Super Injunctions: Everybody Is Wrong

Most of my readership is American - so let me catch you up.

Google defines a Super Injunction as:

"An injunction is an equitable remedy in the form of a court order, whereby a party is required to do, or to refrain from doing, certain acts."

This means a variety of things, but what is in the limelight at the moment is that celebrities are paying the courts for the rights to have their extra-marital indiscretions kept out of the newspapers, by law. In the UK we don't have freedom of speech or freedom of press, we just have celebrities and rich people. 

So, to begin with, we have the dumbness that the mega-rich are able to pay the courts to silence the press from printing stories. 

But then we have the other side of it. Who a footballer has sex with is not news. If David Beckham is found in the midst of a passionate threesome with Alex Ferguson and Thierry Henry: this isn't news. It's people's private lives. Newspapers like 'The Sun' aren't in court fighting for the right to print these injunctions based on principle, it's based on smut, based on printing titillating bullshit for the masses to spend their days reading about. It sells copies. 

So we have super injunctions, the very existence of which strongly curtail the freedom of press. 

And then we have the newspapers on the other side, who use whatever freedom they do have not to report on corruption and power and poverty -- but to print which actors and soccer players have been getting their penises out in their private lives.

And then there's us, the public. Storming onto Twitter and retweeting every bit of sordid bullshit about which footballer's fucked which model. There is so much in the world that is wrong, really wrong, and there is so much we should be focusing on. But we're a society obsessed with breast-implanted TV stars and sportsmen who get paid £200,000 a week. What the hell are we doing? 

I realise that by sharing this picture, I am becoming a part of the very crap I am arguing against -- but I want to make a point. This is a picture from The Daily Mail.

This is what our country is getting excited about. This is what sells our newspapers. These are the conflicts that matter in our world. How many of these are newsworthy? 

I am not saying all this in defence of these overpaid celebrity men who can't keep it in their pants. It's embarrassing just how common these affairs are. 

I'm not saying the newspapers shouldn't be allowed to print these stories. I'm saying they shouldn't want to. This isn't news. A few of the alleged super injunctions aren't even affairs, they're just private stories about people's sexuality and preferences. The ethics of these news organisations is so much worse than the people they write about every day. Maybe they should stop writing about celebrities, even stop writing about dictators and murderers, and just publish stories about themselves.

The important news is harder. A story about people being killed in Georgia or gangs raping women in the DR Congo is tough to read; I understand why we need nonsense, I understand why we can't bare to look at this stuff. But the energy and time we spend on this absolute bullshit about celebrities is INSANE. 

Everyone, on all sides of this --- they are insane! It's insane that the press are restricted by the courts when it comes to this stuff. It's insane that everybody cares so much. And it's insane that I am writing in this way. We are all nuts!

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The Event - WTF?

I began watching "THE EVENT," just because it was on TV. I don't normally do that; in fact, I don't watch anything on TV. I just watch box-sets about six years after everyone else. But the show was up on the screen and I was down on the sofa so I thought I might as well begin watching as the girl in it was kind of hot and also I was under the strange impression that this was a one off TV movie. So I sat and began watching.

A guy was on a plane going a bit crazy for no-reason and then there was a caption saying 'Eight Days Earlier' and the guy who was going crazy on the plane was now chilling out with the hot girl by the beach; they chatted for a bit, and then he dived in the water to save some girl who was drowning. And then it said 'Four Days Earlier.' Was this four days before the previous eight days; or four days before the original day, the day of days; which I can only assume was the day the dude went crazy on a plane - or some other day?

Anyway, suddenly the President got involved, but that was sixteen days before something; but was maybe four days after the hot girl's mother got shot either three minutes or three years after another one of her daughters got kidnapped for trying to rescue a small bike.

Meanwhile, some time went by and the crazy dude was not on a plane and not on a beach but it was six days since four days ago and three years ago he was in a hotel room looking for the hot girl who may have been kidnapped or may have popped out for a coffee. Then we cut to a commercial and came back sixteen days after three days before the four days five months ago when the daughter's Father became a pilot and then an alien stole the airplane. The End.

Can someone explain to me what the hell is going on? And is everyone okay? Do we even know what date it is? Does this blog even exist yet? Does Sarah Roemer (hot girl) wanna crash at my place until all this dies down?

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The One Where The Kid Produces A Feature Film.

It was the day before shooting and we were on our way to pick up the equipment. We would have got it earlier in the week but we were on an extremely tight budget so had to do things as cheaply as possible.

To pick up the equipment we needed a van, but we didn't have a van, so the Director, George, got a van. He borrowed it from his friend. He said to his friend "I need to borrow your van for a day to move something from my house." He probably should have told him the truth, which was "I'm borrowing your van to go and pick up some unlicensed weaponry and Nazi uniforms."

So the Director, George, said to me "should we pick up the camera first or the weapons?" and using my authority as Producer I said "I don't know, what do you think?" so he said "I'm asking you," and I said "can we get a cup of tea first?" We began arguing because he didn't think it was necessary to get a cup of tea but I told him I was really thirsty and that maybe we could pick up a bacon sandwich too.

So George was driving the van and I was sat next to him thinking about bacon sandwiches. We decided, first of all, to play it safe and pick up the unlicensed World War 2 weapons. But don't worry readers, they were de-activated. So we picked up the guns and put them in the back of the unlicensed van. I was a bit worried but George insured me that the fact he didn't have insurance for the van wouldn't be a problem as all we were doing was picking up some guns and Nazi uniforms for a film.

We went to pick up the Nazi uniforms, which was fun, except that George was unsure about some of the sizes. "I don't think that one will fit Michael," he said. "Who's Michael?" I asked. "One of the lead actors," came the reply, which led to me promptly scribbling on the call sheet. "Find out who Michael is and send him a schedule." George was convinced it wouldn't fit so he told me to try it on as I was similar in build to Michael, well I probably still am.

(this is actor Tom Cruise. Not Me. What I am saying, to clear up any confusion - is that I am not Tom Cruise.)

"It looks good," said George.
"I look like a war criminal." I cried
"Exactly."

At this point, George realised we needed to rush as we still had to pick up the camera kit and he had to be back home for lunch otherwise his girlfriend would go mad. "Hurry up and get in the car," he said. "But I just need to.." - he cut me off, "just get in the car and deal with it later," he said, which is exactly why I was still dressed in a Nazi uniform.

So we zoomed down the street towards the camera rental company-- and as we turned into a semi-busy road, a truck driver decided to pull into our lane--- he smashed into the side of George's friends Van, hitting the wing-mirror; which then flew through the drivers window, smacking him directly on the head, as shards of glass covered and cut both of us. George, being a wise driver, pulled us safely into the drive-way of a house. The truck driver disappeared and was never to be seen again.

So George and I got out of the uninsured van with illegal WW2 weapons, at which point a little old lady came out of the house and trundled towards the film director and the producer dressed as a Nazi.

As I wiped blood off of my head and George looked all the more dizzy, the woman said "We'll need a broom, we'll definitely need a broom. Clean away this glass. You're on my driveway. You're blocking my driveway."

"We just got hit by a truck," one of us mentioned.
"Oh right, but you're on my driveway" said the little old bag.
"I'm bleeding, I was just in a road accident." I offered.
"You need to move your vehicle," she responded.

We realised that our uninsured van was now pretty smashed up with the windows blown out, no wing-mirrors, and we were bleeding-- to say nothing of the rifles. The woman went to get her broom; and we realised we really needed to get the camera.

We'd never used this rental company before as they are one of the biggest in the industry; and with rental companies it's all about building relationships, so we wanted to wait for the right project - which we felt this was. So it's hard to explain us turning up to them looking like we'd just escaped from a bomb site.

"We'll help you carry this stuff to your car," said the helpful guy with a weird hairstyle. "NO!" we both yelled. We carried the thousands of pounds worth of camera kit and lighting gear and placed it through the non-existent window, in between a German submachine gun and a few authentic Lugers.

George and I headed back to his, doing our best to avoid any eye contact with people, or the many police cars we passed. "How about a bacon sandwich?" I asked George. He didn't answer.

The point of this story, in case you were wondering - is that you must never hire me as a Producer.

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