The Al Gore Rhythm

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I suppose it was my own fault. There was an M&M lying on the table by my new and very orange Lenovo Yoga (slicker than Slick Dick McSlick, the slickest slickster since Slippery Sidney Slickstein) and I fancied a little chocolaty treat as I shopped online. I realised - it would have been in time - that dropping red pill-like things when you're staying in a house inhabited by a teenager is perhaps not the smartest thing to do. but the Brother In Law put a Connemara down, slapped me on the back and said 'This'll put hairs on yer chest!'.

I swallowed involuntarily and the little red sugar-coated morsel went down fast. I chased it with a sip of Connemara. This might have been where things started to unravel.

For a start, the thing I'd been browsing turned into another thing. Apparently people who'd been looking at my thing also bought the other thing. Would I like both things together? If I said yes and accepted a lifetime subscription to Super Wonderful Services I could have both for free as part of a package to access a million different streams of really great content and entertainment designed to make me happy and more fulfilled in life.

The screen started to blur. Voices chanted 'Do it! Do it!' and there was a powerful hypnotic whine coming through the speakers. Maybe I wanted to refine my choices based on the content I'd been accessing? My mouth felt glued together as I tried to scream 'Nooo' and I found myself trying to push the mouse through molasses. My wife's a teacher, we have young nieces and nephews. I don't need Elmer's First Colouring Book to become part of my lifestyle choices, let alone Lady Gaga perfume and, Saints Preserve Us, One Direction albums. Too late, Elmer's there, exhorting me to sign up for my exclusive preview of SWS and enjoy discounted access to films, ebooks, free shipping and more.

Try it and you can have this thing you really want. Click here to find out what it is. I'm trying to stop myself but the CLICK button is throbbing insistently and there's no button for 'NO'. A counter starts 5; 4; 3; 2; I'm trying to find the off switch but it's too late. 1! Congratulations, you now have a subscription to SWS and two extra family members have just been notified their kidneys are subject to donation.

Overwhelmed, I fall backwards off my chair, ripping the cord from the laptop but the screen's still on, downloading movies I'm going to love and pushing books I'll appreciate more than anything else in the world. I black out briefly.

The Niece from Hell is standing over me as my eyes flutter open. 'Why are you being strange again?'

I point my finger at her accusingly. 'You're taking LSD! You left one here on the desktop! A red pill!'

'That?' The contempt is icy. 'That was an M&M. Would you ever stop stealing my chocolate?'

She turns on her heel, leaving me lying on the floor amongst the carnage. The screen is glowing with a comforting blue aura, Elmer mouthing the words 'Great Choice' and coruscating slowly as the hard disk light flickers, content downloading in a stream of algorithmically selected stuff I don't want, need or understand...

Reminiscences (Apropos Nothing)

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

So we are taken from gin pahits to fags to reminiscing in general. It's been a strange week all round.

This memory hit me today as I chatted with the feared Grey Havens Gang - the first such convo in a while, actually...

For a long time, I worked with a deeply eccentric person, something of a savage genius.

Highly-strung, he was suing his dentist because of a bothersome crown cap and was at the time constantly fiddling with little wads of crown fixative, a latex-gel sort of substance. (He was highly litigious, as I'm sure we'll learn if he ever stumbles across this post).

We took an important client out to expensive lunch and our hero was portentously pontificating about the parlous state of technology in Saudi Arabia or some such when he stopped dead in mid-flow and turned puce, glaring at us as if he had just been hit in the groin by a high speed sea urchin. One of the spiny ones.

As we watched in horrified fascination, he slid down the banquette and disappeared under the table.

A short while later, as we were still gawping at each other, a pale hand flopped onto the other side of the table, a little like a scene from the film 'The Hand', if you've ever seen that. It clawed around for a time, eventually snared the client's bread basket, and whipped it away.

There was absolute silence during this entire performance. With much huffing and puffing, our man restored himself to his seat, looked around at the wide-eyed assembly and cheerily said, "Well! Dessert?"

It was only later we learned the errant tooth had flown out under the pressure of his oratory and landed square in the client's bread rolls.

(Channeling Somerset Maugham, the gin pahit* man, and so squaring the circle.)

*I find the fastest way to add links to the gin pahit post is to Google 'Gin pahit fake' which phrase I now Own The Internet for. As Frankie tells us: Search. Huh. What is it good for? ...

Dubai Social Clubs Require Licenses. Book Club Fear And Loathing To Result?

(Photo credit: jm3)

A piece in today's Gulf News clarifies that any social club or community organisation in Dubai requires to be registered and licensed. As it's presented in GN, the requirement would extend to book clubs. I agree that's taking the idea to something of an absolute, but the isn't that what regulation is all about?

"Whatever your organisation is — be it a dance club or a running organisation — as long as you are a social club that serves communities and you operate in Dubai, you need to be registered and obtain a licence from the Community Development Authority (CDA)."

Gulf News tell us. The very fact we have an authority for the development of communities should speak volumes. The CDA, apparently, 'conducts continuous inspections in various community events to check for unlicensed organisations'. The fines range up to Dhs 10,000 while a license costs Dhs 2,000.

Of course, the danger is this might drive book clubs underground. Clandestine meetings of like-minded readers in candle-lit caves could ensue - secret societies with their own codes, developing unusual argots as they vie to continue their communal sharing and critiquing of the latest novels of the day. I can see the special handshakes, the knowing nods and winks.

Pretty soon there'd be pressure from rival bookclubs, turf wars and gangland-style attacks between supporters of Dan Brown and his legion denigrators. Polarised in their love of RomCom or loathing of ChickLit, the unlicensed underground book clubs would start to enforce their beliefs with terrible punishments for their enemies. It could be the Valley of the Assassins all over again.

When you look at the potential consequences, it's a relief the CDA's looking out for us all. That whole book club thing could get ugly and twisted with shocking speed...