A Retrospective View
Only since the beginning of exam period have I came to appreciate how fortunate I am. Being at University, to a lot of first year students, is like being locked in your own room at home with nothing but terrestrial tv and limited access to the internet. On the plus side, I have blazing-fast unmetered internet access, on the minus I don't have a tv.
This means that where some University students, like in Edinburgh, can't access anything "non-educational", I have free reign of the internet at speeds people can only dream about. Without DC, I would surely have gone insane by now, or even more insane depending on what you've heard about me. From DC I have downloaded 130 South Park episodes, about 100 Simpsons, 65 Futurama, 48 Red Dwarfs, 50 porno videos, and 30 full length films. Now, after watching each these, most twice, I am left with nothing to really watch and take an interest in. The bountiful supply of DC has finally ran out after a year of frantic downloading, and it scares me how little there is to do here.
Without tv, which let's face it is pretty shit 9/10ths of the time, there is literally nothing to do. And I mean that. We have spent hours making stupid, pointless Matrix videos of us fighting, a rather hilarious Friends video and "Big Brother diaries" to whittle away the evenings. But yet, even the home-made video well eventually runs dry, and I'm back to being bored as hell.
Before Christmas we spent inordinate amounts of time shooting pool at Rileys and the common room until we could officially call ourselves Pub Pool Room Masters and challenge the few that dared to contradict us, and win handsomely. But as exams loomed ever closer, the people to play pool with have depleted rapidly, to the point where I haven't shot pool for two full weeks now. And like the Christmas time, for unrelated reasons, I have taken to boozing for refuge.
Ask anyone how much Strongbow I have devoured over the past three weeks and they could only reply by outstretching their arms and attributing a multiple like "three times this much" to convey it. The amount is monumental, probably enough to keep the entire sub-continent of South Africa drunk for a decade. Strongbow- cheap and high volume, despite it looking and tasting like my urine sample for drug monitoring in UKA. It's the quintessential student muckling juice, and I buy it every 2-3 days for its god-like properties to make you tipsy/drunk without feeling sick.
It's a very depressing state of affairs. I do meander into Tom and Acko's room, and Mark and Dan's, but there really isn't much banter at this time of year. The football has finished, the summer hasn't began, none of us have our cars this year (Tom, James and Jibba are bringing this year) and the summer football/Olympics haven't began- which fast leaves exams the only topic of conversation that is still loosely "current." Even new film releases boils down to Troy and Day After Tomorrow, and they've been talked about more than a Jane Austen irony at a literary group.
So I spend most of my days cooked up in this room, staring at tattered revision notes and idly browsing the web looking for something of mild intrigue. As I've said before, after ten minutes of surfing the net you have read absolutely everything and done everything that holds any interest whatsoever.
I'm lucky because the winter exam revision coincided beautifully with coming home for a month. That month I had 20 kebabs, which goes some way to summarising what a fucking awesome Christmas holiday I had. I'm lucky because I have lots of friends here, even if they are a little pre-occupied with exams right now. I'm lucky because most weekends I'm away running, doing something I love. Training kills a good hour every day: An hour I'd otherwise be spending doing fuck all.
This year has gone like a blur, and I've had many high points and memories I'll never forget. Together we organised getting a house together early, nights out are great and my lecture schedule has been nothing short of easy.
But please don't mention the long, boring days. I know I've survived this long off the back of DC, but these exams have left me with nothing to break up the days. No lectures, no library, no long winter runs- no need to leave the room. Only the weekly shopping trip gets me out the room, besides training, and that's soul destroying. I can fully appreciate now why people leave Uni because there's nothing to do during the day, especially if you're in a catered hall. Because there's no communal kitchen or living room, a lot of them live like recluses, suffering what I am not only during exams, but the entire duration of their degree.
I count myself lucky now. At Christmas I got off lightly, and next year we'll have a living room and cars to go places. These three weeks have been a taster of what it's like to be unemployed, or on a degree living in catered halls. See all the forums out there? They're populated by loners who spend exactly all their time in solitude, along with all the MMORPG's, personals and chat rooms. When the internet is all you have to relax or entertain you, it can drive you crazy.
And you know what they say is the best way to combat boredom: Boozing. So excuse me while I fetch another two litres of Strongbow from the fridge, and pass the hours away looking into its golden salvation. Two weeks to go of this tear-inducing boredom and then all the spoils of summer to look forward to.
If you see me on msn, spare a thought. You wouldn't like to be locked in your room for three weeks either.
The Gummie Bears
I really hate it when annoyingly catchy tunes get stuck in my head around exam time. It used to be that the song I heard in the morning would stay with me throughout the day, popping up from time to time to both annoy and infuriate me. The mind, being the autonomous cunt that it is, has no "off" switch- which means the aforementioned song can stay in your head, looping itself round and round all day every day, ruining any streak of concentration longer than six seconds and making you suffer internal never-ending torment driving you to unknown of levels of insanity.
In days gone past I would perchance hear Hanson's Mmm-bop on the radio while eating my shredded wheat, and forget about it. Then, in registration, my feet take a life of their own, tapping out the bars to the horrid melody, my lips parting and whistling the tune of Mmm-bop, my peers aghast at what they think they hear. I explain it was all subconscious, to no avail, quite frankly disgusted and appalled at myself. The torment doesn't end there, for the wretched song loops again and again in my head, imprinting its awfulness ever further, forming permanent synapses to fuse the tune in my long-term memory. Sometimes it really does feel like there's a part of your brain always out to get you- the part that calls your teacher "mom", or forgets to fill out critical forms, or makes you talk in your sleep.
No, people- your brain doesn't always do what you tell it to because it doesn't have to. If you hurt it, you're hurting yourself! If it decides to loop the most chirpy god-damned annoying Christmas song during your summer exams, well, well- the joke's on you! No one can help you: You have no defence against your own brain. You can't reason with it, you can't switch it off, it is in every sense of the phrase a ball and chain that you lug about muggins-style each and every day. And the grand irony is that you need it as much as it needs you, yet you are the one at its mercy, finding your fist smacking your face to the sound of "why are you hitting yourself? Why are you hitting yourself?"
If there was a way to get my own back on the annoying swine part of my brain that loops intolerably twee and cutesy shite during crucial exams I could die a happy man. As it is however, I'll never be happy until I stop becoming the subservient deadbeat to the menace dj inside my head. This past week I've been plagued by the single most annoying and instantly catchy song I've ever had the displeasure of looping. People, brace yourself for: The Gummie Bears Theme Tune:
Listen To Theme Tune
"Dashing and daring, courageous and caring,
Faithful and friendly, with stories to share!
All through the forest they sing out in chorus,
Marching along as their song fills the air!
Gummie bears! Bouncing here and there and everywhere!
High adventure that's beyond compare! They are the Gummie bears,
They are the Gummie beeeeaaaarrrrssss!
Magic and mystery are part of their history,
Along with the secret, of Gummie-berry juice,
Their legend is growing, they take pride in knowing,
They fight for what's right in whatever they do!
Gummie bears! Bouncing here and there and everywhere!
High adventure that's beyond compare! They are the Gummie bears,
They are the Gummie beeeeaaaarrrrssss!"
The above is taken from the extended version, which, unbelievably, features a solo in the middle! It pains me that the guy who wrote this song is so passionate about the Gummie bear theme tune, hitting high octaves after the solo, holding the "aire" sound on the final "bear" so long that you can hear his voice quiver from the strain. It would almost be amusing if it wasn't for the fact that no matter how many showers I have, how much Guns N Roses I listen to, how many times I go the pub or any other means of purification I undergo this song is always in the back of my mind, crying "Gummie beeaarrss!" like they're some sort of celebrated world-saving gang of superheroes that merit a two and a half minute dedication that features a solo.
I'm gonna have to run this one out. I'm brushing my teeth for the sixth time today, hoping my cleanliness will wash away the sounds of the Gummie bears and their incessant singing. What's so special about this Gummie-berry juice anyway?
I can almost hear the titters from the depths of sub cortical brain tissue filter through, as faint as they are, taunting me and humiliating me. I won't stand for this, you swine, when I find out how to punish you you're in for a whole world of pain.
Pull a stunt like replacing my meticulous psychology revision with the Gummie bear theme tune half way through my end of year exam again brain and I'll bury your ashes along with the secret of Gummie berry juice.
Don't try me.
The Railways: Conclusion
Dear Sir,
CASE AGAINST YOU
You have been reported to me for allegedly committing the following offence(s):-
(1) Regulation of Railways Act 1889 Section S5(3)(b) on 21 April 2004 at Dundee
Consideration of this report shows that the evidence is sufficient to justify my bringing you before the Court on this criminal charge.
On this occasion, however, I have decided not to take such proceedings, but you should note that if a similar report is submitted to me in the future I am unlikely to refrain again from taking criminal proceedings and you may well be prosecuted.
Yours faithfully,
[scrawled signature]
Procurator Fiscal DeputeThank god for that! It seems I've been pushing the limits between getting a slap on the wrists and full-blown court proceedings, what with Ebay and the Railways now off my back. Actually I don't know if I told you about the conclusion to the Ebay saga: After Ebay decided to charge me ?12 for using their services, which is a huge rip-off, I decided not to pay them. I simply couldn't justify paying ?12 to have an item listed on Ebay, so I ignored their emails for eight months. The emails came in daily, getting progressively more aggressive. After about six months they banned me permanently (or so they said) from using Ebay or any of its sister services like Paypal. If you're sharp you'll now have noticed that they expect me to pay them and be banned for life? Get real! So anyways the debt got passed to a debt collection agency after 8 months, but I ignored them still. Until, however, this email came through:  Despite all previous communications you have elected to ignore our demand for full payment on this long overdue account. Therefore we have been compelled today to prepare the necessary papers recommending immediate legal proceedings, without further reference to yourself.
We will suspend your account into a hold category for forty-eight hours to enable you to make payment. Be aware that that while the current amount outstanding is as stated, on commencement of legal proceedings, court and legal costs will be added to the claim, together with interest at the application court rate. Take note therefore, that the claim will be issued for an amount considerably in excess of the current balance.As you might expect, I sheepishly rang the debt collectors and finally submitted the due fees, although I certainly wasn't happy about it. I think my silent protest went far enough, I have a future to think about without being a stupid hippy jailbird trying to change the world by getting themselves locked in the slammer. When I look at both these cases I was in the right- I just don't have the corporate power to challenge Railtrack or Ebay's financial muscle. I feel an Erin Brockovich styled venture coming on, perhaps during the summer when I have the time/necessary Disney-like belief that I can in fact make a difference. Perhaps through song. It's also unsurprising how far I'll go not to pay over the odds. I feel this is my Scottish side coming through, almost going as far as the courts not to pay for another rail ticket or a measly ?12. I think this is the attitude we must all adopt, to stop the penny-pinching schemers that plunder our wallets and give students a bad name. Who knows- we might only be left with enough money at the end of the year to buy a battered Clio! Eh Beefy! Seriously, something has to change. It's people like me that stand up to the system and make a difference, so that schmoes like you can get things a little cheaper. A well-executed protest is the sign of a good democracy, and as far as solo protests go, I think I have made my point. Without actually achieving anything. Call me Alan Brockovich, ladies.
The Savage Blogging Tradition
One Year AnniversaryIt is with much excitement and pride that I announce the one year anniversary of Starsite; The voice of reason. Rather than wax lyrical about the pit-falls of the modern blogger, and how especially difficult it is to maintain a site that is interesting and worth regularly checking, I'll explain why this site began. It was the end of last year's exams and the baton of blogging had been passed through most of our group, even stopping briefly in Tete and Yann's incapable hands. Like a beacon spanning the Aberdeenshire countryside, a new suitor needed to be found- Sharon's off-on blog-hands were growing frail, and Kayleigh's "Fickle minded Goblins" was ready to crumble. The gauntlet, it seemed, would need to be hastily rushed to the natural heir. Looking out my bedroom window, I saw the ominous Blogger logo etched on the crimson night sky, indicating only one thing- the proud Savage blogging heritage was dying, and the desperate quest for salvation had begun. At that moment the front door blew open, four masked goons strided towards me at a ferocious speed. I was soon bound and gagged, and dragged to a location unknown. I was whisked to Kayleigh's countryside retreat and then unbound to learn of my recruitment. There I found her slumped against the keyboard, her face marked with the strain of a thousand sleepless nights. Through croaked voice she explained the Rites Of Blogging in her dying breaths: "For long the Savages have kept a proud Blogging tradition" she spluttered, coughing violently. "We are shrinking in numbers, I grow old, there aren't many left... you, are the successor..." "How can I be, oh noble one?" I blurted, "I am but a boy!" "Silence! The force is strong... I feel it. We have all fought, and now you too must fight. Go... go now! Begin what must be begun..." "But..." I exclaimed, the life draining from her face. "I am just a boy..." I whispered as I turned to leave, glancing round once to see the wise Savage draped across the computer top, her limp body drained of life. I had previous experience with the Wee Issue website, but I had no knowledge of the intricate ways of the blog! That night I reflected long and hard, in the most dignified and un-pornographic way possible. Could it be that the mighty blogs before me were on their death beds? Was the wise Savage's prophecy true? I hastily searched the net, and the old woman's words rung true- they had all died, beside the bastion of Savage blogging that is Dabby's site. "He can't do it on his own" I cried, "the burden is too great!" Right there and then I resolved to carve a site of purple and grey hues; one that was minimalistic and focused entirely on verbal dexterity. The layout would reflect this, offering nothing but the very best scribing I could afford: The tradition would not end with me, I swore, sitting down to hit the keys that ( Interjection: 100,000th word on Starsite is: Boobs) would continue the legacy. That week I typed furiously, intent on attacking the blogger bug that had claimed many of my friends before me. If there was a wall, I knew not of it. The days passed and Dabby and I continued the long journey alone, surpassing all previous Savage blogs and creating history. Soon a hit counter was added, only to confirm the obvious- these two remaining Savage blogs were recording all-time highest hits, despite the "golden era" of Antined, Fickle Minded-Goblins and Dabby's blog. During this time many have came and went- Drew created a moderately short-lived blog, and the slew of pitifully inept sidekicks lined up to shame Dabby's blog with their woeful 2-3 blogs per annum. Beefy became the most prolific sidekick, writing a full 22 blogs on Starsite, before disappearing back into obscurity. Sidekicks, then, are an exercise in frustration and disappointment; the blogger bug picking off the weak and slowly attacking the main protagonists over time. The latest Savage to join the clique takes form of the pint-sized punk-rocker Molly, further strengthening the Savage's claims to be the most writing-gifted subgroup. For many years Molly has long been touted as the obvious successor to the Savage blogging production line, filling the gap that Drew's dearly deceased blog left. In many ways it has helped the grieving process, but I worry now: what happens when Starsite finally kicks the kerb? On that day the beacon will be illuminated again, the foreboding Blogger logo searching the skies for those last remaining Savages with the will to write. These will be truly worrying times indeed. Sometimes I revisit that countryside abode I was dragged to, seeking solace in my work. I look at the fallen blogger's decaying remains and smile, knowing my duty to the Savage blogging cause is paid. "I didn't fail you", I say out loud, leaving a wreath not just for Kayleigh, but for all the brave bloggers fallen before her and since. "The burden is a heavy one" I say in an oppertune soliloquay, preparing to part, "but so long as there are still Savages, there will always be the gift of blog. And the best things in life", I say to the heavens, invoking the spirits of great blogging to listen, "... are free."
Bunny Girls
Bunny Girls 
The Room
There are few times where I live up to the student stereotype- I don't generally skive lectures to spend the morning in the pub, I don't drive a battered Renault Clio, and I certainly don't live off a diet of Pot Noodle and toast. But if there's one stereotype I'm proud to live up to though, it's the disorganised, repulsive slob stereotype that throws empty cartons on the floor, leaves dirty dishes to mount for weeks and never, ever washes their clothes.
Ever since coming to Uni the state of my room has dived into unfathomed depths of disgrace; it's gone places no sanitation-conscience citizen could ever invisage or possibly imagine without crying to the heavens or denouncing their entire religious orientation itself. The room carries its own unique stigma of being the filthiest squalor in the D3C flat, unrivalled or matched throughout the hall.
The fact that my room has developed its own pungent aroma is distressing enough, but that this aroma filters down the corridor and into other rooms is criminally unethical. Many times has Dan approached me and pushed money in my hands to "close that damned door, for the love of God", clothes-peg marks firmly imprinted on the edge of his nose. As he leaves he sprays Lynx hansel-and-gretel style to mark his path for next time as a counter-smell in case he has to endure Olfactory hell again.
My room is legendarily unkept, the cleaners even issued a two week strike once Cletus had left because they were "frankly appalled" at the "repugnant, intolerably unhealthy state of a student room." The cleaners still refuse to expose themselves to my room for any prolonged period of time, the cleaning operation being strictly an "in-and-out" job.
If there's one thing I'm not, it's spatially organised. To me, my shoes are in place on the floor, on the desk or in the bath- so long as they aren't on my bed and are in near proximity, they can go where ever the hell my feet throws them onto. Nothing in my room has a 'fixed' place- my clothes are thrown on the guest bed and last night’s food dishes can remain on the floor until I step on them. It's my own unique Fong Shui, one that doesn't place emphasis on space but instead on leaving things at your arse and finding them later. I think I might write a book about it, dedicated to the ants living beneath my bin.
This room has spiralled ever deeper into a dilapidated hellhole, almost entirely uninhabitable if it weren't for the sanctuary of the moderately clean bed. Even the radiator has succumbed to my student charms, housing my sweat-soaked running socks and t-shirts. Unfortunately the radiator somehow amplifies the natural odour of the socks, and the open window somehow manages to circulate it around the room. But yet, it all smells like home.
When I see last nights dinner rotting on the window ledge and smell the sweat of a tough morning 5-miler, I know I'm home. The anti-students out there can keep their ambi-pur, I'll be crafting my own home-made odour myself thank you very much. Much like Kurt Cobain, I like my room to have a little mud in it. I don't like modern artistic openness, I don't like my room smelling like a citrus open-air market, and I don't like things perpendicular to other things. Even if it sounds torturous, there really is no place in the world quite like your very own room. And a clean, sweet-smelling room is no room of mine.
The Fridge|The Kitchen 1|The Kitchen 2|My Room 2
Caught The Travel Bug?
This weekend I travelled a 20-hour round trip to Ellon from Loughborough, stopping by Motherwell for an evening to race in Edinburgh. You might exclaim, "that's well hardcore!" and yes- it is. It's a journey that a lot of you will experience few times in your life, but one that has become routine for me. All this for four minutes of running, which might not sound like much but at least I'm not a sprinter- they often cross continents to run for just less than ten seconds! Since coming to Uni I've travelled from:
* Aberdeen to Loughborough
* Loughborough to Birmingham
* Birmingham to Loughborough
* Loughborough to Liverpool
* Liverpool to Loughborough
* Loughborough to Cardiff
* Cardiff to Loughborough
* Loughborough to Aberdeen
* Aberdeen to Falkirk
* Falkirk to Aberdeen
* Aberdeen to Loughborough
* Loughborough to Dundee
* Dundee to Loughborough
* Loughborough to Perth
* Perth to Loughborough
* Loughborough to Cardiff
* Cardiff to Loughborough
* Loughborough to Nottingham
* Nottingham to Loughborough
* Loughborough to Cardiff (again)
* Cardiff to Loughborough
* Loughborough to Aberdeen
* Aberdeen to Loughborough
* Loughborough to Aberdeen
* Aberdeen to Edinburgh
* Edinburgh to Motherwell
* Motherwell to Edinburgh
* Edinburgh to Loughborough
... and in the next 6 weeks:
* Loughborough to Solihull
* Solihull to Loughborough
* Loughborough to Watford
* Watford to Loughborough
* Loughborough to Cardiff
* Cardiff to Loughborough
* Loughborough to Aberdeen
* Aberdeen to Bedford
* Bedford to Aberdeen
You can double that list if you include all the races I did last summer, or all the races that I will be doing this summer. The last four in that list show where I've been this weekend, as some of you might already know. In regards to a road trip; unless we're planning on going to India, it'll be to me what temptation is to you- a piece of cake.
When I got home I waived the chance to go to the booth on friday because I had to be up at 7 the following morning, so I spent the evening with Leanne. After she left at 11 I turned on the trusty old tv, the friend I couldn't bring with me to University.
But I was appalled at the state of sky tv during my brief visit to Ellon- it was almost as if it had been frozen in time since Easter, or worse still, Christmas. Yet more tired re-runs of the simpsons (they're still showing series 3 for gods sake), the very same unexciting music videos not restricted to Magic, and more jackass re-runs which is shameful because Jackass stopped filming after a year but seems to have been around forever.
One thing that really pisses me off about sky is the sheer volume of Star Trek episodes that pollute Sky One. Star Trek is the very epitome of shite, and every series progressively drags the show down to a single-roomed soap opera. Every time I'm flicking through my favourites and Star Trek is on all I ever see is some conversation between two human-like creatures about the state of the ship. The aliens aren't even cool- they just look like humans with growths on their faces. There's supposed to be a hologram too but he seems to be able to pick things up just fine. The locations are really lame too, I've never seen anything happen outside of the ship itself. If I'm going to have to be subjected to two seconds of this sci-fi drivel, please make it happen on some cool alien homeland with giant anime-styled weapons. No one cares about phasers anymore, or anything else this dry futuristic soap has to offer. Use its space in the schedule for something worthwhile, like World Famous For Dicking Around.
And don't get me started on the internet- if it wasn't for this blog, there would categorically be nothing to read or do on the net. Try it- set a timer for 10 minutes right now and see if you've got something fun to do at the end of it. The internet sucks, and the sooner people realise that the sooner blog writers can get their rightful acclaim to being the saviours of the world wide web.
That leaves me with revision to do. I have a philosophy that I can now adopt after this weekend in regard to revising- if I'm not going to even open a book with 20 hours of time to waste on a train and car, I'm sure as hell not going to begin now when I'm back home.
Instead I think I'm going to persuade Mark to teach me how to do magic tricks. Ah yes, I definitely think that's the most productive way to spend my time afterall.
The Real World Of Lectures
Today I felt inescapably like a geek. As I entered the Cope Auditorium for my Social Science lecture I was confronted with two options; either to sit at the front where I could see, with the nerds, or sit at the back, with my glasses on. Instead I elected to sit in the middle where I could only make out a feint blur on the board if I tilted my head and screwed my face up. But the moral victory was won- I was not to be branded a geek, not by the person sitting sitting next to me, nor by the lecturer- not by anyone.
That was until I explained my theory of motor recursive learning on Bonobo monkeys to the girl sitting behind me. Without words, she simply pointed to the front when I finished, and I had to pack up my stuff and move to the second-front row with the nerds behind the old fogies. To add insult to injury, I still couldn't see the board, so I put my glasses back on.
This was truly a bad day, but with my recent purchase of Hi-Teck brand sneakers, Street Cred will be mine. And then I can achieve what I never could at high school- a place with the 'pops'.
As comic book man, my upstanding idol, would say- "worst lecture ever." I am one step away from being the lowest of the low- an old fogie, and even they won't entertain me and my youthful 'impurities'. You see, the lecture theatre works on a hierarchical basis- the basest scum sit at the front and it works its way back until you get the hotties and the pops.
There are means of promotion, but the theatre sitting system means that with every ladder rung you climb in the popularity steaks, you also drop one on the intellectual ladder. It can take years to make it from the front to the back, but here is where the greatest irony of them all occurs: When you do finally make it to the back you're already above 40, and you get put right at the front with the pensioners again! Consequently, many people stay rooted in their socially predefined row, never moving forwards or backwards.
~~~~~~~
When I got home I read news of the "Joey" spin-off series from Friends, starring you-know-who in ever more ridiculous and comical situations. In many ways it will be the Anti-Frasier- Starring a person brain-numbingly shallow compared to a respected Psychologist. The producers hope it will be another Angel but who seriously wants to watch a show about Joey without a Chandler-like character to take the piss out of him? In fact, I have seen a leaked excerpt from the show, which I have copied for you:
[Pilot Episode, Scene Three- Joey arrives in L.A. with just a knapsack full of jam, bread and loose change he's been storing over the years]
Joey: Well, here I am- In L.A. So far so good.
*There's a knock at the door*
Joey: Who can it be? I best check.
*Opens door, and a beautiful long-legged blonde enters*
Candy: Hey there hot stuff, I'm your new neighbour! I'm a part time porn star, did you know.
Joey: Did you bring me a sandwich?
Candy: Umm, no. Aren't you going to say "how you doin'" like you always do when a reasonably attractive women walks into your line of vision?
Joey: What part of 'did you bring me a sandwich' don't you understand?
Candy: You have an attitude problem.
*At this point the Crips enter Joeys flat armed with machetes, 9-9s and glocks*
Crip One You better not touch my sister Candy.
Joey: I don't want to!
Crip One: That's it, no one calls my sister ugly!
*The Crips proceed to break Joey's legs and ransack the house, setting his double bed on fire and firing mad shots all round the house*
Crip One: You think about who you mess with next time.
*The mob leave*
Joey: All I wanted was a sandwich.
Candy: That's what you get for moving to L.A.
Joey: Me and my big mouth!
*Slapstick music plays and the curtain falls on the scene, Joey's career in ruins and having to live off the Disabled Person's Allowance.*
Actually, I take it all back- "Joey" set in L.A. has limitless potential! Just so long as Joey plays a Scratchy-like character, and every week he gets paid a visit from the ever-inventive Crips intent on making him suffer for not paying his protection money, with cameo appearances from real-life Crips.
Oh Joey, when will you learn not to move to gangland L.A!
The Butterfly Effect
Well I went and saw the Butterfly Effect last night on the recommendations of Dabby, despite my reservations about Asthon "In Your Face" Kutcher fronting it. Luckily for you, my avid reader, it contained elements of time travel. Or should I say "Hollywood" time travel, because there's no way that reading a book can transport you through the halls of time- but I won't let that get in the way of a good story.
Asthon impressed me; or should I say, the story writers did. All he really had to do was look determined (which he does all the time) and act crazy when the need arose, but I won't hold it against him that he can't act for shit. He is a punk rocker by heart, and punk rockers aren't good for anything- it's against their don't-give-a-shit-mom mentality to have ambition beyond owning their own MP3 player.
Best part of this film was it's abstractism (hey, I just invented a new word!); the idea that blackouts could be 'windows' for time travel. Unlike most crappy time travel films, there were no 'hilarious' consequences to his actions; even the most minor alterations in childhood could leave an entire family broke, dead, or blissfully happy. The best one was of that other dude who isn't Tommy and you see him like ten years later... still living at home, a total loner, absolutely bereft, with only his models to distract him from his interminable guilt. It was chilling witnessing the pent up anger and remorse of a stolen childhood.
On the flip side, one change that fateful day and he's living Asthon's ideal life, ironically, being the one who is there to support Asthon tirelessly as he attempts to live without his upper limbs. Predictably, Asthon eventually winds up in an institute, demanding to see his journals.
"It pains me to go through this again- there are no journals", the Doctor responds, inferring that he, like his dad, keeps "re-awakening" and asking for the same thing. Genius. Like the Matrix, probably best to watch this one twice.
The beginning states something about the Chao (gay-os?) theory, which if you talk to Tete (the master of all bullshit theorys), sounds something like "everything tends to chaos." At least that's what he told us in third year one very long, and very boring, lunchtime. I reckon the "chaos theory", easily the gayest of all supposed theorys, is just a nerds way of trying to be cool. And that's scientific fact.
If this hasn't put you off the film, and you can bear Kutcher's patented "determined look" for over an hour, then you'll almost certainly have a good time. I... feel a rant on punk rock coming on!
Specifically, my disappoint in Dabby. For someone of such refined taste- beer, cheesy tea and FHM- his music taste has really been taking a hammering lately. Everyone knows that Dabby's taste in music is precisely two years behind Tom's- a dark portend indeed, but it gets worse. I could let him off with Melon Colin (whatever), and to a greater extent the Alkaline Trio two years ago but this year it's just getting beyond control. The Queers? Dude, don't mean to intervene unwantedly, but two years ago even yourself would have described them as being the shittest of all music forms, including classical and country *shudder*.
Since when did you start listening to a self-proclaimed bunch of fags?
I reject your invitation to download and sample the Queers, on the basis of higher principles. First Beefy going to Fandangos, now this! I am indeed the last of a dying breed. I can't imagine listening to the Mom Haters, the Baggy Rebels or the Sk8r Bois at any upcoming gatherings; I only hope this is a growing phase and you see the error of your ways soon. At this rate, you'll be listening to an industrial-sized blender or the sounds of a man undergoing an anaesthetic-less gender change operation by 2006.
All it takes is one song to become hooked, or one visit to Fandangos as much of the Tolbooth crew will testify to.
If we’re not careful, Tete's chaos theory could be realer than we think.
One Wild Night
Usually when I've been drinking I wake up in a haze of cringe inducing memories, most which are fragmented enough but still at the forefront of recollection. However last night, for the first time, I can say that the last hour of drinking was a total blackout.
It all started when I had all six of the lads round who I'm sharing a house with next year for a Pissup Royale. One thing led to another and soon a game of "The Ultimate Drinking Game" had been initiated. As the game got underway we lost Tom Payne and gained Juan, and got the hardcore beer guzzling underway. One alteration was made in the form of Juan's rule- if the coins role off the table, you have to down your beer. Unfortunately for Ako, this happened quite a lot!
As the game progressed the shimmies were becoming more and more elaborate, the natural progression becoming, for me, a forward role followed by a belt-grabbing yokel line dancing routine (!). Unfortunately for Tom (Lawrence) and Juan they couldn't drink so a sturdy coke downing forfeit was issued, a real punishment as you will likely know as coke is not nice in larger volumes.
After my tenth can of Carlsberg (it was a night of high-brow drinking) it was decided to go to Juan's bar and finish the job there. This is where my memory starts to go a bit fuzzy, I remember having a double southern comfort and coke and then throwing up in the bathroom. It was a short bout of throwing up, but then I did something that only that ridiculous Poulet Tete would do- I downed a triple Southern Comfort and coke. All I remember after that is Juan saying "fucks sake, there was more Southern Comfort in there than coke! Legend!"
So I wake up this afternoon to the news that I had allegedly put a pie and chips in the oven and passed out on my bed, causing lots of smoke and almost setting off the alarm. Okay, that does sound a bit like me. Then Mark sent me the photos of last night, and it's not a pretty sight.
Apparently we went to Mario's and I had a kebab, which is annoying because I don't even remember eating one let alone ordering it. Also I supposedly tried to nick a bike but it was chained to the wall so I started kicking the chain and trying to release it. That definitely sounds like me. Then I rolled about on the concrete with Jibba and James, and when I got home I put pie and chips in the oven and passed out. Also I would like to know why my light is broken, but I suspect that might have something to do with me dancing on the table. That's gonna dent my Ł150 deposit no end.
Oh yeah, and I moonied Jibba at Juan's. Regrettably, this isn't mere speculation- Mark has the photo (groan). I got a text from Beefy too which leads me to guess that I phoned/texted him, although I know not what I have said. Fingers crossed it isn't abusive, but no guarantees. If I get informed of more drunken antics you'll be the first to know, but for now I think I'm going to drink another litre of water to rid me of this stupid, pointless experience I've heard being called "a hangover."
View Photos
NB: Click "view oldest first" to see photos
in chronological order
Torrent
I like you guys, which is why I'm going to do you a huge favour. You thought Kazaa was good? Pfft, that's so last year! DC is king baby, but seeing as you aren't privvy to it, I'm going to let you in on the next best thing: Torrent.
Much like DC, Torrent is 10x faster than Kazaa (but still considerably slower than DC) which is good news for all you on broadband. Now you can download the latest episodes of US tv, inc the last episode of friends aired last night, and many other films some of which aren't in cinemas yet. But most exciting for me is the wealth of applications that people don't seem to have on DC.
Cute FTP + Crack- Ł40
Macromedia Flash MX- Ł200
Norton Antivirus 2004- Ł80
Adaware Professional- Ł20?
Dreamweaver- Ł200
---------------------------
SAVED: Ł540
The film and tv section is quite exhaustive (links at top of page) so if you can't get DC, go to http://www.suprnova.org/ and download the Torrent software then just click on anything you want!
Legal point- you need to already own the software to be able to download it. Yes it's a bit backwards, but I'm obliged to point it out. I already own all the above software.
Ahem.
Exams, First Year
Well it's that time of the year again where students up and down the country are working inordinantly hard to secure a good result in the forthcoming exams; whether you're a standard grade, higher, advanced higher or University student, the experience is much the same.
Read notes-> do questions. Repeat until your eyes can't adjust anymore or your last remaining pencil has ground its lead into the paper one final time. If you're a pussy public school student, add -> create mindmap.
For many exams are a test of endurance, a survival of boredom threshold. We've all hit the infamous wall- a point where you just can't read anymore, no matter how much you know you should. The wall can rear its ugly head after half an hour for some, it may take days of solid learning to finally appear for others.
Yet, for me, the wall has been everpresent since I sat my very last high school exam last May. I am burned out, and not even a year of doing minimal class work or having lectures only monday to wednesday can break down its revision-repelling barrier. I am spent, and I view this critical first year at University very much as a year out. After the extreme workload I've faced at this time of the year for the past three years, I'm having a rest.
And if that means scoring 40% in every one of my exams, so it will be.
There is no one in this world that can convince me otherwise. I look at a sheet of notes and immediately my mind has wantered far adrift of psychology, and before I know it I'm in the kitchen badgering Dan for the secrets of his good complexion. Other times I'm trimming my toe nails for the fifth time that afternoon, or I'm walking to the shop to buy a Muller Crunch Corner.
No more. Exams- you have won. I am defeated. Having spent the good part of three years taking you on in magnanimous battle I lay before you battered and contemptable, a mere shadow of my former self. You can have your victory this year, I will not compete. However over the coming year I will gain strength, and I will come back next year stronger than ever.
But for now I lie in bed watching yet another Simpsons re-run, my notes only just out of vision, but out of mind none the less. Rank me bottom of the class- I don't care. Your pathetic threats have no effect on me. Like a fast starting athlete, there are no prizes for leading over the first half of the race.
Passing by only the narrowest of margins is fine by me, just so long as it's a pass. I have the post-Christmas exams as solid evidence that even the slackest, tardiest, most student-typical drunk can pass with consummate ease. And then there's the small matter of a 4 month long summer holiday to look forward to... you know what, it's like I'm already there.
With first year Uni, who needs a year out?
Time Travel, Paradoxes and Freaks
Just thought I'd write down a few random thoughts to take the place of a respectable- nay- readable blog. I have a 3000 word essay due tomorrow before you hit the complaints button I've cleverly hidden below the link for Animal Porn (didn't think you'd need to read any further after that :p).
First off I carry the morbid news that another of Britain’s top distance athletes has died in a car accident. This time it was Ed Prickett of Notts Uni who was struck down by a speeding taxi just outside the athletics stadium I was at from friday to monday. I saw him that very afternoon and, rather uncannily, I was at the scene about ten minutes after the gruesome incident happened.
If I was a conspiracy theorist I would have much to say on this untimely tragedy, as the circumstances were very dubious. Firstly the accident happened on a straight road, he was struck down about twenty metres from a crossing and was with a friend at the time. Also he was the only survivor in a car crash a year previously I believe. This all brings about the Final Destination theory- can you escape your pre-destined time of death? If you have survived a near-fatal situation recently, be very afraid.
Also I've been pondering the dynamics of time, as you do. It all started with an argument I proposed to Dabby:
What would happen if you stepped into a time machine and went back into the past ten seconds and punched yourself in the face?
Clearly the whole situation is preposterous, but one that seems entirely feasible when science nuts consider a time span of say a hundred years ago. If your future self- 10 seconds in the future, remember- emerges from a time machine nearby and punches you in the face surely he can stop you ever getting into the machine and thus being able to attack you in the first place?
This is where the classical view of time travel falls.
For you see, and this is only my own theorising- you cannot go back in time, but you can go forward. In fact- you're doing it right now. The only way you could possibly go back in time is if you could somehow reverse time to a point which would naturally reverse yourself back to a point so that you are not a separate entity but merely yourself as you are now. Understand? With this theory however you would have no recollection of going back in time as your brain and thoughts would be as they are now.
Now we have a "Men In Black" styled scenario where you can never know if you've gone back in time, or been "brain washed" because you'll have no memory of it. What's interesting to ponder is if you roll a dice now and you roll a 4, will it always turn out 4 if you could somehow go back? I believe so. To this end there is no such thing as random actions and time travel is absolutely futile. But, if chance is altered, then time travel can have serious repercussions indeed.
On final consultation with the infamous ChuChu Rocket analogy it transpires that all I have said is correct- to travel back in time ten seconds and effectively "duplicate" yourself is a paradox and the only way to solve it is to find the fault- you can't travel back in time without taking your existing self back to your former self. Which, if you're following me, leaves you in an endless loop of going back in time then coming back to the point where you go back in time and then going back again and again.
Which, my friends, is the endless "mouse loop" I speak of so often. Get your head round that one.
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Elsewhere in my lecture today we were speaking of phobias- ranging from the sympathisable (fear of rats, death, bed sheets) to the sublime (fear of fuzzy objects, sandwiches, toupees). We then were told of the more extreme examples- like a fear of water (imagine if you had to eat spiders every day to stay alive), and the fear of going outside (agoraphobia or something).
It got me thinking, if claustrophobia is a fear of confined spaces, and agoraphobia is a fear of not going outside, are there any other pairs?
The most ridiculous one I thought of was not the fear of height, but the fear of not being high up! Somewhere in this world there surely must be someone who has to walk on chairs, climb up lamp posts and sleep on the top bunk to escape the ground?! He'd almost certainly walk around on stilts, live in a top-floor apartment and fly short distances between cities. He would also likely call us ground dwellers "crazy" and keep a pet wombat.
I'd love to meet this guy.
I was also reading in FHM about the top 100 freaks. Some were freakish, and some were just inhumanly disfigured. Take, for example, The Stump- a man born with no arms or legs! He lives in Aberdeen, they say, collecting money with his mouth under the guise of "Hobo." Lol nah just messing with you Sharon (and Dabby, who by proxy has sucked both Hobo and Chezwick's grainy bells), seriously, he was a grade A feak- much like the boy who has the skeletal build of a dog and the abominable child (the hairy freak that I suspect Dabby met her mum in a recent visit to Scotmid).
Then there was the man with incredibly big ears, the man whose body is nearly 80% fat, and the 9 year old kid who passes for 18 in local bars.
Oh wait, that was last week at the Tolbooth.
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