I've got a film to show you...

My vain, youtube-based attempt to reignite our local blogosphere...with liquid oxygen!

There and back again.

So, we went to New York, and in so doing saw almost everyone who reads this blog. Including Tom's parents, to whom I say hi. Tom's grandma, who liked my shoes, probably has better things to do than read blogs, but in case someone can pass the message on, hi to her too.

As every good tourist in New York does, I spent most of my time in museums. Having said my piece to most of you about the MoMA (I loved Richard Serra, mostly, but alos the exhibition on the nature of painting), and the Guggenheim (where the permanent collection plays Uncle Monty to the temporary exhibition's Withnail), I then went on to the Met and the Natural History Museum. To the chagrin of Mrs O., the Met also has a stunning collection of modern art. But also lots of big old things. The American Museum of Natural History was the surprise hit for me, though. To understand how deep dinosaurs are engrained into my psyche, you need to hear the anecdote about my nine year old self giving an impromptu guided tour of the Natural History museum in London, picking up strangers on the way. This was a phase I thought had passed.

I was wrong. What I needed, though, was an adult museum for the child paleontologist in me. The top floor is a giant cladogram: a chart detailing evolutionary paths. Here's me standing in front of a small section of it:

Basically, if you have any level of (non-professional) interest in prehistoric life, you can indulge it here. Each taxonomic group has its own computer terminal where you can explore the development of each distinguishing feature. Sorry if I've gone on about it, but it made me wonder if I shouldn't have gone with that nine-year-old's gut feeling.

I also saw a model of Dunkleosteous:

On the way home we were upgraded to premium economy (which means that each time you ask for one drink, you get two, and that you get reasonable leg room), the moral of the story being, never underestimate the navy blazer.

When we got home, our luggage didn't; alway put your keys in the hand luggage, people.

Now I'm home, I hope to get Project Sakrileg off the ground; any badgering will be much appreciated. As a token of thanks to anyone having read so far along, here is a video I found linked from Graham Linehan's Blog:

You get the impression they'd have like Jack Black to front this, but couldn't afford him. Fun nonetheless...

Earth Intruders

Last week I went to my first festival: the Paleo in Nyon, near Geneva. This is what I have learned:

1) A man selling 500 dollar panama hats at a festival is unlikely to be doing much business
2) I look stupid in a typical British festival hat
3) Festivals in Europe are not like Glastonbury (at least, like my conception of Glastonbury). Case in point: at least five stalls selling distincty non-hippy-food in the form of Foie Gras.
4) Arcade Fire are amazing live: any band that has a pipe organ installed on stage is O.K. by me. (Look, you can see it just to the left of the hurdy gurdy!)

5) If there's a crowd three times as big as you expected to see the headline act, go around the side, because apparently your average festival goer only things in one dimension, which is "forward, grr, hn".

6) Bjork is also amazing live. And is secretly Spiderman

7) It is nigh-on impossible to sleep in a tent, wrapped in an emergency foil blanket, while Francophone amnesiacs play thumb pianos and yell all around you. Fact.

Is there something quite unusual about this man?

Today's task: try to imagine this happening on a modern day TV channel. Possibly hosted by Dale Winton, with Gilbert and George as the guest...