Planes, trains, automobiles, John Candy, sleep.

I used to be brilliant at falling asleep everywhere. I remember, ish, a time when I was a tiny wee child (that’s as in ‘tiny and covered in wee’) – we were at some holiday camp thing in a loud family club. I was tired and reacting in the way I still do when I get tired, which is by being a massive twat about it.

I decided I would crawl under the chair I was sat on and curl up into a ball – remember this was in a family club, where it was loud music, idiotic talking people, dancing, banging (not like that), whatever else. But I still managed to fall asleep.

I always used to be able to fall asleep wherever I needed to. Planes, trains, automobiles, John Candy – wherever. But these days it just isn’t the same. I can sleep if I’m on the verge of dying, as evidenced when flying back from New York in January, and I can sleep if I’m literally so tired I pass out.

But generally speaking I can’t do it. It means I end up being awake for far, far longer than I have any need to be. Trains are uncomfortable and move too much, cars make me feel sick if I close my eyes too long, planes are too fear-inducing for me to take my eyes off them (as well as uncomfortable and lacking room)… I just can’t do it.

I might try sleeping on a moped, actually. That’ll probably (definitely) work.

Cinemas: shit, or REALLY shit?

I haven’t been to the cinema in bloody ages. In fact, the last film I saw was Clash Of The Titans (Titans Will Clash) in 3D, which was absolute ass of the highest order. I think it was really expensive too, but then I didn’t pay for it so WHO GIVES A FUCK?

I am, today though, going to the flicks. The pictures. The cinema. The movies. The picture house. The other name for it. The porn salon. No, wait – not the last one. There I will watch The Hangover 2: Hangover In Space.

I do not expect much from the film. Mainly because I really loved the first one, and it absolutely did not need a sequel at all. Hopefully low expectations will be rewarded with some fun, though.

Anyway, I need a topic away from aimless rambling here… hmm… cinemas, yeah. They’re a bit shit really, aren’t they? I mean, you have to sit in a room with other people, and we all know how shit other people are. They’re all “blah blah” and MUNCH MUNCH and screaming stupidly and smelling bad and being alive and other crap.

God I hate them.

Then there’s the skin diseases you can get from cinemas. Seriously – when I went to see Rambo in Leeds I went really itchy on the seat then a few hours later half my body was covered in a horrible rash. I mean, it went away pretty quickly, but still – that’s fucking foul.

Then there’s the shit expensive food and drink that can barely be classified as either of the things they claim to be. The massively expensive tickets. The inconvenience of having to go there. THE PEOPLE.

Yeah, I think I’ve convinced myself not to go now. OPPS.

Living for the weekend

I did think at some point last year that I was beyond the whole ‘going out loads’ thing. I couldn’t even be bothered with the pub most of the time, for a number of reasons, but generally speaking I just couldn’t be arsed. I was fine with that – not necessarily getting older or whatever, just not caring anymore.

Suppose that would be getting older.

Anyway, circumstances changed and I found myself going out again and rediscovering the fact that I am capable of being old-fashioned Ian. Just with longer-lasting hangovers and a bit more work to do in the morning.

If I had remained given up on the dream of going out and getting hammered – it is a dream, you can’t take it away from me – I wouldn’t have experienced last night which was nothing short of bloody brilliant. Pub lunches that never happen, ‘one drink’ that starts at 4pm and finishes at 7am, singing with pimps, bringing the mirth at the roulette table by pretending to be Wesley Snipes, illegal piering, tattoo convention after parties, OHHHH YEEEEAH!, McMahon jumping off the pier*, goggles, eventually having that pub lunch comprising of a 6.30am Ginsters pastie… the list goes on, but could well be unsuitable for most ears.

Yes, my pants were pulled down outside. I need another new belt notch.

I am glad I have not died yet.

*Into sand, not the water.

DO SOME SHIT

I get the feeling I should probably do more stuff in this area. I mean, we’ve got some great places nearby and I just don’t even think about going there, seeing them or whatever else. The New Forest looks ace for a wander, but I’ve never bothered with it. Maybe I need to get a dog to make that worthwhile.

Then there’s all the sea shit (that’s what it’s known as officially) where you get to go on boats and look at dinosaurs and shit (also what it’s known as officially). On the other hand, I am comfortable sitting all the time, and I often have to spend most of my spare time freelancing to make it so I earn enough to buy NOSH each month. But back to the first hand: it’s dumb. Should do things.

I’ve never even been fishing properly. Who wants to go fishing? Not to catch, kill and cook – just to get fish and put it back. Or just to have some beers on a boat for a while. Who wants to go to the New Forest for some reason or another? Not to catch, kill and cook – just to make deer and horses drink beer then to put them on a boat for a while. It makes sense, clearly.

The main two problems are that I don’t have a dog – having dogs makes you want to go more places, or something. LOGIC. Also I can’t drive. Someone who can needs to get involved. Get involved.

The shame of The Stack: extended

It just dawned on me that I don’t just have The Stack when it comes to videogames. And by that I don’t mean anything dirty – I mean a stack of unfinished or unplayed games that anybody who has taken a passing interesting in gaming will have, either literally or metaphorically.

I’ve had The Stack in other areas for years and not even noticed, but it’s just become clear to me just how great I am at accumulating things and how bad I am at doing what I’m supposed to do with them. I have a large box full of books, you see, and I’ve probably only read a quarter of them. I fully intend to read all of them, but it’s unlikely that I will for the next few years or something.

Yet I’ve just spent that last few days perusing Amazon for books I want to add to that particular stack.

Open my cupboard next to my bed and you’ll find hundreds of DVDs in there. Now there was once a time where there were hundreds more and I had barely watched half of them, but since the great eBay purges of the last few years it’s been mainly narrowed down to about 30-35% unwatched. A good ratio, I must say.

But when you take into account my hard drive of “LEGALLY ACQUIRED” movies, that percentage goes batshit in the wrong direction. Hoarding: it’s not the best thing to do.

But hey, at least it makes me feel a tiny bit better about not playing All The Games – I’m equally crap at following through on everything else, too.

Pitza Cano: an appreciation

What’s the best takeaway you’ve ever had? Mine is pizza, from a little pizzeria in Hyde Park, Leeds. It sits across the road from the World Famous Hyde Park Picture House (note: not world famous) and is called Pitza Cano. Yes, that spelling is correct.

I can’t claim to have eaten takeaway pizza from everywhere in the world – note I’m talking takeaway, not restaurant. Make the distinction. But yes, I haven’t eaten everywhere. Hard as that is to believe. But I’ve eaten a fair few places, and the best pizza I’ve had – from a takeaway – was from Cano.

It wasn’t even anything fancy – just pizzas made from scratch in front of your eyes, brushed with a little oil on the crust once finished. They just did them right. And deliciously. And OH the calzones. God they were great. I mean, Pietro’s in Parkgate was great, but Cano blew them out of the water.

And I haven’t been able to find any other takeaway anywhere I’ve lived that does pizza as good. I don’t consider Domino’s, Pizza Hut or Papa John’s actual good pizza. It’s production line crap, though obviously not as bad as seemingly every other takeaway in the country. Fucking processed bases, shitty quality toppings and undercooked rubbish produced at the end of it.

I despair, I really do. Also I want a pizza. Any ACTUAL GOOD places in Bournemouth? You realise if you recommend somewhere that uses pre-prepared bases, super-cheap ham or a bad mixture of cheddar and mozzarella I am going to have you killed. Consider yourselves warned.

I’ve heard they’ve gone to shit recently, and this saddens me. But I’m still going to be paying them a visit when I’m in Leeds in July. Be rude not to, even if they do ruin my life by actually having gone shit.

[This article was modified 27 May as the author had erroneously claimed Pietro’s pizzeria was located in Rawmarsh. It is in fact Parkgate. The article has been changed accordingly. We apologise for any distress caused as a result of this mistake.]

Cleaning: it’s shit

I hate cleaning. Wow, it feels good to get that off my chest. Again. For the fiftieth time today. Even though you all already know this. I am well aware of the necessity for cleaning and while I am untidy I am certainly not filthy – food waste isn’t left lying around and I bathe regularly, for example. But I am untidy, arguably (definitely) unclean.

But seeing as it’s been an amount of time I’m not going to publically divulge since I last properly tidied my flat (clue: I still liked Switzerland back then), and seeing as I have at least one friend finally fucking visiting me this weekend, I thought it about time to give the place a once over.

It took me two hours to do two small rooms in this place. I hazard to think how long the main room will take me, especially as it’s clearly in need of the most work.

But I know people who like tidying, and I don’t get it. I get a bizarre pleasure from scraping dirt off of things, or wiping something covered in dust down until it is no longer dusty, but when it comes to tidying? Nah, I’d rather just not bother. Laziness? Yep. Illogical? Certainly. Do I care? A little bit.

Another thing that annoys me about tidying, aside from all the other bits I haven’t actually mentioned, is the fact you have to put stuff places. See, I have a lot of crap and only so many places to put it. When I’m supposed to be tidying I’m actually just messing stuff up by piling lots of stuff into a place where just moments earlier there was not so much stuff. IT’S WEIRD.

Fuck tidying. Waste of time. I’ll pay someone to do it for me. Well, I won’t. But still. Eff it in the A.

Are you a psychopath? TAKE THE TEST.

I read this on the Grauniad earlier today and found it really rather captivating. It reminded me of the stories about ‘heroes’ in the Second World War who, when they were tested or reviewed later on, were found to generally be psychopaths. Mainly because they had no fear, nor did they care what happened to themselves or others.

Anyway, turns out there’s a standardised test to see if you are indeed a psychopath. Which is hilarious – it’s like all those other internet test things we all do, except if you get a high score it doesn’t mean you’re a space lion from the web or whatever. No, it means you’re a danger to society.

Naturally, I’m going to demand you all take the test. Mark yourselves on each of these things about your personality, 0, 1 or 2. 0 being least true and 2 being most true. Add up the numbers. If you score 30 or above, you are a psychopath. I, for example, scored a rather pathetic 12.

Item 1 Glibness/superficial charm

Item 2 Grandiose sense of self-worth

Item 3 Need for stimulation/proneness to boredom

Item 4 Pathological lying

Item 5 Cunning/manipulative

Item 6 Lack of remorse or guilt

Item 7 Shallow affect

Item 8 Callous/lack of empathy

Item 9 Parasitic lifestyle

Item 10 Poor behavioural controls

Item 11 Promiscuous sexual behaviour

Item 12 Early behaviour problems

Item 13 Lack of realistic long-term goals

Item 14 Impulsivity

Item 15 Irresponsibility

Item 16 Failure to accept responsibility for own actions

Item 17 Many short-term marital relationships

Item 18 Juvenile delinquency

Item 19 Revocation of conditional release

Item 20 Criminal versatility

Oh and if any of you do score over 30 then you’re my favourite friend/reader.

Playboy, Kubrick, Carpenter, Mass Effect and free MP3 downloads. Honestly.

Today is a good day. Why? First, I saw this:

Then, I remembered I am John Carpenter crossed with those guys who did the Mass Effect soundtrack:

I am John Carpenter.mp3

This isn’t a poor excuse for a half-arsed blog, I promise you.

Being homeless: piss easy, apparently

Turns out this whole ‘being homeless’ thing isn’t actually as much of an issue as THEY would have you believe. No idea who THEY are, mind you. But the point stands. See, I have now experienced life on the streets after a bit of the kind of gonzo journalism I definitely invented.

Last night I ended up having to sit down on a bench for about ten minutes. I had with me six cans of lager, of which I was drinking one. Mainly because I am classy, but also because I was Tramp Drunk. Anyway, in this brief amount of time at about 3.30am in Bournemouth town centre I was approached by four separate people. All of them mistook me for a homeless person.

Could they not see the fine tailoring on my Calvin Klein jeans (I bought from TK Maxx)? Could they not see my lovely checked shirt that is now seemingly my uniform (that was half price online)? Idiots.

Anyway, the reason it’s easy on the street is because everyone was really nice to me. A fellow (legitimate) homeless bloke came and had a chat with me, attempting to give me tips on how not to get bummed, or robbed, or something. Some other random people wished me luck. A girl demanded to know if I had somewhere to sleep that night. Someone even offered me money.

So yes, in summation: being homeless is piss easy and people are nice to you when you’re hammered and it’s raining a little bit.