Plod, plod, plod my feet went against the pavement, as I walked from the bus station to the Post Office. My mind was fixed on the Arsenal vs. Man U match to come (SAMIR NASRI! SAMIR-SAMIR NASRI!) as I ascended the quite ludicrous valleys of Bradford.
"Excuse me," someone said in the tone that indicates they want something from me that isn't help or directions. I, being in a good mood for once, did not ignore this intrusion into my life, this liminal message, and turned to my greeter.
He was a plain, red-haired American, wearing a plain, black suit and a backpack. I was wearing all black, carrying a black laptop bag and poorly shaven; we were almost pure contrasts.
"Yes?"
"Do you want to know about the closeness that Jesus Christ can bring to your family?" he said in his amiable American accent. It was then I noticed his name tag, which proclaimed him as being from The Church of Latter Day Saints.
I, annoyed, walked away. It took me a second to think of the perfect retort, by which time it was too late to give it; 'Why, do I look as though I need to be brought closer to my family? Does the fact that I'm wearing black and have a facial piercing mean that I must come from a broken family?"
The feeling passed, especially when Arsenal beat the Mancs, but I still resent the implication which religious advertising, as it were, makes; that people cannot be happy or settled without an invisible beard in the sky, and all those who uphold the Pogonocracy have wonderful, happy lives.
Bollocks, I say; bollocks.
I've realized that I come across highly anti-religious in this blog, but I'm really anti-fuckwit (my girlfriend's word. Great, isn't it?). It just so happens that the most vocal fuckwits are extremely religious...
Sunday 9 November 2008
Tuesday 4 November 2008
Aren't you interesting?
The abbreviation n't is a very curious one; it saves the writer a mere white space and two-thirds of an o and so isn't what one could call efficient (except in the occasional call like won't, obviously). The speaker is saved a few milliseconds as they run the two words together, but the abbreviation really affects speech.
I'll start with an obvious example;
"Don't do that!"
"Do not do that!"
The first sounds playful, happy, as though you're asking someone to stop tickling you; the second is your mother warning you against poking your brother with a 1:32 model of the Bat Mobile.
Including not into a sentence adds weight to the message: "We are not going to the park," "You shall not pass," and "I have not got any hash." You read the word not with a certain, aggressive inflection, and really I should have italicized each one.
However, there are some cases where the word not just doesn't fit in a sentence where n't does; the abbreviation makes the sentence sensible, where as not makes the sentence clunky: "Aren't you cold?" as opposed to "Are not you cold?"
"Is not it Thursday today?
"Have not you got the keys?"
The sentences just don't seem right, despite making complete grammatical sense, and you would certainly be suspicious of someone who talked like that. I guess it's just because of how we're used to speaking, but it's certainly a curiosity, ain't it?
I'll start with an obvious example;
"Don't do that!"
"Do not do that!"
The first sounds playful, happy, as though you're asking someone to stop tickling you; the second is your mother warning you against poking your brother with a 1:32 model of the Bat Mobile.
Including not into a sentence adds weight to the message: "We are not going to the park," "You shall not pass," and "I have not got any hash." You read the word not with a certain, aggressive inflection, and really I should have italicized each one.
However, there are some cases where the word not just doesn't fit in a sentence where n't does; the abbreviation makes the sentence sensible, where as not makes the sentence clunky: "Aren't you cold?" as opposed to "Are not you cold?"
"Is not it Thursday today?
"Have not you got the keys?"
The sentences just don't seem right, despite making complete grammatical sense, and you would certainly be suspicious of someone who talked like that. I guess it's just because of how we're used to speaking, but it's certainly a curiosity, ain't it?
Friday 31 October 2008
How do you eat yours?
I think I've worked out the mystery of Cadbury's Creme Eggs.
They don't sell them year round, do they? Despite the fact that almost everyone loves them, they only go on sale a month or so before Easter and then linger until the last has found a loving tum... You'd think that they would sell them year round, with their popularity, right?
Well, I've puzzled over it and discovered their secret; they have harnessed the power of Ostara, the original Pagan goddess who begat Easter, and transformed her into a giant chicken; all day she lays Cadbury's Creme Eggs, and Cadbury's keep her fed and wrap her ovulations for our delectation. It explains why the eggs have been getting smaller every year as well; they have been forcing poor Ostara's hen to lay more and more eggs, so their size is reducing.
It also explains why they don't cave in to demand to make larger, proper Easter egg-sized, Creme eggs, because it'd kill the old bird.
This theory was briefly threatened by the existence of the Creme Eggs Twisted that they've just started to produce, but only briefly: these are her long, curled turds; her fecal delights; straight from her arse to your mouth.
Mmmmm.
And if you think that's disgusting, why didn't you balk when I told you that we were eating her unborn children?
Thursday 30 October 2008
I feel so good, I feel so numbers.
I was talking about numbers the other day, specifically relating to the History of Maths program, and that has rattled around in the old brain-box ever since. A conclusion has been reached; prepare for its sharing.
I was thinking specifically of numbers and their relevance in the real world; we live on numbers, they keep our society running and we base our far-reaching concepts of the Universe upon them... and yet, I almost think that they don't have any relevance to us; I don't think that the Universe could care less that we call the ratio of a circle's circumference to its diameter 3.141 etc...
To the reality, it just is, as is the speed of light, Planck's constant and any other number of universal truths that simply exist, and our concept of numbers is merely our way of perceiving them.
Other, alien cultures may base all of their numbers, if they have them, upon one of these constants; their understanding of the number 1 may be equal to pi, as far as we're concerned. There could be any number of variations and they may be able to predict the outcomes of complex equations by picturing the fluctuations or conceptualizing the 'numbers' as thoughts, or people, or anything. Just imagine how completely different we would be if we thought of numbers differently...
Oh well, it's about 11 now... time for bed.
Tuesday 28 October 2008
Nice and sneezy.
On the way back from a training session, (work-based, not S&M), my fellow graduate Project Manager behind me sneezed. Several times.
Not an interesting or startling event, I hear you think (and I can hear you think, dear reader; RSS stands for Reads Surfer's Surmises) and you would be right, but it was the manner in which she sneezed that brought about a strange train of thought I'd like to share; she made these great, whoofing noises every time, as though her nasal passages were imploding. Not that this is a ridiculous noise to make whilst sneezing, but the fact that it's so different from my sneeze raised some questions.
Now, when I sneeze, it's an epic event: the seas churn; the earth trembles; children cry blood in the streets. I have a quite loud, violent sneeze which sends me flying if I'm in an office chair. I also make the proper, traditional sneezing noise when I do so. My sneeze is always "Aaa-choo".
Why are our sneezes so different? It's a common reaction to stimulus which even cats have, and yet our sneezes can be so personal, so unique. We don't have unique vomiting motions, or blinks, so why does a shared response differ so much?
When I first met my girlfriend, she had a delicate, little sneeze; "Choo!" she'd go, like a Pokemon confused about its name. However, as she's grown in confidence, so has her sneeze, so that it is a proper, loud, reactive sneeze and not the adorable noise a kitten would make if someone picked it up.
So, I think sneeze reactions are personal; some people suppress them, not wanting to annoy others or being embarrassed at being so loud. Others, like myself, simply go with it and sneeze their hearts out. It's an eighth of an orgasm, you know.
One idea that did cross my mind, one which I wish was true, was that the way that you handled your first sneeze affected every other sneeze you would have in your life. You'd get Freudian Phlegm!
Monday 27 October 2008
The Way of the Purple Tie
I need a new coat.
I say new, what I actually mean is that I need a coat, full stop. Currently, I just wear a normal, suit jacket when I'm going out anywhere. I've found this adequate so far... and again, by adequate, I mean that I've managed to not freeze to death on my travels whilst wearing, quite frankly, sub-standard clothes.
The problem is that coats are quite expensive; I bought the jacket that I wear of a weekend for about £15 (from Asda, not a homeless guy or charity shop) but all of the coats which I've found are five to ten times that, whilst being about a fifth as cool (not in the thermic sense, obviously).
I simply want a long, dark jacket than I'll be able to wear and, in so doing, keep my nipples from freezing against my shirt, for less than £60... hence I've found that there's someone on Ebay who'll make Akatsuki jackets for around that. I don't think I can explain how tempted I am to do this! Picture the scene; a six-foot tall, long haired, guy walks into work wearing an Akatsuki jacket and then takes it off to reveal a nice suit and tie combo.
Nice.
Saturday 25 October 2008
The Great Transfer - The Lost Post
The Lost Post, gone into the aether of my mind to be mourned, was about how I would make a great number more posts if I had a direct cerebral-cyber interface.
Shame, it was quite funny as well.
Anyway, I went to watch Saw V today. It was a very interesting watch which I quite enjoyed, and I look forward to the next one as well; the guys who pump one out every year have a very good grasp of tension and incredible imaginations and I really enjoy their world.
Probably a little too much.
Shame, it was quite funny as well.
Anyway, I went to watch Saw V today. It was a very interesting watch which I quite enjoyed, and I look forward to the next one as well; the guys who pump one out every year have a very good grasp of tension and incredible imaginations and I really enjoy their world.
Probably a little too much.
The Great Transfer - Famous People
Every famous person is a twat.
A quite stark assertion, I admit, but allow me to quantify; most people who become famous do so in a short period of time and their rise into the stratosphere generally reduces all sense of scope or their real place in the world (I won the X-factor! I'm the greatest human being in existence!). They therefore become Cocky Twats.
Then again, there are those who manage to generate a career from their fame. Their capacity for understanding reality and how inferior they really are apart from the size of their breasts diminishes relative to how much money they earn. They are Complete Twats.
Sometimes, they gain aspirations to Art. Hell, maybe they'll even get there, but it will certainly will go to their massively over-inflated heads. They will start to talk about being an Auteur, the true meaning of their works and all this kind of nonsense... the Pretentious Twats.
Their fame will often completely ruin their sense of reality and they will view themselves as some kinds of Demi-Gods and think that they are above our puny mortal laws; whether they be regular, legal matters, such as drink-driving or not getting drunk and beating people up, or laws of social acceptance. They are the purest form of Twats; the Absolute Twats.
Then there are those who are completely grounded, sensible, creative, worthy and rich. They are Lucky Twats.
The bastards.
A quite stark assertion, I admit, but allow me to quantify; most people who become famous do so in a short period of time and their rise into the stratosphere generally reduces all sense of scope or their real place in the world (I won the X-factor! I'm the greatest human being in existence!). They therefore become Cocky Twats.
Then again, there are those who manage to generate a career from their fame. Their capacity for understanding reality and how inferior they really are apart from the size of their breasts diminishes relative to how much money they earn. They are Complete Twats.
Sometimes, they gain aspirations to Art. Hell, maybe they'll even get there, but it will certainly will go to their massively over-inflated heads. They will start to talk about being an Auteur, the true meaning of their works and all this kind of nonsense... the Pretentious Twats.
Their fame will often completely ruin their sense of reality and they will view themselves as some kinds of Demi-Gods and think that they are above our puny mortal laws; whether they be regular, legal matters, such as drink-driving or not getting drunk and beating people up, or laws of social acceptance. They are the purest form of Twats; the Absolute Twats.
Then there are those who are completely grounded, sensible, creative, worthy and rich. They are Lucky Twats.
The bastards.
The Great Transfer - Maffs!
I've just watched a program called "The Story of Maths". It gave me a lot of information which I didn't know before, such as the mathematical contributions of the Egyptians and the Babylonians, who both foreshadowed the Pythagorean theorem and irrational numbers respectively, but it brought a good point to mind.
One of the usual arguments which Creationists pull out in their debates with logical people is that it's called The Theory of Evolution. These people assert, therefore, that we're not even certain about it and use their own certainty about God as a way of building their arguments.
However, I now have a perfect counter; the Pythagorean Theorem! It's called a Theorem, but by Odin it's got enough evidence behind it to be considered a fact, and the same goes for evolution!
Not that I get involved in random flaming wars with Creationists; the Creationists which I speak about are largely drawn from observation and imagination. I've known Creationists, probably, but never really gotten into any philosophical debates with them.
The only debates of this kind I've been involved in was a debate against the advocation of Anarchy which one of my friend's housemate asserted. She thought that a flavour of Anarchy which said that small communities should be created in order to allow the people to manage themselves. Her argument was that this was perfect and I agreed... if you assumed perfect people. All it would take would be one, megalomanical individual to start creating pacts with the other communities to grant themselves power and it would all fall apart; Africa and tribal politics are an example of this.
She essentially argued from idealism and naivety, and I argued from logic and cynicism. And this was when I was 20! It's a little odd to realize that you've been a cynic ever since you lost the ability to call yourself a teenager.
I hope the two aren't connected...
One of the usual arguments which Creationists pull out in their debates with logical people is that it's called The Theory of Evolution. These people assert, therefore, that we're not even certain about it and use their own certainty about God as a way of building their arguments.
However, I now have a perfect counter; the Pythagorean Theorem! It's called a Theorem, but by Odin it's got enough evidence behind it to be considered a fact, and the same goes for evolution!
Not that I get involved in random flaming wars with Creationists; the Creationists which I speak about are largely drawn from observation and imagination. I've known Creationists, probably, but never really gotten into any philosophical debates with them.
The only debates of this kind I've been involved in was a debate against the advocation of Anarchy which one of my friend's housemate asserted. She thought that a flavour of Anarchy which said that small communities should be created in order to allow the people to manage themselves. Her argument was that this was perfect and I agreed... if you assumed perfect people. All it would take would be one, megalomanical individual to start creating pacts with the other communities to grant themselves power and it would all fall apart; Africa and tribal politics are an example of this.
She essentially argued from idealism and naivety, and I argued from logic and cynicism. And this was when I was 20! It's a little odd to realize that you've been a cynic ever since you lost the ability to call yourself a teenager.
I hope the two aren't connected...
The Great Transfer - So shall it be written
Okay, if I were Emperor of the World, here would be my decrees for today;
No company should be able to cut their numbers if it means that they will make less profit than they did last year; it is now illegal for any company to make people redundant unless they are providing a ROI of less than the rate of inflation in the area they operate in +1%.
There is no such thing as a golden parachute if you resign, or are asked to resign, over criminal chargers, your complete inability to do your job or something incredibly stupid that you do. The same goes for if you have run a company into the ground, and if you have done this then you will be forced to pay at least a portion of the money you have made from this bankrupt company back, regardless of their status as a PLC or LLC.
Every company/organization capable of making donations to political parties will now have to pay a 'Politics Tax', which will go towards a central political fund which each party in the system can use to procure funds. Does not apply to countries which do not have democracies and instead have intellectual meritocracies.
Cruelty to animals, children or other human beings now leads to a mandatory period in a Psychological Hospital. Repeat offenders will be shot.
Meh, that's about it.
No company should be able to cut their numbers if it means that they will make less profit than they did last year; it is now illegal for any company to make people redundant unless they are providing a ROI of less than the rate of inflation in the area they operate in +1%.
There is no such thing as a golden parachute if you resign, or are asked to resign, over criminal chargers, your complete inability to do your job or something incredibly stupid that you do. The same goes for if you have run a company into the ground, and if you have done this then you will be forced to pay at least a portion of the money you have made from this bankrupt company back, regardless of their status as a PLC or LLC.
Every company/organization capable of making donations to political parties will now have to pay a 'Politics Tax', which will go towards a central political fund which each party in the system can use to procure funds. Does not apply to countries which do not have democracies and instead have intellectual meritocracies.
Cruelty to animals, children or other human beings now leads to a mandatory period in a Psychological Hospital. Repeat offenders will be shot.
Meh, that's about it.
The Great Transfer - Railway Wrath
Have you ever had one of those evenings?
I left work to catch my train and got on it with plenty of time, settling down to start editing my novel. After a while I notice that a lot more people are getting on than normal, and I overhear that people have missed their trains because of problems with the line.
Which fills me with a sense of joy...
So, the train leaves just about on time, quite packed but no problem. We get to the first station and... stay there. The train breaks down and takes a while to get going again.
Anyway, the train keeps stopping because of point failures but eventually we get to Leeds. The train pulls in and waits for five minutes, for some reason. The conductor then announces that this service has been cancelled and we need to get off the train.
More joy!
So I get off and run to the next train which will take me home. I get there as three of the four sets of doors are closing, and the closest set it quite packed. I asked the conductor to move people so I could get on and he saw "Naw mate, this train has set off already," and closed the doors.
There was much swearing.
So I then go and find the next train... which is running ten minutes late. And, as thought to compound my worries, it arrives with the word "Selby" on the front. Selby is a place which is very much not where I want to go, but it's come to the right platform so I get on. Twenty minutes of worrying follow, but I eventually pull into Bradford.
Cue me racing to the cash machine to get money out, as there's no way I'm cooking after all this bullshit, and then hauling ass to the bus stop... in time to watch the clock tick past the time the bus should have arrived, sans le bus. I take some time to get my breath back but it becomes apparent that this bus just hasn't turned up and I don't fancy waiting 30 mins for the next one, so I go off in search of a taxi.
There are no taxis near the bus station, so I head into town. The late bus I didn't wait for passed me, which caused even more swearing, but not nearly as much as when I realized there weren't any taxis within a half-mile radius! So I had to go back anyway and wait for the bus which I couldn't be bothered waiting for originally!
Top that off with problems when I get home, which I needn't get in to, you get a pretty fucking shit few hours.
I left work to catch my train and got on it with plenty of time, settling down to start editing my novel. After a while I notice that a lot more people are getting on than normal, and I overhear that people have missed their trains because of problems with the line.
Which fills me with a sense of joy...
So, the train leaves just about on time, quite packed but no problem. We get to the first station and... stay there. The train breaks down and takes a while to get going again.
Anyway, the train keeps stopping because of point failures but eventually we get to Leeds. The train pulls in and waits for five minutes, for some reason. The conductor then announces that this service has been cancelled and we need to get off the train.
More joy!
So I get off and run to the next train which will take me home. I get there as three of the four sets of doors are closing, and the closest set it quite packed. I asked the conductor to move people so I could get on and he saw "Naw mate, this train has set off already," and closed the doors.
There was much swearing.
So I then go and find the next train... which is running ten minutes late. And, as thought to compound my worries, it arrives with the word "Selby" on the front. Selby is a place which is very much not where I want to go, but it's come to the right platform so I get on. Twenty minutes of worrying follow, but I eventually pull into Bradford.
Cue me racing to the cash machine to get money out, as there's no way I'm cooking after all this bullshit, and then hauling ass to the bus stop... in time to watch the clock tick past the time the bus should have arrived, sans le bus. I take some time to get my breath back but it becomes apparent that this bus just hasn't turned up and I don't fancy waiting 30 mins for the next one, so I go off in search of a taxi.
There are no taxis near the bus station, so I head into town. The late bus I didn't wait for passed me, which caused even more swearing, but not nearly as much as when I realized there weren't any taxis within a half-mile radius! So I had to go back anyway and wait for the bus which I couldn't be bothered waiting for originally!
Top that off with problems when I get home, which I needn't get in to, you get a pretty fucking shit few hours.
The Great Transfer - Commuters
People who get on the train between Bradford and Leeds are weird.
I was editing my novel on the way home tonight and got quite into what I was doing, so I barely noticed us pulling in to Leeds train station and two-hundred people getting on the train (hey, I was very into it...). When I was done with a page I looked up to find the aisle packed with fellow commuters and a seat next to me only taken up with my bag and jacket.
Being a gentleman and altogether non-bastard, and feeling a little guilty that I'd made someone stand up, even if for only a couple of minutes, I stood up and said to the two people closest to me "Do you want to sit down?"
A stylish-looking guy with an iPod in just shook his head, leaving the elderly black guy next to him the only person available to take up the spare seat. I repeated my offer and he looked at me, confused, and asked "Why?"
...
Why? Well, I've placed a small incendiary device on the chair next to me and I'm looking to get out of the blast radius. Would you do me a favour and sit down so it can go off?
My actual reply was "Well, people generally like to sit down on a train." He looked at me as though my eyes were nipples and then sat down, hugging his bag to him to protect against the long-haired freak.
People...
I was editing my novel on the way home tonight and got quite into what I was doing, so I barely noticed us pulling in to Leeds train station and two-hundred people getting on the train (hey, I was very into it...). When I was done with a page I looked up to find the aisle packed with fellow commuters and a seat next to me only taken up with my bag and jacket.
Being a gentleman and altogether non-bastard, and feeling a little guilty that I'd made someone stand up, even if for only a couple of minutes, I stood up and said to the two people closest to me "Do you want to sit down?"
A stylish-looking guy with an iPod in just shook his head, leaving the elderly black guy next to him the only person available to take up the spare seat. I repeated my offer and he looked at me, confused, and asked "Why?"
...
Why? Well, I've placed a small incendiary device on the chair next to me and I'm looking to get out of the blast radius. Would you do me a favour and sit down so it can go off?
My actual reply was "Well, people generally like to sit down on a train." He looked at me as though my eyes were nipples and then sat down, hugging his bag to him to protect against the long-haired freak.
People...
The Great Transfer - Screen Dyslexia
It seems that I have a special form of dyslexia; I can't read my own writing when it's on a computer screen. Try as I might to pour over what I've written in order to find errors and typos, I am only about 10% effective and hundreds of the little blighters get under my radar.
I've come across some absolute gems, such as people visiting a place on a regular bass (just your regular, run-of-the-mill fish and not one of those aberrant bass that you hear of), them covering their hands with their mouth or a now immortal mistake I made which had a hotel room inside a fridge and not the logical way round.
My girlfriend and my edits of a paper copy of my current work have both really shown me how poor my editing skills are on a computer screen, and also that my writing style is so scattershot; ideas are all that escape and the demons of grammar, punctuation or even cogent thought are all exorcised for the good of the plot. Which, in and of itself, doesn't really get a look in. I flurry through, getting words straight from my mind to the computer without sense intervening.
It just makes me appreciate how important editing is, and how much a lack of proper editing skills might have played a part in prior publishing failures. It's definitely something which would have had a major effect on my chances.
I've come across some absolute gems, such as people visiting a place on a regular bass (just your regular, run-of-the-mill fish and not one of those aberrant bass that you hear of), them covering their hands with their mouth or a now immortal mistake I made which had a hotel room inside a fridge and not the logical way round.
My girlfriend and my edits of a paper copy of my current work have both really shown me how poor my editing skills are on a computer screen, and also that my writing style is so scattershot; ideas are all that escape and the demons of grammar, punctuation or even cogent thought are all exorcised for the good of the plot. Which, in and of itself, doesn't really get a look in. I flurry through, getting words straight from my mind to the computer without sense intervening.
It just makes me appreciate how important editing is, and how much a lack of proper editing skills might have played a part in prior publishing failures. It's definitely something which would have had a major effect on my chances.
The Great Transfer - Wherefore art thou, writers?
I've started to play an old game called Planescape: Torment. Due to this, lots of effort in writing and work, I don't really have a subject which I can expound upon today. I think that we don't make games of this quality any more, that we concentrate so much on graphics and existing legacies of sequels that we ignore something as trivial as gameplay and plot.
Most games companies don't even hire a writer to work on their games and things such as dialogue and the story are just done in-house, by designers or producers or whoever is available. This often shows.
It's almost sad that the current generation are not going to experience beautiful stories in their video games; they won't have the heart-wrench when Aeris dies, or the mind-expansion of the Ultima series, or the truly epic nature of Shenmue. They'll be stuck with plot being behind how it looks, how cheap it is to make and how it's the third game in a series.
The movie industry is suffering from the same kind of thing, but thankfully the elite, exclusive nature of the Oscars ensures that some originality is forced into what films are made; meaningful, interesting films have to be made if they stand a chance there.
The World Ends With You is the first game in a long time that gave me the buzz of being involved in a fantastic plot, a rich gaming-world and really deep characters. Thank god that the Japanese have been able to keep sight of how important the story is in a game.
Most games companies don't even hire a writer to work on their games and things such as dialogue and the story are just done in-house, by designers or producers or whoever is available. This often shows.
It's almost sad that the current generation are not going to experience beautiful stories in their video games; they won't have the heart-wrench when Aeris dies, or the mind-expansion of the Ultima series, or the truly epic nature of Shenmue. They'll be stuck with plot being behind how it looks, how cheap it is to make and how it's the third game in a series.
The movie industry is suffering from the same kind of thing, but thankfully the elite, exclusive nature of the Oscars ensures that some originality is forced into what films are made; meaningful, interesting films have to be made if they stand a chance there.
The World Ends With You is the first game in a long time that gave me the buzz of being involved in a fantastic plot, a rich gaming-world and really deep characters. Thank god that the Japanese have been able to keep sight of how important the story is in a game.
The Great Transfer - Porn.gov.uk
I believe that the Government should start to create Pornography for us.
Think about it; teenagers are watching vast amounts of porn because of the Internet and are getting wrong ideas about body sizes and shapes, sexuality, sexual health, intimacy and a vast variety of other sexual habits. The porn which is being produced is certainly not made to provide any benefit to the viewers (apart from the obvious, sticky one) and tends to reinforce some serious stereotypes; girls are slutty sex-kittens who can't get enough, any woman over size 12 is classed as BBW or chubby and the men have absolutely massive cocks, which are the only thing a woman could ever want, right?
So, if the Government started to produce high-quality porn and distribute it for free, under quite illicit means and not through something like porn.gov.uk, then they could create a small social revolution; have porn with real men and women in which doesn't count as 'amateur', which involves real sex, which encourages condom use and other safe sex and is damn hot as well. People would stop some of this body-dysmorphia which is going around, which I too suffer from, having watched porn from the age of about 13, and maybe some sense would be fostered within our children.
Oh, and they'd have to make certain that they didn't try to put political messages into it; "Oh, you vote Labour? That's so hot, I want your cock!" just doesn't seem right.
Think about it; teenagers are watching vast amounts of porn because of the Internet and are getting wrong ideas about body sizes and shapes, sexuality, sexual health, intimacy and a vast variety of other sexual habits. The porn which is being produced is certainly not made to provide any benefit to the viewers (apart from the obvious, sticky one) and tends to reinforce some serious stereotypes; girls are slutty sex-kittens who can't get enough, any woman over size 12 is classed as BBW or chubby and the men have absolutely massive cocks, which are the only thing a woman could ever want, right?
So, if the Government started to produce high-quality porn and distribute it for free, under quite illicit means and not through something like porn.gov.uk, then they could create a small social revolution; have porn with real men and women in which doesn't count as 'amateur', which involves real sex, which encourages condom use and other safe sex and is damn hot as well. People would stop some of this body-dysmorphia which is going around, which I too suffer from, having watched porn from the age of about 13, and maybe some sense would be fostered within our children.
Oh, and they'd have to make certain that they didn't try to put political messages into it; "Oh, you vote Labour? That's so hot, I want your cock!" just doesn't seem right.
The Great Transfer - Shall we be Frank?
Here are the percentages of the people within a typical audience for comedian Frankie Boyle;
30% of people are laughing, but feeling guilty about it.
40% of people are laughing nervously.
10% of people would be laughing only because their partner/spouse/boyfriend is laughing.
10% of people feel nauseous.
10% of the audience are genuinely laughing.
Seriously, though, you should watch Franky Boyle whenever you get the opportunity. He's a funny, evil, caustic bastard.
30% of people are laughing, but feeling guilty about it.
40% of people are laughing nervously.
10% of people would be laughing only because their partner/spouse/boyfriend is laughing.
10% of people feel nauseous.
10% of the audience are genuinely laughing.
Seriously, though, you should watch Franky Boyle whenever you get the opportunity. He's a funny, evil, caustic bastard.
The Great Transfer - Cash
I have a rather radical suggestion to make; we need to make it illegal for an individual to hold more than £250 in cash.
Why, I hear you ask, would I advance such a bold theory? Well, with the advent of electronic payments, credit deals and the like, then there's no need for anyone to carry that amount of money on them. The only people who actually carry that amount of money are performing illegal transactions, or at least dubious ones; everyone should accept cheques, so why would you need cash?
Think about it; if you made holding that amount of money illegal, and made it so that banks would raise flags whenever someone draws out more than £200 in the space of a week, then drug trafficking, prostitution and the like would become infinitely harder to engage in.
It would also have the added affect of making the purchase of any item over a certain value entirely demonstrable; no-one could say that they've bought a £3000 necklace in cash, for example. We would have an entirely honest society when it came to what has been bought, in terms of trade and the movement of money, and fraud and the like would, again, become infinitely harder to engage in.
The more I think about it, the more it would impact on crime. I understand that criminals would find ways around it, but only the intelligent ones would. And they possibly deserve to get away with it, provided their crime wasn't too horrible...
Why, I hear you ask, would I advance such a bold theory? Well, with the advent of electronic payments, credit deals and the like, then there's no need for anyone to carry that amount of money on them. The only people who actually carry that amount of money are performing illegal transactions, or at least dubious ones; everyone should accept cheques, so why would you need cash?
Think about it; if you made holding that amount of money illegal, and made it so that banks would raise flags whenever someone draws out more than £200 in the space of a week, then drug trafficking, prostitution and the like would become infinitely harder to engage in.
It would also have the added affect of making the purchase of any item over a certain value entirely demonstrable; no-one could say that they've bought a £3000 necklace in cash, for example. We would have an entirely honest society when it came to what has been bought, in terms of trade and the movement of money, and fraud and the like would, again, become infinitely harder to engage in.
The more I think about it, the more it would impact on crime. I understand that criminals would find ways around it, but only the intelligent ones would. And they possibly deserve to get away with it, provided their crime wasn't too horrible...
The Great Transfer - Circular Laughter
I have started a new job in York. It's quite a commute from Bradford to there, it takes me about 1 3/4 hours from my house to my office and vice versa, but it's worth it to travel to such a beautiful city.
York is to Bradford what Fillet Mignon is to a crushed snail. It just is; York is steeped in beautiful, gothic architecture and medieval castles and walls. There are some touches of modern hands in amongst them, but generally these have been thoughtfully placed amongst the city, to remain unoffensive if they can't be complimentary.
I walk to work and marvel that such a wonderful, amazing city remains in England. York is how foreigners expect all English cities to be; quirky, historic, beautiful and well organized.
And then I return to the squashed insect, filled with ugly sandstone buildings and worse, modern attempts at architecture. It's like walking into a darkened room, untouched by the light of aesthetic beauty.
Honestly, I really don't mind getting up before 6 to travel into York because it's worth it. If you'd told me I'd type something like that 3 years ago, I'd have laughed at you.
And now I laugh at me! Ha!
York is to Bradford what Fillet Mignon is to a crushed snail. It just is; York is steeped in beautiful, gothic architecture and medieval castles and walls. There are some touches of modern hands in amongst them, but generally these have been thoughtfully placed amongst the city, to remain unoffensive if they can't be complimentary.
I walk to work and marvel that such a wonderful, amazing city remains in England. York is how foreigners expect all English cities to be; quirky, historic, beautiful and well organized.
And then I return to the squashed insect, filled with ugly sandstone buildings and worse, modern attempts at architecture. It's like walking into a darkened room, untouched by the light of aesthetic beauty.
Honestly, I really don't mind getting up before 6 to travel into York because it's worth it. If you'd told me I'd type something like that 3 years ago, I'd have laughed at you.
And now I laugh at me! Ha!
The Great Transfer - American Politics
I cannot believe that America are even having an election; the Republicans should have defaulted as soon as they selected John McCain as their candidate. We are talking about a man who regularly agrees with George Bush, who has admitted to knowing nothing about economics, had the scientific knowledge and acumen of a gutted trout, who had been quoted as saying some very horrendously racist things, who defined someone who earns $4,999,999 (roughly £2.5m) as middle class and who would be over 75 when he ended his term is elected!
Really, I cannot see how he can have any votes apart from the KKK! George W. Bush is the least popular president in history and he will be EXACTLY THE SAME!
This is a man who, when asked what he would do about rising tensions with Iran, sang "Bomb, bomb, bomb Iran!" in response! The sentiment is bad enough, but singing it? At least if he'd just turned and said "I've thought long about this and I think that war is the only option," it would have been better! Hell, taking a gun out and shooting the interviewer might even have been preferable (probably not for the interviewer).
If McCain is elected, then I'd say it will signify a complete collapse for America; the Republicans are so anti-intellectual, anti-women and anti-anyone-who-isn't-a-goddamn-American that they will find themselves with so few allies outside the world that Russia and China will be able to joyfully skip towards becoming comparable superpowers.
I mean seriously, the American people have had, between them, enough intelligence to say that they don't like their stupid president. So, surely, the next logical step would be to elect an intelligent president. No offence to Bill Clinton, a great politician, but I don't think that the US has had an intelligent president for a good while and it'd probably be a damn good idea, with how terrible their deficit is becoming... they're almost as bad as the UK now!
Really, I cannot see how he can have any votes apart from the KKK! George W. Bush is the least popular president in history and he will be EXACTLY THE SAME!
This is a man who, when asked what he would do about rising tensions with Iran, sang "Bomb, bomb, bomb Iran!" in response! The sentiment is bad enough, but singing it? At least if he'd just turned and said "I've thought long about this and I think that war is the only option," it would have been better! Hell, taking a gun out and shooting the interviewer might even have been preferable (probably not for the interviewer).
If McCain is elected, then I'd say it will signify a complete collapse for America; the Republicans are so anti-intellectual, anti-women and anti-anyone-who-isn't-a-goddamn-American that they will find themselves with so few allies outside the world that Russia and China will be able to joyfully skip towards becoming comparable superpowers.
I mean seriously, the American people have had, between them, enough intelligence to say that they don't like their stupid president. So, surely, the next logical step would be to elect an intelligent president. No offence to Bill Clinton, a great politician, but I don't think that the US has had an intelligent president for a good while and it'd probably be a damn good idea, with how terrible their deficit is becoming... they're almost as bad as the UK now!
The Great Transfer - Economical Pathos
There's a lot of anger at the moment surrounding obscene profits which companies are making; Shell earning enough money every minute to fit solar-collection cells onto every home in Leeds and the like, and people are calling for Windfall taxes on the companies which are getting ridiculously rich from our misery.
It's understandable, however, it's insanely naive; companies exist to make obscene amounts of money and make their investors fat and wealthy, that's the POINT. Welcome to Capitalism! It's been happening now for decades and it's only since we've entered an inevitable period of recession that people are calling for this.
Yeah, that's what we need; to take more money from companies when it's hard to make a profit at all. Pure FUCKING GENIUS?! Why aren't you running the country?
Well, because you'd ruin it, that's why; energy companies such as British Gas make an excellent point in defending their profits when they point out that the Government are requiring them to invest billions of pound into improving our energy infrastructure in the next ten years. Because, guess what, we've entirely fucked over ourselves, here in the UK! We've not built enough power stations to keep up with the increased demand and now we're heavily reliant on France.
I'll say that again; The UK is heavily reliant on France.
Back in the 70s/80s, we were laughing at the French when they went through a similar period of energy poverty (when the only reason we were doing fine was because of the North Sea gas reserves... which are now gone) and now it's their turn because our Governments have made no effort to improve the situation.
Nuclear power is the obvious answer to our energy dependency but we don't have the expertise! Almost no-one in the UK has the knowledge of Nuclear Physics required to build safe, modern nuclear plants now.
Which is why we need France.
So we need to not be entirely at the behest of a foreign nation, hence the investment required by the Government. Yes, the companies making this profit are still earning ridiculous amounts of money from us, but again THAT'S THE POINT! Capitalism, baby! No matter what you do someone is earning money from you. It's just that energy has become a panicky topic now.
The same goes for Pharmaceutical companies. Some people have suggested that we just force them to earn less money so life-saving treatments are affordable, which is rubbish; all they'll do is work on more profitable drugs and leave specialist treatments behind, ruining the entire argument.
The sad fact is that some treatments are too expensive for our NHS as it is, and to afford more will drive up taxes and prescription costs. All that people are campaigning for is more taxation against themselves to save people's lives... which, when I put it like that, seems pretty noble!
It's understandable, however, it's insanely naive; companies exist to make obscene amounts of money and make their investors fat and wealthy, that's the POINT. Welcome to Capitalism! It's been happening now for decades and it's only since we've entered an inevitable period of recession that people are calling for this.
Yeah, that's what we need; to take more money from companies when it's hard to make a profit at all. Pure FUCKING GENIUS?! Why aren't you running the country?
Well, because you'd ruin it, that's why; energy companies such as British Gas make an excellent point in defending their profits when they point out that the Government are requiring them to invest billions of pound into improving our energy infrastructure in the next ten years. Because, guess what, we've entirely fucked over ourselves, here in the UK! We've not built enough power stations to keep up with the increased demand and now we're heavily reliant on France.
I'll say that again; The UK is heavily reliant on France.
Back in the 70s/80s, we were laughing at the French when they went through a similar period of energy poverty (when the only reason we were doing fine was because of the North Sea gas reserves... which are now gone) and now it's their turn because our Governments have made no effort to improve the situation.
Nuclear power is the obvious answer to our energy dependency but we don't have the expertise! Almost no-one in the UK has the knowledge of Nuclear Physics required to build safe, modern nuclear plants now.
Which is why we need France.
So we need to not be entirely at the behest of a foreign nation, hence the investment required by the Government. Yes, the companies making this profit are still earning ridiculous amounts of money from us, but again THAT'S THE POINT! Capitalism, baby! No matter what you do someone is earning money from you. It's just that energy has become a panicky topic now.
The same goes for Pharmaceutical companies. Some people have suggested that we just force them to earn less money so life-saving treatments are affordable, which is rubbish; all they'll do is work on more profitable drugs and leave specialist treatments behind, ruining the entire argument.
The sad fact is that some treatments are too expensive for our NHS as it is, and to afford more will drive up taxes and prescription costs. All that people are campaigning for is more taxation against themselves to save people's lives... which, when I put it like that, seems pretty noble!
The Great Transfer - Euphemisms and National Identity
Euphemisms are strange things, especially in a business environment.
For example, at my workplace bathroom breaks have two euphemisms: 'comfort breaks' and 'personal time'. They can't just say bathroom breaks, no, of course not, but the terms they do use summon forth entirely different images than that of people going to the bathroom; a comfort break sounds like the opportunity to leave your desk and jump into some massive pink bed and wrap yourself in soft, fluffy duvets, whereas personal time sounds like the time a teenage boy spends in front of his computer when he thinks his parents are in bed...
We have a lot of these kinds of things throughout society though, don't we? I remember taking Food Technology at school and being thoroughly disappointed, because what I got was certainly less than I'd expected. I wanted to create Royal icing robots and Marzipan monitors, not cakes and scones.
(As it was, I managed to subvert the lessons wherever I could, creating such monstrosities as chocolate bread, green-based pizzas and mousses which not only didn't set, but also had quite disturbing gelatinous lumps...)
We are a society that does not want to call a spade a spade; it's a Landscaping Aid. It saturates everything that we do, so that bin men are Waste Management Engineers, call handlers are Personal Incident Managers and complete fuckwits are called Members of Parliament.
Maybe it's because there are people who won't ever be able to advance beyond their lowly stations in life, so we try to make those stations sounds better than they really are. It's kind of like lying to them and ourselves; we don't have to allow the fact that some people just aren't good enough into our world view, where anyone can become famous, as long as those who don't make it get cool-sounding jobs.
The thing is, it's only in fiction where anyone can do anything if they just try; in reality, only people with the will, drive and determination to improve themselves, push themselves and get what they want will get what they want! And, quite frankly, many people just don't have anything like that level of drive.
And that's probably why we, as British people, only like the underdogs, because they are like us; they've not put in the hard work of the 'overdog', nor do they have the talent or training, but we want them to win in spite of that. Because we're fundamentally lazy and want to be able to get what we want whilst being very unlikely to do so.
This is going to be slowly beat out of us in the next few years, I think, as London 2012 approaches. Having come 4th in the medal table as Beijing, people want more; we've remembered that winning feels good, and praising winners feels just as good and this feeling is an addictive one to a nation.
Maybe it's too much, but I'm hoping for a slight cultural revolution from London 2012. I don't want us to go to the extreme of the Yanks (USA!USA!USA!USA!), but we should raise winners and instill a winning attitude into our young people, right?
Show Johnny Foreigner what for, ey chaps?
For example, at my workplace bathroom breaks have two euphemisms: 'comfort breaks' and 'personal time'. They can't just say bathroom breaks, no, of course not, but the terms they do use summon forth entirely different images than that of people going to the bathroom; a comfort break sounds like the opportunity to leave your desk and jump into some massive pink bed and wrap yourself in soft, fluffy duvets, whereas personal time sounds like the time a teenage boy spends in front of his computer when he thinks his parents are in bed...
We have a lot of these kinds of things throughout society though, don't we? I remember taking Food Technology at school and being thoroughly disappointed, because what I got was certainly less than I'd expected. I wanted to create Royal icing robots and Marzipan monitors, not cakes and scones.
(As it was, I managed to subvert the lessons wherever I could, creating such monstrosities as chocolate bread, green-based pizzas and mousses which not only didn't set, but also had quite disturbing gelatinous lumps...)
We are a society that does not want to call a spade a spade; it's a Landscaping Aid. It saturates everything that we do, so that bin men are Waste Management Engineers, call handlers are Personal Incident Managers and complete fuckwits are called Members of Parliament.
Maybe it's because there are people who won't ever be able to advance beyond their lowly stations in life, so we try to make those stations sounds better than they really are. It's kind of like lying to them and ourselves; we don't have to allow the fact that some people just aren't good enough into our world view, where anyone can become famous, as long as those who don't make it get cool-sounding jobs.
The thing is, it's only in fiction where anyone can do anything if they just try; in reality, only people with the will, drive and determination to improve themselves, push themselves and get what they want will get what they want! And, quite frankly, many people just don't have anything like that level of drive.
And that's probably why we, as British people, only like the underdogs, because they are like us; they've not put in the hard work of the 'overdog', nor do they have the talent or training, but we want them to win in spite of that. Because we're fundamentally lazy and want to be able to get what we want whilst being very unlikely to do so.
This is going to be slowly beat out of us in the next few years, I think, as London 2012 approaches. Having come 4th in the medal table as Beijing, people want more; we've remembered that winning feels good, and praising winners feels just as good and this feeling is an addictive one to a nation.
Maybe it's too much, but I'm hoping for a slight cultural revolution from London 2012. I don't want us to go to the extreme of the Yanks (USA!USA!USA!USA!), but we should raise winners and instill a winning attitude into our young people, right?
Show Johnny Foreigner what for, ey chaps?
The Great Transfer - More Authonomy
Well, wow, there's been some serious drama and a flame war on Authonomy and that's been highly stressful and odd, but, in a weird way, I've made a few friends because of it so it's not all bad, just stressful.
At the same time, I'm working on a pitch for my book. For those who aren't in 'the know', an exclusive club that generally doesn't like to admit new members for free, so count yourselves as lucky, a pitch needs to be a short, page long description of a book so that a publisher/agent can get an idea of the kind of book that they're in for; it can be an indication of the quality of the writing, writer and plot.
So, it's pretty fucking important.
Having just read the whole of my damn book in 8 days, I have a pretty good idea of everything that happens again and find myself in a jam as to how to describe everything in the space of 300 word (250 for Authonomy... yikes...); I put so much detail, character, everything into these words and I need to sum them up to less than 0.25% of the book?
It's pretty fucking weak, but it needs to be done.
So, gentle readers, I've given it a good go and, like all my writing, am now going to leave it for a bit to stew and get a good sense of it.
Fuck, I hate the waiting, I really do, but I can really tell how good it's doing me; I'm pulling out loose threads all the time and the more distance I get the more this will happen.
I finished The World Ends With You, if you're interested, and it's truly amazing. A seriously classic game which I'll definitely play again. I'd recommend it to anyone who likes RPGs.
But buy a screen protector, because it's pretty brutal on your screen.
At the same time, I'm working on a pitch for my book. For those who aren't in 'the know', an exclusive club that generally doesn't like to admit new members for free, so count yourselves as lucky, a pitch needs to be a short, page long description of a book so that a publisher/agent can get an idea of the kind of book that they're in for; it can be an indication of the quality of the writing, writer and plot.
So, it's pretty fucking important.
Having just read the whole of my damn book in 8 days, I have a pretty good idea of everything that happens again and find myself in a jam as to how to describe everything in the space of 300 word (250 for Authonomy... yikes...); I put so much detail, character, everything into these words and I need to sum them up to less than 0.25% of the book?
It's pretty fucking weak, but it needs to be done.
So, gentle readers, I've given it a good go and, like all my writing, am now going to leave it for a bit to stew and get a good sense of it.
Fuck, I hate the waiting, I really do, but I can really tell how good it's doing me; I'm pulling out loose threads all the time and the more distance I get the more this will happen.
I finished The World Ends With You, if you're interested, and it's truly amazing. A seriously classic game which I'll definitely play again. I'd recommend it to anyone who likes RPGs.
But buy a screen protector, because it's pretty brutal on your screen.
The Great Transfer - Eclecticism
I had to go on another shopping excursion today, this time for items for myself; I needed a couple of new suits, shirts and shoes for a job I'll be starting... a week on Monday, now.
Argh!
*ahem*
Anyway, so I go to the Next Clearance store in order to see what they had but there wasn't much of any interest, so I went next door to a shoe store and got shoes.
Which has a lot more social commentary attached to it than it probably should do; the store was a discount shoe store (in the sense that they sold reduced-price shoes, not in the sense that they discounted the existence of shoes) and I was surrounded by the absolute dregs of society; people with equal numbers of hair and teeth, students, poor immigrants marveling at the price of the shoes and then there was me, who is pretty broke until I get my first wage from my new job in September. We were the lowest of the low, scrabbling for cut-price apparel.
After escaping from their clutches, I went to Moss Bros in order to buy some of their on-sale suits. Imagine my delight when I found that they were having a Bank Holiday sale of 25% off everything! I could therefore get 2 very good suits, 2 shirts and a tie for £110. Really not bad at all.
To celebrate this, I went and spent a portion (read as all) of the money I saved on books in Waterstones. I would prefer it if you don't refer me back to my comment about being broke, as books are always a special case.
I chose 3 books on the 3 for 2 sale; a reasonably cheesy horror novel, the complete works of Edgar Allen Poe... and Russel Brand's My Booky Wook.
The fitting part of all this is the T-shirt I wore when I made that purchase; it simply says 'I'm not normal'.
Argh!
*ahem*
Anyway, so I go to the Next Clearance store in order to see what they had but there wasn't much of any interest, so I went next door to a shoe store and got shoes.
Which has a lot more social commentary attached to it than it probably should do; the store was a discount shoe store (in the sense that they sold reduced-price shoes, not in the sense that they discounted the existence of shoes) and I was surrounded by the absolute dregs of society; people with equal numbers of hair and teeth, students, poor immigrants marveling at the price of the shoes and then there was me, who is pretty broke until I get my first wage from my new job in September. We were the lowest of the low, scrabbling for cut-price apparel.
After escaping from their clutches, I went to Moss Bros in order to buy some of their on-sale suits. Imagine my delight when I found that they were having a Bank Holiday sale of 25% off everything! I could therefore get 2 very good suits, 2 shirts and a tie for £110. Really not bad at all.
To celebrate this, I went and spent a portion (read as all) of the money I saved on books in Waterstones. I would prefer it if you don't refer me back to my comment about being broke, as books are always a special case.
I chose 3 books on the 3 for 2 sale; a reasonably cheesy horror novel, the complete works of Edgar Allen Poe... and Russel Brand's My Booky Wook.
The fitting part of all this is the T-shirt I wore when I made that purchase; it simply says 'I'm not normal'.
The Great Transfer - Dissolving the Union
What do people think of the proposed dissolving of the Union?
The Union of the Kingdoms, to whit the United Kingdom. Scotland seem to be heading towards complete devolution and the disbanding of Great Britain and becoming their own sovereignty, and they have some high-profile supporters, such as Sean Connery.
It will be sad to think that the Union Jack may no longer be in use within my lifetime. I say this because, with how well we've done at the Olympics this year, the SNP (Scottish National Party) will probably find a lot of resistance to pressing through becoming a separate country whilst people are still training under the Team GB banner, not least from the Scottish athletes who'll suddenly find themselves cut off and will have to buy their own shoes and mouthguards. And personally, I wouldn't be the one to tell an Olympic Boxer that he has to buy his own gloves...
Whilst it is sad, though, if the Scottish people really want to be separate from the rest of us, then they can feel free. They are, of course, ignoring the fact that the Acts of Union made Britain one of the strongest countries in the world but they're not considering one major fact:
How much we're going to charge them for that.
Think about it; our government allows banks to charge us £10 just for our statements, so imagine how much they're going to charge Scotland for the migration of millions of people's data across hundreds of databases!
"Well done Scotland, you're a free country. Now, here's your bill..."
Scotland looks down at the paper handed to it.
"There mus' be some mistake, we canno' affor' this!"
"Well, there is one thing that you could do instead of paying us..."
"And that'd be?"
"Your national anthem has to be Daphne and Celeste's song 'Ooh Stick You'."
Cut to the football match that Scotland play in and imagine 40,000 Scottish men standing up, putting their hands on their hearts and singing 'Ooh Stick You'...
That would almost be worth the dissolution of the Union. Almost.
The Union of the Kingdoms, to whit the United Kingdom. Scotland seem to be heading towards complete devolution and the disbanding of Great Britain and becoming their own sovereignty, and they have some high-profile supporters, such as Sean Connery.
It will be sad to think that the Union Jack may no longer be in use within my lifetime. I say this because, with how well we've done at the Olympics this year, the SNP (Scottish National Party) will probably find a lot of resistance to pressing through becoming a separate country whilst people are still training under the Team GB banner, not least from the Scottish athletes who'll suddenly find themselves cut off and will have to buy their own shoes and mouthguards. And personally, I wouldn't be the one to tell an Olympic Boxer that he has to buy his own gloves...
Whilst it is sad, though, if the Scottish people really want to be separate from the rest of us, then they can feel free. They are, of course, ignoring the fact that the Acts of Union made Britain one of the strongest countries in the world but they're not considering one major fact:
How much we're going to charge them for that.
Think about it; our government allows banks to charge us £10 just for our statements, so imagine how much they're going to charge Scotland for the migration of millions of people's data across hundreds of databases!
"Well done Scotland, you're a free country. Now, here's your bill..."
Scotland looks down at the paper handed to it.
"There mus' be some mistake, we canno' affor' this!"
"Well, there is one thing that you could do instead of paying us..."
"And that'd be?"
"Your national anthem has to be Daphne and Celeste's song 'Ooh Stick You'."
Cut to the football match that Scotland play in and imagine 40,000 Scottish men standing up, putting their hands on their hearts and singing 'Ooh Stick You'...
That would almost be worth the dissolution of the Union. Almost.
The Great Transfer - Authonomy
You were going to be treated to a long, existential and nihilistic post... but then the cat demanded food and my sheer love for him brought me back down to earth.
So, I'll talk about Authonomy instead.
They have implemented some interesting, exciting new changes, wherein people and books are rated and the highest rated books will now be sent off to HarperCollins for their perusal. It's certainly very interesting and I really look forward to seeing how it takes off.
The most interesting thing will be how new books are received and their chances of getting to the top. It's no surprise that the top-rated commenter on Authonomy also has the highest-rated book; a certain degree of clique-ness has been bred into the system, as the people who are the highest rated are rather incestuous with whose books they 'back'.
Though, I must say, the same can be said about myself in the small clique of speculative writers; I'm the top-rated Horror and Sci-fi commenter and I have only commented on speculative fiction. If HC decided to take the top ranked book from each genre, then it may be someone who has my writing on their bookshelf.
Thinking about it, though, maybe the system will sort itself out after a couple of months, when Authonomy is thrown open to the general public and we'll be getting thousands of other books on there. The influx of people will decimate the clique nature of the site and only the strongest books will float to the top.
Now, is that a good thing because I think mine will swim when I'm ready to throw it into the litera-sea (hah!) or a bad thing because I fear the exact opposite?
So, I'll talk about Authonomy instead.
They have implemented some interesting, exciting new changes, wherein people and books are rated and the highest rated books will now be sent off to HarperCollins for their perusal. It's certainly very interesting and I really look forward to seeing how it takes off.
The most interesting thing will be how new books are received and their chances of getting to the top. It's no surprise that the top-rated commenter on Authonomy also has the highest-rated book; a certain degree of clique-ness has been bred into the system, as the people who are the highest rated are rather incestuous with whose books they 'back'.
Though, I must say, the same can be said about myself in the small clique of speculative writers; I'm the top-rated Horror and Sci-fi commenter and I have only commented on speculative fiction. If HC decided to take the top ranked book from each genre, then it may be someone who has my writing on their bookshelf.
Thinking about it, though, maybe the system will sort itself out after a couple of months, when Authonomy is thrown open to the general public and we'll be getting thousands of other books on there. The influx of people will decimate the clique nature of the site and only the strongest books will float to the top.
Now, is that a good thing because I think mine will swim when I'm ready to throw it into the litera-sea (hah!) or a bad thing because I fear the exact opposite?
The Great Transfer - Justice
There has been a lot of confession and no ranting recently, again, so I shall embark upon a spewing spree;
Who actively campaigns for Human Rights in this country any more? We have a ratified constitution which the EU enforces onto us which any criminal will be able to cite if they feel that their Rights are being contravened, so there is more than sufficient precedent that these people just need a semi-decent lawyer and NOT a string of middle-Britain busybodies ensuring that more, random Human Rights are given to people.
Case in point, the recent story about the terrorists responsible for the car bombing of Glasgow Airport. We cannot deport these people back to their native countries because the conditions there are worse than they are here.
That's right, my friends; we cannot expunge ourselves of a group of people who actively plotted to destroy our fellow countrymen because they'll face a hard life in their own countries. How fucking stupid is that? Seriously, these people should realistically have forfeited their rights as soon as they decided to commit indiscriminate murder.
Why don't we try to enforce Human Responsibilities? Why don't we say that if you rape someone, you try to murder them, you peddle drugs to them and permanently fuck their health, you steal millions of pounds and ruin just as many lives, you have forfeited your Human Rights because you haven't acted like a FUCKING HUMAN?
We already technically do it; we force them into prisons, which surely contravenes their right to not stay in the same room for fifteen years? Why not take it a step further and make it so that people who commit crimes above a certain level, say one year's prison time, lose a series of their human rights?
Again, there is precedence; after you've been to prison, you can't vote. So why not say that you don't have the right to claim asylum, or to claim benefits from the government for doing F' all?
Obviously, here would need to be a reintegration scheme which would allow those who genuinely want to repent; say, a five year scheme in which they are placed into jobs which match their skills and are monitored regularly. After the five years, though, employers would not have the right to know what crime they had committed when considering them for a job?
(Notable exceptions: sexual and financial crimes.)
I am such a serious, non-liberal, aren't I? I guess I just have a really strong sense of justice and know how I think people should pay for their actions.
In pain, comparable with the pain which they have caused to others.
Who actively campaigns for Human Rights in this country any more? We have a ratified constitution which the EU enforces onto us which any criminal will be able to cite if they feel that their Rights are being contravened, so there is more than sufficient precedent that these people just need a semi-decent lawyer and NOT a string of middle-Britain busybodies ensuring that more, random Human Rights are given to people.
Case in point, the recent story about the terrorists responsible for the car bombing of Glasgow Airport. We cannot deport these people back to their native countries because the conditions there are worse than they are here.
That's right, my friends; we cannot expunge ourselves of a group of people who actively plotted to destroy our fellow countrymen because they'll face a hard life in their own countries. How fucking stupid is that? Seriously, these people should realistically have forfeited their rights as soon as they decided to commit indiscriminate murder.
Why don't we try to enforce Human Responsibilities? Why don't we say that if you rape someone, you try to murder them, you peddle drugs to them and permanently fuck their health, you steal millions of pounds and ruin just as many lives, you have forfeited your Human Rights because you haven't acted like a FUCKING HUMAN?
We already technically do it; we force them into prisons, which surely contravenes their right to not stay in the same room for fifteen years? Why not take it a step further and make it so that people who commit crimes above a certain level, say one year's prison time, lose a series of their human rights?
Again, there is precedence; after you've been to prison, you can't vote. So why not say that you don't have the right to claim asylum, or to claim benefits from the government for doing F' all?
Obviously, here would need to be a reintegration scheme which would allow those who genuinely want to repent; say, a five year scheme in which they are placed into jobs which match their skills and are monitored regularly. After the five years, though, employers would not have the right to know what crime they had committed when considering them for a job?
(Notable exceptions: sexual and financial crimes.)
I am such a serious, non-liberal, aren't I? I guess I just have a really strong sense of justice and know how I think people should pay for their actions.
In pain, comparable with the pain which they have caused to others.
The Great Transfer - RPGs
I've finished going through my current manuscript and changing it into the active voice. Not all that bad; 136k+ words edited in 8 days. I've spent a lot of my spare time in a concerted effort to enact my writing and I feel pretty damn accomplished to have gotten it all done in such a short period of time.
I started to play a game called The World Ends With You for the Nintendo DS and I would really recommend it to anyone; it's fun, interesting, original and stylish, a strange thing to say about a video game, really. I can't say too much about it for fear of spoiling anything for you, but it's really touched me, grabbed my interest and excited me, the first time I can remember being genuinely excited by a game in quite some time.
It also tells a really good story, which brings about the point of how much of a storytelling medium video games can be. I personally think that you can tell powerful stories through gaming because of your involvement with the game; either as the main character or the emotional attachments which you generate with the named, specific people which you meet during the story.
I have been seriously influence by Final Fantasy 7, which I believe was the first RPG I ever played; it predated Pokemon and Diablo, two games which I played to death as a child. The vast story, world and intricate characters and battle systems really set my mind alight and really explains why I love RPGs so much... every one of them reminds me of that first adventure with Cloud, Tifa and Aeris, out of Midgard.
You could easily argue that this game and its scope and plot had a huge influence on me and explain a lot about my gaming preferences and history. I still have an unopened copy of FF7 upstairs, enshrined against the world like some kind of demonic jar that holds the greatest possible succubus.
For once, I don't have a point; it's just an expulsion of kinds. So, there's no punchline, I'm afraid.
Or is there...?
No, no there isn't.
I started to play a game called The World Ends With You for the Nintendo DS and I would really recommend it to anyone; it's fun, interesting, original and stylish, a strange thing to say about a video game, really. I can't say too much about it for fear of spoiling anything for you, but it's really touched me, grabbed my interest and excited me, the first time I can remember being genuinely excited by a game in quite some time.
It also tells a really good story, which brings about the point of how much of a storytelling medium video games can be. I personally think that you can tell powerful stories through gaming because of your involvement with the game; either as the main character or the emotional attachments which you generate with the named, specific people which you meet during the story.
I have been seriously influence by Final Fantasy 7, which I believe was the first RPG I ever played; it predated Pokemon and Diablo, two games which I played to death as a child. The vast story, world and intricate characters and battle systems really set my mind alight and really explains why I love RPGs so much... every one of them reminds me of that first adventure with Cloud, Tifa and Aeris, out of Midgard.
You could easily argue that this game and its scope and plot had a huge influence on me and explain a lot about my gaming preferences and history. I still have an unopened copy of FF7 upstairs, enshrined against the world like some kind of demonic jar that holds the greatest possible succubus.
For once, I don't have a point; it's just an expulsion of kinds. So, there's no punchline, I'm afraid.
Or is there...?
No, no there isn't.
The Great Transfer - Speculative Separation
When it comes to my writing, I have two very different spheres of interest; I use my Horror sensibilities to write short stories and my Fantasy and Sci-Fi leanings in order to write my novels (yes, I've managed more than 1 now, technically).
I don't know why it's separated so. It could be the affects that H.P. Lovecraft and Stephen King have had on my literary growth; Lovecraft wrote almost entirely in short stories or novellas and King placed great importance on them as well, having likened them to a kiss in the darkness from a stranger.
I came across them in reverse-chronological order, really; I have been reading King, including his short stories, since my library card first allowed me to take out adult books. My childhood was filled with the demons and creatures of his imagination, as well as many other's.
I've wanted to be a writer for so long now and I had always thought that I would be a Horror writer and getting into Lovecraft after having played a game of the Call of Cthulhu Tabletop RPG only reinforced this. I had started writing a novel already but that went ignored whilst, in any spare writing time I had, I worked on short stories.
However, something seemed to happen to me at about the age of 20; I started to stretch my imagination much more than I had done previously and started to design entire worlds and grand plots. It could have been the affect which playing in several, interesting Roleplaying games had on me, but I'm not exactly certain what it was.
Anyway, this splinter of my imagination began to grow and grow and I picked up the ignored novel again, to improve it and expand upon the basic ideas that I'd set out as a teenager. This would become my first novel, as twisted and pathetic as it is.
My imagination has, therefore, split amoeba-like into two equal parts. Every idea which I write down in my journal is qualified with an idea of where it would fit; tens of short stories and at least 4 novels lay in that journal, hoping like sub-writers to be published by the process of my writing.
I'm getting this out primarily because I've started to get comments on my work on the website Authonomy and am part of a strange little Cabal (the title of one of my short stories, oh how witty I am) of other, primarily short story writing, people on there and I feel as though I may almost betray them when I eventually put up my latest novel for their perusal, savaging or praise.
So, if any of them read this, at least they'll know that I feel a little guilty. Either that, or they'll think me an over-sensitive twat.
I don't know why it's separated so. It could be the affects that H.P. Lovecraft and Stephen King have had on my literary growth; Lovecraft wrote almost entirely in short stories or novellas and King placed great importance on them as well, having likened them to a kiss in the darkness from a stranger.
I came across them in reverse-chronological order, really; I have been reading King, including his short stories, since my library card first allowed me to take out adult books. My childhood was filled with the demons and creatures of his imagination, as well as many other's.
I've wanted to be a writer for so long now and I had always thought that I would be a Horror writer and getting into Lovecraft after having played a game of the Call of Cthulhu Tabletop RPG only reinforced this. I had started writing a novel already but that went ignored whilst, in any spare writing time I had, I worked on short stories.
However, something seemed to happen to me at about the age of 20; I started to stretch my imagination much more than I had done previously and started to design entire worlds and grand plots. It could have been the affect which playing in several, interesting Roleplaying games had on me, but I'm not exactly certain what it was.
Anyway, this splinter of my imagination began to grow and grow and I picked up the ignored novel again, to improve it and expand upon the basic ideas that I'd set out as a teenager. This would become my first novel, as twisted and pathetic as it is.
My imagination has, therefore, split amoeba-like into two equal parts. Every idea which I write down in my journal is qualified with an idea of where it would fit; tens of short stories and at least 4 novels lay in that journal, hoping like sub-writers to be published by the process of my writing.
I'm getting this out primarily because I've started to get comments on my work on the website Authonomy and am part of a strange little Cabal (the title of one of my short stories, oh how witty I am) of other, primarily short story writing, people on there and I feel as though I may almost betray them when I eventually put up my latest novel for their perusal, savaging or praise.
So, if any of them read this, at least they'll know that I feel a little guilty. Either that, or they'll think me an over-sensitive twat.
The Great Transfer - Tribalism
Football, or any sport, is an interesting display of man's intrinsic need to form tribes and their rejections of others based solely on which tribe they belong to.
I am an Arsenal fan, owing to family history, and have been since I can remember; my first bib bore the rather trite epitaph 'I dribble better than Arsenal' and I was periodically bought new Arsenal shirts and kits as I grew up. I have always loved the team, shared in their triumphs and their shames, and it's basically a part of me.
Weird, I know, considering.
However, being an Arsenal fan comes with a series of provisos, automatic drawbacks to a quality, in roleplaying terms; you must have at least a passing dislike of all other Premier League, London-based teams, a healthy hatred for Tottenham Hotspurs' fans and an outright vendetta against Manchester United fans. So this means that, in spite of my better nature and intelligence, I automatically don't like millions of people which I've never even met.
It goes worse than that; I judge everyone who does support a football team on the basis of who they support. Many teams don't warrant a major judgement; any team outside of the Premier League gets an automatic bye and most teams in it do as well, depending on their history with Arsenal.
I don't consider myself a judgemental person when it comes to dealing with actual people; I always give them a chance in spite of their appearance, race, gender, education level, intelligence level, religion etc. etc....
Your choice of football team, though, in spite of the fact that the factors in who you choose will be largely familial or geographical, can instantly move you down in my estimations.
Which brings me onto my point; my tribal instincts seem to have latched themselves onto Football as a way of defining myself and others. Other people choose race, religion, appearance or wealth and the like in order to filter out those who do not need considering in their lives; I'd say that almost everyone has some kind of filter like that and almost no-one can claim to not harbour these prejudices within themselves.
Actually, in writing this, I'm almost glad that I've chosen something so trivial; you don't have to follow sports and the team you support are only one, very small, part of any person. If I chose religion, appearance etc. then I would probably be a bit of a bastard, but, as it is, I'm just applying bloke-logic in order to sate darker instincts.
The new season kicks off in earnest tomorrow; 9 months of agony, joy and the build-up of new bile against people I've never met.
I can't wait!
I am an Arsenal fan, owing to family history, and have been since I can remember; my first bib bore the rather trite epitaph 'I dribble better than Arsenal' and I was periodically bought new Arsenal shirts and kits as I grew up. I have always loved the team, shared in their triumphs and their shames, and it's basically a part of me.
Weird, I know, considering.
However, being an Arsenal fan comes with a series of provisos, automatic drawbacks to a quality, in roleplaying terms; you must have at least a passing dislike of all other Premier League, London-based teams, a healthy hatred for Tottenham Hotspurs' fans and an outright vendetta against Manchester United fans. So this means that, in spite of my better nature and intelligence, I automatically don't like millions of people which I've never even met.
It goes worse than that; I judge everyone who does support a football team on the basis of who they support. Many teams don't warrant a major judgement; any team outside of the Premier League gets an automatic bye and most teams in it do as well, depending on their history with Arsenal.
I don't consider myself a judgemental person when it comes to dealing with actual people; I always give them a chance in spite of their appearance, race, gender, education level, intelligence level, religion etc. etc....
Your choice of football team, though, in spite of the fact that the factors in who you choose will be largely familial or geographical, can instantly move you down in my estimations.
Which brings me onto my point; my tribal instincts seem to have latched themselves onto Football as a way of defining myself and others. Other people choose race, religion, appearance or wealth and the like in order to filter out those who do not need considering in their lives; I'd say that almost everyone has some kind of filter like that and almost no-one can claim to not harbour these prejudices within themselves.
Actually, in writing this, I'm almost glad that I've chosen something so trivial; you don't have to follow sports and the team you support are only one, very small, part of any person. If I chose religion, appearance etc. then I would probably be a bit of a bastard, but, as it is, I'm just applying bloke-logic in order to sate darker instincts.
The new season kicks off in earnest tomorrow; 9 months of agony, joy and the build-up of new bile against people I've never met.
I can't wait!
The Great Transfer - Advertising
Two things in advertising annoy me immensely; international adverts and needless CGI.
When I see an advert for something, such as yogurt, and the children's voices in no way match their mouths, I want to scream! Surely, as multi-national company as yourselves should have just about enough money to produce adverts specific to the LANGUAGE OF THE FUCKING COUNTRY THEY'RE BEING SHOWN IN.
You can probably get away with it when the languages are quite similar in the mouth-movements required, such as Austria and Germany and Holland and Sweden, but at no point do FRENCH adverts work when voiced-over with ENGLISH words.
There's an even worse example on at the moment; an advert for a pen in which you can clearly see that the children have written in German. And it's not only once and I, being an owlish pedant, picked it out to get annoyed at; the advert clearly shows a close up of the German writing for quite some time.
But it doesn't irk me as much as pointless CGI; when a company, such as a crisp company, create a packet of crisps in 3dMAX instead of just FILMING A FUCKING PACKET OF CRISPS. I know that you're hoping that, if the advert is as hilarious as everyone in the office thinks it is, that you can re-use it when you reduce the size of the packet and change the packaging accordingly, but guess what; NO!
I know that isn't a sensible argument, but NO!
NO!
You have wasted hundred of pounds when you could have just nipped into the factory and taken a packet of crisps. You're not embracing the modern world; you're disregarding your mind and common sense.
I know how much unemployment this would cause, we'd have people sitting on street corners with laptops in front of them displaying a Photoshop-ed image saying "Will Model For Food", but it would be worth it so that I wouldn't have to keep breaking remote controls with my teeth.
When I see an advert for something, such as yogurt, and the children's voices in no way match their mouths, I want to scream! Surely, as multi-national company as yourselves should have just about enough money to produce adverts specific to the LANGUAGE OF THE FUCKING COUNTRY THEY'RE BEING SHOWN IN.
You can probably get away with it when the languages are quite similar in the mouth-movements required, such as Austria and Germany and Holland and Sweden, but at no point do FRENCH adverts work when voiced-over with ENGLISH words.
There's an even worse example on at the moment; an advert for a pen in which you can clearly see that the children have written in German. And it's not only once and I, being an owlish pedant, picked it out to get annoyed at; the advert clearly shows a close up of the German writing for quite some time.
But it doesn't irk me as much as pointless CGI; when a company, such as a crisp company, create a packet of crisps in 3dMAX instead of just FILMING A FUCKING PACKET OF CRISPS. I know that you're hoping that, if the advert is as hilarious as everyone in the office thinks it is, that you can re-use it when you reduce the size of the packet and change the packaging accordingly, but guess what; NO!
I know that isn't a sensible argument, but NO!
NO!
You have wasted hundred of pounds when you could have just nipped into the factory and taken a packet of crisps. You're not embracing the modern world; you're disregarding your mind and common sense.
I know how much unemployment this would cause, we'd have people sitting on street corners with laptops in front of them displaying a Photoshop-ed image saying "Will Model For Food", but it would be worth it so that I wouldn't have to keep breaking remote controls with my teeth.
The Great Transfer - Theists of the world, disband!
I don't think that God could ever unite people under one religion, without constant intervention at every level.
I'll explain my point; let's say that God appears at the Olympics and says to everyone "I want to unite you all under my name, to spread peace throughout the globe. So, stop hating one another, treat alternative sexualities equally and give women full equal rights, including over their own body."
Mass media coverage would ensue and everywhere we would see the images of The Lord. Church leaders would appear on every possible program and they would rejoice.
Temporarily.
After a few days, though, people would start to argue about how we should follow the Lord's words; the Muslims would say we should unite under Islam, the Christians Christianity, the Jews would say Judaism etc.... Arguments would break out that would become wars and we would not match God's intentions in the slightest. The problem being that all three of those major religions come from the same Abrahamic roots and so they would be entirely inseparable.
And so we would end up in all out Holy War and God would be in heaven doing /facepalm.
He would, therefore, have to break in during every conversation in order to make sure that we didn't misinterpret his words. Because we would always apply our own prejudices, beliefs and convictions to whatever was said.
This would probably also apply to the comments about homosexuals and women; religious bigots would say that he had been speaking figuratively or something like that so that they could continue to oppress as they had done before.
So, religious unity, not an option. Atheistic unity though, may be, but we'd only be united in our disbelief in God; we'd almost certainly find other creative ways to hate one another.
If we are made in God's image, he must seriously always fight with Jesus and the Holy Ghost.
I'll explain my point; let's say that God appears at the Olympics and says to everyone "I want to unite you all under my name, to spread peace throughout the globe. So, stop hating one another, treat alternative sexualities equally and give women full equal rights, including over their own body."
Mass media coverage would ensue and everywhere we would see the images of The Lord. Church leaders would appear on every possible program and they would rejoice.
Temporarily.
After a few days, though, people would start to argue about how we should follow the Lord's words; the Muslims would say we should unite under Islam, the Christians Christianity, the Jews would say Judaism etc.... Arguments would break out that would become wars and we would not match God's intentions in the slightest. The problem being that all three of those major religions come from the same Abrahamic roots and so they would be entirely inseparable.
And so we would end up in all out Holy War and God would be in heaven doing /facepalm.
He would, therefore, have to break in during every conversation in order to make sure that we didn't misinterpret his words. Because we would always apply our own prejudices, beliefs and convictions to whatever was said.
This would probably also apply to the comments about homosexuals and women; religious bigots would say that he had been speaking figuratively or something like that so that they could continue to oppress as they had done before.
So, religious unity, not an option. Atheistic unity though, may be, but we'd only be united in our disbelief in God; we'd almost certainly find other creative ways to hate one another.
If we are made in God's image, he must seriously always fight with Jesus and the Holy Ghost.
The Great Transfer - Passivator
Stumble brought The Passivator to my attention late on Saturday night. I had a look at it and it seemed to be a nifty piece of code.
As you may know, I have just finished the first draft of my novel and it is all printed out and lovely. I thought, just for a laugh, that I would convert the Word document into a HTML page and use the Passivator on it.
Oh. My. Titty-fucking. God.
I wrote almost 50% of it in the Passive voice! And, when you're looking at 136000+ words, that's a metric fuckload of pacifism.
I have, therefore, been spending every spare moment I've had since then going through the novel and Activating it (which sounds a lot cooler than it is). I am just over a quarter of the way through and I've been at it for hours.
Of course, I've not been able to ignore the glaring factual, grammatical and logical errors which I come across during this, so I've had to correct those as well.
So, I'm annoyed to announce that my second draft should be ready by the end of the week. I am going to have to put the old, first draft for recycling... what a damn waste. Every time I use a recycled-paper product, now, I will think "The novel was poorly written by the author"...
Gah!
As you may know, I have just finished the first draft of my novel and it is all printed out and lovely. I thought, just for a laugh, that I would convert the Word document into a HTML page and use the Passivator on it.
Oh. My. Titty-fucking. God.
I wrote almost 50% of it in the Passive voice! And, when you're looking at 136000+ words, that's a metric fuckload of pacifism.
I have, therefore, been spending every spare moment I've had since then going through the novel and Activating it (which sounds a lot cooler than it is). I am just over a quarter of the way through and I've been at it for hours.
Of course, I've not been able to ignore the glaring factual, grammatical and logical errors which I come across during this, so I've had to correct those as well.
So, I'm annoyed to announce that my second draft should be ready by the end of the week. I am going to have to put the old, first draft for recycling... what a damn waste. Every time I use a recycled-paper product, now, I will think "The novel was poorly written by the author"...
Gah!
The Great Transfer - Slugs
When it rains around here, slugs and snails burst forth from all grassy areas and roam across the pavements, congregating on any dropped food or droppings which may have been left by us; gastropod Wombles, of sorts.
Unfortunately for the slugs and snails, no-one seems to pay much care to them and they get trodden on quite often, exploding like squidgey land mines. That's why, when I was walking back from a trip to the supermarket, I was walking amidst a horrific battlefield of mollusks versus humans, and there was only ever going to be one loser.
The humans.
No, no, I kid. I certainly wouldn't be letting the world know about some kind of mollusk massacre through a blog anyway, though there are some people who may actually consider the internet to be a sensible medium for such things.
Anyway, walking amidst the crushed corpses of slugs and snails, I wondered why they would actually break from their grassy cover; surely it only ever resulted in heavy casualties for relatively little gain? Now, I'm not expecting these things to be tactical masters in any respect, if they were then they would probably make nighttime sojourns to claim nutrients, right?, but I'm thinking that evolution would surely mean that those slugs who didn't get a size 10 hug were able to pass on these sensibilities to their offspring?
But I suppose that it's a way of controlling the slug population; they ensure that there is plenty of food to go around by putting in this instinct for the brash and the brainless to rush out into the pavements going "Wooo! Yeah! Fuck you other slugs, I'm in the pavement and I ru... *splat*." It would have to be a recessive gene in order to ensure that plenty of these creatures get the same instincts, but it would explain a lot.
Yes, this post is meant to be witty, but it also brings about an interesting allegory; what if our deep divisions and predilection to kill one another is the human version of a pavement dash?
Unfortunately for the slugs and snails, no-one seems to pay much care to them and they get trodden on quite often, exploding like squidgey land mines. That's why, when I was walking back from a trip to the supermarket, I was walking amidst a horrific battlefield of mollusks versus humans, and there was only ever going to be one loser.
The humans.
No, no, I kid. I certainly wouldn't be letting the world know about some kind of mollusk massacre through a blog anyway, though there are some people who may actually consider the internet to be a sensible medium for such things.
Anyway, walking amidst the crushed corpses of slugs and snails, I wondered why they would actually break from their grassy cover; surely it only ever resulted in heavy casualties for relatively little gain? Now, I'm not expecting these things to be tactical masters in any respect, if they were then they would probably make nighttime sojourns to claim nutrients, right?, but I'm thinking that evolution would surely mean that those slugs who didn't get a size 10 hug were able to pass on these sensibilities to their offspring?
But I suppose that it's a way of controlling the slug population; they ensure that there is plenty of food to go around by putting in this instinct for the brash and the brainless to rush out into the pavements going "Wooo! Yeah! Fuck you other slugs, I'm in the pavement and I ru... *splat*." It would have to be a recessive gene in order to ensure that plenty of these creatures get the same instincts, but it would explain a lot.
Yes, this post is meant to be witty, but it also brings about an interesting allegory; what if our deep divisions and predilection to kill one another is the human version of a pavement dash?
The Great Transfer - Visceral
"I don't get it," my girlfriend said to me, about eighteen months ago. "I don't get how people can like watching stuff like Saw. I prefer something that's intelligent, interesting, visceral."
(Please note, I am paraphrasing. I'm not that great a boyfriend that I've memorized everything that she has ever said to me.)
"No, you don't," I replied. "You don't like visceral things, that's your point."
"Erm... yes, I do."
"No, visceral means bloody or to do with organs etc."
"No, no, it means something that's thoughtful, emotional, clever."
By this point I was very perplexed. "Visceral comes from the word viscera, which means the guts etc. You remove someone's viscera when you eviscerate them."
"We'll see," she replied, ominously, and we continued with our day.
That night, I turned on my laptop and went to dictionary.com for a definition of visceral. Sure enough, there was this definition;
vis·cer·al
Pronunciation[vis-er-uhl]
-adjective
1. of or pertaining to the viscera.
2. affecting the viscera.
3. of the nature of or resembling viscera.
4. characterized by or proceeding from instinct rather than intellect: a visceral reaction.
5. characterized by or dealing with coarse or base emotions; earthy; crude: a visceral literary style.
"See," I said and pointed my laptop at her, sadly glad to be right for once. It's hard to be with someone who's more intelligent than you are when you consider yourself to be intelligent, and sometimes it regrettably brings out lesser qualities in me.
"Hmmm. Go down," she said, and I dutifully scrolled down. There we found an entry from the Online Etymology Dictionary which stated the following;
visceral
1575, "affecting inward feelings," from M.Fr. viscéral, from M.L. visceralis "internal," from L. viscera, pl. of viscus "internal organ," of unknown origin. The bowels were regarded as the seat of emotion. The figurative sense vanished after 1640 and the literal sense is first recorded in 1794. The figurative sense was revived 1940s in arts criticism.
"Ha!" she declared. "We're both right!"
Now, despite my definition having been the main, proper usage of the word, it is apparently now deemed as a ridiculous way to use it! Ever since this little altercation, I've spotted the word in countless reviews, books and websites being used in what I think of as 'My Girlfriend's Way'. Whenever I use it, I almost feel embarrassed to do so, as though I'm the only person in the world who understands that 'sorry' should be a swear word.
I must have picked up the word visceral from a fellow, literal purist or I must have extrapolated its meaning from the word eviscerate (eviscerate -> viscera -> visceral) but, despite my entirely sensible logic, I'm in the minority.
It's not visceral wonder that the English language is so hard to learn!
(Please note, I am paraphrasing. I'm not that great a boyfriend that I've memorized everything that she has ever said to me.)
"No, you don't," I replied. "You don't like visceral things, that's your point."
"Erm... yes, I do."
"No, visceral means bloody or to do with organs etc."
"No, no, it means something that's thoughtful, emotional, clever."
By this point I was very perplexed. "Visceral comes from the word viscera, which means the guts etc. You remove someone's viscera when you eviscerate them."
"We'll see," she replied, ominously, and we continued with our day.
That night, I turned on my laptop and went to dictionary.com for a definition of visceral. Sure enough, there was this definition;
vis·cer·al
Pronunciation[vis-er-uhl]
-adjective
1. of or pertaining to the viscera.
2. affecting the viscera.
3. of the nature of or resembling viscera.
4. characterized by or proceeding from instinct rather than intellect: a visceral reaction.
5. characterized by or dealing with coarse or base emotions; earthy; crude: a visceral literary style.
"See," I said and pointed my laptop at her, sadly glad to be right for once. It's hard to be with someone who's more intelligent than you are when you consider yourself to be intelligent, and sometimes it regrettably brings out lesser qualities in me.
"Hmmm. Go down," she said, and I dutifully scrolled down. There we found an entry from the Online Etymology Dictionary which stated the following;
visceral
1575, "affecting inward feelings," from M.Fr. viscéral, from M.L. visceralis "internal," from L. viscera, pl. of viscus "internal organ," of unknown origin. The bowels were regarded as the seat of emotion. The figurative sense vanished after 1640 and the literal sense is first recorded in 1794. The figurative sense was revived 1940s in arts criticism.
"Ha!" she declared. "We're both right!"
Now, despite my definition having been the main, proper usage of the word, it is apparently now deemed as a ridiculous way to use it! Ever since this little altercation, I've spotted the word in countless reviews, books and websites being used in what I think of as 'My Girlfriend's Way'. Whenever I use it, I almost feel embarrassed to do so, as though I'm the only person in the world who understands that 'sorry' should be a swear word.
I must have picked up the word visceral from a fellow, literal purist or I must have extrapolated its meaning from the word eviscerate (eviscerate -> viscera -> visceral) but, despite my entirely sensible logic, I'm in the minority.
It's not visceral wonder that the English language is so hard to learn!
The Great Transfer - Cyber-Historians
In a hundred years, do you think we're going to get Cyber-archaeologists? People who delve through the terabytes and terabytes of information which we produce on a daily basis in order to derive some historical value from the posts and news they find?
Historians are going to be almost spoilt for choice, with the sheer amount of evidence which is going to be available to them in taking stock of our society. An embarrassment of embarrassments.
It would certainly be interesting to see the kinds of methods they would use to mine the vast, vast amount of information in order to gleam anything of use. Advanced sorts which would be the equivalent of deep-sea diving, pushing aside the masses and masses of pr0n (lol, pr0n) and delving through the blogospheres and news sites in order to find some version of the truth of our society.
When I think of it, I imagine some kind of virtual reality in which people walk through the labyrinths of HTML, XML and the like, holding torches which visualize sorting methods into different levels of light so that they know when their AIs believe they are close to something of use. The reason why I imagine that people would do this is because I don't believe that Artificial Emotion will have advanced to the point where we could trust a construct to be able to tell the difference between a rare and wonderful post made by a future political hero when they were 13 and another piece of random trolling.
I'm sticking to a strictly imaginary world at the moment because of a serious personal event which nigh-on paralyze my vocabulary when I think about it, to the point where I'd be able to post nothing but an incomprehensible choir of rank swear words.
So, do you share my little fantasy about Cyber-Historians? Or do you think I'm living in a strange, over-romanced psyche?
Historians are going to be almost spoilt for choice, with the sheer amount of evidence which is going to be available to them in taking stock of our society. An embarrassment of embarrassments.
It would certainly be interesting to see the kinds of methods they would use to mine the vast, vast amount of information in order to gleam anything of use. Advanced sorts which would be the equivalent of deep-sea diving, pushing aside the masses and masses of pr0n (lol, pr0n) and delving through the blogospheres and news sites in order to find some version of the truth of our society.
When I think of it, I imagine some kind of virtual reality in which people walk through the labyrinths of HTML, XML and the like, holding torches which visualize sorting methods into different levels of light so that they know when their AIs believe they are close to something of use. The reason why I imagine that people would do this is because I don't believe that Artificial Emotion will have advanced to the point where we could trust a construct to be able to tell the difference between a rare and wonderful post made by a future political hero when they were 13 and another piece of random trolling.
I'm sticking to a strictly imaginary world at the moment because of a serious personal event which nigh-on paralyze my vocabulary when I think about it, to the point where I'd be able to post nothing but an incomprehensible choir of rank swear words.
So, do you share my little fantasy about Cyber-Historians? Or do you think I'm living in a strange, over-romanced psyche?
The Great Transfer - Healthy Contempt
I'm finding it difficult to get any serious writing done. Not that I class this blog as silly writing in some way, though others may accuse me of that; I just mean that I'm finding that I can't get any writing done on my other, side projects.
I almost feel like I'm cheating on the novel which I finished the first draft of about three weeks ago; that pouring efforts into another piece is tantamount to literary infidelity. Fuck knows why I feel like this; I wasn't the same during the cooldown period of my last novel - I was writing short stories as though the world depended on each touch of the keyboard, each carefully picked word.
Then again, I'm fully aware that my previous novel was an abomination; it jumped all over the place, didn't have strong enough characterization, was inconsistent and amateurish. Even after two solid edits, in which the novel improved massively, it was still a misshapen swarm of clichés and swollen, bulbous metaphors marshaled by an incomplete and unaccomplished plot.
As you can tell, I have a healthy contempt for that novel, despite it easily representing 200+ hours of my life. My reasons for doing so are that I know I can now do a much better job than I did back then and I resent my younger self for saddling me with such a confidence burden.
I feel completely different about the novel I just drafted - I have some high hopes for it - but I already know that it's going to need a serious mauling in order to get it readable.
Maybe I'm having a kind of holiday from writing; I've found myself reading more voraciously, I'm spewing my thoughts onto this blog, to the presumable detriment to you, poor reader, and my appetite for games has increased somewhat. Maybe I'm trying to distance myself from my novel, from my writing, so that the eyes I use to judge my novel at the beginning of September, when I start work on the second draft, are fresh and honest.
That makes sense, but it's left me grumpy, snappy and lost. I feel like I have no real sense of self, of purpose, without a novel to be working on. Writing has become such a part of my identity that, when it's removed, I don't know who I am any longer and I feel I've been taking this out on those around me.
Hmmm, it seems I have some apologizing to do. Thanks, Internet, you've been of great help to me.
I almost feel like I'm cheating on the novel which I finished the first draft of about three weeks ago; that pouring efforts into another piece is tantamount to literary infidelity. Fuck knows why I feel like this; I wasn't the same during the cooldown period of my last novel - I was writing short stories as though the world depended on each touch of the keyboard, each carefully picked word.
Then again, I'm fully aware that my previous novel was an abomination; it jumped all over the place, didn't have strong enough characterization, was inconsistent and amateurish. Even after two solid edits, in which the novel improved massively, it was still a misshapen swarm of clichés and swollen, bulbous metaphors marshaled by an incomplete and unaccomplished plot.
As you can tell, I have a healthy contempt for that novel, despite it easily representing 200+ hours of my life. My reasons for doing so are that I know I can now do a much better job than I did back then and I resent my younger self for saddling me with such a confidence burden.
I feel completely different about the novel I just drafted - I have some high hopes for it - but I already know that it's going to need a serious mauling in order to get it readable.
Maybe I'm having a kind of holiday from writing; I've found myself reading more voraciously, I'm spewing my thoughts onto this blog, to the presumable detriment to you, poor reader, and my appetite for games has increased somewhat. Maybe I'm trying to distance myself from my novel, from my writing, so that the eyes I use to judge my novel at the beginning of September, when I start work on the second draft, are fresh and honest.
That makes sense, but it's left me grumpy, snappy and lost. I feel like I have no real sense of self, of purpose, without a novel to be working on. Writing has become such a part of my identity that, when it's removed, I don't know who I am any longer and I feel I've been taking this out on those around me.
Hmmm, it seems I have some apologizing to do. Thanks, Internet, you've been of great help to me.
The Great Transfer - Of Tights and Kids
Today, I panicked over which tights were the correct ones to buy for my girlfriend, despite having been given explicit written instructions as to what to get. I think I can empathize now with people a few generations above me who go into Game or HMV in order to buy a Wii-S-360; tights and other such female clothing is an entirely alien world to me, one with dark, esoteric terms such as Denier and exacting scientific measurements which laid nude (a little bit of a pun there, as nude is a colour of tights. Feel free to laugh) my inadequacies in such an environment.
Still, I was able to follow the instructions and now feel that I understand a lot more about tights and 'pop-socks', so I'll be able to make another such trip with only half the level of panic. I'd call that a success, myself.
This little stocking sojourn, my delve into Denier, if you will, took place during my lunch break. Whilst heading to Subway to get my lunch, I walked past what could only be described as a stand-up argument. Three people were arguing at length outside of a pub in Bradford town centre, a rough and depressing northern city which has more in common with a melanoma than it does with London, and it was quite a heated argument which ended in a vile case of spitting.
That description should, hopefully, bring to mind at least two males arguing over either the third person, a woman, or something else reasonable and expected. Indeed, in the case of the argument I witnessed, there were two males and a woman arguing. However, the males were considerably younger than you're probably imagining; they were around eight or nine years old, arguing with a woman well into her forties.
It seems that this woman was their aunt and had found them smoking in the town centre. I wasn't privy to this part of the argument, having presumably been a few hundred feet away at the time, but when I walked past she was saying how disgusted she was with them and that she'd be telling their parents. The children, being amazingly 'hard', started to shout and swear at her and basically told her that she didn't dare. This very, very rough woman looked at the children with shame and disdain and walked into the pub.
This only incensed the elder of the two children and he ran after her. He got her attention with a kind, soft voice and then spat in her face and called her a slut. The aunt looked shocked, then angry, and just walked into the pub with prepubescent spit in her ear, affecting a surprising amount of dignity as she did.
What gets me is the sheer gall of these children. When I was young, adults were terrifying monoliths of power who could dole out punishments for even the slightest infraction. I'm pretty certain that, if I'd spat on any member of my family like that, they'd have knocked me on my arse and I would have bloody deserved it.
I almost think that children have too much power at the moment. I can understand the serious need to protect children from abusers, paedophiles and the like, but I think that it's slightly gone overboard. Speak to teachers in schools and many of them will tell you that the children know that they have more power than the leaders of their classrooms, because all it takes is one, made-up story of abuse, emotional, physical or sexual, and they can ruin an entire career, even a life. Now, I understand that every such accusation needs to be investigated in full, but the number of false accusations has risen sharply in the last few years...
I don't claim to be informed enough to have a solution, but surely there are people out there who are? Then again, it's not a particularly saleable political topic; some of you have done such a shit job with your kids that now we need to use your tax money to find ways to correct it.
An unlikely election winning manifesto, to be sure. What's scary is that only a Tory government would even try such a thing and I'd support it. I lean to the right sometimes.
Now that's really scary...
Still, I was able to follow the instructions and now feel that I understand a lot more about tights and 'pop-socks', so I'll be able to make another such trip with only half the level of panic. I'd call that a success, myself.
This little stocking sojourn, my delve into Denier, if you will, took place during my lunch break. Whilst heading to Subway to get my lunch, I walked past what could only be described as a stand-up argument. Three people were arguing at length outside of a pub in Bradford town centre, a rough and depressing northern city which has more in common with a melanoma than it does with London, and it was quite a heated argument which ended in a vile case of spitting.
That description should, hopefully, bring to mind at least two males arguing over either the third person, a woman, or something else reasonable and expected. Indeed, in the case of the argument I witnessed, there were two males and a woman arguing. However, the males were considerably younger than you're probably imagining; they were around eight or nine years old, arguing with a woman well into her forties.
It seems that this woman was their aunt and had found them smoking in the town centre. I wasn't privy to this part of the argument, having presumably been a few hundred feet away at the time, but when I walked past she was saying how disgusted she was with them and that she'd be telling their parents. The children, being amazingly 'hard', started to shout and swear at her and basically told her that she didn't dare. This very, very rough woman looked at the children with shame and disdain and walked into the pub.
This only incensed the elder of the two children and he ran after her. He got her attention with a kind, soft voice and then spat in her face and called her a slut. The aunt looked shocked, then angry, and just walked into the pub with prepubescent spit in her ear, affecting a surprising amount of dignity as she did.
What gets me is the sheer gall of these children. When I was young, adults were terrifying monoliths of power who could dole out punishments for even the slightest infraction. I'm pretty certain that, if I'd spat on any member of my family like that, they'd have knocked me on my arse and I would have bloody deserved it.
I almost think that children have too much power at the moment. I can understand the serious need to protect children from abusers, paedophiles and the like, but I think that it's slightly gone overboard. Speak to teachers in schools and many of them will tell you that the children know that they have more power than the leaders of their classrooms, because all it takes is one, made-up story of abuse, emotional, physical or sexual, and they can ruin an entire career, even a life. Now, I understand that every such accusation needs to be investigated in full, but the number of false accusations has risen sharply in the last few years...
I don't claim to be informed enough to have a solution, but surely there are people out there who are? Then again, it's not a particularly saleable political topic; some of you have done such a shit job with your kids that now we need to use your tax money to find ways to correct it.
An unlikely election winning manifesto, to be sure. What's scary is that only a Tory government would even try such a thing and I'd support it. I lean to the right sometimes.
Now that's really scary...
The Great Transfer - GOD HAETS FAGS!!!
I'm sufficiently bilious, so here we go.
I saw a clip from a Richard Dawkins show being aired here in England in which the Atheist Activist spoke to a group of children about evolution. One of them, in all seriousness, compared the Qur'an to the incredibly massive quantities of evidence which shows the sheer quantities of evidence which supports evidence.
This was a common theme amongst the children and, from the clip, Richard didn't seem to have the wherewithal to respond correctly to these misguided wretches.
Now, can you guess what I'm going to do?
These children have been taught to ignore the weight of all this evidence because of the writings of holy books. Such creationists choose to ignore, scorn and even hate those who can provide this evidence and all of their work. Now, imagine if they did this with gravity; it seems ridiculous, but it's another demonstrable scientific theory which could just have easily been ignored with the right wording in one such tome.
As far as this old argument between religion and science goes, scientists don't do themselves any favours by using the term 'theory'. To the typical person, this sounds as though the scientists aren't 100% sure and that there's no real proof, so they lean towards something which deals in absolute certainties; God created Man, Jesus died for our Sins, GODS HAETS FAGS!!!, etc.
I don't want to be accused of intellectual elitism here, but it's another demonstrable (it's our word of the day, kids) fact that people are afraid of what they don't understand and very few people are willing to put the effort in to overcome this ignorance, in spite of what their own spiritual leaders might say.
But the reason that the word theory is used is because we allow for the possibility of being wrong; every scientist in the world believed that the world was the centre of the Universe before Galileo Galilei came along, illnesses were blamed on ill humors. The list goes on, but the point is that they should have based these theories on available evidence and expected that their heirs would surpass them. That's why the word theory is used nowadays.
I mean, everyone accepts the Theory of Relativity, right? Hell, if he'd have called it the Truth of Relativity and said that God showed him the way, then the Church of Einstein would be the third largest Christianity-offshoot in the world (And before you say it, no, Einstein wasn't a monotheist; he used the word God in Pantheistic terms).
With the sheer volume, weight, height, depth, breadth, girth etc. of evidence supporting evolution, there is no excuse for people not to at least have tried to get a balanced view of the matter and then made an informed decision on their beliefs. What they have is worse than blind faith, as 'blind' implies that it's something that they were born with which cannot be helped.
People are scared to challenge these kinds of beliefs, but they would find themselves living in a richer, more wonderful world than they had lived in before, surrounded by beauty and order unparalleled in all that we can imagine. The world which they believe that the Bible describes, see the Vatican link above, is so horribly dull and restricted by the idea that their God summoned everything a few thousand years ago that it makes me wonder if they can even see in colours; beyond their black and white moral views and the blood which their book was written in, of course.
I'll finish with this; 40% of British people believe in Creationism. That means that 2 out of every 5 Brits live in a terrible, un-grandiose world. And they, in their staunch, stubborn ways, get to vote. It's no wonder we're so fucked, ey?
I saw a clip from a Richard Dawkins show being aired here in England in which the Atheist Activist spoke to a group of children about evolution. One of them, in all seriousness, compared the Qur'an to the incredibly massive quantities of evidence which shows the sheer quantities of evidence which supports evidence.
This was a common theme amongst the children and, from the clip, Richard didn't seem to have the wherewithal to respond correctly to these misguided wretches.
Now, can you guess what I'm going to do?
These children have been taught to ignore the weight of all this evidence because of the writings of holy books. Such creationists choose to ignore, scorn and even hate those who can provide this evidence and all of their work. Now, imagine if they did this with gravity; it seems ridiculous, but it's another demonstrable scientific theory which could just have easily been ignored with the right wording in one such tome.
As far as this old argument between religion and science goes, scientists don't do themselves any favours by using the term 'theory'. To the typical person, this sounds as though the scientists aren't 100% sure and that there's no real proof, so they lean towards something which deals in absolute certainties; God created Man, Jesus died for our Sins, GODS HAETS FAGS!!!, etc.
I don't want to be accused of intellectual elitism here, but it's another demonstrable (it's our word of the day, kids) fact that people are afraid of what they don't understand and very few people are willing to put the effort in to overcome this ignorance, in spite of what their own spiritual leaders might say.
But the reason that the word theory is used is because we allow for the possibility of being wrong; every scientist in the world believed that the world was the centre of the Universe before Galileo Galilei came along, illnesses were blamed on ill humors. The list goes on, but the point is that they should have based these theories on available evidence and expected that their heirs would surpass them. That's why the word theory is used nowadays.
I mean, everyone accepts the Theory of Relativity, right? Hell, if he'd have called it the Truth of Relativity and said that God showed him the way, then the Church of Einstein would be the third largest Christianity-offshoot in the world (And before you say it, no, Einstein wasn't a monotheist; he used the word God in Pantheistic terms).
With the sheer volume, weight, height, depth, breadth, girth etc. of evidence supporting evolution, there is no excuse for people not to at least have tried to get a balanced view of the matter and then made an informed decision on their beliefs. What they have is worse than blind faith, as 'blind' implies that it's something that they were born with which cannot be helped.
People are scared to challenge these kinds of beliefs, but they would find themselves living in a richer, more wonderful world than they had lived in before, surrounded by beauty and order unparalleled in all that we can imagine. The world which they believe that the Bible describes, see the Vatican link above, is so horribly dull and restricted by the idea that their God summoned everything a few thousand years ago that it makes me wonder if they can even see in colours; beyond their black and white moral views and the blood which their book was written in, of course.
I'll finish with this; 40% of British people believe in Creationism. That means that 2 out of every 5 Brits live in a terrible, un-grandiose world. And they, in their staunch, stubborn ways, get to vote. It's no wonder we're so fucked, ey?
The Great Transfer - Shockingly Frank
Sometimes, I think I'm partially insane.
I know how that sounds; over-dramatic, attention-demanding and all very emo, with a smattering attempted grandeur. However, I'd like to qualify this statement.
For years and years now, ever since I started to become interested in Physics and the Universe, I've found that, on occasion, my mind will try to expand outwards and attempt the comprehend the scale of the Universe; both the microcosm and the macrocosm. Of course, I do not think myself even vaguely intelligent enough to understand either in their complete, pure beauty, but I do comprehend it vaguely, in the same way that I comprehend the programming of a computer or the thought processes of a woman.
During these periods though, I consider our, as in Humanity's, place within the Universe and I find that none of it really matters; in an infinite Universe older than we can get our heads around, our existence will be nothing more than a drop of ink in the oceans. Life, death, love, war, peace et all don't matter because of our lack of importance in a large and uncaring reality.
This applies to all parts of my life; friends, family, relationships and everything. I can't see any point, any relevance, and I'm entirely disconnected.
Isn't that insanity? To find no relevance in the world around you and not care about what every person should care about, surely that's madness? If I felt it permanently, then I would definitely be deemed as mad as I'd probably leave my body and have my mind permanently dwell on the magnificence of everything.
All very Lovecraftian, no? Or it would be, if I were doing the same in my dreams...
It's only a temporary thing, at any rate; my heart, philosophically, as biologically it would be some concern if it had stopped, kicks in after a few minutes and I'm back to normal (ha!) with only the ghost of my previous disconnection to haunt me. If anything, I make more of an effort to connect with the people in my life and the world which surrounds me after such an episode and I feel the importance of everything again.
I apologize that candour has replaced cackles in this post. I'll try to remedy this and will attempt to produce more bile for next time, though that does bring forth a bizarre image of me sitting down and attempting to do so. I might as well try to force-grow hair.
I know how that sounds; over-dramatic, attention-demanding and all very emo, with a smattering attempted grandeur. However, I'd like to qualify this statement.
For years and years now, ever since I started to become interested in Physics and the Universe, I've found that, on occasion, my mind will try to expand outwards and attempt the comprehend the scale of the Universe; both the microcosm and the macrocosm. Of course, I do not think myself even vaguely intelligent enough to understand either in their complete, pure beauty, but I do comprehend it vaguely, in the same way that I comprehend the programming of a computer or the thought processes of a woman.
During these periods though, I consider our, as in Humanity's, place within the Universe and I find that none of it really matters; in an infinite Universe older than we can get our heads around, our existence will be nothing more than a drop of ink in the oceans. Life, death, love, war, peace et all don't matter because of our lack of importance in a large and uncaring reality.
This applies to all parts of my life; friends, family, relationships and everything. I can't see any point, any relevance, and I'm entirely disconnected.
Isn't that insanity? To find no relevance in the world around you and not care about what every person should care about, surely that's madness? If I felt it permanently, then I would definitely be deemed as mad as I'd probably leave my body and have my mind permanently dwell on the magnificence of everything.
All very Lovecraftian, no? Or it would be, if I were doing the same in my dreams...
It's only a temporary thing, at any rate; my heart, philosophically, as biologically it would be some concern if it had stopped, kicks in after a few minutes and I'm back to normal (ha!) with only the ghost of my previous disconnection to haunt me. If anything, I make more of an effort to connect with the people in my life and the world which surrounds me after such an episode and I feel the importance of everything again.
I apologize that candour has replaced cackles in this post. I'll try to remedy this and will attempt to produce more bile for next time, though that does bring forth a bizarre image of me sitting down and attempting to do so. I might as well try to force-grow hair.
The Great Transfer - Poke-volution
Picture the scene, if you will; Sunday morning, I come downstairs after my girlfriend leaves for work, turn on the TV and fire up my laptop. There's basically fuck all on, so I put it on Pokemon and Stumble around the Internet.
Whilst I'm Stumbling, however, I'm surprised to hear the following snippet from the TV:
Gym Leader: Fossils are amazing; Pokemon have been changing over the thousands of years since this fossil was created and, using fossils, we can look into a Pokemon's past to see how they've changed.
Ash: Wow, fossils are awesome.
That's right, my friends; Pokemon was actively promoting the theory of evolution! They've always had 'evolution' in the games and series but I'd always thought that was an allegory for growing up to help children understand puberty, but they were outright saying that evolution exists in this episode.
How fucking ace is that?
I'm surprised that they would get away with it, especially considering that the episodes are dubbed in America, but apparently they do. I wonder how many fundamentalists, creationist tools choked on their cornflakes when they heard that.
I don't mind telling you, I'm feeling very warm and fuzzy inside. Who'd have thought that Pokemon might actually help nurture the intellects of our young? The theory of evolution, encouraging looking after one another and, of course, glamorizing ridiculously over-the-top super powers and fights.
Then again, I suppose that the game does encourage mathematical, tactical and logical skills...
That does it; I'm raising my kids on Pokemon!
(Yeah, like my children were ever not going to get a traditional Geek upbringing.)
Whilst I'm Stumbling, however, I'm surprised to hear the following snippet from the TV:
Gym Leader: Fossils are amazing; Pokemon have been changing over the thousands of years since this fossil was created and, using fossils, we can look into a Pokemon's past to see how they've changed.
Ash: Wow, fossils are awesome.
That's right, my friends; Pokemon was actively promoting the theory of evolution! They've always had 'evolution' in the games and series but I'd always thought that was an allegory for growing up to help children understand puberty, but they were outright saying that evolution exists in this episode.
How fucking ace is that?
I'm surprised that they would get away with it, especially considering that the episodes are dubbed in America, but apparently they do. I wonder how many fundamentalists, creationist tools choked on their cornflakes when they heard that.
I don't mind telling you, I'm feeling very warm and fuzzy inside. Who'd have thought that Pokemon might actually help nurture the intellects of our young? The theory of evolution, encouraging looking after one another and, of course, glamorizing ridiculously over-the-top super powers and fights.
Then again, I suppose that the game does encourage mathematical, tactical and logical skills...
That does it; I'm raising my kids on Pokemon!
(Yeah, like my children were ever not going to get a traditional Geek upbringing.)
The Great Transfer - On Supermarkets
I ended up going to the supermarket rather late tonight, a Saturday night. I got there and there were trolleys and trolleys filled with reduced stock; items which were either going off that day or were so badly damaged that they could not be sold as normal.
This should have been my first clue. However, I had my MP3 player in and Devildriver were Driving Down the Darkness, so I continued on without giving these trolleys further notice.
I went about my shopping, periodically calling my girlfriend when they didn't have the specific item which she'd asked for (how did men do the shopping on their own before they invented mobile phones? I would rather suspect that the answer was only in dire emergencies).
I get to the checkouts and there are only about three people manning, womanning, and, in the case of one unfortunate soul, trolling the tills. Two of the tills had long queues behind them and one didn't.
This should have been my second clue.
I, still listening to music and floating through the task of shopping, unthinkingly choose the shortest queue and find myself at the front of it.
In front of me is an Asian man buying an inordinately large amount of the faulty merchandise from the front of the store; cans of coke removed from their multi-pack, dented tins of salmon, damaged boxes of Daz and the like. Each of these items requires the person, or monster, at the till to enter in the handy, dandy ten-digit code, thank you Eddie Izzard, and therefore this shopper is going to be some time.
My natural instinct was to mock this man. After all, who would need two-dozen eggs which are no longer guaranteed to be safe for consumption in a few hours; what possible ovulatory emergency could there have been?
But then I remembered when I had worked at another supermarket, many years ago, and had been in charge of pricing such damaged stock. You usually get three kinds of people buying these poor, malformed products; students, the defiant poor and the shameless elderly.
The students would giggle upon picking up some cream, to be used in some unsightly sexual deviance in the next few hours, possibly even minutes. The poor would look around shamefacedly as they picked up their items but would confidently look at everyone around him after they had, daring people to say something or roll their eyes so that they could cause a scene.
The elderly were the best, though; they'd pick up almost gray meat for some unsuspecting dog at home, they would purchase cheese in the firm belief that they could freeze it and a couple more weeks out of the decaying curds, and I can only assume from their continued repeat purchases that they were either entirely correct in this belief or that they used these foods in some kind of subtle geriatric version or Russian Roulette, where a mere sandwich could be part of a delicate battle of life and death.
This man in front of me wasn't old enough to be considered elderly, nor young or vague enough to be a student, so I put him in the third category. When I saw that he was buying a reduced price Speed Racer branded toy car as well, after my initial understandable revulsion, I realized that this was probably a gift for his child. In my imagination, I saw a small, dirty child gratefully accepting this tacky toy because it was a surprise, a gift from their father which they would always cherish.
I felt like a complete wanker for wanting to mock him and waited, happily and patiently, for him to complete his purchases.
When all the items had been entered into the till, the man's wife swept in from nowhere and picked up the Speed Racer toy. "What are you getting him this piece of shit for?" she asked and casually tosses the toy aside.
"I thought he'd like it," the man replied and asked the till operator to take it off the bill. He then pulled out a massive wad of cash and paid for his items, before taking out both of his expensive-looking mobile phones and checking them.
I mean seriously...
This should have been my first clue. However, I had my MP3 player in and Devildriver were Driving Down the Darkness, so I continued on without giving these trolleys further notice.
I went about my shopping, periodically calling my girlfriend when they didn't have the specific item which she'd asked for (how did men do the shopping on their own before they invented mobile phones? I would rather suspect that the answer was only in dire emergencies).
I get to the checkouts and there are only about three people manning, womanning, and, in the case of one unfortunate soul, trolling the tills. Two of the tills had long queues behind them and one didn't.
This should have been my second clue.
I, still listening to music and floating through the task of shopping, unthinkingly choose the shortest queue and find myself at the front of it.
In front of me is an Asian man buying an inordinately large amount of the faulty merchandise from the front of the store; cans of coke removed from their multi-pack, dented tins of salmon, damaged boxes of Daz and the like. Each of these items requires the person, or monster, at the till to enter in the handy, dandy ten-digit code, thank you Eddie Izzard, and therefore this shopper is going to be some time.
My natural instinct was to mock this man. After all, who would need two-dozen eggs which are no longer guaranteed to be safe for consumption in a few hours; what possible ovulatory emergency could there have been?
But then I remembered when I had worked at another supermarket, many years ago, and had been in charge of pricing such damaged stock. You usually get three kinds of people buying these poor, malformed products; students, the defiant poor and the shameless elderly.
The students would giggle upon picking up some cream, to be used in some unsightly sexual deviance in the next few hours, possibly even minutes. The poor would look around shamefacedly as they picked up their items but would confidently look at everyone around him after they had, daring people to say something or roll their eyes so that they could cause a scene.
The elderly were the best, though; they'd pick up almost gray meat for some unsuspecting dog at home, they would purchase cheese in the firm belief that they could freeze it and a couple more weeks out of the decaying curds, and I can only assume from their continued repeat purchases that they were either entirely correct in this belief or that they used these foods in some kind of subtle geriatric version or Russian Roulette, where a mere sandwich could be part of a delicate battle of life and death.
This man in front of me wasn't old enough to be considered elderly, nor young or vague enough to be a student, so I put him in the third category. When I saw that he was buying a reduced price Speed Racer branded toy car as well, after my initial understandable revulsion, I realized that this was probably a gift for his child. In my imagination, I saw a small, dirty child gratefully accepting this tacky toy because it was a surprise, a gift from their father which they would always cherish.
I felt like a complete wanker for wanting to mock him and waited, happily and patiently, for him to complete his purchases.
When all the items had been entered into the till, the man's wife swept in from nowhere and picked up the Speed Racer toy. "What are you getting him this piece of shit for?" she asked and casually tosses the toy aside.
"I thought he'd like it," the man replied and asked the till operator to take it off the bill. He then pulled out a massive wad of cash and paid for his items, before taking out both of his expensive-looking mobile phones and checking them.
I mean seriously...
The Great Transfer - Trust Fund Fuckers
Whilst my previous post wasn't quite as eloquent as I'd like, at least it was hate-felt.
We are, in case you've been living in some kind of financial wonder-haven, where people with double-barreled names are paid millions to look after your trust fund and ensure that you can continue to snort £3000 of cocaine per day, you bastards, then you will have noticed that we are in somewhat of a global financial correction; or, as a politician wouldn't put it, a recession.
I personally am very angry with the media and the way that it is particularly dealing with the housing market crash here in the UK. It leads with headlines like "Millions are to be in a position of negative equity". Yeah, and?
That means that people's houses are now worth less than their mortgages, which, in real terms, means fuck all. You decided to buy that house you live in at the time you did and the amount you paid was its value in the market at that time. The market's downturn just means that your house isn't some small cash cow, by which you can make thousands while you don't do anything; it's a building you live in.
In reality, the housing market needs a massive, massive correction. The average house price was well in excess of £150k, which is unattainable for anyone without an incredible amount of collateral, such as a £15k+ deposit or equity.
I.E. Me and my poor generation. Apart from the aforementioned Trust Fund Fuckers, of course.
People don't seem to consider even the vaguest, most simplistic rules of economics; that what goes up can, and will eventually, go down. And, when it does go down, the media go into such a panic that it only furthers the recession!
The simple fact is this; when times are good, we should save for when times are bad. No-one ever has this attitude, though, and it's definitely a hard political message to sell, but it's the only way to ensure stability, nationally and in your own home.
Yes, the costs of everything are going up and it's harder to afford things. But that's probably, to a large extent, your own fault for moving from your £160k house to a £250k one and thinking that the good times would never end.
Well, sadly, they have. We're going to face more job losses, more price rises and much less disposable income, which means we're going to have to do without the latest MP3 players, mobile phones and the like. I know that this is hard for a lot of people, but I'm certain they'll survive.
If not, then I'm certain we can live without panicky, fiscally blind morons. Or MPs, as we call them here.
We are, in case you've been living in some kind of financial wonder-haven, where people with double-barreled names are paid millions to look after your trust fund and ensure that you can continue to snort £3000 of cocaine per day, you bastards, then you will have noticed that we are in somewhat of a global financial correction; or, as a politician wouldn't put it, a recession.
I personally am very angry with the media and the way that it is particularly dealing with the housing market crash here in the UK. It leads with headlines like "Millions are to be in a position of negative equity". Yeah, and?
That means that people's houses are now worth less than their mortgages, which, in real terms, means fuck all. You decided to buy that house you live in at the time you did and the amount you paid was its value in the market at that time. The market's downturn just means that your house isn't some small cash cow, by which you can make thousands while you don't do anything; it's a building you live in.
In reality, the housing market needs a massive, massive correction. The average house price was well in excess of £150k, which is unattainable for anyone without an incredible amount of collateral, such as a £15k+ deposit or equity.
I.E. Me and my poor generation. Apart from the aforementioned Trust Fund Fuckers, of course.
People don't seem to consider even the vaguest, most simplistic rules of economics; that what goes up can, and will eventually, go down. And, when it does go down, the media go into such a panic that it only furthers the recession!
The simple fact is this; when times are good, we should save for when times are bad. No-one ever has this attitude, though, and it's definitely a hard political message to sell, but it's the only way to ensure stability, nationally and in your own home.
Yes, the costs of everything are going up and it's harder to afford things. But that's probably, to a large extent, your own fault for moving from your £160k house to a £250k one and thinking that the good times would never end.
Well, sadly, they have. We're going to face more job losses, more price rises and much less disposable income, which means we're going to have to do without the latest MP3 players, mobile phones and the like. I know that this is hard for a lot of people, but I'm certain they'll survive.
If not, then I'm certain we can live without panicky, fiscally blind morons. Or MPs, as we call them here.
The Great Transfer - Policy Booklets
For the time being, I work in Insurance. Now, I know that this makes me an anatheama to most people; I am the enemy, the withholder of monies and the decliner of claims. Many people view insurance as a slimy business where the companies wrangle out of paying as often as possible.
To these people, I say; well, duh.
An insurer takes on a liability in return for an annual payment. This is the basis of all insurance; they take a risk on by guaranteeing to pay for everything which is listed in a contract between them and their customer. This is commmonly called your F*CKING POLICY BOOKLET.
If I were you, and, as someone who has insurance, I am, then I'd recommend that you read your policy booklet when you get it. It is part of a legally binding contract which you have entered into, so it would be best to know what you're liable for and what your insurer are liable for.
You wouldn't shouldn't buy anything without knowing what you're buying and the same goes for insurance.
This little rant-let comes about because someone accused insurance of being an immoral business because they don't pay out all of the time, regardless of the nature of the incident. You wouldn't expect the police to arrest someone you don't like regardless of what they'd done!
Not unless you were George W. Bush, anyway...
To these people, I say; well, duh.
An insurer takes on a liability in return for an annual payment. This is the basis of all insurance; they take a risk on by guaranteeing to pay for everything which is listed in a contract between them and their customer. This is commmonly called your F*CKING POLICY BOOKLET.
If I were you, and, as someone who has insurance, I am, then I'd recommend that you read your policy booklet when you get it. It is part of a legally binding contract which you have entered into, so it would be best to know what you're liable for and what your insurer are liable for.
You wouldn't shouldn't buy anything without knowing what you're buying and the same goes for insurance.
This little rant-let comes about because someone accused insurance of being an immoral business because they don't pay out all of the time, regardless of the nature of the incident. You wouldn't expect the police to arrest someone you don't like regardless of what they'd done!
Not unless you were George W. Bush, anyway...
The Great Transfer - Mothers
My mother, as many mother's do, has a strange compulsion to buy me underwear. I don't know why, maybe she imagines me sitting at home and pining for a pair of cheap, novelty socks, but she just does. Maybe it's genetic.
Anyway, this means that I inevitably get a few pairs of socks and some underwear every Christmas and about 10% of the time that I visit her. I absorb these items into my laundry rotation and go about my life, and my mother sits at home and feels that she's done a good job.
I've been getting to the end of a laundry cycle recently and, because we've done various washes for the house and not for ourselves, I've been a little out on my rotation and so was forced to use a pair of cheap, Calvin Klein imitation underwear.
Imagine my horror, then, when I take them off at the end of the day and find massive holes in them which weren't present when I put them on.
Now, I'd like to say that it was some feat of masculinity, that my loins are simply so large that no mere cloth can contain them, but this is patently not the case as I would go through a lot of underwear this way. No, there was only one explanation for this; my mother had bought me one-shot boxers.
That's right; so low quality and cheap were they that they could only stand the strain of a single day's use. They were, in every sense of the word, briefs.
Anyway, this means that I inevitably get a few pairs of socks and some underwear every Christmas and about 10% of the time that I visit her. I absorb these items into my laundry rotation and go about my life, and my mother sits at home and feels that she's done a good job.
I've been getting to the end of a laundry cycle recently and, because we've done various washes for the house and not for ourselves, I've been a little out on my rotation and so was forced to use a pair of cheap, Calvin Klein imitation underwear.
Imagine my horror, then, when I take them off at the end of the day and find massive holes in them which weren't present when I put them on.
Now, I'd like to say that it was some feat of masculinity, that my loins are simply so large that no mere cloth can contain them, but this is patently not the case as I would go through a lot of underwear this way. No, there was only one explanation for this; my mother had bought me one-shot boxers.
That's right; so low quality and cheap were they that they could only stand the strain of a single day's use. They were, in every sense of the word, briefs.
The Great Transfer - The Garden of Eden
So imagine, if you will, that the Bible has their creation story the wrong way round; that the story should have been Eve and Adam. After all, I'm pretty certain that we all start off as women until that little Y chromosome comes along and changes half of us into men.
With this in mind, God would have created Eve first, and not Adam. Eve lived in The Garden of Eden in complete happiness and joy... until she started to become tired of her surroundings and needed something more.
She went to God and said "Can I have someone else to talk to? Someone to share my time with?"
God is still in the midst of her Sunday epoch, relaxing for aeons after having created all things. In her fatigue, she made a small mistake and created another woman for her; Lilith.
Eve and Lilith enjoyed Eden together for a while, until the snake started to tempt them to eat of the forbidden fruit. Eve, having already grown restless with Eden once before, is more tempted than Lilith and Lilith warns her against succumbing to this, taking an odd amount of pleasure in chastising her fellow woman.
After some time, Eve once again went to God and said "I... I'm not really getting on with Lilith. I don't think I can stand to be around her any longer."
God is taken aback by this and, her powers still somewhat depleted, she says "Then I Shall Cast Lilith Out Of Eden, As You Were The First." With a twist of her withered hand, Lilith is shot out of Eden and is left to wander through the wilderness.
"I don't know what I'm going to do now, Lord, with no-one to keep me company whilst you recuperate," Eve says.
"Well, I Have Been Working On A Thing Called A Man. He's Larger, Stronger And More Spatially Aware. I Call Him Adam."
Eve's interest is piqued. "But wouldn't that make Man much greater than I?"
"Oh No, You're Still More Intelligent."
"It still seems a little unbalanced."
"You're Probably Right," God says and sighs. "How About I Make Him Willing To Do Your Bidding?"
Eve smiles, liking the idea of this. "That sounds good."
"But He'd Need Automation So He Would Be Able To Have A Soul..." God said, mostly to herself. "I Know, I'll Introduce Sex To You Humans!"
"Sex?"
"You'll Love It, And You'll Control When It Happens. Adam Will Be Driven To Have More And You Will Be Able To Say When You Both Have Sex."
Eve's smile couldn't really have gotten any bigger at this point. "Perfect. Thank you, God."
And so God created Adam, and then retired from Eden for some time in order to finish her Sunday Epoch alone. In this time, Adam and Eve explored the joys of sex and the wonders of Eden together, living a happy life for centuries.
Until the snake started to tempt Eve once more.
"Eve, my lovely, you should partake of the forbidden fruit. God is recovering and won't know that it's gone... so take a bite," the vile creature hissed to her every day.
Eventually, Eve's resolve wore down. Adam did his best to convince his love that she need not steal the fruit; "God has given us so much, can we not just be happy with what we have?"
"No! I don't accept that God would deny me, his chief creation, anything. And anyway, the snake is right; God will never know."
"But... but..."
"But nothing. Now, get me that fruit, that delicious, wonderful apple, or else you will be walking Eden alone from now on."
Adam, in his weakness, could not resist Eve's command and so he climbed up the tree and stole an apple for Eve. He handed it to her morosely, knowing he was doing wrong.
Eve ate the apple and it was wonderful, the best thing that she had ever experienced. She ate and ate until she was fit to vomit, but it was the greatest thing she had ever eaten.
At that moment, though, God's Sunday Epoch ended and she returned to her omniscience and omnipresence. In her fury, she screamed across creation and came to Eden.
"Eve! You Have Partaken Of The Forbidden Fruit, The One Thing You Were Not Allowed To Do. Why? Why Have You Ignored Me So?"
Eve realized how much she had betrayed God and threw herself onto her feet. "I could not resist what you denied me! You should have known that I would not have been able to do so, as I thought myself your favourite creation. I... I just couldn't."
"And Adam? Why Did You Not Stop Her?"
"I was weak, my Lord. She threatened to leave me alone, to deny me sex, and I could not go against her."
"Well Then, I Think I Have The Perfect Punishment For You Both. Adam, For Your Weakness, I Curse You To Always Hunger For Sex; To Think Of It Constantly.
"Eve, For Your Punishment, I Shall Make Adam, And All Men, Much Stronger Than You And You Will Live In A World Of Barbarism. You Shall Forever Need Man's Protection, To Save You From Other Men.
"Now, Get You Both Out Of Eden And Into The Wastelands, Forever."
Adam and Eve left Eden forever, and God's words came true; Man came to rule the world and Woman was constantly battered and treated as second class citizens.
Now, you may think this unfair, but God was forgiving and knew that the seeds of the apple which Eve had consumed would eventually free her; the world which she went into, and sired, would one day bloom into a world where women would be able to be in charge once more. We're currently in the middle of this blossoming; women are slowly getting equal rights and man's position as the leader, the provider, is slowly being degraded.
One day soon, the difference will be skewed towards women once more and we will live as God designed us; with women as the chief creation and man as the secondary creature.
Think about it, we see it everywhere in nature; in bees, in spiders, in most mammals, the females are the more important of the two genders.
Either that, or social evolution is going towards equality due to a natural progression of civilization as we approach a higher level of understanding of ourselves and the Universe around us and God has played no role in any of this, which would make the above all just rubbish.
Meh, whatever.
With this in mind, God would have created Eve first, and not Adam. Eve lived in The Garden of Eden in complete happiness and joy... until she started to become tired of her surroundings and needed something more.
She went to God and said "Can I have someone else to talk to? Someone to share my time with?"
God is still in the midst of her Sunday epoch, relaxing for aeons after having created all things. In her fatigue, she made a small mistake and created another woman for her; Lilith.
Eve and Lilith enjoyed Eden together for a while, until the snake started to tempt them to eat of the forbidden fruit. Eve, having already grown restless with Eden once before, is more tempted than Lilith and Lilith warns her against succumbing to this, taking an odd amount of pleasure in chastising her fellow woman.
After some time, Eve once again went to God and said "I... I'm not really getting on with Lilith. I don't think I can stand to be around her any longer."
God is taken aback by this and, her powers still somewhat depleted, she says "Then I Shall Cast Lilith Out Of Eden, As You Were The First." With a twist of her withered hand, Lilith is shot out of Eden and is left to wander through the wilderness.
"I don't know what I'm going to do now, Lord, with no-one to keep me company whilst you recuperate," Eve says.
"Well, I Have Been Working On A Thing Called A Man. He's Larger, Stronger And More Spatially Aware. I Call Him Adam."
Eve's interest is piqued. "But wouldn't that make Man much greater than I?"
"Oh No, You're Still More Intelligent."
"It still seems a little unbalanced."
"You're Probably Right," God says and sighs. "How About I Make Him Willing To Do Your Bidding?"
Eve smiles, liking the idea of this. "That sounds good."
"But He'd Need Automation So He Would Be Able To Have A Soul..." God said, mostly to herself. "I Know, I'll Introduce Sex To You Humans!"
"Sex?"
"You'll Love It, And You'll Control When It Happens. Adam Will Be Driven To Have More And You Will Be Able To Say When You Both Have Sex."
Eve's smile couldn't really have gotten any bigger at this point. "Perfect. Thank you, God."
And so God created Adam, and then retired from Eden for some time in order to finish her Sunday Epoch alone. In this time, Adam and Eve explored the joys of sex and the wonders of Eden together, living a happy life for centuries.
Until the snake started to tempt Eve once more.
"Eve, my lovely, you should partake of the forbidden fruit. God is recovering and won't know that it's gone... so take a bite," the vile creature hissed to her every day.
Eventually, Eve's resolve wore down. Adam did his best to convince his love that she need not steal the fruit; "God has given us so much, can we not just be happy with what we have?"
"No! I don't accept that God would deny me, his chief creation, anything. And anyway, the snake is right; God will never know."
"But... but..."
"But nothing. Now, get me that fruit, that delicious, wonderful apple, or else you will be walking Eden alone from now on."
Adam, in his weakness, could not resist Eve's command and so he climbed up the tree and stole an apple for Eve. He handed it to her morosely, knowing he was doing wrong.
Eve ate the apple and it was wonderful, the best thing that she had ever experienced. She ate and ate until she was fit to vomit, but it was the greatest thing she had ever eaten.
At that moment, though, God's Sunday Epoch ended and she returned to her omniscience and omnipresence. In her fury, she screamed across creation and came to Eden.
"Eve! You Have Partaken Of The Forbidden Fruit, The One Thing You Were Not Allowed To Do. Why? Why Have You Ignored Me So?"
Eve realized how much she had betrayed God and threw herself onto her feet. "I could not resist what you denied me! You should have known that I would not have been able to do so, as I thought myself your favourite creation. I... I just couldn't."
"And Adam? Why Did You Not Stop Her?"
"I was weak, my Lord. She threatened to leave me alone, to deny me sex, and I could not go against her."
"Well Then, I Think I Have The Perfect Punishment For You Both. Adam, For Your Weakness, I Curse You To Always Hunger For Sex; To Think Of It Constantly.
"Eve, For Your Punishment, I Shall Make Adam, And All Men, Much Stronger Than You And You Will Live In A World Of Barbarism. You Shall Forever Need Man's Protection, To Save You From Other Men.
"Now, Get You Both Out Of Eden And Into The Wastelands, Forever."
Adam and Eve left Eden forever, and God's words came true; Man came to rule the world and Woman was constantly battered and treated as second class citizens.
Now, you may think this unfair, but God was forgiving and knew that the seeds of the apple which Eve had consumed would eventually free her; the world which she went into, and sired, would one day bloom into a world where women would be able to be in charge once more. We're currently in the middle of this blossoming; women are slowly getting equal rights and man's position as the leader, the provider, is slowly being degraded.
One day soon, the difference will be skewed towards women once more and we will live as God designed us; with women as the chief creation and man as the secondary creature.
Think about it, we see it everywhere in nature; in bees, in spiders, in most mammals, the females are the more important of the two genders.
Either that, or social evolution is going towards equality due to a natural progression of civilization as we approach a higher level of understanding of ourselves and the Universe around us and God has played no role in any of this, which would make the above all just rubbish.
Meh, whatever.
The Great Transfer - Gay Politicians
A brief list of things which a gay man would have had to have done in order to stand a chance of becoming the Prime Minister
1) Won the world cup at least once.
2) Beaten a Frenchman in a boxing match.
3) Sired at least one page 3 girl and be okay with it.
4) Stephen Fry.
5) Killed more than one terrorist. Bonus points if with their bare hands or a fabulous accessory.
6) Lied about his sexuality.
Obviously, achieving more than one of the above would increase their chances even further. I realize that Stephen Fry himself cannot really achieve one of these, but I think that he's precluded from becoming the PM because he's been in prison.
A brief list of things a gay woman would have to do in order to stand a chance at becoming the Prime Minister
1) Page 3.
2) Porn.
3) Have married a famous woman.
4) Won a gold medal at the Olympics.
5) Saved the Queen's life. Bonus points if done in a bikini.
6) Lied about her sexuality.
*Please note, these are not my personal preferences in homosexual political candidates, this is just a brief bit of satire about the state of our country. I couldn't give a flying fuck if a politician was gay or not, but unfortunately there are a lot of people who would require the above to consider a homosexual PM and I'm not the solitary voter on this silly island...
Yet...*
1) Won the world cup at least once.
2) Beaten a Frenchman in a boxing match.
3) Sired at least one page 3 girl and be okay with it.
4) Stephen Fry.
5) Killed more than one terrorist. Bonus points if with their bare hands or a fabulous accessory.
6) Lied about his sexuality.
Obviously, achieving more than one of the above would increase their chances even further. I realize that Stephen Fry himself cannot really achieve one of these, but I think that he's precluded from becoming the PM because he's been in prison.
A brief list of things a gay woman would have to do in order to stand a chance at becoming the Prime Minister
1) Page 3.
2) Porn.
3) Have married a famous woman.
4) Won a gold medal at the Olympics.
5) Saved the Queen's life. Bonus points if done in a bikini.
6) Lied about her sexuality.
*Please note, these are not my personal preferences in homosexual political candidates, this is just a brief bit of satire about the state of our country. I couldn't give a flying fuck if a politician was gay or not, but unfortunately there are a lot of people who would require the above to consider a homosexual PM and I'm not the solitary voter on this silly island...
Yet...*
The Great Transfer - Tea
So, I've been told that there are two kinds of tea drinkers; MIFs (Milk in First) and TIFs (Tea in First).
The TIFs are the established order; an ancient regime which has long held sway over their tea drinking subjects. The TIFs have order, history, prestige and protocol. They dictate to all how they must drink their tea, saying that all who do so must put the tea bags in before the milk.
There are, however, counter-revolutionaries; the MIFs. This band of tea drinkers threw off the shackles of oppression and decided to do things as they wanted. They put their milk in before the water and don't care who knows.
The sad thing is that being a MIF or a TIF is a hereditary custom, passed down from parent to child. These two warring factions are alike in all but tea preferences. Yet still, a secret war wages between them on the streets of the world.
At least, that's how I understood it...
The TIFs are the established order; an ancient regime which has long held sway over their tea drinking subjects. The TIFs have order, history, prestige and protocol. They dictate to all how they must drink their tea, saying that all who do so must put the tea bags in before the milk.
There are, however, counter-revolutionaries; the MIFs. This band of tea drinkers threw off the shackles of oppression and decided to do things as they wanted. They put their milk in before the water and don't care who knows.
The sad thing is that being a MIF or a TIF is a hereditary custom, passed down from parent to child. These two warring factions are alike in all but tea preferences. Yet still, a secret war wages between them on the streets of the world.
At least, that's how I understood it...
The Great Transfer - The Dark Knight
I hardly covered myself in glory yesterday, as far as writing is concerned. I just wasted the day away, stumbling.
Yes, I appreciate the irony of complaining about Stumble on my Stumble blog.
It was only after watching The Dark Knight that I was able to get some writing done, and even that was partially out of shame. I did manage to get a thousand words done, though, and it is started so, hey. I shouldn't complain.
Whilst we skirt the topic of The Dark Knight... FUCK ME, that film was awesome. I use that word with absolute sincerity, not as some kind of drunken frat boy. I was completely in awe; of Heath, of the Nolan brothers and of the bravery of everyone involved in making such a dark, disturbing and wonderful film.
I don't want to gush about it, there are about a million different pages on Stumble to do that for me, but I was seriously impressed and amazed.
Another thing which amazed me about the film was the rating it got! It was rated as a 12A, only suitable for twelve year olds if they are accompanied by an adult, and I think it was seriously skirting the edge of what a 12A can be. The death toll was prolific, there were scenes which glamorized knife violence and as for what happened to Harvey... well, it was all dangerously unsuitable for children.
I can see why they wanted to get a 12A rating, considering how much they're wanting families to watch the film, but I'd say that this film is a classic example of Family Unfriendly Violence.
Anyway, todays forecast calls for twelve hours of waiting in for a delivery. I think it's ridiculous that the delivery timescales I've been given are 7am-7pm. 7AM TO 7PM! I couldn't believe that when I read it and still can't! It's insane.
Sufficed to say, I don't think I'll be ordering from Tesco again.
Yes, I appreciate the irony of complaining about Stumble on my Stumble blog.
It was only after watching The Dark Knight that I was able to get some writing done, and even that was partially out of shame. I did manage to get a thousand words done, though, and it is started so, hey. I shouldn't complain.
Whilst we skirt the topic of The Dark Knight... FUCK ME, that film was awesome. I use that word with absolute sincerity, not as some kind of drunken frat boy. I was completely in awe; of Heath, of the Nolan brothers and of the bravery of everyone involved in making such a dark, disturbing and wonderful film.
I don't want to gush about it, there are about a million different pages on Stumble to do that for me, but I was seriously impressed and amazed.
Another thing which amazed me about the film was the rating it got! It was rated as a 12A, only suitable for twelve year olds if they are accompanied by an adult, and I think it was seriously skirting the edge of what a 12A can be. The death toll was prolific, there were scenes which glamorized knife violence and as for what happened to Harvey... well, it was all dangerously unsuitable for children.
I can see why they wanted to get a 12A rating, considering how much they're wanting families to watch the film, but I'd say that this film is a classic example of Family Unfriendly Violence.
Anyway, todays forecast calls for twelve hours of waiting in for a delivery. I think it's ridiculous that the delivery timescales I've been given are 7am-7pm. 7AM TO 7PM! I couldn't believe that when I read it and still can't! It's insane.
Sufficed to say, I don't think I'll be ordering from Tesco again.
The Great Transfer - Intro
So, I've never managed to keep a regular blog, purely in the chronological sense, I warn you, but I've decided that I might as well give it a go.
Today, I'm going to be doing some writing, hopefully. I've recently finished the first draft of my second attempt at a novel and now I find myself at somewhat of a loss. You see, when you finish the first draft of a novel, you should ideally leave it for about six weeks before going back and turning it into a second draft.
Which leaves me with no writing to do for six weeks.
I've been writing furiously since December and have probably averaged about six-thousand words per week since then. So, the shock of not having any writing to do is a large one. Last time I went on to write short stories for a while, but I just don't feel that pull this time. I don't know what it is but I just feel like tackling another, large project while I wait.
So, I've started laying down the foundations for a new novel and should give starting it a go today. Unlike the majority of my grandiose ideas, I've decided to go for a more grounded, definitely single-novel, story. It's going to be interesting to stretch myself in different directions than I have done previously and I hope that it helps me when I do go back to my other novel to do some editing.
I'm also going to watch The Dark Knight tonight. Very much looking forward to that; I've always been a massive Batman fan, but I'm an even bigger Joker fan. It'll be great to see how Heath Ledger portrayed the top villain in comics and, from the reviews which Stumble keeps throwing at me like poison daggers, I doubt that I'll be disappointed.
Anyway, wish me luck. Or whatever you want to wish me.
Today, I'm going to be doing some writing, hopefully. I've recently finished the first draft of my second attempt at a novel and now I find myself at somewhat of a loss. You see, when you finish the first draft of a novel, you should ideally leave it for about six weeks before going back and turning it into a second draft.
Which leaves me with no writing to do for six weeks.
I've been writing furiously since December and have probably averaged about six-thousand words per week since then. So, the shock of not having any writing to do is a large one. Last time I went on to write short stories for a while, but I just don't feel that pull this time. I don't know what it is but I just feel like tackling another, large project while I wait.
So, I've started laying down the foundations for a new novel and should give starting it a go today. Unlike the majority of my grandiose ideas, I've decided to go for a more grounded, definitely single-novel, story. It's going to be interesting to stretch myself in different directions than I have done previously and I hope that it helps me when I do go back to my other novel to do some editing.
I'm also going to watch The Dark Knight tonight. Very much looking forward to that; I've always been a massive Batman fan, but I'm an even bigger Joker fan. It'll be great to see how Heath Ledger portrayed the top villain in comics and, from the reviews which Stumble keeps throwing at me like poison daggers, I doubt that I'll be disappointed.
Anyway, wish me luck. Or whatever you want to wish me.
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