The Move Pt 3: Nomenclature

Richard lay splayed out across the couch in nothing but his boxer shorts. And why shouldn't he? For these were no ordinary pair of boxer shorts. No, these were the sort of high-end quality boxer shorts you would expect to see on movie-stars or male models... not that one would of course be in a position to witness such a thing; but you could imagine that if you were to see a famous actor remove his trousers, then these would be the boxer shorts he would be wearing underneath.
You could always tell these boxer shorts apart from the more common type of underwear, due to the designer's name being written across the elasticated waist band at the top. These therefore encouraged wearers of said undergarments to don a pair of 'low-rise' or 'hipster' jeans that would fall just below the waist thus revealing the designer's name for the world to see.
For Richard this was a symbol of status. He thought to himself how unfortunate were those people who were ashamed to display their underwear because they were 'tacky', for lack of a better word. Boxers bought from Top Man, Burtons, or God forbid... H&M. No, it was certainly for the best that they kept their ghastly underwear well and truly hidden from his line of sight.

Richard was currently enjoying another well deserved day off at the expense of his ever dutiful girlfriend, Rachael. Since meeting Rachael, Richard had "lost" his job and become reliant on her good nature and incredible good fortune, for you see, Rachael, unlike many other twenty-something's in the City of London, owned her own flat in that increasingly desirable hotbed of wealth that was West Hampstead. But she did not pay for this, not a single penny. It was instead left to her by her late grandmother, Ms. Dorothy Burbridge the Third. Why anyone would name their child Dorothy was beyond Richard, but to name three children Dorothy was madness. There was of course a perfectly reasonable explanation for this bizarre occurrence that Rachael felt was worth wasting Richard's time over:

The late Mr. Burbridge, great grandfather to Rachael, was overjoyed that his wife was expecting a child. In those days one did not know if one was to give birth to a boy or a girl, so names had been chosen for both. If it was a boy, he would be a called George: A strong English name. If it was to be a girl, it would be Dorothy.
When the baby was due to be born, the housekeeper Ethel, ran to Mr. Burbridge informing him that his wife would very much like his presence in the birthing room. Mr. Burbridge, being the ever doting husband that he was, could never refuse a request from his wife, and was up there in a flash!
A short while later, the cries of a baby could be heard, and the doctor proudly announced "It's a girl!", to which Mr. Burbridge happily responded "And she shall be named Dorothy". All in all, it had been rather painless experience for poor Mr. Burbridge, who was not sure he could ever look at his wife in the same way again, for you must remember that during these times, the husband would always be kept away from the spectacle of child birth, preferring of course to be waiting outside, cigar in hand.
Feeling that his duty was done, Mr. Burbridge was on his way out when the doctor called him back.
"We're not done here I'm afraid Sir."
"What the devil do you mean, not done? If there's anything to be signed, my house keeper Ethel can bring it to my study." Mr. Burbridge snapped.
"You misunderstand me Sir. What I mean to say is, there's another one." The doctor explained.
"Another one?"
"Yes Sir. Another child."

As you can imagine, Mr. Burbridge felt rather dizzy at this news. He dreaded to think how his poor wife must have felt lying in that bed, her face and body covered in sweat, having been awake for countless hours in pain. Maintaining a stiff upper lip, Mr. Burbridge turned back to the bed and remained by his wife's side.
A short while later, the doctor produced another baby girl.
"You're not hiding any more in there are you my dear?" Mr. Burbridge said jokingly to his wife.
"Actually..." The doctor's voice trailed off as he ducked under the sheets to retrieve yet another child.
This was all too much for Mr. Burbridge who was starting to feel rather faint.
"It's another girl... three girls, all identical. Congratulations Sir." The doctor said with pride, as though he had given birth to them himself.
Mrs. Burbridge had now collapsed into an unsightly heap upon the bed and Mr. Burbridge could barely speak for shock had taken him.
"What will you name them Sir?" Ethel asked excitedly, to which a dazed Mr. Burbridge could only stammer "Dorothy... Dorothy..." before falling to the floor.
And so it came to be that the Burbridges gave birth to three girls, all named Dorothy, the youngest of whom, Dorothy Burbridge the Third would grow to be the grandmother of Richard's latest girlfriend, Rachael Freeman.

Nomenclature aside, Richard felt he had done fairly well obtaining Rachael. With Rachael, he didn't need to have a job. She may not have had the highest paid position in the world, but not having to pay rent meant that she had a lot of money to put aside each month... money that could be spent on him. And why shouldn't it be? After all, in the old days a man would work and the woman would stay at home. He would bring in the money, and she would spend it. When the credit card was invented, many men were unable to keep up with the debts their wives brought upon them. So why should Richard not enjoy that which women had enjoyed for many years. Let his partner work, and let him spend the money. Women were always banging on about equality, well here you go! Let it never be said that Richard Kingly was not a supporter of the Women's Rights.

After all said and done, the truth is, Rachael was lucky to be with him. Richard knew he was quite the catch. Girls had a habit of falling in love with him. He was certainly not lacking in the aesthetic department; he kept his body in good shape; he read the daily free paper and picked up enough titbits of information to hold a conversation about almost anything; and most importantly, he oozed confidence. "If there's one thing a woman loves," his father explained to Richard one day "it's confidence in a man", and this was a lesson he had ingrained into his very being; one that had not let him down since. It was how he had "won" Rachael. Well, he knew who the real prize was in the relationship... and it wasn't Rachael. She was nice enough, and certainly not painful to look at; but Richard was certain that if it wasn't for the money, their relationship would have ended after a series of one-night-stands.
Obviously no money comes for free, and Rachael was nothing short of a slave driver. Her current focus was on making sure Richard found a job, to which end she had entrusted him the use of her laptop during the day. Richard had no intention of looking for a job, but he had to at least make it seem as though he were trying, in order to placate Rachael. He would say he had spent all day searching and applying, but there was simply nothing out there. No one wanted to hire someone who was made redundant from his last job. Another white lie of course. Richard was not made redundant, but instead chose to leave when he felt that his relationship with Rachael was concrete enough that he would be able to move in with her. He said temporarily at first, obviously, but with no intention of leaving any time soon. Now, whenever she would give him a hard time about job applications he would give her a smouldering look and say "Of course... it's easy for you baby. You've never lost a job before. You're lucky that your company is safe during these troubled times. I hope you never have to experience what I did..." and so on, until she would apologise in tears and kiss him dearly. Game, set, and match: Richard.

Richard was now sitting in front of the television with the laptop in tow. Neither the channel on the television, nor the laptop were displaying anything to do with job hunting, but instead depicted scenes that were certainly not suitable for anyone below the age of consent.
'I know what...' thought Richard to himself, 'I'll throw her bone. Let her know I'm thinking of her. Women love that.' Richard then reached for his mobile phone and sent Rachael a text message of an... adult nature.
No response. That was certainly strange Richard thought. Rachael usually replied instantly to his messages. He waited a short while and tried again. This time the response was rapid:
"Go look for work you naughty boy ;) I have a meeting. I'll see you soon xxxxxx".
'The nerve!' Richard was livid. 'How dare she dismiss me like that?'. Well, that was that. Richard had tried to be nice. He had given her a chance, but if she wasn't interested, then he would simply have to go elsewhere. It was then that he remembered the rather attractive barista who worked at the coffee shop at the end of the road. He had seen her admiring him from behind trays of muffins. Surely she would be getting out of work soon. There was only one way to find out.
Richard pulled on a pair of 'low-risers' and a tee-shirt and left the flat.

The Move Pt 2: Terms of endearment

At the same moment John Burrows, recent resident of the Finchley Road area, was pulling an envelope from his pocket; Rachael Freeman was sat at her desk sighing as she stared out of the window admiring the beauty of the London summer.
It was not that Rachael didn't have any work to do, but she needed something to take her mind off the heat. For you see, during the recent spate of hot weather, the air-conditioning within the entire building had suffered what the building officials referred to as "minor heatstroke", and would therefore be out of operation for a few days. The hot weather had of course taken its toll on productivity, with many barely able to keep awake in the heat. Rachael felt that in these hot times one needed a suitable distraction, and right now this distraction came in the form of the rather tasty gardener tending to the roof garden of the adjacent building. She was not alone however, for news of the view had spread fast, and soon Rachael was joined by many of the other women, and some of the men, who also wished to enjoy the sights of summer from her window.

Rachael couldn't ponder over the mysterious stranger for too long however... it wouldn't be proper, given her recently altered relationship status. For a long time now, Rachael's Facebook profile had stated "Single", but that had all changed  last weekend when Richard had decided it was time for them to be 'official'. She had been seeing him for months of course, but there was never a contract drawn up. There were no terms of endearment being thrown about. By this she meant "boyfriend" and "girlfriend". It was strange to be referred to as a "girlfriend" when you were capable of giving birth at twelve, or less. Rachael was sure she had read somewhere in the papers about a girl, nay, woman, by the name of Lina Medina, who gave birth at five years old! 'Imagine that,' she thought to herself 'being a mum at five!' Rachael couldn't remember much about being five, but she was certain she wasn't able to look after herself at that age, let alone a baby.
But despite whether Rachael had given birth or not, at 22 she certainly had the ability to do so, and therefore felt the term 'girlfriend' was inappropriate. But then what term was appropriate? 'Lady-friend' made one think of you as a one-night stand; and 'Partner' was a term well and truly reserved for the gay community these days. There weren't really any other options out there. She might be a "significant other", although she was unsure as to how "significant" she really was to Richard at this early stage. She resolved that she would be a 'girlfriend' until she got married, and then she would be a 'wife'. She felt she shouldn't complain though. As women got older, they did all they could to look and feel young again. Even she had purchased vanishing cream lately. How could she then take offence to being called a girl. Was that not a compliment?
These thoughts quickly disappeared however when she received a text message from Richard. Rachael flushed as she read the message hoping no-one noticed her face go red. Richard could be quite saucy when he wanted, and now was such a time. But Rachael couldn't reply, not now. It was alright for him she thought, he was still out of work. Richard spent most of his days on her couch, using her laptop to look for jobs, or so he said. But after two months and no interview, Rachael began to doubt his commitment to getting back on his feet. She would have to bring it up with him at some point... she'd wait for the right time, of course.
Her phone buzzed again. Richard obviously couldn't wait. She replied:
"Go look for work you naughty boy ;) I have a meeting. I'll see you soon xxxxxx".
Pleased with the response, Rachael turned off her phone and prepared for the weekly Friday afternoon meeting. For Rachael, preparation for a meeting meant making a cup of tea and taking a notepad with which to doodle. Her position as researcher often meant her opinions were neither required, nor welcomed. But this suited her just fine. She didn't have to prepare any speeches, or handouts, or presentations. She had only to drink her tea and ponder her weekend plans. She was loathe to give up her summer view however. Sighing heavily, she took one last long look out of the window and reluctantly got up from her seat and walked into the meeting room.

About thirty minutes later, Rachael walked out of the Friday afternoon meeting more than a little dazed by the news she had just received. Apparently there were changes to be made. Changes that would affect her. God forbid Rachael should comprehend the thought processes of her superiors, and let's be honest, who did?
Rachael was sure that as far back as hierarchy had existed, there would have been countless moments where those below would not understand the decisions of those above. She could quite easily picture the cavemen of prehistoric times gathered around a stone boardroom table, discussing through a series of complex grunts, the plans for the coming winter food stores. She could see a prehistoric version of herself rolling her eyes as the tribe leader announced some newfangled process to record stock levels. Not that there was anything wrong with the old way of course, but she supposed that even upper management had to be seen to be doing something from time to time. A new change process here, or reorganisation of company structure there let staff know that behind their personal secretaries and closed doors, their bosses were still very much alive and taking a vested interest in the workings of the business... amidst all the long lunches, numerous holidays, and "business meetings" outside of the office.

In this particular instance it had just been announced that there would be a new starter joining Rachael's team. Or, more precisely, the new starter would be joining Rachael in doing her job. This meant only one thing to Rachael: that management felt she was not capable of handling her duties. Well, she wouldn't stand for it! Words would need to be had. She couldn't let the company directors think she was incapable. Donning a confident, yet grim look, Rachael marched over to the desk of her line manager with a quickly prepared mental speech.
It was very unfortunate for Rachael however, that during this time, she had inconveniently forgotten the request she had put in to her line manager not two months before requesting the need for more assistance.

The Move Pt 1: Concern with a smile

'I can't believe I actually did it!' John mused to himself as he walked down Finchley Road. 'I'm on Finchley Road... The Finchley Road, London.' He smiled as the thought fermented in his brain, and then quickly corrected himself, for this was London, and it was not proper for one to smile to oneself whilst in London. Sure, you could do that sort of thing in York, or even Manchester... perhaps even Milton Keynes. Did people even smile in Milton Keynes? What was there to smile about? Either way, John knew for certain that London did not tolerate smiling, and if he was to fit in with his new surroundings, that would be the first thing to go.

There were a number of changes that would need to made in fact, to adjust to 'London Life'.
One such thing would be the acquisition of a satchel, or 'man-bag' as they were now popularly known. He never needed one in Ely, for you see, he had a car. When you have a car, your possessions have a permanent home away from home. It's easy to transport things from one place to the next. But here in the centre of London, where cars are seldom used by anyone who are not taxi drivers or millionaires, you are a perpetual hermit, or human snail. Whether you are a female or a male, you have a bag, and in that bag you need just about everything to deal with whatever life may decide to throw at you.

To this end, he had planned a survival kit with the advice from some university friends who had previously made the move to London the year before. He had made sure to write it down on a piece of paper so he didn't forget. John now took said list out of his pocket and double checked the contents.

London Survival Kit:

1. Bag (Should be big enough to carry a small umbrella).
2. Book (in case of Tube delays - likely according to Stephen).
3. Painkillers (self-explanatory).
4. Lighter (good conversation starter).
5. Bottle opener (see above).
6. Sound isolating earphones.
And so on...

Happy with the list, John continued to walk. He noticed a Sainsbury's supermarket on the road when his dad had helped him move in. His father had offered the use of the car for John to pick up the groceries he would undoubtedly need, but John could not wait to kick start his independence. "I'm going to have to go by myself all the time and carry the shopping back by hand. There's no point starting my new life off by being spoiled."

Martin Burrows sighed, but he understood. Poor John had to live at home whilst at university, what with Cambridge being so close, and money being tight. They couldn't afford for John to live away from home, and now at 22, he deserved the freedom he so rightly deserved 4 years ago. It can't be easy for a young man to watch all his friends fly the nest at 18, move into student halls, and enjoy those late night student parties... amongst other things. But it was a side of university life John very rarely got to experience. 'Well, now is his chance to be free,' his father thought, 'and if he wants to get his own shopping, so be it. We can't mollycoddle him for life.' For a moment John's father wondered if anyone from a generation beyond his own even knew what mollycoddle even meant, let alone used it in everyday life. His daughter often told him that if he insisted in speaking such an ancient language, he should try to speak both quietly and infrequently. His wife on the other hand thought it best he didn't speak at all.

"Dad? You alright?" John was looking at his father with what could only be described as light concern... or perhaps even 'concern with a smile'. Yes, that was it. Martin looked at his sons face. John had raised an eyebrow, his eyes were wide, but there was a smile on his face. Martin knew that look. It was the same look his own mother gave to his father when he started to forget little things like where he put his keys... turning off the light... or being married - an incident that led to their inevitable divorce some months later. But Martin's mind was wandering even further away from the matter at hand.
"Yes John. I'm fine. I was just thinking about when I first moved away from home. It's an exciting time."
"I can't wait to go explore."
Martin smiled at his sons enthusiasm. "Now, before I go, there's a couple of things your mother wanted me to say."
John groaned and raised his eyes. "Seriously dad?"
Martin tried his best to look stern and nodded. "Okay. Your mother says to keep safe, don't go out too late, and call her every night so she knows you're okay." Martin could hear John gasp in shock, but continued nonetheless. "Although I think after the first couple of days, she'll be fine. I'll talk her round. Secondly, she says be careful of London girls, and I quote 'they're trouble: they'll chew you up and spit you out.'"
"But isn't mum from London?"
"Precisely." Martin responded with a chuckle. "Anyway, forget the rest. I'm sure you know to keep away from drugs, discarded needles, homeless people and murderers."
"She really said all those things?"
"I haven't even scratched the surface. She spent an hour and a half last night listing all the things you shouldn't be doing."
John sighed. This was so typical of his mother. She couldn't bring herself to let him go. John supposed all mothers were like that really although he didn't understand why. They spent nine months trying to push you away from them, and the rest of your life trying to pull you back. Perhaps it was some kind of subconscious guilt. John felt that this is something Sigmund Freud might have concluded, and quite possibly did. He was obsessed with mother-son issues to an unhealthy degree. Perhaps Freud also suffered a mother similar to John's.
Regardless of his mother's subconscious intentions, whatever they may be, he knew that certain measures needed to be taken to ensure she was not here when he moved. For example, he had deliberately packed more than he would need just so there wasn't any space left in the car for her to come along. And when his mother insisted on taking the train, John had pointed out that the weekend line works would make her otherwise hour long journey, take approximately three hours, by which time his dad would already be back home.
It wasn't easy to dissuade her, but with a little help from his father, they had managed to keep her at bay. It wasn't as though John didn't love his mother. He did in fact love her dearly. But he hated it when she mollycoddled him. As the thought crossed his mind, John wondered if anyone else in the world still used the term 'mollycoddled'.

"Right. I know you want to get on and what not. And the last thing you need is your old man getting in the way."
John began to object but Martin stopped him. "Anyway. Look, take this." Martin handed John an envelope. "Put it in your pocket and don't open it until I'm gone. Go on."
John folded the envelope and put it in his pocket as instructed.
"Okay son. I'll see you in a couple of weeks when you come home." Martin raised his hand expecting John to shake it. Martin knew that when a boy reached a certain age, he no longer hugged other males. It wasn't the proper thing to do. Unless of course one was 'that way' inclined. Although he was sure that John was not 'that way' inclined. Or was he? How much did Martin know about his son, really?
"Thanks dad." John said taking his father's hand and then pulling him and giving him a hug. If John could have seen his father's face at that moment, he would have noticed a look of concern... with a smile.

Now approaching the doors of the supermarket, John remembered the envelope given to him by his father less than an hour before. John opened the envelope hurriedly and pulled out a cheque made out in his name to the sum of five hundred pounds! John stumbled as he walked through the supermarket doors. He never thought his dad would give him such a large amount of money. John thought it typical of his father to write a cheque however. Most people these days used internet banking these days to transfer money, but his dad was of the belief that if something isn't broken, why change? And rightly so! Cheques had always worked for him in the past, and until they stopped issuing them, he would keep using them.
Pocketing the cheque he made a mental note to find a bank nearby. This time John could not stop himself smiling as he took out his phone to give his father a call.

Bedtime thoughts...

For those of you who know me, you'll know that I'm a very happy person. A day doesn't go by when I don't have a smile on my face - and that's through the good times and the bad.
Of course there some days where I may be an 8 on the happiness scale, and others when I'll be a 10 (for your information, even a 1 on the happiness scale is happy, as it's a happiness scale and doesn't include any negativity), but I will always be on some level of happy.

Tonight I'm very close to the 10 mark. I just finished watching a very feel good film, and it's really made me think about things.
I'm one extremely fortunate fellow. I've had my share of bad news over the years, but nowhere near what other people have had to go through. Perhaps this is why I remain so happy: never having to know true sadness. Perhaps one day it will come and I will discover a part of me I never knew existed.
Or maybe I'm just built this way - that no matter how bad the news is, I can always focus on the positive, or accept the reality and move on. I certainly haven't had trouble doing that in the past.
Who can say for sure? Until I'm put in that situation, I'll never know.

But, regardless of all that, I have noticed that my unwavering happiness has made me abnormally freakish in society. I often find my friends looking for any excuse to be in a bad mood. Things that would upset them do absolutely nothing to rattle me. Take the weather for example - a prime factor of mood swings here in England.
When you have a rainy day, everyone is miserable... yet, I'm ecstatic. I love the rain... as much as I love the sun, the snow, the clouds, the sky, the wind, the cold, the heat... to me, it's all the same. I don't see the point of getting upset about something you have no control over. You can cry all you want when it's a rainy day, but it's not going to change anything. It's still going to rain.
So, you can either accept it, dress appropriately and embrace that life rejuvenating precipitation; or you can sulk like a four-year old (who LOVE the rain by the way) and be depressed all day.

Is it really that strange that I want to be happy? Why is that so wrong? Why is it, that in the Western world, it is so discouraging to find someone who is happy? If you see someone happy, you just want to kill them! Why? Is it because you are not ready to take the steps in your own life to achieve happiness?

Human beings do surprise me sometimes. Most unhappiness is self-inflicted. If you don't like your job... leave. You don't like where you live... move. "Oh, but it's so haaaaaaard." PISH POSH! All it takes is the will to get up off that well cushioned rear-end of yours, and do something to better your station in life.
There are people out there who are sad for REAL reasons. Death and disease plague the world. Those are real reasons to be unhappy... not the weather... or moaning about some trivial piece of hearsay.
Maybe after you handle something really devastating, you can start to appreciate how good your life is... but why do you need to wait for something so bad to come along to make you see what you already have right now? That's such a reactive existence. Who wants to be reactive in the unfolding of their own life? That's a pretty depressing thought right there.


When you ask someone "where do you see yourself in 5 years?" Your standard response would be something like "Buying a house"; "Getting a promotion"; "Having kids"; etc...
My answer is never so specific. I simply say "Being happy". Whatever it takes, I don't care. Because that is was life is about: Being happy.
And if you are not the master/mistress of your own destiny, then you've already failed. Never leave your happiness in the hands of another person, because they can never care about you more than you should care about yourself.

I know this sounds like a motivational speech (my calling in life perhaps), but I promise you it wasn't intended to be. I'm just rambling... but I'm sure there's truth in my words. It works for me... I can't give it a better recommendation than that.

The trials and tribulations of full fat milk

When you're young, all you drink is full fat milk. Good ol' blue top.
Do you remember that fresh, creamy taste of liquid calcium rushing through your mouth ready to revitalise those aching to grow bones?
I do. I remember it like it was yesterday.

How lovely cereal used to taste when drenched in ice cold full fat milk. I could even sacrifice the sugar on my cornflakes if I was getting a taste of Ol' Blue.

But then something happened... We grew up you see... all of a sudden, blue is uncool and green is the way to go. "Semi-skimmed". What is that? I'll tell you what: It's half the taste gone.
And God forbid you had militant parents that switched you straight from blue to red top! The milk lovers nightmare... "Skimmed" milk. It's basically white water. Reminds me of a halls of residence I stayed in during the University days. Whenever we opened the hot water tap, the water would come out this whitish, milky colour. That's exactly what skimmed milk looks like. It's not real milk. It shouldn't even legally be allowed to be sold as milk.
How can people put that in their tea, let alone their cereal?!?! It's a travesty.

Why do they have to take us off the blue top? Some people say that as you grow older, you grow intolerant to it. And to that I say "NAY!" It's because you stop drinking it and switch to white coloured water that your body can't handle the pure awesomeness of full-fat milk!
The trick is to keep drinking it, man up, and your body will thank you in the end... and so will your taste buds.

Remember kids: Be cool, drink blue! Go on... make the cows happy :)

And now time for some promotional messages:

Check out this science dude waxing lyrical about full fat stuffs:

= WRONG

 = Happiness

There's something missing...

Mankind's incredible ability to demand ignorance has never ceased to amaze me. More often than not, when engaged in apparent 'intellectual' discussion with my peers, I find that others' view of the World differs greatly from my own. At first I considered that perhaps I was naive, unaware of the greater issues that surrounded me. But after time, I realised that this was not the case.

At the moment this is out of context, so let me attempt to frame my thoughts so that they resemble some form of sense:
There are have been a lot of wars over the past 10 years. Some have been going on for much longer than this time, but the significance of the events of 2001 have increased tensions beyond that of breaking point.
With the tragic events of September 11 now nearly a decade behind us, the aftermath we are seeing has been unpredictable to say the least.
If I were to tell you that there have been between 102,043 and 111.536 civilian deaths*1 due to the violence in Iraq between 2003 and now, would you believe me? These are innocent men, women, and children I'm talking about, not soldiers or suicide bombers; and this number is a result of violence from both sides.
But it's okay, because a number of people that equates to a population higher than say Burbank, CA; or Palm Bay, FL, is considered 'collateral damage' in this "War on Terror".

So where does ignorance come into this? Well, I suppose it's not so much ignorance as it is gullibility. People accept what they see because it's easier than searching for the truth. You go to work, you pick up the free paper on the Underground or Subway. It gives you some menial celebrity gossip or sporting result you can discuss with your colleagues at work. Once in a while there's a devastating shock: a terrorist attack, or an earthquake somewhere. Hundreds, thousands, maybe more have died. You feel bad and give some money to charity. The next day, there's some other celebrity gossip to take your mind away from feeling bad. Because what good comes out of feeling bad for people you don't know? It's better to think about celebrities you at least know from television or films right?

If I wanted to discuss with my friends the underlying reasons for say, the conflict in Palestine, the response I would get (and have got) is either: "I don't know enough about it to comment"; "That's too deep for this early in the morning/late in the day/or whatever time it is"; "It's not in the news, they would have told us if it was bad".
When really, all that says to me is "I don't care."

Now, this is where people are going to get really angry at me, because no one wants to admit they don't care. Most people like to think they are the pinnacle of humanity. But the truth is, it's so much easier to shut yourself off from all the bad things, and carry on living the way you do.
The best response I get from people is "Well, what do you do huh?" As if my actions should dictate their own. This is usually followed by: "Well, one person can't make a difference, so why bother?"
And there you have it. The final answer of one who has no intention of changing the way they think: "Nothing you can do will change anything, so why waste your time." It's not a question, it's a statement.

Believe me, because I know this from experience. I would much rather have throw a can in the bin than recycle it; I took no regard in animal welfare; and certainly didn't give a damn about whoever died in some war... because what could I do?

But you know what? It's not always about making a difference (although it is possible, as history has shown). Going out and learning about something doesn't make you weak, or foolish, or even idealistic. Instead it makes you break away from being one of the sheep... and believe me, society has enough of those. Hordes of zombie followers that align themselves with the right, left, or liberal way of thinking. Those who follow blindly seeking only short-term, visible benefits of what can be offered to them. Like coaxing a child into a car with candy; masses of people get into bed with politicians and religious leaders with little or no understanding of what they represent. Why do you think it's so easy for radical and fundamentalist groups to brainwash young people?
A quote from Malcolm X springs to mind: "If you don't stand for something, you will fall for anything." And that is exactly what's happening in society: Whether it be future suicide bombers, or swarms of workers heading to the office.

My problem with mankind is simple: We are lucky to be the only creatures on earth with the ability of conscious thought. Animals follow basic instinct and desire. We however, have the potential for so much more... yet we behave worse than animals at the best of times.
Mankind cannot progress with such blind faith and closed-mindedness. Sure, we can build rockets, splice genes, and invent endless gadgets - but that won't stop us bending over like fools for the next President with a twinkle in his eye.
If you think the answer is: "What difference can one person make", then you've misunderstood the question entirely.


*1 According to the Iraq Body Count

The problem with religion

I've been having a long think recently about what it is that makes people feel they hate religion.
If you mention religion to most people in today's society, they don't want to discuss it. In fact, a very common response I get from people is "...religion causes wars, I hate it." or "It's all just made up and backward."

Although I don't agree with either statement, I completely agree with the line of thinking that has brought people to this conclusion. You see, we come from a society where religion used to rule. All the laws, all the morals etc... have all come from a culture rich in religious belief. In England and America, it is the Church and Christianity who used to run society. In other countries there are other religions. Only now, in recent years, are we becoming more secular as a society. But you have to wonder: what is it that made people want to turn away from religion?

Surprisingly, I have a theory about this.
You see, during the time of the Enlightenment, there were many advances in science, things that made the average Joe on the street have to think very hard about life and the universe, and where it all came from. Now, at the time, the Church was the head of state, and so people when people had questions, they would go to the Church and ask them.
Uneducated as religious leaders were in the world of science, and so afraid to lose their hold of power on the masses, the Church regarded these scientific advancements as falsehoods and works of the devil.
So now you have an average Joe with questions, and the only place he can go to ask them is telling him to not think and instead say 50 hail Mary's for ever harbouring the notion that something might exist that the Church, in all it's infinite wisdom, had overlooked.

The real sting for organised religion came after Darwin's theory of evolution. God made Adam and Eve from clay in his own image... so how on Earth could they evolve from apes? It's sacrilege. We, as human beings are so pure and perfect... how could we come from an animal as base as an ape?

Next it was the wars. People say "religion causes wars" - well, that's a lie. People cause wars, and use whatever excuse they want to cover it up. You want land? You find a reason to make your soldiers fight for it... How about "The Barbaric Moors are living in the land of Land of Christ. They wish to defile the birthplace of our Lord. We must stop them!"... and so the Crusades began.
But what's so different now? You want oil from a country, you find an excuse to remove the current government from power and supplant it with your own. Does this excuse sound familiar: "We believe there are weapons of mass destructions in Iraq". Definitely a winning tale to get some soldiers on your side. Where's the religion there?

Whenever people say it's religion that causes war, I have to bite my tongue and avoid giving them a verbal lashing for their ignorant short-sightedness. You cannot, after all, change the world by ridiculing others directly.

Anyway, a few "religious" wars later, and it was all downhill for religion. The close-minded, power-hungry few heads of State at the time had tainted religion forever.

I don't want the whole world to start believing in God. I don't actually think such a belief in God is for everyone. All I want is for people to lay off the hate and God-bashing for a change. But to be fair, there are some religious groups that need to lay off the hate and atheist =bashing too.
Ironic really - doesn't matter what you believe, humans are all the same. We all want something to give us answers, and we protect that belief against people who speak against it. At the same time, we want others to subscribe to our way of thinking to affirm what we believe to be true: Whether you believe in God, science, nature, or all of the above.

New geeky site... for geekiness

I have recently been inspired to make a new site dedicated to nothing but being geeky. To this end, most of my new posts will be going there - so if you do regularly read this blog, please do take some time to check 8-bits in a Bite.

Thanks everyone.

Caffeine

Caffeine. It's the only thing that takes the edge off... for me that is. I can't speak for others. There's something about the smooth rich flavour of freshly ground coffee beans, mixed with just the right amount of water, at just the right temperature; that both stimulates the senses and calms the nerves.

It starts before you even drink the damn thing. It's the smell -the bait as it were. It reels you in. You can't escape -like a lamb to the slaughter, you get drawn in. Before you know it you're ordering a double espresso, knocking it back with all the air of an alcoholic... for me that is. I can't speak for others.

That said, this particular shot of espresso I'm “enjoying” right now tastes like the coffee beans were roasted in a volcano and then topped off with cat piss. I mean, how dense do you have to be to burn coffee? There's no excuse for it, not in this day and age. What with all the machines doing the work for you -you set the temperature and let technology do the rest. This is why I tend to stay away from chain coffee shops. The staff are mostly students hired off the street with no more knowledge about coffee than they have about nuclear physics or brain surgery. A real coffee shop will have a seasoned veteran behind the bar. Someone who knows the difference between Kenyan, Colombian and Peruvian coffee. When I say “Give me something with a kick”, they'll know exactly what I mean.

On this particular occasion however, I had no choice. This was the only place I could go to. I vowed before stepping in that I would order a Coke and perhaps partake in a sandwich, but as I said before -the smell was impossible to resist. Do I regret it? Yes. Would I do it again? Hell yes.

A girl sat with her boyfriend, or at least someone who appears to be her boyfriend, stares at me from across the floor. Now, when I say “stares” I mean she is staring with desire. She wants something from me, and she wants it bad. I'm sat in my seat of preference -the sofa by the front door. It affords me a view of the patrons inside, and also allows me to catch glimpses of the women passing by. Boys will be boys after all.

So why is this girl, who is clearly taken by another man, staring at me? Is it because I embody the essence of an Adonis? With chisled features and an athletes body? I wish that were the reason. It would certainly be better than the truth, well, I guess that's a matter of opinion.

I suppose it would have made sense if I said I was a product of my upbringing. My father beat my mother from as early as I could remember. And when I could talk, he used it as excuse to beat me. My parents later divorced and my mother took up with a man who felt my biological father was too soft on me. Seeing everything that went on and unable to stop it, my mother turned first to anti-depressants, which then turned to Valium, and then worse. She was either too high or too drunk to care what her new husband was doing to her son. They even kept a bed for me at the local hospital I was in and out of there so often. Even they must have known what was going on, but child services back then wasn't what it is now.

So, to escape the harsh realities of home life, I looked for trouble elsewhere, because surely no one could do worse to me than my step-father. I guess I was wrong about that.

Have you ever noticed how society is divided into two worlds. There's the world you see on the surface: the rich, the poor, the middle-class. Everyone making their way through life in their own way. Then there's the other world you read about in the newspapers, but it's so far from your life you can't believe that it exists on your doorstep. You know the world I'm talking about -the one with gangs, fights, murders, drugs, prostitution... and that's just the start. Even I don't feel comfortable thinking about kidnappings, rape, and human trafficking. This is what is now commonly known as “The underworld”.

People always think the underworld will never affect them. That they can go through life and never come in contact with it. But where do you think the prostitutes and the children come from? Sometimes the worlds cross, usually to the benefit of one and the detriment of the other. Let me tell you something else, it's always the underworld that benefits.

When kids run away from home, sometimes they find a hole between the worlds and slip inside. Those are the missing kids that are never recovered. The ones that fall in with a gang, or a drug lord -and that's if they're lucky. If they're really unlucky, they'll come across a pimp with clients who have a taste for young blood. But let's not talk about things like that. Not today.

I did run away from home, but I can't blame my upbringing, for you see none of it was true. My parents are happily married. My father never beat me. He's a very respectable architect who always made time for his family. My mother is a general practitioner who never forgot to pick me up from school when I was growing up. In fact, you could say I had a perfect childhood. But you can't use that story in the underworld. It just pisses people off. Most of them are there because they had no choice, and it burns them that someone with a chance threw it away to join them.

So why did I throw it all away? This perfect life? Well, you know when I told you about my parents? Well, my father's not an architect... not any more anyway. And my mother used to be nurse. Now, they're both dead. And in case you're wondering, yes it was me. Am I proud of what I did? Not really. Would I do it again? Hell yes. Why? I don't know. I just couldn't stand them, and I was always taught that if you don't like your life, don't sit and complain about it -do something about it. So I did. But then I had to run, and run I did.

Which brings me back to the girl and her boyfriend.
Why is she staring at me? Why does she want me?
Simple.
She's a junkie, and I'm her dealer.
Oh... and if you happen to read anything about a coffee shop going up in flames, it wasn't me.
Only joking, it totally was.

Remember when: A musing of fads forgotten

Remember when your [insert older relative here] told you that "fashion always goes around in circles"?
How, when baggy tie-dye t-shirts were in at one stage, they would come back again? "Don't throw that away, you'll regret it when the fashion comes back around." And you laughed at them, because you thought that no matter how stupid you were to buy and wear them in the first place, you would never make the same mistake twice... and yet everyone's wearing leggings now?!?!

But I'm not here to talk about fashion fads. What would I know about fashion? As far as I'm concerned, if it fits, I wear it. And if it doesn't, I stretch it as much as possible to make it fit.

These wise words of fashion can also be applied to the world of the geek in relation to toys that experience revivals. Some excellent examples of this are the YoYo, the Rubik's Cube, and the Space Hopper. These once loved toys of Generation X experienced an International revival toward the start of the current millenium but have somewhat dwindled since, quietly biding their time... waiting to make another widespread resurgence. And I'm sure they will when the time is right.

But this is also not what I want to discuss. The fads I'm interested in are the ones that have completely disappeared. Remembered only as a whisper, if you will, in the far reaches of the minds of the adults who had the good fortune(?) to experience these said 'one-hit-wonders'. I feel the need for a 'best-of' coming up, complete with soundtrack.
(Please open YouTube and direct yourself to 'One and Only' by the greatest one-hit-wonder of all time, Mr. Chesney Hawkes - I've only just realised how appropriated titled that track is: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y_r0oQE5jEU).

So, the Top 5 forgotten (non-fashion) fads for me:

5. Finger Skateboards:
This was thankfully one fad I NEVER got into. In the late 90's early 00's, kids were going crazy for finger skateboards... although it made no sense, because you would just control a board on wheels... with your fingers. There's no skill involved in that. The advertisements would show off how many 'tricks' you could do... but... I mean... fingers... what? ARGH!
See it in action here! AWESOME:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e9iDrebVcAM

4. Mighty Max:
One of favourite toys I ever owned. There was a girls version called Polly Pocket, and it lasted a lot longer than Mighty Max (might even still be around now), but Mighty Max was better for the simple reason that it was for BOYS! Oh yeah!
It was basically an entire game-set - that's characters, setting, and cool little trap doors and stuff - all in a handy pocket sized case. I even had the one featured in this ad:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xkrLWjNxYbY

3. Talkboy:
Anyone who watched Home Alone 2 when it came out will remember how the Talkboy was the Christmas gift that year. Sort of pointless now, what will all the computer effects you can simply apply to your voice, but in the early 90's this was our way of making prank calls and never getting caught! Trick your parents, siblings, neighbours... and even the burglars trying to break in!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hoz0vbm3Vss

2. Pogs / Tazos / Anything circular made of card:
Okay, I literally OWNED Pogs. I was undefeated champion. I had the greatest Pog collection of all time, with the best set of 'slammers' you'd ever seen - won from my unsuspecting victims. They were no match for my striking skills.
See the video for an intense Pog 'World' Championship game taking place:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BKbhUegP2Mo

1. The Tamagotchi:
Who could forget this? Bandai even keep trying to bring it out again with new features and wireless multiplayer 'fun', but it fails miserably (at least in the West). The moment you could have virtual pets on your phone, no-one needed to have a Tamagotchi... but wow, how much it was to laugh at the kid in class who forgot to turn it quiet?
I remember I wanted one so badly and Toy 'r' Us had sold out of all except the pink one. Instead of waiting for new stock, I bought the pink one so I would not be left out. Obviously, coming to school with a pink Tamagotchi caused all the other kids to make fun of me... but it was nothing compared to the amount of fun we made of the kids who didn't have one! YEAH!
I couldn't find any commercials of the original version, so here's a video of a proud owner of one! Pixel fun!
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bs0DEnKpLJE