Weekend Woundup 1

The latest new, regular, and quite possibly completely unwanted new regular thing on this blog: Everything posted to the sideblog over the last seven days.

Partly because it may (or may not) be a good idea, and partly because I've got nothing to do for the next hour and I feel like being occupied.

And partly because you may (or may not) want to comment on bits of it.

So here it is, the weekly weekend woundup, part one, and a week late.

“And if your hardness will not flash and cut and cut to pieces: how can you one day - create with me? For all creators are hard.”
- Frederich Nietzsche, Twilight of the Idols

“There’s a human tendency to resent anyone who disagrees with our pleasures. The less mature interpret that as a personal attack on themselves.”
- Roger Ebert

Skeptical Search Engine. Google without the bullshit. A search engine for finding real answers to scientific questions - not the mad or stupid ones.

Star Cops was a 1980s low-budget sci-fi detective series. It was clever, snappy, full of ideas, and therefore cancelled after 9 episodes. Here it is on Youtube.

James Burke, populariser of scientific history. Even when he’s wrong, he’s provoking. His TV serials on Youtube.

Simple minded, right wing, patronising, inaccurate and badly acted. Or if you like, camp as hell and great fun. Coronet ‘informational’ films from the 40s, on Youtube.

Some of the most necessary television ever made. Chris Morris’ Brass Eye series shows the bullshit of ‘documetary tv’ and the vaccuity of celebrity endorsements. And it’s hilarious.

And now for something completely Monty Python. Lots of it.

My Own Private Idaho. A film which an old schoolfriend took me to see…as his way of coming out. I was the first, and for all I know I was the last - he left the area and then the country a month later. But it was an honour to be the first.

Maurice. Hugh Grant plays a neurotic closet case, James Wilby a man who finally realises he really can just accept who he is, and Rupert Graves being…a bit of rough. But sensitive, romantic rough. The first gay movie I saw that wasn’t about sex, decay and death, or directed by Derek Jarman - but I repeat myself. And the following day, the first proper bit of English Literature I read. Nearly a century after it was written, critics are still pretending they dislike it because of a supposed cop-out ending, as opposed to the subject matter of forbidden love across class and gender boundaries.

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