Amy Winehouse: dead idiot, no beard

Ugh, I suppose I have to do something about the Winehouse death and subsequent reaction then. After all, I crave the reactionary hits like the 600-odd I got from doing something about Ryan Dunn (check out the killer headline, maaan!).

First of all, I am not an unsympathetic, uncaring person. Far from it. I just tend not to let myself fall into the trap of glossing over Real Life in favour of emotionally-charged outbursty reactions. Well, I try not to, at least. I’ll admit it is callous, in a way, but I still think it’s the right way to think about things – life goes on, things don’t stop and start at the convenience of one or two events and all that gubbins. It’s all part of this cosmic ride, maaan.

So when I start Tweeting frantically, trying to keep pace with the sympathetic outpourings of everyone else in the world in the wake of Amy Winehouse’s death, it isn’t to be deliberately contrary. It isn’t to show how super-cool and edgy I am by going against the majority opinion. It’s just to say my piece and – admittedly – is a bit of an emotionally-charged reaction, just of another kind.

But the fact that 90+ innocent lives taken away for no reason can instantly be forgotten in the wake of a known junkie – who has been slowly killing herself very much in the public eye for years now – finally dying is… well, it annoys me. It’s not a case of ‘one or the other’, and people are obviously allowed to react in whatever way they see fit, but there are just things that irk me. One of which is the word ‘tragedy’. Perspective, please. It’s all I ask.

Was she hounded by the media into this behaviour? Maybe. Constant scrutiny, having all of your life put out there and shown to the public, whatever you’re doing, puts a serious mental strain on you. We all know she tried to stop with the drugs – her friends and family will surely have helped and it is horrible to know these people now live with the knowledge nothing they could do helped in the end. It is a bad thing, yes.

But it isn’t a tragedy. Unless it turns out otherwise – which it might – it would appear to be the result of self-inflicted…ness. For all intents and purposes, she killed herself.

It’s sad, but I have little sympathy.

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A moving experience

After sitting in the same place for almost two years we finally did The Big Move and shifted Play magazine across the office. It was a long, hard slog but we finally made it to the end of our huge journey, all of about five metres away.

I damn near broke my back, what with the company refusing to spring for a pack mule to carry my tons of stuff. But somehow, some way I managed to lift and move four boxes of magazines and some small gaming-related toys. I also managed – somehow, some way – to roll my chair to my new desk. It was harrowing.

But it’s strange how something as simple as a move of such a small (epic) distance can make you look at things so differently. Mainly because I see the office from a different angle now.

But it really opens you up, an act so simple (and epic) as moving – it broadens your horizons in strange ways. Mainly because I’ve got more desk space now.

But it does odd things that you wouldn’t expect, such a simple (epic) move as this, like it brings you closer to your fellow man and helps you bond with others suffering through the human condition. Mainly because I’m not trapped behind a partition and sit right next to new people now.

I’ll stop being hilarious now. We shall have to see how sitting right next to the kitchen pans out though. I’ve already introduced a new rule for those using the area. It’s called: SHUT UP.

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