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.