I was just there! Ten years ago!

No picture. Can’t be bothered. A bit rushed. SOZ.

I’ve seen a couple of people on Twitter – front page twats, other people I’ve stumbled across and mainly not people I know, like or follow thankfully – commenting on the situation in Egypt. Fair enough. Then they say things like “I was only there last year!” and it makes me want to pin them down and vomit in their face until one of us dies. Because that is a stupid, egocentric and utterly worthless thing to say.

Being somewhere a few hours before a major incident occurs: fair enough. You just missed it. If, for example, your flight landed at Moscow airport the other week and an hour after you’d jumped in a taxi outside the arrivals building it had been suicide bombed, then yes – that’s fair to comment on. Worry about, even. Call it a lucky escape, if you will.

Being somewhere a day or two – or even a week before a major incident occurs: okay then. I also think that’s fair enough – your experience of a place a week after you’ve left is still fresh in the memory. It’s not quite ‘oh my god I’m so lucky to have just missed it’ territory, but it is fair to point out you were just there the other day.

Being somewhere 19 years before a major incident occurs: fuck off. Okay, so people aren’t going wild with this kind of thing, I’m just applying my timing to that. I was in Egypt 19 years ago. A lucky escape! I WAS ONLY JUST THERE! Oh my god! Etc. If you were there  a year ago, please shut up. Express your opinions on the revolution, tell us of your emotional attachment to the country and its people, make jokes about the president escaping in a flying pyramid BECAUSE IT’S STARGATE – but don’t belittle the situation by thinking you having been there once matters one iota. It matters not one iota. You were once in a place where some stuff has happened. That’s it. Your ego, your sense of self-preservation and whatever else may be telling you to cry “FIVE YEARS AGO I WAS ON THAT STREET!”, but please don’t. Just for me. I find it annoying.

I have nothing against the statements like ‘I went, it was nice, I am sad that it has been blown up’. That’s understandable and fair – you have a greater appreciation for a place on having been there. But to think it’s in some way important that you were there a month ago and now it’s been flooded/destroyed/filled with geese? No. that’s less your concern about the place, more your own fear of death/injury/being mildly inconvenienced by geese.*

Unless, of course, the place you were blew up, you were there a month ago and you left a “certain something” hidden away in the same place where the blow-up happened, and you may or may not have put some kind of month long timer on the CERTAIN SOMETHING. Possibly filled with geese. Then you probably have more of a vested interest in the situation.

N.B. I am aware that calling what people say ‘worthless’ is somewhat daft, given the name of this here blog. Also it’s needlessly aggressive. But so what? I AM RAGE-O 9000.

*I am aware this par just repeats my earlier points. I wrote it yesterday, but wanted to leave it in so I could keep something about geese in it.

Murdering boredom, one gadget at a time

Strange that I’ve decided to write this now, seeing as my travelling will be cut down severely from what it was only recently. Still, an idea of what to write here is exactly that, and if I think I can make it mildly amusing for myself then that’s fine – it takes up a day of the blog, which is definitely the right attitude to have about this whole thing. Right, onto business.

I travel a bit (see above for caveats) – as such I need to have with me things that can make boredom disappear. To be fair, that’s all we ever do throughout our entire lives. Try and argue with that point and you’ll fail – everything anybody ever does is in order to avoid being bored. Hence why games are brilliant and if you dismiss them you’re a fucking dickhead. Ahem. Where was I? Ah yes – travelling is a special case for boredom-killing though, as you tend to be cooped up with no way of just going for a walk or wandering listlessly around your flat, brushing your new haircut into amusingly shit styles (that you know you’ll probably stick with in coming weeks, as your hair is always shit and you hate it anyway). You’re sitting, with no escape. You need to mind-escape. You need shit.

I have an ever-increasing pile of crap I can throw into my bag and pull out at any point to make boredom go bye-bye. Let’s just list them, rather than babble on incoherently here:

PSP
I love my PSP, still, even though everybody in the world hates them. It hurts my hands to play it for a long time, but it has some great games and the ability to play any PSone game I want on it. With some creative modifications of legal firmware, naturally. It used to be the main port of call, until I got…

Tiny Laptop
Possibly the best thing I’ve ever bought. It’s 10.1 inches of sheer pleasure HAHAHA COCK JOKE LOL LOL LOL LMFAO LOLOLOLOLOLsigh. But yeah, it can play old PC games and movies, and I can work on it too should I need to. Plus it does an internet where it’s available (i.e. not many places). £160 and the Best Thing Ever? Yeah, I’ll take that.

DS
Doesn’t get touched as much as it used to. In fact, last time I played it on a train I put on Cooking Mama for ten minutes before I realised I was being judged by everyone around me for playing a game where you chop onions as fast as you can. Naturally, this meant I just played it more. Louder. Harder. With shouting involved. Then called them all cunts and ran off laughing like a maniac*. *May not have happened.

iPad
The new addition to the family and untested on the road, this little Apple thing could well turn out to be brilliant. I’ve already downloaded War & Peace on it, so I can pretend to read it and look like a really smug twat. Unfortunately I don’t think there’s an app where you can pretend to read Dostoyevsky and actually have a Dan Brown book hidden inside it. Not that I’d ever read Dan Brown, but for the purposes of the joke let’s pretend I would. Then let’s all collectively vomit at that thought. Umm.. yeah. Canabalt.

Books
Depending what it is and depending the mood I’m in, books can be brilliant or a complete waste of time. A seven-hour flight with genuine flu isn’t conductive to me being able to read Blood Meridian, for example. Whereas I managed Breakfast Of Champions in one train ride from Manchester to Sheffield. But then, I do fucking love Vonnegut more than anything else.

iPod

I still remember the days of taking my CD player on the train, cramming it in my inside coat pocket as it seemed to fit there, the auto skip-correction system eventually wearing down and the music becoming unlistenable as the bumpy ride took its toll. Also I listened to more shit then. Not to say my tastes have got better, just that I listen to less music now. Anyway, the iPod is a nice distraction as it’s not an active pursuit – you can just switch it on and leave it. And turn it up loud to annoy the fat smelly person next to you who keeps rubbernecking at your screen. Cocks.

Wow, that was a lot more boring than I expected. Sorry, I seem incapable of being funny about shit like this. I do seem capable of almost writing 800 words on the subject though. Jesus crikey I must be bored. Soz. 7/10

Pointlessocity/pointlessosity

It’s 3am, you’re not getting a picture.

Here’s one for you – I have whined in the past about not being sure if I can keep going. I’ve complained that my entries here every day haven’t been great, and for a time I worried if I would be able to complete all of the initial year of posts. I succeeded, by the way. But that doesn’t change the fact I’ve complained non-stop about making myself do this nonsensical charade. But never – not once – have I openly questioned the point in doing all of this. I have never thought there’s no need and I might as well quit.

Far from it, I’ve thought what you might call “the exact opposite”. I decided long ago this was a good way to challenge myself in a manner I might actually follow through with. I always saw the point as a result of that mentality.

But recently I’ve been unable to concentrate, listless (more so than normal) and completely lacking in the ability to see any bigger picture. I’m going to continue, I’m sure, I’m going to carry on filling these pages with utter shit that some of you convince yourselves is passable and I’m probably going to have a few more rants in future – though less about trains, as I don’t have to use them as much anymore.

But – but – I’m struggling to see the point in doing this right now. Not I don’t want to, not I don’t care, or I see no benefit, or I’m bored or anything like that. I just see no point in it. It feels like a complete irrelevance to me right now. Blame it on the few beers I’ve had, blame it on the utterly shit week I’ve had, blame it on the boogie – I don’t care what you blame it on, because I don’t care.

Life is pain

It’s fun how utterly disconnected I can make myself from the world at large. I care about ‘issues’ and ‘fairness’ and ‘people being born into a world they have no control over where they are constantly beaten down, abused and treated like subhumans’. I do. Hard to believe, I know. But right now, I couldn’t give two shits – there are more important things going on in my head.

First of all, I’m not sure how long I should leave this delicious-looking Pot Noodle before tucking in. I could go for it now and have a very hot, slightly crunchy once-dehydrated snack, or I could wait a few more minutes and have a cooler, but soggier noodleperience.

Then there’s the fact that it was quite hard to put my iPad plug in the plug socket extension lead thingy. This means I might have to struggle for at least Some Seconds before I can retrieve the plug when I need to. That’s valuable Ian time down the drain right there. And that’s without even mentioning the bit that plugs into the iPad itself, which took me three or four goes to get in there. Madness!

Of course, there’s the stress of having to make sure I take a bottle of water in tomorrow so I have something to drink while playing football. I mean, if I forget I could go to a shop and buy some, but what do you think I am? Made of money? That shit costs upwards of 70p (though less than 82p). The pressure I put myself under to remember this bottle is killing me. KILLING ME.

And these are just the tip of the Problem Iceberg. Imagine if you were me – you’d want to kill yourself rather than deal with it, wouldn’t you? Yes, you would. Because you’re weak and I am strong. Those homosexuals fearing for their lives in Uganda can’t hold a gay candle to my Real Person Problems. The fools.

I’m suffering here

COULDN’T BE BOTHERED WITH AN IMAGE. IMAGINE MY FACE.

Unfortunatley I was kept away from doing a proper blog today by a most pressing issue. In fact, I’d go so far as to say it’s one of the most defining events of my life so far, and a deeply affecting situation for me to be in right now. It’s been dominating my mind recently, making me lose sleep and obsess over the silliest of things that really wouldn’t – couldn’t – be important to anyone other than me. I am almost ashamed to be suffering like I am, especially after so many of you told me this would happen. You warned me not to get involved – that it would only lead to hurt. And all I can say is I’m sorry, because I didn’t listen. And now I’m paying the price physically and emotionally.

Game Dev Story is really fucking addictive.

Just be thankful it’s not poetry

Nostalgia is a powerful weapon for many reasons, not least of which the way it conjures up the memory of a feeling. It brings back the emotions, the state of mind you associate with that time, with that place, with the person you were back then. But this isn’t a feeling I was nostalgic for. This isn’t the version of me I want to remember. These aren’t emotions I want to feel.

I can wish the hurt away all I want, but that’s not going to do anything. All I can do is accept what’s done is done and get on with it. It’s not been easy dealing with uncertainty over the last week-and-a-bit, but at least now I know. Knowing is half the battle, after all. And from there, I can move on. Progress. Make decisions. Keep going.

The fact I’m trying to be calculating, logical and constructive cannot and should not hide the fact that I am hurting right now. More than I ever have done. I can dwell on this – and I’m sure I will, especially in my lower (drunker) moments. But that’s not who I want to be and it’s not what I want to do. The person this emotional nostalgia is reminding me of would have stamped their foot and threatened to hold their breath until they died because they couldn’t get their way. I don’t like that guy. I don’t want to be him. And I won’t be him.

So I’m going to do my best to draw a line under this and keep going. I wouldn’t consider it moving on – just keep going. I don’t expect I’ll be easy to get along with (no change there, ho ho) in upcoming days, weeks or even months – just keep going. And while I do still love the person that’s made me feel like this, I’m not stupid enough to think I can change their mind – just keep going.

What the fuck would I do if I stopped, anyway?

That’s really bad!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

If one more person reacts to something bad I say about life, living, people, things, world news or anything with a remark in the realms of “oh, that’s bad” then I might kill the shit out of them. I know it’s bad. It’s a bad thing I’m saying, I don’t need to be told again that it is what it is, you mindless twerps.

I’m fine with a shallow, simple remark in response – a sharp “jesus!” or the infinitely eloquent “oh fuck!” – so don’t worry, most of you now know how to remain safe in front of my stabbing arms. You have been warned of the bad thing I will do. Which is bad. Feel free to tell me it’s bad.

It’s almost, but not quite, as bad as when somebody will tell you something is funny. When it’s clearly funny. Especially after you’ve just said it to them and you’re down on record as being A Funny Person. Do not tell me “that’s so funny”. I know it’s so funny, that’s why I fucking said the ‘funny’ words in the first place. Were you raised in an environment where the only positive reinforcement that was ever given was to tell the person directly to their face that what they have just done is what they have just done?

Ian-bot: “JOKE.”

Twat-bot: “YOU HAVE JUST BEEN FUNNY!”

Ian-bot: “ERROR.”

And as for demanding you take one bite of a meal someone has cooked for you before turning to the chef and saying “OH WOW THAT’S DELICIOUS WELL DONE YUM YUM YUM!” just… I don’t know. Fuck off, or something. I eat the food put in front of me. That’s my compliment. If you’re so desperate for validation enrol in fucking therapy or something. Fuck social norms right up their stupid shit face. Cocks.

I hate you all.

CHAAAARGE

It’s surprising how naked I can be made to feel with the simple breaking of one tiny thing in my life. See, I have what’s known as a “lap” “top” computer. With it comes a battery, so the unit can be operated without the necessity for a power socket nearby. It’s a miracle of modern technology.

Unfortunately it does still need power in order to charge up the battery in the first place, and in order to funnel the electric (“planets in the wires”) into the battery, one requires what I cunningly call a “charger”.

I’m bored of writing this now. My charger has broken, it keeps beeping. Fortunately I have Tiny Laptop, otherwise I’d be dead. DEAD FROM DEADNESS. Either that or slightly inconvenienced for a couple of days. Not really sure which. Hmm.

This also means I don’t have ready access to Photoshop facilities, meaning the greatest thing about this blog can’t actually be done. You people literally have no reason to read this page, or even look at what’s going on on it. You may as well just go and not come back. It’s fine. It’s better for everyone.

Also, I’ve eaten about 15 clementines today, and only two of them have been nice. FML.

Ooh, make that three.

New York: The Definitive Review (7/10)

I just realised I never got around to doing this, so here you go: my ultimate, tell-all and take no prisoners review of the city so GREAT they named it twice. That’s New York, by the way. Not Manchester, where I am currently freezing my nips off. This place shouldn’t have been named once, as far as I’m concerned. Though I do still like Chorlton.

Anyway, that place on the anti-west coast of America. My first issue with it is the size – not just the sprawling, square (tidy) mess that is the city and its layout, but the actual height of everything. Why couldn’t everyone involved in building things in New York just calm down a bit? What’s wrong with making everything a bungalow? At least that way I won’t have to crane my neck up so much I don’t see the street urchins at ground level robbing me of all my pocketly possessions (1x fluff, 2x more fluff). It would also mean less lifts inside these massive buildings that have to propel you at just-about-lightspeed to get you to the 36^th floor in a timely fashion. They’re just not good for hangovers, guys. You didn’t design the city – aesthetically, at least – with hangovers in mind. And that’s an oversight.

An undersight, though – yes that’s my new dictionary opposite of an oversight – is the food. Now granted, I lucked out in being ferried around to some reasonably fancy places, but I did get to go to a deli where the insane woman told us stories about Robbie Coltrane and Helen Mirren and my brisket sandwich was big enough to feed double-me. Though I forgot to collect the wrapped up half as I was too busy dying inside. I also had a great burger. I would like to return to New York to sample the food properly, as I think being babysat so much isn’t particularly conductive to a ‘real’ food experience. I have no idea why this has gone half-genuine here, sorry.

Shower? Well mine was fine. Good, even. But a chum had one that was long enough for me to lie down in and had two actual showers in it, so I can’t help but feel a bit let down there, New York. Bed was very comfy and massive though. Big enough to fit 3.42 me on it, at a quick guess, and soft enough to that only 12.5% of each me would remain uncomfortable in some way. This therefore makes me think all beds in New York must be of the same quality. MUST BE.

I didn’t get to see much of the city in all honesty, bar Times Square which was a bit shit. Not exactly my idea of a good place when there’s a 20 metre tall advert for Piers “Cunt” Morgan’s new show on CNN staring at me. Or the tossers who hassle you. Hey I am walking here, etc. I’d like to go back, hopefully the second time without massive illness, with the ability to explore and with other changes I can’t be bothered going into.

It was going to be a different number, but then I got some cheap MS points from Zavvi thanks to a freebie 15% off code which levelled me out, so it’s back to a resounding: 7/10

Insert title here

I’m making a complete mockery of my claim to one a day glory by doing something like this again, but I’m just not in the right place to be writing frivolous, silly little blogs right now. I don’t think I will be at all today, though I do hope I’ll be able to string some more sentences together tomorrow. It’s a vain hope, though.

So once again, consider this your one a day from me.