Whether it is a zombie plague, alien invasion or the dawn of our robotic masters, it’s probably best that you learn at least one Morse code signal – SOS.

It doesn’t mean ’save our souls’…. nor does it mean ’survivors on shore’ or ’save our ship’.

For a start, the international distress signal, SOS, was first used by the Germans in 1905, and I doubt they had the foresight to create a distress call as an English acronym. There are no spaces between the ‘letters’ either… dot-dot-dot-dash-dash-dash-dot-dot-dot.

It doesn’t really stand for anything other than what it is – a distress call (or Notzeichen in German).

But that’s not to belittle it. It is the best distress call.

The greatness of SOS is partly due to the what it inherits from mose code. An almost binary method of communication that can, with a little effort, be easily read and created by humans in a number of ways – electrically, sonically and via sound and light… or eyelids.

It is the best distress call. Sort of…

I’m assuming that when it all kicks off (and science fiction doesn’t lie… it will kick off) everyone will use SOS, leading to a virtual static of distress. So how will I know when you, my international Internet friends, are in trouble? I propose an extra distress call, to be used in conjunction with SOS, so that we can identify each other.

Any ideas what it should be?

I once started to write a novel. The opening paragraph went something like this:

Two men stand urinating, shoulder to shoulder, in Euston Station’s public toilets. However, the next time they meet only one of them would be holding his penis.

I didn’t say it was a good novel.

But I’ve always been struck by the etiquette of public toilets. Civilisation, as much as it has advanced, is still tethered by the fact that we can’t escape our bodily constraints…

I’m not talking about cubicles (here’s a tip for you who prefer a fresher bowl – statistically the cleanest cubicle is the one nearest the entrance door), rather the urinals.

I think it’s safe to say that of the common types, perhaps the most bestial is the trough. The one where you get a constant flow of other peoples urine passing you by as you create your own.

Yet despite this, there are still strict social conventions to follow – When selecting a urinal, or a place at the trough, it’s the done thing to calculate the maximum distance from any other users… don’t just wander up next to someone else in mid flow when you could be stood at the other side of the room.

Similarly, conversation is frowned upon, as is looking anywhere other than directly ahead, at the wall in front of you.

And talking… not the place, much less so for laughing too, for fear that you will instill an embarrassing case of bashful bladder in your comrades.

Then there are the intricacies… you walk into the room and the only one left is the obligatory child-height urinal. Do you use that, or do you wait for a more reasonably positioned one to become free?

The anxiety of performing a faux pas.

Fortunately it’s not all stress. There are plenty of things to keep you amused. Sure, in some of the more impressive modern facilities they even have television screens placed conveniently over that bit of wall you used to have to stare at. But even in the more low-fi establishment you can find reading material in the form of graffiti (again, depending upon the sort of place you are, some of them read like a phone book of obscenity).

My favourite piece of writing is the usually placed at the bottom of cubicle doors, by the gap, that reads, ‘beware limbo dancers’. There are some better ones here, at The Writings on the Stall.

Failing that, the cleaners very generously place urinal cakes for you to aim at, to pass the time as you pass.

In days gone by these would have been accompanied by cigarette butts, giving enough pieces to create elaborate board games, similar to table hockey.

I guess I’m just a little disappointed that we haven’t really advanced, or found a better solution for dealing with this particular function. Surely the time is up and the writing is on the wall…

So you stole the DeLorean, travelled back in time and assassinated a celebrity…

You’re going to have to explain yourself. Who was it, when did you do it, and what good were you hoping to achieve by offing them?

Science fiction… 

Let’s call it speculative fiction.

I’ve been thinking about it since the Sci Fi Channel changed it’s name to shed the connotations of geekery– SyFy (That’s right, it only makes a difference when said aloud).

“The name Sci Fi has been associated with geeks and dysfunctional, antisocial boys in their basements with video games and stuff like that, as opposed to the general public and the female audience in particular”

Tim Brooks, TV historian

Yet it has been a great few years for science fiction, on television, in the cinema and in print media. That stereotypical view of geeky basement boys rolling dice and reading about aliens hasn’t been true for decades and still it persists in the mind of marketing departments… 

You know what I think? I think it’s a double bluff… Here, have a look at this list of the top 40 grossing films to date, notice how many of them feature aliens, alternate universes, genetic experiments or comic book characters?

Sci-fi is mainstream, and clearly has been for a while.

So, why do the marketing boys and girls make such a fuss about making it accessible to a greater demographic?

Without wanting to sound like I’m filled with some sort of X-files-ridden paranoia, I’m going to suggest that it’s because they know that, numerous as we are, fans of science fiction like to feel as if they belong to some exclusive club – That we enjoy the connotations of geekery and that when it comes down to it, we get off, a little, on that smug, warm feeling that we are a little superior.

I suppose what I’m trying to say is, that despite rumours to the contrary, we are not alone.

Perhaps we’ll never know what makes the contents of our craniums so attractive to zombies… the gooey centre? The sound of a cracking skull?

They seem happy enough to eat it, but for some reason they never fill in the feedback forms, and generally seem to dislike being interviewed or asked to partake in focus groups.

I think it could be that they don’t know any better, that no one has shown them the delights of pizza or chocolate. My reason being that if they really were only interested in brain, they would have found some way to catch whales.

The human brain is typically about 1500g, now compare that to a sperm whale, a creature that carries around 7800g. If brain is your thing (and I believe it is for those of you shuffling at the back there) the whale seems like a far better prospect.

What’s that? You can’t swim? OK, could I interest zombie sir in the elephant?

The Asian elephant packs a hefty 7500g  into its skull.

… or maybe it isn’t about pure size, but perhaps the ratio of brain to body mass. Humans have a surprisingly high ratio, about 2.1% of our body mass is brain. The whale fares less well with about 0.008%. 

But if that is the case then the true delicacy of the zombie world would be the common mouse with 3.2% of its body mass attributed to its brain.

I’ve never seen a zombie nomming on a mouse, perhaps we should point it out to them to save ourselves.

At least that’s how I made it through the day whilst working as a typesetter.  I even had my own theme tune, playing in my head whilst I toiled away at the type face.

Korobeiniki

Bad typesetting is everywhere, leaving in its wake widows and orphans. In many ways that job ruined a lot of books for me. The temptation to take out my green pen and circle the mistakes as I read through a paperback is almost too much.

It’s not just a case of convention either. Typesetting is like manners, that is once you know the way to do it you are at liberty to ignore certain things… you know which rules matter and which are flexible.

Good typesetting is rarely noticed. It’s function is to enable the reader to do just that, read, comfortably and unimpeded by the structure of the physical book.

Bad typesetting gets in the way, however. It makes you struggle to get to the information, it makes you flick pages back and forth to finish sentences. At its very worst it changes the meaning of the text… like a hyphen at the end of a line splitting the word ‘therapist’ in two… the-
rapist.

Some of my favourite books, in terms of their design and implementation, are the Penguin Classics series, particularly these three:

Design as Art – Bruno Munari

Ways of Seeing – John Berger

The Medium is the Massage – Marshall McLuhan

Not only are the covers beautiful, but the text inside is fantastic. There’s also some amazing typesetting gymnastics in McLuhan’s book by Quentin Fiore.

Holding these books, as objects as well as vectors for information, is a joy for me… and what I want to know is if any book does that for you. Feel free to name and shame some that really don’t too.

I’m technically homeless at the moment… and without constant internet access. And whilst this situation is soon to be resolved, I’m going to rely on you to keep me in touch with the world at large.

Your comments here get sent to my mobile phone… which, fortunately, even as a transient, I can carry in my bindle.

So, I want you to tell me what’s happening, what’s caught your eye in the news or general goings on.

Have you caught the ‘flu yet?

Are you, like Ben, celebrating a birthday this week?

Happy birthday Ben!

So then, what’s going on?

[Edit: I will also, due to slightly less than popular demand, be setting off on a twitterthon this week... again through my telephone mostly. I'm hoping to score one for every half hour I am awake and at least one for every five hours I'm asleep. You can follow me here: https://twitter.com/Adam_Y]

As the factual programming of Hollywood tells us, when it’s all kicking off, the apocalypse is coming, the building you are in is collapsing, your ship is sinking and the dead have risen, the only thing you should really be thinking about is getting it on with one of your co-survivors.

There are so many films out there where a love story has been shoe-horned in, much to the detriment of the storyline.

But I’ve been thinking, perhaps it’s true, that as a species, when faced with certain doom our instincts to breed are initiated. I know it happens in some simpler organisms… but then they can reproduce in a matter of hours, they don’t have a nine month gestation period followed by at least a decade of dependence… It’s hardly an immediate threat when you have time to do all of that.

Still, when faced with the end,is there anything more productive to do?

I was reading this article the other day and it cracked my somewhat cynical heart a little.

Whilst long distance relationships are not anything new, the internet, it seems, has become a facilitator of love… and that’s not a euphamism for the sheer volume of pornographic sites out there… apparently.

It seems too that this phenomenon is not just due to the numerous dating sites either, rather it is like any other venue where you may bump into a potential love. Work, a bar… Second Life…

So, what I want to ask, really, if it’s not too personal, is how many of you have found your significant other electronically? Do you know someone who has? 

…or are there any horror stories – meeting up only to find that blonde haired beauty called Michelle is actually an overweight builder named Steve?

Actually, why not take this a little further too… any unusual place or circumstance you’ve found love…

You all know Roo, right?

He made this comic…

Well, last year I got to meet him when he came over here to walk the infamous Offa’s Dyke trail.

Being a host and a representative of the UK in general I decided to treat my Trans-Atlantic friend (who had just travelled for hours on a flight) to a trip around the city of Manchester.

We wandered the art galleries, we strode the streets (an awful lot due to my terrible sense of direction) and we sought coffee…

Then the night came and the coffee turned into alcohol… a lot of it, because that’s what we do here.

I’ve never apologised to Roo for dragging him around after an epic journey, getting him superbly doused in drink and leaving him with only a few hours sleep before he had to embark on a trek through deepest darkest Wales.

I do feel a little guilty about the state in which I left him (the next day I went home to bed, knowing he was off for a train journey, a hike and then a night in a tent on a lonely hillside)… So, sorry Roo, I hope the hangover isn’t your only memory of a night out in Manchester, and when i turn up in your neck of the woods, please feel free to retaliate.

Magritte titled the piece below ‘The Treachery of Images’. He wasn’t wrong. 

Images will quite happily stab you in the back, they will slander and smear you to get ahead… what’s more you can’t even trust them with your children.

Images are treacherous things indeed.

Sometimes you get warning, like on the news where they tell you that they may be disturbing or when someone sends you a link containing the now ubiquitous acronym, NSFW…

Anyway, your mission, should you accept it, is to find a picture and slogan it to make it safe in the same way as I have done, by taking Magritte’s lead:

‘This is not an x’

If you fancy doing such a thing, don’t forget that GIMP is a free image editing tool, but failing that you can always link to the image with the phrase in the comments too.

I should start by stating this rather excellent idea for a strip was not my work… credit for that must go to Brandy, reporter extraordinaire  for the superb Moue Magazine.

The Secular Society has been making moves recently… they have suggested that the NHS shouldn’t be paying for in-house chaplains, and that the money would be better spent on actually treating people. They believe the church should be paying for that service.

I have no problem, however, with money being spent in this way… whatever makes you feel better and provides you with comfort is fine with me. 

I do like the idea of an atheist  minister stood on vigil by my deathbed, reassuring me that when I die I’m going absolutely nowhere. That comforts me.

There is a problem though… God doesn’t leave answering machine messages, that would be too easy, however there are people who do genuinely believe they hear messages from him. Some of these people are quite ill and are in mental health facilities. Schizophrenia and the like.

The problem I have here is that religious ministry is at odds with their treatment. Yet it still happens. On one side you have doctors and clinicians trying to help someone deal with some genuinely disturbing effects of mental illness, and on the other you have opportunistic recruiters telling people that God does speak to people, and that’s OK.

What we need is a test, a way to know whether someone does have a serious mental illness or if they are indeed having some sort of chat with God… I’ve been trying to come up with one, but I’m left waiting for divine inspiration.

I’m joking kids. Drink sensibly, have a designated keyboard operator.

Graphics tablets… I’m wondering if one will help me draw things quicker, but I know it won’t help me draw things better.

It certainly won’t make me a better artist…

What would?

Maybe it is… Maybe the Fritzl case is still too fresh, too recent… maybe the death of reality star Jade Goody is off-limits because she died today… maybe… maybe not.

My point is that there’s a reason why we joke about these things. Through humour we can talk about things that are too horrible to contemplate in any serious manner. And yes, it sometimes comes across as bad taste, but usually the people who see it as such haven’t really grasped the context and meaning of what is being said.

I’ve heard it called black comedy, mortuary humour or gallows humour… the idea that stressful events can be relieved and placed in context through laughing at them. It’s not insensitivity, it’s the opposite. It’s the need to talk about things we lack the emotional dexterity and the distance to discuss.

Besides, is it any more in bad taste to joke about something like this than it is to talk about it endlessly or read about it in print, revelling in all the gory details?

Despite my gaming credentials, I have to admit to never really being a fan of the arcades.

Around these parts they were often seedy establishments consisting mostly of fruit machines and bandits with a few coin operated games thrown in.  The sound was disorientating and the patrons slightly threatening.  All of the machines had ashtrays next to them and the combination of smoke and loud electronic noises made for an atmosphere of a futuristic battleground… one where all of the soldiers wore stone washed denim… head to toe.

But I did love the games themselves.  The new ones put my monochromatic ZX Spectrum to shame… the large screens, high reolution and so many colours. The old ones demanded reverence, Pac Man, Donkey Kong, Galaxians, all saints and legends.

Then the consoles came and you could play these games in the denim free surroundings of your own home. The arcades began to die off. At least here… in Japan, they still go strong.

Fortunately, the monoliths of the arcade landscape would go on to find new homes. Collectors homes.

Now, whilst I would be more inclined to collect some of the earlier machines, nostalgia and all that, if you fancied something a little more recent, and with some provenance, I should point out that Michael Jackson is auctioning off his collection of both arcade machines and consoles:

The phrase ‘less is more’ was adopted by the minimalist architect Ludwig Mies van der Rohe.

This principle was not applied to his name, however.

His point, I think, was that you could create an impression of simplicity, mostly by combining elements of design to serve more than one purpose or function.

I like this for two reasons (which I suppose I could combine into one, in the spirit of things). The first being that he realised you can only ever create the impression of simplicity – things are by their very nature complicated. The second being that, when taken to its natural conclusion, a frying pan radio isn’t such a bad idea.

Presently, you’d be hard pressed to find a device that performs a single function. Most things come with a clock… I can count eight in my room. No one needs eight clocks… that is not less, not simplicity.

So, we can go two ways with this – what is the most inappropriate pairing of devices you have encountered, and which devices should be joined?

How do you go from Japanese literature to economic tragedy?

Kobo Abe.

The Box Man is a tale about a man who sees another living in a box, and so decides to give it a whirl himself.  That is, not just venturing into his box at night to sleep, but spending his whole life surrounded by cardboard.

He eventually starts to customise his box, making shelves for a radio, adding a mirror for easier navigation and cutting a little flap to see out of.

Traditionally, living in a cardboard box is seen as a last resort, for those unfortunate enough to have no concrete or wooden based home, but Abe makes it a choice for his character.

You’ll have to read the book to find out how the box man gets on, but, with the worlds economy collapsing apace, maybe it’s worth thinking about how you would customise your box. What would you want in there with you? Would you need a box big enough to accommodate your widescreen television (not sure how you’d power that)?

I bet you’ve all been called ‘geek’ at some point. Perhaps out of affection or even respect, but probably as a mild insult.

And as a geek, what are you going to do about that? Make a joke of it, ignore it and get back to Warcraft… that’s what.

We’re a timid breed… mostly. You see, you have to be careful calling someone a geek, they might just do you harm.

The Frustrated Geek

These are probably not so dangerous. That is until you step in between them and their object of frustration. They also have a tendency to go into ‘Geek Rage!’ which, although amusing, will only result in an inhaler being required.

Cannibal Geeks

It may be some repressed anger, or perhaps some serious personal and social issues, but it is probably a lack of nearby chocolate bars and crisps that turns some geeks into flesh eating terrors.

Take Tsutomu Miyazaki, he liked to chomp on school girls and drink their blood. I know, you think it’ll never happen to you and then you read this:

During his trial, Miyazaki sketched cartoons and often talked nonsensically.

Actually, there’s a whole phenomena in the Japanese media related to the ‘Killer Geek’. It’s a recognised breed of murdering manga fans.

Sporting The Look

There is also a special breed of geek that uses the threat of violence as its camouflage. Similar to how some insects mimic the look of another more poisonous creature, these geeks try their best to look like serial killers. There’s a fun game to see how effectively they do it here.

Just because I’m Geeky doesn’t mean I did it

Perhaps, because the camouflaged geeks are so adept, there’s been a reversal – The Geek Defence. Essentially, this translates as, ‘I might be weird and edgy and lack any social charisma or aptitude, but that doesn’t mean I killed her’… this in turn translates as, ‘I killed her, then played some Warcraft whilst I thought about what to do with the corpse’.

Hans Reiser is perhaps the most famous. He did kill his wife and he created his own file system for Linux.

He used the geek defence, but his rather bizarre testimony, couple with quite odd behaviour and a strong reliance on ‘hazy memory’ meant he was sent down for murder last April.

Why did he do it? We’ll probably never know, maybe she interrupted a session of Counter Strike, maybe he’s just a vicious and callous killer. It doesn’t matter, what does matter is that you don’t mess with a geek.

How was your Friday 13th?

Well, since you ask, mine was pretty cool.

The first thing, and considering the second, the least important… I received an unconditional offer for my course at university. I left a scientist and I return an artist. 

More importantly though, my little sister and her husband brought a new person into the world, the fantastic Stan – making me an uncle.

Welcome in little fella, it’s a strange place, but I have a feeling you’re going to like it.

So, any other words of wisdom we can give to the new boy?

Dr Seuss failed.

Green Eggs and Ham was only a partial success as far as I was concerned. Sure, I will try pretty much any type of food before writing it off, indeed, there is only one food that I cannot eat – eggs.

And why is that? Because Dr Seuss messed with my mind and implanted the idea of green eggs in there… you know, as if they have mould on them.

Mouldy eggs is what I think of when I think of eggs in general.

Thanks “Doctor”.

I’m gathering evidence for a law suit… are there any foods you don’t like that we can pin on this charlatan?

I wanted to write an inciteful article about handwriting. Why different people have different styles, and if that really does give any indication as to your personality.

However, the first site I came to was this one: Handwriting Personality Quiz

I thought I would give you a walk-through of my experiences before you try it out yourself.

OK, step one. I’m presented with a large empty box with the instructions Please provide a handwriting sample in the box below using your mouse (click and hold the mouse button to draw). A signature (first name and last name) is preferable.

I decide not to take any heed of those instructions and just write my first name. It looks like this:

First, you’ll notice that when writing using a mouse, it looks absolutely nothing like your writing as it would with your hand and a pen. I imagine those of you with tablets may have better luck here.

Second, as I wrote this, my name was pronounced, in my head, in a similar fashion to Matt Damon’s in Team America.

Right, on to the questions… 

1. Relative to the size of the box, how much space does your handwriting take up?

I went for option 3 – Why is the box so small – not because of how it related to my writing, but because it seemed like an interesting philosophical question.

2. What style is your handwriting?

Since ‘Remedial’ was not an option, I chose, ‘Entirely in print’.

3. Which direction does your handwriting slant?

I don’t think this question is enquiring into the sexual preferences of my handwriting, but since the answer was supplied, Straight up and down it is… despite being all over the place.

4. Between each word, there is

This question is asking about space between words. I didn’t take this into account when writing only one, so any answer I choose will be technically false. Always read the instructions carefully… it’s too late to go back now, so I chose little or no space.

5. Last question! You embellish your signature with

Again, the answers lacked the correct options, else I would have chosen, ‘gravitas’… but alas, I had to settle for nothing.

And so, another press of the next button and I get my assessment.

You fill every waking moment with activity. 
You are a person who thinks before acting, intelligent and thorough. 
You are diplomatic, objective, and live in the present. 
You are not very reserved, impatient, self-confident and fond of action. 
You enjoy life in your own way 

Let’s take these one by one, shall we?

You fill every waking moment with activity – Yeah, that’s me, breathing, moving, that sort of thing. Very active.

You are a person who thinks before acting, intelligent and thorough – Sure, that’s why I only wrote my first name when asked to provide two or more words. 

You are diplomatic, objective, and live in the present – True, I like to live in the present, it’s where everything is happening. 

You are not very reserved, impatient, self-confident and fond of action – I’m not reserved or self-confident? I spend all of my time in a constant state of angst. Nor am I so impatient that I will only read half a set of instructions on a silly handwriting test.

You enjoy life in your own way – This makes me sound like the idiot I am. ‘In my own way’ suggests that I’m not really enjoying it, but I’m trying the best that my feeble brain can come up with.

So, whilst I am dubious as to what my handwriting says about my personality, I can say with some degree of certainty that handwriting tests reveal me to be a cantankerous, impatient egotist. Great.

I’ve just been outbid, last minute on a rather lovely dissection kit that I’ve had my eye on. 

Ebay, a gambling game where you only lose money when you win.

I should explain, the dissection kit is for an art project that requires me to cut up things in a scientific fashion… non-biological things. But I have to admit that it is probably a strange thing to be ordering over the Internet.

We established last week, with the aid of Rorschach tests that you are all blatantly crazy, but I wonder if this is reflected in your online purchasing?

I just hope none of you bought the grilled cheese virgin Mary sandwich…

So, The Watchmen is going to be released on schedule. That should make Alan Moore happy.

This means there will undoubtably be an increased interest in Rorschach inkblot tests… so I thought we should get ahead of the game and flex our collective mad-muscles on the following. Just sit back, take a deep breath and tell me what you see…

1.

2.

3.

See anything interesting in there?

Questions about ideas:

1. Which is the best idea?
2. Which is the worst idea?

Cockney rhyming slang provides an endless fascination for me. Despite being very much a Northener I have incorporated large chunks into my every day language.

Hank Marvin, brown bread, butcher’s hook, berk… Actually, berk is my favourite. You hear it used a lot on television as an inoffensive curse word – he’s a right berk – but the origins of this word are often mis-understood. Indeed, few recognise that it is rhyming slang at all, let alone what it refers to. I’ve heard it used on childrens’ television.

Whilst I’m on the subject, I should mention that I am a little dismayed that the slang is frequently used improperly of late. Americans especially, take note. The trick to using rhyming slang is that you don’t say the rhyming word… So, it’s not ‘I’m heading up the apples and pears’, it’s just ‘I’m heading up the apples’… otherwise it is hardly a cryptolect at all.

And that’s probably how it started, as a way to say things in front of other people, to call them berks, and not have them know what you are saying. Traditionally a working class method of communication.

With that in mind, I have decided to start an off-shoot for the educated classes, and I’m calling it ‘Hockney rhyming slang’ – as you can guess from the name it uses only the names of artists and composers, something the riff-raff probably won’t know, to communicate.

Obviously, it should be ‘David rhyming slang’.

I imagine you’ll be able to come up with a few better than this but let’s see if you can work out the following (I’ve provided links to help you out):

‘He’s got a nasty Vincent‘

‘His Leonard has broken down’

‘Ted’s a bit of a Louis‘

‘The door’s locked, do you have the Doris?’

‘I was absolutely George’d last night’

‘You’ve got Philip‘

‘Sorry, I was being a bit Robert‘

‘Has Bob’s Fairfield turned 18 yet?’

Ok, that’ll do for now, what do you have… and can any one come up with a rhyming word to fit Kurt Schwitters?