'huge, queer and tawdry' but 'much admired by the public'

In spite of X2 being my favourite superhero film ever, I had an utter absence of plans to go see X-Men Origins: Wolverine - but when a friend invites you along for free, to a cinema that's a pleasant walk away on a nice evening...well, that's a different matter, isn't it? Plus, I was in a position to empathise, given I am currently in the midst of a procedure to bond metal to my skeleton (I have a temporary filling) performed by someone I don't entirely trust (a dentist) and which is likely to affect my memory (she also prescribed me some antibiotics on which I can't drink). And...it's OK. If you want a big dumb action film, or a film with naked Hugh Jackman scenes, I can wholeheartedly recommend it. ( spoilers )
On the way back, I realised that while I'd walked that route home dozens of times, I wasn't sure I'd ever done it sober. And on my MP3 player I was listening to two new loads, added before the antibiotics were prescribed, but which I realised were both by straight edge artists - The Streets' new stuff, and The Melting Ice Caps. Which, sat by the war memorial listening to 'A Good Night', helped reassure me that this week off liquor isn't a chore, it's a novelty. Because frankly, I am better than Duck Phillips.

I read Alfred Bester's Tiger, Tiger* years ago, and didn't really appreciate it; I suspect I may have been too young. Certainly it would have been before my Babylon 5 phase, so while I appreciated that it was the source of the name for Walter Koenig's sinister psychic, I didn't really grasp *why*. Now I'm finally reading The Demolished Man, in which one man attempts to get away with murder in a world where telepaths are a fact of life, and it makes perfect sense. The whole Babylon 5 treatment of psychics, from the oppressive Psi Corps in which they're all obliged to be members, to their interactions with each other and the rest of humanity - it all comes from here. In terms of predicting the future, well, this does so a lot less well than most of its fellows in the (excellent) Masterworks series. But as an evocation of paranoia, and of what telepathy might feel like both for the gifted and the blind, it's astonishing - and the increasingly outlandish stratagems by a killer and a detective who both know the truth, but can't yet act on it, remind me of nothing so much as Death Note. Less sexually charged, though, in spite of one key scene being set at an orgy.
I think I may have been driven to investigate by Michael Chabon mentioning that Howard Chaykin adapted The Demolished Man in his introduction to Chaykin's own American Flagg!. Which, again, I should really have investigated sooner. Deranged pulp futurology, it's the closest I've ever seen an American come to the early days 2000AD, except unlike 2000AD back then, the 'thrill power' here encompasses sex as well as violence, nihilism and insane technology. Something 2000AD has picked up on since, of course - even down to Nikolai Dante appropriating Reuben Flagg's 'Bojemoi!'

*So my father's edition called it, but the battle of the titles seems, in the intervening years, to have been comprehensively decided in favour of its alternative, The Stars My Destination.

Did anybody see The History Boys on stage *and* film? Because I saw the latter last night, and having already read the director's commentary, I'm interested as to whether there are any differences between the two beyond the obvious. Certainly it felt as though many of the lines and performances would have been quite powerful on stage where they were a little unsubtle for the screen; the ending might even have been moving rather than mawkish. ( spoilers ) In terms of plays with heavy Housman references, this is maybe fit to kiss the shoes of The Invention of Love. Maybe.
And Richard Griffiths...I feel a bit sad for Richard Griffiths sometimes, and I do mean him not his characters. I picture him longing to lose a little weight, but mournfully shovelling those pies down his gullet, always aware that if he ever stops looking like a hippopotamus with a splinter in its foot, his career will be over.

Jon Savage's England's Dreaming is one of the music books I see most frequently on my friends' shelves, and yet if any of them knew his follow-up proper was imminent, they've not mentioned it to me. For the record: Teenage: the Creation of Youth Culture is out next month, but there's a wider question to be asked, about why with a few exceptions (mostly boy wizard-shaped), people are generally so unaware of imminent book launches, even when they're exactly the sort of people who know which albums of interest are hitting over the next few months.

The Disability Rights Commission objects to the continued use of Routemasters on *two* central London routes, even though both routes also have accessible buses running. What selfish, joyless pricks they must be.
Meanwhile, McDonalds is campaigning against the dictionary definition of 'McJob', apparently failing to grasp, as these campaigns always do, that dictionaries record WHAT THE BLOODY WORDS MEAN and cannot be amended at any monomaniac's whim, unless said monomaniac somehow convinces the language to do its bidding first.
In summary: a pox on all special interest groups.