Every year after Christmas, in the week leading up to New Year's Eve/Day, I find there's a lull in people's life as they try to recover. Eating too much, drinking too much, doing too much; it all catches up to you. That late night on Christmas Eve when you were wrapping presents until the wee hours of the morning, that huge meal on Christmas Day that made you think you'd never have to eat again or the evening of drinking away everything else except the family and friends you were celebrating with. After that, everyone needs a break, right?
I did not drink this Christmas but was definitely guilty of the other two. And yes, I wanted a week to chill out before having to do all the wild things expecting of a young man on New Year's.
But what about the people who had a terrible Christmas? The people who went to see family they don't really get on with out of some sense of tradition and responsibility that has nothing to do with the spirit of Christmas? All those people who sat around in a room with people they barely talk to any other day of the year making sad, awkward little conversations while they desperately try to pass the time?
Or worse, in my opinion, the people who had no one to be with on Christmas. What about them? The people who woke up on the 25th and had no one to spend it with, and nothing to do except try to find a way to escape their loneliness?
The amount of social and cultural pressure that Christmas hammers onto people, or our society hammers on people around Christmas is crazy and unnecessary. Yes, it's nice to get presents and see people happy when they open the one you got them and like it but it's not just about that. What about people who can't afford presents? Or have no one to give them to? Yes, it's nice to spend time with family, but what about those people who's families have suffered schisms or splits where favourites have to be unwillingly chosen or everyone has to pretend everything's okay? What about the people who know they'll be spending Christmas alone but have to watch the depressingly yet reliably repetitive Christmas commercials that emphasize family and togetherness?
I think there's something unfair about Christmas in our world; people shouldn't HAVE to celebrate it. I'm not saying don't, no at all. But why should people feel forced to subscribe to it when they don't believe in it? Or want to celebrate it differently? Or don't have anyone to celebrate it with? Or would plain old just rather do something else? I'm not encouraging people to try and make others forget about Christmas or not celebrate it, no even slightly as that would be the same thing I'm trying to argue against; socio-culutral pressure should not force someone's decision about what to do with their holidays.
I, personally, will always celebrate Christmas because of both my religious and personal beliefs, but to all those people out there who just want to enjoy their holidays: DO IT! I would rather people were happy at Christmas time and remembered it as a good time than conformed to society's norms and made themselves unwilling participants in something which, for them, would be remembered as the least happy time of year, and one that they never looked forward to.
I don't like humbugs but if any friends wish to do so, I'm quite happy to say "Bah, Skittle!" with you.
Wednesday, 30 December 2009
Monday, 14 December 2009
Judgment Not Welcome
Who, out there, has ever been on an internet forum? For anything; academics, topic interest, boredom, anything. That's not what I'm ranting about today.
Today, I hate the people who think the internet is some kind of safe haven or refuge from the plights of their lives and how everyone judges them 'based on who they are'.
Firstly, the internet offers no safety. The internet is the home and hunting ground of the emotional and intellectual predator known as "Anonymous". "Anonymous" is, according to the Laws of the Internet:
3. Anonymous is legion.
4. Anonymous does not forgive, Anonymous does not forget.
5. Anonymous can be a horrible, senseless, uncaring monster.
6. Anonymous is still able to deliver.
It is worth noting that the fact the beast "Anonymous" can deliver is only given after the other three rules, and so is less likely and relevant than the others.
Posting in a forum puts you immediately at risk from attack by "Anonymous". Rule 3: It it legion. Without number. This gives it the huge advantage of being able to be in many - potentially infinite - places at once. No matter how much you love and hide your forum, Anonymous will find it. And the Anonymous will destroy your haven, your refuge.
And Anonymous will judge you. The internet can be accessed by, potentially, everyone. Someone who wants to ruin your life will comment and do their best to achieve this goal.
So we have ascertained that the internet is not somewhere you can hide, or somewhere to pour out your closest loves and fears. This leads on to the second point about being judged; You are always judged. Fact. No-one who forms an opinion of you does not judge you. How else are opinions formed? Without judgment, we couldn't make friends or choose music tastes of really have a conversation. Therefore, we must judge others and be judged in return.
Second, if you don't want to be judged for who you are, what should you be judged on? I mean, honestly. I want to be judged for who I am because I like who I am - if you don't want to be judged on who you are, then you don't like who you are or think you are. Sort it out yourself. Don't whine on the internet about how no body understands you and how terrible your life is and why slitting your wrists it at the same time appealing but depressing.
WE'VE ALL BEEN FOURTEEN AND FIFTEEN BEFORE! We got through it. My suggestions would be stop listening to music played and sung by men who wear skinny jeans and enough eye-liner to drown a camel, and then go out and have a life. Get some freaking sunshine. Vitamin D does wonders for your music taste.
Step Two: Don't post on forums about your emotional insecurities. Anonymous will find, eat and rape them. Maybe in that order.
The next time I see someone begging not to be judged for who they are and trying to explain why emo-music is good for the soul, I'll let Anonymous possess me and do horrible things to you. And your mum, your cat, your favourite band - all at the same time - your music player. Hopefully you get the message.
Failing that threat having import to you, go do half the things you're music sings about. Then you'll have done me a favour and saved me the effort.
Today, I hate the people who think the internet is some kind of safe haven or refuge from the plights of their lives and how everyone judges them 'based on who they are'.
Firstly, the internet offers no safety. The internet is the home and hunting ground of the emotional and intellectual predator known as "Anonymous". "Anonymous" is, according to the Laws of the Internet:
3. Anonymous is legion.
4. Anonymous does not forgive, Anonymous does not forget.
5. Anonymous can be a horrible, senseless, uncaring monster.
6. Anonymous is still able to deliver.
It is worth noting that the fact the beast "Anonymous" can deliver is only given after the other three rules, and so is less likely and relevant than the others.
Posting in a forum puts you immediately at risk from attack by "Anonymous". Rule 3: It it legion. Without number. This gives it the huge advantage of being able to be in many - potentially infinite - places at once. No matter how much you love and hide your forum, Anonymous will find it. And the Anonymous will destroy your haven, your refuge.
And Anonymous will judge you. The internet can be accessed by, potentially, everyone. Someone who wants to ruin your life will comment and do their best to achieve this goal.
So we have ascertained that the internet is not somewhere you can hide, or somewhere to pour out your closest loves and fears. This leads on to the second point about being judged; You are always judged. Fact. No-one who forms an opinion of you does not judge you. How else are opinions formed? Without judgment, we couldn't make friends or choose music tastes of really have a conversation. Therefore, we must judge others and be judged in return.
Second, if you don't want to be judged for who you are, what should you be judged on? I mean, honestly. I want to be judged for who I am because I like who I am - if you don't want to be judged on who you are, then you don't like who you are or think you are. Sort it out yourself. Don't whine on the internet about how no body understands you and how terrible your life is and why slitting your wrists it at the same time appealing but depressing.
WE'VE ALL BEEN FOURTEEN AND FIFTEEN BEFORE! We got through it. My suggestions would be stop listening to music played and sung by men who wear skinny jeans and enough eye-liner to drown a camel, and then go out and have a life. Get some freaking sunshine. Vitamin D does wonders for your music taste.
Step Two: Don't post on forums about your emotional insecurities. Anonymous will find, eat and rape them. Maybe in that order.
The next time I see someone begging not to be judged for who they are and trying to explain why emo-music is good for the soul, I'll let Anonymous possess me and do horrible things to you. And your mum, your cat, your favourite band - all at the same time - your music player. Hopefully you get the message.
Failing that threat having import to you, go do half the things you're music sings about. Then you'll have done me a favour and saved me the effort.
Friday, 11 December 2009
Beauty and the Beast: Revisited
Right, I've just finished this acclaimed Disney ‘masterpiece’ and it’s swiftly becoming quite likeable. I have laughed out loud more than once. It is, admittedly, magnificently flawed but that adds to what its makers call the ‘charm’ of the film.
You can tell it’s a Disney film when ‘evil’ is defined as spoilt, selfish and unkind. I mean, to be honest, that makes almost every aristocrat ever ‘evil’, which is a neat bit of class-warfare propaganda. I mean, come on; he has everything he wants, no wonder he’s spoilt and selfish, and it’s tough to be those two things and not be unkind too. Being honest, the enchantress is far more evil than the prince/beast, as she condemns some poor eleven year old boy to being turned into an animal that looks like many folklore descriptions of the devil for all his life – or ever, the film isn’t clear on that point – simply because he doesn’t let her in when she looks like an old hag and offers to pay rent with a rose.
Really? That’s a legitimate and reasonable thing to do with ones glorious, magical powers? Go around terrorizing pre-teen boys because they don’t understand the concept of inner beauty and/or don’t trust old women? Yes, it’s teaching him an important moral lesson, but she could have done it for, say, a year and then changed him back while threatening to do it again if he didn’t buck up and find some decency. That woman is heartless.
As an aside, where will you find someone who will take in an old lady for the night who offers recompense with flowers? I mean, gypsies give flowers away all the time and you wouldn’t let one in your house, right? Admittedly, you would wake up grateful that they’d brought the flower but that’s only because pretty much everything that wasn’t nailed down would be gone the next morning.
Now the Beast; he’s a little ungrateful for his condition. Yes, he’s not human any more. No, he’s probably not classically attractive to women. But at least he has shiny, healthy fur, super-human strength and agility AND still retains opposable thumbs. I mean, in medieval Europe he could have carved out an empire; he’s already got the castle and everything else he wanted (apparently), a private army shouldn’t be too hard to come by. Plus, at the age of eleven being turned into a hugely strong and fast animal is what a lot of boys pretend to do anyway; realistically, he wouldn’t become depressed until puberty hit hard at about 15-16, and since there are no women in the castle anyway this would be mitigated quite a bit I’d imagine.
That’s another thing; that bitch of an enchantress turned all the prince’s servants into furniture. Now what was that for? What moral lesson does that teach you? Honestly, some people have some warped codes of ethics.
Gaston is very quickly become a bit of a hero for me – he grew up being taught by society what was attractive and, quite wisely to be honest, decided to become the paragon of those virtues. Yes, he’s a bit of a chauvinist and a little insensitive but this is provincial France; what did you expect? Charm? Egalitarianism? Mon Dieu and zoot alors.
Belle is odd. I know there’s a whole song about it at the beginning, but you don’t really understand until later on in the film. Her father, while patently weird, is still in control of his mental faculty and quite rightly points out he’s pretty old anyway and she shouldn’t trade places with him in the Beast’s castle. Then, once she has met the Beast, she decides to be as rude, nosey and rule-breaking as she can be with all the suicidal persistence of manically depressed lemming. She could inherit this trait from her father who, before becoming trapped in the Beast’s castle, decides to take a dark and winding path rather than the straight, well lit one when lost after uttering the famous last words, “This way, don’t worry; it’s a short cut.” I can excuse him somewhat in that, having grown up pre-20th century, he wouldn’t have seen any American horror movies. If he had, he’d know that phrases like, ‘it’s a short cut,’ and ‘let’s split up,’ are nearly always synonymous with ‘we’re all going to die.’
Big, angry beast-person bellows at you not to go into the West Wing. Logical response: Go there. This, in my opinion, is a bit of a cognitive failure.
Oh yeah, and where the hell did Belle learn to read in pre-renaissance provincial France?
Back to her suicidal urges. When she does go into the already forbidden West Wing, she investigate with all the blind hope and willful neglect of personal safety only otherwise found in science fiction characters, computer gamers and the late Steve Irwin, who will go to any lengths and reach any point in the search for something new or shiny.
When she removed the case from the rose, I was reminded horribly of the scene in Alien where the scientist puts his head over the self-opening alien egg to look inside. Sure enough, BAM! The Beast appears and is, surprise, surprise, pretty pissed off. Yes, he has an angry fit but he does have pending psychological worries and a unique physical condition to be concerned about. Belle’s answer to the question, ‘What are you doing here?’ is classically terrible – ‘I’m sorry!’ No explanation.
You can also tell this was set in western France, as the Beast’s castle is massive yet unnoticed. As in vast, huge and colossal at the same time. If this had been the area now known as Germany or further into Eastern Europe, this would never have happened. Instead, pretty soon after the enchantress pulled her nasty little stunt on the prepubescent prince, a mob of peasants with pitchforks and burning torches would have rushed to castle screaming, “Slay ze monster!” Apparently, the inhabitants of nearby villages in France look up at an amazing piece of gothic architecture and just thing, “That’s nice, I wonder who lives there?” and then forget all about it.
This happens later when Gaston saves the day; as soon as he finds out about the Beast, he’s there to protect the village, with courage and keen blade. And lots of fire, the logical weapon of choice when attacking a stone castle. Classic mob mistake, but I'll forgive it; you need to follow tradition, right?
As for the ever present and apparently limitless pack of wolves outside the Beast’s castle, well. They look pretty well fed, glossy coats and all. I doubt they’d attack anything as large and clearly predatory as the beast just to get at Belle and her horse. In fact, they seem pretty intent on decidedly not attacking either of them convincingly; no hamstringing, no surrounding tactics, no normal wolf maneuvers. Maybe French wolves are just less up for violent things. Or maybe the Beast paid them so he could impress Belle. Cunning ploy there.
Gaston let me down at the end by begging for his life. I guess he is French so there was only so long before his courage failed and he had to stab someone in the back.
At the end of the film, suddenly all is forgiven and the castle becomes host to a huge ball – quite where, in the countryside of provincial France, so many well-to-do aristocrats appeared is an interesting question but I’ll let it go for now.
Moral of the story is; if an old woman comes to your door needing a place to stay and all she offers as a thank you is a rose, shoot her.
J.C.
N.B. Firstly, I worked out that the prince was eleven when cursed because the rose would wilt on his 21st birthday and the servants/furniture said they’d been waiting ten years for a girl to come to the castle. Secondly, Fifi the feather duster is hot when she gets turned back into a human. Lucky Lumiere.
You can tell it’s a Disney film when ‘evil’ is defined as spoilt, selfish and unkind. I mean, to be honest, that makes almost every aristocrat ever ‘evil’, which is a neat bit of class-warfare propaganda. I mean, come on; he has everything he wants, no wonder he’s spoilt and selfish, and it’s tough to be those two things and not be unkind too. Being honest, the enchantress is far more evil than the prince/beast, as she condemns some poor eleven year old boy to being turned into an animal that looks like many folklore descriptions of the devil for all his life – or ever, the film isn’t clear on that point – simply because he doesn’t let her in when she looks like an old hag and offers to pay rent with a rose.
Really? That’s a legitimate and reasonable thing to do with ones glorious, magical powers? Go around terrorizing pre-teen boys because they don’t understand the concept of inner beauty and/or don’t trust old women? Yes, it’s teaching him an important moral lesson, but she could have done it for, say, a year and then changed him back while threatening to do it again if he didn’t buck up and find some decency. That woman is heartless.
As an aside, where will you find someone who will take in an old lady for the night who offers recompense with flowers? I mean, gypsies give flowers away all the time and you wouldn’t let one in your house, right? Admittedly, you would wake up grateful that they’d brought the flower but that’s only because pretty much everything that wasn’t nailed down would be gone the next morning.
Now the Beast; he’s a little ungrateful for his condition. Yes, he’s not human any more. No, he’s probably not classically attractive to women. But at least he has shiny, healthy fur, super-human strength and agility AND still retains opposable thumbs. I mean, in medieval Europe he could have carved out an empire; he’s already got the castle and everything else he wanted (apparently), a private army shouldn’t be too hard to come by. Plus, at the age of eleven being turned into a hugely strong and fast animal is what a lot of boys pretend to do anyway; realistically, he wouldn’t become depressed until puberty hit hard at about 15-16, and since there are no women in the castle anyway this would be mitigated quite a bit I’d imagine.
That’s another thing; that bitch of an enchantress turned all the prince’s servants into furniture. Now what was that for? What moral lesson does that teach you? Honestly, some people have some warped codes of ethics.
Gaston is very quickly become a bit of a hero for me – he grew up being taught by society what was attractive and, quite wisely to be honest, decided to become the paragon of those virtues. Yes, he’s a bit of a chauvinist and a little insensitive but this is provincial France; what did you expect? Charm? Egalitarianism? Mon Dieu and zoot alors.
Belle is odd. I know there’s a whole song about it at the beginning, but you don’t really understand until later on in the film. Her father, while patently weird, is still in control of his mental faculty and quite rightly points out he’s pretty old anyway and she shouldn’t trade places with him in the Beast’s castle. Then, once she has met the Beast, she decides to be as rude, nosey and rule-breaking as she can be with all the suicidal persistence of manically depressed lemming. She could inherit this trait from her father who, before becoming trapped in the Beast’s castle, decides to take a dark and winding path rather than the straight, well lit one when lost after uttering the famous last words, “This way, don’t worry; it’s a short cut.” I can excuse him somewhat in that, having grown up pre-20th century, he wouldn’t have seen any American horror movies. If he had, he’d know that phrases like, ‘it’s a short cut,’ and ‘let’s split up,’ are nearly always synonymous with ‘we’re all going to die.’
Big, angry beast-person bellows at you not to go into the West Wing. Logical response: Go there. This, in my opinion, is a bit of a cognitive failure.
Oh yeah, and where the hell did Belle learn to read in pre-renaissance provincial France?
Back to her suicidal urges. When she does go into the already forbidden West Wing, she investigate with all the blind hope and willful neglect of personal safety only otherwise found in science fiction characters, computer gamers and the late Steve Irwin, who will go to any lengths and reach any point in the search for something new or shiny.
When she removed the case from the rose, I was reminded horribly of the scene in Alien where the scientist puts his head over the self-opening alien egg to look inside. Sure enough, BAM! The Beast appears and is, surprise, surprise, pretty pissed off. Yes, he has an angry fit but he does have pending psychological worries and a unique physical condition to be concerned about. Belle’s answer to the question, ‘What are you doing here?’ is classically terrible – ‘I’m sorry!’ No explanation.
You can also tell this was set in western France, as the Beast’s castle is massive yet unnoticed. As in vast, huge and colossal at the same time. If this had been the area now known as Germany or further into Eastern Europe, this would never have happened. Instead, pretty soon after the enchantress pulled her nasty little stunt on the prepubescent prince, a mob of peasants with pitchforks and burning torches would have rushed to castle screaming, “Slay ze monster!” Apparently, the inhabitants of nearby villages in France look up at an amazing piece of gothic architecture and just thing, “That’s nice, I wonder who lives there?” and then forget all about it.
This happens later when Gaston saves the day; as soon as he finds out about the Beast, he’s there to protect the village, with courage and keen blade. And lots of fire, the logical weapon of choice when attacking a stone castle. Classic mob mistake, but I'll forgive it; you need to follow tradition, right?
As for the ever present and apparently limitless pack of wolves outside the Beast’s castle, well. They look pretty well fed, glossy coats and all. I doubt they’d attack anything as large and clearly predatory as the beast just to get at Belle and her horse. In fact, they seem pretty intent on decidedly not attacking either of them convincingly; no hamstringing, no surrounding tactics, no normal wolf maneuvers. Maybe French wolves are just less up for violent things. Or maybe the Beast paid them so he could impress Belle. Cunning ploy there.
Gaston let me down at the end by begging for his life. I guess he is French so there was only so long before his courage failed and he had to stab someone in the back.
At the end of the film, suddenly all is forgiven and the castle becomes host to a huge ball – quite where, in the countryside of provincial France, so many well-to-do aristocrats appeared is an interesting question but I’ll let it go for now.
Moral of the story is; if an old woman comes to your door needing a place to stay and all she offers as a thank you is a rose, shoot her.
J.C.
N.B. Firstly, I worked out that the prince was eleven when cursed because the rose would wilt on his 21st birthday and the servants/furniture said they’d been waiting ten years for a girl to come to the castle. Secondly, Fifi the feather duster is hot when she gets turned back into a human. Lucky Lumiere.
Thursday, 10 December 2009
Self-improvement through re-education.
A lot of my friends have started talking about self-improvement recently. I don't know why; maybe it's because New Year's is coming up and they need resolutions, or they've had an experience that's made them feel unhappy about how they conduct themselves. Personally, I feel self-improvement isn't something that should be talked about, it should just be done.
Well done everyone who goes out (or stays in) and does a good thing everyday. Even better done if you didn't tell anyone about it.
I say this because while good works are all well and, ha ha, good, seeking credit or reward for them undermines the action a little bit in my opinion. If you're only 'self-improving' to be rewarded for it, then really your just self-indulging, right? Yes, you've something good but really you did it for you, so you could get that nice little glow inside. Unfortunately, because it wasn't an honest act of altruism that glow goes away pretty soon and you think, 'What's the point? I didn't get much out of it.'
Which is exactly why you should do things for other people; because then every time you see them you'll get a warm glow inside. Anyone out there who knows me will be a mite suspicious right now as they'll be wondering exactly why I'm talking about this - I don't usually do the charity thing. I'm not afraid to admit it, I like to see the results of my actions. Giving money to a faceless organization that claims to help the world etc and not seeing it happen seems like a quick-fix or get-out clause for someone's morals to me.
Every time I walk into town where I live at the moment, I will pass one or more homeless people. I am increasingly considering stopping to talk to one of them - which one exactly I'm not sure of, there's a bit of choice where I live - and maybe buy them a sandwich or something if they'd appreciate it. Again, I'm skeptical about giving money to beggars because you never know quite what they do with it. I have images of some of them, so desperate are they to get ahead in life, throwing it into every wishing well or body of water they can find in a superstitious and ill-founded attempt to gain that which they desire.
Technically, that could be a reference to alcoholism. It's not, but look at it as one if you like. It's really quite clever that way, rather than watching homeless people throwing money away as an offering to a probably-non-existent-water-deity.
back to my point - which some might say I have yet to make - I feel self-improvement happens as a by-product of ones actions rather than it being something you can pursue or set your mind to achieving; there's no defined manner in which people can improve themselves, except by almost accidentally achieving it. I'm sure people will point out to me that you can do good things etc, but as I tried to explain (probably poorly) above doing good things for your benefit reduces the goodness of those things. However, deciding to do something to actually benefit or help others somehow - as a small number of my friends have begun to do - and getting something out of it almost coincidentally will actually go further towards a self-improvement goal.
Good for those who self-improve, better for those who help improve the lives of others. Best of all to those who did it anyway and didn't ask for recognition.
Actions speak louder than words, and some actions have the power of a gunshot, and can shock and awe the world to the same extent.
-------
N.B. Don't take the above analogy literally - there are very few good acts that can be done with a gun, they aren't exactly the primary instrument of charity. At least, no charity I'd consider charitable.
Well done everyone who goes out (or stays in) and does a good thing everyday. Even better done if you didn't tell anyone about it.
I say this because while good works are all well and, ha ha, good, seeking credit or reward for them undermines the action a little bit in my opinion. If you're only 'self-improving' to be rewarded for it, then really your just self-indulging, right? Yes, you've something good but really you did it for you, so you could get that nice little glow inside. Unfortunately, because it wasn't an honest act of altruism that glow goes away pretty soon and you think, 'What's the point? I didn't get much out of it.'
Which is exactly why you should do things for other people; because then every time you see them you'll get a warm glow inside. Anyone out there who knows me will be a mite suspicious right now as they'll be wondering exactly why I'm talking about this - I don't usually do the charity thing. I'm not afraid to admit it, I like to see the results of my actions. Giving money to a faceless organization that claims to help the world etc and not seeing it happen seems like a quick-fix or get-out clause for someone's morals to me.
Every time I walk into town where I live at the moment, I will pass one or more homeless people. I am increasingly considering stopping to talk to one of them - which one exactly I'm not sure of, there's a bit of choice where I live - and maybe buy them a sandwich or something if they'd appreciate it. Again, I'm skeptical about giving money to beggars because you never know quite what they do with it. I have images of some of them, so desperate are they to get ahead in life, throwing it into every wishing well or body of water they can find in a superstitious and ill-founded attempt to gain that which they desire.
Technically, that could be a reference to alcoholism. It's not, but look at it as one if you like. It's really quite clever that way, rather than watching homeless people throwing money away as an offering to a probably-non-existent-water-deity.
back to my point - which some might say I have yet to make - I feel self-improvement happens as a by-product of ones actions rather than it being something you can pursue or set your mind to achieving; there's no defined manner in which people can improve themselves, except by almost accidentally achieving it. I'm sure people will point out to me that you can do good things etc, but as I tried to explain (probably poorly) above doing good things for your benefit reduces the goodness of those things. However, deciding to do something to actually benefit or help others somehow - as a small number of my friends have begun to do - and getting something out of it almost coincidentally will actually go further towards a self-improvement goal.
Good for those who self-improve, better for those who help improve the lives of others. Best of all to those who did it anyway and didn't ask for recognition.
Actions speak louder than words, and some actions have the power of a gunshot, and can shock and awe the world to the same extent.
-------
N.B. Don't take the above analogy literally - there are very few good acts that can be done with a gun, they aren't exactly the primary instrument of charity. At least, no charity I'd consider charitable.
Wednesday, 25 November 2009
Apologies to my housemates - kinda
It has been noted by my housemates that during my week without Xbox I was not completely Xbox-less. I did 'play' Call of Duty 4 - 2 somewhat but since it is described by its designers as a cinematic experience rather than a game I feel I am slightly excused. My housemates would disagree but that would be their problem.
I'd also make apologies about other things but that's not really what I'm going to write about. Today I'm going to write concerning...world peace. Yes, world peace. And why I disagree with it. Not as an ideal, but as a concept.
You really think world peace is achievable in the next hundred years? Think about for it a second; every single nationalistic and patriotic tendency put to rest, every prejudice forgotten and discarded and rivalries and feuds ended for the greater good? Doesn't sound very human, does it?
This is because, at heart, I don't think people want to be at peace. Everyone likes a challenge - those who don't I'm going to generalize into either the category 'liar' or 'afraid of failure', neither of which I accept as a good reason to deny a challenge.
Without challenge, we wouldn't better ourselves - what would be the point? What would we need to improve if there were no challenges? The only life-form that has no real challenges in its existence is plants and trees, and even then I'd argue that a chainsaw might warrant some rather interesting selective evolution on behalf of the Earth's vegetation.
But what about the fuel crisis? Fossil fuel shortage? The O-zone layer? Extinction of other species? The solving of the mysteries of life?
I would say people would be more inclined to find an answer if there was some competitive reward to it - who finds the answer first. And whoever finds that answer, or whichever nation, will then play that advantage against the others, trading extortionately for will become an invaluable and necessary resource. Why have peace when you can be better than someone, right? Or everyone else.
Admittedly, that's not a very nice way to look at humanity but it's historically accurate. Did the U.S. share its discovery of fusion with the world to help deal with power shortages? Did the British Empire share its steam engine designs with the world? Was not gunpowder first traded extortionately before others could find its secret? Did Rome spread civilization peaceably to its neighbouring nations?
No, no, no and no. Because if you have an advantage, you use it. Otherwise it's not really an advantage. I'm pretty sure whoever invented the wheel covered in in canvas or animal skins to hide its secrets from others before letting the cat out of the bag when he died.
People argue that people don't share advantages with everyone because then others will use it against the creators. Shock horror. If, say, Kazakhstan perfected solar power and refused to share the technology with the U.S. or Europe, it would be for just political reasons - admittedly, we'd probably go in and do war until we got it but the those wily Kazaks might tear down the facilities and burn the evidence so we get nothing. They wouldn't share it because they'd fear to have it used against them and I'm pretty sure America would well do in one of its crusades for oil.
As soon as the second monkey found out how to use a club, he killed the first because it was the only other one who knew the secret. The secret of the club was a distinct advantage over other monkeys, and the best monkey got all the food and girl monkeys. So why share if you don't have to?
Yes, I'm judging, Yes, harshly and without a view to religion or other such humane elements of humanity. Doesn't change the fact that in the predominant number of examples I'm, sadly, right.
I'd be upset but since I'm not too bothered about world peace etc right now then I can hardly get too emotionally involved. I'm not bothered because right now in my house there's no hot water and a host of other more immediately applicable, albeit selfish, concerns.
But if I didn't care about me, I wouldn't be human right? No, I don't think I'm better or more deserving than other people. I just can't help them right now and going to the trouble of finding a way to do so would mean I'd compromise my position in a capitalist society built around the one and self-service. Sad but true. I'd hate the world but lucky for me I'm in quite a good position to cogitate on these things - and if you cared about personally saving the world you wouldn't be reading internet blogs when you're bored, would you, Adrian?
Your name's probably not Adrian but it was worth a shot for the chance someone named Adrian might fall off their desk chair in shock and then go change the world for the better. See, I'm doing my part; are you?
I'd also make apologies about other things but that's not really what I'm going to write about. Today I'm going to write concerning...world peace. Yes, world peace. And why I disagree with it. Not as an ideal, but as a concept.
You really think world peace is achievable in the next hundred years? Think about for it a second; every single nationalistic and patriotic tendency put to rest, every prejudice forgotten and discarded and rivalries and feuds ended for the greater good? Doesn't sound very human, does it?
This is because, at heart, I don't think people want to be at peace. Everyone likes a challenge - those who don't I'm going to generalize into either the category 'liar' or 'afraid of failure', neither of which I accept as a good reason to deny a challenge.
Without challenge, we wouldn't better ourselves - what would be the point? What would we need to improve if there were no challenges? The only life-form that has no real challenges in its existence is plants and trees, and even then I'd argue that a chainsaw might warrant some rather interesting selective evolution on behalf of the Earth's vegetation.
But what about the fuel crisis? Fossil fuel shortage? The O-zone layer? Extinction of other species? The solving of the mysteries of life?
I would say people would be more inclined to find an answer if there was some competitive reward to it - who finds the answer first. And whoever finds that answer, or whichever nation, will then play that advantage against the others, trading extortionately for will become an invaluable and necessary resource. Why have peace when you can be better than someone, right? Or everyone else.
Admittedly, that's not a very nice way to look at humanity but it's historically accurate. Did the U.S. share its discovery of fusion with the world to help deal with power shortages? Did the British Empire share its steam engine designs with the world? Was not gunpowder first traded extortionately before others could find its secret? Did Rome spread civilization peaceably to its neighbouring nations?
No, no, no and no. Because if you have an advantage, you use it. Otherwise it's not really an advantage. I'm pretty sure whoever invented the wheel covered in in canvas or animal skins to hide its secrets from others before letting the cat out of the bag when he died.
People argue that people don't share advantages with everyone because then others will use it against the creators. Shock horror. If, say, Kazakhstan perfected solar power and refused to share the technology with the U.S. or Europe, it would be for just political reasons - admittedly, we'd probably go in and do war until we got it but the those wily Kazaks might tear down the facilities and burn the evidence so we get nothing. They wouldn't share it because they'd fear to have it used against them and I'm pretty sure America would well do in one of its crusades for oil.
As soon as the second monkey found out how to use a club, he killed the first because it was the only other one who knew the secret. The secret of the club was a distinct advantage over other monkeys, and the best monkey got all the food and girl monkeys. So why share if you don't have to?
Yes, I'm judging, Yes, harshly and without a view to religion or other such humane elements of humanity. Doesn't change the fact that in the predominant number of examples I'm, sadly, right.
I'd be upset but since I'm not too bothered about world peace etc right now then I can hardly get too emotionally involved. I'm not bothered because right now in my house there's no hot water and a host of other more immediately applicable, albeit selfish, concerns.
But if I didn't care about me, I wouldn't be human right? No, I don't think I'm better or more deserving than other people. I just can't help them right now and going to the trouble of finding a way to do so would mean I'd compromise my position in a capitalist society built around the one and self-service. Sad but true. I'd hate the world but lucky for me I'm in quite a good position to cogitate on these things - and if you cared about personally saving the world you wouldn't be reading internet blogs when you're bored, would you, Adrian?
Your name's probably not Adrian but it was worth a shot for the chance someone named Adrian might fall off their desk chair in shock and then go change the world for the better. See, I'm doing my part; are you?
Sunday, 22 November 2009
Life Goes On
So my week without Xbox comes to a close. It wasn't that big a sacrifice, as it turns out; I had plenty of fun and got some work done. But I didn't go out that much more, I didn't crave it's sweet radiated rapture and I didn't get any additionally work done - less, probably, but for unrelated reasons.
From this I can pretty much be safe in saying I'm not addicted to it, I just enjoy it. What I have done is watch a lot more films, which is worse for my mental and intellectual health I'm sure. This is not a slur on films in general, just on the ones I watched.
Apart from Starship Troopers, which is epic, and the Chinese films the others were not that fantastic. During Jennifer's Body I actually found myself wanting to turn it off because I was so uninvolved, and a couple of the others were just annoying - I almost shouted at the screen because of their lack of feasibility.
I very nearly gave up what remains of my soul by voluntarily watching Twilight, but my hand got leprosy when I touched the DVD. Taking this to be a bad sign, I didn't watch the film. The morning afterward my hand was fine.
I was also invited to see New Moon. That person may not know it yet, but we're no longer friends - it's official, I de-added on Facebook. Yeah, that shit got real...
So, moving swiftly away from silly films about adolescent vampires and desperate, necrophiliac teenage girls, I believe that Xbox is a healthy divergence away from other anti-boredom activities, like watching terrible films. So problem solved.
I also discovered that the apple juice I drink has as much sugar per hundred mill as a can of coke. Yes, I may have run out of things to do once. But at least my teeth will thank me.
From this I can pretty much be safe in saying I'm not addicted to it, I just enjoy it. What I have done is watch a lot more films, which is worse for my mental and intellectual health I'm sure. This is not a slur on films in general, just on the ones I watched.
Apart from Starship Troopers, which is epic, and the Chinese films the others were not that fantastic. During Jennifer's Body I actually found myself wanting to turn it off because I was so uninvolved, and a couple of the others were just annoying - I almost shouted at the screen because of their lack of feasibility.
I very nearly gave up what remains of my soul by voluntarily watching Twilight, but my hand got leprosy when I touched the DVD. Taking this to be a bad sign, I didn't watch the film. The morning afterward my hand was fine.
I was also invited to see New Moon. That person may not know it yet, but we're no longer friends - it's official, I de-added on Facebook. Yeah, that shit got real...
So, moving swiftly away from silly films about adolescent vampires and desperate, necrophiliac teenage girls, I believe that Xbox is a healthy divergence away from other anti-boredom activities, like watching terrible films. So problem solved.
I also discovered that the apple juice I drink has as much sugar per hundred mill as a can of coke. Yes, I may have run out of things to do once. But at least my teeth will thank me.
Thursday, 19 November 2009
Nearly done...
So the week is nearly up...I've lost 2 pounds of weight and gone to the gym far more than I am used to. Depressingly, this has only put me off going more often.
While technically I have used the Xbox, it was only for films and dvds. I found I have a good number of Jackie Chan films, most of which I've revisited, and have come to the conclusion that this is not a bad thing. While not having deep, insightful or philosophical messages, they are very entertaining. I think that this is, in part, because they were fun to make and the actors enjoyed doing so.
I get this idea for no real reason, no documentary proof, so really it's just an opinion but I like to think these films, and all entertaining films too, were not a chore to create and shoot, but something fun and enjoyable. I personally find anything I do that is fun will be fun to watch.
Sex is an exception, mostly. 'Mostly' because I think watching Megan Fox and Elisha Cuthbert have sex would be great fun.
Yes, I just lowered the tone but hey, this is an internet blog; what did you expect? High quality and insightful dialogue? Life changing soliloquies? Decency? That's not what the Internet's for, sorry.
I may be dead tomorrow, not because of lack of Xbox, but Twilight exposure; my housemate found a way to trick me into watching it. So I might have to find a way out of watching it.
Girls being love sick over walking corpses was never my thing. Chinese theatre, now at least that's entertianing.
While technically I have used the Xbox, it was only for films and dvds. I found I have a good number of Jackie Chan films, most of which I've revisited, and have come to the conclusion that this is not a bad thing. While not having deep, insightful or philosophical messages, they are very entertaining. I think that this is, in part, because they were fun to make and the actors enjoyed doing so.
I get this idea for no real reason, no documentary proof, so really it's just an opinion but I like to think these films, and all entertaining films too, were not a chore to create and shoot, but something fun and enjoyable. I personally find anything I do that is fun will be fun to watch.
Sex is an exception, mostly. 'Mostly' because I think watching Megan Fox and Elisha Cuthbert have sex would be great fun.
Yes, I just lowered the tone but hey, this is an internet blog; what did you expect? High quality and insightful dialogue? Life changing soliloquies? Decency? That's not what the Internet's for, sorry.
I may be dead tomorrow, not because of lack of Xbox, but Twilight exposure; my housemate found a way to trick me into watching it. So I might have to find a way out of watching it.
Girls being love sick over walking corpses was never my thing. Chinese theatre, now at least that's entertianing.
Saturday, 26 September 2009
The Xboxless Experiment; Proposal
After another long, summer escape I am back at university - in England now, rather than the U.S. My summer was full of fun, drink and debauchery which all occurred on a budget, seeing as how the world decided to laugh at my attempts to get a job. I'm back at uni now, however, and my government has seen fit to supply me with monies so I am enjoying it.
There are some days during the week where, due to holes in my timetable a drunk lorry driver could get through, I have nothing to do. Yes, reading, studying, working etc could all take up these days but since my timetable is pretty sparse anyway I get all those done pretty quickly. I still have no job - thanks, world - so that can't do it either. I tried sleeping through the day, but I hate the idea of a six day week because I'd only be shortchanging myself.
All in all, this means I'm spending an undue amount of time trying to find things to do or, failing that, playing Xbox. While not necessarily a bad thing, I want to make sure I'm not addicted. So I'm giving it up.
For a week. I know that sounds half arsed and a cop out, but there's very little to do where I live during the day - so little to do it may well be called nothing as the council have just about achieved their dream of removing all day time recreational activities for students from the city.
I hope to, in this Xboxless week, learn to cook, tidy my room, solve world hunger and cure cancer. I believe my goals are feasible enough to counteract the seriousness of my abstinence from console gaming. If, after a week, I think I can go longer I will start taking sponsorship money.
As a warning, this blog is going to become a bit of a diary detailing my success/failure and retelling my attempts to find alternate entertainment in my city. Since I don't think many people read this, no one should mind. If you do, get in touch and I'll make it a little more interesting. Probably by robbing a bank. Or marrying Elisha Cuthbert.
There are some days during the week where, due to holes in my timetable a drunk lorry driver could get through, I have nothing to do. Yes, reading, studying, working etc could all take up these days but since my timetable is pretty sparse anyway I get all those done pretty quickly. I still have no job - thanks, world - so that can't do it either. I tried sleeping through the day, but I hate the idea of a six day week because I'd only be shortchanging myself.
All in all, this means I'm spending an undue amount of time trying to find things to do or, failing that, playing Xbox. While not necessarily a bad thing, I want to make sure I'm not addicted. So I'm giving it up.
For a week. I know that sounds half arsed and a cop out, but there's very little to do where I live during the day - so little to do it may well be called nothing as the council have just about achieved their dream of removing all day time recreational activities for students from the city.
I hope to, in this Xboxless week, learn to cook, tidy my room, solve world hunger and cure cancer. I believe my goals are feasible enough to counteract the seriousness of my abstinence from console gaming. If, after a week, I think I can go longer I will start taking sponsorship money.
As a warning, this blog is going to become a bit of a diary detailing my success/failure and retelling my attempts to find alternate entertainment in my city. Since I don't think many people read this, no one should mind. If you do, get in touch and I'll make it a little more interesting. Probably by robbing a bank. Or marrying Elisha Cuthbert.
Thursday, 21 May 2009
The Iceland Conspiracy.
Yes, I'm finally home. Back in Blightie. Returned to the Land of Eng. And to be honest, I kind of miss America.
Don't get me wrong, I'm damn happy to be back. I just miss the friends I made out in Happygunland. I also miss the girls who want to know me just because I'm English. I also miss not having to worry about a job, sleeping in and having any kind of idea what time it is when I wake up.
Jet lag has struck with vengeance after my long sojourn from flying and what I believe is 11a.m. is in fact 4p.m. Yes, that's the time difference and should be expected but if I go to sleep at 1a.m. my body clock shouldn't conspire to keep me asleep for well over twelve hours. Unless it hates me.
My flights back weren't plagued by misfortune, as I had feared they might. No inhumanly gross co-passengers and no delays. Just lots of security checks. Lots and lots and lots of them. Mainly in Iceland, believe it or not; apparently the recent rise in terrorism has the Icelandic authorities incredibly concerned. On the face of it, there's nothing in Iceland worth terrorizing - maybe cows and grass, but there are easier places to find those things.
No, instead I have come to the conclusion that there must be some great treasure or artifact of power hidden in the Icelandic wilds. The cross Jesus was crucified on maybe? Or the Holy Grail...A quantum computer laboratory? Or even a doomsday device the likes of which only Marvel Comics has come close to imagining?
Or there's just an unbalanced amount of paranoia in Iceland - never before have they needed it, and suddenly now they've received centuries worth of concentrated, industrial grade paranoia all at once. Hence the four security checks I went through, manned by stony-faced cops, some armed. All within the same terminal.
Off the plane - checkpoint. Upstairs - checkpoint. A second, in-terminal, passport control - checkpoint. To get to the separated area where my gate was - checkpoint. And again before I got on my second plane. I don't know many people who can change identity at will that fast. Perhaps they had a shapeshifting immigrant through recently or something. Who knows.
So now my summer plan is to unearth the possible-secret of Iceland. Depending on what I find, I'll share it with the world. If it's a lifetime's supply of peanut butter...don't get your hopes up.
Don't get me wrong, I'm damn happy to be back. I just miss the friends I made out in Happygunland. I also miss the girls who want to know me just because I'm English. I also miss not having to worry about a job, sleeping in and having any kind of idea what time it is when I wake up.
Jet lag has struck with vengeance after my long sojourn from flying and what I believe is 11a.m. is in fact 4p.m. Yes, that's the time difference and should be expected but if I go to sleep at 1a.m. my body clock shouldn't conspire to keep me asleep for well over twelve hours. Unless it hates me.
My flights back weren't plagued by misfortune, as I had feared they might. No inhumanly gross co-passengers and no delays. Just lots of security checks. Lots and lots and lots of them. Mainly in Iceland, believe it or not; apparently the recent rise in terrorism has the Icelandic authorities incredibly concerned. On the face of it, there's nothing in Iceland worth terrorizing - maybe cows and grass, but there are easier places to find those things.
No, instead I have come to the conclusion that there must be some great treasure or artifact of power hidden in the Icelandic wilds. The cross Jesus was crucified on maybe? Or the Holy Grail...A quantum computer laboratory? Or even a doomsday device the likes of which only Marvel Comics has come close to imagining?
Or there's just an unbalanced amount of paranoia in Iceland - never before have they needed it, and suddenly now they've received centuries worth of concentrated, industrial grade paranoia all at once. Hence the four security checks I went through, manned by stony-faced cops, some armed. All within the same terminal.
Off the plane - checkpoint. Upstairs - checkpoint. A second, in-terminal, passport control - checkpoint. To get to the separated area where my gate was - checkpoint. And again before I got on my second plane. I don't know many people who can change identity at will that fast. Perhaps they had a shapeshifting immigrant through recently or something. Who knows.
So now my summer plan is to unearth the possible-secret of Iceland. Depending on what I find, I'll share it with the world. If it's a lifetime's supply of peanut butter...don't get your hopes up.
Monday, 20 April 2009
It's been a long time...
I have been unfortunately busy of late and so this is my first post for about a cyber-year (a mutable period of time ranging from one to whatever comes to mind). I'm realizing that I have two weeks left in the States before I have to go home. My suitcase looks suspiciously inadequately sized for all the random junk I have accumulated over my stay and I am probably going to need a second. *joy*
Now it comes to leaving, it seems a bit jarring; I've lived out here for almost a year and made some really good friends, but everything has to be left behind. Of course, those things can come visit - I could name one very attractive thing that could come visit - but that is up to them. I am doing my best to tempt anyone back over the pond for a European sojourn but apparently no one has the money. Which is where the first point of this entry comes in:
ICELAND!!! Yes, the country. No, not the cheap supermarket for those of you in England. Iceland suffered under the economic crisis a lot, and subsequently air travel to, from and through Iceland is cheap. Very cheap. So to all those people out there wanting to cross the Atlantic, go through Iceland.
Secondly, if you know me, are American, and want to come to England, do. Traveling is well worth the money and time, trust me on this. I'm going to do as much as I can before I'm thirty and settle down to have a family. Admittedly, depending on how settling down goes I may start traveling again at thirty-one.
American families seem to be generally more dysfunctional than English ones - I'm not trying to be insulting, I'm basing this on observations I've made while here. My corridor mate has told me on several occasions that they hate his mother and another has said that they're never having a family because it just doesn't work. There are more examples but this is a blog, not a psychology report. I know for a fact that there are dysfunctional families in England - look at East Croydon for proof - but I didn't meet so many people with those issues. Maybe I was lucky. Or maybe they avoid me out of sickening jealousy for my normal, happy, functional family.
Either way, Americans in general - key disclaimer there, IN GENERAL - believe that families tend to fall apart or not work, just like relationships. A friend of mine told me most relationships fail. Which, to be honest, is true. But then again, all wars are lost and everyone dies. Finding a relationship that works makes up for the ones that fail - and when I say works I don't mean makes you happy until it fails, I mean one that doesn't fail.
It has also been highlighted to me that I have not been in a relationship that works, by my definition. And this is, sadly, true. But not because of a fault on my behalf - apparently. Aside from being four hundred miles away due to unavoidable circumstances which if I'd have the choice I would have definitely changed. This being the case, I still look for the best in a relationship which I believe allows one to enjoy that relationship more than if you're constantly worrying over it. To be perfectly honest, I'd much rather just enjoy my time and intimate activities with a girl than constantly wonder if she's thinking about someone else - here's the thing, if you're doing it right, then she won't be thinking. And you can usually tell if you're doing it right.
So whatever you're doing, wherever you're doing it, stop worrying and just do it right. Sex, traveling or Iceland, just don't think; DO! Which means I'm going to stop thinking about my packing issues and just put all my stuff in one suitcase, probably breaking the laws of physics and discovering a new dimension in the process. Nobel Peace Prize, here I come.
Now it comes to leaving, it seems a bit jarring; I've lived out here for almost a year and made some really good friends, but everything has to be left behind. Of course, those things can come visit - I could name one very attractive thing that could come visit - but that is up to them. I am doing my best to tempt anyone back over the pond for a European sojourn but apparently no one has the money. Which is where the first point of this entry comes in:
ICELAND!!! Yes, the country. No, not the cheap supermarket for those of you in England. Iceland suffered under the economic crisis a lot, and subsequently air travel to, from and through Iceland is cheap. Very cheap. So to all those people out there wanting to cross the Atlantic, go through Iceland.
Secondly, if you know me, are American, and want to come to England, do. Traveling is well worth the money and time, trust me on this. I'm going to do as much as I can before I'm thirty and settle down to have a family. Admittedly, depending on how settling down goes I may start traveling again at thirty-one.
American families seem to be generally more dysfunctional than English ones - I'm not trying to be insulting, I'm basing this on observations I've made while here. My corridor mate has told me on several occasions that they hate his mother and another has said that they're never having a family because it just doesn't work. There are more examples but this is a blog, not a psychology report. I know for a fact that there are dysfunctional families in England - look at East Croydon for proof - but I didn't meet so many people with those issues. Maybe I was lucky. Or maybe they avoid me out of sickening jealousy for my normal, happy, functional family.
Either way, Americans in general - key disclaimer there, IN GENERAL - believe that families tend to fall apart or not work, just like relationships. A friend of mine told me most relationships fail. Which, to be honest, is true. But then again, all wars are lost and everyone dies. Finding a relationship that works makes up for the ones that fail - and when I say works I don't mean makes you happy until it fails, I mean one that doesn't fail.
It has also been highlighted to me that I have not been in a relationship that works, by my definition. And this is, sadly, true. But not because of a fault on my behalf - apparently. Aside from being four hundred miles away due to unavoidable circumstances which if I'd have the choice I would have definitely changed. This being the case, I still look for the best in a relationship which I believe allows one to enjoy that relationship more than if you're constantly worrying over it. To be perfectly honest, I'd much rather just enjoy my time and intimate activities with a girl than constantly wonder if she's thinking about someone else - here's the thing, if you're doing it right, then she won't be thinking. And you can usually tell if you're doing it right.
So whatever you're doing, wherever you're doing it, stop worrying and just do it right. Sex, traveling or Iceland, just don't think; DO! Which means I'm going to stop thinking about my packing issues and just put all my stuff in one suitcase, probably breaking the laws of physics and discovering a new dimension in the process. Nobel Peace Prize, here I come.
Wednesday, 1 April 2009
Brilliant Plan
This is just a quick note - I have come up with the greatest plan ever to motivate people.
Heavy. Metal. Cheerleaders.
Personally, I do anything for a black haired girl in black and silver cheerleader stuff and spiked collars or whatever. And if you weren't into that, then the dominatrix-styled ones would intimidate you into doing whatever it was you had to do. Or you'd get the hose again.
Commercialised sex and two fingered signs; I'm brilliant. Now...to find some heavy metal cheerleaders. Hayden Panettiere would probably be up for it. Win.
Heavy. Metal. Cheerleaders.
Personally, I do anything for a black haired girl in black and silver cheerleader stuff and spiked collars or whatever. And if you weren't into that, then the dominatrix-styled ones would intimidate you into doing whatever it was you had to do. Or you'd get the hose again.
Commercialised sex and two fingered signs; I'm brilliant. Now...to find some heavy metal cheerleaders. Hayden Panettiere would probably be up for it. Win.
Sunday, 29 March 2009
Welcome to the United States of Sporting Events.
Last night I went to an indoor Lacrosse game, Buffalo Bandits vs. NY Titans. Unfortunately, the Bandits lost even after putting up a great fight. The bigger shock for me was that I completely and thoroughly enjoyed every second of it - this is a shock because I'm usually not a sports kind of guy. Maybe this is because in England for some stupid reasons there are no cheerleaders.
I've only ever been to a few sports games before, and certainly nothing this big or televised. I don't know the rules for Lacrosse, at all. Even after my friend Dan explained a few to me. Although there didn't seem to be that many - clearly evident from the gloriously gladiatorial game play. But I found myself hooked on every second, so much so that I forgot I was holding a pint of beer when the Bandits equalized their second goal in the first quarter, which nearly resulted in me bathing a large number of people in over-priced alcohol during my celebration.
My only real explanation of why I enjoyed it so much was that the U.S. can do sports like nothing else; every part of the game and stadium was geared towards audience satisfaction. I loved it; the huge stadium with its dangerous over hanging balconies, the 100" TV's suspended above centre field, the bright primary colours of the arena building decor the violence inherent in the game itself and of course the cheerleaders.
Now, here's my issue; parents are supposedly worried about their darling little girls becoming objectified and seen as pretty faces rather than real people. And then they let them join a cheerleading squad - admittedly I was disappointed with the decency of the Bandits' cheerleaders but the Titans' girls definitely made up for it, wearing a belt and half a square foot of cloth. There were girls on the Bandits' squad that can't have been more than 8, which was worrying for a whole different reason, but apparently their parents were all for their objectification.
Not that I'm complaining. Certainly not. Except about the 8 year olds.
Back to the issue; the entire experience was thoroughly enjoyable, even for a poor foreigner like me who had no real idea what was going on, despite the explanations of the nearby crowd, especially the blond behind me who believed herself to be too manly. Clearly the girl had never looked in a mirror because she clearly displayed a good example of feminine physicality - so what if she liked beer and sports? That's not really a problem. At least she didn't obsess over shoes.
I enjoyed the experience so much that I got a Bandits' jersey and I'm going again as soon as possible. If I happen to accidentally run into some cheerleaders, that's a sacrifice I'm willing to make. As long as they aren't 8 years old, as having me run into them could quite possibly lead to serious bodily harm.
I've only ever been to a few sports games before, and certainly nothing this big or televised. I don't know the rules for Lacrosse, at all. Even after my friend Dan explained a few to me. Although there didn't seem to be that many - clearly evident from the gloriously gladiatorial game play. But I found myself hooked on every second, so much so that I forgot I was holding a pint of beer when the Bandits equalized their second goal in the first quarter, which nearly resulted in me bathing a large number of people in over-priced alcohol during my celebration.
My only real explanation of why I enjoyed it so much was that the U.S. can do sports like nothing else; every part of the game and stadium was geared towards audience satisfaction. I loved it; the huge stadium with its dangerous over hanging balconies, the 100" TV's suspended above centre field, the bright primary colours of the arena building decor the violence inherent in the game itself and of course the cheerleaders.
Now, here's my issue; parents are supposedly worried about their darling little girls becoming objectified and seen as pretty faces rather than real people. And then they let them join a cheerleading squad - admittedly I was disappointed with the decency of the Bandits' cheerleaders but the Titans' girls definitely made up for it, wearing a belt and half a square foot of cloth. There were girls on the Bandits' squad that can't have been more than 8, which was worrying for a whole different reason, but apparently their parents were all for their objectification.
Not that I'm complaining. Certainly not. Except about the 8 year olds.
Back to the issue; the entire experience was thoroughly enjoyable, even for a poor foreigner like me who had no real idea what was going on, despite the explanations of the nearby crowd, especially the blond behind me who believed herself to be too manly. Clearly the girl had never looked in a mirror because she clearly displayed a good example of feminine physicality - so what if she liked beer and sports? That's not really a problem. At least she didn't obsess over shoes.
I enjoyed the experience so much that I got a Bandits' jersey and I'm going again as soon as possible. If I happen to accidentally run into some cheerleaders, that's a sacrifice I'm willing to make. As long as they aren't 8 years old, as having me run into them could quite possibly lead to serious bodily harm.
Wednesday, 25 March 2009
Religiously musical
Now before I start, I want to make this clear - I understand there is a time and a place for every type of music. Before I continue, readers should understand this - I am still trying to find a suitable time and/or place for amateur emo lyrics.
My taste in music is far from being beyond criticism; anyone who sits next to me on the bus will tell you I'm probably crazy. Dragonforce/Cascada/ACDC/Lordi/Basshunter/Leonard Cohen isn't an average play list, I know, and it's hard to find something that escapes the title 'indie rock' or 'hip hop' that is in fact not either of these. I am not trying to be non-comformist - to do that apparently I'd have to listen to these genres - I just honestly do not like these genres.
Music is as close to peoples hearts as religion. You tell someone that their favourite artist is about as talented as an epileptic skunk on crack and they'll probably try to burn you - unless their idol is someone like Amy Winehouse who is an epileptic skunk on crack, albeit one with a good singing voice. At least, she had.
My point is that all music is appreciated by some people. Sub-cultures develop for a reason and, although I hate to say it, I'm sure there's a reason for emo music being maintained. Quite why I have yet to discover; if emo's goal in life is hating it so much it drives them to suicide how many of them can there be? Left, I mean. Surely they'll eventually wipe themselves out? Then where will emo bands be?
Maybe it's a global conspiracy. Maybe emo bands sing about almost killing yourselves so that their fan base never actually kills itself and their never left without a job. If that's the case, I cry out to all those emo kids out there who are having their dreams curtailed by their supposed idols: "FIGHT THE POWER! LIVE YOUR DREAM! KILL YOURSELVES!!"
I'm going to go play emo music to my lawn now in the hope it will cut itself. That's about the only useful application i can find. Maybe it would help at hairdressers too.
My taste in music is far from being beyond criticism; anyone who sits next to me on the bus will tell you I'm probably crazy. Dragonforce/Cascada/ACDC/Lordi/Basshunter/Leonard Cohen isn't an average play list, I know, and it's hard to find something that escapes the title 'indie rock' or 'hip hop' that is in fact not either of these. I am not trying to be non-comformist - to do that apparently I'd have to listen to these genres - I just honestly do not like these genres.
Music is as close to peoples hearts as religion. You tell someone that their favourite artist is about as talented as an epileptic skunk on crack and they'll probably try to burn you - unless their idol is someone like Amy Winehouse who is an epileptic skunk on crack, albeit one with a good singing voice. At least, she had.
My point is that all music is appreciated by some people. Sub-cultures develop for a reason and, although I hate to say it, I'm sure there's a reason for emo music being maintained. Quite why I have yet to discover; if emo's goal in life is hating it so much it drives them to suicide how many of them can there be? Left, I mean. Surely they'll eventually wipe themselves out? Then where will emo bands be?
Maybe it's a global conspiracy. Maybe emo bands sing about almost killing yourselves so that their fan base never actually kills itself and their never left without a job. If that's the case, I cry out to all those emo kids out there who are having their dreams curtailed by their supposed idols: "FIGHT THE POWER! LIVE YOUR DREAM! KILL YOURSELVES!!"
I'm going to go play emo music to my lawn now in the hope it will cut itself. That's about the only useful application i can find. Maybe it would help at hairdressers too.
Wednesday, 18 March 2009
There's Geese Outside my Window...
Buffalo is a very strange place sometimes. I find myself with periods of nothing to do, sometimes prolonged periods as UB north campus is miles from anywhere. I suppose I could get a bus to south but there's not that much there either really.
The aforementioned geese were a surprise, but not overly interesting. They interrupted my thought train about using the word 'Jedi' as an adjective. It suffers from a lot of prejudice - apparently using that word in public turns you into a huge loser with no life and an abundant knowledge of science-fiction and sci-fi-fantasy - but I still feel that it's an awesome word. Maybe because I am a huge loser with no life and an abundant knowledge of science-fiction and sci-fi-fantasy.
Really it's no more cult-ish than using the word ninja in the same way, but then again that might suffer from the same problems. What would I know about being cool, I write a blog, right?
Saint Patrick came to my rescue, as he often does - surprisingly so for a man who is centuries dead. Celebrating his memory is one of the few occasions where church and state align, even in America - why else would atheists celebrate it? And, by some miracle, St. Paddy hasn't become a victim of the "Hallmark Holiday" branding, even though it's a perfect opportunity. Maybe he has, but people don't care.
Unlike Saint Valentine. I hear people moaning about how awful it is that Saint Valentine's day puts pressure on people to do something romantic. 1) Clearly it doesn't if you're an atheist or part of a non-Christian religion, because it's a Christian (RC) holiday. 2) I may have mentioned this before but Saint Valentine married Christian couples during their time of persecution in the Roman Empire and was martyred for his beliefs. You don't, therefore, have to do something with someone you've been seeing for a few months. His memory should be of lasting love, not transient. 3) It's one smegging day of the year; is it really that much trouble to put the effort in to do something nice or slightly romantic one extra day a year? Or is the mandatory birthday-anniversary-Christmas cycle too much for you? Don't complain about pressure or whatever - especially if you don't have a partner - because it's really not much bother.
Hell, I managed something for my partner last year that cost me a box of candles and a bottle of wine. About twenty pounds. She loved it. It didn't take much effort either really.
And let's face it, everyone's happy to put an extra night of drinking in for Saint Patrick and they do that anywhere between one and seven times a week anyway.
So people, don't get all het up about little things and small worries. Get drunk on Saint Patrick's Day, do something romantic on Saint Valentine's Day and damn well let me use the word "Jedi" as an adjective without judging me. You haters.
The aforementioned geese were a surprise, but not overly interesting. They interrupted my thought train about using the word 'Jedi' as an adjective. It suffers from a lot of prejudice - apparently using that word in public turns you into a huge loser with no life and an abundant knowledge of science-fiction and sci-fi-fantasy - but I still feel that it's an awesome word. Maybe because I am a huge loser with no life and an abundant knowledge of science-fiction and sci-fi-fantasy.
Really it's no more cult-ish than using the word ninja in the same way, but then again that might suffer from the same problems. What would I know about being cool, I write a blog, right?
Saint Patrick came to my rescue, as he often does - surprisingly so for a man who is centuries dead. Celebrating his memory is one of the few occasions where church and state align, even in America - why else would atheists celebrate it? And, by some miracle, St. Paddy hasn't become a victim of the "Hallmark Holiday" branding, even though it's a perfect opportunity. Maybe he has, but people don't care.
Unlike Saint Valentine. I hear people moaning about how awful it is that Saint Valentine's day puts pressure on people to do something romantic. 1) Clearly it doesn't if you're an atheist or part of a non-Christian religion, because it's a Christian (RC) holiday. 2) I may have mentioned this before but Saint Valentine married Christian couples during their time of persecution in the Roman Empire and was martyred for his beliefs. You don't, therefore, have to do something with someone you've been seeing for a few months. His memory should be of lasting love, not transient. 3) It's one smegging day of the year; is it really that much trouble to put the effort in to do something nice or slightly romantic one extra day a year? Or is the mandatory birthday-anniversary-Christmas cycle too much for you? Don't complain about pressure or whatever - especially if you don't have a partner - because it's really not much bother.
Hell, I managed something for my partner last year that cost me a box of candles and a bottle of wine. About twenty pounds. She loved it. It didn't take much effort either really.
And let's face it, everyone's happy to put an extra night of drinking in for Saint Patrick and they do that anywhere between one and seven times a week anyway.
So people, don't get all het up about little things and small worries. Get drunk on Saint Patrick's Day, do something romantic on Saint Valentine's Day and damn well let me use the word "Jedi" as an adjective without judging me. You haters.
Tuesday, 17 March 2009
I had, like, nine thousand beers man...
Yes, I'm afraid that I have returned not only to the internet but also to a fairly favourite topic of mine; drinking.
How many people hear about these frat kids and sports players who drink over nine thousand beers in one night and don't get hang overs? These people really annoy me. Mainly as they're full of shit.
Firstly, I have to clarify several points here. One frat-beer is actually a can of keystone light. Keystone is not, according to science, considered drinkable. It is mildly alcoholic piss. Also, the cans keystone comes in are less than a pint, which threw my European self for a while.
Now, 10 keystones is still about 8 pints. But having 10 keystones, a shot and then throwing up means that some of those keystones and the shot don't get in your system. The point I'm making here if you count everything that goes down, you have to count everything that comes up. Personally I have never had a hang over after throwing up because a large amount of what i drink is still in my stomach when I puke - although not for long, obviously.
Another difference thing that gets me is when people say they were totally, utterly and remorselessly wasted beyond the ability to think...and then recount the night in perfect detail. Being tipsy, or drunk, is different from being wasted.
Being wasted is pretty much about to collapse. Being wasted is when you wake up and remember having sex with Elisha Cuthbert - then roll over to see a female Andrew Lloyd Webber next to you. Being wasted is forgetting your own name and using your brother's when introducing yourself. Being wasted is being carried home by your two housemates who can barely walk because you can't talk let alone stand up straight. Being wasted is passing out over a toilet bowl because you know you're going to puke while you're unconscious. Being wasted is having to get otehr people to tell you what happened last night, or how you got home. Or having to be carried across a street. Or coming on to a girl with a torn ACL.
Being wasted is not stealing traffic cones. Being wasted is not puking in the snow. Being wasted is not trying a cigarette for the first time. Being wasted is not having a warm fuzzy feeling in your head. That's being tipsy, maybe drunk.
I'm not saying being wasted is a good thing - ideally I try to stay around the drunk or very tipsy stage. Frat kids however exaggerate their drunkenness as part of some macho bullshit that displays their immaturity, not manhood. I actually enjoy drinking good beers, which is why I follow the rule of science and leave keystone well alone whenever possible.
So to all you people going out to get 'totally wasted', remember; if you can talk without slurring, walk home fine and remember everything the next day you failed. I personally will just go out to enjoy myself. I find having half a dozen friends around is better than that rather than over nine thousand beers.
How many people hear about these frat kids and sports players who drink over nine thousand beers in one night and don't get hang overs? These people really annoy me. Mainly as they're full of shit.
Firstly, I have to clarify several points here. One frat-beer is actually a can of keystone light. Keystone is not, according to science, considered drinkable. It is mildly alcoholic piss. Also, the cans keystone comes in are less than a pint, which threw my European self for a while.
Now, 10 keystones is still about 8 pints. But having 10 keystones, a shot and then throwing up means that some of those keystones and the shot don't get in your system. The point I'm making here if you count everything that goes down, you have to count everything that comes up. Personally I have never had a hang over after throwing up because a large amount of what i drink is still in my stomach when I puke - although not for long, obviously.
Another difference thing that gets me is when people say they were totally, utterly and remorselessly wasted beyond the ability to think...and then recount the night in perfect detail. Being tipsy, or drunk, is different from being wasted.
Being wasted is pretty much about to collapse. Being wasted is when you wake up and remember having sex with Elisha Cuthbert - then roll over to see a female Andrew Lloyd Webber next to you. Being wasted is forgetting your own name and using your brother's when introducing yourself. Being wasted is being carried home by your two housemates who can barely walk because you can't talk let alone stand up straight. Being wasted is passing out over a toilet bowl because you know you're going to puke while you're unconscious. Being wasted is having to get otehr people to tell you what happened last night, or how you got home. Or having to be carried across a street. Or coming on to a girl with a torn ACL.
Being wasted is not stealing traffic cones. Being wasted is not puking in the snow. Being wasted is not trying a cigarette for the first time. Being wasted is not having a warm fuzzy feeling in your head. That's being tipsy, maybe drunk.
I'm not saying being wasted is a good thing - ideally I try to stay around the drunk or very tipsy stage. Frat kids however exaggerate their drunkenness as part of some macho bullshit that displays their immaturity, not manhood. I actually enjoy drinking good beers, which is why I follow the rule of science and leave keystone well alone whenever possible.
So to all you people going out to get 'totally wasted', remember; if you can talk without slurring, walk home fine and remember everything the next day you failed. I personally will just go out to enjoy myself. I find having half a dozen friends around is better than that rather than over nine thousand beers.
Thursday, 19 February 2009
Really fast cars
Life, in it's most basic form, is all about the pursuit (metaphoric, not literal) of really fast cars.
Now bear with me on this one, it takes some explanation. First, let's remove other pursuits; as the great mouse detective, Basil of Baker Street, once plagiarized, "Once you have removed the impossible, all that remains, however improbable, is the possible."
Right, to begin with there's love. Real, true, authentic, whatever. After a good deal of study and research, I have found that it is commonly deduced by the vast majority of people that there are plenty of fish in the sea and love can be found with a variety of people. There is not just one person for each other person; there is no great eugenics plan designed by some over-arching deity. People can be happily in "true" love more than once in their lives with different people. Some might argue that it's not true love if it ends, but that's another story and another blog. Also worth noting is that once you have found your ideal life partner you are done pursuing love, to put it unromantically; objective achieved, mission accomplished, return to base for a long and happy life. Therefore love cannot be the end because it has a finite pursuit.
So love is over-rated as a life long pursuit.
Next is money - first, some might argue but that's not why I'm destroying my soul online today. Money has no limit - you can always earn more, right? And you always need money. However, money in and of itself is not enough, it is just a vehicle to getting what you need in life. As fast as one earns money, one spends it. Hoarding money only gives a person more money. You can't live off money, as a thing, it cannot sustain you and you cannot procreate with it (If you do please do not inform me of this fact, nor how this act is performed). Money is a means to an end, a way of keeping score. It helps make life easy and enjoyable, but it does not achieve this itself. Unless you're Scrouge McDuck.
That's money out the window.
So if money is just used to buy things, the next thing on the list is possessions. Can the things you own make you happy. Undoubtedly, yes. But can they keep you happy? No. You always need new things, better things, and in today's world of consumer-capitalism society is geared towards satisfying this need. People buy the latest in whatever makes them happy as often as they can, and keep until the next one comes out. However, an endless chain of constantly upgrading what you own brings on stress and a need for competition. People die shopping; Black Friday 2008, January Sales every year. Shopping is an evil, endless mistress that is always demanding things from you, more and more, until it rules your life and you shop as often as possible in search of that tiny boost you get when you buy something you actually like. Shopping is like a really selfish and demanding partner, which is possibly why women love it so much.
So shopping and possessions in general are not the answer.
Which leads us to a conclusion that whatever the meaning for life is, it must be enjoyable in and of itself, not have a finite pursuit or search for but conversely must not need to be catered to at constant, short intervals. It must be something you can take pride in, something you can care for yet have a use for. Something you can show off, something unique but also something that can be replaced with a better version eventually.
And it must be fast, loud, powerful and, ideally, red.
Yep. Really fast cars. They have a long life span, provided you care for them - which you should, let's face it - but they can be replaced when a new one that is better in every respect comes out should you wish to replace it. They go fast - ideally, really fast - and make loud noises that silence competition and stir animal feelings within other people. They can be customized to your heart's content to make them completely and wholly yours and yours alone.
And they wont get jealous if you buy another one for another use, other than being awesome. Like trucking the family around.
Really fast cars are the meaning of life. However you reach this conclusion, you will always understand the truth of this. And when all those speeding tickets come through your letterbox and you get charged stupid amounts for your enlightenment, don't fret; instead frame those tickets and hang them on your wall so when your friends come over you can point at them and say, "Look how fast I was going."
Now bear with me on this one, it takes some explanation. First, let's remove other pursuits; as the great mouse detective, Basil of Baker Street, once plagiarized, "Once you have removed the impossible, all that remains, however improbable, is the possible."
Right, to begin with there's love. Real, true, authentic, whatever. After a good deal of study and research, I have found that it is commonly deduced by the vast majority of people that there are plenty of fish in the sea and love can be found with a variety of people. There is not just one person for each other person; there is no great eugenics plan designed by some over-arching deity. People can be happily in "true" love more than once in their lives with different people. Some might argue that it's not true love if it ends, but that's another story and another blog. Also worth noting is that once you have found your ideal life partner you are done pursuing love, to put it unromantically; objective achieved, mission accomplished, return to base for a long and happy life. Therefore love cannot be the end because it has a finite pursuit.
So love is over-rated as a life long pursuit.
Next is money - first, some might argue but that's not why I'm destroying my soul online today. Money has no limit - you can always earn more, right? And you always need money. However, money in and of itself is not enough, it is just a vehicle to getting what you need in life. As fast as one earns money, one spends it. Hoarding money only gives a person more money. You can't live off money, as a thing, it cannot sustain you and you cannot procreate with it (If you do please do not inform me of this fact, nor how this act is performed). Money is a means to an end, a way of keeping score. It helps make life easy and enjoyable, but it does not achieve this itself. Unless you're Scrouge McDuck.
That's money out the window.
So if money is just used to buy things, the next thing on the list is possessions. Can the things you own make you happy. Undoubtedly, yes. But can they keep you happy? No. You always need new things, better things, and in today's world of consumer-capitalism society is geared towards satisfying this need. People buy the latest in whatever makes them happy as often as they can, and keep until the next one comes out. However, an endless chain of constantly upgrading what you own brings on stress and a need for competition. People die shopping; Black Friday 2008, January Sales every year. Shopping is an evil, endless mistress that is always demanding things from you, more and more, until it rules your life and you shop as often as possible in search of that tiny boost you get when you buy something you actually like. Shopping is like a really selfish and demanding partner, which is possibly why women love it so much.
So shopping and possessions in general are not the answer.
Which leads us to a conclusion that whatever the meaning for life is, it must be enjoyable in and of itself, not have a finite pursuit or search for but conversely must not need to be catered to at constant, short intervals. It must be something you can take pride in, something you can care for yet have a use for. Something you can show off, something unique but also something that can be replaced with a better version eventually.
And it must be fast, loud, powerful and, ideally, red.
Yep. Really fast cars. They have a long life span, provided you care for them - which you should, let's face it - but they can be replaced when a new one that is better in every respect comes out should you wish to replace it. They go fast - ideally, really fast - and make loud noises that silence competition and stir animal feelings within other people. They can be customized to your heart's content to make them completely and wholly yours and yours alone.
And they wont get jealous if you buy another one for another use, other than being awesome. Like trucking the family around.
Really fast cars are the meaning of life. However you reach this conclusion, you will always understand the truth of this. And when all those speeding tickets come through your letterbox and you get charged stupid amounts for your enlightenment, don't fret; instead frame those tickets and hang them on your wall so when your friends come over you can point at them and say, "Look how fast I was going."
Thursday, 12 February 2009
Europe? What would I know about that?
Ok, who is more likely to know about European history; someone who lives in Europe - England in this case - or someone who's never been and only "read about it in books".
Every school child in England is put through a rigorous run-down of European history from an early age. I'm not complaining, it's just a comment. A fact, if you will. Whether or not those students remember what they learn is another matter, but in this case I do. Kind of helpful for a history major. English, from Roman occupation until now, French, revolution, Napoleonic and 20th Century, German, Pre-formation as the HRE and post-union, Russian, Medieval and from 1850 onwards. Europe as a continent, from roughly 900 AD until modern day on and off.
So I know about European history. No bravado, no false confidence. It's kind of my thing. So when my tutor - who doesn't really teach since she's always asking us questions in class rather than the other way around - made the statement that medieval upper class people had their servants sleep above them I was understandably a bit confused.
Look at it like this; you own land, you own people, you might own your own little fighting force as well. You have a title. You might even be related to your country's royal family. And you let your servants sleep above you. Really?
This is where the phrase "below stairs" came from. I've been round those old houses, courtesy of my parents' fascination with history, and I've physically seen, with my own eyes, where the servants slept. And unless I was temporarily in one of those paintings where the stairs lead in every direction except the one you thought they did, they were not above the owner's rooms.
Castles. Palaces. Manor houses. You build them as a display of opulence. Of how amazing you are. To show off. Can you imagine the King or Queen of England sleeping below their servants in Buckingham Palace? Or the ruler of the Taj Mahal not occupying the master chamber at the height of his empire's crown jewel? Or the Russian Tzar not sleeping in the royal bedroom, the highest in the building, when he stayed at the Winter Palace?
Admittedly I probably shouldn't have expected much from my tutor after her admission that she had only ever read about Europe. Or, even before that, from someone who 'teaches' a course called Nature & the Environment. That'll teach me to pick modules drunk...
Every school child in England is put through a rigorous run-down of European history from an early age. I'm not complaining, it's just a comment. A fact, if you will. Whether or not those students remember what they learn is another matter, but in this case I do. Kind of helpful for a history major. English, from Roman occupation until now, French, revolution, Napoleonic and 20th Century, German, Pre-formation as the HRE and post-union, Russian, Medieval and from 1850 onwards. Europe as a continent, from roughly 900 AD until modern day on and off.
So I know about European history. No bravado, no false confidence. It's kind of my thing. So when my tutor - who doesn't really teach since she's always asking us questions in class rather than the other way around - made the statement that medieval upper class people had their servants sleep above them I was understandably a bit confused.
Look at it like this; you own land, you own people, you might own your own little fighting force as well. You have a title. You might even be related to your country's royal family. And you let your servants sleep above you. Really?
This is where the phrase "below stairs" came from. I've been round those old houses, courtesy of my parents' fascination with history, and I've physically seen, with my own eyes, where the servants slept. And unless I was temporarily in one of those paintings where the stairs lead in every direction except the one you thought they did, they were not above the owner's rooms.
Castles. Palaces. Manor houses. You build them as a display of opulence. Of how amazing you are. To show off. Can you imagine the King or Queen of England sleeping below their servants in Buckingham Palace? Or the ruler of the Taj Mahal not occupying the master chamber at the height of his empire's crown jewel? Or the Russian Tzar not sleeping in the royal bedroom, the highest in the building, when he stayed at the Winter Palace?
Admittedly I probably shouldn't have expected much from my tutor after her admission that she had only ever read about Europe. Or, even before that, from someone who 'teaches' a course called Nature & the Environment. That'll teach me to pick modules drunk...
Friday, 6 February 2009
The hot get hotter and the not...well...
So here's the thing. When I go to the gym, I don't expect to draw much attention - all said and done, I hope I don't. I'm not in the best shape and I don't believe I look attractive as I'm exercising. Most guys who go either follow the same philosophy, or just get on with what they're doing - this might not hold true in the weight area, but I don't venture there. My knowledge of steroids is insufficient.
For women, it seems to be different.
Now I'm not complaining, but I only ever seem to see attractive, athletic and 'in-shape' women at the gym. I mean, it follows that they've probably been going there for a while and it's a habit, hence they are there and look as good as they do. But why is it only attractive women go to the gym?
Maybe it's because the less attractive women are intimidated by the prospect of going, because of the attractive ones who are guaranteed to be there, but at the same time, the could just ignore their presence. It's like urinal-etiquette in guy's bathrooms; go in, choose a urinal as isolated as possible, eyes front and do your business. In fact, that's what I do when I'm at the gym.
Although that might also be because I work out at the back of the gym and all the girls there are attractive and in the skimpy sports-wear that is apparently a must have. Again, I'm just pointing out an observation. Definitely not complaining. Every guy I know who goes to my gym makes the same observation.
Although at the end of the day, that's not why I go to the gym. Really, I go to the gym so I don't have to go the gym. Really, I don't want hours of my day eaten up sweating away for no reason. Which is why I do it, to avoid it in the future. Yes, I would like to be in better shape and look more attractive, but primarily I am in fact going for myself. Let's face it, who else is going to care how I look right now?
Really it's just something to fill the time. But because it's roughly 0% intellectually occupying I got to thinking, why don't less attractive women feel the same way? I mean, they'd get to look at whatever attractive guys are there and feel better about themselves.
My next thought is pretty much whether any of these girls would talk to me if I tried to start a conversation. Having tried, the consensus is no; apparently my knowledge of steroids is still insufficient.
For women, it seems to be different.
Now I'm not complaining, but I only ever seem to see attractive, athletic and 'in-shape' women at the gym. I mean, it follows that they've probably been going there for a while and it's a habit, hence they are there and look as good as they do. But why is it only attractive women go to the gym?
Maybe it's because the less attractive women are intimidated by the prospect of going, because of the attractive ones who are guaranteed to be there, but at the same time, the could just ignore their presence. It's like urinal-etiquette in guy's bathrooms; go in, choose a urinal as isolated as possible, eyes front and do your business. In fact, that's what I do when I'm at the gym.
Although that might also be because I work out at the back of the gym and all the girls there are attractive and in the skimpy sports-wear that is apparently a must have. Again, I'm just pointing out an observation. Definitely not complaining. Every guy I know who goes to my gym makes the same observation.
Although at the end of the day, that's not why I go to the gym. Really, I go to the gym so I don't have to go the gym. Really, I don't want hours of my day eaten up sweating away for no reason. Which is why I do it, to avoid it in the future. Yes, I would like to be in better shape and look more attractive, but primarily I am in fact going for myself. Let's face it, who else is going to care how I look right now?
Really it's just something to fill the time. But because it's roughly 0% intellectually occupying I got to thinking, why don't less attractive women feel the same way? I mean, they'd get to look at whatever attractive guys are there and feel better about themselves.
My next thought is pretty much whether any of these girls would talk to me if I tried to start a conversation. Having tried, the consensus is no; apparently my knowledge of steroids is still insufficient.
Wednesday, 4 February 2009
Better the Devil you know...
Who else here hates FaceBook?
I mean intellectually, obviously, since someone who is addicted to something can't be said to truly hate that thing. It's soul destroying. It's the ultimate tool of procrastination - yup, I reckon it's way up there with MMORPG's and sex for most chosen ways to avoid work. Not that I'm comparing the two, let's face it, one is clearly better than the other. How many women let you be a Level 80 Death Knight and go around killing stuff while you're in bed? Exactly. No comparison.
Facebook breeds discontent. It breaks people up, it allows people to lie to their loved ones without anyone knowing, it kills people's will to live, it depresses people, it makes people fail their degree, people get turned down or fired from jobs because of it.
And yet everyone loves it and signs on everyday in the hope of receiving a new notification or two. Some people, so desperate are they for affection, live on Facebook. They inhabit Facebook chat like it was a second home where everyone loves them. They neglect real social contact because someone *might* come online.
ARGH.
I have discovered, through much boredom and pained research, that the only real way to get Facebook to entertain you is to entertain it; you have to write on other people's walls, or send them a message, or add your own photos or whatever before you get the begged-for notification/wall post/message/vampire invitation.
For the record, I do not want to be a vampire/ninja/turtle/slave/mystery date/star trek fanatic/WoW lover/anti-facebook protestor/anything else that requires an application. I went through that stage and came out the other side. I want to separate the now-me to the then-me and never have anything to do with any facebook application ever again. They only eat away at your life even more than the rest of Facebook and they make your friends hate you.
So I'm going back to hard drugs, alcoholism and possibly branching out into kidnapping. These are intellectual pursuits - mostly - and will allow me to meet new people, discover new things, hopefully make some money and worst case scenario I'll get some exercise if things go wrong.
I would say you couldn't do that on Facebook but I know there's a kidnap application as some guy I barely talk to keeps trying to steal me away to Athens for no apparent reason and I'm fairly sure there'll be a RAPE! application some time soon. That cannot be a good example for small kids.
I mean intellectually, obviously, since someone who is addicted to something can't be said to truly hate that thing. It's soul destroying. It's the ultimate tool of procrastination - yup, I reckon it's way up there with MMORPG's and sex for most chosen ways to avoid work. Not that I'm comparing the two, let's face it, one is clearly better than the other. How many women let you be a Level 80 Death Knight and go around killing stuff while you're in bed? Exactly. No comparison.
Facebook breeds discontent. It breaks people up, it allows people to lie to their loved ones without anyone knowing, it kills people's will to live, it depresses people, it makes people fail their degree, people get turned down or fired from jobs because of it.
And yet everyone loves it and signs on everyday in the hope of receiving a new notification or two. Some people, so desperate are they for affection, live on Facebook. They inhabit Facebook chat like it was a second home where everyone loves them. They neglect real social contact because someone *might* come online.
ARGH.
I have discovered, through much boredom and pained research, that the only real way to get Facebook to entertain you is to entertain it; you have to write on other people's walls, or send them a message, or add your own photos or whatever before you get the begged-for notification/wall post/message/vampire invitation.
For the record, I do not want to be a vampire/ninja/turtle/slave/mystery date/star trek fanatic/WoW lover/anti-facebook protestor/anything else that requires an application. I went through that stage and came out the other side. I want to separate the now-me to the then-me and never have anything to do with any facebook application ever again. They only eat away at your life even more than the rest of Facebook and they make your friends hate you.
So I'm going back to hard drugs, alcoholism and possibly branching out into kidnapping. These are intellectual pursuits - mostly - and will allow me to meet new people, discover new things, hopefully make some money and worst case scenario I'll get some exercise if things go wrong.
I would say you couldn't do that on Facebook but I know there's a kidnap application as some guy I barely talk to keeps trying to steal me away to Athens for no apparent reason and I'm fairly sure there'll be a RAPE! application some time soon. That cannot be a good example for small kids.
Sunday, 1 February 2009
So...Superbowl...
Okay, who else watched that Steeler guy beat up on the Cardinal? Who was smaller than him?
And who thought that it was obviously right that NOTHING BLOODY HAPPENED because of it.
How much do you have to pay a ref to make a bullshit call like that? Seriously, how much? I know not everyone holds integrity close to their hearts, but come on. How many planets was that guy given?
I don't usually get worked up about sports, and I barely understand the rules of US 'Football'/Handegg, but I'm pretty sure punching another player repeatedly comes under the category of 'foul'. As opposed to the Cardinal player, who tripped on a falling Steeler and stumbled into the crouching guy after a field goal and was pulled up for "unnecessary roughness". What kind of bullshit rule is that anyway? Why, in a full contact sport, can something be condoned as "unnecessary roughness" when to be honest anything that isn't acceptable can be classed as "violent"?
Seriously, I want that number. How much do I have to pay a Superbowl ref to get that kind of service? It's a quality you don't see often in the world. Hell, if the food in the dining hall here, which is made with about as much consideration to ethics, were made with that much quality I'd eat like a bloody king - nay, like some form of minor deity.
If M.V.P. doesn't go to FitzGerald then I'm buying myself an AK47, because there's a roomful of motherfuckers somewhere I really, absolutely need to kill.
And who thought that it was obviously right that NOTHING BLOODY HAPPENED because of it.
How much do you have to pay a ref to make a bullshit call like that? Seriously, how much? I know not everyone holds integrity close to their hearts, but come on. How many planets was that guy given?
I don't usually get worked up about sports, and I barely understand the rules of US 'Football'/Handegg, but I'm pretty sure punching another player repeatedly comes under the category of 'foul'. As opposed to the Cardinal player, who tripped on a falling Steeler and stumbled into the crouching guy after a field goal and was pulled up for "unnecessary roughness". What kind of bullshit rule is that anyway? Why, in a full contact sport, can something be condoned as "unnecessary roughness" when to be honest anything that isn't acceptable can be classed as "violent"?
Seriously, I want that number. How much do I have to pay a Superbowl ref to get that kind of service? It's a quality you don't see often in the world. Hell, if the food in the dining hall here, which is made with about as much consideration to ethics, were made with that much quality I'd eat like a bloody king - nay, like some form of minor deity.
If M.V.P. doesn't go to FitzGerald then I'm buying myself an AK47, because there's a roomful of motherfuckers somewhere I really, absolutely need to kill.
Tuesday, 27 January 2009
Equality and Understanding
Right, it has been brought to my attention that a few elements of my conversation and dialogue, on and off the internet, are apparently slightly politically correct. The seems stupid, since I'm so far from being politically incorrect that if I made my own country, I would immediately create a racist term to use in reference to the people who lived there. Therefore I am probably the least politically correct person alive.
Jokes are insincere comments made to entertain. They are only intended to make political statements if made in a situation which lends itself to political argument. Sometimes words like "White", "Black" and "Yellow" are just colour choices. Men and women are just gender labels. Equality is more present now than ever before. If you have beef with something, I'm a vegetarian - I mean to say I want no part of your issues. I, personally, cannot change the world and it is unlikely I will be able to do so in the near future or at your convenience. Repeating to me that women are paid less, or that society is racist, or whatever, is not going to achieve much besides the passage of sarcasm from my lips pertaining to your choice of audience.
I personally do not seriously judge people on inherited traits or appearance. I joke about it doing so a lot however.
I would just like to clarify certain instances of this non-pc attitude. When I use a derisive discrimination term, it is either in jest or because I hate whoever I am aiming it at. Usually the former, but on occasion the latter causes my obtuseness.
The use of the term 'midget' in a previous post was intended as an insult. I do not like the short person in question. My best friend at home, and one of my new friends here, are both 'vertically challenged' or whatever the term is and I have no problem with them. Quite the contrary, I enjoy spending time with them immensely. I do not insult them because short people because they are short, I insult them because I do not like them.
Similarly my room mate is Chinese. Guess what he gets called in jest? He copes. People need to loosen up. Yes, I make black jokes too. Black people are not stupid or inferior. That's just insane. However, it is funny when someone pretends to be racist as a joke. I'm sure you've all borne witness to something along these lines. If you haven't tell me where you live and I'll come entertain you for awhile.
I'm sure I'll get a tirade of criticism from people who think the phrase "racism can be funny" is sinful and I deserve banishment to the further reaches of hell, but let's face it everyone has made a comment like that at some stage. "White boy", "Snow", "Jesus-Freak", "Infidel", "Heathen" and "French" can all be used, and have been used, in a derisive manner, which means that its discrimination (racist). To be honest, I'm not offended when people call me a white British upper-class bastard, because I AM white, I AM British, I am certain I was, in fact, born within wedlock and while I'm not upper-class its hardly an insult really.
Just because someone calls you "Black" or "Muslim" doesn't mean they're being racist; even if they're wrong how are they supposed to know that you're Afro-Caribbean or Tanzanian or what religion you come from? And you certainly shouldn't get offended if they call you black and you are. I mean, that just sounds like you're the one with discriminatory views, right?
Stereotyping is not exactly right or polite, but everyone does it and its kind of accepted by most people. However, for some reason certain stereotypes have become known as "racist". Why is racist to insult some one because they're black, but it's fine to insult someone because they're white? Don't talk about slavery. Just don't; white people are living with that stigma now more than black people. I personally never held slaves, nor have been involved in their trade, and so I don't know why I should suffer derision for something someone else did. Go spit on THEIR grave, insult THEIR mother. Hell, I don't think my family ever had slaves so I can hardly be held responsible even by proxy.
Equality and understanding isn't the absence of terminology, its the acceptance. We can't make it illegal to say certain words, because that countermands our right of free speech. Learn to deal with history, because it's already happened and we can't change it. If I call someone a stupid Indian and they are Indian then the only insult there is that they are stupid.
Alternatively if someone calls me a racist white chauvinist pig, then the only insult there is that I'm a pig. Still, it could have been worse; they could have called me a woman.
Jokes are insincere comments made to entertain. They are only intended to make political statements if made in a situation which lends itself to political argument. Sometimes words like "White", "Black" and "Yellow" are just colour choices. Men and women are just gender labels. Equality is more present now than ever before. If you have beef with something, I'm a vegetarian - I mean to say I want no part of your issues. I, personally, cannot change the world and it is unlikely I will be able to do so in the near future or at your convenience. Repeating to me that women are paid less, or that society is racist, or whatever, is not going to achieve much besides the passage of sarcasm from my lips pertaining to your choice of audience.
I personally do not seriously judge people on inherited traits or appearance. I joke about it doing so a lot however.
I would just like to clarify certain instances of this non-pc attitude. When I use a derisive discrimination term, it is either in jest or because I hate whoever I am aiming it at. Usually the former, but on occasion the latter causes my obtuseness.
The use of the term 'midget' in a previous post was intended as an insult. I do not like the short person in question. My best friend at home, and one of my new friends here, are both 'vertically challenged' or whatever the term is and I have no problem with them. Quite the contrary, I enjoy spending time with them immensely. I do not insult them because short people because they are short, I insult them because I do not like them.
Similarly my room mate is Chinese. Guess what he gets called in jest? He copes. People need to loosen up. Yes, I make black jokes too. Black people are not stupid or inferior. That's just insane. However, it is funny when someone pretends to be racist as a joke. I'm sure you've all borne witness to something along these lines. If you haven't tell me where you live and I'll come entertain you for awhile.
I'm sure I'll get a tirade of criticism from people who think the phrase "racism can be funny" is sinful and I deserve banishment to the further reaches of hell, but let's face it everyone has made a comment like that at some stage. "White boy", "Snow", "Jesus-Freak", "Infidel", "Heathen" and "French" can all be used, and have been used, in a derisive manner, which means that its discrimination (racist). To be honest, I'm not offended when people call me a white British upper-class bastard, because I AM white, I AM British, I am certain I was, in fact, born within wedlock and while I'm not upper-class its hardly an insult really.
Just because someone calls you "Black" or "Muslim" doesn't mean they're being racist; even if they're wrong how are they supposed to know that you're Afro-Caribbean or Tanzanian or what religion you come from? And you certainly shouldn't get offended if they call you black and you are. I mean, that just sounds like you're the one with discriminatory views, right?
Stereotyping is not exactly right or polite, but everyone does it and its kind of accepted by most people. However, for some reason certain stereotypes have become known as "racist". Why is racist to insult some one because they're black, but it's fine to insult someone because they're white? Don't talk about slavery. Just don't; white people are living with that stigma now more than black people. I personally never held slaves, nor have been involved in their trade, and so I don't know why I should suffer derision for something someone else did. Go spit on THEIR grave, insult THEIR mother. Hell, I don't think my family ever had slaves so I can hardly be held responsible even by proxy.
Equality and understanding isn't the absence of terminology, its the acceptance. We can't make it illegal to say certain words, because that countermands our right of free speech. Learn to deal with history, because it's already happened and we can't change it. If I call someone a stupid Indian and they are Indian then the only insult there is that they are stupid.
Alternatively if someone calls me a racist white chauvinist pig, then the only insult there is that I'm a pig. Still, it could have been worse; they could have called me a woman.
Sunday, 25 January 2009
Pros and Cons
I'll start this with the statement; None and birth. If you don't understand, I'll explain later.
The problem with advertising my blog on facebook is that everyone who knows me might read it. To be honest, I wouldn't be that worried but sarcasm - my primary form of communication - doesn't translate that well over the ether.
So I went out last night. I had a lot of fun, made some new friends. Got in trouble with one of them, but hopefully she'll forgive me. Either that or she'll come after my blood, which would be a little scary.
Met up with a few of them today around lunch and chatted for a while, was entertaining.
Yes, this entry's turning a little diary-esque. I'm sorry people, what can you do? I've pretty much exhausted my opinion on the 'evils' of alcohol. The girl I was interested in has blown me off for about a fortnight now, if anyone cares, but I'm fine. It's not like she promised me the world is it?
you'll all have to cope with this mediocrity for now, I'm going to go entertain myself. Toodle pip.
The problem with advertising my blog on facebook is that everyone who knows me might read it. To be honest, I wouldn't be that worried but sarcasm - my primary form of communication - doesn't translate that well over the ether.
So I went out last night. I had a lot of fun, made some new friends. Got in trouble with one of them, but hopefully she'll forgive me. Either that or she'll come after my blood, which would be a little scary.
Met up with a few of them today around lunch and chatted for a while, was entertaining.
Yes, this entry's turning a little diary-esque. I'm sorry people, what can you do? I've pretty much exhausted my opinion on the 'evils' of alcohol. The girl I was interested in has blown me off for about a fortnight now, if anyone cares, but I'm fine. It's not like she promised me the world is it?
you'll all have to cope with this mediocrity for now, I'm going to go entertain myself. Toodle pip.
Saturday, 24 January 2009
Here we go again
So last night was pretty good until I got back, than a particular midget ruined it all for me. In fact, she ruined for me at the house party by stopping her pseudo-boyfriend from being my wingman on the basis that he wasn't allowed to talk to other women. At all. Oh, and then she told me I shouldn't be chatting up girls anyway because I had a girlfriend.
Epic.
Fail.
I came back early and rekindled a couple of old acquaintances which improved my mood somewhat. And then the midget ruined it again. I'm not exactly ready to go out and do the whole party thing just yet, but I'm trying. It's just a shame that one of my friends out here has a limpet attached to him that won't let him enjoy anything at all.
Thursday was entertaining though; I got accused of being pro-dictatorship - which to be honest I am, if the dictator is competent. Autocracy is not necessarily evil. However, I then got accused almost in the same breath of being pro-slavery, because I was pro-dictatorship. Pointing out that the United States had been a pro-slavery democracy for around a third of its existence won that argument, but predictably alienated me from the rest of the class. Fantastic. It's good that students can keep their emotions out of intellectual arguments.
I'm coming to the conclusion that, pending a freak midget-death or divine intervention, I'm not going to find anyone out here. Maybe I'm just not ready to make a real attempt at finding or seducing someone, but I don't know, Maybe it's not worth my time.
I just feel more useless than jelly in a blender right now. Let's face it, blogging is the refuge of the socially crippled so my being here might suggest that I'm so far from being ready to go out I may as well be on the moon.
Epic.
Fail.
I came back early and rekindled a couple of old acquaintances which improved my mood somewhat. And then the midget ruined it again. I'm not exactly ready to go out and do the whole party thing just yet, but I'm trying. It's just a shame that one of my friends out here has a limpet attached to him that won't let him enjoy anything at all.
Thursday was entertaining though; I got accused of being pro-dictatorship - which to be honest I am, if the dictator is competent. Autocracy is not necessarily evil. However, I then got accused almost in the same breath of being pro-slavery, because I was pro-dictatorship. Pointing out that the United States had been a pro-slavery democracy for around a third of its existence won that argument, but predictably alienated me from the rest of the class. Fantastic. It's good that students can keep their emotions out of intellectual arguments.
I'm coming to the conclusion that, pending a freak midget-death or divine intervention, I'm not going to find anyone out here. Maybe I'm just not ready to make a real attempt at finding or seducing someone, but I don't know, Maybe it's not worth my time.
I just feel more useless than jelly in a blender right now. Let's face it, blogging is the refuge of the socially crippled so my being here might suggest that I'm so far from being ready to go out I may as well be on the moon.
Wednesday, 21 January 2009
Frustration abounds.
So life is kind of rubbish again tonight. I recently discovered someone had read and bothered to comment on one of my posts, which elated me somewhat.
Unfortunately I'm still single and have no one immediately present who is interested in me while my ex is probably telling the guy she left me for that he's the most incredible thing ever and enjoying the consequences of her choices. More unfortunately I cannot realise to her the bad choices of her decisions. I'm not even real to her, apparently, because I'm not there.
I know she doesn't sound like the grreatest person on Earth, nor one that someone looking for commitment and loyalty, example moi, would look for. But she was once. I don't really want her back, I'm still dealing with the emotional crap she left me with. Joy.
I could write more. I could moan and bitch and whine about what happened but I don't want to.
I just want to be back in England. Now.
Unfortunately I'm still single and have no one immediately present who is interested in me while my ex is probably telling the guy she left me for that he's the most incredible thing ever and enjoying the consequences of her choices. More unfortunately I cannot realise to her the bad choices of her decisions. I'm not even real to her, apparently, because I'm not there.
I know she doesn't sound like the grreatest person on Earth, nor one that someone looking for commitment and loyalty, example moi, would look for. But she was once. I don't really want her back, I'm still dealing with the emotional crap she left me with. Joy.
I could write more. I could moan and bitch and whine about what happened but I don't want to.
I just want to be back in England. Now.
Sunday, 18 January 2009
Sunday night live!
Yeah, that's right. Exactly what it says on the box. A cheap attempt to make something amazing based on something already successful.
It didn't work. I have a four day weekend. Most people would consider that immense, but I have nothing to do. All day. Four days in a row. Of nothing. This comes of actually doing my work on the day I get set it, like you're always told in school. But guess what people, they were wrong!
I was right baby!
If you save your work for when you're bored, you don't get stir crazy.
Now if you'll pardon my leaving, I'm going to throw myself out a window to see if I feel anything. I'll let you guys know.
It didn't work. I have a four day weekend. Most people would consider that immense, but I have nothing to do. All day. Four days in a row. Of nothing. This comes of actually doing my work on the day I get set it, like you're always told in school. But guess what people, they were wrong!
I was right baby!
If you save your work for when you're bored, you don't get stir crazy.
Now if you'll pardon my leaving, I'm going to throw myself out a window to see if I feel anything. I'll let you guys know.
Saturday, 17 January 2009
Dance! Dance! Dance! Ford Capris!
Have you ever listened to a dance song? I mean actually listened to the lyrics. They're insane, semantically. I know many people know this but how many people truly appreciate the madness of dance lyrics that make them get up and dance like rabid raccoons on crack?
to explain this train of thought, I've recently come into possession of a Basshunter album. "Now you're gone" Is a collection of inspiring rhythms that instantly makes me a happier person just by hearing them - probably because Swedish girls are involved somewhere by proxy. However since I've been going to bed earlier than usual I've let the album play on repeat as I go to sleep. The have been two upshots of this; I'm learning some very basic Swedish and have realised just how bad the lyrics are.
I'm not sure entirely what most of the songs are about in the first place, and the lyrics haven't helped overly much. "Now you're gone" is probably the easiest one to figure out, but the video shows the couple getting back together, even while the lyrics go on about how much they miss each other. Despite being right there, dancing maybe half a gnat's foreskin distance from each other.
Then there's "All I ever wanted". To begin with this might seem to be a song about trying to get a girl back, but after a little thought and exploration the lyrics seem applicable in a number of circumstances. For instance, it could be an apologetic song about how he did something to try and make her happy that went wrong. Or it could be sung post-mortem after he accidentally killed her.
"Dream girl" confuses me greatly, I think it's about a girl wanting a guy back. Or possibly a celebration of two people who have found their soul mates. Or a prostitute's advertising campaign.
I'm just not sure about "Bass creator". Any song that's first line is missing a word and the lyrics seem to have no relation to it's title while contradicting themselves kind of transcends in depth investigation.
"I can walk on water" doesn't need analysis. Or it does, just more than I've given it. There's only so much meaning you can get from a song in which the main lyric is "La lala lalala lala".
Having translated both "Dota" and "Boten Anna", one will discover they are in fact about computer games - "Dota" more obviously to anyone who has any idea what DotA is, but a look at the lyrics in English reveals a lot about "Boten Anna".
I'm not trying to bring Mr.Basshunter's music down, not in any way at all. I think it is one of the greatest gifts from one man to his species EVER. I am in fact listening to the album as I type this. On repeat. Endlessly. Because there is nothing wrong with it.
Despite my comments on the lyrics, it is still fantastic to listen to.
Other dance songs that need to have their lyrics looked at include "9pm (til I come)", "Holy Virgin","Born Slippy", the apparently timeless classic "Doctor Pressure" and every song ever written by The Prodigy. None of them really make any sense, or in fact have any kind of explanation beyond 'Well the words sound good in that order'. They all, however, manage to make people feel better.
Now if you'll excuse me I'm afraid I can't fight the pull of the music any longer and must go dance like a rabid raccoon on some kind of mind-altering drug. Ecstasy sounds good.
to explain this train of thought, I've recently come into possession of a Basshunter album. "Now you're gone" Is a collection of inspiring rhythms that instantly makes me a happier person just by hearing them - probably because Swedish girls are involved somewhere by proxy. However since I've been going to bed earlier than usual I've let the album play on repeat as I go to sleep. The have been two upshots of this; I'm learning some very basic Swedish and have realised just how bad the lyrics are.
I'm not sure entirely what most of the songs are about in the first place, and the lyrics haven't helped overly much. "Now you're gone" is probably the easiest one to figure out, but the video shows the couple getting back together, even while the lyrics go on about how much they miss each other. Despite being right there, dancing maybe half a gnat's foreskin distance from each other.
Then there's "All I ever wanted". To begin with this might seem to be a song about trying to get a girl back, but after a little thought and exploration the lyrics seem applicable in a number of circumstances. For instance, it could be an apologetic song about how he did something to try and make her happy that went wrong. Or it could be sung post-mortem after he accidentally killed her.
"Dream girl" confuses me greatly, I think it's about a girl wanting a guy back. Or possibly a celebration of two people who have found their soul mates. Or a prostitute's advertising campaign.
I'm just not sure about "Bass creator". Any song that's first line is missing a word and the lyrics seem to have no relation to it's title while contradicting themselves kind of transcends in depth investigation.
"I can walk on water" doesn't need analysis. Or it does, just more than I've given it. There's only so much meaning you can get from a song in which the main lyric is "La lala lalala lala".
Having translated both "Dota" and "Boten Anna", one will discover they are in fact about computer games - "Dota" more obviously to anyone who has any idea what DotA is, but a look at the lyrics in English reveals a lot about "Boten Anna".
I'm not trying to bring Mr.Basshunter's music down, not in any way at all. I think it is one of the greatest gifts from one man to his species EVER. I am in fact listening to the album as I type this. On repeat. Endlessly. Because there is nothing wrong with it.
Despite my comments on the lyrics, it is still fantastic to listen to.
Other dance songs that need to have their lyrics looked at include "9pm (til I come)", "Holy Virgin","Born Slippy", the apparently timeless classic "Doctor Pressure" and every song ever written by The Prodigy. None of them really make any sense, or in fact have any kind of explanation beyond 'Well the words sound good in that order'. They all, however, manage to make people feel better.
Now if you'll excuse me I'm afraid I can't fight the pull of the music any longer and must go dance like a rabid raccoon on some kind of mind-altering drug. Ecstasy sounds good.
Thursday, 15 January 2009
A type of tipsy education
I want you all to know I'm breaking my personal religion and eating Chinese food with a fork so I can write this at the same time.
This note stems from a discussion (sic; see 'argument') with one of my TA's. In lecture she claimed that if you had 15+ alcoholic units a week, regularly, then you were by definition an alcoholic. A quick bit of maths revealed this was the equivalent of having a pint with dinner every day.
I, understandably, took offense. Those who know me will appreciate why. Hell, anyone from Europe would. For all those who don't know me, I had fifteen units last night, and will be doing so again this Friday and Saturday in at least equal quantities.
My TA, who I don't think could comprehend how misinformed she was, then dropped another bomb: Apparently consuming 150 units in a single week was very likely to cause irreparable liver damage.
This is an organ that can regrow bits that get chopped off. I'm sure 150/units a week continually over an extended period could have lasting effects, but in one week?
I had to intervene; this was just not true. If anyone cares to recall how much I drank the week I turned 18 (including both the Pub outing AND the party in the hall with the yard glass) will know I must of had in excess of 150 units. Doing that every week, maybe. But not once in a blue moon.
Oh, and let's not forget that week in Dublin.
I made these points to my TA, quite calmly, and she called me a liar. Openly, in front of all my peers. I asked her if she knew how much a unit was, and she claimed she did. I then asked her if she knew what a pint was, and she told me she didn't see how that was relevant.
Pint. Alcohol. Pretty damn relevant, right?
At this point several of my class mates starting raising points against her statements, probably born from memories of some of their experiences with alcohol. But no, we were all wrong. The TA said European units were different, that we were lying to show off, she said these were scientific facts.
I said that they weren't, or if they were that science had got it very, very wrong.
Seriously, I dread to think how much I drank in Dublin. Enough to kill the average American family, apparently.
I have two friends back home who regularly consume about three litres of spirits every week. I'm not saying that's necessarily a good thing, I'm just pointing out that they're still alive. Kind of proves my TA wrong.
Maybe my TA should just get out more
This note stems from a discussion (sic; see 'argument') with one of my TA's. In lecture she claimed that if you had 15+ alcoholic units a week, regularly, then you were by definition an alcoholic. A quick bit of maths revealed this was the equivalent of having a pint with dinner every day.
I, understandably, took offense. Those who know me will appreciate why. Hell, anyone from Europe would. For all those who don't know me, I had fifteen units last night, and will be doing so again this Friday and Saturday in at least equal quantities.
My TA, who I don't think could comprehend how misinformed she was, then dropped another bomb: Apparently consuming 150 units in a single week was very likely to cause irreparable liver damage.
This is an organ that can regrow bits that get chopped off. I'm sure 150/units a week continually over an extended period could have lasting effects, but in one week?
I had to intervene; this was just not true. If anyone cares to recall how much I drank the week I turned 18 (including both the Pub outing AND the party in the hall with the yard glass) will know I must of had in excess of 150 units. Doing that every week, maybe. But not once in a blue moon.
Oh, and let's not forget that week in Dublin.
I made these points to my TA, quite calmly, and she called me a liar. Openly, in front of all my peers. I asked her if she knew how much a unit was, and she claimed she did. I then asked her if she knew what a pint was, and she told me she didn't see how that was relevant.
Pint. Alcohol. Pretty damn relevant, right?
At this point several of my class mates starting raising points against her statements, probably born from memories of some of their experiences with alcohol. But no, we were all wrong. The TA said European units were different, that we were lying to show off, she said these were scientific facts.
I said that they weren't, or if they were that science had got it very, very wrong.
Seriously, I dread to think how much I drank in Dublin. Enough to kill the average American family, apparently.
I have two friends back home who regularly consume about three litres of spirits every week. I'm not saying that's necessarily a good thing, I'm just pointing out that they're still alive. Kind of proves my TA wrong.
Maybe my TA should just get out more
I See Girls
This is a long over due post, at least if the trends of other personal blogs are to be believed.
I am, as you all may have guessed, a young, hot blooded male. And right now attractive girls seem to be flooding out of doors to cross my path. I'm definitely not complaining. Except that it happens now, when Buffalo is under three foot of snow and not in August when the sun melted clothes of people. Literally.
Although I think seeing attractive girls going around in more clothes is a plus - kind of - in that they don't look like the kind of sluts that you can aids from just by looking at. There was a girl on the bus on the way back from campus that was drop dead gorgeous. I would of talked to her but I suffered a sudden and severe failure of self-esteem and bottled it.
Also I recognised her from last term as one of the girls I met in passing and while this gave me a lot of lines to start off a new conversation the aforementioned attack of self-hate made me think that she'd hate me for not staying in touch. And why didn't I stay in touch with this amazingly good looking girl?
That's pretty much it. She's drop dead gorgeous. And I didn't want my girlfriend to think I was thinking of cheating on her. Oh, the irony visited upon me by reality.
Sardonic comments aside, now is a time for a fresh start.
And a start I have made. Let's see how much fun I can have.
I am, as you all may have guessed, a young, hot blooded male. And right now attractive girls seem to be flooding out of doors to cross my path. I'm definitely not complaining. Except that it happens now, when Buffalo is under three foot of snow and not in August when the sun melted clothes of people. Literally.
Although I think seeing attractive girls going around in more clothes is a plus - kind of - in that they don't look like the kind of sluts that you can aids from just by looking at. There was a girl on the bus on the way back from campus that was drop dead gorgeous. I would of talked to her but I suffered a sudden and severe failure of self-esteem and bottled it.
Also I recognised her from last term as one of the girls I met in passing and while this gave me a lot of lines to start off a new conversation the aforementioned attack of self-hate made me think that she'd hate me for not staying in touch. And why didn't I stay in touch with this amazingly good looking girl?
That's pretty much it. She's drop dead gorgeous. And I didn't want my girlfriend to think I was thinking of cheating on her. Oh, the irony visited upon me by reality.
Sardonic comments aside, now is a time for a fresh start.
And a start I have made. Let's see how much fun I can have.
Wednesday, 14 January 2009
Oh look, the bottle's empty....
So I'm drunk again.
This time I was out with friends but to be honest I would of drunk a bit anyway. I'm a little worried about this trend but since I'm running out of alcohol and I can't legally buy it anyway here in the States I can only do this for so long before I have to stop. And as it is, it's not a trend that is negatively affecting my life so I don't think it's a serious issue.
Although having spelled "life" as "laugh" the first time may be a Freudian slip which demonstrates how my self esteem is really doing. I still love me so it's fine. Right?
I'd like to say I only drank tonight because I went out with friends, but that's not true. It was kind of an excuse, I think I would have done it anyway. But to be honest being an alcoholic isn't necessarily a bad thing; General Grant was such an alcoholic he couldn't always manage stairs alone but he still won the civil war. I'm sure I'll be fine.
I just feel really alone. I don't even have anyone I can drunk text. That might sound stupid, but look at it closely; I have no one on this continent that I feel secure enough around and with that I am willing to embarrass myself by texting when I'm close to incoherent. And there's no one I can really talk to around. It's not that I don't have friends here, it's just that they don't know me like my friends back home do. I need a hug from someone who is willing and comfortable to wait until I'm done, and I don;t have anyone like that here.
Applicants, please come forward.
I'm moving on and finding other girls to talk to and flirt with etc but my crippling self hate concerning my appearance kind of plays against me. I try to work though it but it's hard to hate the habit of a life time. I don't know why I think I'm unattractive, I just do.
Maybe my arrogance is a defense mechanism and really I just think I'm not as good as other people.
Hang on...
Hang. On.
That's true. I'm not as good. I'm better than other people. I just need to find someone who helps me get back in touch with that fact. In Buffalo. Soon.
I guess I'll have to hope that the dice favour me again. Let's hope my luck holds.
God help me, because at the moment it seems no one else will.
This time I was out with friends but to be honest I would of drunk a bit anyway. I'm a little worried about this trend but since I'm running out of alcohol and I can't legally buy it anyway here in the States I can only do this for so long before I have to stop. And as it is, it's not a trend that is negatively affecting my life so I don't think it's a serious issue.
Although having spelled "life" as "laugh" the first time may be a Freudian slip which demonstrates how my self esteem is really doing. I still love me so it's fine. Right?
I'd like to say I only drank tonight because I went out with friends, but that's not true. It was kind of an excuse, I think I would have done it anyway. But to be honest being an alcoholic isn't necessarily a bad thing; General Grant was such an alcoholic he couldn't always manage stairs alone but he still won the civil war. I'm sure I'll be fine.
I just feel really alone. I don't even have anyone I can drunk text. That might sound stupid, but look at it closely; I have no one on this continent that I feel secure enough around and with that I am willing to embarrass myself by texting when I'm close to incoherent. And there's no one I can really talk to around. It's not that I don't have friends here, it's just that they don't know me like my friends back home do. I need a hug from someone who is willing and comfortable to wait until I'm done, and I don;t have anyone like that here.
Applicants, please come forward.
I'm moving on and finding other girls to talk to and flirt with etc but my crippling self hate concerning my appearance kind of plays against me. I try to work though it but it's hard to hate the habit of a life time. I don't know why I think I'm unattractive, I just do.
Maybe my arrogance is a defense mechanism and really I just think I'm not as good as other people.
Hang on...
Hang. On.
That's true. I'm not as good. I'm better than other people. I just need to find someone who helps me get back in touch with that fact. In Buffalo. Soon.
I guess I'll have to hope that the dice favour me again. Let's hope my luck holds.
God help me, because at the moment it seems no one else will.
The insecurity of imperfection.
No, this is not another depressive post. It will, in fact, be quite arrogant in this post. Sorry people, but the real me is BACK!
Those who know me may have mixed feelings about my return to the casual arrogance I carry myself with, seeing as how it gives me an almost impenetrable shield to hide behind while at the same time I seem to care for how others feel. The key word there is "seem". Of course I care ho others feel. Otherwise I wouldn't have friends, and if I didn't have friends I wouldn't know how amazing I was, would I?
Don't you hate me already, readers?
Well go ahead. It's fine. I'm still single, not drop dead gorgeous or bedazzlingly charming and/or intelligent. Doesn't mean I'm not better than you. And yes, 'bedazzlingly' is a word. As of now.
Sadly a friend of mine has started an almost identical blog to mine, in which he speaks of those menial things that I said I wouldn't. So if you don't want to hear about how amazing I feel you can go read it. However, if you are willing to wait for me to write something witty and entertaining and not self-centered then stick around.
I have to go do something social now, my friends demand it. Enjoy yourselves tonight readers, I play to ;)
Those who know me may have mixed feelings about my return to the casual arrogance I carry myself with, seeing as how it gives me an almost impenetrable shield to hide behind while at the same time I seem to care for how others feel. The key word there is "seem". Of course I care ho others feel. Otherwise I wouldn't have friends, and if I didn't have friends I wouldn't know how amazing I was, would I?
Don't you hate me already, readers?
Well go ahead. It's fine. I'm still single, not drop dead gorgeous or bedazzlingly charming and/or intelligent. Doesn't mean I'm not better than you. And yes, 'bedazzlingly' is a word. As of now.
Sadly a friend of mine has started an almost identical blog to mine, in which he speaks of those menial things that I said I wouldn't. So if you don't want to hear about how amazing I feel you can go read it. However, if you are willing to wait for me to write something witty and entertaining and not self-centered then stick around.
I have to go do something social now, my friends demand it. Enjoy yourselves tonight readers, I play to ;)
Tuesday, 13 January 2009
Singing (loosely termed) for absolution
I'm rather drunk as I write this so forgive a lack of spelling, grammar, intelligence and wit.
So now i'm the bad guy, even by my own reckoning - not completely, and certainly not in a greater way, but I haven't really behaved as maturely as I could have. I don't really know what to do now so I'm stuck drinking and making sarcastic comments. How the mighty have fallen and do hide behind unfit walls.
Today was good, mostly. I made new friends in my lecture and enjoyed the fact that I get to watch trainspotting in February for academic purposes. You know the world is getting confused when a film like that is called educational. But hey, I can't complain; I'm just a student and it's not like my opinion influences how things are taught, right? I just foot the bill.
As mentioned before, I'm drinking. although I don't really know why. I'm not too depressed any more - which is not to say I'm fine, or that I don't feel bad but I'm past the worst of it. At least I think so. Might just be the eye of the storm. I'm not going out either, not for a few days, so it's certainly not pre-drinking unless I'm going for an extreme night out. Which I doubt. And I'm kind of drinking out of reflex, because I'm used to, which is a bad sign in itself.
I guess I'm confused and don't know what to do. Quite why becoming inebriated will aid me is beyond my comprehension so I should probably stop.
However there's vodka still left in the bottle so I guess rationality will have to wait. I;ll see you later, I'm going to get lost in a liquid embrace.
So now i'm the bad guy, even by my own reckoning - not completely, and certainly not in a greater way, but I haven't really behaved as maturely as I could have. I don't really know what to do now so I'm stuck drinking and making sarcastic comments. How the mighty have fallen and do hide behind unfit walls.
Today was good, mostly. I made new friends in my lecture and enjoyed the fact that I get to watch trainspotting in February for academic purposes. You know the world is getting confused when a film like that is called educational. But hey, I can't complain; I'm just a student and it's not like my opinion influences how things are taught, right? I just foot the bill.
As mentioned before, I'm drinking. although I don't really know why. I'm not too depressed any more - which is not to say I'm fine, or that I don't feel bad but I'm past the worst of it. At least I think so. Might just be the eye of the storm. I'm not going out either, not for a few days, so it's certainly not pre-drinking unless I'm going for an extreme night out. Which I doubt. And I'm kind of drinking out of reflex, because I'm used to, which is a bad sign in itself.
I guess I'm confused and don't know what to do. Quite why becoming inebriated will aid me is beyond my comprehension so I should probably stop.
However there's vodka still left in the bottle so I guess rationality will have to wait. I;ll see you later, I'm going to get lost in a liquid embrace.
Monday, 12 January 2009
Back in town
I'm really enjoying being back in Buffalo. Drink, friends, a distinct lack of work...yeah, being a student has never been more challenging. I even got to hang out with my new best friend Caitlin last night, we went out to get something to drink. She is also very attractive and blond, so the universe appears to be following its new trend concerning me and women. I can only hope it continues.
She helped take my mind of things and cheered me up a lot. We're going out again soon. I can't wait. Although she has a boyfriend so friendship and flirting is as far as it's going. At the moment. Who knows about the future? I certainly don't, that's been proven.
I got told by my home university that I needed to pick different classes from the ones I have chosen. This would have been helpful information a month ago when I sent them a list of my classes to be checked so not all the history courses would be closed.
Everyone, that is, besides Polish Minorities. Does that sound emphatically interesting?
No? Good. Otherwise you'd be a very boring person. Or Polish, but even then it's up for debate.
As yet I have not found a new object for my affection but to be honest it's a bit soon. I haven't even started a grading system, let alone a personality assessment test. Fear not loyal fans, I shall let you know when this come into being and what they are. Hopefully it should be amusing for you all.
For now I must go enjoy life, so until next time, ciao. Any auditions for being the object of my affection should be emailed to me, along with a head-shot and full body shot, clothes optional at applicants discretion.
She helped take my mind of things and cheered me up a lot. We're going out again soon. I can't wait. Although she has a boyfriend so friendship and flirting is as far as it's going. At the moment. Who knows about the future? I certainly don't, that's been proven.
I got told by my home university that I needed to pick different classes from the ones I have chosen. This would have been helpful information a month ago when I sent them a list of my classes to be checked so not all the history courses would be closed.
Everyone, that is, besides Polish Minorities. Does that sound emphatically interesting?
No? Good. Otherwise you'd be a very boring person. Or Polish, but even then it's up for debate.
As yet I have not found a new object for my affection but to be honest it's a bit soon. I haven't even started a grading system, let alone a personality assessment test. Fear not loyal fans, I shall let you know when this come into being and what they are. Hopefully it should be amusing for you all.
For now I must go enjoy life, so until next time, ciao. Any auditions for being the object of my affection should be emailed to me, along with a head-shot and full body shot, clothes optional at applicants discretion.
Sunday, 11 January 2009
The boys are back in town
So all my hall mates got back today. I'm a happy man. AND already trying to get drunk. God bless America.
For all of of those who are wondering who I am and what I've done with the real Jon Chadrock, fear not. I'm just having fun and on a bit of a sugar high. The alcohol probably helps too. Having peer pressured two friends into a couple of ill advised purchases, I foresee and evening of irresponsibility ahead of me. I can't wait. Hopefully find a couple of new friends too.
For all of of those who are wondering who I am and what I've done with the real Jon Chadrock, fear not. I'm just having fun and on a bit of a sugar high. The alcohol probably helps too. Having peer pressured two friends into a couple of ill advised purchases, I foresee and evening of irresponsibility ahead of me. I can't wait. Hopefully find a couple of new friends too.
So what the Hell?
I hate it when people lie to me.
HATE IT. Especially when they try their best to tell the truth even as they lie to you, and look you in the eye and pour honesty and love into the lie and beg your kindness to believe them. And I hate it when you give them that trust they want, even when you're not sure they deserve it, and then they throw it back in your face because they lied.
TELL THE FUCKING TRUTH PEOPLE! It gives something that everyone is meant to have, integrity. Unfortunately for me, integrity isn't something that inspires love or affection or loyalty, sadly.
Guess where this came from? No prizes I'm afraid. And she wont even read this so it doesn't matter.
I don't have issues trusting people. I just have issues with certain people. Which would be sovled if they told the truth. I don't care why people lie, I would always, always, ALWAYS prefer the truth. Makes my life easier.
HATE IT. Especially when they try their best to tell the truth even as they lie to you, and look you in the eye and pour honesty and love into the lie and beg your kindness to believe them. And I hate it when you give them that trust they want, even when you're not sure they deserve it, and then they throw it back in your face because they lied.
TELL THE FUCKING TRUTH PEOPLE! It gives something that everyone is meant to have, integrity. Unfortunately for me, integrity isn't something that inspires love or affection or loyalty, sadly.
Guess where this came from? No prizes I'm afraid. And she wont even read this so it doesn't matter.
I don't have issues trusting people. I just have issues with certain people. Which would be sovled if they told the truth. I don't care why people lie, I would always, always, ALWAYS prefer the truth. Makes my life easier.
Saturday, 10 January 2009
Manning Up
Well I'm back in Buffalo now and moving on from all that depressive crap. It can't be good for the soul and to be honest it just feels like shit. So moving on is the order of the day. Or trying to.
I arrived to find that my new roommate had arrived. His name is Ku and is from South Korea. He's a nice guy and, while his English is a little fractured, he seems intelligent enough to work round it. Looks like he'll cope okay with us. Until Paul moons the room.
Ku, however, was not the most interesting person I met today. Sadly for him, that title belongs to a girl named Kate I met on the plane from wherever the hell I was to Buffalo. God seems to have taken pity on me and so, by His grace, I am having attractive blond American girls accompany whenever I go somewhere in a vehicle not a taxi. I believe it is time for me to use public transport more often.
Kate was engaging and interesting to talk to, although not as much as Steph from the Greyhound on either account, and made the trip much more pleasant. She also said that she'd introduce me to her friend who loves the English. This can only be a good thing.
I was also treated to a rather fantastic smile from my new friend as we left the airport and a very heartwarming goodbye. It's a pity she goes to Penn State. Oh well, plenty of fish I guess.
Tomorrow I have the return of my friends to look forward to. I plan to get very drunk and drown my sorrows in the proverbial pool of sympathy that should well up from pretty American girls who desire to comfort a grieving English lad. Or will if I can bring myself to let them, which is honestly unknown at the moment. They'll have to have a really good accent.
Definitely not from Long Island. Or I could just go find Elisha Cuthbert I guess. Here's to hoping, folks.
I arrived to find that my new roommate had arrived. His name is Ku and is from South Korea. He's a nice guy and, while his English is a little fractured, he seems intelligent enough to work round it. Looks like he'll cope okay with us. Until Paul moons the room.
Ku, however, was not the most interesting person I met today. Sadly for him, that title belongs to a girl named Kate I met on the plane from wherever the hell I was to Buffalo. God seems to have taken pity on me and so, by His grace, I am having attractive blond American girls accompany whenever I go somewhere in a vehicle not a taxi. I believe it is time for me to use public transport more often.
Kate was engaging and interesting to talk to, although not as much as Steph from the Greyhound on either account, and made the trip much more pleasant. She also said that she'd introduce me to her friend who loves the English. This can only be a good thing.
I was also treated to a rather fantastic smile from my new friend as we left the airport and a very heartwarming goodbye. It's a pity she goes to Penn State. Oh well, plenty of fish I guess.
Tomorrow I have the return of my friends to look forward to. I plan to get very drunk and drown my sorrows in the proverbial pool of sympathy that should well up from pretty American girls who desire to comfort a grieving English lad. Or will if I can bring myself to let them, which is honestly unknown at the moment. They'll have to have a really good accent.
Definitely not from Long Island. Or I could just go find Elisha Cuthbert I guess. Here's to hoping, folks.
Friday, 9 January 2009
What's a Guy to do?
So this week has been...interesting. And emotional. I've spent it with an recently ex-girlfriend who already has another guy chasing her. And he's chasing hard. I'm loathe to discuss this overly much as I still get on with her and she may end up reading this. I have to say though, even putting the personal element aside, I'm unimpressed with both of their behaviours.
I wont go into why for her, but he just gives me the distinct impression that he isn't a good guy. Admittedly, I've never met him so can't say for sure but generally guys have a good judgement when it comes to other men. Yes, this is a little personal but he just isn't doing what a good person would do in the situation, namely be understanding, sensitive and give her some space.
It's upsetting her and pissing me off. If I ever meet him I will feed him his own organs. Or make him read inane blogs about nothing forever. While on fire.
Aside from all that emotional baggage, this week's been pretty good. I got a new toy, a shiny one that makes me happy :) it plays music and has a half decent selection method. Unlike my last one, which looked like a sex toy for midgets.
I'm looking forward to going back to Buffalo a lot. there are many reasons but mostly I'm looking forward to seeing all my friends again. This may shock some of my English friends, since I have often spouted reasons why America should be removed from the map. This are however known to be jokes, at least by those who understand that sincerity is rarely associated with what I say unless I'm angry. In actuality I have had a fantastic experience of America until recently and I am going to refuse to let it phase my enjoyment of my year here.
Also being single now means I can stop behaving like a misogynist pig and actual utilise the charm God graciously gifted me with. Until now I've been careful about what I say and do, but since the reason I did no longer exists by her own decision I'm free to do as I want.
So...cheerleaders?
Having said that the Buffalo cheerleading squad isn't exactly up to expected standards. I have a friend at USC however so I will be visiting him shortly, with luck. The is a dancing squad though who most certainly deliver in attractiveness.
This asks for an investigation. Purely for the good of mankind.
Since I'm a man that statement isn't false. It's just selfish. I can cope with that.
I wont go into why for her, but he just gives me the distinct impression that he isn't a good guy. Admittedly, I've never met him so can't say for sure but generally guys have a good judgement when it comes to other men. Yes, this is a little personal but he just isn't doing what a good person would do in the situation, namely be understanding, sensitive and give her some space.
It's upsetting her and pissing me off. If I ever meet him I will feed him his own organs. Or make him read inane blogs about nothing forever. While on fire.
Aside from all that emotional baggage, this week's been pretty good. I got a new toy, a shiny one that makes me happy :) it plays music and has a half decent selection method. Unlike my last one, which looked like a sex toy for midgets.
I'm looking forward to going back to Buffalo a lot. there are many reasons but mostly I'm looking forward to seeing all my friends again. This may shock some of my English friends, since I have often spouted reasons why America should be removed from the map. This are however known to be jokes, at least by those who understand that sincerity is rarely associated with what I say unless I'm angry. In actuality I have had a fantastic experience of America until recently and I am going to refuse to let it phase my enjoyment of my year here.
Also being single now means I can stop behaving like a misogynist pig and actual utilise the charm God graciously gifted me with. Until now I've been careful about what I say and do, but since the reason I did no longer exists by her own decision I'm free to do as I want.
So...cheerleaders?
Having said that the Buffalo cheerleading squad isn't exactly up to expected standards. I have a friend at USC however so I will be visiting him shortly, with luck. The is a dancing squad though who most certainly deliver in attractiveness.
This asks for an investigation. Purely for the good of mankind.
Since I'm a man that statement isn't false. It's just selfish. I can cope with that.
Monday, 5 January 2009
Travelling (ii)
Travelling (2)
So now I’m in Buffalo NY, my half way over night stop for my trip. I’m pumping out all those European dance tunes that I know the Americans just love from my laptop and am expecting a knock or phone call about it soon. For now, I’m just going to enjoy being able to stay in one place without worrying for the next 12 hours.
The Greyhound journey was fantastic, mainly due to the company I kept. The blonde I mentioned before did not in fact come to Buffalo, but another went to Niagara Falls in Canada and we chatted for just about the entire trip. Having never found a suitable Greyhound travel-companion before this was a greatly appreciated turn of events.
Steph was entertaining and engaging and listen to my spiel about stuff attentively. I could not have wished for more. Except possibly that she could have been in a cheerleader uniform. While not the most drop dead gorgeous woman I have met, she was still quite attractive. Even with the Canadian accent.
Customs was uneventful this time I crossed the Canadian-American border, but since there was only five of us on the bus this was not really a surprise. The Korean guy sent up a few red flags but his papers checked out enough. Having Taxi’d my way to a hotel I’ve already started abusing the AC and free TV. Unfortunately there’s nothing good on. Oh well. At least I’m warm and I don’t really about hearing the TV while I’ve got my music.
Short post I’m afraid, I’ve got to go back to air guitar. It requires dedication. Peace out.
So now I’m in Buffalo NY, my half way over night stop for my trip. I’m pumping out all those European dance tunes that I know the Americans just love from my laptop and am expecting a knock or phone call about it soon. For now, I’m just going to enjoy being able to stay in one place without worrying for the next 12 hours.
The Greyhound journey was fantastic, mainly due to the company I kept. The blonde I mentioned before did not in fact come to Buffalo, but another went to Niagara Falls in Canada and we chatted for just about the entire trip. Having never found a suitable Greyhound travel-companion before this was a greatly appreciated turn of events.
Steph was entertaining and engaging and listen to my spiel about stuff attentively. I could not have wished for more. Except possibly that she could have been in a cheerleader uniform. While not the most drop dead gorgeous woman I have met, she was still quite attractive. Even with the Canadian accent.
Customs was uneventful this time I crossed the Canadian-American border, but since there was only five of us on the bus this was not really a surprise. The Korean guy sent up a few red flags but his papers checked out enough. Having Taxi’d my way to a hotel I’ve already started abusing the AC and free TV. Unfortunately there’s nothing good on. Oh well. At least I’m warm and I don’t really about hearing the TV while I’ve got my music.
Short post I’m afraid, I’ve got to go back to air guitar. It requires dedication. Peace out.
Travelling (i)
It was going so well. I got up on time, got to the airport with plenty of time, checked in ok and boarded. The flight was tedious but I found entertainment in using the interactive TV’s on the chair backs and spotted a couple of pretty girls on the same plane – although the furthest I got with any of them was letting one use the toilet before me. Unsurprisingly she didn’t seem interested in making conversation and maybe flirting wedged with me between the plane wall and central divide. Oh well, no mile high club for me just yet…
No problems at Toronto either, just no internet (hence the delayed posting of this piece). Got off the plane, walked about half a mile to customs and was waved through when I wielded my British passport like a shield. The taxi, while expensive, was fairly quick and happily lacking in unpleasantness. After a brief spat of confusion at the Greyhound station about my bus time I found somewhere to wait and eat. I got my food and found a table.
And then it all went wrong. Instead of putting salt on my chips (fries) I reached for the first white-substance container I saw.
It was sugar.
Worse, I only figured out why my food tasted funny after about three mouthfuls of chips. They are currently sitting beside me and are reaching room temperature as I type this. Fortunately the burger was pretty much unpolluted by sweetener, artificial or otherwise, so I coped with that and a bacon sandwich.
There’s a fire engine outside the Red Lobster opposite me; it says “hazardous materials” on the side. I’m glad I decided against going there then. While this suggests I’m neglecting the opportunity to explore Toronto I’m really not; I’ve been here before and had a little look around. This time I went the other way out of the Greyhound station and found a couple of shops that sell impulse-buy brick-a-brack which usually entices me. At the time however I reasoned that I had little Canadian pretend-money left and had better save it in case I got hungry again later.
I did however meet a couple of tramps/buskers playing bagpipes and joined them for a while singing made up songs to the noise they made on their demonic sonic-warfare artillery in my best Scottish accent – which I do not think is fantastic and would probably get me killed in Scotland but the passersby seemed to like it well enough. A few even stopped for a while and several gave money. One mother urged her child to go give a five dollar (Canadian) note to the “nice Scottish boy who was singing”. I cannot even begin to describe what is wrong with that sentence. Three out of five words, at least. I got to keep some of the money for my time and efforts and the other two guys were great to talk to for a bit. By this time however it was getting close to my bus time so I headed back to the station, only to discover that I had managed to miscalculate the time difference.
So I thought I’d blog some more because apparently you have to put a lot of work into this whole blog thing. I’m not sure that sits right with me ethically but we’ll have to see. I’m also intermittedly talking to a girl I helped find a power point for her phone between her conversations with just about everybody in Ontario who has a mobile phone she can call. It’s fun though, and she’s quite pretty so I’m sure I’ll find a way to cope. Maybe she’s coming to Buffalo too? I should be so lucky. I’ll cross my fingers anyway.
I wonder if anyone actually reads these posts? Something else I’ll have to wait to find the answer to. Be good to know someone cares, but I guess that’s why everybody and their mate has started a blog; they just want someone to care about what they say.
The HazMat fire engine just left, apparently red lobsters safe. I might go and see what there is to eat there, because as predicted I’m hungry again. Hopefully the other customers won’t be sprouting tentacles because of irradiated food. Although I guess I could always try putting sugar on my food again as a preventative measure.
No problems at Toronto either, just no internet (hence the delayed posting of this piece). Got off the plane, walked about half a mile to customs and was waved through when I wielded my British passport like a shield. The taxi, while expensive, was fairly quick and happily lacking in unpleasantness. After a brief spat of confusion at the Greyhound station about my bus time I found somewhere to wait and eat. I got my food and found a table.
And then it all went wrong. Instead of putting salt on my chips (fries) I reached for the first white-substance container I saw.
It was sugar.
Worse, I only figured out why my food tasted funny after about three mouthfuls of chips. They are currently sitting beside me and are reaching room temperature as I type this. Fortunately the burger was pretty much unpolluted by sweetener, artificial or otherwise, so I coped with that and a bacon sandwich.
There’s a fire engine outside the Red Lobster opposite me; it says “hazardous materials” on the side. I’m glad I decided against going there then. While this suggests I’m neglecting the opportunity to explore Toronto I’m really not; I’ve been here before and had a little look around. This time I went the other way out of the Greyhound station and found a couple of shops that sell impulse-buy brick-a-brack which usually entices me. At the time however I reasoned that I had little Canadian pretend-money left and had better save it in case I got hungry again later.
I did however meet a couple of tramps/buskers playing bagpipes and joined them for a while singing made up songs to the noise they made on their demonic sonic-warfare artillery in my best Scottish accent – which I do not think is fantastic and would probably get me killed in Scotland but the passersby seemed to like it well enough. A few even stopped for a while and several gave money. One mother urged her child to go give a five dollar (Canadian) note to the “nice Scottish boy who was singing”. I cannot even begin to describe what is wrong with that sentence. Three out of five words, at least. I got to keep some of the money for my time and efforts and the other two guys were great to talk to for a bit. By this time however it was getting close to my bus time so I headed back to the station, only to discover that I had managed to miscalculate the time difference.
So I thought I’d blog some more because apparently you have to put a lot of work into this whole blog thing. I’m not sure that sits right with me ethically but we’ll have to see. I’m also intermittedly talking to a girl I helped find a power point for her phone between her conversations with just about everybody in Ontario who has a mobile phone she can call. It’s fun though, and she’s quite pretty so I’m sure I’ll find a way to cope. Maybe she’s coming to Buffalo too? I should be so lucky. I’ll cross my fingers anyway.
I wonder if anyone actually reads these posts? Something else I’ll have to wait to find the answer to. Be good to know someone cares, but I guess that’s why everybody and their mate has started a blog; they just want someone to care about what they say.
The HazMat fire engine just left, apparently red lobsters safe. I might go and see what there is to eat there, because as predicted I’m hungry again. Hopefully the other customers won’t be sprouting tentacles because of irradiated food. Although I guess I could always try putting sugar on my food again as a preventative measure.
Sunday, 4 January 2009
Going Official
Let's face it, everyone wants to be appreciated.
Attention, accolades, awards, acceptance; nearly any form of appreciation is welcomed by people in general. Why should I be different? Maybe there's an argument based on individuality and striking out against the norm but to be honest everyone's different anyway so realistically people are actually just more or less successful at conforming or not conforming. Not all punks are the same and not all goths are either - it's just sometimes the differences are difficult to spot below the stained and stigmatised surface.
I am aware that "Going official" is not as exciting a title as "My rampant threesome in Zimbabwe" but I feel it's more suitable, mainly as I have never been to Zimbabwe, but mainly as I've now stopped polluting my facebook profile with notes about whatever has recently caught my train of thought for longer than an hour or two. After A friend explained it was pretty much the same thing, here I am. Going official.
I fear people who hope this blog will turn into a wild torrent of sexual exploits and titillating thrills so that they can escape a life so boring it has stopped them being able to find these things for themselves will be disappointed. I am not in the habit of sharing my personal life, at least until after it's no longer personal, so if its sexploits and sexercise you're hoping to find here you'd best get on your bike and move on.
Although there will be recurring references to Elisha Cuthbert. Just take a moment to think about that; if you read my blog I will reward you with images of Elisha Cuthbert. In varying contexts.
If you don't know who she is, either the Online University of Google or the miracle of Wikipedia can enlighten you. Once you have found out my offer may be more tempting.
Another thing I will not be doing is talking about my day-to-day life generally in every post. One of the first blogs I read was so dully mundane that it made me want to tear my eyes out and feed them to a small goat. While appreciate that not everybody gets up, takes a shower, watches TV goes to work, and comes home to eat and watch mroe TV, possibly going out later, it is in fact something that I can do myself. I do not want to read about how someone else was ooo-ing and ah-ing over whether to go out with a friend after I've done just that and decided against it. My advice to people who decide not to go out is don't read blogs! You'll get caught in a nearly endless loop of mass indecision about social activities. It's not worth it. Just go out instead.
Nor will I post images of attractive friends or celebrities for the simple reason of enticing bored gamers who want to be entertained mildly while the wait for enough people to join their party on WoW. If you want that kind of quick, cheap and easy thrill go Google Elisha Cuthbert.
What I will be doing is attempting to entertain you in an intellectually stimulating manner. Mostly. I hope you enjoy reading future posts that actually have a point, but for now I must fly - I have to decide whether I should go out tonight or read indecisive blogs.
Attention, accolades, awards, acceptance; nearly any form of appreciation is welcomed by people in general. Why should I be different? Maybe there's an argument based on individuality and striking out against the norm but to be honest everyone's different anyway so realistically people are actually just more or less successful at conforming or not conforming. Not all punks are the same and not all goths are either - it's just sometimes the differences are difficult to spot below the stained and stigmatised surface.
I am aware that "Going official" is not as exciting a title as "My rampant threesome in Zimbabwe" but I feel it's more suitable, mainly as I have never been to Zimbabwe, but mainly as I've now stopped polluting my facebook profile with notes about whatever has recently caught my train of thought for longer than an hour or two. After A friend explained it was pretty much the same thing, here I am. Going official.
I fear people who hope this blog will turn into a wild torrent of sexual exploits and titillating thrills so that they can escape a life so boring it has stopped them being able to find these things for themselves will be disappointed. I am not in the habit of sharing my personal life, at least until after it's no longer personal, so if its sexploits and sexercise you're hoping to find here you'd best get on your bike and move on.
Although there will be recurring references to Elisha Cuthbert. Just take a moment to think about that; if you read my blog I will reward you with images of Elisha Cuthbert. In varying contexts.
If you don't know who she is, either the Online University of Google or the miracle of Wikipedia can enlighten you. Once you have found out my offer may be more tempting.
Another thing I will not be doing is talking about my day-to-day life generally in every post. One of the first blogs I read was so dully mundane that it made me want to tear my eyes out and feed them to a small goat. While appreciate that not everybody gets up, takes a shower, watches TV goes to work, and comes home to eat and watch mroe TV, possibly going out later, it is in fact something that I can do myself. I do not want to read about how someone else was ooo-ing and ah-ing over whether to go out with a friend after I've done just that and decided against it. My advice to people who decide not to go out is don't read blogs! You'll get caught in a nearly endless loop of mass indecision about social activities. It's not worth it. Just go out instead.
Nor will I post images of attractive friends or celebrities for the simple reason of enticing bored gamers who want to be entertained mildly while the wait for enough people to join their party on WoW. If you want that kind of quick, cheap and easy thrill go Google Elisha Cuthbert.
What I will be doing is attempting to entertain you in an intellectually stimulating manner. Mostly. I hope you enjoy reading future posts that actually have a point, but for now I must fly - I have to decide whether I should go out tonight or read indecisive blogs.
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