Playskool Mr. Frosty

I don’t own a freezer. There are several reasons for this: I like fresh food, I hate Findus crispy pancakes and it shaves quite a bit off my carbon footprint. Before you think I’m some kind of environmental do-gooder I should explain that I am saving my carbon allowance, jealously hoarding it, squirreling it away for the day I need it, which is of course the day I die.

Or do I? As an atheist I don’t believe in the survival of human personality after death and the thought of eternal dark emptiness and the eradication of all I am quite frankly put the willies up me good and proper. (Or gives me the wiggins for any american readers.) As such I am going for cryonics. The ethics of cryonics have been debated since the early 20th century, then a bloke called Dr James Bedford, a 73 year old psychology professor really set the metaphorical cat among the non-literal pigeons, when on 12th of June 1967, just as “Whiter Shade Of Pale” hit number one, he became the first man to be cryonically frozen.

There is some debate as to the success of the operation and the main freezer geezer – Dr Raymond Nelson’s methods were primative to say the least. Certainly the poor grammar of the title of his book “We Froze The First Man” does not inspire confidence. That aside, for my liking, Bedford is a brave pioneer attempting to cheat death itself and travel into a distant and unknown future. He is living, or rather dieing, the dream.

I sincerely hope he isn’t dissappointed when he wakes up, nothing anywhere near as good as “Whiter Shade Of Pale” has been released in decades and I see little hope for the future. It is this terrible dilemma between enjoying a dream and genuinely trying for it which has always held me back from buying Mr. Frosty.

I won’t let the fact that I have never owned or used Mr. Frosty (or his close friend Percy Penguin) prevent me from reviewing it. After some research it turns out that no one has ever owned it, certainly not anyone who uses the internet anyway. Feel free to take it as a rousing endorsement that everyone who has ever bought one spends all day crushing ice to make delicious frosy snacks. Mmmmmm. Like everyone else I always wanted one and never got one, but should I dream the dream again and risk being dissappointed?

Part of the reason no one ever had one is that this maker of deliciously fruity freezing cold treats only ever seems to be sold in Britain around Christmas, when it’s the last thing you want and all the ice cubes in the house are busy being smothered in Baileys or whatever the fad liquor of the moment was. It being shaped like a snowman has meant that it’s yuletide sell out rush is one of consumer society’s greatest examples of form over function. It looks like great fun though and will hopefully still be around in a few thousand years when me and James Bedford are defrosted and welcomed back by Prime Minister Tony Benn XXVII.

Hopefully the future will be carbon neutral and “Whiter Shade Of Pale” will still be available to buy. Me, James and Tony will listen to it as we enjoy a Frosty Treat, floating above the deep blue oceans on our hover-deckchairs.

Skizz

A friend of mine once described Alan Moore as “the most normal man in Northampton”. It still makes me chuckle to this day. I’ve never been to Northampton but I love the idea of Moore stalking his way through the gloomy urban twilight, perhaps off to worship a snake god or write about a superhero printer “T for Typesetter” perhaps? As he walks heads turn, “look at his unexciting beard, windswept is so last year and his jewelry, so passe darling”.

In reality down the years Moore has slipped into the category of “great British eccentric”, though thankfully without ticking the “cherished national institution” box, Moore’s often controvertial work and uncompromising attitudes keeps him at arms length from Graham Norton and a FHM interview. That and the fact that most jounalists can’t be bothered slogging all the way to Northampton to meet a man who probably doesn’t want to meet them, only to find the town is full of loads of less normal people who would make a great piece on the modern city for The Guardian or something.

I don’t think I could bear the thought of Alan Moore appearing as himself in a Doctor Who christmas special or as a panelist on Nevermind The Buzzcocks, that slimy whore Simon Amstell giggling like a big nerd as Alan fails to know the next line from Can U Dig It by Pop Will Eat Itself. Thankfully the mainstream has never come knocking that loudly.

It should have done though. Back in 1983 Alan Moore was still known as Art Droid Moore down at the 2000AD Nerve Centre, writing one off stories with a clever twist for a green bloke called Tharg. E.T. had been a smash hit at the cinema a year previously and sure enough Moore was asked to “knock us up one of them.” What resulted turned out to be not only a wonderful childrens comic, but what could have also been the greatest kids TV show of the 80s. No. Really. It would have pissed on Knightmare, laughed in the face of Roobarb and Custard and took Rentaghost round the back of the youth club and given it a good kicking. Picture the scene, it’s Saturday 5:15, Doctor Who is off air, the nights are drawing in you pop the TV on and…

Well actually you can’t picture the scene because I haven’t told you anything about the book yet, don’t worry I probably will at some point. First though I should mention (Art Droid) Jim Baikie. Not one of 2000AD’s best known artists Baikie plays a blinder here, his sketch style giving a great humanity to our loveable alien and a grimy reality to 1980s Birmingham.

Anyway the story, basically it’s E.T. set in Birmingham. What made it really interesting was the fact that as he was writing Alan Moore watched “Boys From The Blackstuff.” If you haven’t seen “Boys From The Blackstuff” then quite frankly you haven’t lived. It’s amazing. Turn off your computer now and go and buy a copy, you are not welcome on my blog sonny. Basically Skizz’s spaceship crashes, a very 80s looking girl called Roxy takes him in, but the British Government (represented by a South African bloke) kidnap him, leaving  Roxy, two friends of her dad and the local Socialist Worker Party to rescue him.

The real stars of the show are Loz and Cornelius, former colleagues of Roxy’s dad, having been laid off they spend their empty days scouring Birmingham looking for work. Loz is an everyman looking out for pal Cornelius, a gentle giant driven to the edge, perpetually insisting “I’ve got my pride” and asking Skizz if they need any pipe fitters in space. It’s all cracking stuff and the final few pages will inspire even the most cynical amongst you and warm your cockles as we head back to a grimmer, greyer, more Thatcherite Britain.

Anyway it’s a hell of a lot better than this review of it is and a gentler introduction to Moore’s work than say Lost Girls. Hopefully a few quid goes to Alan Moore for each copy. No wants to see him knocking up hash cakes on Celebrity Masterchef.

PS The character Cornelius is named after avante guarde musician and socialist Cornelius Cardew. I mention this at the end because it doesn’t really fit anywhere else.

Steven Seagal: Lawman. Five USA

I am a great believer in television and probably watch more than I should. Television can be an outstanding medium, if you don’t believe me get online and buy yourself “Our Friends In The North” or “Boys From The Blackstuff”, you’ll laugh, you’ll cry, it’ll change your life.

I’m not an elitist though, I’m not ashamed to say I have watched Channel Five. For example I tune in for The Mentalist every week and am eagerly awaiting the spin off series where every single case is dismissed as entrapment at an evidentiary hearing.

I also caught Steven Seagal: Lawman on Five USA, a channel which is to CSI what Dave is to Top Gear. The premise is simple, aikido expert, blues guitarist, media mogul, animal rights activist, actor and all round renaissance man Seagal plays a reserve deputy sherrif in Jefferson County Louisiana, the plot follows him as he deals out his own particular brand of justice to the local yahoos and good ole boys.

OK we’re with you so far I hear you say, but who’s the baddie? Is it Tommy Lee Jones again!? Does he do the knife fighting thing? Is he teamed up with someone who once posed for playboy? No my friends, for this is real life, real police work and quite frankly a big fat disappointment.

There are several reasons for this, firstly Seagal, disappointing or not, is big and fat. Tommy Lee Jones would win this time for sure. The only thing giving him a more svelte appearance is his rotund fellow officers who all clearly know their stuff better than Steve but, quite kindly I think, let him join in. So what does real police work entail? Foiling bank robberies? Solving murders? No. In the episode I watched the SWAT team spent the night shooting rats, laughing in Seagal’s face for not joining in their deranged, wild eyed bloodlust due to his buddhist beliefs. The rest of the night was spent pulling over drunk drivers and giving them a brief scolding before calling long suffering wives and girlfriends to pick them up.

In 2008 404 people were killed in Louisiana in alcohol related traffic incidents.

I mention this statistic because I think it would make better use of Seagal’s talents for him to smash their cars off the road screaming “stop in the name of Steven Seagal” before heading back to the bar and re-enacting the fight scene from “On Deadly Ground.”

It would certainly make better television.

http://www.five.tv/programmes/reality/steven-seagal-lawman/