The Political Hypocrisy Filter

I’m rapidly coming to the conclusion that there’s only one question that matters in politics:

Do you believe people should help each other, or do you believe people should compete against each other?

I think that’s the only thing you need to make your mind up about. What you believe about everything else can be deduced from this predicate. It can help you find out if you are a hypocrite or not.

Using myself as I guinea pig, I will try my best to explain what I mean.

Do I believe people should help each other? Or do I believe people should compete against each other?

Answer: I think mankind is essentially here to help each other. It’s the last person up the mountain that counts – not the first.

Good. Now to put this to the test on a few random political issues:

Issue One: Should we join the EURO?

I’ve always said NO. And, until a few months ago, I could have given a few good reasons too.

But hold on a minute…is that the hypocrite alert I hear?

If I think about it, such a belief is not in keeping with my basic political standpoint at all. If I honestly believe mankind is about togetherness, I shouldn’t resist advances towards homogeneity.

Any practical or economic objections I have are based purely on self-interest and, as such, belong to the ‘people in competition with each other’ bracket.

The political hypocrisy filter suggests I reconsider my stance.

Issue Two: Should Scotland Get Independence?

I’ve always said yes to this one.

But again, is nationhood not an aspect of the competitive philosophy? Nationhood is, literally, divisive.

I may love my country. But that love is obscuring my politics. Am I really a Nationalist? Scottish or otherwise?

As much as I would love to be, it simply must go.

Reconsider, reconsider.

Issue Three: Should The Government Lower Taxes?

Fuck yes! It’s a bloody joke how much they take from me and th…

Ah.

Self-interest obscuring my politics again. Me having my money helps me and no-one else. It gives me a competitive advantage over the next guy. Nicer clothes, better education for the kids, etc. It’s not helping anyone but myself.

I suppose I could argue that lower taxes are better for the economy in times of recession. But I’d be bullshitting myself. That’s not why I want lower taxes, and I know it.

I’m being a hypocrite.

Conclusion:

I have a choice to make. I either change my stance on the issues to accommodate my core belief. Or I should accept that my core belief is different to what I think it is. ( I honestly believe in the three things above then I might just have to accept that, at heart, I see mankind as a collection of enemies motivated by self-interest)

To avoid being a hypocrite, something must give.

Well, the issues are important to me: they make my life interesting and they free me up to indulge my greed and passions, and live my life the best I can.

But I hold the core belief more dearly. It is ethically odious for me to consider mankind as deliberately set against each other.

So decision made: I need to amend a lot of my political standpoints.

I am now pro Euro. Against Scottish Nationalism. And will pay my taxes without a grudge.

Try it yourself:

Identify your core belief (walk past a tramp and gauge your feelings) and then ask yourself a series of political questions and see if you’re a hypocrite or not.

There is a high likelihood that is ill-considered horseshit. But don’t let that stop you.

Die Bitch Die!

So I’ve been loosely following this Jade Goody stuff.

I’m not really into the world of celebrities . But I do listen to TalkSport, read the occasional tabloid and visit the occasional internet forum.

And if ever I needed any proof that the human soul is a cess-pit, it is the reactions I have read towards this 28 year old woman having two weeks to live as a result of cervical cancer.

People want her to die.

Jade is a bit of a social pariah in the UK. She’s not the brightest bulb in the socket. She represents everything that’s wrong with the fame-without-talent society that reality TV has spawned.

But she’s still a human being.

Some of the things I’ve read make me realise that the animal pack, in all its witch-burning, jew-gassing, nigger-baiting glory, is never that far away from the surface of humanity.

People criticise Jade for being in the newspapers. They say “she wants to profit from her death”. They say “her death will be good for the gene pool.” They say “people die all the time “. At one point they even said she was making it all up as some kind of PR stunt.

The very best these celebrity followers can muster is that they don’t care either way.

How hard is it to say “Oh. That’s a shame. Poor girl”?

It’s not a matter of being hypocritical or disingenuous. It’s not even all that much to do with Jade herself.

It’s simply that if you can’t bring yourself to feel sorry for a 28 year old woman who has two weeks to live, then you are fucked in the head.

Where is the love?

An inpsiring Christian (really)

I was introduced to Sufjan Stevens by my friend Bec.

I was sceptical at first, thinking he was some distant relation to Britain’s finest, Shakin Stevens.

And then I heard he was a Christian. And I hold Christianity with an affection that most people reserve for venereal diseases.

But Bec has good taste so I though I’d give him a listen. This was a couple of years ago.

And wow!

He’s big in America, but in the UK, no-one has picked up on him yet. Which is odd, as he is probably in competiton with Thom Yorke for the title of most complete singer/songwriter in the world.

There are three great albums: Seven Swans is an album so tender and heartfelt that the listener doesn’t even care that it is essentially a sonic bible-bash.  To Be Alone With You is probably the highlight. It’s a song about wanting to be with Jesus.

And it’s good.

The other two albums worth a listen are Welcome to Michigan The Great Lake State and Come on feel the Illinoise. Both musical and lyrical sketches of the states.

Michigan is the more complete, musically. And the lyrics could be straight out of Whitman’s Leaves of Grass (consider the song titles: Detroit, Lift Up Your Weary Head! (Rebuild! Restore! Reconsider!) – or They Also Mourn Who Do Not Wear Black).

But Illinoise is amazing too. The highlight perhaps being a song about serial killer John Wayne Gacy Jnr. It’s a portrayal so tender it could almost be a love song.

Anyway. Just wanted to recommend him to anyone who hasn’t heard him yet. It’s not heavily rythymical (i can’t spell that word even with a spell check ) which is odd, seeing as how Sufjan started as a drummer, but time signatures are still complex and the melodies are supreme. If you like melody or lyrics then you are almost guaranteed to enjoy any of three albums mentioned here.

Here’s a live version of Jackonsville. From the Illinoise album.

So creative. Just makes Oasis look silly. I miss the days when famous musicians were actually more talented than you.

Pessimistic teachers should get right of reply

Just watching Queen Live in Rio on the  TV.

Made me think of Freddie Mercury’s teacher who, when watching the young Bulsara prancing around the classroom pretending to be Jimi Hendrix, is said to have declared: “Give it a rest Bulsara, you’ll never make it with a singing voice like that.”

Or something along those lines.

There’s a few of these sort of stories. Comedian Paul Merton, for example, gloats that his teacher told him that he would never amount to anything if he kept playing the clown in class.

There are others, but none that immediately spring to mind.

Everyone loves to prove the pessimistic teacher wrong.

But what about the pessimistic teachers? You would imagine that pessimistic teachers get it right more often than they get it wrong. For every Freddie Mercury, there must be ten Dave Smiths. For every class clown who becomes a famous comedian, there must be one hundred who waste their potential and end up in a life they hate.

I quite like the idea of a pessimistic teacher tracking down one of his pupils and reminding him cheerily of his words of discouragement.

Dave Smith is sat there in the pub with a few other soaks. Clearly more intelligent than those around him, Dave is the star of the bar banter. He’s overweight. His eyes have an overbearing sense of sadness. He smells a bit. And his clothes are crumpled.

How nice, then, for his old teacher to come in say. “Hey Dave! Remember how I said if you didn’t stop playing the clown, you wouldn’t get anywhere in life!” He gives Dave a playful punch on the arm. “Well look at you now! Divorced, unhappy .., a complete waste of potential! Hey! I was right, Dave, wasn’t I?

I was right and you were wrong!“

Aww. That would be so nice.

Five things people are wrong to be proud about

1. Being a Bastard

We’ve all heard someone pride themselves on being a bit of a bastard.

But is it something to be proud of?

I suppose there’s nothing wrong with actually *being* a bastard. But the minute you realise you *are* a bastard, surely it’s  time you tried to *stop* being a bastard.

Why? Because no-one likes a bastard.

The term is pejorative for a reason.

Football referee Jeff Winter is a cock. He entitled his biography ‘Who’s the bastard in the black’ It was a telling choice of title. Our Jeff, a repulsive little narcissistic cheat, thought that the fans respected his uncompromising stance on the field of play. Only, the chant he based the title on actually goes “Who’s the WANKER in the black?”.

And that, in my view, would be a great title for the book.

But no-one likes being a wanker. People like to be thought of as a ‘bastard’.

If you know you are a bastard, don’t be proud. Try and be less of a bastard.

Pejorative for a reason.

Next….

2. Being a Workaholic

Workaholic sounds a bit like alcoholic. Alcoholic is bad. Alcoholic means drinking too much. Alcoholic means addicted to something unhealthy.

Workaholic means the same. Workaholic is bad. Workaholic means working too much. Workaholic means addicted to something unhealthy.

Anyone who claims, without shame, that they are a workaholic when they have a family is fucked up in the head. If you are a workaholic and have a family – don’t brag about it, go and get help. Workaholic is pejorative for a reason.

Hard-work = good. Workaholic = bad.

3. Being a Capitalist

It’s not so much that there’s anything wrong with capitalism. Or even that there’s much wrong with being a capitalist. The question is why anyone would want to brag about being a capitalist.

It seems that there are three groups. The ‘look at me, I’m a non-conformist‘ capitalists. The ‘I’ve got a good job and am not ashamed‘ capitalist. And, finally, the ‘Capitalism is utopia’ bona-fide capitalists.

The first category are more lamentable than hateful. They hate hippies and socialists -and for that reason alone they are okay by me. But the problem is they are so proud of hating hippies and socialists that they define themselves by standing for the exact opposite principles.

They adopt a loathesome political stance in order to separate themeslves from a loathesome political stance.

Which is a shame. You can hate hippies and socialists without wearing an ‘I am evil’ badge. Don’t sell your soul to the devil, just because Christianity is wank.

It’s a pity, more than anything.

Then there’s the second category. The ‘I’ve got a good job and I’m not ashamed‘ category. I fell into this category for about a year when I came to terms with my career choice. You start to get defensive. You make a bit of money and all of a sudden you have a go at embracing capitalism. No-one likes a hypocrite, after all.

But it’s lame. It’s soul-surrender. It’s like the lads in advertising who hate Bill Hicks simply because he had a pop at them. Bill was right. Live with it. Putting up a fight just means you accept the evil all the more.

The best kind of hypocrite is someone who knows they are a hypocrite. It’s commendably un-hypocritical.

Then we have the final category. The people who actually believe that money and competition are the highest values mankind can aspire to. They say “I am a capitalist” and in doing so they nail their principles to the mast: “this is the system I adhere to. This is what I believe in, This is my ideal world.” Fine. You fucking evil snakes. May love forever spurn you.

Capitalism works. But that doesn’t mean we have to buy it a valentine’s card and tickle its balls.

4. Being Fussy

“How is your food?”

“It’s a litte soggy. Could you take it back and return it served as it should be?”

“WTF?”

“I guess I’m just a fussy eater. hee hee hee”

“No. You’re a spoiled bitch who has a disorder. That food was fine.  You demand too much of the world and you can’t cope with things not being just-so.. And it’s not just you, it’s people like you, people who want to organise the world exclusively for themselves. You laugh because you think its cute. But if you know you’re fussy why not do something about it? Call it perfectionism, if you like – call it high standards. It doesn’t matter. What you have is a disorder. Fussy is pejorative for a reason.”

Hey Adolf? That holocaust was fucked up. What were you thinking?

“Hee hee. I don’t know. I’m just so fussy. And those jews just had to go”

5. Being Brian May

Nuff said.

Sorry, hun, but about your facebook picture..

First things first: you know I love you, right?

I just want to get that straight. You are, without exception, the best thing that’s ever happened to me.

There’s just something we need to talk about. Now, I know it might seem a little insensitive, but it’s important.

It’s your facebook picture…

…it doesn’t do you justice.

You know how when we go to see my friends? How you get dressed up and look your best? Well you do that for a reason. You’re a beautiful girl and, as much as it shames me, I really like to show you off. With our immediate friends  it’s not a problem. They see you every day. But with my old friends and my family – you know, the judgemental types – they look at you in a slightly different light.

And you know this too. Else you wouldn’t make an effort when we go to visit them.

Well, that’s the facebook thing, you see. Since we took advantage of the “in a relationship ” feature, people who don’t know you are only getting to see your avatar. They think that’s you.

If they aren’t your friends, they can’t see all the other photos that show just how beautiful you are. They just see the minger picture. They think that girl in the avatar is my girlfriend. And you and I both know that you’re much better looking than that.

This counts double for old school friends and ex-rugby/football mates. It’s the first thing they’ll check when we add each other – who did he end up with? How successful has he been with the birds?

These are the people whose opinions really matter – the people I’ll never see again in my life. These people only know me through facebook. That’s because we never really got on in the first place. As a result, I’m in competition with them.

So what do you reckon? It’s just a picture? There are some lovely ones of you in the “my photos” section. How about that one when we were out to dinner the other day? Or the one of you and your mates at that school reunion – you were positively smoking in that one.

And I know you were having fun in your current picture. It was a great night. It’s just that you’re clearly drunk, your hair’s a mess and you look a little worn-out.

People who I used to bully at school and added to facebook without a second thought are going to think that’s the girl I ended up with. They’re going to think this somehow settles the score. Well they’re wrong. I landed a stunner and I want these bastards to know that.

You can see how this is important to me.

Come on, hun, do us a favour: show the people I don’t care about how hot you are.

It’s a compliment when you think about it.

Hun?

Dead Men Don’t Feel The Cold

I heard some bad news this morning. Apparently today is going to be horrible.

A weatherman said so.

Came as a bit of a shock to me, in truth, as life’s good for me at the moment: got a beautiful girl on the go, i have a fantastic job, Everton are unbeatable, and interest rates are making me a little richer every month.

But old radio weatherman isn’t having  any of that. Today, he insists, is going to be horrible.

He’s basing his subjective view on the objective fact it will be raining. And cold.

An optimist might posit that the fresh, biting wind on your skin might make you feel alive. Or that, water, invited upwards by the skies to regroup before falling freely onto our flesh might be a good thing. We might like the fact the land is replenished in order to sustain us with fruit and vegetables.

Nope. The official line is that it’s horrible. Old radio weatherman says so.

Tonight is going to be disgusting. His words, not mine.

Think about that when you cuddle up to your loved-one, with your heating on, listening to the pitter-patter of raindrops on the widow. Think about how disgusting it is.

Miserable bastards.

If you don’t like the weather, don’t become a weatherman.

If we lived in a world with any imagination, the BBC would sack meteorologists from becoming weather forecasters and hire poets instead.

I would love to hear Sean O’Brien – the greatest of the contemporary soggy scribes – telling us that it was going to be rainy day. He would get us all bouncing out of bed in the morning and celebrating each day for what is – a gift.

The cold and the wet affects neither the dead nor bed-ridden.

Cheer the fuck up.

I refute him thus

Bishop George Berkeley claimed that we all existed only in the imagination of God; and that the world only existed in our imaginations.

What a beautiful thought.

But as with all beautiful thoughts it met with hostility. Of the three empirical philosophers, Berkelely, the Irishman, was considered the most wild-minded. Which set him apart from the commonsense Englishness of John Locke, and the sceptical Scottishness of David Hume.

And it was another commonsense Englishman – the fat ,horrible, self-congratulatory gobshite, Samuel Johnson – who refuted Berkeley’s idea most famously.

To point out how real the world actually is, Dr Johnson is alleged to have kicked stone and asserted “I refute him thus!”

Well, the year is 2009, and I challenge Doctor Johnson to kick that stone today.

After all, refutation should be absolute.

1-0 Berkeley.