Tag Archives: idiocy

Crekt spelink

Okay, if they’re not native English speakers then fair enough – it’s a mistake that could be made. But if we’re talking born and bred British here then… no hope.

How do you not just spell ‘clear’ incorrectly, but also not notice you’ve done it? How do the people you’re working with not notice you’ve done it? How does a stupid, stupid mistake like that get through?

I’ve made mistakes – probably two in my whole life, maybe two and a half – but I have never painted a large instruction on the floor and misspelled it. That would be the last thing I would want to happen. Also the letters would be really big and I would have a plan ahead of time as to what I was going to write there. Meaning it would be quite hard to eff it up.

But then, I suppose I listened at school, read books and paid attention to getting things right. One, because I enjoyed doing those things and two, because I didn’t want to end up painting large instructions on the floor as a job.

No disrespect to the people who do it as a profession, but… well, actually I might just disrespect them because I feel like it. Plus it’s likely that you all get paid a lot more than I do anyway. So what does that teach us? Mainly that not listening and not caring about being educated lands you in a better financial position than someone who did listen.

Something like that, anyway. Keep klear.

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Believing in my beliefs

I’ve gone on before, ages ago, about how I don’t believe I’m a good writer. Not really. But this shocking lack of self-assurance on my part doesn’t end there, with something else I’ve been reminded of over the last few days popping up. I’m not even sure if I believe or feel what I believe and feel.

I’ll tell others and I’ll tell myself something – I think all the women should be welded to hammocks, for example. I’ll make eloquent, aggressive or combi arguments about why I believe this. I might even make a good point every once in a while, like how the constant guarantee of comfort is a price many women would want to pay.

But that wouldn’t stop my mind from thinking ‘there’s no way you actually believe this you twat, you just want everyone dead’. It happens with a lot of things I say and a lot of beliefs I claim to hold. Constantly questioning myself – not even in the way I’m looking for assurances that I do indeed think what I think, just in the way that my mind has to run deliberately contrary to everything my mouth says.

But then other things happen where your beliefs are truly challenged, and understandably so. The rioting, of course, has provoked many reactions from many people – I’m not going to comment on what others have said, as it’s their place to say it. But I warmed my own cockles when I realised that under these rather extreme circumstances – and be in no doubt: just because I’m not in an affected area doesn’t mean I can’t have a passionate reaction – even under these circumstances my beliefs held firm.

I applied logic I believed, I applied reason I believed and I have come to conclusions I believe. They will change – I know this for a fact (clue: opinions are capable of changing. Please learn this, the internet). But I told myself something, and myself replied ‘yeah, I know’. It made me feel good about myself.

I like being self-absorbed, get over it.

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Dear children: adults are actually shit

As I get older it becomes easier to see that adults are, in fact, idiots. We all are. We’re not these super-people to be revered and idolised like we think growing up. If anything, we’re stupider than kids because we won’t accept new, different ways of thinking. Instead we prefer to stick with what we know. Why? Because it’s easier.

I read something recently – I cannot remember where – that made this point. It talked of how amazed the writer was as a child that his dad could manage to get up, get ready for work and navigate all the way to his office without getting lost or being late every single day. He thought that was the work of a superhuman, and that adults just never made mistakes.

Then he grew up, and realised that yes – we are all idiots. We all get lost, fuck up or turn up three hours after we were supposed to be there.

We don’t actually get better at life, we just get used to doing it in a particular way. Routine becomes commonplace, making it look like we’re more competent. But what happens as soon as something is introduced to rock the boat – even slightly? Anarchy. Chaos. Burning churches and dead dogs. The end of days.

I remember missing my bus a while back. Three people died as a direct result of that.

Growing up really shouldn’t have this whole line of thinking behind it. You don’t get any better as you age, you just get more lines on your face and accumulate more things to be sad about.

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Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Spurred on by one of the usual inane Reddit threads, and because I’m a bit rushed doing lots of things this evening, I have been thinking of things I was told or taught as a young ‘un that I didn’t particularly realise were bollocks until I got older. And even then it might have taken me a while to realise.

First up is superglue. That sticky bastard stuff that regularly ruins as many lives as it purportedly saved during the Vietnam War (or was it Korea? THERE’S NO WAY I COULD POSSIBLY FIND OUT) is something I am very wary of even to this day. No, literally – actually genuinely to this day. See, I was raised with the belief that contact with the stuff was basically a slight step down from a death sentence. It wouldn’t kill you, but it might as well have.

Enter today, and I had to fix a broken shower head holder. Using superglue. Guess where this is going. I still have dried glue all over my fingers, but I certainly haven’t been permanently stuck to anything, nor have I died. Yet. There’s still a chance, though.

Then there’s the hot water boiler majiggy back at my dad’s house. I don’t remember when and I don’t remember who told me, but I do remember at some point I was told not to touch the boiler, located just below the clean towels, as it would electrocute me, or burn me, or hurt me in some untold fashion. I believed this and I avoided ever touching it, terrified any time I dropped a towel on it or my hand strayed just a little.

It honestly, actually, genuinely, properly, really took me til I was about 20 to touch that thing. It was fine. Did I mention it was covered in a cushioned material to make sure people touching it wouldn’t burn their hands? Yeah, that’s the level we’re dealing with here.

But the one thing that I had the fear of death drilled into me about I have never got over still haunts me to this day. I am still genuinely scared of them, and I honestly don’t think I will ever use one in my life, mainly because of my pa’s incessant warnings (and numerous fire brigade videos). Chip pans. I will have absolutely no regrets if I go to my grave having never used one, such is my weariness of those fire-breathing motherfuckers.

Though, if I do ever use one, it will likely mean I go straight to my grave. They were invented by Satan and perfected by Hitler.

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I’ve tried, but I’ve failed

I’m not willing to admit defeat just yet, but I can feel it getting closer. It’s there, behind me. I can feel its presence. Hear it breathing. But it hasn’t taken me down, and I won’t go down easily. I honestly don’t know if I’ll prevail – I’ve been trying to make things work out for months now, but I just don’t seem to be making progress. But I will not give up. Ever. Until I am dead, possibly. Or until I give up.

I’m talking, of course, about touch screen controls for more old-fashioned games on the iPad. Specifically, Speedball 2. The kinds of games that need a joystick/pad and buttons to play, and so have them overlaid on the screen you are playing on. I just can’t do them properly.

I’ve had the iPad for a couple of months now and I’ve tried all manner of games. Tilt control ones annoy me but if they work well enough, it’s okay. Those made with touchscreens in mind from day one are, naturally, nigh-on perfect. Though I do find my massive gammon hands getting in the way a bit much. But it’s those that rely on an old-fashioned input method that just screw me up, and try as I might I just can’t get it perfect.

I’m not a douchebag from the planet Idiototron IX – I can play these damn things. It just doesn’t feel right. I need clicking, resistance, physical boundaries. Without all of that, I can see myself living a very lonely life, ultimately dying unfulfilled and forgotten.

No, wait – I can see myself remaining unconvinced by the ‘overlay’ control schemes on some iPad games. That’s what I meant.

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Patronising idiocy relating to video games in newspaper “shocker”

Some of you may have seen this article on the Torygraph today, where writer Harry DeQuetteville tests the shocking argument that video games aren’t just for kids. Now, I’m not about to tear into this like so many others will in far better fashions. I’m not going to question the logic of a 35-year-old being so hopelessly out of touch with reality it makes him seem 30 years older than he is. Nor am I going to highlight how he utterly misses the point of why LittleBigPlanet was a step forward. I’m not going to blindly comment on these things, because I’m not the same as him, basically.

I don’t claim to take the path of most resistance and always put a shitload of research into everything I write – especially here – but I know enough to not make lazy commentaries on things, relying on ancient stereotypes to back up my points. Even if I do also like Heavy Rain. This isn’t my point, anyway. I’ve got bogged down.

What I do take issue with is how DeQuetteville seems to make Call Of Duty: Black Ops out to be the shining example of video game glory. He appears to, at least, use the reasoning that it sells millions of copies and makes billions of dollars (“it” being the COD series, in this case) and is therefore the best example of the medium.

Now, would he or any other writer really take that point of view when it comes to other media? Would you write an article about how Avatar grossed a shitload of money and is therefore the best example of the genre? Does Dan Brown set the standard for authors across the world, purely because millions buy his books? Matchbox Twenty sold 20 million-plus records, does that mean they’re in the top few bands ever to grace this earth? I think you see my point.

I understand the ignorance. I accept it. There are many things I am ignorant of, hard as that may be to believe. But wilful ignorance? Nah. Surely it’s basic, irrefutable logic that just because something sells a lot that doesn’t make it the best example of the thing? Surely that’s just basic smarts?

Though I suppose that wouldn’t fit into the whole “we all still secretly think games are for idiots and kids” thing the whole article gives off, even with its “I learned my life lesson” ending. And to think, I once said the Torygraph has decent games coverage.

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Arguing: it’s weird (more so when you’re an idiot)

Arguing is weird for me. See, on one hand I can go at it full-on, lose my rag at the slightest of stimuli and rant about nothing in particular for minutes on end. While going red in the face. But on the other, a lot of the time I actually can’t be bothered arguing, and will simply say something along the lines of “yeah, whatever” and forget about it.

I say ‘weird for me’, it’s likely the same for a lot of you. But yeah, whatever.

Earlier today I found myself in a “yes it is” “no it isn’t” argument with a colleague. He was asserting that Manchester was closer to Bournemouth than London is. “No, my poor fool, it isn’t,” I confidently responded, “I make the trip to both quite often and it’s clearly not the case.” I then decided to hit him up with FACTKNOWLEDGE, stating “the train to London takes two hours, whereas the one to Manchester takes five. What do you think that means?”

Alright, so maybe I wasn’t as erudite as that, but I did make that point. It may or may not at this point have devolved into a back and forth of yeses and nos, truth be told.

But then I realised something strange. I was being looked at funny by the other two people present, and both informed me I was actually wrong. What fresh madness was this? Was I to believe that there wasn’t just one, but three fools standing here in front of me? I was flabbergasted. Really, I was. So much so that I chose to use the word right there. Manchester is clearly further away from Bournemouth than London is.

And that’s when it was explained to me that I had misheard the initial colleague, and he was actually saying what I was meaning to say. My constant cry of “yes it is” had been backing up my apparent strongly-held belief that London was in fact further away from Bournemouth than Manchester.

Arguing is weird for me.

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