Serving. Cleaning. Carving. Sweating. Perfecting my impression of being rushed of my feet, while actually being rushed off my feet. Getting Burnt, a little. Minutes resting? None.
Home - 1 Hour
Tea, maybe three cups. Water, lots, was insanely thirsty. Watching a small French man create dishes I can't. Tuna, salad, sandwich.
Attending Lecture - 1 Hour
Arse-trumpets and the very real Mediaeval merit of Monty Python.
Library - 1.5 Hours and counting
Very satisfying ninety-five minutes, 1006 word continuation of the magnificent Monty, and more about Schroedinger. What is wrong with me? Am I somehow related, or possessed?
So far I feel very satisfied. Good hard work. Hey, 10.58 words a minute of quality subject contemplation. I can go home right?
Someone posted this on VisageNovel, or Facebook as the young ones call it. Go on, play it while I describe my thoughts, it will help.
'Truly great flat-pack fun.'
In traditional Hives fashion it's what I call Million-Mile-an-Hour-Rock... although technically, thisis faster, I'm just not used to the intensity of it now that I've stopped growing my hair down to my shoulders and discussing the finer points of jazz-infused-Energizer-bunny-was-given-a-guitar, metal. At least not that often. Sober.
Which reminds me, did I ever show you that picture? Yes I must have done, now go and read all my other posts just to find it. Thanks.
And back to my initial point of starting this, the Hives, and this song in particular makes me think of this scene.
'I could sell the morning pill to the Pope.'
But at first I couldn't figure out what the scene was and I imagined it set in a shopping centre, with teenagers or some other chaotic personality, running from authority. And that led to a mad hour or so of scouring YouTube, watching mad videos like this:
'Holy Shit. Someone spelt boobies with the spices.'
Now play the original song with that.
Great huh? Or even this.
'Why are you just laughing?! We need serious help?!'
I suppose there is probably a point where I should probably stop and apologise for a post that appears to rely entirely on videos you have probably all seen before. Well, I'm sorry. But, and this is a big 'but'...
Stop that, I didn't say anybody could break into song, but I'll help nonetheless.
'She just, looks so righteous!'
Wait! What? I can't believe one simple Google-suggest brought me to that. I have struck comedy gold! How much different would this post be if I remembered what that song was called instead of blindly typing the lyrics into my browser? (Ed. It would make more sense for one, and maybe even follow a single train of though.')
But, what I meant to bring up was the fact that I was convinced the Hives song, feel free to scroll back up to remind yourself, related to a film I'd seen. That is, I thought there was a scene of some kid running through a shop, pursued in typical comic style by a Rent-a-Cop, as souvenirs and nick-nacks went flying everywhere. A perfect visual representation of the frantic and excitable mindset this music puts me in.
It is also representative of just how addictive I often find YouTube, or any similar site providing suggested links according to my previous, and often ill-advised, viewing. Just like if a supermarket started suggesting Sambuca after you bought cheap Tequila on a drunken whim last week... madness.
The more I think about it, this personalised advertising either hits the mark or makes you realise the depths you've sunk to in order to laugh/drink/gorge/entertain yourself into a stupor. Positive thinking.
But to make a finer point, this is just one reason why I love music, all of the impetus for this post was conjured by one simple video, and now I've spent endless minutes reigniting my love for Liquid Tension Experiment and Melodic Metal (thanks Angra).
I used to be a music snob and make fun of everyone who listened to music I didn't like, and I was wrong for doing it, granted I was 14 and believed it had some sort of importance, but that's still no excuse for screaming at kids on the bus for listening to the wrong music, again.
It has become apparent to me that music is good because I like it, and that's all I care about. If it gets me thinking, throwing horrendous shapes, dancing in my chair, contemplating, writing, or just puts me in a mood, then it's worth listening to.
Oh, and share that music. I never hear enough. Except on the bus, but that's another story.
Enjoy yourselves tonight. It's gonna be a good one.
I was watching Loose Women the other morning... Wait! Don't go!
Let me explain, I live with four women and when I got in from a lecture they were desperately trying to procrastinate with the help of cackling middle-aged women, and failing.
So as I made myself some lunch I overheard the statement - 'I just can't relax when I know my child is two clicks away from indecent material!' - This promptly threw me into a rant of a proportion that shocked my flat-mates out of their Facebook induced trance and into a world of indignant shock.
That's a load of rubbish, they looked at me with confusion; they hadn't been paying attention to the TV at all, it was there for background noise. Which reminds me, four laptops, four smartphones, and the television on! What is wrong with people?! But that is a rant for another time.
Back to the meat of my sandwich, the saucy interior of a point, wrapped delicately in the pastry of argument...
That is to say the matter of...
A Couple Clicks to Catastrophe - The Story of a Child and the Internet
The new blockbuster that brings War Games into the 21st Century, the terrible tale of a child losing his life to the dangers of the internet, finding satisfaction in clicking endlessly past pointless and silly blog posts...
OK, no more digression. I initially ridiculed the not-so-tight females simply because I didn't believe them. Lid up, lights on, my laptop burst into power and I set off! From Google I hit 'I'm Feeling Lucky' and... went straight to Google's Doodles, despite my best efforts I couldn't actually get Google to search anything without typing it in, odd that.
Then I went for my 'Most Visited' tabs, a useful feature Chrome includes in order to exponentially reduce productivity and further encourage dependance on procrastination; a government conspiracy to keep us docile and in our homes, killing braincells with every ridiculous blogged word. The screenplay for A Couple Clicks is gaining depth.
From the 'Most Visited' tab is was very easy, primarily because I had ignored videos, in my ignorant sense of supremacy I'd ignored YouTube. After all, everyone knows the Small World Phenomenon, even if it is through a phone network's advert (I'm looking at you, Kevin Bacon), and a certain portion of the internet has applied it to YouTube; if they introduced a 'I'm Feeling Lucky' button it would probably induce the apocalypse, but as it stands you have to do it yourself often resulting in a severe dismay for the future of humanity, or at least yourself. Anybody who has prayed at the altar of YouTube for deliverance from boredom has soon found themselves swimming in deep, confused waters of Tattooing Eyeballs!? What fresh hell is this?! And other such insanity.
However, when I started this post I was primarily focussed upon a child's innocence being destroyed by the internet and I return with magnificent vigour to this point. Of course the internet makes it easy to find unsavoury items but if I have kids, I fully expect them to understand technology far better than me. Even as someone who has grown up with computers I couldn't type a word of useful code whereas eleven year-olds can already scam other eleven year-olds out of their Runescape profiles. Granted he didn't cover his tracks very well, but his parents did give him an iPhone, at eleven! Apples falling, trees and all that. In my day, a mobile hung over your cot!
Never mind, I'm not old enough or grumpy enough... yet.
I will be sorely disappointed if my child is flummoxed by BBC IPlayer asking if he is over 16, or the settings for internet security being a whole four clicks away, or even the Google solution for over-riding parental-guidance being a matter of keyboard taps away. Kids find out an awful lot on their own, after all it was an encyclopaedia we had in the house that gave me my first look at boobs and now we have this! (So very suitable for work... well, not really.)
The only risk is that they experience all these magnificent things too quickly and their head explodes. Maybe.
OK, perhaps this has all turned out a little more like a Motorway Stop massacre of a pastry but I had a good procrastinatory morning. And the point still stands, children are even more likely to find what's been hidden when they know more about the technology than we do. Don't be disappointed you never expected this to be a serious discussion, did you? Oh, sorry.
After many weeks and months of baking my own bread I succumbed to laziness and bought a loaf of 'Everyday Value' bread from Tesco, my mood cheering with the thoughts of quick and easy toast, melted butter and cold toast. This morning I cracked it open, obviously today is an 'every' day, nothing special, and I was dissapointed, this just isn't the same as what I was hoping for, oh well, it will be finished soon.
The rebranding of Tesco's value range has jogged something in my mind though. It's quite an interesting marketing move to limit your products away from the special occasions, are they telling me that I need to spend more money on my occasions because that thoroughly confuses me. If you are having a party, you want quantity in order to have enough for everyone, so you want cheap and cheerful, not their finest dinner party range.
Eight slices later, four in toast and butter form, four in tuna and watercress sandwich style, my craving may just be satiated… wait a minute, I have vegemite in the cupboard. Toaster prepare!
I slide deftly across the floor, the bread arcing through the air and slotting succintly in the toaster, as the bread drops smartly into place my fingers take hold of the plunger and provide just enough force to drop the lever, too much and it would bounce back, too little and the ridiculously tempestuous toaster would refuse to heat my bread (we really need a new toaster, along with the kettle that boils half of its water away so that you need to fill the kettle for just one cup, I can hear the environmentally friendly sorts crying as I continue). A short hop and slide, my hand pulls open the fridge, my foot grasping the cupboard handle, my balance falters as my fingers fumble the buttery margarine (oh how I miss real butter) but in a moment of excellence I grasp both, the cupboard swings open, my elbow closes the fridge, I pivot on my toes and triumphantly waltz to the plate with vegemite and margarine in hand. Swipe, spread and slash my toast is prepared and I relax with my delightful snack.
This may at first appear to be an odd idea but if we review books and films, why not newspapers and magazines?
For almost a decade now I have found that the majority of my reading material, day to day and travel-wise is not the hard or soft bound variety of literature, low on images, and often high in intellect. It has instead been the world of glossy pages, technical jargon and eye-wateringly beautiful and envy-invoking images. The first jaunt the world of gaming; demo-discs and pixels, genre specific vocabulary, wish lists and virtual worlds. While still a hobby and an interest I moved on and the more recent subject matter revolve around physical sports, dirt, snow and skate, 'gnarly' documentations of 'sick' tricks, and yes I've spouted my fair share of 'valley-guy' terms to the detriment of my apparent brain-cells.
More recently my eye has been caught by the matte, the uniquely designed and the intellectually thought out. I have been lucky to come across some great publications by accident and in other cases great articles in the still-glossy renditions, intelligent thought provoking articles that encourage my own desire to increase the intelligence of the reading material that fills our newsstands and our hands. I'm sick of people buying the garishly coloured, predictable, fame-fuellers that unnecessarily idolise normal people (perhaps some justly).
This is not a negative piece though and I understand the inherent demand for simply-written material, we are all in need of a great story of plot and convenient understanding occasionally.
My thoughts began with a cleverly written article discussing the changing world of photography in action sports, more specifically snowboarding and it led me to analyse it after it proved to avoid the pitfalls of typical 'old vs new' debates. The images where clearly in a balance with the words in terms of strength, importance and quality. A film magazine caught and held my attention with a brightly coloured, artistic cover and despite the price, I was sold. The following day my sister presented me with an equally well illustrated edition of Ride.
The article in Little White Lies discusses the horror genre and brings up the 'cult/non-mainstream' side of attraction or consequence and to a certain extent that increases the charm of these publications themselves, they aren't the common appearance and they don't scream everyday, they are something to be read slowly and fully understand.
Ok, so these are expensive reads, but the gorgeous detail, minimal bludgeoning advertising and high quality lends to their longevity, they are read in segments, often without specific order and they take on a role more akin to coffee table books than glossy mags, for one I'd be very disappointed to spill tea on these and I probably wouldn't be comfortable slicing them up to stare at from my bed, despite their gorgeous detail.
They may appear pretencious and 'hipster' or 'trendy' or just too cool for the new alternative but I'm sick of pidgeons and their holes. Lets continue with this high quality of easily accessible writing and penned thought. Hell, scantily clad ladies done in this format would be considered art if viewed on the train, bus or any other public situation, that's as good a reason as any to get behind this idea - the MetArt of the magazine world.
Standing on the platform I'm excited, nervous and I wonder when was the last time I was on a train? It may have only been in January but I was distracted by pretty German girl that I was helping to find her way to Dundee from Edinburgh airport and it was the final leg of a journey I wanted to finish. Today on the other hand I am going cross-country, last week a bit of Facebook correspondence alerted me to the fact my sisters would be together, one travelling up from London to Dalbeattie and without a moment's thought for my constantly dwindling finances I booked tickets.
The smell of grease, iron oxide and hot mechanics is sending my brain into overdrive; first to the cycle ride down to the docks I enjoyed last week, the orange dust spread across the road, images of abandoned mills and factories clash with the feeling of being so small amongst great constructions of industrial ages, huge smooth bearings and grease! I am a young child walking around Beaulieu or the National Transport Museum or I'm rooting through my parent's garage, pulling out old pots and pans, objects with history and charm.
I suppose I was always a little bit steampunk from a young age. Plastic is such a boring material, yes it is fantastically strong and versatile but the class and character of metal: brass, steel, aluminium - shining, dull, brushed - cold and clinical but gorgeous (probably half the reason I own an all aluminium mac. If I could have a laptop or a phone made of wood I would.)
I'm looking out the window and I remember why I love catching trains, despite the expense its a fantastic way to see the scenery and Scotland is a great place for scenery, every time I head down to Edinburgh to catch a plane, I'm reminded of the gorgeous country I live in, the coastal line is grand and fantastic, particularly with bright blue skies and hot sunshine but just as impressive with imposing, brooding clouds darkening the sky with their equally gorgeous purple bruising the landscape. Every time I come back to Dundee I'm just as equally reminded of the fantastic place I have returned to.
Today, however I am taking another of my favourite routes, not only because it means I will see my sisters, and it would usually mean festival time too but because the scenery changes, I get so close to where I lived for the first nine years of my life so I see Perth Swimming pool, the Ochils, Stirling Castle and the Great (Bright!) Hall, Glasgow, Carlisle …… and Dumfries. (I didn't mean for this to become an episode Great British Rail Journeys, although maybe I could do that, any volunteers for the voice over?)
I always see wildlife, eleven o'clock, one hour and eight minutes in and I have seen rabbits, foxes, lambs and their mothers (no gambolling today) and the rare breed of contented train traveller (maybe it was just my reflection in the window). And last time I did this journey I was also greeted with hawks, pheasants and probably more that I simply can't remember. The scenery streams past and lulls me into moments of dozing. I perk up to realise the sun has returned as I near my destination, the heat revives me and the great tunes pumping into my ear refresh the excitement I felt this morning, awesome times are going to be had , it'll be great to see my sisters! :D
Just as I was thinking about that last sentence I looked out the window and was pulling into Dumfries station. Ah! almost missed my destination, but it was quite ok as I quickly stuffed my laptop away and got off to meet my wonderful sisters.
We went for a little drive, deliberated over some new technology for my entrepreneurial sibling, a quick visit to a nicely converted farm for summery drinks and a play on the swings before munching on half a pint of prawns with a local beer, Criffel, enjoying the relaxed scenery of the Urr Estuary, blue skies and warm conversation.
Unknown to even those who know it well, the exact time of arrival of the Scottish summer changes so often that even girls make fun of it! Anyway, last week we had barbecues, sunburn and heat stroke but this week we have snow, although speaking of the weather may comfort the rest of us Brits I regretfully inform you that this is not a normal post, this is the story of somewhat insane idea of fun, and while you read it, remember that I said this was fun, the fun I was having was overflowing and came out as cackles as I gazed through crazy eyes at what I had brought home.
So, to the story and a wonderful way it begins. I have finished third year of University in this fine city and I have a lot of free time ahead of me and I thought it best to start of productively; clothes washed, room tidied and cleaned, kitchen tidied and cleaned, random bits of paper sorted into their idea piles and just the shopping to do.
Gleefully I waltzed towards Riverside Tesco, a pleasant walk in a muggy bubble, empty rucksack flapping at my side like an overexcited packhorse who loves his work just a little too much, straps happy to be free to flap in the wind, the stench of cupboard rot wafting towards Perth, or Broughty Ferry, or Northwards and Southwards also, with... every... gust... of.... good 'ol Dundonian breeze.
Forthwith I arrived, slouched to the bank machine, my face fills with glee: Money! I trip the light fantastic, hop the aural armada and grace the grand sliding doors with my presence. Whipcrack! I deftly remove my list from its holster and peruse the scribblings before shooting off on my quest (as efficiently as possible of course.)
I tangoed with the trolley, foxtrotting to the fruit, waltzing into the women's hygiene aisle, ahem... Slowly backing away, I refocused and made for the last push, must not get distracted... oooh potato waffles!
List collected a congratulatory message appeared before my eyes "You have succesfully won the Golden Trolley Trophy for the speediest sweep of a supermarket (hope I don't need to pay for that)". To the till! The many hours I spent perfecting my Tetris technique came into its own as I keyed my pin into the machine.
Ten minutes later I was munching on a sandwich to build strength after repacking the uselessly packed rucksack, the stage was set, 1.5 miles, 26 kilos of goodness, one man...
For the first five minutes Haych-Too-O and his evil cousin Hayl were determined to fight me all the way, filling my hood, building a snowman between my back and the bag and other things of an irritable nature, little did it know that I was gaining strength from the miniature drops of refreshment that blasted their way up my nose.
As the hail calmed down the sun broke out and for the next twenty minutes I was bathed in the golden warmth (no I didn't pee myself, the sun!) and frigid wind as I powered my way back up the hill.
Discovering on my way, evidence of the dreaded kidnapper who uses tinned mackerel to lure unsuspecting boot wearers close before stealing them straight from those aforementioned boots!
To the victor, the spoils!
That is why I cackled, I just kept unloading my bag and the pile grew!
And here is old faithful himself, he has travelled far and wide (Nepal, Australia, Canada and India to name just a few) but this was his toughest challenge yet and, although looking like a sad carcass, he smiles with the happiness of a job well done and a challenge overcome perhaps that is more of a gurn...
It's odd moments of exercise and challenge like this that make me smile, I've been shut up doing work for too long and this is one of the results.
