Life, What the hell is going on?

Herpin' derps

2011-12-15T16:06:00.000-05:00

This morning, when I got into work ,I found myself alone in the office (not unusual when I usually arrive for work at the ungodly hour of 6.45am). On my way to the desk I saw a poster on the wall I hadn't noticed before...and it pissed me off quite badly.

It was something straight out of 'Office Space'. Emblazoned across the top were the words "Can you give an extra 1%?"...then it answered for you with: 'Absolutely'.

I'll spare you the details, but I'll give you the gist. It basically said that if everyone works just that little bit harder and makes just one more phonecall a day or schedules one more visit, when you multiply that by the number of employees in the company and then multiply that by the number of work days a year, that one extra call means millions more for the company.

This poster was drawn up by someone who has never worked in a cubicle.

You see, if I go to work and just do my job, I get paid at the end of the month. If I go into work, slog my guts out, 'go the extra mile', work through my lunch hour and be the best goddamn employee the world has ever seen...I make exactly the same amount. Worse yet, as anyone who's ever worked in a cubicle will tell you, if you up your game and start Herping 20 Derps a day instead of 10, your boss makes 20 Herps the new baseline and starts asking you to do 30.

If you translate that poster out of bullshit management speak, it really says: Work harder and make a ton more money...for someone else.

You see, if you're a department head, and your department out performs all the others, you get a bonus check and a promotion. If you work in a cubicle, you just get asked to do better next year.

In my last job before I moved to the states, I had this exact conversation with someone pretty damn high up in the company I was working for at the time (being in a position where you're moving in a couple of weeks and don't need the job or the reference any more does wonders for your honesty), and she said:

"Well, yes, but what's good for the company is good for all its employees. After all the company pays your wages and if it under performs and goes bust, you could lose your job"

Now, time have changed a bit, but I called bullshit then and I call bullshit now. If you're a high-level suit earning £80,000 a year with a company car and expense account, you're damn sure you've got a vested interest in your business doing well. If you're earning minimum wage to do all the bitch work in a cubicle, if things go wrong and the business folds...well, let's just say there's no shortage of other shitty jobs.

The other thing she said was that if you work hard you'll 'get noticed' and then you'll be the one with the flash car and expense account...which makes sense, except for the fact that this was the same woman who once told me: "Oh, we'd love to promote you, but you're irepplacable in the role you're in now." In other words, you're too good at your job and no one else is willing to put up with the same shit you put up with for seven quid an hour.

Basically, you can't motivate me with 'team spirit' or 'breaking records' or 'providing world class service', because I don't see the company as a team that I belong to. I see it as the place I have to go to every day in order to pay my bills.

Now, this may seem really cynical and mercenary to a lot of people, but here's the thing: Put me in a job where I'm well paid and well treated and you can be damn sure I'll work my ass off to keep that job.

There's truth to the saying: Pay peanuts and you'll get monkeys. Minimum wage means I can work the same number of hours literally anywhere else and I'll earn the same or better.

Now, the thing is, I don't want to give anyone the impression that I'm a 'bare minimum' kind of guy. I work hard and when something needs to be done, I make damn well sure it gets done...but if you want me to 'go the extra mile', the only way you're going to motivate me to do that is to pay me for it, because like everyone else at my level in your company, I want to go to work, make enough money to pay my bills and go the fuck home.

Our Fault?

2011-12-08T17:15:00.001-05:00

So, I haven't really commented on the Occupy Wall Street movement yet.

I think this is because, at the moment, it's just a bunch of angry people. Yes, the bankers screwed us over... but if you're going to protest something, you really should have a solid idea of what should be done to fix the situation.

Like the OWS movement, I think 'something' should be done...but until we can all agree on what that 'something' should be, I can't really back a 'movement' that is completely rudderless.

Something I can comment on, however, is people's attitudes.

I've personally written more words than I can count on the kids who leave school with an overblown sense of entitlement. Kids who graduate feeling that the world owes them a rockstar lifestyle. However, I was thinking about this today and had an almost total change of heart.

Yes, kids today leave school with a massive sense of entitlement...but a lot of that is our fault.

You see, we talk about these damn kids who refuse to get their hands dirty and think that flipping burgers or pumping gas is beneath them. These kids who think they're going to go directly from college to the board of a Fortune 500 company.

But, the question has to be asked: Why do they feel like that?

Sure, I can blame a lot of that on the ridiculous no-competition school system we have today which seems to be based around nothing but telling each and every kid how they're each a very special and unique butterfly... but I think the main reason is that we've conditioned kids to expect the world to be a cakewalk after graduating.

You see, I was lucky enough to come from a family that had enough money to send me to University, but was still working class enough to where I was expected to hold down a job at the same time. Basically, I was put in a position where I was forced to learn that when you need the money, no job is beneath you.

When I was living in the states, my A-levels counted as Associates degrees. Along with my bachelors I had five degrees... but that didn't stop me for applying for jobs stacking shelves at Walmart or working the warehouse at the local Home Depot when things got tight.

Now, here's the problem: We brought up the last generation of kids to believe that these crappy menial jobs are shameful and taking one means that you've failed. Think how many times you've told your kids that they have to work hard in school so they can get a good job.

Basically, you've got these kids who have been brought up to think that accepting the normal, crappy 'first jobs' that we all did as a failure state. They worked hard in school and then spent tens of thousands on a university education so they wouldn't end up flipping burgers or waiting tables.

Of course, the world doesn't work like that any more. Jobs are extremely rare and degrees aren't. It doesn't matter that you have a Master's in Computer science because so do a hundred thousand other people and they're all competing for the same hundred jobs.

So, basically, we raised all these kids telling them that they need to go to university to avoid having to work crappy, menial jobs...and then when they do everything right and graduate with a nice shiny new degree, we tell them to go do the crappy, menial job anyway...and are surprised and shocked when these kids think they shouldn't have to.

Honey and Vinegar

2011-12-06T16:39:00.001-05:00

Just thought I'd share a hint with everyone for the next time you need to call customer service in any capacity.

Earlier this week, some guy called the IT Helpdesk with a really tricky problem...and he was a complete and total ass about it.The fix took too long, he was far too important to spend 15 minutes on the phone and it was totally unacceptable that he needed to do anything (seriously, asking him to click something was a major imposition). Once I fixed his problem, he literally hung up on me mid sentence.

The next day, a second guy called who had been waiting for a relatively simple fix for well over two weeks. This was entirely my fault (I'd taken his call on my first day and hadn't logged the ticket properlly). I was totally straight with the guy, told him what had happened and apologised for it. He laughed, told me not to worry about it and basically said "these things happen".

This morning, both these guys logged new support tickets with almost exactly the same issue.

For one of those tickets I went above and beyond, worked through my lunch hour and made sure the issue was resolved today. For the other, I just did it exactly by the book...IE, putting it in the queue for an engineer so it'll probably get seen to some time this week.

Can you guess which ticket was which?

6 Reasons Your Company's IT Department Hates You

2011-12-04T14:09:00.001-05:00

1) You completely misunderstand our relationship

For some reason, when you call the IT department, you seem to believe that you're some sort of 19th century Land Baron and we're the the stable boys who have improperly groomed your horse.

In reality, you're calling a team of professionals to request a service. A team of professionals who are probably better qualified than you are...and are the only people who can pull your ass out of the fire. Remember that.

2) You think you're the only user we have to deal with.

Every time I pick up the phone on the helpdesk I get berated for how long it took you to get through or how you've left multiple messages earlier that morning that weren't returned. This, obviously, is because I spend my day playing World of Warcraft with the phone off the hook.

Only it isn't. It's because from the instant I turn my phone on in the morning to the second I log out at night the bastard never stops ringing. You get the answerphone because I'm taking a call. I don't respond to your message because I literally don't have time to listen to it because in the time it takes me to access the voicemail...the bastard's ringing again.

...and yeah, I understand you can't do your job...but neither can the hundred or so people in the queue ahead of you.

3) We are not the ones who broke your computer.

This is something you really need to understand. Just because your laptop won't power up this morning does not mean I personally broke into your house in the middle of the night and broke it. It is not my fault that you lost your data or the presentation you worked all night on.

4) You never accept responsibility.

So you didn't back up your data once a week like we told you to. You circumvented the protection we put on the laptop to visit those dodgy music sites you like. You turned off the virus protection because it 'made everything run slow' and you thought it was a really good idea to balance your coffee on top of the lid when you were carrying it to your car.

Now your laptop's a smoking crater. Guess who's fault that is (Hint: not mine)

5) You think we can read minds.

So the 'thing' that used to be on the 'thing' has moved over to the other 'thing' and now the 'thing' won't work.

Awesome: Click on the thing to fix it it.

6) You expect miracles and get pissed when we can't deliver.

This is a true story: On my second day on the helpdesk a guy called who'd dropped his laptop, smashed the screen and then got pissed as hell and threatened to 'have my job' because I couldn't fix it over the phone.

Dude, we sort of work like OnStar: Unlocking your vehicle when you lose your keys is no problem. There's not much I can do when your wheels fall off.

Three Day Weekend

2011-11-28T15:51:00.001-05:00

After what could only be described as a hellish first week at work (I may write about that, I may not), it occured to me that for a lot of people (especially me), a two day weekend just isn't long enough.

Here's the thing. When you factor in travel times, I'm basically putting in 11-12 hour days in a very stressful job that's one of the most mentally challenging things I've ever done. My workday also goes from 7am-4pm...meaning I've got to be on the road by six and get home shortly after five.

Yeah, I know...welcome to the real world. It's time to pull on your big boy pants and suck it up... but have you ever noticed how the weekend never actually feels like two days off?

For me, a proper day off is free time where you don't have to think about, adjust your behaviour for, or schedule anything around your job.

People say the weekend starts on Friday. While Friday is certainly the Beloved Prince of the Work Days, it's definitely not a day off. The fact I have to get out of bed at 5am proves that...and in my case, I can't enjoy Friday night because I've just finished a week of 11 hour days. When I get in on a Friday evening, I'm so exhausted, I just want to get in, eat something and go to bed. (Although out of an obligation to 'not waste the weekend' I instead sit on the couch like a zombie because I feel like a complete tit going to bed before at least 11pm on a Friday)

Saturday is a proper day off, because as I said above, I don't have to think about work, plan my day around work or get out of or into bed because of work. I can sleep until I wake up and if I feel like staying up until 3am or drinking a case of lager, there's nothing to stop me because there's nothing I have to get up for the next day.

Sunday is not a proper day off. Sure, I can sleep in again if I want to, but I can't stay up late or go anywhere Sunday night. The 5am start on Monday cripples Sunday evening.

Basically, the weekend is not two days off. It's a single day off with a bit of a buffer on each side.

What we really need is two proper days off. The average workweek should run from Monday to Thursday and give you Friday, Saturday and Sunday off.

This is what's wrong

2011-11-26T06:27:00.001-05:00

So I opened the paper this morning and discovered a story about a guy complaining about the National Health Service.

Here's the whole story: The guy weighed approximately 60 stones / 800lbs from eating around 24,000 calories worth of chocolate and fast food every day. So, the NHS spent over a million pounds on him, giving him gastric bypass surgery. This surgery was successful and, at this point, his weight has halved to 30 stone/ 420lbs.

Now he's in the paper, complaining about being 'left high and dry' and 'abandoned' because the NHS (read: the British taxpayer) won't pay an additional £40,000 to have the excess skin that was left behind by his weight loss removed. Oh, except they're not saying they'll never pay for the op. They're saying they're waiting to make sure his weightloss has stabilized. He just wants it right now....which is totally unexpected from a guy who would rather undergo a major op than show some self control and lose weight naturally.

So, in short, this guy has spent years deliberately and wilfully destroying his body. He then has the NHS, which is already stretched to the limit, spend a million fucking pounds on a major operation to make it physically impossible for him to eat...and now he's whining because they're not going to hand him another 50k until they're sure the fat fuck will stop eating.

Oh, and all his actual health problems are gone. The excess skin is purely a cosmetic thing. Here's the deal, guy: Instead of bitching at the NHS to fix it, maybe at this point you should put your hand in your own pocket (now that you can actually reach the fucking thing) and get that done privately.

Yeah, you look fucking ridiculous and people are pointing and laughing, but maybe you should learn from that instead of bitching about it. You see, there are consequences for forcing down 24,000 calories a day. Yeah, you avoided the main one (a slow and painful death), and you avoided that by putting the responsibility on our shoulders by making us pay for an operation instead of you exercising a little self control. Maybe being able to do a Batman impression by sticking your arms out is a small price to pay.

...but let me put this whole thing into perspective. Like I said, this guy got this way by eating too much and never getting off his fat ass and exercising. We paid a million quid because he thought it was too much trouble to get off the couch and go for a walk, or say "No, seven pieces of cake is enough, thank you".

Isn't that a lot like me stabbing myself over and over in the legs and, instead of just, you know, not stabbing myself, going to a doctor and making them spend a million quid grafting knife-proof armor on my thighs...and then complaining that the armor looks stupid and I don't like the colour?

Here's the deal, you fat fuck: You're not going to get any sympathy from me or anyone else, because while you've obviously spent years cultivating this self image where you're always the victim, nothing is ever your fault and you never have to take responsibility for your actions... the rest of the world just sees a whiny, selfish, greedy fat fuck who's like a drowning man who's only drowning because he's too fucking lazy to swim.

You think anyone's going to see your perspective that the NHS are in the wrong because they're not spending more money on you? If it was my call, anyone who gets gastric bypass surgery on the NHS would also get a mandatory forehead tattoo that reads "LAZY SELFISH BASTARD"...because that's exactly what you are.

Times Change

2011-11-14T16:46:00.001-05:00

Duke Nukem Forever got pretty much universally panned by critics when it was released. People have come up with various explanations for this, from the idea that after a 14 year wait it could never live up to it's own hype...to the idea that the various developers were puerile idiots who hate women.

Personally, I think it goes a little deeper than that... and to understand exactly why Duke Nukem failed, you have to go back in time.

It's 1996. Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles are at the height of their popularity, everyone thinks 'The Fugees' are a good band for some reason... and contemporary PC's are so powerful when compared to their console counterparts that my Pentium 200 made the original PlayStation look like an Atari 2600.

Unlike today, where you can go buy one of a bajillion first-person shooters, there was only really one game in town...and that was Doom by id Software. Hell, we didn't even call first person shooters first person shooters. We called them 'Doom Clones'.

Oh, there were other shooters, and some of them were actually really good, but to most gamers Doom was the 'real' game. Why would you play one of the knock-offs if you had the real thing?

Then Duke Nukem 3D came on the scene.

I can only speak from personal experience here, and draw from what me and my friends talked about in the schoolyard but, to the mainstream audience, Duke Nukem was the first FPS we played that we didn't actually refer to as a Doom Clone. In fact, it was the first game that anyone would admit...gulp...might actually be better than the daddy of FPS's themselves.

Why? Because 3D Realms had 'pulled a Nintendo' ten years before Nintendo did.

You see, back then, FPS engines were a little primitive. The original Doom was released in 1993, and it would be literally years before games started to appear where you could look up and down.

In 1996, id Software was getting ready to unleash Quake...the first FPS game to feature fully 3D bad guys. Up until then, bad guys in FPS's were sprites: flat two-dimensional cardboard cutouts. It's unthinkable today, but back then, if you walked around a character, you'd see it head on, then as you got past a certain point, the sprite would change to the same badguy from a 3/4 view...then the side...

Basically, id Software had cornered the market. After Doom and Doom 2 they had enough money to throw into R&D to stay light years ahead of just about anyone else when it came to technology... and they'd also become the hallmark for big guns and ultra-violence.

So, whether it was a conscious decision or a happy accident, 3D Realms decided to compete with id Software by not competing with them.

Basically, instead of going for bleeding edge technology and ultra-violence, they went a completely different way. They didn't bother worrying about how many polygons the engine could render or how high the texture resolution was and, instead, went for innovation and humor... and instead of getting their edginess from blood, they got it from a touch of sexual content.

The sexual content is what everyone over 25 immediately thinks about when you mention Duke Nukem. While it's hard to imagine kids today getting excited about a a pixelated, cartoon-character stripper who would swing her nipple-tassels at you (in a 2-frame 'animation') if you gave her a virtual dollar... that was cutting edge stuff in 1996. More importantly, it was perfectly suited for the teenage demographic...we're talking about the same kids who would get half an hour's fun out of typing 5318008 into a calculator and then turn it upside down so it spelled 'boobies'.

But, more importantly, while everyone remembers the strippers, everyone seems to forget the innovation.

You could fly in Duke Nukem... and while every shooter out there had the pistol, shotgun, machine gun, rocket launcher and screen-clearing superweapon...Duke had things you'd never seen before. What fun was a rocket launcher when you could a shrink ray that let you shrink your enemies and stamp on them? Or the freeze ray that let you freeze your enemies solid and then shatter them with a kick?

Also, while the 'Build Engine' that Duke was built on was a 'standard' engine for the time, it was also about as good as it could possibly be. The rockets left smoke trails and, even though it was 'faked' with a palette switch, you could have different colored lights. Quake was a technical marvel for its time...but it was also really fucking ugly. Its characters might have been fully 3D, but they were made up of about 15 polygons each. Duke's bad guys may have been flat, 2D cutouts...but they were gorgeous for their time.

Basically, Duke Nukem was the resplendent horse drawn carriage to id Software's rattle-trap, 5mph, suspensionless, wooden-wheeled automobile. The car may be technologically better in every single way...but which would you rather ride in?

...but the visuals don't even matter. At the time, there were hundreds of shooters, all offering almost exactly the same experience at various levels of sophistication. Duke, on the other hand, offered us an over-the-top action-hero protagonist who swore and stuffed dollar bills into stripper's g-strings. He threatened to rip off the end boss's head and shit down its neck...and then did it... and all the while giving us cool things to do that you just couldn't get anywhere else.

So why was the sequel such a massive failure?

In a single word...timing.

I won't go into the full story because its so readily available elsewhere, but Duke Nukem Forever took a massive fifteen years from announcement to release.

You know what Duke's core fanbase did during those fifteen years? We grew up.

I was 15 when I first played Duke. I was thirty when the sequel hit the shelves.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm a childish 30 year old. As the clock ticked past midnight into my 30th birthday, I was watching Star Wars while playing Mario on my DSi. However, while I'm still essentially the same person I was at 15, my sensibilities have changed and my sense of humor is more sophisticated. I don't snigger (as much) at poop and butt jokes. I'm not going to buy a game just for a flash of side-boob... and as a 30 year old, a game that features a virtual turd that I can pick up and throw at people for no reason other than 'LOL POOPS!' is just...well...stupid and childish.

Basically, this game just wasn't aimed at me anymore... and if it's not aimed at me, then it's not aimed at anyone in that original core audience.

But, of course, there's a whole new generation of fifteen year olds who should find this hilarious, right?

Well...not really, because today's fifteen year olds are a lot more sophisticated in their tastes in media than I was at the same age.

In 2011, the First Person Shooter is a well-known, polished genre. When Duke Nukem' 3D came out, videogaming was the realm of a few social outcasts and nerds. Today, a First Person Shooter holds the honor of being the biggest and most successful entertainment lauch of all time.

Kids today are used to FPS's with Hollywood level stories, multi-million dollar production values and well written-characters voiced by A-list stars. Duke Nukem Forever was a game with a cliched story, no notable voice talent and, thanks to being 15 years late, featured no innovations whatsoever. It was written to appeal to teenagers fifteen years ago, and those kids don't exist any more.

Sure, there's still the sex and adult humor angle, but even in that area, today's teens are far more sophisticated. They're from a generation that has never experienced not being able to instantly access any type of pornography that it's possible to think of. A video game character in a short skirt that makes a blowjob joke isn't exactly going to make them run out and buy a game.

The best analogy I can come up with for Duke Nukem Forever is 'The Black and White Minstrel Show' from the seventies. In it's time it was just considered normal, every day, entertainment until its audience grew enough to see just how horribly offensive it was... and today, we've progressed so far in terms of shock value that its not even noteworthy for its offensiveness.

That's what Duke Nukem' Forever is. It's a product aimed at an audience that simply doesn't exist anymore.

Rant

2011-11-08T15:46:00.001-05:00

So, it's been a while since I've had a good rant on here... and I think I'm about to remedy that situation.

A couple of nights ago I found myself watching a documentary on TV about muggers. The sort of documentary that assumes that criminality is a symptom of a deeper issue in society than just accepting that some people are selfish, evil assholes.

Usually, these shows start with a convict explaining why what they do isn't their fault. This one didn't dissapoint. Five minutes in and here's some fuckhole talking to the camera:

"We all want nice things and to go out and have a good time, but we're all broke and we don't have the job skills to get a good enough job to pay for it. Not everyone can be a CEO or a movie director, but we still need the cash, so we go out onto the streets and take it. What else are we supposed to do?"

What else are you supposed to do? Are you fucking serious?

Let me take this point by point.

It's the standard fall back. "I don't have a job, I don't have any qualifications, so I'm forced to do this."

Bull...fucking...shit you are. The question I want to ask is why don't you have the job skills. You see, not only is highschool free here in the UK, it's fucking mandatory. If you don't go to school, someone comes to your house to find out why. Your parents can be fined or go to jail for not making you go.

My point is that here in the UK, you are just about dragged through high school. You actually have to work really hard to fail. Then, even if all you leave school with is a couple of D's, somewhere there's a vocational college that will take you on.

This really pisses me of because these assholes talk as if they've been deprived, but what they really mean is that no-one handed them job qualifications on a platter. Someone actually expected them to earn them, and they decided they'd rather fuck around than pay attention.

Secondly, the guy was absolutely right. Everyone does like nice things and to have a good time and not everyone can be a CEO or movie director. In fact, almost no-one gets to be a CEO or movie director. The vast majority of us drag our asses out of bed every single morning to go to a job we don't like that doesn't pay us as much as we want...but we all do it anyway.

What the fuck makes you so special that you think you shouldn't have to? What makes you think that working a shitty job is beneath you.

Finally, there's the whole "What else do you expect us to do?"

You try and make it sound like you have no other choice and you're forced into crime because blah, blah, blah.

Well, if you were in prison because someone caught you shoplifting a loaf of bread or a chocolate bar because you couldn't afford food, I'd have some sympathy. The fact you're in jail because you beat the shit out of someone and took their wallet and phone makes me slightly less sympathetic.

...and, yeah. I know how hard it can be. I'm about to start work again after a really long period of unemployment...but you know what I did? I went without. I still 'liked nice things' and I still 'liked having a good time'...but I couldn't fucking afford either so I went without, ate canned soup and mac and cheese...and the one thing I never considered was going and beating the shit out of an old lady to take her pension.

So here's what it boils down to: You're not a victim. You're not a symptom of some deeper 'issue' with society. You're just really fucking lazy and think the world owes you a living.

I once heard another guy like this say he burgled people's houses because his only other option was to flip burgers at McDonalds.

So what? Here's the deal: You're lazy fucking scumbag. Your options are limited because you decided you'd rather fuck around at school than learn to read and write. You're selfish, you're obviously not that bright, you've done nothing but take from society since you were born...and you have the balls to act like any employment is beneath you?

Let me clue you in. I'm not from a rich family. Growing up I wasn't even from a 'comfortable' family...but I paid attention in school and, here's the trick of it, I worked hard. From that my grades were good enough to go to college, and after college I took out a loan and worked part time so I could go to University.

You know what did when I couldn't find work? Despite the fact I had three A-Levels and a degree, I applied for jobs stacking shelves, flipping burgers and pushing shopping trolleys around car parks.

To put it another way, I didn't assume the world owed me anything, or complain that everyone and everything was against me because a career wasn't handed to me on a silver platter.

Put simply if flipping burgers isn't beneath me, it sure as fuck isn't beneath you.

Third POV

2011-11-05T20:06:00.002-04:00

Ok, so Rayray published this on facebook:

If anyone can show me one example, in the history of the world, of a single spiritual or religious person who has been able to prove, either logically or empirically, the existence of a higher power that has any consciousness or interest in the human race, or ability to punish/reward humans for their moral choices, or that there is any reason (other than fear) to believe in any version of an afterlife, I will give you one of my legs.

Then Evan posted his answer here.

Now it's my turn.

Let me let everyone in on a little secret. This whole argument is completely and utterly pointless.

This argument basically comes down to science versus religion: Provable data versus Faith...and that's the debate equivalent of the unstoppable force and the immovable object.

You simply can't argue faith against science. If you tell me that you feel that God is real and you've felt his presence, heard him speak to you through other people, that's not going to move me at all. There's nothing provable, nothing to measure, nothing to convince me that you're right. On the other hand, I'm sure I could lecture a religious person on the inconsistencies in the bible, how the fossil record contradicts key tenets of your faith...but you're not going to care, because what do facts matter when you can feel God in your heart?

I'm not saying one point of view is right and the other is wrong...I'm just pointing out that it's impossible to argue.

But the real reason this argument is pointless is simply that it doesn't matter.

Here's what it boils down to: You can be super religious and still be an evil, amoral person. You can be an atheist and be a stand-up guy. I don't care what you believe or why you behave the way you do...if you act like a dick, I'll treat you like a dick. If you're a good, moral person, I'll treat you accordingly.

If you and your church group spend your weekends building houses for the homeless, I don't care that you're 'doing it for god', because it's a really fucking nice thing to do. If you're an atheist and you belittle people for what they believe, I don't care how right you think you are, you're still being a massive tool.

The way I see it, if I'm completely wrong and there is a God, and that God is as good and as just as everyone says he is, I'll get into the afterlife because I've spent my entire life trying to do what I feel is right. If I'm right, and there is no god, the good religious people will die knowing they've lived the best possible life they could.

It works out. The people who brandish their beliefs like a weapon to prove they're superior to everyone else are either going to go to hell or rot in a hole. That suits me.

Vindication!

2011-11-04T15:08:00.000-04:00

I got my very first job delivering papers when I was 14. After that, the longest I was out of work for was the six months after I graduated.

Then I moved to the States and regular readers will know how that went.

Well, I've been back in the UK for seven months. For the first two to three months of that, I wasn't actually looking for work because I was busy getting my life back in order in the UK and having my surgery etc... but yesterday I went for my first real job interview in just over seven years and aced it. I just got the call fifteen minutes ago. I am now officially employed and I start work at the end of this month.

I can't tell you how good it feels to be going back to work, earning some money and getting to support my missus for a change. It feels even better that I'm going to work in an IT position in a freaking major European company.

However, the absolute best thing is that I finally feel vindicated.

You see, when you're out of work for a long time, you tell people that you're sending out about a hundred applications a month. You tell people that you've hit the pavement and gone everywhere you can think of applying for jobs. You tell them that despite the fact you've got multiple degrees, you've swallowed your pride and applied for jobs stacking shelves in supermarkets. You blame your location, you blame the economy... and most people look right back at you, shake their heads sympathetically...and walk away thinking you're full of shit. After all, they have a job, so how hard can it be for anyone else to get one.

In my case I had a few in-laws who would never say anything to my face, but would talk behind my back about how I was lazy, how I obviously didn't want a job, how I was taking advantage of Sunny and, by extension, my mother in law who gave us a place to live.

Finally, after far too long a time, I can hold my head up high and point out, with proof, just how full of shit these people are.

AAAAAaaaaaAAAAaaaaa!

2011-11-02T09:52:00.000-04:00

I have a job interview tomorrow.

Brickin' it.

Mirror, mirror

2011-10-07T08:13:00.001-04:00

Last night, for the first time in a long time, I found myself just randomly surfing the net through the wonders of Stumbleupon. I landed on one website that specialized in nothing but random funny pictures. You know the stuff, Lolcats, rage comics and other assorted meme pictures.

However, a few pages in, I noticed that along with the funny pictures, there were a lot like this folded in as well:

If you've spent any time on the internet at all (especially Facebook), you'll be used to pictures like these. Sluts taking pictures of themselves in mirrors.

These pictures iritate the hell out of me. Oh, I can't deny these girls at least superficially hot (and I choose my words carefully there), but these girls think that guys look at these pictures and think "Hey, she looks gorgeous, hot and fun! I wish she were my girlfriend."... and an awful lot of teenage virgins probably do think that...but let me tell you what pics like these really tell me about you.

1) You're too fucking stupid to work the self-timer on your camera.

Self-timers are not a new or rare thing. My cellphone has one, both my digital cameras have one. Even my camcorder and my 20 year old film camera has one. You set the timer, put the camera on something and then you can take a picture of yourself without a mirror!

Speaking of stupidity, look at the girl on the far left. Everything about that picture is set up to show extreme nonchalance. Like she was just having an average day of being perfectly made up, showing just the right amount of cleavage and dancing around, being fun and breezy when someone snapped a picture.

We can see the camera in your hand, bitch!

2) You have no friends.

Oh, I'm sure you have thousands of Facebook friends, but in terms of actual, real people who like you?

Let's assume for a second that I accidentally gave myself a lobotomy and I can't work out the two button presses it takes to set my camera's self timer. You know what I'd do? I'd ask a friend to take a picture of me. Why don't you have any friends? Because...

3) You're a vapid, extremely shallow attention whore.

Look at the girl on the right. Low production values aside, she's put some real time into this picture. (If you've never lived with a woman before, let me just point out that the vast majority of women don't style their hair and put on full makeup just to sit around the house.)

You see, if a girl's getting ready for a night out and has just snapped a quick pic of herself before leaving, that's fine... but Blondie isn't dressed to go out. She spent all that time on her hair and makeup just for this picture. Then, she's picked an outfit, spent an awful lot of time deciding on the perfect coquettish pose, not to mention arranging her pants so just the right amount of butt-crack is showing.

Now think about that. She's spent all that time to take a picture of herself to put on the internet. Even though I never saw where this pic was originally posted, I gurantee that the caption she put on it was something like "OMG, I look so fat in this pic!"

Long story short, you think your picture makes you look hot, sexy and fun...in reality your picture makes you look like a dumb whore who's in love with herself.

Finally, this:

Someone please explain to me just how retarded you have to be to have another person there with a camera...and have them take the picture in the mirror anyway!

Steve Jobs

2011-10-06T08:58:00.001-04:00

A reporter on TV talking about Steve Jobs recent death:

"He asked the whole world a question: Are you a PC or a Mac? I'm definitely a Mac. Which are you?"

Well, personally, I choose not to define myself based on the consumer products I buy.

Steve Jobs was a genius businessman. He was not the Messiah.

Call of Cthulhu

2011-10-02T22:02:00.002-04:00

Now that I'm back in the UK (where I actually have a few friends and some semblance of a social life) I thought it would be fun to run a Call of Cthulhu (pen and paper RPG) game for Halloween.

The one fly in the ointment, however, is that I'd never run, or even played in a Call of Cthulhu game. I'd read the rulebook and flicked a couple of pre-made modules, but as for actually running or playing a game, it was all completely new to me...so this past weekend, I conscripted Sunny to play through a shortish module purely as a play test, so Sunny could be introduced to the system and I could try my hand at getting used to running it.

The first thing I discovered is that the Call of Cthulhu system is a bit of a double edged sword. Once you've actually rolled up a character, the actual game is very 'rules light' with more or less everything working on percentile rolls. For example, if I put 80 points into my character's handgun skill, that means my character has an 80% chance of hitting whatever he's shooting at... and this is simulated in game by rolling 80 or less with percentile dice. This means that it's incredibly easy for a brand new player to get into the game without having to learn a bajillion different rules.

The reason I say this is a bit of a double edged sword is because the simple rules system means there's far more of a focus on the roleplaying element of the game... and while a focus on roleplay can be a good or bad thing depending on the group, a lot of roleplay is almost universally a bad thing for newbies.

Why? Because, not to put too fine a point on it, roleplaying can be embarrasing as hell.

When you're used to it, roleplaying is fun and can be the absolute best part of the game... but when it's your first time around the table and your character gets introduced to the party... and you suddenly realize that, in front of people who may be complete strangers, you actually have to talk and act like your Arnie-inspired Barbarian Warrior...it's perfectly normal to feel uncomfortable.

For example, even though we've been married for seven years and know each other about as intimately as it's possible for two people to know each other...when our game started and I began talking to Sunny as Barney Drum, proprietor of the Lobster Pot Inn...and Sunny realized getting information out of Barney meant actually questioning him and not just rolling a diplomacy check...she immediately got embarrassed. Luckily, she got over it pretty quickly, and by the end I think she was really enjoying getting into her role as a Private Investigator.

Anyway, now I come to think of it, maybe the CoC system is a triple-edged sword, because while the game is mechanically easy for the players, things are pretty hard on the DM.

If you're usually the DM, think about how many characters you actually have to roleplay in a single session of a DnD game. Usually the number stays in single digits, and a lot of the time a lot of the NPC's don't have to be 'properly' roleplayed at all.

Basically, in a DnD game, it doesn't really matter if the barkeep has no real personality because unless he's critical to the plot, he's just background color. For example, when the players ask him if there's any rooms available, you can say "What's that, young feller? Yer need a room? (cough, cough, snort) Well, yer lucky because we got jus' one left. Did yer know that the Duke himsel' once stayed in that very room? That was in the days when I ran this place with my Angie, gods rest 'er...oo's Angie ya say? Well I'm glad yer arsked..." Or, you can say "The barkeep tells you there's two rooms available for 10 silver a night each."

On the other hand, in the CoC module I ran for Sunny, there were no less than 20 NPCs and around 15 of them where absolutely crucial to the plot. Like most CoC modules, the plot was a supernatural mystery and, for the first half of the game, everyone is a potential suspect...and midway through out game I realized that this means each NPC needs to have a distinctly recognizable personality... which means 20 different voices, along with verbal tics and mannerisms... because if your players can't even tell who's who, they're probably not going to solve the mystery either. Oh, and you need to put in as much effort on the totally unimportant shopkeeper who has two lines of bio in the module as you do for the actual murderer....because if you don't you're immediately tipping your hand to the players about who is important to the plot and who can be ignored.

Also, unless your characters are interesting, your players aren't going to be motivated to talk to them...which was a minor problem in our game. As I said, Sunny's a bit naive when it comes to gaming and doesn't realize that if I put a character right in front of her and hint heavily that she should talk to this character that there's a reason for it. After a lot of subtle hints, I straight up suggested that she should go and talk to an NPC who seemed overly upset at a funeral (so she could discover that the NPC had been having an affair with the deceased)... and Sunny looked straight at me and said "Why would I care?" She didn't speak to the character and missed a major clue.

That, without a doubt was a failure on my part. I can't blame Sunny for not meta-gaming to deduce this NPC was important...I just hadn't introduced this character in an interesting enough way to get Sunny invested in any way shape or form. To Sunny, this NPC was just a boring old lady crying at a funeral.

The only other thing that gave me a bit of a problem was the combat...which, quite frankly, is very 'realistic', unforgiving and brutal. In CoC, if someone shoots you in the face with a shotgun, you don't knock off a few hit points and shoot them back on your next turn...you die...and even if by some miracle you survive, you may be alive, but you've just been shot in the face with a shotgun. You're not going to do much but lay down and scream.

Basically, when you play a CoC game, you don't necessarily have to solve the mystery or vanquish the bad guys. It's technically a win if you escape with your life or with your sanity intact

I won't bore you with the plot but, during the game, we got to a point where Sunny was supposed to get a glimpse of the reanimated corpse of her friend that the Big Bad was using as a puppet to murder people. Now, before the game, I'd warned her how combat was treated 'realistically', and told her that the basic rule of thumb is that she should react in game in the same way she would in real life.

So, Sunny's knocks on the suspect's door and hears a blood curdling scream from behind the house. She draws her gun, circles around the house and arrives in the back yard just in time to see the zombie literally rip a woman limb from limb.

Now, in my head, I thought the encounter would go like this: Sunny sees the zombie, opens fire, sees that her bullets have little or no effect, so she turns and runs...if she doesn't just run away immediately. If things got hairy, I had a redshirt NPC with her to ensure she could get away.

Instead, I describe the scene, ask Sunny what she wants to do and the conversation goes something like this:

Sunny: "Well, there's no point shooting at him, he's already dead."
Me : (hinting like crazy) "Well, you have your gun in your hand, you've just seen this figure in the gloom tear this woman's arms off...wouldn't you fire a few times anyway?"
Sunny: "Not if he's already dead."
Me: (hinting even more) "Remember what I said before the game? If this happened in real life, do you think you'd have the presence of mind to think that logically? Also, the whole supernatural thing is new to you...would you immediately think 'zombie' or would you think that maybe the guy wasn't really dead or maybe that this is someone pretending to be him?"
Sunny: "No, I saw his body before the funeral and I know it's him...and a bullet's not going to do anything to a dead guy."
Me: (getting a little desperate) "Not even out of panic? maybe you'd try and knee-cap him?"
Sunny: "What's the point if he's dead?"

At that point, I came to a realization. One, that Sunny picked up meta-gaming really quickly. Two, she can be as dense as radiation shielding when she wants to be and, three, I was breaking the golden rule of DMing by trying to railroad her. Just because the encounter wasn't going the way I expected didn't mean I should force her into an action to get the game back on the rails.

What I could do, however, was let the zombie attack first to teach her not to hesitate during combat.

I don't mean that in an evil DM way... Sunny is almost totally inexperienced and therefore a little naive when it comes to gaming, so I figured I'd do one combat round, which would result in a near miss or a minor hit...then the redshirt would get the zombie's attention and scream at her to run.

Basically, I wanted her to learn a lesson: When you're face to face with a superhuman zombie, you either shoot or run...you don't stand around agonizing over what to do.

Turns out I should have read the stats for the zombie a little closer before the game.

You see, I knew that the zombie only had a 40% of hitting so I figured it was going to miss anyway.

I made my attack roll. I needed less than 40 to hit and I rolled a freaking 2...a critical hit.

I immediately regretted not bothering with a DM screen. As competitive as Sunny is, if she got the slightest hint I was fudging things, even in her favor (especially in her favor) she'd probably quit playing right then and there.

Well, I thought, the Zombie's only clawing at her, how much damage can claws do?

I looked at the stats. It turns out that claws can do two d6 damage plus a bonus d4 for the critical hit.

Did I mention that Sunny's character only had 14 hit points?

So I rolled. The dice came up 6, 5 and 2.

In case you're math impaired or all that 'd6' talk was greek to you...I wanted the zombie to miss, or just inflict a minor hit. Instead it had essentially ripped Sunny's character open from shoulder to hip and immediately rendered her unconcious.

In CoC, there's no 'instant fix' healing spells. You don't spend healing surges until you're all better. When you're injured, you regain something like 3 hitpoints per 'd4 game weeks'... plus, there was the small fact she was unconcious, rapidly bleeding out on the floor and there was a murderous zombie literally on top of her. It was game over.

Of course, as she was the only player and I really wanted to finish my play test, she awoke a few days later in the small town's Doctor's office... which resulted in some really interesting situations as the town doctor was a major suspect.

Anyway, if this was a review, I'd say I really enjoyed Call of Cthulhu and I'd highly recommend it as a nice change of pace from the more rules-heavy systems out there. It also strikes me that the game is highly adaptable....you can add or remove skills from the character sheet easily and the percentile system means you're never really stuck flipping through sourcebooks for rules. If a character wants to try something unexpected that isn't covered by the rules, all you have to do is estimate the chances of him succeeding and tell him to roll. Basically, you can remove all traces of Lovecraft's monsters and just have a great system for running a straight up mystery or adventure game. In fact, the only thing the system's really not good for is DnD style dungeon crawls.

Having said that, this system is really for players who like to roleplay, so it's only worth bringing out if you're playing with a group who are completely comfortable with each other. If you're not willing to get around a table and spend most of the evening in character, CoC probably isn't for you.

What REALLY Just Happened

2011-10-01T19:41:00.001-04:00

Ok, so I was sitting on the couch when my highly tuned senses picked up movement on the floor. I immediately recognized the movement as a huge spidaris gigantis, the world's rarest and most dangerous spider.

This spider is so rare that there's literally only one of it...and it's more dangerous than all the other spiders on the planet...and I don't mean it's the most dangerous spider...I mean it's more dangerous that all the other spiders on the planet, like, all at once.

My ninja skills immediately kicked in and, invoking my Shaolin Battle Cry of 'Hoh-lay-fack!" (Which, admittedly, can sound like a shrill, girlish "Holy Fuck!" to the untrained ear) I leapt up onto the couch. This, obviously, was because I knew I'd need the advantage of height in order to defeat such a dangerous opponent.

Then, spinning like an incredibly sexy whirlwind, I snatched up a cushion from the couch and used the secret Oncoming Storm of Righteous Fury technique...a technique so devastating that a trained practitioner, such as myself, can kill anything, up to and including a fully grown bull elephant, with nothing but an item of soft furnishing.

After a fierce battle, I prevailed and my foe lay vanquished before me.

A few moments later, after disposing of the carcass, I returned to the couch and folded my legs beneath me into a classic mediation pose. Obviously, I did this in order to dissipate my killing energies, for the safety of those around me.

I was a goddamned hero.

Now...

What absolutely didn't happen was that I saw a spider, screamed like a little girl, jumped onto the couch and then hit it with a cushion out of sheer panic...and I absolutely did not sit with my legs crossed because I was afraid to put my feet back on the floor.

...fuck you, it was a huge spider.

Once More...

2011-09-20T09:29:00.001-04:00

So this morning I picked up the paper and saw that Ryan Donovan, the German sailor who murdered Lt. Cmdr. Molyneux on board a nuclear submarine, declared he wanted to do a 'GTA-style massacre'.

Since I started this blog in 2005 I've written more on videogame violence than I care to even think about so I won't repeat myself yet again, except to say this: GTA IV has sold well over 20 million copies. The fact that two or three people have claimed to be influenced by playing it tells me that their murderous impulses have an awful lot to do with their mental state in general... and absolutely nothing to do with their choice in media.

No, what made me write this today was a comment made by a judge who said "GTA is a game where you start a massacre and rack up points for killing'.

Am I wrong in thinking that if you're going to be making an official statement about something from an authoritative position, that you should have some basic idea of what you're talking about?

Saying GTA is a game where you 'start a massacre and get points for killing' is like me describing 'Saving Private Ryan' as 'A movie where five guys murder a ton of people in the German countryside'. From a certain point of view it's somewhat correct, but it hardly tells the whole story.

Now, normally, I'd be getting really worked up over this and talking about how we have the authorities trying to legislate something they know nothing about in order to pander to an uninformed majority who would rather blame a technological bogey man for their kids problems rather than their own parental shortcomings.

In 2011, I don't have to.

I hate to break this to all the Daily Mail readers out there but, you see...we've already won. As Jack Thompson and Hilary Clinton discovered in the USA, we gamers aren't the socially inept, basement dwelling misfits you thought we were. They tried to make us the bogey men, the source of fear that they would protect everyone from in yet another engineered social panic...and then discovered that we were the majority.

Call of Duty 4 was the biggest entertainment launch in history. No book, no movie, no toy or game had ever been as successful. On launch day, more people picked up a controller than watched Titanic or The Matrix or any other film in history.

Long story short, we're one of the most powerful demographics on the planet. Rather than the nation being up in arms over these 'evil video games', we're shaking our heads and laughing at the dinosaurs.

In other words: Give it a rest, you're embarrassing yourself.

Sneak Preview

2011-08-23T13:32:00.003-04:00

Okay, not much I can really say about this... but here's a preview of my upcoming Machinema series. I quite like how this turned out:

Unfortunately, Blogger compresses the ever-living hell out of the video, so you're only getting a very rough idea (just pretend you're watching through a pair of really greasy specs).

Anyway, the series is going to be another Minecraft 'Let's Play' series like I'm doing now, only this one will be played on the 'Ultra Hostile' map 'The Infernal Sky' by Vechs.

I hope you guys head over to my channel and check it out.

It's a Lecture....

2011-08-20T20:21:00.000-04:00

I was talking to my brother today when he suggested a topic for today's post.

Apparently, there's a comedian here in the UK who writes a regular column in one of the newspapers and he caused a bit of a stink by saying he never reads his comments because they're usually negative or rude.

My brother's angle on this story was to suggest I write about how this comedian shouldn't be writing a column in the first place if he's not willing to listen to feedback. Basically, his opinion is that if you're not interested in your audience's opinion, you shouldn't be writing for them.

I agreed to write a post on this subject...but I'm coming at it from the totally opposite angle. As a creator myself, I completely and totally understand (and even support) this comedian's point of view.

You see, the mistaken assumption here is that the people who comment on any given article are a representative cross section of that article's audience and all their opinions have merit. If that were the case, I'd agree completely with my brother... but as anyone who has ever posted anything on the Internet can tell you, that that's just not true.

From this blog, my Podcast and my YouTube videos I can tell you the pattern is always the same:

Around 95% of your audience won't interact with you in any way besides consuming whatever it is you've created. They'll turn up, read your post (or watch your video, etc) and leave. For example, I get roughly one comment per 100 blog views, and about two or three comments/ratings per 100 YouTube video views.

The remaining five percent are the ones who will interact. They're the ones who will click a 'like' or 'dislike' button or leave a comment...but here's the rub: In any given situation, people are far more likely to express negativity than positivity. The same person who won't bother clicking a 'thumbs up' button on something he likes will be more than willing to create an account, send a confirmation email, wait an hour to be verified and then take four attempts at a captcha to tell you that you suck.

In other words, someone who comments on an article is usually skewed towards one extreme or another. They either love you or they hate you...and if they disagree, they aren't going to respond to your article with a well though out rebuttal to your argument...they're just going to say they've fucked your mum or you should go die in a fire.

In other words, even though comments sections were designed for discussion, what you're most likely to find is over the top, gushing fans or foul-mouthed trolls.

However, I think my second point is the more important one.

Personally, I think the Internet has totally skewed the way we view the creator/audience relationship. What was once a one way street has now become far more of a two way conversation.

But here's the thing, an article, blog post or column in a newspaper really isn't a conversation, it's far more like a lecture.

For example, let's say that you write an article and it gets published in a major magazine. What you're essentially doing is telling the world at large that this is your opinion... then I come along... and I dislike your article.... In fact, I absolutely hate it.

Now, ask yourself a question. In the above situation, as one of your readers, what exactly do you owe me?

Are you required to listen to my opinion? Do you have to change your opinion to please me? Do you owe me an equal forum so I can express my opinion and publicly disagree with you?

Of course not. All you did was write an article.

Take this blog, for instance. This is my forum where I express my ideas and opinions. If I write something you disagree with, you're more than welcome to comment... and there's a very good chance I'll read it...in fact, if it's well thought out and well written, you may even change my opinion... but I don't have to read it.

Right now, our relationship is one between a creator and consumer. By your being here, the only implied relationship is that I'm going to write something and you're going to read it. I don't owe you a say...and I'm no more obligated to listen to your opinion than you're obligated to listen to mine.

Basically, buying a movie ticket doesn't mean the actors are obligated to listen to us critique their acting. Going to a concert doesn't mean the musicians are obligated to listen to our opinion on how they could improve their songs...

People are angry because a writer said he didn't read his readers' opinions of his work, even though the law of averages state that 99% of those opinions are from the idiots and trolls.

That would be like me getting mad at Pavarotti because he ignored me when I said he was a fat cunt who should sing in English.

Rebecca Black

2011-08-18T08:32:00.000-04:00

Ok, this is something that's been bugging me for a while.

In case you have no idea who Rebecca Black is, let me sum up the story for you:

14 year old girl has a single and music video produced by a 'vanity publisher'. Video ends up on Youtube. Video goes viral as 'the worst song ever'. Shit hits fan.

If you've never seen the video, here it is:

Now, first, let me address the controversy. Black has apparently been pulled out of school due to bullying and has recieved 'death threats'.

Rebecca Black has never recieved a death threat. What she has recieved is a bunch of youtube comments by idiot kids along the lines of "zomg ur video is so terable if i see u in the street ill run u ova wit my car"... and the traditional media, who apparently have no idea what the internet is like, have grabbed that with both hands because it makes the story more sensational.

As for the bullying? Well...probably, but it's not anything really out of the ordinary. I remember highschool. Highschool is all about trying to be as average as possible. If you're too intelligent, you're a nerd, not intelligent enough, you're thick...in other words, if you do anything that places you outside the norm, you're going to get bullied and made fun of.

I guarantee that there are twenty or thirty other kids in Rebecca Black's old school who are facing exactly the same level of bullying because their parents are poor, or because they suck at sports or because they're the first (or last) in their year to start developing breasts...but that doesn't exactly warrant a news story.

Basically, I have a really hard time feeling sorry for Rebecca Black. If I were her, I'd be enjoying my fifteen minutes of fame and be laughing all the way to the bank. As well as appearing on multiple TV shows, getting major radio play and her song being bought as a novelty on iTunes she's earning approximately $24,900 a week. Not bad for mom and dad's initial investment of $4000, wouldn't you say?

All I'm going to say is that if I was walking through school and my classmates 'kept singing my song at me in a really nasally voice', I'd pull out the three and a half grand I'd earned that day, blow my nose on a hundred, check my Rolex and walk on.

Even better, when the novelty wears off and people have moved onto the next viral star, with the whole bullying, hate-mail and death threat angle, I gunarantee she's a phonecall away from a book deal about her 'harrowing experience' (Hey if fucking Snooki can get a book deal, so can Rebecca Black).

But, anyway, the main thing I want to talk about is the song itself.

Is it the 'worst song ever'? Really?

Don't get me wrong, it's truly awful. The melody is annoying, the lyrics are bland and nonsensical... but slap that song on the radio between a Justin Bieber and a Britney Spears track and I wouldn't bat a frigging eyelid.

Basically, Rebecca Black is just another bland, cookie-cutter teen pop singer, but she made the mistake of releasing a single without a multi-million dollar marketing department behind her to explain to the public that she's not shit.

If Rebecca Black had been introduced to the world as Simon Cowell's protege, 'Friday' would have been a number one smash and we'd all be talking about how 'Friday' is a genius commentary on modern pop.

Basically, I think we can all see how ridiculous the whole situation has gotten when Justin Bieber starts taking the piss out of 'Friday's' lyrics:

Yeah, Bieber, because you're such a fucking artist.

'Tomorrow is Saturday and sunday comes afterwards' is a pretty fucking terrible lyric, but I'd hardly say that "Let's go...jump on my skateboard and eat some cake along the lake," is the lyrical masterpiece you think it is.

I think we all need some perspective here. On the one hand we have a poor little rich girl who got her mom and dad to stump up four grand so she can have a music video and it went viral... on the other hand, we have a seventeen year old kid selling millions of bland, manufactured cookie-cutter records, with massive success, who actually referred to himself as the 'Kurt Cobain' of his generation.

The problem isn't that Rebecca Black released a shitty record and got called on it...it's the fact there are so many 'Rebecca Blacks' out there that people take seriously.

Something Else to Annoy Me. Also, Advice

2011-08-14T14:37:00.000-04:00

Today, I finished my 25th Let's Play video and have it chambered and ready to upload in a few days. (I record about an hour and a half at a time, break that into 15-20 minute episodes and upload a new one every day).

I appear to have finally started to 'break through' this week. I'm getting an average of thirty views per video in the first few hours after an upload, and I appear to be gaining subscribers at one or two a day. (Yeah, I know, that's nothing by youtube standards...but it's encouraging to start getting noticed considering I've been doing this for less than three weeks).

Unfortunately, this puts me in a really annoying position.

You see, at this point I've gained an audience significant enough for other youtubers to want me to plug and/or link to their videos, but not so significant that they feel they're wasting their time in asking me.

To me, that's just not cool...and makes absolutely zero sense. If I had a dedicated audience of thousands, I'd be happy to throw a beginner a bone and give them a link if I liked their videos....but as a beginner myself with a tiny audience, if think your videos are good, the last thing I want to do is redirect my small audience to you...and if I think your videos are crap, I'm obviously not going to endorse them.

Basically, get a similar number of subscribers to me and we'll talk. At this point, the best case scenario is I just give you the audience that I've worked my ass off for.

But now for a spot of advice.

As well as the handful of people asking for a direct plug, I've gotten more messages than I can count from people who have seen that I'm making minecraft videos, so they ask me to watch their videos (and, of course, subscribe)... not through a comment, mind you, but by sending me a direct, private message asking me to check out their video.

Not only is this completely unwanted spam...99.9% of these all have one thing in common. The channel was created within the last week, and there's a single, solitary five minute video up.

I've mentioned this before about blogging, but it also applies here, if not more so:

If you want to build up an audience, the first thing you do is create good content. Worry about the marketing later. There's no point getting people into your store if you have nothing to sell them.

To me, it just appears that the majority of the internet has things backwards. They want the big audience, the praise and the adulation before they put the work in...and if you need a huge crowd of people to cheer you on before you write a blog post or upload a video, you're not going to keep at it anyway.

Put simply, if I land on someone's youtube video and enjoy it...and they have ten other current videos that show they update consistently...I'm going to bookmark their channel, watch their back catalogue and keep checking back. If I land on someone's channel and they have one or two videos that were uploaded two months apart...I'm not going to waste my time.

Basically, if you want to create something, do it for the sheer joy of making something. The more you do it, the better you'll get and the more likely people with actually want to see it. Once you've got some quality work online, you'll grow an audience.

It doesn't matter how many eyes you get to your website if they visit once and never return, and until you have some worthwhile content, that's exactly what's going to happen.

Two sides...

2011-08-14T07:49:00.000-04:00

I read a news story this morning with the wonderfully unbiased headline proclaiming "The young girl being ripped from her family to live with her Mum's ex...in the US!"

Sound's horrible, doesn't it? There's obviously been an error somewhere, some tragic mistake that's going to send this poor little girl kicking and screaming to live with someone she knows while her loving family stand helplessly by.

Well, turns out that's not quite the case. When you read the story, you find things are almost completely the other way around.

Now, no-one is mentioned by name for legal reasons, but here's what's happening when you boil it down to the bare facts.

The mother of this child (who apparently has learning difficulties and a low IQ) got pregnant with this child from a 'casual relationship' (read: one night stand). Five months into the pregnancy...and this is important, bear in mind that this is before the child was born... she starts dating this American guy, marrying him shortly after the baby is born.

Two years into their marriage they divorce... and the child's mother fucks off and leaves the baby with the American, who then raises the child for six years with help from the child's grandmother. Also during this time, they have the birth certificate re-registered, naming the American guy as the child's father.

Then, the American decides he wants to go home and, obviously, take his daughter with him... and now the child's blood family are up in arms...and the papers claim that this child is being torn from her 'family' to live with her 'mum's ex'.

I've said a million times before that the word 'Parent' is a job description and not an honorary title. Getting someone pregnant doesn't make you a father and giving birth doesn't make you a mother. A parent is someone who loves, takes care of and raises a child... not someone who gets knocked up in a nightclub and fucks off after a couple of months.

This American guy was there before the child was born. He raised that child in a traditional family unit for two years...and continued to raise and support that child for four years after her own mother left. Now he's moving back to America and wants to take the girl he's raised for six years with him.

You know what I call someone like that? A father.

The re-registered the birth certificate makes this American the child's legal parent anyway, but in this case, legality doesn't come into it.

Who do you think this child is better off with? The step father who's been around and taken care of this child since birth. The man this child has known as 'Dad' since day one... or the family of the woman who had a one night stand and walked out on her own daughter.

Cardboard

2011-08-12T08:27:00.000-04:00

In the past I've tried to write about why the Star Wars prequels are such a travesty, and to be honest, it's really hard to do without getting into real geek-speak and nerd talk, but today, I think I've finally worked out a way to prove conclusively why the prequels don't even come close to the original trilogy.

It's got nothing to do with the storyline, backstory or reliance on special effects, it's not about the movie contradicting accepted fan-continuity from the novels...it's straight up bad writing.

So here's how I prove that the Star Wars: Episode 1 wwas a great big pile of shit:

Take any of the main characters from either Episode 1 or Episode 4 and describe them without mentioning the way they look, their costume, their job title or role in the movie. Basically, describe their personality.

With very few exceptions, it's incredibly easy for A New Hope, but just about impossible for The Phantom Menace. For example:

Han Solo: Arrogant, cocky rogue who acts like he's out for himself but is ultimately a good person who cares about others more than he lets on.

Luke Skywalker: A naive, idealistic farmboy dreaming of leaving home and having adventures.

Obi-Wan Kenobi: A wise old wizard, a mysterious mentor. Gravely serious, but also kindly. Subtly pushes people, allowing them to learn what they're capable of.

I'll be completely honest, I've just written a sentence or two each for brevity, but I could easily write a couple hundred words one each character without breaking a sweat, but the prequels?

Qui-Gon Jin: Well, he's a jedi....no that's his job title. He's Obi-Wan's master...no, that's his role....uh, he's a bit stern, I guess?

Obi-Wan Kenobi: He's sits on a ship and complains a lot.

Queen Amidala: Errr.....

Basically, the characters in A New Hope are just that characters. The characters in The Phantom Menace are cardboard cutout plot devices.

Try it for yourself. Take five minutes and describe Princess Leia's personality...now do the same with Queen Amidala.

To put this into perspective, when we're looking at character depth, R2D2, a faceless droid who never talks beyond making weird noises, is a far more developed and likeable character at the end of A New Hope than any prequel character was after three movies.

Let's Play

2011-07-27T05:08:00.000-04:00

Did I mention that I'm doing a daily Minecraft 'Let's Play'?

What's that? You don't know what a 'Let's Play' is? You've never even heard of Minecraft?

Well, that's all the more reason to head over to my Youtube channel and check it out... and as it happens I just so happen to have a link right here:

Minecraft Awesomeness

Hypocrites

2011-07-25T08:02:00.000-04:00

It appears to me that if you want to be a newspaper journalist, the main characteristics you need to have are a 4 second memory and the ability to be completely and unashamedly hypocritical. In other words, if you can give someone an hour long lecture about the evils of drinking with a double vodka in your hand…and completely forget about it the next day… there’ll be a paper somewhere just dying to snap you up.

Let’s talk about Amy Winehouse, shall we?

Let’s face it, Winehouse was an absolute trainwreck.. Over her career the papers continually described as a talentless junkie and they absolutely loved looking down their noses at her, telling her she should be ashamed of herself and to think of the example she was setting ‘for the children’. The only time Winehouse ever made so much as a blip on my radar was when there was another picture of her falling out of a nightclub or punching someone in the face or having yet another breakdown on stage.

Of course, to read the eight page tribute in the Daily Mirror the day after she died of an overdose, it appears that she suddenly switched from being the drug fueled crazy lady they’d spent years exploiting to a tragically misunderstood genius. Suddenly, she’s not an ‘out of control junkie’, but a ‘brave, headstrong artist who lived life by her own rules.”

My absolute favorite part is when the papers talk about ‘the media’ and the way it cruelly and mercilessly hounded her… somehow managing to forget that they are the media.

It’s like Michael Jackson all over again. The day before he died he was a disgusting, evil pedophile who should be castrated. The day after he died he was the King of Pop, a tragic loss… and the very same people who built careers on writing about he should be burned at the stake were suddenly writing long, heartfelt tributes about him.

So, let me tell it straight: Amy Winehouse was a moderately talented musician who died of an overdose that everyone with at least one working brain cell saw coming. It’s tragic, but she’s not a hero. If anything she was incredibly stupid for throwing her life and career away by getting addicted to drugs.

For me, personally, a drug addicted singer who writes a song about refusing to go to rehab just doesn’t deserve my pity and absolutely shouldn’t be held up as any kind of hero or role model.

As for the papers, well, someone can either be a talentless screeching junkie or a headstrong genius…they can’t be both.

Oh, and to the Mirror in particular: When Amy Winehouse dying of a self inflicted overdose takes up four fifths of your front page, but I have to go to page eight to read about 84 people being massacred in Norway (you know, a story that actually matters)…something is very, very wrong.

I don't feel safe here.

2011-07-15T12:16:00.000-04:00

This is getting too much.

My Mum has two dogs. A pair of Cocker Spaniels named Tess and Barney.

Tess is fine, but Barney is a barely contained ball of murderous rage who would flat out murder you and rape your corpse without a second thought.

I took some video of him today for the inevitable court case.

Warning:The following video may be disturbing.

I'm Not Comparing This Blog To Renaissance Sculpture

2011-07-10T19:31:00.000-04:00

Well, over the past few weeks I’ve gotten quite a few emails asking why I’m not blogging as often. The most vocal of these people has been my brother who apparently has a ritual involving the bathroom, my blog and his iPhone. To quote a conversation I had with him a few hours ago:

“Write something you fucker, I haven’t taken a shit in weeks.”

Well, I started to think why I haven’t been writing quite as much…and a large part of the reason is that since moving to the UK, the buffer between me, my family and most of my friends has shrunk from 3700 miles to zero.

Have you ever heard the expression that no artist is truly free until his parents are dead? Well, it’s true.

I mean, today we look at works of art like Michelangelo’s ‘David’ as timeless masterpieces… but you know that poor Michelangelo felt like shit when he was sculpting it.

Why? because he knew that at some point his mother was going to look at it and say “It’s nice…but did you have to sculpt him naked?” Or how his friends saw the statue’s tiny wink-wonk and asked him if he modeled it after himself.

I guarantee that someone asked why a red blooded male would choose to sculpt a naked man.

My point is that even though I rarely write about anything properly embarrassing, I used to be able to write completely unselfconsciously. There’s no pretense in my posts. If you’re a long time reader, I can state categorically that you know me as well as anyone. In fact, if you’ve been reading since that first post in 2005, you probably know me better than a lot of my family and friends.

Of course, the other big thing is I’ve been writing posts for nearly seven years, and I’ve gotten to the point where I write a post only to realize halfway through that I’m not just repeating myself, I’m repeating myself for the fourth or fifth time.

Well, anyway, I’m not quitting and I’m still aiming to write as much as possible… but I don’t think I’ll be keeping up the same pace I was when I spent about 12 hours a day alone in my house.

Oh, and Andrew? If you’re that desperate for some bathroom reading material… buy a copy of my book you f**king cheapskate.

Riffing off Evan

2011-06-29T21:22:00.000-04:00

A few days ago, fellow blogger Evan posted the following post and invited people to chime in... so I did. Italics are Evan's words, non-italic are mine:

If we are a free society, then why do we have the highest rate of incarceration in the world?

If we are a free society, then why is the Supreme Court deciding whether or not cops have the right to put a GPS tracking device on someone's car without a warrant?

If we are a free society, then how is law enforcement allowed to seize a person's assets without due process?

If we are a free society, then why can I lose my job or freedom if I choose to consume marijuana?

If we are a free society, then why are parents thrown in jail for failure to pay child support?

If we are a free society, then why is the government saying that two consenting adults cannot marry?

America is a free country because you have the right to speak out about all the above things that you disagree with, without fear of being imprisoned or tortured for your views.

It's a free country because everything you mentioned above is being argued openly and these laws and practices can be challenged, changed or repealed.

It's a free country because the people who made the above laws and policies are elected by the people in free and open elections.

When you have a country of 310 million people, it's impossible to please or satisfy everyone and certain 'freedoms' will always impinge on others. Pleasing one group of people will always piss another off. Lines have to be drawn and it's impossible to have everyone agree on where those lines should be.

Obviously, it's not a perfect system. As Winston Churchill said: "Democracy is the worst form of government except all the others that have been tried."

A 'free society', by it's very definition, isn't one where the individual always gets his own way. What would be a utopia for me would likely be a hell for a lot of other people.

It reminds me of a quote I read on sexuality once: Everyone sees themselves as 'normal'. Anyone more reserved is a prude, and anyone more extreme is a pervert.

For everyone who thinks marijuana should be legal, there's another who thinks all recreational drugs, including alcohol and tobacco, should be banned...and there's another who thinks that they should be able to buy crack at the pharmacy. There are people who feel religion should be completely abolished and others who think the church should be in direct control of the country.

In short, in America, you have the right to express your opinion. You have to right to protest things you don't believe in and the right to vote for the leaders who most reflect your views and to withhold your support for those that don't.

How to write a book - Part One - Managing Expectations

2011-06-09T20:30:00.000-04:00

(Since the move I know I’ve been neglecting this blog, so I thought I’d finally get around to writing this series…it’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while and hopefully some people will find it helpful. Let me know what you think.)

One of the weird things about writing is that just about everyone thinks they can do it right out of the gate. People assume that because they know how to write (with a small ‘w’) they assume that they can Write (with a capital ‘W’).

The thing that everyone seems to miss is that while ‘writing’ is a skill 99.9% of us have had since the age of six or seven… being a storyteller is completely different. Becoming a ‘real’ writer is something you really have to work at.

It’s strange because we all accept that the ability to hold a pencil and make marks on paper doesn’t mean we can draw… but we somehow think that just because we can put words on paper means we can write. We get our big idea, sit in front of the computer and expect to churn out a masterpiece on our first attempt. If you think about this objectively, you realize that this is about as likely as grabbing a chisel and a lump of marble and creating Michelangelo’s David on your first go.

The simple fact of the matter is that the first time you try anything you’re going to be bad at it.

Now you may be wondering why I’m telling you this. Believe me, it’s not because I’m trying to discourage you. I’m just letting you know, from my own personal experience, that giving yourself permission to suck is the most important step in any artist’s career.

For example, Stephen King was 27 when his first novel was released and it was an absolutely massive hit. In fact, from the outside he appears to be the perfect example of an overnight success…except for the slight issue of his writing career beginning around twenty years earlier when he wrote a short story for his mom. Like 99.9% of all successful writers, he spent a couple of decades working in obscurity, learning his craft and collecting masses of rejection slips before he hit it big with Carrie.

That’s what writing is like. You don’t crap out a masterpiece the first time. You don’t even crap out something ‘passable’ the first time. Put simply, it’s just about impossible to be competent, never mind great at something if you’ve never done it before.

I wrote my first story when I was around seven years old. Since then I’ve written literally millions of words in a mixture of terrible short stories, embarrassing novellas and abandoned novels. In between, I went to College and got my A-Level in English Language and then went on to University and got my Bachelor’s degree in English Language, Literature and Writing Studies.

In other words, I have about twenty years writing experience under my belt, including six years of formal instruction… and all that really did was move me from ‘terrible’ to ‘mildly competent’.

Most of learning to write has to be drawn from personal experience. Sure, you can become technically competent from writing classes and ‘How To’ books (and I highly recommend going to school for writing if that’s what you want to do)…but you learn to write convincing characters from studying people. You learn to write good dialogue by listening to people talk and, above all, you learn how to structure a good story by reading thousands of good ones.

Most importantly, you write.

Now, I’d say that at least 50% of the people reading this are thinking I’m full of shit, or nodding sagely because they agree, safe in the knowledge that none of this applies to them because they’re the rare genius who knows exactly what they’re doing. One or two of them may even be right…after all, a literary genius like Dickens or Shakespeare does come along once every hundred years or so… but most of us mere mortals don’t have genius level talent dropped into our lap.

Put simply, we have to suck.

Why?

Because when we write something that’s really bad…and, most importantly acknowledge that it’s really bad…we can figure out why, so the next thing we write is a little bit better. Once we repeat this a few thousand times, we may even produce something that someone will actually enjoy reading.

If we don’t allow ourselves to suck, best case scenario, we’ll write a few chapters and give up. Worst case, we convince ourselves that the bilge we’re writing really is genius…and then we get to be one of those ridiculous internet blowhards who’s only skill in storytelling comes from justifying why everyone else thinks their work is awful.

… because the real problem is that it really is that easy to convince ourselves that we’re geniuses, that we’re just way ahead of our time and the reason everyone else says we’re shit is because they obviously aren’t smart enough to ‘get’ our amazing work. After all, it’s a comfortable place to be… why accept that you’re a novice and still learning your chops, when you can be a genius surrounded by morons who wouldn’t know good literature if it dropped into their lap.

If you’re one of those people…enjoy playing the tragically misunderstood artist and enjoy your time in obscurity.

The rest of us will do things the hard way. While you recline in your turtleneck, cursing the world and churning out crap no-one will ever want to read, we’ll accept that we’re novice writers and spend our time actually working on our craft and learning all we can, so that, hopefully, one day we’ll be good enough so people will actually want to read what we write.

There’s an easy way and a hard way… and the difference between the two is the hard way works.

Ow.

2011-05-13T20:41:00.000-04:00

Well, the deed is done. I’ve officially made my transition from Cavalier to Roundhead.

It was an….experience.

I have a theory. Hospital clothes are designed purely to humiliate you, and therefore keep you docile and compliant. There’s no other explanation. What other reason is there for hospital gowns to be backless and impossible to put on by yourself? When has a Doctor ever needed to get to your ass in a hurry?

In the two hours between getting changed and actually having the operation, I asked no fewer than six nurses this question and not a single one could give me an answer.

The less said about the transparent paper underwear I was given the better.

Actually, scratch that, because that underwear went a long way to making my day less pleasant.

You see, I was waiting for my operation on a ward…a 40x30 room shared with three other people. This was generally an upside, because it meant I had three equally nervous people having equally embarrassing procedures to provide entertainment while I was waiting.

The downside was the guy opposite me hadn’t bothered bringing a robe, and for my entire wait he sat there, reading a book with his legs spread wide…with his backless gown up somewhere around his thighs.

I hadn’t brought a book or anything to read because my mother, who is a filthy liar, told me that as my appointment was at 8am, I’d be going in first and wouldn’t be waiting….it turned out that 10 other people also had 8am appointments…so I spent well over an hour just sitting in the chair next to my bed, directly across from a bloke that was proudly displaying his meat and two veg.

Oh, but after a while, he decided to lie on his side on his bed, facing away…so at least I had his hairy arse crack to distract me from his balls.

The other guy opposite was an older gentleman who provided endless entertainment.

The week before your op, you go for a physical and you’re told multiple times to fast from midnight the day before your operation. A few days later you get a letter with all your instructions in print, including the words ‘DO NOT EAT OR DRINK FOR TWELVE HOURS BEFORE YOUR PROCEDURE’ in inch high letters.

So, the nurse asked the older guy when he’d last eaten. He smiled and told her all about the full English breakfast he’d had two hours ago.

The nurse told him he wasn’t supposed to eat anything. He swore that no-one had told him. When she told him it was on his letter, he swore that it wasn’t on his. When she told him it meant he’d have to wait until later that afternoon for his op…he just swore.

(In all honesty, after a minute he realized it was his mistake. He was quite a nice guy. He even offered me his newspaper once he’d read it… I took it gratefully and used it to shield myself from the other bloke’s nuts).

The last cast member of our little human drama was the toast coveter…but more on him later.

Anyway, at about quarter to eleven, a nurse came and got me and I went into ‘forward waiting’. This is where you go to a smaller waiting room and actually get on a gurney.

About 15 minutes later I was wheeled to the operating theatre by the World’s Most Bored Sounding Man, who obviously was required to talk to the patients to keep them at ease…either that or they employed him purely as an alternative form of sedation because fuck me he was boring.

So I found myself in the operating theatre ante-chamber and they put that needle thingy in the back of my hand (and did a really good job, actually, I don’t have the slightest hint of a bruise…the the anesthesiologist came in.

Okay, you know how when you’re having an operation, you kind of want an atmosphere of calm professionalism? I swear my anesthesiologist was the bollywood version of Billy Mays mixed with that uncle everyone has who cracks bad jokes at really inappropriate time.

He asked me what I was having done (You get asked that question a hundred times along with your name, age and date of birth to make sure they don’t mix you up with someone else.)

I said “I’m having a circumcision, unfortunately.”

He stood back, held his hands out at his sides and said “Eeeeeeyyyyy” (Yes, just like The Fonz) “Why unfortunate? We sharpening it! Your wife will like! Yes?”

I just looked at him blankly and waited for Ashton Kutcher to step out and tell me I’d been punked.

Then he asked me what I liked to drink.

“Uhhhh….coffee?” I said.

“No, not coffee!” he said. “Like alcohol! What booze you like?”

“Beer?” I said.

“An’ how much beer you drink?”

“A couple a month?” I responded.

“Okay, this feel like about four beers. Good beers, but all at once…just to get you started.”

“Ok.” I said.

Lying fucker. He pumped that shit through the needle in my hand, I felt my head go a bit fuzzy and the next thing I knew I was waking up in the recovery room with an oxygen mask on my face.

(Parental lie number two: My filthy liar of a mother also said I wouldn’t need anything to keep me occupied for the two hours they keep you in after the operation because, and I quote “You’ll be so out of it, you’ll just sleep…we’ll probably wheel you to the car in a wheelchair and you’ll get home and sleep for the rest of the day)

Instead, I woke up feeling like I’d just had a nice, refreshing nap. I was a bit loopy for five minutes when I first came round, but after that I was fine. By the time I was wheeled back to the ward, I felt like I could have driven home with no problems.

After getting my vitals tested, the nurse asked if I wanted something to eat. She was just dropping off some toast and jam and a small pot of coffee when the coveter was wheeled in. (Luckily, the bullock flasher had left, so there was nothing to put me off my food.)

The coveter looked over at me as soon as the nurse left and said:

“Where’d you get that? I’m starving!”

“They’ll offer you some when they’ve finished taking your vitals,” I responded.

“She just did.” he said, looking around the ward as if willing the nurse to appear.

“Nah,” I said, opening up my little package of jam. “They take them every ten minutes for about half an hour first.”

“Oh,” he said, looking disappointed.

I spread my jam on my toast and poured myself some coffee. I could feel his eyes boring into the side of my head.

“You look like you’re really enjoying that,” he said as I took my first bite.

“Mmm hmm,” I replied, non-commitally as he continued to stare.

“I really am starving, not eaten since ten last night.”

“Me too,” I said. And you can fuck off if you think I’m offering you half my toast, I added, mentally.

Seriously, have you ever tried to eat while a stranger is just staring at you? On the upside, it was good toast.

Luckily, his stare was interrupted when the surgeon came over to my bed to tell me how everything went. There’s not much to say about him…except that he looked and sounded almost exactly like George Takei.

When I made a joke about swelling and he said “Oh my!”… I damn near soiled myself trying to suppress a laugh.

Anyway, with my paper undergarments now a thing of the past, the nurse came over a few minutes later and gave me some equally embarrassing underwear…an awesome assless jockstrap I have to wear for a week.

Well, before they could let me go, I had to go to the bathroom just to check everything was still working, so I went to the bathroom and had a peek under the dressing… They could have forewarned me what the stitches would look like… I took a glimpse and saw that my old fella looked like Frankenstein’s neck (although not green, thank god).

Anyway, after that, they handed me some more dressings and some weapons grade painkillers.

Now I just have six weeks of healing time to look forward to. On the upside, at least I can piss in a straight line again.

Phimosis and Shitting Yourself

2011-05-10T19:16:00.005-04:00

Ok, today I'm going to blog about something a little embarrassing. I was originally going to keep this entirely secret... but since my Mum has been telling everyone she brushes past since I made my appointment (and since remembering that I have no shame), I thought it would make an interesting post.

So, here it is:

Basically, about two years ago, I developed Phimosis. Those not interested in the gory details can skip the next paragraph.

Here's what happens: If you're uncircumcised, during normal...shall we say, 'activity'... you can get a tiny little split on the inside of your foreskin. When it heals, the skin around that area contracts a tiny bit because of the scar tissue...which makes your foreskin tighter, which makes you more prone to more tiny splits. Repeat this over a year or two and you end up with a foreskin so tight you can't retract it.

Imagine pissing through the eye of a needle and you've got a very good idea of what my bell-end looks like.

Anyway, after a certain point, the only way to fix it is with a circumcision. When I was in the States, with no medical insurance, there was nothing I could do about it. After returning to the UK, it was one of the first things I wanted to get sorted.

So, two weeks ago, I went to see my GP. He referred me to a specialist who I saw a week ago. Yesterday I went for my pre-op visit and I'll be going for the actual procedure on Friday.

(Allow me a second to point out that this is the reality of the awful, disgusting National Health Service waiting lists that opponents of 'Obamacare' hold up as the ultimate nightmare scenario...I'm on the waiting list for a whole eight days.)

Anyway, things are not exactly what I expected...and as such, I'm shitting myself.

At first, I found it really humorous that I was having the surgery on Friday the 13th. I laughed, made jokes, pretended to be worried...then I had my pre-op visit and promptly stopped laughing.

At the pre-op visit, they basically give you a general physical. They take your blood pressure, heart rate, listen to your lungs...basically make sure you're healthy enough for surgery.

Well, I'm talking to the nurse, and I say "So, this is done under a local anesthetic, right?"

She says no, I ask why that is (everything I'd read said circumcisions are done under a local anesthetic)....and then she proceeds to give me far too much information.

Basically, she told me they do it under a general because so many things can go wrong, and complications are less likely under a general because I won't be moving around.

This was enough info for me...but then she decided to tell me everything that could possibly go wrong... like nicking a blood vessel or severing a nerve ending. It's bad enough having people cut off parts of your Gentleman's Area without worrying about being left completely numb or impotent...forever, but then she told me that I'd take about six weeks to properly heal...and my first boner after the op would be...and I quote...'Quite painful because it's really common to pop a few stitches.'

...and as well as the basic, understandable worries of going under a general anesthetic and having people chop bits off my genitals....but I also have a few slightly more irrational fears:

For example, I know the people performing the operation are all highly trained, professional medical personnel who have done this particular procedure a hundred times before...but whatever way you look at it, I'm still going to be unconscious and helpless, with my cock out, in a room full of strangers.

I was seriously considering taking my camcorder and asking them if I can set it up to record the procedure... not because I'd ever want to watch it, but just so I'd have proof that they didn't draw a smiley face on my bell end, use it in an impromptu puppet show and then post the whole thing on youtube. I have this weird, irrational fear that I'll get home and find that my testicles have their own facebook profile.

Anyway, no matter how bad your Friday the 13th is...at least you're not having someone take a scalpel to your wedding tackle.

Very Brave

2011-04-23T17:55:00.002-04:00

Okay, right now I'm sitting on the couch while my Dad and Sunny are watching one of those celebrity talk shows.

Answer me a question: Why in the blue fuck do people applaud ex-addicts and call them 'brave' or 'heroic' for going to rehab? It's not an achievement to get off drugs or to beat alcoholism...it's a failure to start that shit in the first place.

You're not supposed to do drugs or abuse alcohol. You should be ashamed of starting, not proud of yourself for stopping.

If you spend twenty years punching babies for fun, you wouldn't expect to be congratulated for stopping, would you?

I don't give a shit if you're seven years sober, or have stopped gambling the rent money or stopped cheating on your wife. The achievement is not doing that shit in the first place.

Counter-Productive

2011-04-13T19:43:00.000-04:00

I heard today that there’s a postal strike scheduled for next week.

Errrr, guys? I think that this could be the most counter-productive thing you’ve ever done.

I hate to be the ones to break this to you, but you’re part of a completely obsolete industry. If it wasn’t for taxpayer subsidies, the Post Office would have gone belly up around ten years ago.

In 2011, the average person has a choice. They can write an email, which is completely free, can get anywhere in the world so close it instantly that it makes no difference, and if it does get lost en route (which is incredibly rare), it’s a couple of mouse clicks to send it again.

Or…they can pay for paper and an envelope, write out their message which takes a hundred times longer and then pay someone to get it to its destination which takes anywhere from a couple of days to a couple of weeks. If it gets lost (which is relatively common), you don’t get your money back and it’s just tough shit.

…as I’ve said before, when you pay someone to deliver a letter and they ask you for extra money to make sure it gets there, or so they’ll reimburse you if they fuck up…something is completely wrong.

The worst part is that the only thing keeping the post office alive today is junk mail…which makes up around 80% of all traditional mail.

Think about what a complete and total waste that is:

First of all, someone destroys a fuck ton of trees to make all that paper…then someone else wastes a ton of energy and resources printing all this junk mail…then the post office burns a ton of fuel and creates a ton of pollution to deliver it to people who immediately drop it into the trash without a glance…and from there it’s straight to the landfill.

Of course, this is where someone points out that email is impersonal and sometimes it’s oh so very nice to receive an actual, real letter…something that someone has held in their hands.

My answer to that is: Fedex, UPS or some other package delivery company. They have a small advantage in that they’re far more reliable, faster and don’t require a constant influc of taxpayer cash to keep the lights on.

Basically, guys, what I’m saying is that when you go on strike, you’re not denying the country an essential service to show just how valuable you are and how lost we’d be without you… you’re showing the country just how superfluous you are. In 2011, no one needs to receive a paper bill or mail a check, we can do all that immediately, for free, online.

I, for one, am looking forward to the postal strike…a day without having to chuck out a pile of junk mail sounds like a real positive to me.

Diabetes and Suits

2011-04-08T10:22:00.001-04:00

Well, it turns out that the diet and exercise has paid off.

Last Monday I went to the doctor’s office to get some bloodwork done to check on my diabetes…and it turns out that I don’t have diabetes any more. After all the work I put into getting in shape, I was half expecting them to say I didn’t need meds anymore and could control it with diet and exercise… but this was way better than expected.

I can actually have orange juice with breakfast now! I bloody love orange juice but had to avoid it like the plague because it was so high in fructose.

Anyway, I don’t think the ‘all clear’ will actually change many of my habits. One of the things about having diabetes is that you get a crash course in just how much sugar and calories is in everything. Just by swapping regular soda for diet and swapping sugar for splenda in tea and coffee, I managed to cut nearly 700 calories from my daily intake.

Yes, I no longer have diabetes…but I’m still a bit of a fat bastard.

In fact, I absolutely fucking hate my body shape.

Shortly after getting back to the UK, I went to buy a suit for job interviews, etc… and quickly discovered nothing ‘off the peg’ would fit me… and not just because I’m a bit fat.

For example, to get a suit jacket that fits my shoulders and arms, I had to special order a jacket to fit a 52” chest (the largest size most stores stock is 48”)… but while that fits my shoulders and arms perfectly, the ‘gut’ of the jacket is just way too big. Put simply, it turns out that people who make suits expect people with 52” chests to have at least 50” waists.

The trousers aren’t that easy to get either. I essentially have a choice: I can buy a pair of pants that are way too tight around my legs but fit my waist perfectly…or trousers that fit my legs perfectly, but are about 4” too big around the waist.

Long story short, no matter what I do, I always look like a kid who borrowed his dad’s suit.

Oh well, at least I can drink orange juice again.

Good News / Bad News

2011-04-01T21:55:00.001-04:00

Last night, for the first time in a couple of months, I decided to jump online and check the sales figures for my book.

I’ll admit it, I giggled like a schoolgirl. There’s been a bit of a run over the last month or so… I’m not going to talk actual figures, but I sold more copies yesterday that I did over the entire first month it was available.

To be completely honest, I’m still not even approaching anything close to ‘best seller’ figures…but the book is performing way beyond my expectations, especially considering Restless Dead is an independently published book that had a marketing budget of zero.

Of course, with the good comes a bit of bad. I was wondering what had caused the sudden spike in interest, so I googled myself to see if I’d been mentioned somewhere.

I found a very nice review on Amazon, another good one on Goodreads.com and a couple of other good mentions on various sites and forums.

On the other hand, I also found out that the PDF copy has found its way to a couple of illegal download sites.

To be completely honest, I’m not really all that concerned about the illegal copies. In fact, I can probably thank the illegal downloads for the sudden interest and extra sales.

Don’t get me wrong, the illegal downloads certainly don’t have my ‘blessing’… I spent hundreds of hours writing The Restless Dead and, weirdly, I’d much prefer that people, you know, pay me for my work…but I’m pragmatic enough to know there’s very little I can do about it, so I might as well sit back and enjoy the free marketing.

However, the part I really wasn’t happy about was when I discovered a homebrew website that was offering a slew of independent books (including mine) for ridiculously inflated prices. For example, my book was on sale there for $29.99….$17 higher than the list price.

In case you don’t see the scam, this guy has basically set himself up as an unauthorized middle man. You order a copy of my book from him, he then orders it from Amazon or Createspace and sends it to you…pocketing the $17 difference. I still only get my regular royalty payment and you pay over twice the list price.

Douchbag.

Long story short, Amazon and Createspace are the only authorized retailers for The Restless Dead. If you buy it from anywhere else (apart from legitimate used book sites), you’re getting ripped off.

Anyway, I’d just like to thank anyone who’s bought a copy for their continued support…and if you really liked it, do me a favor and tell a friend or stop by Amazon.com and leave a rating or a review. I’d really appreciate it.

This Is What You're Arguing Against

2011-03-29T22:07:00.000-04:00

Before I moved to the US seven years ago, I really didn’t have much experience with the health care system here in the UK. In my entire life, I’d only needed to see a Doctor a handful of times…once for a bad case of the flu when I was about ten, and once more for a bad chest infection shortly before I left for the US.

Well, shortly after getting back, I went to the Pharmacy with my parents so my dad could get some cough medicine. While I was there I noticed a sign on the wall, it said:

Medications not covered by the NHS are subject to a charge of 7.50

My eyes just about popped out of my head.

“Dad?” I said. “Does that mean all medications, no matter what they are, cost 7.50?”

“Yeah,” he said, looking at me like I’d grown an extra head.

“I know,” said my Mum. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? It’s just gone up again.”

Ridiculous is right…ridiculous that everyone thinks it’s expensive. My diabetes meds cost nearly a hundred bucks a month, and just one of Sunny’s medications, despite the fact she had decent insurance, cost nearly $500 a month.

This was when my mum pointed out that you can also get a special deal, purchasing NHS vouchers that half the price…and that a lot of medications are completely free anyway.

Thinking about this, I remembered the broadcasts by the big pharmaceutical companies back in the States that held up the NHS as a ‘horror story’ of how bad things will be if ‘Obamacare’ came into being.

Yeah, it’s a real fucking nightmare. If I get sick over here, I can go see a Doctor for free. If I break a leg, I can go to the ER for free. If I need to be taken there by ambulance, it’s free. If I need to be airlifted to a hospital on a fucking helicopter, it’s free. Any medication is either going to be free or cost me a whole seven-fifty.

Are you noticing a pattern here?

Oh, and I guarantee that the taxes we pay to fund the NHS don’t even come close to the insurance premiums the average American citizen pays for healthcare . Why? Because healthcare over here is a service and not a business. It’s about healing sick people…not making a profit. My taxes pay for materials and expertise…not to pay for some insurance executive’s third yacht.

Of course, this is when people point out that you’re doing away with ‘choice’ and you have to put up with waiting lists etc…and I’ll concede the point that waiting lists are a pain in the ass. For example, I went to register Sunny and myself with the local Doctor and we’re having to wait two weeks before we can go for our medical checkup to get registered… but on the other hand, if I got really sick tomorrow, the Doctor would see me anyway.

As for choice…well, you’re right, your choice in the UK is a little different from the choice offered in the US. For example, if I need minor surgery for a non-life threatening condition in the UK, I can go on one of the dreaded waiting lists and wait a few weeks and get it totally for free…or I can choose to pay for private insurance and go see a private doctor immediately.

That’s my choice. Pay for now or wait and get it free. Oh, and if it’s a life-threatening condition, I get seen immediately…private insurance or not.

Isn’t that just horrendous? Can you think of a worse example of commie, socialist bullshit than treating the sickest people with the most urgent need first? The American system of treating whoever has the most money first is so much better. For example, when I discovered I had diabetes and woke up three quarters blind, I had the far more reasonable choice of coming up with $800 to see a doctor or… well… I could do nothing and die.

I mean, come on…what’s really more important? A person’s life? or making a fuck-ton of cash? It’s not like the Doctors don’t earn that fee.

I mean, the ER Doctor that saw me when I had strep throat spent at least 45 seconds in the room with me and the batteries for that flashlight she shone down my throat don’t come cheap. That’s worth $450, don’t you think?... and I know the wear and tear my ass caused on the waiting room chair for an hour and the electricity they used to light the room I sat in for two hours cost at least $870…so the $1400 bill I got was more than fair.

Oh, and I completely understand why they charged me $250 for the $1.50 pill they gave me. The nurse clearly walked at least a hundred yards to bring it to me.

Sarcasm aside….this is what you’re protecting when you argue against health care reform. Cheap, affordable healthcare for everyone. After all, why should you care that 50,000 people die every year from easily treatable diseases. If they got the healthcare they needed, literally hundreds of insurance execs might have to make do with six figure salaries or smaller bonuses… and only bad people are unemployed, right? Just like the entire population of Detroit.

Some issues are too complex to fit the “Capitalism Good, Socialism Bad” mindset. Capitalism is great…but not in all cases. Things like healthcare should be about healing the sick first and profits second.

Let me end with a question. If you were at a restaurant and someone started choking, would you demand they pay you a few hundred dollars before you’d consider performing the Heimlich maneuver on them?

Of course not…but that’s exactly how your healthcare system works.

A Picture's Worth a Thousand Words

2011-03-28T06:19:00.007-04:00

To Everyone Who's Been Complaining That I've
Hardly Updated Since Returning to the UK:

I'm Holding a Buzzard Named 'Brian'
Your Argument is Invalid.

Weird

2011-03-25T20:22:00.001-04:00

Well, I’ve been under a bit of a blogging black out since I arrived back in the UK, and it’s not because of a lack of things to write about, in fact, the exact opposite is true. There’s so much to write about that it’s been pretty hard to know where to start.

The main thing that’s struck me is just how surreal it is to be back. I’ve been away for roughly seven years and…well… it feels a lot like I’m stuck in a Twilight Zone episode.

You see, it feels like someone’s built a replica of my childhood home, but has got a lot of the details wrong. I walk down a street that I’ve walked down a million times…but now the post office is on the wrong side of the street, there’s a carpet store where the video rental place used to be, the busses are the wrong color and there’s a young family living next door instead of the old lady who lived there for as long as I can remember.

It’s really strange, it’s my home town, but the same time, it isn’t…it’s more like a version of my home town. I keep expecting a façade to fall down and to find people with clip-boards behind it taking notes about how I’m reacting.

What makes it infinitely weirder is Sunny’s presence. Not only is it a major case of worlds colliding, a lot of things are completely new to her… and seeing everything through her eyes is just plain strange. You grow up accepting certain things as completely normal and you only notice how weird things are when someone from outside points them out to you.

Back in the UK

2011-03-14T09:51:00.003-04:00

Well, we've been back in the UK for a few days now and we're starting to settle in.

I've been meaning to write a blog post about the move, but there's just been so much going on and it's been so overwhelming, that it's been difficult even to know when to start.

The flight was a little bit of adventure. Our first flight from Greenville to Philly was about 30 minutes late taking off, and with only a 90 minute layover, I was bricking it as to whether we'd make our connecting flight.

As it was, I thought we'd timed it perfectly. We arrived at the gate just as they announced boarding. I thought it was awesome... no waiting around, just straight off one plane and only to the other.

... we ended up stuck on the tarmac for nearly an hour and a half. The plane backed away from the gate, turned towards the runway...then went right back to the gate. 15 minutes later the door opens and two TSA agents get on and escort some guy off...then we had to wait the better part of two hours for them to find the guy's luggage and take it off the plane.

Worst part? They wouldn't tell us who the guy was or why he'd been kicked off the flight (although knowing the TSA, he probably just had the word 'gun' in his name somewhere.)

Anyway, I'll probably write more later when we get properly settled and I stop feeling like I'm going to wake up any minute and find myself back in the states.

This Old House...

2011-03-08T02:41:00.000-05:00

If you had asked me a month ago if I was going to miss our house when we moved to England, I would have laughed in your face. It’s been a running joke since we’ve lived here that what it really needs to set it right is about ten gallons of gasoline and a match.

This place is essentially Sunny’s parents’ Guest House. Over the past few decades it’s served as a ‘stop-gap’ home for various family members when they found themselves in ‘transitional’ periods of their lives.

That’s a bad thing for a house, because no-one who’s ever lived here (ourselves included) has planned to stay for more than six months…and with that mentality, the upkeep and maintenance was always performed on a ‘that’ll do’ basis.

If you’re only planning on staying for six months and money is tight, when the roof starts to leak, do you spend five grand on getting it professionally replaced? Or do you patch the hole with a twenty dollar bucket of sealant? If a pipe bursts, do you call a plumber to solder in some new copper pipe? Or do you just fix it yourself with a bit of PVC that will last until you move out?

In our case, this was especially bad because, from the day we moved in, we knew the place was going to be demolished when we moved out because Sunny’s mom wanted to build something else back here. There was just no point in sinking any real money into a house that was going to be torn down…especially when we were only going to be here ‘six months’.

In short, I really hated this house. It was a wreck and it felt like a constant reminder and a monument to my inability to find a job. For the seven years I’ve lived here, it’s caused me nothing but stress and I’ve daydreamed every day about the day I’d finally get to move out.

However, with today being the last full day I’ll ever spend under this roof…it suddenly struck me how much I’m going to miss the place.

Sure, I remember freaking out the third time the bedroom roof started to leak directly above the bed. I remember staring in disbelief at the brass shrapnel posing as valve heads I took off the kitchen faucets. I remember the all too common sinking feeling when I got into the crawlspace and discovered the 70’s era water heater had been leaking water for what looked like months…completely destroying the flooring underneath it…or when I discovered the pipe feeding the shower sprung a leak because someone in the past had tried to mate PVC pipe to copper.

But…and this is a big but, this place may be a wreck…but it’s also filled to the brim with happy memories.

It was my first place away from my parents’ home. The first place where I got to set my own rules. It’s the place I spent my first day as a married man.

The thing is, now that I’m leaving, I look at this place and I don’t remember the leaking roof and the bad plumbing…I remember all the good times we’ve had here; the number of times Sunny and I have talked and laughed in this living room. Having the entire family around the big dining room table at my first ever Thanksgiving. Unwrapping presents on our first Christmas together… or setting off fireworks in the yard on the 4^th of July.

When we decided to move, I told Sunny that my only regret about leaving and going back to England was that I wouldn’t be here to see this place torn down… now, when I think of this place standing empty and the idea that after Wednesday, I’ll never step foot in this house again…it honestly makes me sad.

This house is a wreck…but some of the best times in my life have taken place under this roof.

Yeah, I hated it….but I’m really going to miss it.

Countdown

2011-03-08T00:31:00.000-05:00

41 hours, 4 minutes and 27 seconds....

AAAAAAAAAAaaaaAAAAAAAAaaaaaAAAAAA!

Farce sale

2011-03-05T16:27:00.000-05:00

Two weeks ago, when Sunny left her job and we started working on the house, we realized just how much work we had to do to get ready for the move… so we had to change our plans regarding selling our stuff.

The original plan was to have a yard sale last weekend, and take whatever we didn’t manage to sell to the local flea-market this weekend.

Instead, realizing we’d never get everything packed up and ready in time, we decided to push back the yard sale until today, and forgo the flea-market all together, deciding instead to just hold a two-day yard sale if needed.

Did I mention we fly this coming Wednesday? It was make or break time.

Well, a few days ago we saw the weather forecast and it wasn’t too bad. Today was supposed to be cloudy with a ten percent chance of rain, and tomorrow was a sixty percent chance of rain, but it was supposed to be scattered showers.

Things did not go according to plan.

First of all, for some ungodly reason, Sunny decided to advertise the yard sale as starting at 8am. This is way too early, at least for me… but especially when you consider the fact that we were up working on getting everything boxed up until 2.30am. Given that I actually got to sleep at about five this morning, getting out of bed at seven wasn’t the most pleasant thing I’ve ever done.

It was even more unpleasant when I opened the front door at 7am and saw that it was absolutely pissing it down.

At first we thought we had it handled. My step daughter and her boyfriend were coming over to help out, and knowing there was a possibility of rain, they brought two large screen rooms…basically large 8x8 tents with screen mesh walls that an adult can easily stand up in.

So we set it up so the smaller things were in the screen rooms set up in front of the house and we took pictures of the large pieces of furniture so we didn’t have to bring them outside in the rain. The idea was that we could show the pictures and if anyone was interested we could bring them into the actual house to show the items.

Great, right?

Well, we quickly discovered that while the screen rooms are great for providing shade on a hot day, they weren’t quite as good at keeping the rain off. They just weren’t waterproof. Everything was quickly getting soaked to the point where we had to cover everything with trash bags to stop everything from getting soaked.

Given the weather I was amazed when the first person showed up.

He had a quick skim through the things we had out and asked about furniture. I pulled out the pictures and he looked at me like I’d just grown an extra head. It became apparent quickly that he thought we were running some sort of scam.

Of course I explained that if he saw anything he was interested in, I’d take him straight in the house, show him the actual item and help him load it on his truck right then and there. Somehow this still didn’t convince him and he left in a huff.

Basically, we spent five hours standing in the rain watching everything get soaked and by the time it was over, we’d had the grand total of five customers, only two of which bought anything, and we made the grand total of sixty-five dollars.

The best part is that one of the items sold was Sunny’s China Hutch, and because the people who bought it couldn’t fit it into their car, after two hours sleep, we can’t even take a nap because we have to wait for them to come pick it up.

Oh…and our house it at the bottom of a hill down a dirt road at the back of the property…a dirt road that turns into mud and gets slick as hell when it rains heavily.

Whatever vehicle they arrive in the pick up the hutch…I hope it’s four wheel drive.

One last thing: Checking the forecast today, tomorrow we’re meant to get between four and six inches of rain. Our two day yard sale? Yeah…not happening.

...

2011-03-02T03:16:00.001-05:00

Today, I overheard someone point out that Elvis Presley only got a ‘C’ in high school music class.

I hate these so called ‘facts’. For one, the vast majority of them just aren’t true. For example the popular belief that Einstein failed high school math simply isn’t true.

But, for me, the worst thing is that the people who like to spout these things are really saying “Everyone says I suck at (activity), but everyone said (famous successful person) sucked at it too…so I’m just like them and the reason everyone says I suck is because they’re either jealous or just don’t ‘get’ me.”

They forget one thing. The people these facts are usually about are legends who were way ahead of their time. For example, people like Elvis or The Beatles or Einstein were geniuses. They broke new ground and did things no one had ever done before. They were one-in-a-million people. They also sucked when they were starting out.

Chances are, if someone tells you your guitar playing sounds like a cat with a sewn up asshole, or your painting looks like a clown vomited on the canvas... you probably suck. It’s not that you’re ahead of your time, or that people don’t ‘get’ you…it’s that you suck at whatever you’re trying.

Now, I know that this all sounds very cynical, and I’m not sure who this post is actually for because everyone who thinks they’re ‘too awesome to be understood’ will probably agree with everything I’m saying, but also believe that none of what I’m saying actually applies to them: Their friend who sucks at drawing, but tells everyone that they just don’t get ‘his style’ actually sucks…but the stuff they create is genius work that’s just way ahead of its time.

Let me give everyone a bit of advice:

Accept that you suck.

Here’s the thing. Once you accept that you suck, once you understand your work in any field could do with a lot improvement…you’ll actually start to get better.

For example, a few years ago I started sketching on a regular basis. I thought I was really, really good. In fact, I thought I was so good that I posted some work online in an art forum.

Nearly everyone in that forum told me I sucked. Maybe not in those exact words (although some absolutely did), but a good few people told me why my work sucked, pointed out errors, gave me links to examples and tutorials.

I accepted that I sucked at drawing and set out to get better. A few years on, my artwork still sucks…but it sucks a lot less. In fact, it sucked so much less that, last year, someone on eBay was willing to pay me $75 for one of my ink drawings.

But I know, that in the grand scheme of things, my work still sucks, that when held up next to the work of the artists I admire, it’s not good enough.

…and because I accept it’s not good enough, because I accept that I’m a novice artist, because I accept that I suck… I know that by this time next year, my artwork will suck even less.

Now let me give you another example.

I went all the way through school with a kid who I won’t name to protect the ignorant. At age 10, he was pretty good at cartooning, and decided then and there that he was the greatest artist who ever lived. If anyone, including art teachers, critiqued his work with anything less than abject praise, he would flip out. He’d tell them that they didn’t understand his ‘style’, that they didn’t ‘get it’…and point out that people said that Picasso’s work was crap or that no-one liked Van Gogh’s paintings either.

So by the time he left high school at 16, his artwork looked exactly the same as it did when he was 10. He was also outraged when he couldn’t get into Art School because he didn’t have the grades and no colleges thought his work was high enough standard to accept him.

Let me put it another way:

Stop using excuses, accept that you suck and there’s a very good chance that you’ll eventually improve enough to where you don’t suck.

Or, keep telling yourself that people don’t understand you, don’t get you or don’t understand your style and suck for the rest of your life, getting bitter because no-one understands your genius.

Here’s the truth:

The first time you try anything you’re going to suck at it. It’s inevitable and unavoidable. Accept it, improve and move on.

The day you decide your work is flawless is the day you stop getting any better.

Craigslist is for assholes.

2011-02-27T07:58:00.001-05:00

So with our move rapidly approaching we’re scrambling to sell everything we’re not bringing with us.

My step-daughter was supposed to be buying our TV from us…but a few days ago, when she found out her car needed a new transmission, she let us know she couldn’t afford it any more.

So, with less than two weeks to go before we move, I bit the bullet and put in on Cragislist.

When will I ever learn? Craigslist isn’t populated by people who want to buy things…it’s populated by mental patients and people who can’t tie their own shoelaces without losing a finger.

Let me explain some things:

Our TV is in absolutely perfect condition. There’s not so much as a scratch on the casing. It’s even still under warranty.

To buy the same model TV at retail would cost you $350 plus tax. However, because time is so short and we really need to sell it, I put it up on Craigslist at the ‘family price’ I was going to sell it to my stepdaughter for, $250… and I’m even including the $50 HDMI cable we had to buy separately.

For those keeping score, that’s a value of $400 for $250. That’s a great deal, right?

Well, you’d think so, wouldn’t you?

The day after placing the ad, I get a phonecall.

He asks if the TV is still for sale. I say yes. He asks me what brand and size it is. I tell him that all the details are right there in the ad, but explain everything again anyway. He asks how much I want for it. I explain that that’s also in the ad, but tell him again that I want $250. He hums and haws and asks if I can go any lower. I explain that the TV is in perfect condition, still under warranty, retails for $350 and that I’m also including the $50 cable in the asking price.

He hums and haws some more.

Knowing that if I can’t get it sold I’ll end up having to take it to the pawn shop and get offered fifty bucks for it, I reluctantly agree to go down to $230. I make it clear that $230 is my absolute rock-bottom price, that I can’t go any lower, and that if he spends an hour on Craiglist (like I did), he won’t find a better deal…but if he doesn’t believe me, he’s welcome to try and call me back.

So after another five minutes of him humming and hawing and asking me the same goddamn questions over and over, he finally arranges to come over and look it the next day.

Now, as you know, we’re in the middle of a big fucking move. We have places to go, people to see and shit to arrange…however, to work around this ass-hat’s schedule, we end up cancelling our plans and staying in to wait for him.

The next day, the phone rings about an hour after he’s due to turn up. I’m expecting to hear that he can’t find the house, but instead he tells me something about not being able to get a ride, so can he come tomorrow instead? I tell him okay, but that we have plans, so he’ll have to turn up no later than 3pm.

He turns up a four thirty. I already feel like telling him to fuck right off, but I need to get the TV sold, so I let him into the house, show him the TV and tune it to an HD channel.

Now, I don’t want to blow my own horn, but regular readers will know I’m a huge gadget geek. I always do ridiculous amounts of research before buying any sort of technology…and I picked out this TV simply because it had, by far, the best picture in the price range. I also spent more hours than I care to mention fine-tuning the TV’s settings to get the best possible picture. That includes using a special DVD with various test patterns to make sure everything is absolutely spot on. Do you know the exact hex-code of the color your TV displays when it tries to produce pure white? Because I do.

Long story short, the TV’s in perfect condition and the picture is nothing short of fucking gorgeous.

He stares at the TV and hums and haws some more. He asks again how much I want for it. I tell him again that I said I wanted $250, but as I told him on the phone, I’d be willing to go down to $230. I point out that he can see the TV’s in perfect condition, how much it costs at retail, blah, blah, blah.

He stands there, staring at the TV, working his face in a way that made him look like he’d just shit his pants or was trying to hold in a fart. Finally, to break the silence after five solid minutes of this, I say:

“Errr, so, do you want to buy it or not?”

He hums and haws for another five minutes, still looking like he’s shit his pants, and says “Well…Err, I’ve actually got another one to look at today, so I’ll go look at that and tell you what I’ve decided tomorrow.”

What…the…fuck?

Look, dude. It’s fucking TV. Not only does the ad explain exactly what it is, I explained it to you three fucking times. I even included a link in the ad to the same model on the Best Buy website. I told you how much I wanted for it. Then, after making me stay home for two days straight when I have shit to do, and after turning up an hour late when you finally did turn up…you see it’s exactly as described in the ad…and you’re not going to fucking buy it?

You knew exactly what it was. You knew exactly what I was asking for it. What did you expect?

Did you get mixed up about what a TV actually was and you were really trying to buy a microwave? Did you get inches mixed up with feet and thought it would be the size of my fucking wall? Did you think it would come on a platinum platter held aloft by virgins?

It’s a fucking TV…so why the fuck did you dick me around for two days and come to my house if you weren’t going to buy it? I could understand if it wasn’t what I described, or the picture was fuzzy or the case was cracked…but it wasn’t.

Fucking time wasters.

Stupid car...

2011-02-21T21:17:00.003-05:00

So, today, Sunny and I were debating on whether to get our car's cracked headlight lens fixed before we try to sell it.

It was going to be expensive, and he car's not worth much anyway, so I had a better idea.

As Jamie Hyneman once said: "When in doubt...C4."

My Missus is Weird

2011-02-17T13:40:00.000-05:00

This morning, I got out of bed, showered, got dressed and was just sitting down at the computer to check my email when Sunny walked into the living room.

“You know,” Sunny said, “we’re moving at exactly the right time.”

“Why’s that?” I asked.

“You know the house at the top of the road?” she replied. “They’re tearing that down and building an auto shop, which means if we weren’t moving, we’d have a few weeks of construction to listen to… and then we’d have cars driving up and down all the time.”

My missus is weird.

You see, right now, we live at the back end of her mom’s property, a good quarter mile from the road and where this new auto shop is going to be. On the other hand, there’s a railroad less than 150 yards from our front door that crosses the back of the property.

Oh, and there’s a crossing about a half mile up the track, which means the trains blow their whistles as they pass the house.

So construction work and more traffic over a quarter mile from the house is a big deal…but the trains that almost make the house shake as they blow their whistles at 3am don’t bother her. In fact, that’s one of the things Sunny has said she’s actually going to miss when we move. She grew up on this property, and has somehow never managed to live out of earshot of the train tracks, so she’s going to ‘miss the trains’.

I just can’t get my head around anyone being anything other than delighted to finally move to somewhere where there’s not a 150db whistle every couple of hours.

I wonder if she’d miss it if I screamed at the top of my voice every two hours for a year or so, then stopped doing it.