Internet Security Bytes 20.11.13

Tonight, my mission, as I have chosen to accept it, is to rid my computer of malware and spyware.  Now, for those of you naively assuming all is well on your computer, join me in the land of paranoia and angst.  Is it really all ok? 

For a while, I have noticed that when I load Chrome, my normal homepage was missing, replaced with a search engine, MySearchDial.com.  Never heard of it either, eh?  I Googled it to see what it was and was stunned to discover it was Spyware.  Of all the indecent things to discover!  How the hell had that gotten there?  I have no idea how and am still wondering.  It turns out to be completely harmless.  Yet, I don’t want it there.  Why is it there?  How can I get rid of it? 

I browsed my way through forum and help webpage over and over again; like all good things in the world that you might not be familiar with, you can find a Youtube video to assist you in getting rid of the blighter.  Yet, even after several hours of jumping back and forth from safe mode and haphazardly deleting parts of my registry, I was no nearer to having my beloved Google Chrome homepage back.

It has been my evenings obsession.  I had run various virus searches, over and over again.  Nothing.  I uninstalled, reinstalled, deleted bookmarks, backed them up, added them, removed them.  Nothing.  And after all of this, I managed to find a wonderful website http://malwaretips.com/blogs/start-mysearchdial-removal/ that allowed me to completely remove the little shitbag from my computer forever.  I’ve added the little gem to my bookmarks, just in case this ever happens again.

I share this with you lovely people because nowadays we keep so much personal and private information on our computers, we should be very careful about what we do (and don’t) allow past our firewalls and to worm its way into our browsers. 

Its more than that though.  For me personally, I’m a control freak and like my computer and my phone a very specific way.  If I change something, it’s because I want it like that.  Some naughty piece of software changing my digital landscape without permission is not what I asked for.  There have been countless changes to Facebook over the years that have proven how resistant to change I can be.  Sometimes, when things change, it turns out to be better than it was before (the new iphone iOS for example). Other times, not so much.  In this instance, I’m more than happy to announce the return to how I want my browser to be.

As I type this, my new friend, 'Malware Bytes' (http://www.malwarebytes.org/products/malwarebytes_free/) is working its way through my computer and finding me new things to worry about.  That’s part of the bigger problem for a lot of us I think.  There is so much in this world for us to worry about.  The things we worry about the most are things like spyware, malware, identity theft and on the list goes.  The truth is that we have no idea how any of this stuff works; that’s why we’re afraid for our digital selves.  The real truth, as I see it?  There is very little difference now to how things were thirty years ago; you feel perfectly safe in your home until you’re away on holiday and your house is broken into.  The violation is no different.  It’s a strange thing to discover how much stock you really put into your digital reality, until some irritating search engine just won’t go away.  Suddenly, my paranoid digital eye is roaming far and wide.

 I currently have 17 pieces of malware, and rising. 

Image borrowed from http://main.makeuseoflimited.netdna-cdn.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/07/computer-virus.jpg

Solitude, Sociability and the Sweet Spot - 15.10.13

Going through my old book of thoughts and scribbling, I found a little entry about my desire to find solitude and that sometimes, I just need to be alone.  Other times, I find that I need to have the company of those I love.  I always think I’m the living embodiment of “Leave Me Alone, I’m Lonely” by P!nk (Edit… I like to think…). 

I was poorly in the middle of September and spent the majority of my time alone.  As an extension of that situation, most of that time was spent exclusively delving around in my mind.  I was writing more and kept realising the same thing over and over; I had somehow managed to isolate myself from those I loved.  I was keeping in touch with them; I could see that by looking at the messages in my phone or on Facebook.  Despite knowing that I am far from a fan of digital-facsimile friendships, apart from my family and housemate, I had reduced myself to nothing more or less. 

I spent so long romanticising the concept of being alone and having  time and space to myself, I had gotten what I wanted – isolation.  And I despised myself.  I was wracked with guilt.  Maybe I’d just given people the escape ladder they needed to get out of a crappy friendship with me.  I have mentioned on here before “purging” my Facebook and my life of fake friendships.  What if those I loved had thought the same of me?  Was this karma?  What’s a boy to do when the penny drops there is something wrong?  Cry all over his sister, durr!

I’m not prone to accepting people’s advice on anything.  I dispense very well, but personal adoption and application of the same, I suck at.  I truly believe – for better or worse – that I could run my loved ones lives better and more efficiently than they do.  I’m not a complete crazy – I also believe that others would do a better job with mine.  Friends and family have insights into us and our lives that we simply miss.  So what do we do?  Turn to them in an hour of need and ask for help… Which we then ignore, because we know better. 

This time, I didn't want to do that; I didn't want to carry on as I was and knew Laura would tell me what to do (No change there; she’d been doing that since we were kids!).  The difference was this time, I knew she would tell me the same thing as I was thinking.  I just needed to reach out to the people I loved and they would reach back.  She didn’t put it in such a poetic way of course.  My sister, administer of common sense, told me to get a grip and get in touch with people.  And this I did.

I’ve reconnected with people I truly love and adore.  I have an innate ability to surround myself with those I consider to be extraordinary and their presence in my life, even if only briefly, makes me feel extraordinary too.  I don’t go in for the “unique snow flake” approach to the human race.  Only some people are different.  I’m different, but not always in good ways.  The people I mean are truly wonderful, and this is a little love letter to them.  You guys rock!

But this isn’t all there is to say.  I wasn’t entirely wrong about my situation.  I was right and I do need my space and my time to myself.  After two weekends in a row being sociable, I find myself mentally exhausted.  There are other factors of course – work is far from a barrel of laughs at present and I’m cruising head long into the obligatory birthday blues.

Last year, I read ‘Quiet.  The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking’ by Susan Cain.  That book taught me an awful lot about myself.  I had never considered myself to be an introvert before and had a lot of negative assumptions about what it meant to be one.  I was wrong almost completely. The key element that I took away from the book was not that I needed a cave to live in.  I learnt that there is a balance that must be struck in life for everyone, but for introverts, they are more susceptible to ebbs and flows when the balance is off.  She refers to it as the “Sweet Spot” which is the perfect description of it.  It refers to everything across the board; the  volume of the music or the television when I’m trying to concentrate; the amount of work I need to get through when I’m feeling stressed or the lack of it when I’m bored to tears.  It also applies perfectly to being sociable.    I need to work on finding my social sweet spot; making the effort with those I love so I get to see them but also allowing myself the time I need to process and make sense of everything, drink too much tea and dance around my kitchen (If I feel the need!). 

It comes as a constant surprise, even at 26, there is still so much that to learn about how to make myself happy and content.  I know for a fact though, that I need time to think and time to talk.  As for right now, it’s time for me to cuddle up with my hot water bottle and watch Buffy the Vampire Slayer, home alone and perfectly content.

My inner comedian, doing voices and perceptions - 13.10.13

I like to think that I'm funny and that might be part of the problem.  I know my own sense of humour very well; I am a very simple creature when it comes to making me chuckle.  Innuendo, sexual humour, silliness in general and a well worded pun are almost always going to get the giggle juices flowing. 

I'm less worried these days about the voice in my head.  Having checked in with some definitely sane people to discover that they have chats with themselves in their heads as well, I don’t feel the need to be concerned about myself.  Whilst I'm conducting these internal chats, I quite often think things are funny.  It goes both ways; sometimes, I have a go at myself.  On the way to start writing this, I spilt a cup of tea on the stairs and have only just stopped telling myself what a plank I am.  But I digress.

The point is, when it comes to sharing these thoughts aloud with people, they aren't funny.  In fact, I'm often perceived as, well, odd.  That would even be kind.  I think a few of my colleagues would take the point a lot further.  The comedian Eddie Izzard will often deploy a fake notepad on the palm of his hand make a note of when he isn't amusing his audience, which I love and take as my own now.  That often gets me odd looks. 

I've always been aware of the way that people look at me.  When I was in school, I often thought the word “weirdo” or “queer” was tattooed on my forehead because it seemed to be the general consensus of total strangers and passers-by.  Things haven’t really changed much over the years, only I've become more comfortable with the situation.  Yes, I'm a little odd, and yes I like men – if you’d like to make a complaint, write any comments on the back of a self addressed envelope and then shove them up your ass.  It would be a total lie to say that I don’t care entirely.  I wish it was the case, but at heart I am a people pleaser.  I don’t want people to be made to feel uncomfortable by my off beat perspective on life and my odd sense of humour. 

But quickly, you hit an impasse.  If being myself in a very controlled and restricted environment makes people a little uncomfortable, should I moderate myself down in order to make others more comfortable?  And right there is the problem.  I ALREADY AM.  If people think I'm bad now, they should pop in my head for a little visit.  They should hear my internal monologue.  They should witness the constant parade of media clips and one liners.  Its constant.  If you imagine the inner world of Ally McBeal (circa season 1-3 before they forgot about her awesome imagination), then you’re in the right head space. 

The problem at its core ultimately is perception; I perceive myself one way and the rest of the world perceives me another.  Within that separation of perceptions, there is a whole spectrum of people – those who connect with my crazy and those who look at me like I have two heads when I turn on my Gollum voice and quote Lord of the Rings.

http://undergroundchatline.com/web_images/paddedcell.jpg

A common saying I've heard many times in my life is “It wouldn't do for us all to be the same” and the older I get the more I think that’s a giant crock of shit, particularly in the work environment.  We have dress codes and uniforms, rules and regulations over our conduct and the way we work.  Uniformity is the key to big business.  It needs to be.  Consistency is required in order for work to be productive and profitable.  Whilst I understand that, it is not my business I work for and I like to pass the day with the odd film quote, a random story about a bird flying in the house whilst I put the bins out with my house-mate and singing the same song lyric sporadically until it stops playing in my head.

The same goes for my personal life.  I can only assume one of the reasons I don’t do well at making friends is because people need to take time to realise I don’t need to be medicated or sectioned.   Whilst I might not give the most sane of first impressions, it is probably the most accurate one.  Most people are more complex and intricate than they first appear.  I'm an idealist who believes we ought to be able to be who we really are, as long as we don’t make people run to the hills or get out the tranquillisers.  If that means toning it down, I am happy to, but that’s as far as I will go.

All of that being said, I am willing to take feedback to become funnier.  It’s always awkward being the only one laughing at a joke, particularly when it’s my own.

General Ignorance, The Olympics and The Daily Misery

At the anniversary of the Olympics in London, the BBC News programme 'News Beat' disclosed statistics that were supposed to shock us as a nation; that since the Olympic Games were held here, despite the slogan "Inspire a generation", we had not rushed out in throngs to sign up for the gym.  We had not been found running up a sweat through the local park. Every item of loose fitting clothing we posses was not drenched in sweat.  I for one, and I very much doubt anyone reading this will be either, will not be shocked.

I avoid listening to and watching the news where possible.  For shame, this makes me quite ignorant of current issues in the public consciousness.  When the Jimmy Saville Scandal rocked the news, I discovered this through the most reliable of sources; hearsay.  You can tell when something is going on though.  Your phone will vibrate and some politically incorrect joke will let you know that, perhaps, you ought to engage your human-satellite dish and connect with your fellow men.  Mostly, I plod along in my life, just trying to get through.

The sad truth is that the news is a depressing enterprise.  Royal births and marriages monopolise the news when they occur and no one would ever attempt to claim that a birth or marriage is a bad thing (Amendment to previous sentence - I suppose it depends who is getting married!).  Mostly the news is engrossed in the mistakes of train drivers in Spain that resulted in mortalities, a terrible bus accident in Italy,killing more, and the emergence of the plague in America - in the squirrel population, so I don't need to be too neurotic yet.

In all honesty, what sort of a masochist wants to read or watch that?  I would be willing to put money on a bet that most people buy a newspaper in a morning out of a family-encouraged habit, and the same with watching the news.  No one really wants to get bad news.  No news is good news.  Well most of the news is definitely bad.

*Adjusts spotlight* And back to me.

I refuse to believe I am the only one suffering from ignorance based lethargy.  I can't be the only one.  We turn back to my original point.  Despite all the publicity and publications relating to the improvements in your general health and mental well being, are you a regular member of your gym?  Are you often found jogging down the local canal?  Do I see a crowd forming a disorganized queue for the tennis courts?  Do I heck!  If you ever wanted evidence that the general population of the country is lazy, you can see it several ways; important political leaflets that get thrown in to the bin, lack of attendance at polling stations, and a lack of exercise despite the Olympics coming to town.

My age old question: Am I being cynical?  No, this is me being realistic.  The general population are disinterested and lazy.  The two are probably far more connected than anyone has ever given thought.  We are all a little disconnected from each other and as a consequence, we don't engage as much with society.  Perhaps if there were nicer stories in the news... Wait, never mind.  I already stopped reading the newspaper.

The perfect silence

There is nothing more awkward than an awkward conversation, except for an awkward silence. Being face to face or surrounded by people and having nothing to say is the height of social discomfort, save only for misjudging a situation and speaking to someone when you shouldn't. There are instances few and far between when uttering a few words to a stranger in a lift, or on public transport, are permitted; grumbling about a late bus or train, "excuse me, is this yours" or even striking up a conversation at a bar with a total stranger. A Barista once struck up a conversation with me and she became one of my best friends. (If memory serves, she wanted to chat me up.   Wrong bus for her!  God Bless you Kelly - I sure do miss you)

Thanks to the printing press and modern technology, social discomfort, aside from the occasion where one might make eye contact by accident, had all but been abated! If you don't wish to be spoken to or simply want to be left alone, nothing declares it like being buried in a book or the faint hum of base from your headphones.

I'm not antisocial or even anti-socialisation - as I mentioned, one of my best friends was made through a random interaction. Some people just don't know how to read the signs. People checking tickets are exempt from this rule, but I won't pretend it doesn't piss me off when I have to stop the flow of narrative. Some people just feel the need to start talking to you, almost at random about nothing in particular with no grand point to make or information to impart. Rude!

So, in life, nothing pleases me more than the compliance to the "fuck-off-it's-been -a-shitty-day-hence-the-headphones" rule. When people do nothing except move their baggage to accommodate my desire to sit, adjust their headphones and smile, as if to say, “Don’t worry! I've had a shit day too."

Modern day friendship 28.03.13

Recently, I had a crisis; I realised a lot of the people that Facebook had conned me into calling friends were, in fact, not.  Nothing against them, but they really didn’t fit any of the major criteria for friendship; you know, the usual stuff; getting in touch, returning texts or giving a flying fuck.   I gutted my Facebook account of my “fake friends” and went from over 300 to less than 100.  I did the same thing to my contact list in my phonebook (If I have your number, it’s a hell of a lot easier for me to find you now!  The two reasons, in order: 

1.  Cutting dead wood.  Now it might sound a little cruel to disregard people so lightly.  Ultimately, I see Facebook and all other manner of social mediums of communication as just that.  However, there is an element of laziness to them.  If you want to check up on someone, you can check their posts and leave a comment… along with everyone else.  It leaves a little to be desired for the fundamentals of human connection.  Just remember 100 years ago, the main mode of communication across long distances was still “snail mail”.  I cannot remember the last time I sent a letter.

2.  I wanted to see if they noticed. Yes, I know.  How adolescent of me!  But I’m being honest.  I wondered if any of them would get in touch with me and check in  I was disappointed by reminded  myself that I knew there was a slim to nil chance they ever would.

Don’t misunderstand me,  I’m not bitter in the slightest.  I will even admit to being somewhat lonely on occasion, but I remind myself that the friends I do still keep from “before the purge”, whilst many are far away are still friends and I value and treasure that.

Whilst I was thinking about all this, I did begin to ponder about “The Others”.  Who are they you might ask?  These are the people who I have met via various online modes of communication, who know plenty about me, check in with me regularly, but who I have never met.  Can I call these people from the internet my “friends”?. 

It’s a difficult one, I’ll grant you.  But when you break it down, one of my best friends in the world lives in Kent and she pointed out that we haven’t seen each other since early November.  We keep in touch, despite my developing allergy to telephone calls outside of business hours.

With the internet being so prevalent in our day to day lives, there is a certain ease that comes with friendships.  We can get in touch with those we choose at any moment for a genuine connection, even if it is miles apart.  And when you look at it like that, it isn’t so different from snail mail.

I choose to call these people my friends and I hope they would think of me the same.  Despite communication being a doddle in the modern world, I think we should all admit that sitting down for a brew and a catch up is preferred to the rapid thumb movements across a touch screen keyboard. I’m going to make an effort to meet up with some of my new friends and keep in better touch with some of my old ones.  Don’t send a bullshit chain email to everyone in your address book saying how much they mean to you!  Make an effort through whatever means you have at your disposal. 

Image borrowed from zomm.com

The Leopard who changed his Wardrobe – 18.03.13

So, anyone who knows me will surely know that I haven’t had the best history with money.  I started off in life ok; I was responsible from a young age and saved regularly into my bank account, allowing me to buy the things I really REALLY wanted – The newest PC game (in the days after my beloved Sega Master System went to the console graveyard in the sky and before I got an Xbox), CD, video or book (I won’t lie, mostly, books). 

It didn’t stay that way.  Something about the freedom of money and being responsible for all of when I arrived at university meant I went a little of the rails.  Never far enough to require help from the bank of Mum, but further than I ought to have gone to live a comfortable life.

When I graduated to the mythical ‘real world’ of employment and living out of my childhood home, I got myself into a few sticky messes for various sticky reasons – I ought to rephrase that, but I shan’t as it has amused me.  My terrible monitoring of money and trying to keep everything in balance was seemingly just too difficult for me to master.

Skip forward a few years and I was living alone and things were even worse; this time, I actually couldn’t afford anything.  I was pretty much broke all the time and I hated it. 

I mentioned previously that my Sister and partner gave me somewhere to go; one of the greatest gifts one human being can ever give to another is opening their home to another, one that I hope to reciprocate some day (Fuck knows how!).  

On moving in with them, I was forced to change.  Something were more subtle but others were most certainly more ‘BAM!’ smack-you-in-the-face sort of changes.  My attitude towards money and paying my way out of the trench I dug for myself is one of the more obvious examples.  As I was travelling home from work on the bus, I looked up from my book and out of the window and the thoughts above washed over me in a steady wave.  I began wondering to myself “How much have I changed?”

It’s a pretty ‘over arching’ question, I’ll grant you.  The thought that immediately sprung to mind is the dog.  Now then, all dog lovers are foreigners to the concept that, unlike them, not everyone has a place in their heart for a dog.  Others go further and anything that isn’t human won’t get a paw over the threshold of their home.  Those who go further still and anything registering a heartbeat is a hindrance to their existence, we find dwelling in caves.  I digress.

When I moved in here, I did not like dogs. At all.  Not a tiny little bit.  In fact, I’d go as far as to say I hated the bastards.  Not one specific breed.  All of them.  Hounds of hell.  They ought to be cast into the lakes of sulphur to live with Satan and Cerberus and not even that would have been sufficient.  I really was not a dog person… However, I knew that my Sister and partner owned a dog, which I had met, and didn’t hate him that much before I came here.

When I think about how I have changed over the last six months, it isn’t my progression towards being debt free that I think of most readily.  I have to confess it’s my attitudes towards the dog.  Daft as it might sound to consider it a profound change, I would avoid contact with him as much as I possibly could on my arrival.  But time passed and I got used to him, to a point where, now, should I find myself alone in the house of an evening, I would actually prefer he was there to keep me company. 

People talk about how a leopard never changes their spots.  I have come to the distinct conclusion that statement is total hogwash.  I’m making a sweeping statement, I know.  And of course, we are dealing with metaphorical leopards who are actually humans.  I am now imagining zebra stripes on a leopard… I’m digressing again.  People are able to change, but only when willing or forced.  Not that I am of an overly scientific mind, but the reason we rose to being the dominant life form on the planet wasn’t because we stuck to what we knew, never changed and never did anything different.  By our nature, we evolve and change and grow as people.  There are of course those more resistant than others – the leopard who will only ever wear the get-up he was born in and nothing else will do.  The rest of us get the chance to change the things we don’t really like about our world, our environment and ultimately ourselves.

Congruent with this theme, it’s time for my costume change – I’m sick of my work uniform and need something to slouch in.

Cute Leopard!

16.03.13 - The end of the Backlog and Editing

And now, my dear readers, we are all up to date!  I've dug through the nooks of my hard drive and everything I upload here after is new content - I know: Please hold your applause!

Its exceptionally difficult to be honest about yourself online.  I don't care what anyone says about the freedom of self expression on the internet.  If I want anyone to read this shite I spout, I have to let them know its me writing it and where to find it.  I cant rip limb from limb the persons I might like to and expose some of the delights I encounter in my day to day life. Please don't misunderstand!  Anyone who has met me knows I have this "highly strung" side but what one can get away with when flapping their chops after a crummy day is no where near the same thing as committing them to the concrete of the internet.

If anything, the wonderful thing about giving myself time to edit is that I don't have to edit ANYTHING I say on the first pass.  I will put it away for editing later when I scrape myself off the ceiling!  Despite the contradiction, the time and space I give myself to edit my thoughts before I hang myself with them is a good thing.

When the next generation of human beings is released they should build in a "self edit" function; it would allow individuals to test run anything they're going to say before they actually try it!  Would be a bit of a cheat for stand up comedians though...

Litter from my Brain - 22.02.13

I litter the lives of my loved ones and colleagues with the shit that plagues my brain. It's unfortunate for them but I have to confess that it makes me feel better just for the fact it isn't just me that's got to think about it anymore.

Example: one of my favourite films is Erin Brokovich. I've owned it on video (yes, cassette, you remember those!) and DVD. Today, this film popped up in my internal brain space and out of nowhere, it occurred to me that there is an inconsistency in the film. At the very beginning of the film, after a disastrous job interview (we've all been there) Erin is depicted smoking a cigarette. This image flooded my mind... As quickly as it arrived, from nowhere, my brain reminded me... For the rest of that film, she doesn't smoke one more cigarette.

If I knew where it came from, well, I guess it would help. But I don't. It happens to me a lot. 

When I returned to the office and shared this epiphany with my colleagues, their confused expressions and comments revealed to me "this is why people think I'm weird!" 

I've known for most of my life that I'm not what most people would call normal. When I was a teenager and I got called a queer, they didn't mean strange. But they did mean different. Of course they meant homo. I always attributed the reason people called me strange to my apparent sexual orientation, up until I came out. Then I stopped caring. But of late I've realised that it has nothing to do with being gay...

It's just because I come out with strange shit at random!

Snow - 04.02.13

I've come to a point in my life where the light fluffy and powdery substance currently falling from the sky presents a less exciting prospect than it did. I don't even mean when I was a child.  I remember when unannounced snow closed my campus university and we did what any adults would do... Recommissioned our childhoods, made snow men, had snow ball fights, then grew up suddenly and drank a lot of alcohol. 

But being a grown up with all of its pit falls and grumblings means you're left staring at the sky and tutting when it snows.  Something about the weather has reminded me of childhood innocence that growing up just destroys. There is less magic in life.  Don't believe me? What about Christmas? That's far from exciting as a grown up:  Planning, shopping, the Christmas card list, table arrangements, where are we going to sit everyone?  

Don't get me wrong, there are massive plus points to being a grown up! Pay day, drinking, decision making, travelling, the list is massive... But don't pretend that there isn't a bit of you that feels nostalgic and doesn't want to make a snow angel… without wondering if you’re lying down in dog shit…

NB After reading...

Worth mentioning that I did eventually end up shaking off the shackles of adulthood... See below...

Is that a phone in your pocket or a miniature version of me? 21.01.13

My sister is currently writing an essay for her MA about the gendering of technology.  I know sounds supremely intelligent doesn't she?  Well, she is.  She always has been… Bitch, hogging all the good genes in our family.  Anyway, she’s always been the smarter one of the two of us.  She has gone off to study for no grander reason at this point than that – study.  And what a fine reason it is too!  If anyone ever reads this, I’m sure a decent proportion of them won’t get it or care, but still, I’m proud of her.  My blog salutes you dear sister.  She’s also my biggest “fan” so I guess she deserves a mention.  ;)

Anyway, this essay of hers.  It might sound droll – not everyone can, or should be fascinated by the sociology of science and technology.  Everyone has their own niches and mental-wanderings.  That’s the way we are; as the saying goes, it wouldn't do for us to all be the same.  And that is true.  We are all different and unique. 

I got to thinking about her essay title though.  That didn't really tickle me mentally.  Whilst I was cuddled up on the sofa, looking for Dexter on Netflix though, I noticed a freak incident had occurred; my tablet, iPhone and laptop were all next to me.  That doesn't occur often, let alone that they all are in use on the same evening.  The thought passed and I began to flick through the sub-categories, hunting down my favourite psycho killer (as you do)

Now, because I was downstairs on the Xbox, which isn't mine, the Netflix account had made recommendations for its user.  Sat there flicking through, I spotted Dexter in the recommendations.  What has all that got to do with my techno-seat on the sofa? 

I looked at the other items it recommended for the Xbox’s intended user.  They were based off previous viewing choices and thing their friends had liked.  How does it know that?  Its connected to Facebook.  From there, the pile of technology took on a very different shape.  It started to look like me… Metaphorically.  I wasn't tripping.

One of my friends, Kay and I had shared a module in English – Creative Writing.  I was reminded of a short piece she had written from the point of view of a phone in a girl’s handbag; how well it knew her; the places it had been; the things it had seen and heard; and how it knew her better than anyone, living or dead.

And what does all that have to do with my sister’s essay question?  To me, the interesting question isn't about the “gendering” of technology and excluding users based on stereotypes (I’m paraphrasing and probably very inaccurately.  It is not my field of study, so please don’t shoot!).  The interesting question is the one of identity. 

I’m sure most of us would agree that our identity is in constantly changing and evolving.  It’s influenced by external factors; our experiences.  One of the most prevalent of external factors these days is the Media; it is everywhere we look and available to us, now through smart phones and tablets, constantly.  Facebook, Twitter, Netflix, LoveFilm, MySpace, BBC News, IMDB, 4OD, and that’s just from a quick scroll through my phone.  We are constantly being bombarded with adverts whenever we log on to anything.  Facebook advertising games or “likes” from our friends; script examining our likes and dislikes, height, weight and sexual orientation to make better fitting advertisements for us.  And then you log on to Netflix and realise your sister is being recommended one of your personal favourite shows, probably on account of the fact she’s been watching Lie To Me.  We log on to check our bank balance, we log on to voice our deepest thoughts and bug-bears.  We even use it to rant about things on occasion…  It’s actually an interesting thought to consider how well your phone really knows you… Thank the bearded dude in the sky that mine cannot talk independently or I would be in deep shit!

My Butterfly Painting 24.02.13

It felt good to do something artistic. First time in a long time.

Niggly - 26.11.13

NB Before Reading...

I thought when I started my blog that I had found everything that I needed to upload.  This little tit-bit was completely forgotten to me until I was going through my document folder and made me chuckle... Mostly because this is how I have felt most of this week.  Hope you enjoy =)

Individuality entails each and every one of us being different; it does exactly what it says on the tin.  We all have our individual likes and dislikes – Its part of what makes us human.  Our eccentricities are only natural and part of maturity is coming to terms with them and learning how to exist alongside others who don’t quite share you world vision and how to maximize tranquility.

Yeah, right!

At the grass roots truth of the matter, we are all dirty little fascists when it comes to the way we want our possessions and surroundings.  As a parent might chastise a child for being selfish when “that little boy used my crayons”, why do people get so touchy about sleeping on their own side of the bed?  How different is it, really?  All pedants: Stop it!  And I’m sure most of us would like to…  There is no real difference and we all know it.  No matter how old you are, find me an elder sister who will not be annoyed if her younger female sibling borrows a t-shirt… Go on – find me one!

And please, dear reader, do not pretend you aren't just like me!  When you know where you left something, return to that place after a period of time and discover it gone, don’t pretend to me that you do not see just the slightest tinge of red around the edges of your peripheral vision…

It might sound like a cop out, but I have a terrible memory and a hell of a lot of where I put things is so that I know where to look for it – Alphabetising CD’s, DVDs and books (by author) might seem anal to a lot of you, but if I want the movie “Finding Nemo” and its not in the “F” section, I know some bastard is trying to push me over the edge. 

It’s not just at home either; you walk into the shared office, knowing where something SHOULD live or the place where that file OUGHT to be kept, to discover “Cynthia” has left it open on her desk with all the papers from the file in a pile.  Yeah, right, none of you know what I mean?

It lives in the same school of “bug bears” as someone else using the last of the tea bags… What good, moral and sane human being would use the last tea bag and not replace it?  I've contemplated caving in the skull of just such a person with a tea canister before now for that very attack on my morning routine.

But sadly, such is life.  Not everyone arranges their DVD’s by title alphabetically as I do, nor do they arrange their cereals by bran content, like Sheldon… But we are all different.  A lot of what people become frustrated with is general lack of consideration, which speaks to me.  But everyone is important to themselves… I know “me” at ten o'clock last night wanted a cup of tea, but “me” in the morning doesn't respect my decision to use my last tea bag.  If a body matching my description is found with a tea canister buried in his left temple, you know who to look for; matches my description, with bright red eyes, often seen cuddled in corners with an empty cup, begging strangers for tea bags.

Raising a follow on ... You can’t do enough for a good company! 04.01.13

The last rant I completed was “The Fine Line”.  Whilst I was writing it, I almost dipped into a related, but different set of thoughts.  In my line of work, when one job is finished but has brought up a related issue, you “Raise a follow on”.  So this is my follow on thought.

When working overtime with a colleague the other night – No, that isn’t a euphemism; she’s female and... No! – A shift worker walked into our office, collected a box and parted on this comment:

“You can’t do enough for a good company.”  The sentence itself was riddled with sarcasm; that much was evident.

When I was thinking about the difference between walking and crossing the line, I started to wander down the thought of what is the difference between a good and bad company to work for?  Is there even a difference, or does it really just depend who you are and much you are willing to put up with in the capitalist workplace?  I think you can tell from the tone of the question where my loyalty lies on that one:  it’s the age old question of ‘how much is too much?’  Some people can just put up and shut up and others just cannot/will not do that; they fight and object.

There is a lot to be said for the age old difference and political persuasion of those willing to put up with difficulties within their business and those who aren’t; sweeping generalisation from my personal experience to follow.  Brace yourself:

·         If you’re a working class, Labour supporting man, you’re going to put up with less than the below…

·         A middle class, Conservative female.

That is based on personal observations in the workplace.  The middle aged men voting Labour are ALL members of a trade union and fight for their rights as workers for better conditions.  The conditions the trade unionists find themselves in were caused by the likes of the second bullet point above.  Need I say more?

But when debating the ‘less is more’ when it comes to good will betwixt employee and employer, where is the line?  When does your employer ask for you to work outside of your job specification to fulfil “demands of the business” and when are they just extracting the urine?  Worth pointing out the sarcastic-comment-making-shift-worker I mentioned earlier fits the category 1 employee.

Sadly, the point I’m going to make here doesn’t change really from the “parent” rant.  It all comes down to the individual and what they are prepared to tolerate.   However, in the workplace setting, whilst I do believe in good will, there is no limitation on it; it must be kept in check by the employees to ensure there is no abuse from anyone.  And when you perceive an imbalance, the company needs to be reminded. Just an opinon here, dear reader and entirely personal.

The fine Line. 04.01.13

Famous words of my mother: You’re walking a very fine line with me, Sunshine!

I always liked it when she called me Sunshine, but never in that context; I’m sure you can imagine why.  Since my adolescence became a part of my selective amnesia, I haven’t heard these words uttered to me since.  In the office today, I overheard someone use the phrase “It’s a fine line” in reference to something completely different (An Excel spreadsheet cell border, just in case you wanted to know!).  When I made a joke, ignoring the context, I was completely ignored, but it set me thinking:  A fine line between what and what?

I was rereading one of my old undergraduate essays earlier this week and one of the themes was to do with Differeancé explained by Derrida.  Briefly – I don’t want to kill you off with boredom – he said that the only way you are able to see separate entities is on account of the space between them.  So when you’re sat looking at a cell border in excel, you know that that it isn’t a full line due to the spaces between the dashes.

But when you start talking about the fine line between things, it almost implies that there isn’t a separation; it’s a sliding scale.  So when a child is cheeky, you have cheeky at one end and rudeness on the other and they work their way along the sliding scale. They start “walking a fine line” with you when they edge too close into the naughty sector.  

Is there a fine line on a sliding scale?

Yeah, sure!  Look at a ruler, you can measure in millimetres, centimetres, metres and so on.  It’s like walking in a straight line – you move one notch at a time towards “naughty”.

I wasn’t happy though.  I was still stuck on the fine line between pondering and satisfied.  I was sat completing a mundane task at work and I “pondered” my way to content: most of the time the fine line is drawn between extremes of the positive and the negative.

Cheeky, in and of itself is not the opposite thing to naughtiness or rudeness.  Its only when you hold cheek in a positive regard and rudeness in a negative one that you get a fine line to draw and cross or toe, depending on your rebellious nature...

Thinking I had solved me own little self-inflicted-problem in thoughts, I picked up my tea cup to make a brew... When I realised... I wasn’t happy yet.  Another thought struck me: why do some people toe the line and others choose to cross it?  Not satisfied with that, my brain conjured up another one: Who makes the lines and decides where we cross them or not?

I had stopped typing some time ago and due for my tea break so was running on low batteries.  At this point, I decided to go for brew, fag and piss – not necessarily in that order mind you!  While I was fagging it up (save it for the Frog and Bucket!) I gave my brain a bit more scope to ponder: The question of who draws lines and why is simple: Everyone does it to depending on their personality and boundaries.  You can get on one man’s nerves in two seconds doing the same thing that another person lasted through two hours of.  It’s completely individual.  

So, who crosses the line? We all do. And Why? Considering my assessment of the moodiness of one man versus another, I think it’s fair to say that we all do it sometimes totally by accident.  There are those sadistic beasts that will cross lines for their own personal amusement and just to get on the wick of someone else, but I think, mostly, we do it as a whoopsy.  We’re being naughty when we don’t care that we crossed the line.

Now, here’s another point to leave you to ponder on: Do you actually care when you cross a line? Does it depend who you cross it with or what you did to cross it?  And with that, dear reader, I shall leave you to your thoughts.