I wish I was a punk rocker...

Nothing in that song is true. It's all light frothy nonsense and yet somehow it rings true enough that I can't completely hate it. One of those Golden Age things, perhaps, How It Oughta Been. But not how it was: the flower generation were before my time and the punks mostly just sneered and spat and had weird skinny legs. Revolution, no, just a grump; the super-info-highway was never drifting out in space but it's kinda nice to think of it that way.

I can't help but compare the song to Harry Potter. Light frothy nonsense brewed up from a heavy and decent collection of source, and somehow despite yourself you want there to have been a Hogwart's. Now when Harry Potter surfaced I was very critical, called it a hideous anodyne synth-pop remix of the Great Fantasy Tradition.

But you know what? The Great Fantasy Tradition is a remix too. Andersen and Grimm selectively retold and amended to suit their audiences... so did Tolkien. So, for that matter, did George Lucas. Almost all of the fat volumes of the Dodecasequellion on bookshelves are too.

So I can't slate Sandi for wishing, but perhaps I can grumble that she should have waited until I was senile enough to forget what the 70s were actually like.

Carpe Smidsy

Rude interruption to my evening run tonight when a driver pulled out across the path of a motorcyclist. Thud, crunch, crunchycrunchy. Stop traffic, point handy first aiders at twitching biker, and run for the ambulance station... which of course is closed so sprint home to call the ambo and then hang around like an arse at the scene to give a statement.

It had just started raining at got dark. One headlight would have been tricky to make out, but that's why drivers must be twice as careful maneouvering at dusk in tricky conditions. The error (and the driver admitted that from the start) was an easy one to make but it was an unforced error. Even nice blokes make 'em.

Carpe diem, ladies and germs. You never know what's out there.

Now I need a beer. I fecking *hate* RTAs.