The Fractal Hall Journal

Well, here we are, hurtling towards a squeaky, shiny, brand new year.

Traditionally, New Year’s Eve in Wales has a fantastically pagan feeling to it, largely due to some old farming traditions, the most prominent of which is sticking a horse’s skull on a stick, covering it with a sheet and parading around from door to door with it. Honestly, not making it up. It’s called the Mari Lwyd, or Grey Mary to those not familiar with the celtic tongue.

The turning of the year is important to this site, in particular, because it marks the end of the third year of operation, pretty much. Oh, the format and purpose has changed more than once, with the former versions of the Fractal Hall Journal falling by the wayside to be replaced by this here weblog. This has been by far the most successful incarnation, with three months’ worth of content updated so far, holding steady at five times a week (Christmas Day excepted, obviously).

If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that consistency is helped by a solid buffer of posts, and also by not promising something that can’t be delivered in time. So with that in mind, I’ve got plans to expand things a bit further in 2008, either by restarting Xenocrates M, the space opera webcomic published at the Fractal Hall for a while in 2006, or by bringing in something new. Whatever I decide on, it won’t be going up until we’re sure we can keep up with a solid schedule.

So we’re looking hopefully to the future here, while taking care to avoid seasonal reality-shifts and invasions from terror-beings of the beyond. And remember, should a cloth-covered skull come knocking for you tonight, it’s probably just a quaint tradition. Probably…

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A positive development in devolution has been the seperation between the Welsh and English Labour Parties. Neo-liberal New Labour, deliberately unrecognisable as a socialist party, does not suit the more traditional Left in Wales. Rhodri Morgan, leader of Welsh Labour, has himself on occassion underlined the difference in philosophies between the two branches. This difference is more important than ever now, as they seek to distance themselves from Westminster’s recent foreign policy and civil liberty disasters.

2007 gave Plaid Cymru the chance to define themselves. The choice was to pursue a rainbow coalition and form a government, accommodating not only the Conservatives but also the Right wing of the party, or to choose to govern with Labour, and cement their position as a party of the Left.

If you’d asked me a couple of years ago that the two parties would reach an agreement, I’d never have believed you. The history between the two is somewhat antagonistic, to say the least. Many Parliamentary and Assembly seats in recent history have come down to close races between the parties, with all the fallout that comes with such a situation.

But reach an agreement they did, and for the first time in its history, Plaid Cymru formed part of the Government of Wales.

This isn’t just a simple political win for me. It’s not just the case that the party I support will now influence government, or even that it has aligned more closely to my own Left wing views. It’s that despite acrimony and history, the two parties were willing to work with each other in a manner that the people they represent wanted. After all, polls on election night suggested that a Labour-Plaid coalition was something the Welsh favoured. It has brought a stability and consistency to Welsh politics, and better reflects the views and beliefs of the Welsh than the minimal representation we get in Westminster. And it shows that devolution is beginning to deliver on the promise of self-governance.

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Wales sometimes comes across as a nation full of people squabbling. A lot of political sniping goes on, not unusually between people in the same party, or at least on the same side of the debate. Wales spent the Eighties and early Nineties effected negatively by the Conservative government in Westminster. A socialist country by a large margin, yet governed by a party elected by people elsewhere, it stands as an example of why decentralisation is important. Even if we remove cultural and traditional considerations from the debate, growing up where I did has strengthened my view that power should be devolved as far as possible to the people whom it effects.

As a philosophy, I believe strongly in proportional representation, in local control, in self-determination and in giving everyone a voice: even those whom I don’t share political beliefs with. As I said yesterday, it was unfortunate that Welsh Conservatives did not have a voice in Parliament due to the first-past-the-post voting system, and a tragedy that Welsh national policy in previous decades was controlled by a party that a significant proportion of the nation did not vote for.

The advent of the Welsh Assembly in Cardiff Bay has been both lauded and criticised, sometimes appropriately and sometimes not. For my own part, I’m proud that we have it, proud to work for it, and proud of what it’s been able to achieve so far. But not as proud as I was earlier this year.

The Welsh Assembly elections were somewhat dramatic. Labour did not gain enough Assembly seats to form a majority government, and would have to form a coalition to govern. The same happened in the first election, after which a coalition was formed between them and the Liberals. But this time was a little different. The other three parties, usually at each other’s throats, considered forming a rainbow coalition, one that would have put Ieuan Wyn Jones, the Plaid Cymru leader, into the First Minister’s chair. As events transpired over a tense few weeks, the rainbow talks broke down over the reluctance of the Liberals to take part.

I was a little torn about the outcome. On one hand, the idea of a nationalist-led Assembly government was a historic one. But it would mean forming an alliance with the Conservatives. It made sense to many; as previously mentioned, there is a conservative streak in the Plaid camp. In cynical political terms, some were opposed on the grounds that a move would alienate voters in the Valleys (traditionally very socialist), a group Plaid has worked hard to appeal to over the past couple of decades. Ultimately, though, I thought that the politicians should listen to the voice of the people. The majority had voted for either Plaid or Labour. It was these two that should form a coalition.

I admit to being a little disappointed when the rainbow talks failed, not only because I wanted a Plaid-led government but also because I thought it would mean that Labour would continue as a minority government. There was a real chance that had Labour tried to limp along on their own, the Assembly would fast become a lame joke, unable to utilise effectively any of their new powers under the Government of Wales Act 2006.

And that’s a suitable cliffhanger to end on today.

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As the self-satisfied gurgling of my gluttonous Western over-indulgence subsides, thoughts turn to reflection of the previous year. It’s been an interesting one for me, personally: new job, new cats, new series of Doctor Who. But there’s not much entertainment-wise that seems significant enough to recap. For time reasons, I haven’t really got through as many books, comics or films as I’ve done in previous years, but most surprisingly I’ve bought less music this year than at any time after the start of Britpop, and it’s not due to bittorrenting, neither. I don’t know whether things really are lacklustre, or if I’m just not as engaged as I used to be (probably the latter), but things weren’t even this lean during the dark days of ‘99 to ‘01, when dance ruled supreme from atop its neon throne on Shit Hill and guitars seemed confined only to Nu-Metal (the horror, the horror).

So instead of entertainment, I’m going to write about something of even more obscure interest than comics: Welsh politics, with regard to continuing devolution and the National Assembly in Cardiff Bay, which gained further power this year under the Government of Wales Act 2006.

I’ll not get to deep into the complexities of the nation’s political leanings. Needless to say, like a sociological fractal, the smaller you subdivide the population, the more schizophrenic the politics get.

Here’s some background. The Welsh Labour Party has always been further to the Left of its English counterpart. In fact, the same can be said for Welsh politics as a whole. But there’s always been differences of opinion within the party towards what kind of socialism to pursue, something that causes an ever greater schism between politicians in Cardiff Bay and their counterparts at Westminster. They get even more split on questions such as devolution, or the Welsh language. The latter, in particular, has always been a contentious issue for all parties, frequently associated with Welsh nationalism although, frankly, it shouldn’t be: there are plenty of pro-Welsh language but anti-devolution Conservatives, for example, and self-governance isn’t, to me, a cultural consideration.

Welsh Conservatives generally oppose devolution, but many in their party have become more positive towards it because decentralisation and the proportional representation system mean, rightfully, that they get a larger say in the running of their country: after all, it wasn’t that long ago that the system used to elect Members of Parliament left the Conservatives without a single MP, and therefore no voice in Westminster.

Welsh Liberal Democrats have always had strong support from rural communities, Mid Wales in particular, though Welsh farmers tend to be more conservative (in the small “c” sense) than your typical Lib Dem.

Which brings us to Plaid Cymru, the nationalist party. Nominally in favour of independence from the rest of the UK (it’s a little more complicated than that, but that’s the broad ideology), Plaid have always been pro-devolution. On the political spectrum, Plaid in South Wales have always leaned towards decentralised socialism, although there is a strong streak of conservatism in the party as well. About the only thing everyone in the party agrees on is that the Welsh people should have a greater say in the government of their own nation.

More tomorrow.

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I’m a rabid proponent of the Christmas Eve ghost story tradition. Seriously, foaming at the mouth, rabies-like symptoms, everything. Talk about an unbalanced response. I get particularly riled up when the idiot box shows no acknowledgement of the concept, choosing to rerun, I don’t know, fucking Dad’s Army or something instead. It probably irritates me more than a seasonal lack of It’s A Wonderful Life, and brothers and sisters, that is a lot of irritation right there. That said, I don’t actually know where the tradition came from in the first place.

A Christmas Carol, of course, is perhaps the most well-known of all of them, and also one that has popularised the concept, along with the enduring imagery of Yuletide snow and Kermit the Frog as a book-keeper (perhaps more of a ret-con but nonetheless canon round our way). And really, is there anything that suggests Christmas more than the works of Algernon Blackwood or M.R. James? Well, yes, I suppose. Loads. Birth of the Messiah, for a start.

But again, much like Halloween, we’re talking about something older than Christianity here. Midwinter feasts, fires in the darkness, the hope of spring. The ever-pressing cycle of death and rebirth. And maybe that’s all parcelled into a tradition that leads to Christopher Lee’s fireside story-telling, and me watching The Haunting on the night before Christmas (absolutely the best way to experience it for the first time).

Because if midnight on January 1st represents progression and change, maybe the 24th of December is a little more backward looking. Of course it’s a time of warm remembrance; that kind of thing comes with the territory with human festivities. And let’s not forget acrimony, which also rears its head wherever family members gather. But what about the past’s other shadows, the things better left unremembered? At festival time everything has its place, and these shades too must reveal themselves, and what better time than the night before the feast?

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A few bits and pieces that aren’t big enough to survive on their own. Here they huddle together for warmth, fighting against the cold, unforgiving winter nights.

The Brown M&Ms

Here’s a more detailed explanation of the Van Halen post from a few weeks ago.

Fractal Films: Ratatoille (2007)

Pixar films have kind of got a bit stale for me. I liked the first two Toy Storys (Toy Stories?), thought A Bug’s Life and Monsters, Inc. were alright, found The Incredibles to be a bit pedestrian, and really disliked Finding Nemo. Didn’t bother with Cars. So I was pleasantly surprised by this one. Very funny and very well animated (pixels have never been so expressive), the film works mainly through a surprisingly strong plot.

In terms of atmosphere, it’s the most Disneylike of all of John Lasseter’s stuff, and while not as good as director Brad Bird’s The Iron Giant it has some exceptionally good design work going on. Paris looks like Paris, and there are some very effective visual interpretations of how flavour works, conceived (I think) by Canadian cartoonist, comic creator and animator Michel Gagné. I dare you to watch this film and not get hungry. The end credits, while not the usual fake outtakes, are still worth watching for what looks like exceptionally pretty traditional animation.

But the best bit isn’t the actual feature, but the animated short that precedes it: a dialogue-free sequence where a trainee alien abductor tries to get a sleeping man out of his house. Easily the funniest thing I’ve seen this year.

Fractal Furlough: Bill Bailey – Tinselworm, Cardiff International Arena, 21.11.07.

I lied, this is the funniest thing I’ve seen this year. What impresses isn’t just how good a comedian he is, but the breadth of his musical talent. In terms of pure entertainment, you can’t do any better. Worth the ticket price just for his Emo track about a self-harmer in Starbucks:

The only way/The only way that you will see me/Is if I cut myself/And bleed on your panini.

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As Halo 3 has been released fairly recently, I thought I’d post my thoughts on, er, pretty much every other first person shooter instead.

Perhaps my main claim to nerdhood (at least, non-comic related nerdhood) is the summer I spent as a teenager playing almost nothing but Doom. The weird snorting, crunching noises the demons made and the distinctive clunk-swishes of the doors opening have actually been imprinted on my parents’ memories. Damn, I played that game a lot.

It was the first FPS I’d ever played, and nothing really came close afterwards, not Doom 2, nor Quake, nor any iteration of Unreal. In fact, I’m not even sure the later chapters of the first Doom came close to the atmosphere and mystery of the first, in the Martian base. Nothing, that is, until Halo.

My comrade Marcel is quick (and correct) to point out the subtext of American military supremacy in the series, but in all honest I don’t really care. Political nuances are frequently drowned out by the bloodthirsty adrenaline-enhanced laughter of doom (or, possibly, Doom). Even though the plot is cobbled together from elements of other things (Aliens being the most obvious, others including Starship Troopers and Babylon 5), it’s still easy to get drawn into it, to its grandeur and scale.

Single-player plot seemed less important in the era of Unreal Tournament and Quake III than a funky multiplayer, which made Halo’s scope for fantastic set-pieces and classic moments a strong selling point. It shares this with Half-Life, the Game of the Year edition of which reintroduced me to gaming only a couple of months before I bought an Xbox (and Marcel’s FPS of choice, as he prefers to empathise with the speccy scientist than the super-marine). On top of the single player campaign, the co-op and multiplayer was also brilliant.

I remember taking time off from work the day Halo 2 came out. It seems harsh to describe it as a disappointment as it’s still a game I love to play; but, perhaps unreasonably, I was expecting more. After a couple of weeks it was obvious that the weapons weren’t quite as well balanced as the first game, and while the plot itself was an excellent continuation of the original, the fact that every alternating level you played a character other than the Master Chief really took you out of the story. It felt disjointed, and I hadn’t put my cash down to play the Arbiter. That’s not to say the character wasn’t a great addition, allowing us to explore the Covenant’s culture, only that it wasn’t implemented as well as it could have been. Halo 2’s greatest achievement was its online multiplayer, and that type of gaming’s not really my cup of tea.

I think it’s still to early for me to deliver a verdict on the last of the trilogy. It’s certainly held up much better than the first sequel, and I thought the story wrapped perfectly. The weapons are certainly better balanced, and the Chief’s original rifle makes a welcome return (watch as my nerditude increases as sentences accumulate). But I think I’ll have a few more plays through before making a final judgement.

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Here’s a cliche for you: how much the British love tea.

I’m not speaking for every Brit, but in my family we drink gallons of it. From (possibly wonky) memory, some 80% of all British people drink the stuff, the teabag business being worth over £600 million per year. And no, I haven’t just pulled these numbers from my arse. Well, I don’t think I have.

In this context, it’s always been a little odd for me seeing American characters partake of the, er, leaf-based hot liquid. For example, peruse this little scene from Steve Gerber and Gene Colan:

“Mrs. Manners? You can’t possibly be suggesting…?!”

Oh, bad luck, Daimon. She really was talking about a nice relaxing cuppa. Which, of course, proves only one thing:

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According to an online questionaire I once completed, I’m an anarcho-syndicalist. I’m not entirely sure I agree with that- I’m not entirely sure I know what that even means- but as we all know, if it’s on the internet it must be true. So, please bear this in mind as you read the following.

I’ve recently read The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists, a brilliant novel about working-class painters and decorators set around the beginning of the 20th Century. It’s a passionate, sometimes acerbic work, and one that has a surprising resonance even almost a hundred years after it was written. The passage dealing with the men’s hostility towards immigrant workers, which I’ll get round to posting here one day, might well have appeared almost unchanged in today’s copy of The Sun.

Although an engaging story that stands on its own merits as an enthralling and sometimes funny character piece, there are many parts that are an undisguised lecture on (i.e. propaganda in favour of) the theory, practice and benefits of Socialism (with a capital ‘S’). One of them is the possible makeup of a utopian Socialist society, which I will now attempt to provide a modern interpretation of.

For the moment, let’s chuck out arguments regarding the impossibility of any kind of idealistic society ever existing due to human greed and self-interest. That’s another argument entirely (which I’m happy to have), but for the moment will cloud the central point. Let’s assume we are able to create and live in the following kind of society:

Everyone has a tidy-sized house, and a good piece of land. Food, water, internet connections and healthcare are all readily available. No one wants for entertainment, education, world travel, any of it. But:

You have to put in twenty years of work. You can retire in your late 30s, early 40s if you went to university, but you have to do your 20. After that, you can do whatever you want. The incentive for doing, say, difficult or nasty jobs that other people don’t want to do isn’t pecunary, but a drastic reduction to the time you have to work. You either retire earlier, or do less days a week.

The other catch: No-one’s ultra rich. No-one can ever own manor houses, yachts, or so much money that they don’t ever have to work. If you opt out of the new system, you really opt out: no social security, no support, nothing.

So this is the choice: the idealistic world, or the current one, where we all work long hours until we’re almost dead, thousands live in poverty, and we’re not even going to start on third world exploitation. Now, I’m not saying I’m a complete advocate of this alternate world; it’s a very, very sketchy example. There are arguments about resource allocation, and whether there are enough people in the world to support this standard of living if everyone only has to work for twenty years (if we take into account the entire population of the planet, plus the excess resources sucked up by the ultra-minority of the super-rich, my gut instinct is yes), how a free market would work (because, yes, I do think a free market is important and useful), etc., that I haven’t addressed. But, again, this is irrelevant to my central point:

If we gave most people this simple choice, I think they’d choose to live in our current world. Not (necessarily) because they think the alternative is unworkable, but (to paraphrase Alan Moore at the start of From Hell), poor people don’t want to be equal, they want to be rich. Even though the probability of becoming ultra-rich is unimaginably miniscule, the off-chance that one day we too can suck up resources and lord it over everyone else far outweighs living a better quality of life all-round but having to give up that miniscule chance. That is exactly the premise behind the National Lottery- “It Could Be You!”. Well, surprise, everyone. For the vast majority of you, it won’t.

Surely there can be no argument that the current system is weighted towards funneling money, power, influence and resources upwards to a priviledged minority, against the interests of the majority? Yet I find it fascinating this set-up is tolerated, even lauded, due to the simple premise that the whole game is based around: Don’t rock the boat, because one day they might let you in.

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I’ve notices some recent discussion about nerdy stereotypes, of the super-hero comic collector in particular. There’s one comment (here) about how people shouldn’t be afraid to leave copies of their stuff lying round the place (or to buy them in the first place) for fear of ridicule. I agree. That kind of defensive fear reaction always makes my brain go a bit squishy.

There’s a certain type of song, from a certain type of artist, that cause the same mind-splat, usually via music video. Films and programmes, too. The ones that endlessly retread sins perpetrated at school, all written by a range of people a fair distance from school-leaving age. I understand there’s a kind of trauma that effects people deeply for a long time, but surely there’s a point where everything else in your life kind of outweighs it? Other grievances, for a start. Take Marilyn Manson, or the people who write Dawson’s Creek-esque shows. How old are they, forty? They’d feel a lot better in themselves if they just let it go. Sure, there’s always a cynical marketing slant, but some of that shit is heartfelt.

Same thing with people afraid of their own nerditude. Come on, it’s not like kids read comics anymore, you’re all 25 at a minimum. It’s your own fucking living space, leave what you like lying around (er, within reason and considerations of hygeine, obviously. Don’t consider this carte blanche to mint a turd in your lounge). And why the hell are you inviting dickheads round to your place, anyway?

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