Somebody hasn't had the time to do so. Check your privilege.Somone's not seen White Chicks.
Somebody hasn't had the time to do so. Check your privilege.Somone's not seen White Chicks.
There you go again, oppressing the blind!PD should host an intersectionality film festival or something. There must be pots of cash to be made from this caper.
There will be facilitators on hand to provide a running commentary and point out instances of privilege.There you go again, oppressing the blind!
It has a homophobic slant to it though. It's all so confusingTrust me, that film's definitely on the oppressed axis.
There will be facilitators on hand to provide a running commentary and point out instances of privilege.
BUT THE LARGER POINT IS THAT IT'S OFF TOPIC. ESPECIALLY WHEN THE SHOW IS REALLY TRYING TO FOCUS OTHER UNDERREPRESENTED IDEAS. AT BEST IT'S NOTHING MORE THAN A VALID QUESTION FOR THE SHOW'S FUTURE (AGAIN, ONE EPISODE). AT WORST? IT'S AKIN TO WONDERING WHY DO THE RIGHT THING DIDN'T DO A BETTER JOB COVERING THE INTRICACIES OF THE STOCK MARKET.
IT'S JUST NOT WHAT THE SHOW IS ABOUT. AFTER ALL, WE DIDN'T MIND THAT THE ENTIRE CAST OF FREAKS AND GEEKS WAS WHITE.
Oh god please tell me the welfare game is still available
Yeah, and entryist as queen?with the CC as the king? important but not very powerful and vulnerable to being checkmated
I see Laura's greek holiday got a positive review in Red Pepper.articul8 could be the knight, good at swerving in unexpected directions
There's a very pricey collectors item norn iron one.
A few minutes later, one of the young crooks challenged me to a game of pool. In any country, the fine details of the rules of pool vary from bar to bar, and Pawel didn't know any of them. The people I was playing pool with didn't know any English, so Pawel was translating terms he didn't even know in Polish. We played two bizarre games until the young crooks started beating each other up.
''Does this happen often?'' I asked Pawel later on. ''I mean, do Polish people often talk to strangers in bars?''
Pawel shrugged and looked off into the middle distance. ''This is the first time in my life this has ever happened to me.'' I felt slightly guilty, as if I had brought a curse with me.
The next night, which was Shrove Tuesday, Pawel took me to a party. It is a popular night for parties in Poland, but I got the impression that Poles will throw parties at the drop of a hat. It was identical to the student parties I used to go to: the music was an eclectic trawl through rock and dance music history, the kitchen was packed, no one touched the food until a mass attack of the munchies at about midnight and the most beautiful girl in the room didn't even look at me. I also complained a lot about the recession in England.
The next day I had to go to Krakow to meet my next assignment. I'd picked Elizabeth, art historian, born in 1960. ''I am single and I have a lot of free time,'' she said. As she firmly advised me to stay in a hotel, rather than stay at her place, I guessed that she wasn't using the book as a Lonely Hearts column. The express train to Krakow takes only two and half hours, but leaves at 6.50am. The taxi Pawel had ordered never showed up, but there were plenty at the rank near his flat. (A word about Polish taxis. You will first meet them at the airport, where you will be surrounded by about a hundred men all saying ''Taxi, taxi'' at you until you're actually on the bus. Drivers have to learn the Knowledge the way London cabbies do, but a million zlotys - about £50 - is, for most examiners, a respectable substitute for experience. They are pricey, even for Westerners, and, as most of Warsaw's suburbs look identical, a trip from one flat to another by taxi needs patience, money, and someone who knows the way. You learn to try and do without taxis whenever possible.)
Poles mostly prefer the free market. I saw a Warsaw tram painted in shocking pink, advertising Barbie dolls. Along the streets there are mini-markets selling virtually anything. Shop displays are so eclectic as to suggest a horror vacui, a hangover from the bad old days of communism, when you displayed anything you had to sell. In Krakow I saw a shop window with (next to each other) a pair of braces, a bottle of two-stroke oil and a doctor's stethoscope, all of them apparently brand-new. Meanwhile, Camel and Marlboro slug it out for the soul of Poland. Everything is covered in their livery: trams, newsagents, shop-fronts, billboards. Western companies are interested in Poland, but sometimes it seems as if it is only the companies selling rubbish who are really interested. And if you have been living off undercover received images of the West for half a century, you become more vulnerable to the most easily assimilated, decadent and virulent form of Western culture there is: kitsch. Maybe you can tell how at ease a country is with itself by the tenacity of its cuisine; a Martian in Warsaw or Krakow could conclude that the Polish national dish is pizza. I spent what seemed like hours in Krakow trying to find kazsa - a delicious black pudding - and kaszanka - buckwheat - and had to give up. For good authentic Polish cuisine you will have to find a family that will cook it for you or go to the Daquise in London. Back in Warsaw, Pawel decided to give a party. It was his name-day - the anniversary of his christening - which is as important a day in your calendar as your birthday. He invited only about eight or nine of his friends, but they were the kind of friends who make you think that there are, in fact, about 30 people there instead. I invited everyone back to England so they could see how terrible the recession was. The next day, Pawel took me to see the Jim Jarmusch film Stranger than Paradise. Jarmusch is popular in Poland. Poles are industrious ironists - the ground for irony, is, after all, fertile - and they like the idea of films which make America look like what most Westerners think Poland looks like - grainy, monochrome and sad. Pawel's friend Malgorzata, a beautiful girl, had just returned from nine months away and seemed to be in shock. ''This city. Warsaw. It looks horrible. Everything is grey-green. What is that word that means earth mixed with water?'' ''Mud,'' I offered. ''Yes,'' she said, ''that's it. Everything looks like mud.'' She had been in England and had inadvertently overstayed her visa by a month. She was almost in tears as she said how this meant she would probably never be able to go to England again. Of course, she suggested, I could always marry her. I showed her Poland: People to People. ''I think I should put my name in the next edition,'' she said. Jim Haynes's book is, I had to conclude, a little work of inspiration. In Europe, Europe Hans Magnus Enzensburger spent three baffling days in Warsaw before he admitted the need for a guardian angel, and you will need one, too, as you stumble against the Polish language's sloshed phonetics (a little German might help if you're ever marooned). Whenever I showed people the book in Poland, I asked if they'd have minded being in it themselves. No, they said. These people are nicer than us. The only miserable thing that happened to me in Poland was my departure. I wondered if there was some way of swapping the Polish and British populations. Imagine if Britain was full of people who would walk a mile in tight shoes to do you a favour. (It's not simply economics: several times I had to argue tiresomely with them just to buy them a drink.) Maybe I should take up Malgorzata's proposal after all.
Sounds like a decent scenario/theme for a game! The mechanics involved in even the simplest of games are complicated. Don't you have to use loads of algorithms n shit? (Sorry, maths is not my strong point)
Nah, made in 1980, out of production shortly after I should imagine - still around on ebay occasionally though by the looks of things - one "near complete") went for $30 in October:
http://www.ebay.co.uk/itm/Public-As...me-offensive-rare-near-complete-/230863267665
I've seen a kickstarter in the past year or so for a game based on a demonstration/riot where on side plays the police and the other the demonstrators, looked kind of interesting but I can't remember what it was called.
There was also one based on the Seattle 99 WTO meeting: http://boardgamegeek.com/boardgame/4190/battle-of-seattle.
I'm vaguely working on a game called "Trot Wars" where each player plays as a trot, starting together in the same group. The game can be won under co-operative conditions (bring about revolution) or individual conditions (get the most glory for yourself and the group you are going to create through splits, mergers and more splits.).
Glory comes through selling papers and building the party obviously.
I have no idea about the mechanics of the game yet, I just like the tension you see in any political grouping really, but I know trot groups and it seems particularly bad there, between the aims and desires of the groups as a whole and the aims and desires of the individual groups within them.
So I'm envisaging a game which forces splits on people and then gets you points by doing things like hijacking other groups demonstrations, declaring losses as victories etc... people coming together in broad fronts on particular campaigns but then each trying to grab the glory of all the points available from that campaign and stuff.
The only party with the correct theory and analysis for the working class has produced the only range of board games suitable for the toiling masses. This Proletarian Democracy chess set combines intellectual fun with the Leninist theory of the revolutionary vanguardist party. The pawns represent the footsoldiers of the Party carrying the paper to the other side of the board, and thus to revolution, the knights represent ultra-left reformist opportunists swerving from one position to the next, the king represents the Central Committee, all-important but vulnerable to being checkmated. The queen represents the all-important theory of entryism while the bishops stand for dogmatic petty-bourgeois intelligentsia, seemingly long-ranging but limited to one colour of square. The rooks stand for the straightforward Marxist road, rejecting the twin perils of opportunism and reformism.Hours of fun for all new recruits!
A farewell to Freak Street; Nepal, once the hippies' paradise, is now the haunt of climbers and trekkers. Nicholas Lezard gets high without the hashish
When you arrive in Kathmandu and look at what most restaurants have on offer, you would be forgiven for thinking the national dish is apple strudel. Nepal might be one of the world's poorest countries, but the people do know how to make Westerners feel at home. Nepalis love tourists: the words ''wel come'' (invariably spelt like that) appear above every shop, restaurant and guest house.
A word about rickshaws: these pose problems for sensitive Westerners.
A rickshaw ride is also morally exhausting. You are torn between compassion for the driver, whose effort on your behalf makes you feel like a Bolshevik caricature of a capitalist, and compassion for yourself. Half-way to your destination you get off and pay him slightly more than the sum you agreed before setting off. And the moment you do get off, you are surrounded by other rickshaw drivers, all going ''Rickshaw, rickshaw,'' at you until you give up and get on one all over again.
Try not to take high-tech Goretex walking boots: if you travel by Aeroflot they will be stolen. This is more of an annoyance than a disaster as there are plenty of shops in town where you can rent all conceivable kinds of mountaineering equipment.
On the return journey, which is downhill, you will probably fall off while swerving to avoid a child selling you a melon - so wear stout clothing. I didn't, and got to see the Nepali emergency medical service at first hand. Treatment is quicker than the NHS, the doctors are excellent and you can haggle with them over the number of stitches they are going to put into your knee. He wanted four, I asked for two, we settled for three.
Even in the deserted areas, the plant life has a kind of urgent, energetic purpose that you scarcely see anywhere else. Nepal's countryside looks like the English countryside, cubed.
Many of the hotels are run by former Gurkhas, comfortably Anglophile and capable of making a mean cup of tea. Lakeside has an extraordinary, tropical shanty-town atmos- phere: the buildings are made of tin and straw thatch, with fairy lights strung about.
The place is almost like an unspoilt Bali, if you can accept that an unspoilt Bali would have Mexican restaurants. (I would not recommend eating in one of these, by the way. There was something in my cheese and bean burrito that left me half-dead for three days. It gave me a chance to rest my knee.)
If you find the idea of Western restaurants serving apple strudel depressing, comfort yourself with the thought that the best treks start from here, and the beaten track, whether you are in the middle of Kathmandu or Pokhara, is never hard to get off.
Nepal is at an interesting stage in its development. It might not have an infrastructure left over from a colonial past, but the Nepalis make up for it in the lengths they will go to in order to make visitors welcome, even though they have only been doing it since 1959.
With return flights costing as little as £450 and a chance to experience a lifestyle that is almost free once you get there, the country is all set to be the next big, hip tourist destination: less frenetic than India, less ideologically suspect than taking advantage of Tibet. Already tourists come back complaining that the place is not what it was. It is worth going now, while you can still say you were there when the country was unspoilt.