I just got a copy of William Shatner’s latest album, ‘Has Been,’ owing to my inordinate fondness for producer Ben Folds (yes, I own every album, every single, most of the bootlegs, Ben Folds Five’s demo tape, a Ben Folds Five Live DVD, and a couple of live recordings), and here’s my verdict:

I’m going to have to go with Rob on this one.

It’s really good. No, honestly. It’s about the most enjoyable thing I’ve heard for ages, and Shatner is so tongue-in-cheek about it. “I Can’t Get Behind That” is my favourite track.

“I can’t get behind ANY of that!!”

I had a great post planned about this fucking marvellous play I saw today called ‘The Black Rider.’ But as soon as I touched the keyboard I discovered that all the tiredness that has been building up for about three weeks now just caught up to me. I didn’t know it could do that. I think I’m going to black out. Hooray.

Does anyone remember the ‘Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go’ video that Wham! did? It’s got, like, George Michael and the other guy… except the camera never goes to the other guy… and George Michael is wearing a red sweatshirt, and yellow gloves, and like blue-and-white short-shorts… what were they thinking?

I fell in love with George Michael in about 1989 and again two months ago, while watching some of his 1989 videos. But not the current George Michael - I fell for the 1989 one. Back when he was so hot you could hear it hiss in interviews, and he oozed sex everywhere but you couldn’t really tell for who or what.

So, sometimes I really don’t like the viscosity of media. It’s getting thinner. It’s making it possible for me to fall hysterically in love with dead actors (like Marcello Mastroianni) and old, fat pop stars, because as far as my monitor knows, they’re still alive and beautiful, etc. It’s like, yeah… every time is now, now. 1989 is now and 1968 is now. Because you can’t tell any more. Not as far as art is concerned. It’s all now.

Oh, just read William Gibson’s ‘Idoru.’ It makes more sense than me. And now, to bed!!

Today’s quasi-educational rant is about two creatures with whom I’d prefer to not share my planet, thanks.

The first is the robber crab, Birgus latro, which can reach up to a metre in size. Go find a metre-stick. Put it on your floor. Now step back and imagine that a crab that big has just dropped seventy feet from the top of a palm tree, landed at your feet, and looked up at you. Listen, these things can crack coconuts. Coconuts! They crack… and EAT… coconuts. I’d be hard-pressed to get one open with a pocket nuke, and robber crabs use their claws. I’m pretty sure that means they can go through a human skull like butter. I don’t want to think about it any more.

The second is the much-maligned (and deservedly so) Giant Japanese Hornet, Vespa mandarinia var. japonica. You won’t have to haul out a metre-stick for this one, but here’s what you can do: look down at your thumb. See it? Japanese hornets are that big. Their stingers are a quarter of an inch long. An interview with the wife of a victim dazedly said, through an interpreter, “His face… melted. It melted, gone, like water. His face was gone.” The victim had been stung five times in the face. They also slaughter honeybees - I believe the usual figure mentioned is one hornet easily capable of killing 1000 bees. The carnage is quite something to see, and I recommend you keep an eye on the Access channel in case they show the documentary again - bee heads and abdomens everywhere, the last few stalwart warriors valiantly attempting to bar the entrance against the huge, armored killers. Um. And that’s why I think we should bomb Japan again. Properly, this time.

Just stay inside.
Stay inside where it’s safe.