OCD comes in bursts. I'm not generally obsessive compulsive, apart from the odd tendency, the most obvious example being that I have to eat my food in the right order. It's impossible to know what that order will be until I am presented with the food, but it's very important anyway.
Today I spent five hours cleaning my kitchen. This may seem like typical OCD behaviour, but it's actually much more complicated than that. I do not often spend more than half an hour cleaning anything. This was sparked by an experience that I might never truly recover from.
About a month ago, my flatmate Gav accidentally pulled down one of the curtains in the kitchen. We tend not to close them anyway, so it wasn't a big deal. Today though, I decided it was about time someone put it back up. It had been left on the floor, and I picked it up to work out how I could do this. It was a little damp, but I figured there was no reason why it shouldn't be clean, and that it would dry when it was hanging in front of the window again.
I went to get the step ladders. I put them up. I gave them a push, and instantly decided that I was far to important to actually put any weight on them, and that I would wait until one of the boys came home. I decided to wash the curtain, just in case.
At this point I noticed that the floor where the curtain had been was a bit dusty-looking and could probably use cleaning. I moved the table out of the way to get a closer look. At this point the worst thing that's happened to me all week occurred.
I found an exoskeleton.
From some kind of bug.
With lots of legs.
I wretched. Then I cleaned for five hours. Muttering "nothing crawls in my kitchen," under my breath.
Saturday, March 07, 2009
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
Flattery
Don't have much time for a post, supposed to be studying for physics tomorrow, decided to take the day off to do so, and as such I can't really justify wasting too much time blogging.
Oh, and I've just caught myself half-way through making a cup of tea. Supposed to have given it up for lent, seems I am on auto-pilot. At least it's only the first time I've slipped up... as far as I know.
OK, that's a bit too weird. On with the mini update:
- I've unwittingly been making tea.
- Insomnia seems to be just about gone, but somehow I'm still very tired, must be because I'm working so hard.
- When looking through some note last night, I noticed that I'd managed to spell "therefore" as "theirfore." I set the notes on fire. No one will ever find out (except anyone who reads this).
- I am definitely not loosing it, not even a little bit.
Oh, and a couple of my friends have started writing blogs too. I have to assume I inspired them, that or they realised that if I was already writing one, I couldn't take the piss out of them for doing so. If I was mean I'd say they were just copying me, but because I am lovely, I have put links to their blogs in the new link section (scroll down, it's on the right somewhere). Imitation is the greatest form of flattery, and flattery will get you everywhere.*
If you write a blog and you suspect that a) It's not an entirely awful read, and b) I don't hate you, let me know and if you're right I'll link it. Of course, if I don't link it, you'll have to spend the rest of your life wondering which reason it is. Up to you to decide if it's really worth the risk.
*Unless you try to flatter me by buying the same shoes/clothes/bags. In which case it won't get you anywhere you actually want to be.
Oh, and I've just caught myself half-way through making a cup of tea. Supposed to have given it up for lent, seems I am on auto-pilot. At least it's only the first time I've slipped up... as far as I know.
OK, that's a bit too weird. On with the mini update:
- I've unwittingly been making tea.
- Insomnia seems to be just about gone, but somehow I'm still very tired, must be because I'm working so hard.
- When looking through some note last night, I noticed that I'd managed to spell "therefore" as "theirfore." I set the notes on fire. No one will ever find out (except anyone who reads this).
- I am definitely not loosing it, not even a little bit.
Oh, and a couple of my friends have started writing blogs too. I have to assume I inspired them, that or they realised that if I was already writing one, I couldn't take the piss out of them for doing so. If I was mean I'd say they were just copying me, but because I am lovely, I have put links to their blogs in the new link section (scroll down, it's on the right somewhere). Imitation is the greatest form of flattery, and flattery will get you everywhere.*
If you write a blog and you suspect that a) It's not an entirely awful read, and b) I don't hate you, let me know and if you're right I'll link it. Of course, if I don't link it, you'll have to spend the rest of your life wondering which reason it is. Up to you to decide if it's really worth the risk.
*Unless you try to flatter me by buying the same shoes/clothes/bags. In which case it won't get you anywhere you actually want to be.
Friday, February 27, 2009
Parcel Wars
I ordered a case of wine from nakedwines.com because I got a voucher sent to me, and it seemed like a pretty good deal. Especially since they said that the would definitely deliver it the next day, and if I wasn't in they'd leave it somewhere safe. This seemed like an even better deal because they also mentioned that should it get stolen, they'd replace it for free.
I'm sure I don't need to tell you what my cunning plan was. It was very cunning, but very simple, and in its' simplicity lay its' beauty.
Anyway, I got back and found a card from Parcel Force saying they'd left the wine with a neighbour. The card also said
"(BOX OF WINE) Untouched! NONE BROKE ON DELIVERY."
Now, I don't know if my Parcel Force Guy (PFG) doesn't trust my neighbour, or if he doesn't trust me and thought I might try to run some kind of scam to get more wine (as if!) Or perhaps he's just feeling guilty for smashing a whole case last time he made a delivery, and wants someone to notice his skills are improving.
It could be any of those things. Just in case it's the last one, I'd like to say this:
Thank you PFG. You bring my deliveries on time and in tact. You successfully leave them somewhere safe, and tell me where that somewhere is. You never break any of my things or try to lie to me. For this I truly appreciate you.
Would you be interested in taking part in an epic battle with The Postman? (I assume he is your arch nemesis).
I'm sure I don't need to tell you what my cunning plan was. It was very cunning, but very simple, and in its' simplicity lay its' beauty.
Anyway, I got back and found a card from Parcel Force saying they'd left the wine with a neighbour. The card also said
"(BOX OF WINE) Untouched! NONE BROKE ON DELIVERY."
Now, I don't know if my Parcel Force Guy (PFG) doesn't trust my neighbour, or if he doesn't trust me and thought I might try to run some kind of scam to get more wine (as if!) Or perhaps he's just feeling guilty for smashing a whole case last time he made a delivery, and wants someone to notice his skills are improving.
It could be any of those things. Just in case it's the last one, I'd like to say this:
Thank you PFG. You bring my deliveries on time and in tact. You successfully leave them somewhere safe, and tell me where that somewhere is. You never break any of my things or try to lie to me. For this I truly appreciate you.
Would you be interested in taking part in an epic battle with The Postman? (I assume he is your arch nemesis).
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Tweeze
I had a meeting yesterday with the staff student committee. I am the student representative for ExCos, which is a dumbed down version of astronomy. I was not forced to take the post, I volunteered. I did this because I really care about the other students who take it, they can't speak for themselves, most of them are art students, they communicate through clicks and whistles. This would not be understood at the meeting.
I also did it because I'd like to give something back to the University. It has nothing to do with wanting to add stuff to my CV whenever possible.
I sat next to the chairman, I don't know his name, but he seems like a nice enough man. I think he used to be very ginger, there's still some ginger in his beard. After noticing this I realised that he had more facial hair coverage than any other man I've ever seen. I don't mean that he had the biggest beard I've ever seen, I've been to metal gigs, it would be a ridiculous claim. Rather, a greater proportion of his face had hair growing out of it, most of which he presumably shaved off. He had hair growing on his earlobes. Seriously.
It occurred to me that one of the worst things that could happen to a guy would be getting really hairy when you're really old. I mean, shaving must suck as it is, but hair on your ears? Like some kind of rodent? Totally not up for that. You know what though? It'd be easy enough to solve. Maybe I've got the odd OCD-like tendency, but I know where the nearest three pairs of tweezers are, and they're all within reaching distance.
Yes. Three pairs of tweezers is the optimum number. What if you suddenly realised your eyebrows were the wrong shape and there wasn't a pair in your handbag? What if it was dark? Definitely need the ones with the light. What if you needed false eye-lashes? You just going to try to glue them on with your fingers? I know I wouldn't put glue anywhere near my eyes unless I had my needle-nosed tweezers to do it.
The hairy old chairman would look amazing with false eyelashes. At least in that I would be amazed.
I also did it because I'd like to give something back to the University. It has nothing to do with wanting to add stuff to my CV whenever possible.
I sat next to the chairman, I don't know his name, but he seems like a nice enough man. I think he used to be very ginger, there's still some ginger in his beard. After noticing this I realised that he had more facial hair coverage than any other man I've ever seen. I don't mean that he had the biggest beard I've ever seen, I've been to metal gigs, it would be a ridiculous claim. Rather, a greater proportion of his face had hair growing out of it, most of which he presumably shaved off. He had hair growing on his earlobes. Seriously.
It occurred to me that one of the worst things that could happen to a guy would be getting really hairy when you're really old. I mean, shaving must suck as it is, but hair on your ears? Like some kind of rodent? Totally not up for that. You know what though? It'd be easy enough to solve. Maybe I've got the odd OCD-like tendency, but I know where the nearest three pairs of tweezers are, and they're all within reaching distance.
Yes. Three pairs of tweezers is the optimum number. What if you suddenly realised your eyebrows were the wrong shape and there wasn't a pair in your handbag? What if it was dark? Definitely need the ones with the light. What if you needed false eye-lashes? You just going to try to glue them on with your fingers? I know I wouldn't put glue anywhere near my eyes unless I had my needle-nosed tweezers to do it.
The hairy old chairman would look amazing with false eyelashes. At least in that I would be amazed.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Nature vs Nurture
I was thinking about my childhood, and I reckon there's a chance I was groomed for academia. It surprises me, because when I was in high-school I asked my parents if they'd ever had any thoughts on what career they I'd eventually have, or what they'd like me to have, and they said no, and I thought no more about it.
I now have reason to believe that they lied to me. This is not unusual, if you look back on your life you discover that as a child people lied to you constantly. Incidentally they simultaneously try to teach you that lying is wrong. No generation to date has been successful in passing the virtue of unwavering truthfulness onto the next.
Anyway, it was thinking about the differences between my sister and I that lead me to this conclusion. We're a lot a like, both in general personality and appearance, though she's smaller than me and tends to die her hair red these days. Our parents claim to have tried to treat us both the same as they were raising us, and in the respect that they spent equal amounts of money and time on each of us both, they're claim is valid.
However, I'm on my way to becoming a physicist and she's on her way to becoming a photographer. I was always the academic one, and she was always artsy. I reckon its got a lot to do with the season in which we were born. I'm January, she's August. So when it came to birthdays she'd get a swing-set, or a sand pit, or a trampoline. I tended to get microscopes (yes, plural), chemistry sets and electronics sets to play with.
One year Steph got a Barbie and a "Make your own lipgloss kit" for Christmas. The same year there was two dictionaries amongst my gifts. An OED for students and a "Dictionary of Difficult words." No wonder I didn't mix well with my peers. I'd ask for a remote controlled car and get a book called "My First 100 Science Experiments." I didn't even know Fisher Price did such a thing!
And yet, as a child I never noticed. I pointed out the unfairness that I never got anything as cool as a trampoline, and was told I could always use Steph's and that it was only because you couldn't use trampolines in Winter. It made sense. So I absorbed all of it. The interactive encyclopedias, the 1000 piece world map jigsaws, all the books I could get my hands on. Lessons disguised as toys.
When I was home at Christmas last year, my Dad looked at a pile of my notes. He called me over and asked me to explain what they meant. It was some basic stuff on the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle. I did my best, but the conversation ended like this:
Dad: Let me get this straight, not only are you doing maths when you should be doing physics, you're doing it with letters instead of numbers, and the letters are in Greek?
Me: Yes.
Dad. WTF?
Serves him right. I'm still bitter about that trampoline.
I now have reason to believe that they lied to me. This is not unusual, if you look back on your life you discover that as a child people lied to you constantly. Incidentally they simultaneously try to teach you that lying is wrong. No generation to date has been successful in passing the virtue of unwavering truthfulness onto the next.
Anyway, it was thinking about the differences between my sister and I that lead me to this conclusion. We're a lot a like, both in general personality and appearance, though she's smaller than me and tends to die her hair red these days. Our parents claim to have tried to treat us both the same as they were raising us, and in the respect that they spent equal amounts of money and time on each of us both, they're claim is valid.
However, I'm on my way to becoming a physicist and she's on her way to becoming a photographer. I was always the academic one, and she was always artsy. I reckon its got a lot to do with the season in which we were born. I'm January, she's August. So when it came to birthdays she'd get a swing-set, or a sand pit, or a trampoline. I tended to get microscopes (yes, plural), chemistry sets and electronics sets to play with.
One year Steph got a Barbie and a "Make your own lipgloss kit" for Christmas. The same year there was two dictionaries amongst my gifts. An OED for students and a "Dictionary of Difficult words." No wonder I didn't mix well with my peers. I'd ask for a remote controlled car and get a book called "My First 100 Science Experiments." I didn't even know Fisher Price did such a thing!
And yet, as a child I never noticed. I pointed out the unfairness that I never got anything as cool as a trampoline, and was told I could always use Steph's and that it was only because you couldn't use trampolines in Winter. It made sense. So I absorbed all of it. The interactive encyclopedias, the 1000 piece world map jigsaws, all the books I could get my hands on. Lessons disguised as toys.
When I was home at Christmas last year, my Dad looked at a pile of my notes. He called me over and asked me to explain what they meant. It was some basic stuff on the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle. I did my best, but the conversation ended like this:
Dad: Let me get this straight, not only are you doing maths when you should be doing physics, you're doing it with letters instead of numbers, and the letters are in Greek?
Me: Yes.
Dad. WTF?
Serves him right. I'm still bitter about that trampoline.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Uh-oh
Alright, my last blog apparently left me open for attack. At least judging by the complaints this morning. Martin was the most hurt I think, because I gave him grief for buying an ipod a while ago. Poor ickle Martin.
You might have guessed, this is not an apology. I'm bad at apologies. They always start off well, but they tend to end badly. An example of me apologising might go like this.
"I know I upset you the other day when I called you a fucktard, and I probably shouldn't have. Not that I'm wrong though, you are a fucktard, it's just that I didn't expect you to be sad when I pointed it out. Actually, the fact that it bothered you at all leads me to believe that you're an even worse individual than I at first anticipated. So yeah, sorry. Not for what I said, but that you have to live with that."
See the problem? Frankly it's amazing that I have any friends at all. Perhaps it's because I avoid making friends with fucktards, so that kind of thing doesn't happen often.
Aaaaaanyway. I have a statement to make:
I have never bought an Apple product. The shuffle I own was a free gift. I refuse to use it for anything other than audio books, and I absolutely will never download anything from itunes. I have been debating getting an iphone, but simply because I'd quite like a nice phone that I can get online with, there are alternatives, and considering that I can't afford a new phone at all yet, by the time I can, I will have done my research well enough to choose something better.
Apple is probably evil. Microsoft probably is too. I don't know how to use Linux. I hope this goes some way to absolving me.
(Martin still shouldn't have bought his ipod though. Pretty silly thing to do. What? I'm just saying).
You might have guessed, this is not an apology. I'm bad at apologies. They always start off well, but they tend to end badly. An example of me apologising might go like this.
"I know I upset you the other day when I called you a fucktard, and I probably shouldn't have. Not that I'm wrong though, you are a fucktard, it's just that I didn't expect you to be sad when I pointed it out. Actually, the fact that it bothered you at all leads me to believe that you're an even worse individual than I at first anticipated. So yeah, sorry. Not for what I said, but that you have to live with that."
See the problem? Frankly it's amazing that I have any friends at all. Perhaps it's because I avoid making friends with fucktards, so that kind of thing doesn't happen often.
Aaaaaanyway. I have a statement to make:
I have never bought an Apple product. The shuffle I own was a free gift. I refuse to use it for anything other than audio books, and I absolutely will never download anything from itunes. I have been debating getting an iphone, but simply because I'd quite like a nice phone that I can get online with, there are alternatives, and considering that I can't afford a new phone at all yet, by the time I can, I will have done my research well enough to choose something better.
Apple is probably evil. Microsoft probably is too. I don't know how to use Linux. I hope this goes some way to absolving me.
(Martin still shouldn't have bought his ipod though. Pretty silly thing to do. What? I'm just saying).
Monday, February 16, 2009
Unconventional
I have another confession to make that might surprise you. I own an ipod shuffle.
I'm not a fan of Apple in general. My shuffle was free when I signed up for an offer for something I actually wanted. I didn't know there was a shuffle in it for me when I signed up, but then they sent me one.
I actually use it. It's only 2Gb(at least that's what it claims), it's nice and small, so it fits even in girly jeans pockets*. It's also kind of cute, in a clinical kind of way. Silver and white is a pretty unoffensive colour scheme so long as it's not on a car.
I do not have it set to "shuffle." It amused me that I could turn that function off, effectively removing what is apparently it's 2nd biggest selling point. Only apple could market a piece of technology as being especially good for doing something that every other piece of similar technology on the market can already do perfectly well.
Nor do I have any music on it. This removes it's 1st biggest selling point. Apple are actually quite good at selling mp3-players, and nobody is really surprised about that anymore. If only because it's old news.
There are five files on my shuffle:
1. Rapid Russian: A course for Beginners
2. Catch 22 (Unabridged)
3. Gulliver's Travels (Unabridged)
4. Labyrinth (Unabridged)
5. The Feynman Lectures on Physics (Volume 1)
These are audio books.
The fact is, I like using things for interesting purposes if I find out that I can. My shuffle holds my audio books. I listen to MP3s with my phone. I connect to my network with my DS, which I also now use as a synthesizer (but rarely play games on, that's the phone again).
One day, I'll be able to do all of those things on one piece of technology. Chances are I can already, if I'm willing to pay the price. The fact is, if ever someone puts synthesizer software on my phone, I'll use it for that. I'll get two cans and a length of string for when I want to call people.
*Guys, you do not appreciate your jeans pockets enough. You can get phone, wallet and keys, possibly also mp3-player in two pockets sometimes, that's incredible. If I've got my phone in my pocket, that pocket is completely full, even now I've got my nice phone back.
I'm not a fan of Apple in general. My shuffle was free when I signed up for an offer for something I actually wanted. I didn't know there was a shuffle in it for me when I signed up, but then they sent me one.
I actually use it. It's only 2Gb(at least that's what it claims), it's nice and small, so it fits even in girly jeans pockets*. It's also kind of cute, in a clinical kind of way. Silver and white is a pretty unoffensive colour scheme so long as it's not on a car.
I do not have it set to "shuffle." It amused me that I could turn that function off, effectively removing what is apparently it's 2nd biggest selling point. Only apple could market a piece of technology as being especially good for doing something that every other piece of similar technology on the market can already do perfectly well.
Nor do I have any music on it. This removes it's 1st biggest selling point. Apple are actually quite good at selling mp3-players, and nobody is really surprised about that anymore. If only because it's old news.
There are five files on my shuffle:
1. Rapid Russian: A course for Beginners
2. Catch 22 (Unabridged)
3. Gulliver's Travels (Unabridged)
4. Labyrinth (Unabridged)
5. The Feynman Lectures on Physics (Volume 1)
These are audio books.
The fact is, I like using things for interesting purposes if I find out that I can. My shuffle holds my audio books. I listen to MP3s with my phone. I connect to my network with my DS, which I also now use as a synthesizer (but rarely play games on, that's the phone again).
One day, I'll be able to do all of those things on one piece of technology. Chances are I can already, if I'm willing to pay the price. The fact is, if ever someone puts synthesizer software on my phone, I'll use it for that. I'll get two cans and a length of string for when I want to call people.
*Guys, you do not appreciate your jeans pockets enough. You can get phone, wallet and keys, possibly also mp3-player in two pockets sometimes, that's incredible. If I've got my phone in my pocket, that pocket is completely full, even now I've got my nice phone back.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Slander
Due to some of my recent actions, my flatmate is trying to convince people that I am an engineering student. It's because he's very bitter that he could never study a real science. Do not believe him, he will tell you that I failed an exam, so I've decided to start again with first year engineering, he'll tell you I'm very embarrassed about this, he might even be convincing.
Do not believe him. Frankly, I'd rather stoop to biology than engineering, hell, I'd rather do Earth science (I wonder how many people I can alienate with one blog post?) God knows that could never happen.
Watch out also for him telling you that he's studying medicine. He isn't, it's nursing. Nothing to be ashamed of, we're not living in the 1950s, if we can have policewomen we can have male nurses (though honestly, I'm not sure what we'd need them for). I suppose it just goes to show that you shouldn't believe everything you hear (or read).
Harry, you may consider yourself owned.
Do not believe him. Frankly, I'd rather stoop to biology than engineering, hell, I'd rather do Earth science (I wonder how many people I can alienate with one blog post?) God knows that could never happen.
Watch out also for him telling you that he's studying medicine. He isn't, it's nursing. Nothing to be ashamed of, we're not living in the 1950s, if we can have policewomen we can have male nurses (though honestly, I'm not sure what we'd need them for). I suppose it just goes to show that you shouldn't believe everything you hear (or read).
Harry, you may consider yourself owned.
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
Refuse Collection Individual
Firstly, I've had a complaint. Apparently Fi is not a robot. To this I'd like to say "oh yes she is." Sorry Fi, but it does seem likely.
This morning I awoke early. I've been trying it out every couple of days, I'm not sure if I like it or not yet, but it does help my concentration in lectures if I've already been awake for two hours. Normally I get up forty minutes before my first lecture and stumble about the flat getting ready, but not waking up until I leave the building. This has produced odd situations in the past.
If I'm going to wake up early I have to give myself an incentive. Things like; "You can get some work done before you even get to uni!" don't seem work. It has to be more along the lines of, "just think how many times you can get changed before you finally settle on an outfit, you might not even be bored of it by lunch!"
Today, my incentive was that I'd ordered something cute from asos.com a couple of days ago, so it should be about time it arrived. I don't trust my postman, and I reckon he might knock extra quietly, so I don't hear him and he can leave a "Sorry you were out" form instead of having to carry a parcel upstairs. I planned to catch him if he tried it.
A quiet tap at the door came at around 10am. I dashed to the door to open it before postie could get away, and readied my accusing look. I yanked the door open angrily. Standing there, wearing an expression of surprise and fatigue was what I am now calling a "refuse collection individual," simply because I'm certain that "Bin man" is not PC, and I don't know what is. Also, I feel bad for giving him my accusing glance, it's not his fault my parcel isn't here.
He told me our buzzer isn't working (which I knew, and I've been trying to get our landlord to fix it for some time, but he always fobs me off saying he needs to speak to all the other landlords that own flats in our building). He explained that this was why our bins haven't been collected for some time, and asked for my landlord's number.
This is all very well and good. I'm pleased that the refuse collection individual will call my landlord for me, and that the buzzer will be fixed, and that the rubbish will be taken away. Now I won't have to persuade someone else to take the rubbish downstairs so that I don't get eaten by a giant rat. On the other hand, I was going to use the rats to dispose of the postman's body, and I still don't have my parcel.
Postman... postman... Post delivery personnel? Physical communications manager? Git?
This morning I awoke early. I've been trying it out every couple of days, I'm not sure if I like it or not yet, but it does help my concentration in lectures if I've already been awake for two hours. Normally I get up forty minutes before my first lecture and stumble about the flat getting ready, but not waking up until I leave the building. This has produced odd situations in the past.
If I'm going to wake up early I have to give myself an incentive. Things like; "You can get some work done before you even get to uni!" don't seem work. It has to be more along the lines of, "just think how many times you can get changed before you finally settle on an outfit, you might not even be bored of it by lunch!"
Today, my incentive was that I'd ordered something cute from asos.com a couple of days ago, so it should be about time it arrived. I don't trust my postman, and I reckon he might knock extra quietly, so I don't hear him and he can leave a "Sorry you were out" form instead of having to carry a parcel upstairs. I planned to catch him if he tried it.
A quiet tap at the door came at around 10am. I dashed to the door to open it before postie could get away, and readied my accusing look. I yanked the door open angrily. Standing there, wearing an expression of surprise and fatigue was what I am now calling a "refuse collection individual," simply because I'm certain that "Bin man" is not PC, and I don't know what is. Also, I feel bad for giving him my accusing glance, it's not his fault my parcel isn't here.
He told me our buzzer isn't working (which I knew, and I've been trying to get our landlord to fix it for some time, but he always fobs me off saying he needs to speak to all the other landlords that own flats in our building). He explained that this was why our bins haven't been collected for some time, and asked for my landlord's number.
This is all very well and good. I'm pleased that the refuse collection individual will call my landlord for me, and that the buzzer will be fixed, and that the rubbish will be taken away. Now I won't have to persuade someone else to take the rubbish downstairs so that I don't get eaten by a giant rat. On the other hand, I was going to use the rats to dispose of the postman's body, and I still don't have my parcel.
Postman... postman... Post delivery personnel? Physical communications manager? Git?
Tuesday, February 03, 2009
Pink
It was my birthday a couple of weeks ago, and I was very grateful for all of my gifts (even the ferrero rocher from Worby, that I reckon he probably picked up at a service station on the way in. They taste the same wherever you buy them from. They taste good).
I am going home at the weekend, since my parents didn't see me at my birthday, and want to see me now. I don't trust my postman, and its best not to ask why, because the rant's a long one. Anyway, they agreed to give gifts when I came home, though that's actually by the by.
As well as the FR from Worby (bless him) Nick's parents gave me a Thorntons box. I've always felt that being fat wouldn't suit me, my ankles couldn't take it, so I put both boxes of chocolates in the kitchen so my flat mates could have some. They did, though I suspect only out of the goodness of their hearts and concern for my delicate ankles.
I like chocolate. I know some people claim that they don't, but they are lying/robots. I thought I liked all kinds, even that 80% cocoa mass stuff, that people claim is too dark, I think it's perfect. I like white chocolate too, and all the weird flavours green & blacks do, though I've never been brave enough to try the chili one, I have put cocoa in chilies, and it works.
I have one question: What the hell do they put in the pink goo in the centre of the chocolates that are suppose to taste like strawberries? Seriously? They taste like cancer. Gone are the days when I could take a chocolate without looking at the "menu card" on the box, claiming that it doesn't matter because "I like them all". Now I have to carefully try to dodge the nasties, ideally without anyone noticing, the last thing I need is people thinking I'm fussy about chocolate, or they might stop giving me it.
I am going home at the weekend, since my parents didn't see me at my birthday, and want to see me now. I don't trust my postman, and its best not to ask why, because the rant's a long one. Anyway, they agreed to give gifts when I came home, though that's actually by the by.
As well as the FR from Worby (bless him) Nick's parents gave me a Thorntons box. I've always felt that being fat wouldn't suit me, my ankles couldn't take it, so I put both boxes of chocolates in the kitchen so my flat mates could have some. They did, though I suspect only out of the goodness of their hearts and concern for my delicate ankles.
I like chocolate. I know some people claim that they don't, but they are lying/robots. I thought I liked all kinds, even that 80% cocoa mass stuff, that people claim is too dark, I think it's perfect. I like white chocolate too, and all the weird flavours green & blacks do, though I've never been brave enough to try the chili one, I have put cocoa in chilies, and it works.
I have one question: What the hell do they put in the pink goo in the centre of the chocolates that are suppose to taste like strawberries? Seriously? They taste like cancer. Gone are the days when I could take a chocolate without looking at the "menu card" on the box, claiming that it doesn't matter because "I like them all". Now I have to carefully try to dodge the nasties, ideally without anyone noticing, the last thing I need is people thinking I'm fussy about chocolate, or they might stop giving me it.
Friday, January 30, 2009
Caffeine
I am a tea drinker. I enjoy coffee, but it makes the buzzing in my head a little too loud. Shortly after a cup of coffee I need a glass of red wine just to even things out.
It also makes me talk too quickly. I already speak too quickly for some people, I put this down to them thinking too slowly, but really, who am I to judge? It seems a fair assumption, but I haven't actually done any tests yet. Either way, it's very inconsiderate of me to drink coffee if there's a chance I'll have to speak with someone who can't keep up in the next hour.
Caffeine pills are even worse. I took a couple last Summer because I was tired and needed to work. I'd had a cup of tea and it had only made me feel warm. I had a coffee (with vanilla in it, can't drink it without) and it had only made me feel warmer. I had a couple of pro-plus. Ten minutes later my heartbeat matched the bass on whichever Chemical Brothers song I chose to play.
Amusing, but also kind of scary. I was too on edge to work and instead cleaned the whole flat and cataloged my DVDs. It's a mistake I won't make again, I prefer my DVDs messy and random, the good ones stand out better that way.
Today I stopped in Starbucks for a mocha. I refuse to use their sizing system, and ordered a "small." The girl said, "you mean tall?" I said, "No."
Fortunately she took the hint, or I would've had to point out that she was being pedantic about a pseudo-Italian sizing system in an ugly Glaswegian accent. That would have been mean. I'm not allowed to be mean to people in Starbucks because of the Incident.
The coffee was good, but after it I couldn't concentrate. I was trying to buy silver shoes, but I couldn't focus. I saw nothing I wanted. At first I was inclined to put this down to some kind of horrible depression, but then I realised it was just the caffeine confusing me.
I'll never drink coffee again.
Interestingly, you apparently need 12 cups of tea before you start hallucinating. I'm up for trying that out, but I need volunteers to make sure I don't try to slice my veins out of my arms, or take flight out of my window. Anyone? Anyone at all?
It also makes me talk too quickly. I already speak too quickly for some people, I put this down to them thinking too slowly, but really, who am I to judge? It seems a fair assumption, but I haven't actually done any tests yet. Either way, it's very inconsiderate of me to drink coffee if there's a chance I'll have to speak with someone who can't keep up in the next hour.
Caffeine pills are even worse. I took a couple last Summer because I was tired and needed to work. I'd had a cup of tea and it had only made me feel warm. I had a coffee (with vanilla in it, can't drink it without) and it had only made me feel warmer. I had a couple of pro-plus. Ten minutes later my heartbeat matched the bass on whichever Chemical Brothers song I chose to play.
Amusing, but also kind of scary. I was too on edge to work and instead cleaned the whole flat and cataloged my DVDs. It's a mistake I won't make again, I prefer my DVDs messy and random, the good ones stand out better that way.
Today I stopped in Starbucks for a mocha. I refuse to use their sizing system, and ordered a "small." The girl said, "you mean tall?" I said, "No."
Fortunately she took the hint, or I would've had to point out that she was being pedantic about a pseudo-Italian sizing system in an ugly Glaswegian accent. That would have been mean. I'm not allowed to be mean to people in Starbucks because of the Incident.
The coffee was good, but after it I couldn't concentrate. I was trying to buy silver shoes, but I couldn't focus. I saw nothing I wanted. At first I was inclined to put this down to some kind of horrible depression, but then I realised it was just the caffeine confusing me.
I'll never drink coffee again.
Interestingly, you apparently need 12 cups of tea before you start hallucinating. I'm up for trying that out, but I need volunteers to make sure I don't try to slice my veins out of my arms, or take flight out of my window. Anyone? Anyone at all?
Monday, January 26, 2009
Motivation
I am an easily entertained person. The sort of person who notices shiny things before anyone else notices (that or no one cares about shiny things as much as I do). I am also easily distracted, though if all possibility of shoe shopping is removed from a situation my attention span can be formidable.
I should point out that a) this has never happened, and b) shoe shopping is the exception that proves the rule. I have to shop alone, no one I know has the stamina.
Naturally this means I have a talent for procrastination. I've mentioned it before, so you know I really mean it. This combined with my limitless creativity means that I can always find something more interesting to do than the task at hand. Even if that task is my maths homework four hours before the tutorial. Actually, that's an easy one, my tutorials are at 10am, the best thing to do at 6am is sleep.
People confuse this with a lack of motivation. I disagree, I have too much motivation, which is why I want to do so many things that aren't my maths homework. Surely this is the kind of wonderful logic that brought me to the sciences in the first place?
I was discussing my lack of work with Euan, and he said that the carrot method doesn't work for me because I can always find a better carrot. This is true, but he's misspelling it. Instead, he thinks someone has to be a bastard to me until I get some work done. He has volunteered, because he's thoughtful like that.
Today however I have found myself full of motivation. You'd think it was because of exam result if you didn't know that I haven't been given them yet. You'd think it's because of my super-intelligent new tutor if you didn't know I actually find her a little intimidating. You'd think it's because I've just turned 20 and I'm afraid of wasting my life if you didn't know... me.
The fact is I've no idea why it's occurred. I think it might have something to do with a certain 2nd-hand book shop, but that's because that's all I can remember from my dreams last night. If I work out what's causing it, I'm going to distill it, bottle it and sell it to large companies. I'll make millions. Watch this space.
I should point out that a) this has never happened, and b) shoe shopping is the exception that proves the rule. I have to shop alone, no one I know has the stamina.
Naturally this means I have a talent for procrastination. I've mentioned it before, so you know I really mean it. This combined with my limitless creativity means that I can always find something more interesting to do than the task at hand. Even if that task is my maths homework four hours before the tutorial. Actually, that's an easy one, my tutorials are at 10am, the best thing to do at 6am is sleep.
People confuse this with a lack of motivation. I disagree, I have too much motivation, which is why I want to do so many things that aren't my maths homework. Surely this is the kind of wonderful logic that brought me to the sciences in the first place?
I was discussing my lack of work with Euan, and he said that the carrot method doesn't work for me because I can always find a better carrot. This is true, but he's misspelling it. Instead, he thinks someone has to be a bastard to me until I get some work done. He has volunteered, because he's thoughtful like that.
Today however I have found myself full of motivation. You'd think it was because of exam result if you didn't know that I haven't been given them yet. You'd think it's because of my super-intelligent new tutor if you didn't know I actually find her a little intimidating. You'd think it's because I've just turned 20 and I'm afraid of wasting my life if you didn't know... me.
The fact is I've no idea why it's occurred. I think it might have something to do with a certain 2nd-hand book shop, but that's because that's all I can remember from my dreams last night. If I work out what's causing it, I'm going to distill it, bottle it and sell it to large companies. I'll make millions. Watch this space.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
It's My Party
And I don't really feel like crying. Suddenly I'm 20, this didn't really sink in until I noticed that it changed automatically on my Last.fm profile. It's alright though, don't feel old yet, I happen to be the youngest of my flatmates, which helps a bit :-)
I've had plenty of birthday facebook messages too, which is nice. They tend to run along the lines of "Happy Birthday Becky! Have a great day! xxx"
But my sister's just says
"You're old."
I love my sister. She can't borrow any money for her Paris trip.
I've been OCD-ishly cleaning the flat. It's delightful, look, I even made a graph:
I've had plenty of birthday facebook messages too, which is nice. They tend to run along the lines of "Happy Birthday Becky! Have a great day! xxx"
But my sister's just says
"You're old."
I love my sister. She can't borrow any money for her Paris trip.
I've been OCD-ishly cleaning the flat. It's delightful, look, I even made a graph:
Friday, January 23, 2009
5 Things I'll Never Understand
1. Footless tights.
You're wearing tights because otherwise your legs will be cold, yet you somehow think that your feet won't be? I only realized you could buy these about three years ago, I couldn't figure out why, but I bought a couple of pairs anyway, just to see if there was something everyone knew and that I didn't. My feet got cold.
I guess maybe they're to attract foot-fetishists without looking too slutty.
2. Bloody Mary's
Generally speaking this is an early morning drink, or a hangover drink. It's got vodka in it. Now, as I've mentioned before, I don't do hangovers, but one the two occasions when I have, the thought of more booze has only made me feel worse. I do do breakfast, and at breakfast time, vodka seems not actually repulsive, but definitely bad. Vodka with your cereal is a bit much really.
Also, if you're going to ignore the above and decide that it's just a cocktail (which I guess is valid) then that's fine. Until you read the ingredients list; vodka, tomato juice, Tabasco sauce, Worcestershire sauce, black pepper, celery stick garnish. Some people will tell you to add horseradish. Could someone please try to explain to me why you'd want to drink that? It's spicy!
3. Wave-particle Duality.
I can relay explanations parrot-fashion. I can take some numbers, put them into the right equations and come out with answers that are somehow "correct." I can not work out how matter/light can technically be described as two things at once, and that it knows which one to be when you're dealing with it in a certain way.
4. International Obsession with Dan Brown Novels.
You'd think the vast majority of people didn't read real books at all. I admit to having read "Deception Point." It was ok. Not amazing, not eye-opening, not worthy of awards, just ok. I guess people never get bored of conspiracy theories. But they should, they really, really should.
5. Crotch-Topiary.
Just... No. There's no words left. Please, for the love of whatever you happen love the most (unless what you love the most is shaping your pubic hair), get a hobby. Or, just don't talk to me about it. Or in fact ever. That'd be great. Thanks.
You're wearing tights because otherwise your legs will be cold, yet you somehow think that your feet won't be? I only realized you could buy these about three years ago, I couldn't figure out why, but I bought a couple of pairs anyway, just to see if there was something everyone knew and that I didn't. My feet got cold.
I guess maybe they're to attract foot-fetishists without looking too slutty.
2. Bloody Mary's
Generally speaking this is an early morning drink, or a hangover drink. It's got vodka in it. Now, as I've mentioned before, I don't do hangovers, but one the two occasions when I have, the thought of more booze has only made me feel worse. I do do breakfast, and at breakfast time, vodka seems not actually repulsive, but definitely bad. Vodka with your cereal is a bit much really.
Also, if you're going to ignore the above and decide that it's just a cocktail (which I guess is valid) then that's fine. Until you read the ingredients list; vodka, tomato juice, Tabasco sauce, Worcestershire sauce, black pepper, celery stick garnish. Some people will tell you to add horseradish. Could someone please try to explain to me why you'd want to drink that? It's spicy!
3. Wave-particle Duality.
I can relay explanations parrot-fashion. I can take some numbers, put them into the right equations and come out with answers that are somehow "correct." I can not work out how matter/light can technically be described as two things at once, and that it knows which one to be when you're dealing with it in a certain way.
4. International Obsession with Dan Brown Novels.
You'd think the vast majority of people didn't read real books at all. I admit to having read "Deception Point." It was ok. Not amazing, not eye-opening, not worthy of awards, just ok. I guess people never get bored of conspiracy theories. But they should, they really, really should.
5. Crotch-Topiary.
Just... No. There's no words left. Please, for the love of whatever you happen love the most (unless what you love the most is shaping your pubic hair), get a hobby. Or, just don't talk to me about it. Or in fact ever. That'd be great. Thanks.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Daiquiris
There was some very good white rum left in the fridge.
There was four limes in the fruit bowl.
There was a bottle of cointreau I'd opened to add a little to this week's cake, even though I'd sworn not to open any of the party booze until the party.
There was one metric fuckload of ice in the freezer.
Now there are only headaches.
Although, thankfully I am fine as usual*. People keep warning me that this will change, I refuse to believe them. I've had hangovers before. I didn't like the first one, and a few months later I had another, just to be sure. That one wasn't fun either, so these days, I just skip them, in spite of how many people choose to have them on a regular basis. I will not be swayed by popular choice, I will stay hangover free (though not always clear headed, I am after all still going to get very drunk).
My mother seems to deal with drinking in the same way. She's the only women I know who can out-drink me and still feel fine in the morning. Clearly I have inherited her metabolism, allowing me to drink all I want, and with will-power alone feel great the next day.
Perhaps this is evolution in practice. People need to get drunk, but they also need to not get ill. Those who are capable of processing alcohol in such a way as to get drunk cheaply and not get ill are "the fittest" and can pass their genetic material onto the next generation because they'll never choke to death on their own vomit, or end up in hospital having cracked their head on the toilet seat.
Eventually the human race will be able to process all kind of interesting drugs - enjoying the good effects, skipping the bad ones. Maybe it works like bacteria; if you expose a petri-dish of bacteria to penicillin, eventually some of them will learn to process it harmlessly. If you expose heroin addicts to heroin, eventually they'll enjoy it without addiction or harm. Of course, it'll take longer for the heroin addicts, because they're slightly more complex creatures. Many of them will die in horrible ways - but in the name of science, surely it's worth it?
*Daiquiris are delicious. I'll have to buy rum after I've bought everything else, or I'll end up drinking all the party booze with my flat-mates well before I throw the party.
PS. Sorry for not writing for a week, it wasn't out of being too lazy or too busy, it's just that I don't want to write if I have nothing to say. Fortunately though, now I do - the value of what I have to say is, as always, up for debate.
There was four limes in the fruit bowl.
There was a bottle of cointreau I'd opened to add a little to this week's cake, even though I'd sworn not to open any of the party booze until the party.
There was one metric fuckload of ice in the freezer.
Now there are only headaches.
Although, thankfully I am fine as usual*. People keep warning me that this will change, I refuse to believe them. I've had hangovers before. I didn't like the first one, and a few months later I had another, just to be sure. That one wasn't fun either, so these days, I just skip them, in spite of how many people choose to have them on a regular basis. I will not be swayed by popular choice, I will stay hangover free (though not always clear headed, I am after all still going to get very drunk).
My mother seems to deal with drinking in the same way. She's the only women I know who can out-drink me and still feel fine in the morning. Clearly I have inherited her metabolism, allowing me to drink all I want, and with will-power alone feel great the next day.
Perhaps this is evolution in practice. People need to get drunk, but they also need to not get ill. Those who are capable of processing alcohol in such a way as to get drunk cheaply and not get ill are "the fittest" and can pass their genetic material onto the next generation because they'll never choke to death on their own vomit, or end up in hospital having cracked their head on the toilet seat.
Eventually the human race will be able to process all kind of interesting drugs - enjoying the good effects, skipping the bad ones. Maybe it works like bacteria; if you expose a petri-dish of bacteria to penicillin, eventually some of them will learn to process it harmlessly. If you expose heroin addicts to heroin, eventually they'll enjoy it without addiction or harm. Of course, it'll take longer for the heroin addicts, because they're slightly more complex creatures. Many of them will die in horrible ways - but in the name of science, surely it's worth it?
*Daiquiris are delicious. I'll have to buy rum after I've bought everything else, or I'll end up drinking all the party booze with my flat-mates well before I throw the party.
PS. Sorry for not writing for a week, it wasn't out of being too lazy or too busy, it's just that I don't want to write if I have nothing to say. Fortunately though, now I do - the value of what I have to say is, as always, up for debate.
Monday, January 12, 2009
I Guess it's Started
I went shopping a couple of weeks ago, it's something I enjoy and I happen to excel at it. I purchased a pretty new pair of black jeans, because I haven't had black jeans in ages and quite fancied some. Having worn them twice I've discovered that the dye is not quite stable, and transfers to light coloured socks etc.
Yesterday I decided I really needed to know when and where my maths lectures were going to be held. It would be nice if the maths department told you this, maybe sent out an email, or put it on moodle (the online information part of the course). Generally though, they'd rather not, so you either have to guess, find it on some general information page on the uni website (which I did not find, but Martin did and saved me) or go exploring in the maths department.
I like to think of myself as adventurous, so I chose the third option. It really is a exploration, you never know which noticeboard they're going to put class information on, and there's at least five floors. I left the flat, noticing very light drizzle, and hoping it wouldn't get heavier.
By the time I arrived at the maths building, I was soaked to the skin. I shivered. The building was closed because it was Sunday. I cursed. I went round the corner and picked up some stuff from Boots, considered buying an umbrella, but it seemed a little worthless at that point, and trudged home.
Naturally, when I got back, the first thing I thought to do was go get a shower, especially since shivering was pretty serious by this point, and the rain had become nastier on my trip back, meaning that I was literally dripping when I arrived. So, straight to the shower.
My legs were stained bright blue. It doesn't even make sense! The jeans are black! Grey I could understand, but blue? This stuff is aparently also sticks to skin better than it does to denim, judging by how long it took to get off.
At least now I have the wisdom to not wear them in the rain until I've washed them a couple of times, but I'm pretty sure I'll forget this the first time I wash them, and I'll dye a couple of shirts a horrible shade a blue-grey.
Glasgow is already trying to ruin me. Don't worry though, I'm already plotting my revenge, that's another thing I excel at, although taking revenge on a city's bad weather is going to be tricky, and may take quite a lot of plotting.
Yesterday I decided I really needed to know when and where my maths lectures were going to be held. It would be nice if the maths department told you this, maybe sent out an email, or put it on moodle (the online information part of the course). Generally though, they'd rather not, so you either have to guess, find it on some general information page on the uni website (which I did not find, but Martin did and saved me) or go exploring in the maths department.
I like to think of myself as adventurous, so I chose the third option. It really is a exploration, you never know which noticeboard they're going to put class information on, and there's at least five floors. I left the flat, noticing very light drizzle, and hoping it wouldn't get heavier.
By the time I arrived at the maths building, I was soaked to the skin. I shivered. The building was closed because it was Sunday. I cursed. I went round the corner and picked up some stuff from Boots, considered buying an umbrella, but it seemed a little worthless at that point, and trudged home.
Naturally, when I got back, the first thing I thought to do was go get a shower, especially since shivering was pretty serious by this point, and the rain had become nastier on my trip back, meaning that I was literally dripping when I arrived. So, straight to the shower.
My legs were stained bright blue. It doesn't even make sense! The jeans are black! Grey I could understand, but blue? This stuff is aparently also sticks to skin better than it does to denim, judging by how long it took to get off.
At least now I have the wisdom to not wear them in the rain until I've washed them a couple of times, but I'm pretty sure I'll forget this the first time I wash them, and I'll dye a couple of shirts a horrible shade a blue-grey.
Glasgow is already trying to ruin me. Don't worry though, I'm already plotting my revenge, that's another thing I excel at, although taking revenge on a city's bad weather is going to be tricky, and may take quite a lot of plotting.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Glasgow
Well, I'm back in Glasgow, and term's about to start.
I seem to write better in Glasgow for some reason. The reason is that I'm left to my own devices for a greater percentage of my time, and as such there is a greater potential for ridiculous things to happen to me.
It's partly my fault, I admit. It seems to be my nature to haphazardly put myself in situations where something ridiculous might occur. But I can't help thinking that it's also the fault of some kind of God of Hating the English, that the Scots all secretly pray to. The influence of this God is to try to persuade me to go back home, where I can't write as well, but fewer terrible (if amusing) events occur. The Gods are nothing if not humorous.
But I shall resist! Partly because I want a degree, partly because I quite like Glasgow, and partly because I like asking questions such as
"What's the worst that could happen?"
Let the carnage commence.
I seem to write better in Glasgow for some reason. The reason is that I'm left to my own devices for a greater percentage of my time, and as such there is a greater potential for ridiculous things to happen to me.
It's partly my fault, I admit. It seems to be my nature to haphazardly put myself in situations where something ridiculous might occur. But I can't help thinking that it's also the fault of some kind of God of Hating the English, that the Scots all secretly pray to. The influence of this God is to try to persuade me to go back home, where I can't write as well, but fewer terrible (if amusing) events occur. The Gods are nothing if not humorous.
But I shall resist! Partly because I want a degree, partly because I quite like Glasgow, and partly because I like asking questions such as
"What's the worst that could happen?"
Let the carnage commence.
Monday, January 05, 2009
4 Overdose
I'm generally not a huge fan of tv. I don't like advertisements, normally I have a good attention span, but when they come on I discover that it's less than 30 seconds long, a fact that fills me with self-doubt. Maybe if I could stay interested in commercials showing how white my whites could be, or how much other people are "loving it" I'd be a better and more complete individual. Yet somehow my will is not strong enough, and I always end up changing channel, or going to make tea.
I also fail to be interested in the majority of programming. While my mother will always have the tv on in the background (sometimes as many as three at once in different rooms, so she can pay attention to different shows as she moves around the house - an odd habit) I tend to observe an absence of interesting material, and then switch it off. I later find out that I missed something I would have liked to see, because I wasn't browsing channels at the right time.
Other's seem to have a physic ability, telling them when something good is showing, apparently that physic ability normally manifests itself as those adverts I can't bring myself to watch. It seems the trick is to either watch them, or leave your sofa only when they're on, so you never miss anything important.
The introduction of things like 4od (which I refuse to call "on demand," there is an older and better acronym using those letters) iplayer and the imaginatively named "demand five" which I've never even tried to use, should be a blessing. But for some reason, I barely use them.
There are always many things available, I only consider the options that are free, because I don't like paying for things I can't hold. I tend to go for Channel 4, because on my home connection iplayer crashes. The problem is, I'm now swamped by choice, quickly each item looks less inspiring than the first, and when the first option is "Celebrity Big Brother" that's pretty horrific.
It gets to the point where even a show titled "Catastrophe" which stars Tony Robinson and has a picture of an exploding planet won't persuade me to sit and watch. I like Tony Robinson, I like space and planet-type objects, and I like explosions, but now I'm questioning Channel 4's motives - why is it free? What do they have to gain?
Maybe my mother's state is due to years of channel hopping, maybe she's been steadily hypnotised by television, bound to always have one, pay the license, watch the adverts, unable to function without it anymore. The thought is a scary one.
I'd be a great conspiracy theorist, I wonder if I could involve Tony Robinson somehow...
I also fail to be interested in the majority of programming. While my mother will always have the tv on in the background (sometimes as many as three at once in different rooms, so she can pay attention to different shows as she moves around the house - an odd habit) I tend to observe an absence of interesting material, and then switch it off. I later find out that I missed something I would have liked to see, because I wasn't browsing channels at the right time.
Other's seem to have a physic ability, telling them when something good is showing, apparently that physic ability normally manifests itself as those adverts I can't bring myself to watch. It seems the trick is to either watch them, or leave your sofa only when they're on, so you never miss anything important.
The introduction of things like 4od (which I refuse to call "on demand," there is an older and better acronym using those letters) iplayer and the imaginatively named "demand five" which I've never even tried to use, should be a blessing. But for some reason, I barely use them.
There are always many things available, I only consider the options that are free, because I don't like paying for things I can't hold. I tend to go for Channel 4, because on my home connection iplayer crashes. The problem is, I'm now swamped by choice, quickly each item looks less inspiring than the first, and when the first option is "Celebrity Big Brother" that's pretty horrific.
It gets to the point where even a show titled "Catastrophe" which stars Tony Robinson and has a picture of an exploding planet won't persuade me to sit and watch. I like Tony Robinson, I like space and planet-type objects, and I like explosions, but now I'm questioning Channel 4's motives - why is it free? What do they have to gain?
Maybe my mother's state is due to years of channel hopping, maybe she's been steadily hypnotised by television, bound to always have one, pay the license, watch the adverts, unable to function without it anymore. The thought is a scary one.
I'd be a great conspiracy theorist, I wonder if I could involve Tony Robinson somehow...
Friday, January 02, 2009
Oh, Alright
A real new year's resolution? Seriously?
I like to set myself nice, attainable goals. For example, three ideas I came up with for new year's resolutions were;
1. Don't smoke.
2. Don't invade any third world countries.
3. Wake up every day.
Technically, if I consider these to be easily attainable goals then I must be more virtuous than certain entire governments, but lets not make this political, it's not a competition or anything.
I think I'll do the three things above, but I'll have a challenge as well. My challenge will be to stop swearing.
I tried it last year for lent, but I kept slipping up, and two weeks in I remembered that I wasn't Christian, and uttered something along the lines of "f*ck lent." See that, just censored myself, I've started already. That's motivation for you.
I'm going to make sure the goal isn't entirely impossible by starting easy. I'm going to cut a handful of words out of my vocabulary, and then add others when I've completely stopped using the first lot.
The first to go will be the mother of all curses. I can't help thinking it's a shame, because honestly, I like it. It's only the "worst" because we allow it to be, just as it is only a huge insult to women because that's what we've let it become. The sharp "c" sound flowing into the harsh grunt is, as fas as I'm concerned, everything that swearing should be.
Still, I'll try not to use it. Along with a few other particularly harsh four-letter words. Not sure if this is a goal worth aiming for, but if I succeed people might tell each other off for swearing around me (like they do when they swear around my mother, a fact that I find hilarious, but that's because I've seen her drunk).
It strikes me that this would be a lot easier if I could pronounce asterisks.
I like to set myself nice, attainable goals. For example, three ideas I came up with for new year's resolutions were;
1. Don't smoke.
2. Don't invade any third world countries.
3. Wake up every day.
Technically, if I consider these to be easily attainable goals then I must be more virtuous than certain entire governments, but lets not make this political, it's not a competition or anything.
I think I'll do the three things above, but I'll have a challenge as well. My challenge will be to stop swearing.
I tried it last year for lent, but I kept slipping up, and two weeks in I remembered that I wasn't Christian, and uttered something along the lines of "f*ck lent." See that, just censored myself, I've started already. That's motivation for you.
I'm going to make sure the goal isn't entirely impossible by starting easy. I'm going to cut a handful of words out of my vocabulary, and then add others when I've completely stopped using the first lot.
The first to go will be the mother of all curses. I can't help thinking it's a shame, because honestly, I like it. It's only the "worst" because we allow it to be, just as it is only a huge insult to women because that's what we've let it become. The sharp "c" sound flowing into the harsh grunt is, as fas as I'm concerned, everything that swearing should be.
Still, I'll try not to use it. Along with a few other particularly harsh four-letter words. Not sure if this is a goal worth aiming for, but if I succeed people might tell each other off for swearing around me (like they do when they swear around my mother, a fact that I find hilarious, but that's because I've seen her drunk).
It strikes me that this would be a lot easier if I could pronounce asterisks.
Thursday, January 01, 2009
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