Vanity of vanities, all is vanities....or to bowlderize George Best's quote and there was an ego less man...."I spent half my money on birds, booze and cars, the rest I wasted"....enjoyable column, thank you.
Danny who? Had to actually google. Think his heyday may have been when I was (mercifully) overseas. Brilliant read: I believe you say what you mean - and it is as refreshing as a Pimms on the terrace. Thank you.
Thank you for making me laugh out loud 😂 When my hubs heard the advert for said book and it's serialisation on the radio, he shouted "who gives a f**k!" 🤣🤣🤣 and he loves a sportsman's autobiography! They're all he reads....
"He wasted his talent. And not because he is a thoughtless man—but for you".....what?...so like Jesus Christ is he saying? You haven't mentioned "sex addiction"....surely he was "suffering" from that somewhere along his tragic life?
A while ago I published this caricature of how we English are perceived: ".....theirs is a land of poets and dreamers; a land of fiercely independent gritty people who know how to take their drink and dance a jig. And you just can’t help but love to hear them sing.... And so sexy; with that famous dress sense, such gorgeous specimens of masculinity.....I could have been writing about Danny....Danny....?What was his name again? https://grahamcunningham.substack.com/p/englishness-as-a-brand
I'm not sure that you aren't over-thinking this, Mr Gage, though I can't fault you for trying to find structure and raison d'etre and other such respectable stuff in that which is utterly devoid of that sort of thing. I suggest that it's actually a subset of the Heat Death of the Universe; more eruditely, the inevitable consequence of the Second Law of Thermodynamics which, among other things, proves that the entropy of the universe is increasing: Entropy approximately equals disorder, aka chaos. You see, the vast corpus of literature (the broadest term that I can find in my tired noggin to encompass all the accessible information that's Out There) has reached a chaos level at which the barriers to publication, that which a chemist might call the "activation energy," has been reduced to the extent that anyone can -- and does -- write anything and, with only a modest level of value -- a concept with a huge number of manifestations from very positive to very negative; in this case prurience -- will entice sufficient reward (also broadly defined) to stay afloat for a finite period. In short: The Vast Wasteland was once pretty much confined to TV. Now, all of literature has become a toxic sea of sewage. It's that simple.
"I can't fault you for trying to find structure and raison d'etre and other such respectable stuff in that which is utterly devoid of that sort of thing."
Well, that's good, because that is my exact intention. This essay is a high burlesque. High burlesque treats the trivial in an elevated manner. It's intentional. Surprise: I know what I'm doing and I'm very fucking good at it.
I like your reply, but would disagree. The publisher's produce a product which pictures a world preened as a public park, whereas self-publishing gives you every flower and weed that grows in the wild. A discerning, practitioner grows to find what is edible in the wild and can thrive on it. For example, what with the recent covid censorship, there have bloomed a number of substacks written by researcher/doctors at first correcting the misinformation promulgated by the authorities. Lately, that bloom having faded, they've turned their keyboards to other hidden portions of medicine not publicized, giving some very interesting insights into vaccinations in general, autism, Alzheimer's and treatments suggested by "functional practitioners" (as this new brand or doctor calls themselves.).
Not entirely sure about the disagreement. My comment concerned the decline of a thing as a whole -- a universe. Obviously, individual acts of chaos reversal are possible, and you've enumerated such. Outside of that, the never-before-possible cheap publication and interconnectedness has encouraged and exposed the chaos. Behold the "arts:" One had to be able to sing to sing on the radio. The folk era (which I otherwise hugely admired) put paid to that. Cow pies stuck to a wall? Got 'em, and you (probably) can't afford 'em. There's a platoon of naked emperors out there and the price of exposing them is what's gone through the roof. (Actually IMHO the original story didn't say what happened to the boy who pointed out the obvious -- I don't think that was pretty, either.)
Glad you didn't spend even a penny. So much of our day to day adult life is high schoolish. Gossip ridden, trivial dross. I agree with the self-help books too. I once made a cartoon showing a bookstore with shelves full of books but the self-help section empty. It's an oxymoron.
Vanity of vanities, all is vanities....or to bowlderize George Best's quote and there was an ego less man...."I spent half my money on birds, booze and cars, the rest I wasted"....enjoyable column, thank you.
Best's autobio is well worth the read. Cheers!
And George Best on The Mrs Merton Show.
Danny who? Had to actually google. Think his heyday may have been when I was (mercifully) overseas. Brilliant read: I believe you say what you mean - and it is as refreshing as a Pimms on the terrace. Thank you.
Thanks, Jill. As do you.
In Sevilla. A ferocious yet lovely 34c. They don't do Pimms, but a tinto de varano is almost as good.
You lucky thing, how glorious. Enjoy! 🥂
Thank you for making me laugh out loud 😂 When my hubs heard the advert for said book and it's serialisation on the radio, he shouted "who gives a f**k!" 🤣🤣🤣 and he loves a sportsman's autobiography! They're all he reads....
"I fuck, therfore I am. LMAO funny.
Mr. Gage, you have summed up modern-day philosophy.
I would have ended the memoir at, “Threesomes became the norm,” but that’s just me.🤔
"He wasted his talent. And not because he is a thoughtless man—but for you".....what?...so like Jesus Christ is he saying? You haven't mentioned "sex addiction"....surely he was "suffering" from that somewhere along his tragic life?
A while ago I published this caricature of how we English are perceived: ".....theirs is a land of poets and dreamers; a land of fiercely independent gritty people who know how to take their drink and dance a jig. And you just can’t help but love to hear them sing.... And so sexy; with that famous dress sense, such gorgeous specimens of masculinity.....I could have been writing about Danny....Danny....?What was his name again? https://grahamcunningham.substack.com/p/englishness-as-a-brand
Surely, a cautionary tale. And now I can't help but post this blurb for my own self-help book:
You Can’t Lose!
(flyleaf blurb)
A novel may amuse.
A poem might “unscrew our inscrutables”.
A non-fiction book might demolish ignorance,
while a cookbook serves our taste.
But it’s often the self-help book which fails.
And that’s where The Way of the Sigh steps up
to accept you as you are.
We don’t want you to change.
You needn’t even become that involved.
This book might better be described simply…
as helpful…
just some ideas to make your life easier.
For example: are you tired?
Then stop! Sit down, for goodness sakes.
That’s just a taste of what’s available
inside.
I'm not sure that you aren't over-thinking this, Mr Gage, though I can't fault you for trying to find structure and raison d'etre and other such respectable stuff in that which is utterly devoid of that sort of thing. I suggest that it's actually a subset of the Heat Death of the Universe; more eruditely, the inevitable consequence of the Second Law of Thermodynamics which, among other things, proves that the entropy of the universe is increasing: Entropy approximately equals disorder, aka chaos. You see, the vast corpus of literature (the broadest term that I can find in my tired noggin to encompass all the accessible information that's Out There) has reached a chaos level at which the barriers to publication, that which a chemist might call the "activation energy," has been reduced to the extent that anyone can -- and does -- write anything and, with only a modest level of value -- a concept with a huge number of manifestations from very positive to very negative; in this case prurience -- will entice sufficient reward (also broadly defined) to stay afloat for a finite period. In short: The Vast Wasteland was once pretty much confined to TV. Now, all of literature has become a toxic sea of sewage. It's that simple.
"I can't fault you for trying to find structure and raison d'etre and other such respectable stuff in that which is utterly devoid of that sort of thing."
Well, that's good, because that is my exact intention. This essay is a high burlesque. High burlesque treats the trivial in an elevated manner. It's intentional. Surprise: I know what I'm doing and I'm very fucking good at it.
Cheers!
I like your reply, but would disagree. The publisher's produce a product which pictures a world preened as a public park, whereas self-publishing gives you every flower and weed that grows in the wild. A discerning, practitioner grows to find what is edible in the wild and can thrive on it. For example, what with the recent covid censorship, there have bloomed a number of substacks written by researcher/doctors at first correcting the misinformation promulgated by the authorities. Lately, that bloom having faded, they've turned their keyboards to other hidden portions of medicine not publicized, giving some very interesting insights into vaccinations in general, autism, Alzheimer's and treatments suggested by "functional practitioners" (as this new brand or doctor calls themselves.).
Not entirely sure about the disagreement. My comment concerned the decline of a thing as a whole -- a universe. Obviously, individual acts of chaos reversal are possible, and you've enumerated such. Outside of that, the never-before-possible cheap publication and interconnectedness has encouraged and exposed the chaos. Behold the "arts:" One had to be able to sing to sing on the radio. The folk era (which I otherwise hugely admired) put paid to that. Cow pies stuck to a wall? Got 'em, and you (probably) can't afford 'em. There's a platoon of naked emperors out there and the price of exposing them is what's gone through the roof. (Actually IMHO the original story didn't say what happened to the boy who pointed out the obvious -- I don't think that was pretty, either.)
Be well, and thanks for responding.
Glad you didn't spend even a penny. So much of our day to day adult life is high schoolish. Gossip ridden, trivial dross. I agree with the self-help books too. I once made a cartoon showing a bookstore with shelves full of books but the self-help section empty. It's an oxymoron.