Weekend Woundup 1

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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.

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“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

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“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

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

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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.

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

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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.

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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.

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

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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.

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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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