, a lion, a deer, an elephant, a horse, and a hyena in the same cage and observing what occurs. Like prey and predator, the vulnerable and the inviolable, the aggressive and the docile, the fearful and the bold—every characteristic on display, all while the intervention against nature punishes each animal for acting out its known role.

Utterly thin-skinned lionhearts

Everyone knows that Big Brother does not present a paradise of easy coexistence, and this is where it gains its gawping audience, peering through the cages to observe examples of themselves portrayed by others. It is utterly, utterly loathsome, but then, each to their own.

The current Celebrity Big Brother, which features a range of forgettable has-beens, has invaded my timeline, leaving me to wonder how people fall apart at simple criticism of their abilities. The truth cannot be told about too many individuals who, due to their lack of communication and basic social skills, take offense at a look or a comment. The total absence of nuance or irony in a situation that participants have willingly subscribed to shows how ill-prepared they are for the kind of life many of us face.

Is that all he said? Or is that what they did? Then, there are many more questions along that line of thinking within the context of feigned political correctness, orchestrated niceness, and playing to the gallery.

Big Brother is both a reflection of a microcosm of the basest instincts of its participants and, for those of us engaged, either explicitly or by scant observation, we have become so civilised that we have lost all means of understanding what the advancement of civilisation truly means. Our brains are better stimulated by this tragedy of the jungle in a zoo of humans.

Spectre: A spectacular demolition derby and the new totalitarianism

Not things I do

There are a number of things I will not attempt to do just because I will find myself utterly inadequate to acquit myself well. Dancing to Michael Jackson or Madonna because they have so out-danced us that one might well look like an embarrassing middle-aged dancer (EMAD) whatever you do to their music. Just imagine yourself trying to moonwalk or vogue – don’t try it.

The other is trying to review a James Bond movie, I just can’t whether by plot, by thrill or by feel, and there is just too much going on and as the thrill puts you at the edge of your seat, the overwhelming willing suspension of disbelief.

I was out of town earlier in the weekend, but I had decided to see the latest in this over five decades old movie franchise on an IMAX screen which takes you sound and vision from just watching the movie into becoming a part of the movie itself.

Thrills and destruction

I got my ticket to watch Spectre in a premium seat with somewhat tasteless sweet popcorn and a Pepsi Cola.

It took a while for the plot to develop, from the scene in Mexico of the Day of the Dead festival that started off with James Bond up to spying antics of listening in, shooting down and eventually creating a greater incident of bringing the building down. At which point I was already gripping my seat and kicking about in syncopated excitement, I did not realise I was kicking the lady sat beside me.

One could be forgiven for thinking Spectre was a Demolition Derby, albeit of buildings, and there were three such massive destructions of buildings, interspersed with three thrilling helicopter episodes with all the conflagration that might ensue, there wasn’t much to the torture scene or the gadgetry whilst the violence was moderate to extreme.

The script itself tried to tie together the historical James Bond adventures and I could not help but notice that Daniel Craig was credited as one of the co-producers.

Without giving too much away, the ending tended towards the romantic and James Bond resisting his killing machine instincts.

We have much to fear

In the subplot where politicians and apparatchiks felt that human assets in intelligence work were now outmoded and to be replaced with information surveillance linking the intelligence gathering networks of nine countries and play on The Five Eyes Intelligence Sharing Network and expanded to Nine Eyes.

With the introduction by the UK Home Secretary of the Draft Communications Data Bill more commonly known as the Snooper’s Charter, I will not be surprised if Spectre does not contain a subliminal message to all of us.

The egregiousness of the political elite to invade every recess of our lives on the premise of we being better protected if they can invade our privacy untrammelled with the view to contriving situations that suggest we are in such grave danger that can only be avoided by our ceding more of our liberties to unlimited surveillance.

Quite a lot to fear indeed

More so, the greater danger here is the extent to which politicians will go to obtain the right to trawl through our lives and with that information being stored somewhere, there are powerful and nefarious agencies or organisations will also do anything to gain a front seat and full access to whatever the government has about us.

This Big Brother situation is one we must never allow to become the law of the land, the inch we have already given the government has grown into lightyears of unfettered access, we are tending to totalitarianism in everything but name in a democracy.

This seam has been exploited in our name and in secret, but for the providence of WikiLeaks and Edward Snowden that has forced a modicum of accountability into the discourse as to what we can allow democracies to do, yet the government is hardly giving up anything, rather they want to codify their excesses into law and legitimise this abuse of process.

I liked it

I thoroughly enjoyed the film and waited through the credits before leaving because we must after the entertainment spend a few minutes acknowledge the teams that worked together to create such movies and not wait until the Oscars to discover beyond the actors who did what so well that they have been acknowledged by their peers.

I might watch Spectre again, in the company of friends.

In Paris: Such Raw Talent

This was different

Now, I have seen many buskers in stations with varying degrees of musicality from the ability to sing to amazing dexterity and talent with musical instruments.

The strains and strumming have rarely moved me to listen, stop and spectate; I do not have that sense of curiosity and distraction when I have other purpose until last night.

This was really different

As I made for my train to the Parisian suburbs just on the platform ahead of me the voice came with angelic resonance singing A Natural Woman (Aretha Franklin) to backing music on an amplifier.

We all stopped and gathered round for this unusual session of entertainment to which we all applauded without respite.

Then she did Killing Me Softly (Roberta Flack), I Want to Know What Love Is (Foreigner), Sitting on the Dock of the Bay (Otis Redding) and Human Nature (Michael Jackson).

Who discovers talent?

It made you wonder why such talent wasn't filling concert halls, night after night. However, the appreciation was generous as we all seemed to chip in a coin, a note and more applause.

She made the boring but bustling platforms of Châtelet des Halles lively with the nostalgic sound of really good music.

As I boarded my train, I could only wish the lady the very best and I thought, where does such raw talent go to be really appreciated?

Meet the Adebanjo's - A British-Nigerian Sitcom

Hilarious! She said

Somehow, there are certain trends I do not react to or acknowledge until it catches the eye of certain members of my social network at which point my curiosity might be engaged to have a look just to appreciate what might have piqued their interest.

This topic had been around for over a week until it came up on the status of a Facebook friend with the text “Hilarious!!!” so I clicked on it.

The first minute presented jocular hilarity and elicited my comment - Hilarious indeed but looks like the over-acting I see on Turkish soaps.

Usually, after such a comment, I would have looked for other activity to engage myself but there was something familiar about the plot, the characters, the script and the setting, I was drawn in.

A British-Nigerian sitcom

Meet The Adebanjo’s [1] according to its website is a feel-good upbeat scripted sitcom, in reality whilst it seemed to be written in similar context as Desmond’s [2] which had a mainly West-Indian influence depicting the life and struggles of immigrants and their children, it was difficult to claim any real affinity with that situation comedy apart from the fact that it shared an immigrant subculture.

In Meet The Adebanjos, it is essentially Nigerian and quite particularly representative of the Yoruba predominantly from Western Nigeria but with the standard fare of one generation of parents who were born in Nigeria that have settled in Britain who now have teenaged children who are essentially British and the traditional, cultural, societal, religious and economic ructions that break-out as the family unit attempts to thrive with extended relations who take liberties and the parents maintain a semblance of harmony and success to the wider community.

The stereotypes are obvious in the roles and the attitudes of the cast; the father whose notion of headship of the family has hardly shifted from one-time traditional expectations that he is unschooled in contemporary romantic engagement of his long-suffering wife who now demands “All I want is one day when you will quality (sic) me.”

A familiar subculture

That is a quintessentially Nigerian line and usage where a noun or adjective can become a verb carrying its meaning with it when there is a more appropriate word, such malapropisms to the facetious are accepted usage within the community that everyone fully understands the context – in this case quality is used for appreciate with emphasis.

The children are caught between the cultures of home, school and the street, the domineering influence of the parents almost always becoming a source of familial conflict until they become wily enough to work around the sometimes absurd restrictions.

However, the genuineness of these depictions must not be lost and needs to be discussed because this British-Nigerian construct is a subculture that is neither fully representative of the Nigeria the parents left decades before nor fully integrated in the Britain where their children were born and buffeted by nostalgia, aspiration and circumstance to the point that it appears ghettoised.

Typically Nigerian

As objective decision-making and reasoning succumbs to subjective community ties that trust is misplaced and taken advantage of as it extends to relations, friends, religious circles, fellow countrymen and other cohesive forces; you have the makings of what can be termed “typically Nigerian” that could be set up anywhere in the world but in Nigeria itself.

I digressed; this is a nicely written script with usefully engaging plots all addressing serious matters with humour and hilarity that it is certainly and definitely more watchable than Nollywood at its pretentious best.

The 1^st episode is built around the man forgetting and at loss at what to do for their wedding anniversary, it aired on the 26^th of June 2011, the 2^nd will air on the 10^th of July 2011 and the last on the 24^th of July 2011.

Altogether funny

There will be 8 episodes in all available for purchase as a DVD box set at some later date.

From what I have seen of the published episodes, the team behind this venture are talented, creative, interesting and fun, I would expect that this sitcom would find a good primetime slot on television or at the least with a cable or satellite channel with an ethnic audience - a few tweaks and less over-acting can make it mainstream enough to put the Channel 4 reality TV Series 3 of The Family [3] featuring the Adesina’s playing to the gallery in the shade.

Episode 1 is required viewing and if you surf the website or follow them on Twitter or Facebook, you might get to watch parts of Episode 2, which at the time of this review was password protected but compulsive viewing, I got to see it.

I do not know what else I should write to get you having a belly full of laughs. One line I cannot forget. “Will you insult the Lord?”

Sources

[1] Meet The Adebanjo’s

[2] Desmond's - From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

[3] The Family – Series 3 – Channel 4

This diva don't do encores

Don’t make me over

Dionne Warwick [1] knows the way to Amsterdam; I was out tonight to see her in concert. The supporting act was something that sounded like Tiara, a lady with a band of 3, a strong voice and a good warm up act.

The lighting must have been done by a sub-par supporting act lighting technician, I hardly saw her face, most of the time she was a silhouette, I feared, I did fear, I had to Say a little prayer.

She got to her version of the yellow brick road and left with grateful applause.

Are you there?

The concert paraphernalia was poor with a stingy store attendant who would not display his wares but only allow the viewing of just 2 items at a time. Imagine, out of the body of work the gracious lady had done, only 2 albums were on sale.

I expected to see concert material like books, lyrics and other things about Dionne Warwick and her work with Hal David [2] and Burt Bacarach [3], it was obvious we wanted to see her but the concert organizers were like bit-part amateurs oblivious of the stature of the star entertaining – That was a shame.

I wait now for Dionne as I once again make it easy on myself.

Always something there to remind me

She came on and made us all at ease, we could sing along, dance, clap and just appreciate and she ran through a repertoire of tunes – Walk on by on to Anyone who had a heart so stone cold that You’ll never get to Heaven so much so I’ll never fall in love again without first sending a Message to Michael.

This Girl’s in love with you even I wonder why that I Say a little prayer for you which was sung as a duet with the drummer who we eventually learnt through an introduction that sounded like a besotted lover's words to be her eldest son and what a beautiful voice he had. Dionne suggested she had brought that song that was dear to her heart into the 21^st Century.

Alfie was always a Heartbreaker and then we got into Brazil mood where we had the best advertisement for Brazil we had to be absolutely compelled to move something in syncopation or else we were long gone – a medley of Brazil songs you had to dance.

Trains and Boats and Planes

We all know but Do you know the way to San Jose in a salsa kind of theme after that hearing I knew I’ll never love this way again even if we know What the world needs now, it is the Christmas season and to see Dionne in the flesh we beckoned to that call O come all ye faithful to have Chestnuts roasting on an open fire.

In the end, we knew That’s what friends are for, a long session, a duet with interesting banter with her son as he praised his mum by saying he learnt from the best before quipping about being from a tough household that had mum mimicking a silly child – all good fun as it all came to an end.

A standing ovation and we clapped till our hands were red and worn, hollered till we were hoarse, little did we know we were about to see mega-diva, she doesn’t do encores – her prerogative, we just assumed she would come out to do more, if she did, then she would not be a diva, I suppose.

A good night in the end, I enjoyed watching the couples, male and female, male and male, female and female all caressing each other and we the singles were left singling, inkling for all the love in the world – she did not sing this. In any event she is a class act almost beyond compare.

Sources

[1] Dionne Warwick - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

[2] Hal David - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

[3] Burt Bacharach - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Note

All the titles of the songs she sang in order appear in bold italics in the text of the blog apart from the three pertaining to Brazil, one of which I was familiar with as a popular Brazilian signature sound but I cannot give a name.

The box bores me

A weekend hermit

One of the reasons I get out of town in the weekends is that is prevents me from spending a good 60 hours indoors.

One easily exhibits hermit tendencies that could see one get in from work on Friday night and the next time one steps out is Monday morning as work beckons.

Everyone once in a while there is a social event that punctuates the weekend and it should be an activity one indulges in more often.

My guest room which doubles as an office sees more of me as the resident guest than any other person; in fact, no guest has ever stayed in the ‘guest’ room.

It is apparently my very private area in my apartment, a gold-fish bowl if viewed from outside.

No fear though; being on the seventh floor, with the next building some 100 metres away and a vista of a disused but occupied harbour, it is good enough privacy.

TV un-entertainment

I could not help but note the variations on the same theme offered as entertainment on television recently.

The English-speaking channels get a lot of traffic from BBC 1 & 2, BBC World, CNN, Discovery Channel and National Geographic; we also have a few Dutch channels which offer spoken English with Dutch sub-titles.

At first we had Come Dancing where a professional dancer pairs up with a celebrity in a dancing competition – that had really good and popular viewing.

We now await Just the Two of Us which would be an accomplished singer in a duet with some celebrity yodeller who probably gets taught to convert a bark into a meow – I dread the impact on my ears.

Then today, a new game show named Petrol Heads did not live up to its billing. Whilst, it was funny and probably a bit comical, I doubt if it would catch on.

Top Gear meets Have I Got News for you? I neither see the motor expertise nor the contemporary wit.

I should do more with my weekends; short of seeing all the ice drama at the Turin Olympics, it appears entertainment can not be found on a television near you.

Like they say – Get out a bit more.

Nary a dry eye

Drag me into the first and I might see the rest

Being one not easily persuaded by the rave reviews and hype surrounding Oscar-nominated films or even ones enjoying great critical acclaim; one has finally given in to the excitement to the two recent trilogies of drama and action.

The Matrix and Lord of the Rings series were films one first watched long after the cinemas are ditched the influx for other new Hollywood servings.

In the case of the Matrix, one had opportunity of borrowing the DVD from a colleague at work and that suffered six viewings in quick succession over 4 nights. That one missed the theatrical release was like being in the midst of the news but not hearing the news.

One could not wait for the next in the series, which was, then another year away.

The Fellowship of the Ring which was the first part of the Lord of the Rings trilogy came into one's possession as a bundled-bargain of three Douwe Egberts filter coffee packs and a VHS video with Dutch subtitles.

One must confess there was not as much excitement to see the next instalment as one had with the Matrix. One did see the next two theatrical releases of the Matrix, which had the ingenious direction of them being filmed at the same time, and the road exclusively built for the chase scenes.

You will have to rob me for that

Shopping on Saturday, there are now three bookshops that cater for English books, Waterstones and the American Bookstore on Kalverstraat and the New English Bookshop on Leidsestraat. [The main tourist and shopping streets in Amsterdam – there are others but not for the middle incomer].

The latter offers affordable books more of the reference quality and not necessarily as contemporary as the other bookshops.

One has run out of decent bookshelf space and the furniture store beckons for a domiciliary makeover.

Anyway, one was in Waterstones and sauntered to the video section to view what could be purchased. One did not get to see the theatrical version of the Two Towers, second of the Lord of the Rings trilogy. It behoves one to see that before the popcorn night for the Return of the King.

At €40 for the theatrical version and €60 for the extended version of 42 extra minutes on the version that went to the cinemas, one could be forgiven for thinking videos were like music that you listen to time and time again.

Nay! Videos might get a second viewing, music gets many more playbacks, apart from the extras in commentaries, reviews and other snippets of versatility, and the DVD from my perspective is hardly worth that financial outlay.

It is interesting to note that about 20 years after the Indiana Jones series, one can get the whole DVD pack for under €50 and watch at leisure.

No surprise the everyday person of regular film-going age would either go to the cinema or download the film from the internet than spend what could be term larceny on DVDs.

I, for one, walked into my local rental and got the extended version for an overnight viewing at €4, and was able to watch the whole film and one half of the commentary over 24 hours. €56 saved from acquisition and €5 saved from a theatrical viewing in the summer.

Cry me a river

Two days after watching the second of the Lord of the Rings trilogy, one was determined to catch the third being The Return of the King in the larger cinema halls.

In a rush to catch the bus to the station from the office, one had inadvertently booked a ticket in the wrong cinema at the Southern end of Amsterdam rather than in the centre – The Pathe group has a number of cinema halls around the Netherlands and allows for internet reservations of tickets with mobile phone SMS confirmations.

Getting into the city centre was a bit fraught because of some train scheduling problems and rare but increasing occurrence in theNetherlands.

Finally, one was just in time to get a seat in the main hall for a three-hour sitting, a serving of Coke and sweet popcorn with the inconvenience of a full bladder. Endurance and excitement what gives?

In the last 20 minutes, there were screens of reunion and happiness in view of the suffering that of the whole trilogy, the flood of tears from the macho men would float a whale.

For those in the know, whilst Justin Timberlake has a contemporary release of a track Cry Me A River, however, a 1953 version once also sung by Billie Holliday has more relevance.