Friday, April 23
Just a quick note to say that I've finally finished updating my music page to include all of my 1700+ mp3s, my ever-expanding CD collection, and the burgeoning set of DVDs that I have started to collect. I can't say that it makes for hugely interesting reading, because it is basically just a couple of huge lists, but God dammit, I spent ages updating it, so go visit it!
In other news, I still haven't started doing any revision. I'm starting to feel both ashamed and very very worried. Must do some tomorrow. Must do some tomorrow. Must do some tomorrow. Must do some tomorrow.
Oh, and I should update the photo blog at some point, because I've got quite a few photos to crop and upload from the last 2 months, stretching all the way back to the massive party we had in our house in the middle of February. I'm so behind!
In the meantime, I've added and changed a few links on the left to a couple of new blogs that I've stumbled across, including the newly resurrected Sambo's Dictionary. Hurrah! Go have a read of them all, they're interesting to keep track of.
And yes, I will write up the past couple of day's events pretty soon, because it was, how you say, very fucking fucked up and I'm sure it will make a captivating read, if I can use some sort of literary skill to express it all fully.
What was that about revision? Meh.
Thursday, April 22
Not About Me
I know I said that I'd post here what I attempted to do so earlier on, but things have changed. I'll type it up properly tomorrow, but in the meantime, have a gander at what 3 of the most well-known (although I'd only heard of one of them) bloggers think about blogging itself in this article from the Guardian's G2 supplement.
As a blogger myself, it makes for very interesting reading as to why they choose to blog, and what effect it is having on them. After this week's events, this blog has had an enormous impact on my life and the life of those around me. I will detail more when I next write here. Suffice it to say that my world is collapsing on a huge scale, and I'm standing somewhat idly by, watching it happen.
But this isn't about me. Well, not this particular post, at any rate.
This is my favourite little bit from the article:
I like the idea of just writing something. If it wasn't for keeping a blog, my written output would amount to about 10 words a month. I'm sure someone once said something about people writing in the past because they had something to say and people writing nowadays to find out whether or not they've got anything to say. There's probably something in that.
It's true, my written output used to consist solely of lecture notes and shopping lists. Now I find myself constantly writing. I even write more than goes on here, and sometimes have to ignore pieces I wrote for no apparent reason. It seems like starting to write in this manner has unleashed some kind of artistic, expressionate side to me that I didn't know I had.
I take photos now, of random things that catch my eye, but may not have any merit to anybody else. I doodle, mostly images of eyes and of polygons in strange shapes (the latter is due to my still mathematical and analytical brain). I write notes to myself in my notebook, often little points that I will develop later in my writing here. I type messages to myself on my phone, so that I don't forget something that may be important at some stage.
My mind is constantly buzzing with topics to write about, and phrases to include in the next post. Often, I spend a good deal of time in my day planning my next post and what I want to say in it, so that when I actually come to write it in full, it flows from my mind easier, and it is somewhere near coherent.
And I have to say that I enjoy this. I enjoy having some sort of creativity in me. Just look at this post: it was originally just going to be a quick link to the article, but I've gone off on a slight tangent and have managed to write well over 500 words without even thinking about it. Why can't I do this when I have something like a piece of coursework to write?! Grrr.
Now, if only I could reproduce that in my conversations with people and not be boring when speaking to them, my life would be complete and worthwhile once more. I guess we can't have everything. Even if we try.
We can however, have the first 6 series of Buffy pre-ordered. The box sets are being re-released at the end of May, and are heavily discounted on Amazon UK. Yes, I know it adds up to £166.94, but it's sooooo going to be worth it. It even coincides with the end of my exams. Bo. How convenient.
Wednesday, April 21I fucking hate BLOGGER. The first time in ages that I write a lengthy post here rather than in Notepad and then copying it to here, it fucking goes and fucking loses the post. That took me fucking ages to write, and was full of good stuff. I'm too pissed off with Blogger to write it again right now, so maybe I'll come back to it later. Fucking Blogger, I'm off to make some dinner.
Tuesday, April 20Tuesday, 13th April
I was thinking about this last night, and I'd come to the conclusion that there was in fact nothing at all that happened to me that came anywhere near interesting or at the very least noteworthy.
It was then that I remembered that I'd picked up my new mobile phone on the Tuesday of last week. Well, when I say picked up, I really mean that I spent over 2 hours in a mobile phone shop (yes, well done on efficiency Phones 4 U) trying to upgrade my contract with a new handset, and then eventually having to settle for a new contract along with a new mobile number.
2 fucking hours!
I had a trainee serving me, who had been thrown in right at the deep end. I don't blame her, because she was very nice and helpful, but it just didn't seem as if she'd been trained all that much. The system was letting her (and me) down, making her seem like a fish out of water, or even incompetent.
I think I got a pretty good deal, and my shiny new phone is so very cool. It's the Samsung one with the camera and flash built in. If I could only get it to connect to my computer properly, there'd be loads more pictures on The Photo Blog. I'll get it sorted eventually, probably.
Wednesday, 14th April
A dull (read "no revision, no Girl, no football) day, until the evening.
A few of my housemates were going to Candybox at this club called Hombre's, just off Oxford Street, and I tagged along, since it had been nearly 2 weeks since I'd had a night out, and over nearly 72 hours (!) since the last drop of alcohol passed my lips. I'm not an alcoholic though. Actually, writing this today (the 20th), I haven't drank any alcohol since that night out, which was a week ago. I'm so very proud of myself.
We got to this place sometime around 10.30, and I was thoroughly, how you say, appalled. It reminded me so much of Buds back home in Melksham, with mirrors everywhere and a somewhat chaotic lighting arrangement. Tacky is definitely the word.
What made me think of Buds even more was the sheer youth of everyone in there. We played a little game for the rest of the night, trying to spot girls who were over 18; there weren't many. I felt so, so old, and I'm only fucking 20!
We grabbed a table near the dancefloor, and set about downing the cheap (nasty) vodkas. I was in fits of giggles for most of that time, because although the dancefloor was mostly empty, there were a few people (kids) on it.
I should stop here and explain what type of music was playing. If I described it as Fashion Rock, would you understand what I mean? I'm talking about bands such as The Strokes, The White Stripes, The Vines, Franz Ferdinand and all of that genre.
I fucking hate Fashion Rock. With a passion.
It was so funny to watch these teenagers prancing (literally) about the dancefloor, strutting and holding their hands in weird positions. So very, very funny. Like I said, I was in fits of giggles.
I was also inspired by that period to write something here concerning alternative mainstreams, which I will do at some point (Note to self: AFTER exams). I'll try to gloss over that element here, since I don't want to spoil that particular mini-essay / diatribe.
Me and Phil noticed just how prominent horizontal stripes were on everyone's clothing, especially those who seemed to be properly into the music and the whole scene. There's nothing like trying to be different and still looking the same as everyone else...
I have to say that it did improve in the last hour or two, because the dancefloor was absolutely rammed and they moved a little bit away from Fashion Rock, musically. Of course, by this time, I was mildly inebriated, and couldn't really care what music was playing. I'm so predictable when it comes to drinking and dancing. I will refuse to dance to anything for ages, and then suddenly I'll be drunk enough to dance to absolutely any song that is put on. I'm weird.
I could mention how my *****mates got on that night, and whether they p*lled g*rls or not, but I will just get m**ned at. Meh. **** p*lled a ** year-old g*rl, for the *nd week in a r*w, and ***** ***l** **i* **-****-*** ***h** o* t**, *h** **s *l* **e* *i*, i*******g g******g *i* *i** *n **s t******** ***l** o* t** d********r.
I feel just like a News Of The World writer discussing the Beckham text messages. At least I know what it means. And I can't get moaned at if and when any of my housemates read it.
Hello all of you, by the way, glad to know you're reading.
How To Lose Friends And Alienate People
Start A Blog.
Hmm, so I got a reaction today to yesterday's post, specifically the part concerning a couple of my housemates' "sympathy sex" that they are having or arranging at the moment. It turns out that they took offence at how their personal matters were being put on "the Internet" for all and sundry to read.
Is it just me, or does anyone else find it amusing that it is only when something personal is written about someone that they choose to react? I've written so much stuff here about my housemates, and how they piss me off so much a hell of a lot of the time, yet it has taken discussion of their (somewhat questionable in my view) sex lives to generate an actual face-to-face reaction. I for one find that quite amusing and perhaps even slightly hypocritical.
But then again, I didn't ask them if I could write about them, just as I have never asked anyone if I could write about them here. Perhaps this was an error on my part, but how else would I go about it? Carry a pack of forms around with me, and make everyone who I see / think about sign one before I write anything about them? I think not. A simple vocal contract / agreement? Possibly, but then they'd probably want some sort of editorial control over what I write about them.
That is what would piss me off most. As I've said on numerous occasions, I don't present an image of myself here, I just present myself. I do the same with other people: there is no subjective view of them, just them as a whole. The events are obviously tainted somewhat by me relaying them here, but I try to be as non-judgmental as I can.
There are times, however, when I choose to be judgmental, when I choose to voice my opinion(s) of somebody. These can be positive, negative or merely observant. I feel the need to do this sometimes, because this is what I do in my head, and when I speak. We all do. We all make judgments about other people, and we all have opinions on them. If I didn't write these opinions here, there would be a big gaping hole in the overall presentation of myself.
I'm not Jesus, I do judge people and their actions. As much as I can help it, I try not to do it on first impressions or looks, but after knowing someone to some extent. This isn't always successful, but I have lived with my housemates (in this case) for long enough to know who they are and what makes them tick. I think this makes me fairly qualified to have an opinion on them.
No doubt they have opinions on me, indeed they will be drastically negative after yesterday's post, but that really doesn't matter to me. Everyone has opinions, as I said above, and everyone is entitled to have and to voice them. I would love to know what they truly think of me, I really would, but this is never raised whenever we are together. There is an inherent fear in everyone of telling someone to their face exactly what you think of them. I happen to write it here, they may talk about it amongst themselves or to other people. So what, I don't ask what is said in their conversations, not because I'm disinterested, but because I am not overly bothered whether the opinions of me are positive or negative.
I know disinterest and not being overly bothered seem like one and the same, but the distinction I am trying to draw is that I do not worry endlessly about what other people think of me, and nor do I particularly want to find out, since it is their own personal opinion. Why would anyone truly want to know what others think of them, unless they are a Mother Teresa-esque character? We all have our flaws and our bad traits, just as we have our good sides and positive attributes.
So yeah, if you want to piss people off, give them your opinion of them, be it vocally, or in a piece of writing somewhat similar to this one. You'll soon find out what they truly think of you as well, and everyone will be informed, if not necessarily happy.
Monday, April 19No excuses this time, just a failure to write anything of note for a couple of days. Meh. And I do want to write about every day, because that is the very essence of blogging for me. It is my life, not just the interesting bits. I have interesting days and I have crap days. My life isn't on a permanently high level of excitement, I'm afraid, even if my quality of writing is. Ahem.
Friday, 9th April (Continued)
I left it last time by mentioning that Girl was coming over to mine that evening, to watch a film and to do whatever. I met her at the Tube station, and was so pleased to see her after nearly 2 weeks away from each other. Texts and phone calls aren't nearly enough.
I cooked us some dinner (just call me Masterchef), and we went into my room to watch a DVD, although I'll be damned if I can remember what it was. 28 Days Later, perhaps? Meh. I really need to write things down as and when they happen, so that I can write about them here properly, a week and a half later. No short-term memory, you see? I need a list when I go to the supermarket, even if I'm only picking up less than 5 things, because I always, always forget one of the things I need.
It's weird, because I can remember with absolute clarity events from many years ago, down to the smallest detail, but I can't remember something which I thought about 5 minutes ago. I'm so weird.
But I digress.
I'm no Alistair Campbell (ex-Advisor to the PM, and also ex-Readers' Wives' Stories writer for porn magazines), so I won't attempt to write anything here that is anywhere near erotic or explicit. Suffice it to say that the sentence from the Observer article and the Bio page is still true. I'm pretty sure that Girl wouldn't appreciate me going into great long reams of description of what happened, so I will leave it at that.
And no, don't bother bombarding me with questions about it, because I'm not going to answer them.
This could be the first time that I'm actually not writing about things that have happened to me, which is a little weird for me. I spoke to Girl the other day about whether or not to write about these events, and any subsequent ones, and she made it quite, quite clear that she wouldn't appreciate me writing about this sort of thing.
I know that this is about me, and no-one even knows who she is, but I feel like I need to respect her wishes in this area. But then again, it's quite difficult to remain wholly honest in my writing here whilst not offending or alienating her. The perils of blogging...
Saturday, 10th April
Anyway, Girl stayed over that night, but had to leave early on the Saturday morning to go to work. And I mean early. I'd forgotten that 6.30am even existed on a Saturday morning (except for after the Law Ball and falling asleep on the night-bus, when I didn't get home until after 6.30...), and I'd barely slept the night before (no Kiwi, not because of that). Stupid bloody early mornings.
Obviously, after I'd walked Girl down to the Tube station, it was straight back to bed for a good 5 hours. Mmmm, lie-ins.
The rest of the day was a bit of a wash-out, if memory serves. No notes, you see, so I can't really remember exactly what happened. Meh. Obviously nothing interesting then.
Sunday, 11th April
I got moaned at by Girl for inviting her over after watching the Arsenal game on Sunday afternoon in the pub. The worst thing is that she'd asked the night before what time she should come over that evening, and I'd said sometime around 6.30pm. Stupidly, I mentioned that I'd be watching the football up till that time, something which she picked up on instantly.
It's only playful moaning, thank God, but I must make a determined effort to let football take a back seat, or at least an unmentioned front seat. It's not my fault, this is pretty much the first time I've been in a serious relationship, and I'm still unsure exactly how to go about. Well, that's not strictly true, I'm more unable to change my ways because I've gone so long without someone like Girl in my life. I've got used to the single life, and all that goes with it.
This is also why Girl gets annoyed with me, since I don't phone her or contact her every day. It's not that I don't want to, it's just that I don't even think about doing it. I don't know how to go about these things properly, and I pretty much always get it wrong. Talk about a steep learning curve.
She came round that evening, even with a little gentle admonishment to me, which was a good thing. Take-away pizza was definitely the way to go (hey, I'd already cooked a decent meal that weekend, so it was all about pizza), and I think we watched another film. I'm not sure though, stupid memory.
We spent most of the evening / night lying in my bed, talking and (as the Americans would say) "fooling around". Before you all get too excited, no, nothing that serious happened. Sorry to let you all down again, but taking it slow is doing quite nicely at the moment. What's the point of rushing into things like that? I'm in a loving relationship, so why is there this desperate need to get physical straight away?
It is here that I expect the "men" amongst you to be pretty much exasperated with me, and almost shouting at the scream. So fucking what? I find it so very strange that certain of my housemates (as an example) are solely interested in "making the fuck" (the comedy phrase currently doing the rounds in my living room, amongst others). They go to such trouble to have a one-night stand, but why not find a girl that you want to see every night, and who also wants to see you?
Currently, two of my housemates are engaged (well, not at this instant, ovbviously) in "sympathy sex" with their respective ex-girlfriends, coincidentally both called Sarah. The problem herein is that for one of them, the strings are still attached. It'll all end in tears, just like their actual relationship, come to think of it. Do I ask questions about their intentions? Do I fuck! Let them get on with it, and fuck themselves up completely. The problem is that I don't get the same lack of questioning. I get lots of questions, to which I try to give very few answers.
I think they know that I still "have my V-plates" (Girl's phrase), be it prior to the article or after, and are so very excited (mocking?) that I've found someone, but haven't slept with her yet, even though we've been seeing each other for nearly 2 months. 2 hours is about average for them, or so they claim. True men, right?
Monday, 12th April
Anyway, she slept here again, and this time we were able to have a bit more of a lie-in, since she didn't have to leave until around midday. I'm still getting used to sharing my bed, and it doesn't help that it is only a single one (the student problem, I believe that is called). I'm sure that I can get used to it, along with all of the other "relationship-things". Why that is in quote-marks, I'm not quite certain.
I should have knuckled down to starting some revision on the Monday, but it was a Bank Holiday, which meant a shitload of football on the TV, and a necessary trip to the pub to watch some of it. Mmmm, addictions.
I think it was just me and Phil (note the disapperance of "Phil and I" from my writing. Mmm, grammatical inconsistency and errors) there that day, although I'm yet again uncertain. Phil is without doubt the weirdest of my housemates, and is quite possibly clinically insane.
'Twas he who created the characters of Dave Sexy, Steve Wick, Bob Frog and the (based-on-a-true-90s-footballer) Ian Woan. He also takes great pleasure in shouting out the following phrases at random times, often in song form:
- If you love the horse, Dave Sexy
- Ho-mo-phobia, ho-mo-phobia, ho-mo-phobia, we hate fucking poofters!
- Goat (also the nickname of another of my housemates)
- Locust (again, a nickname of someone else we live with)
- Big Fat Gay Mole (yet another housemate)
Like I said, a fucked-up person. He's also an incredible lightweight when it comes to drinking, which makes it especially hilarious when we all drink, since we're all sober, but he's nigh-on delirious. This is when the chants get louder, more aggressive and faster.
Don't even begin to ask me to explain, since there is absolutely no explanation I can give which will get anywhere near penetrating his mind and discovering the depths from which he creates these characters / chants. Ahh, Phil, you fucking weirdo.
That was about the entirety of Monday, to be honest. Fun, fun, fun all the way. But no revision done yet this holiday, and this was the start of the third week. I'm so going to fail these exams. But at least you'll be able to read all about it here.
My current priorities:
- This blog
- Going out
- Lounging around doing nothing
- Staring into space
I'm so unbelievably screwed for these exams. Fuck.