...For a Good Year

The alternate title of this post is "Last Orders"

There's no end to the melodrama, as this is THE LAST BLOG OF THE YEAR ARGH ASDFASDFASDF

I can't believe it's the 29th of December.  Perhaps I don't want to believe it's the 29th.  Where the hell has the year gone?  Tomorrow I'll be writing my New Year's awards tomorrow on Facebook, where dirt won't be dished, and prizes have already been handed out.  At this moment in time I'm savouring a particularly sarcastic response from Eric Pollard.  

I shan't miss 2010.  How do you say it?  Twenty ten?  Two thousand and ten?  Or do you articulate raw numerals, without transliterating them?  MMX?  Em Em Ex?  Whatever; this year that's just finishing can do one.  One disaster after another effectively reduced me to the simpering pile of depression that you've been reading about, and my intractability and foolhardyness (bravery?) means I won't take any anti-depressants and I certainly won't run the gauntlet of Adult Mental Health Services, as if the Dean of Students' office is anything to go by, it'll be a fucking waste of my time!  HO HO HO.

So anyway.  Let's look forward instead.  Like John DeVore, I also believe that New Year's Resolutions are for suckers.  I'm sure there's a lot of you out there, either dedicated readers, onetime passers by, or even those who do not or will not read this, that in fact do make resolutions.  More accurately, I suppose resolutions are for losers, not us freaks.  I think that reflects me "us and them" philosophy, right?  I do not wish to insult you at all, dear reader or hypothetical reader or non-reader.  I haven't made a resolution at New Year since 2006, where I resolved to never make a resolution again.  A resolution I've kept ever since.  

The deal with New Year's Resolutions are pretty tricky.  Usually, the process of giving up smoking, losing weight, drinking less (all of which are perfectly possible) get swept up into the ridiculous stress of the turn of the year, and therefore most people give up by the 15th of February.  I think that's the average date for losing out anyway.  So, in a typical turn of mind, I promised I would never ever put myself under that undue stress again, and therefore got myself out of the game.  Of course I have a list of things for this year that will, if carried out, make it different from last year.  I have many things to focus on.

I have a barbershop quartet to run, and Organ Scholarship to progress through, a Choral Scholarship to survive, and a solo career to begin.  Not forgetting my dissertation and project.  I mean, seriously.  I haven't got time to moan about not getting a girlfriend...until after April, anyway, when all my academic projects have to be handed in.  At which point it will be this blog's anniversary, and I can start moaning again!  AHAHAHA.  As if I'll wait that long!  I give it two weeks personally.  Cough.  

But anyway.  I'm slightly worse for wear.  A dedicated cynic trying to be cheerful in the face of the New Year.  I want to have a good year, and I want you to have a good year.  We're about to enter the third decade of Pebblez, and I'm tired of the sub-par existence I've had of late, and I'm going to do my best to turn it around.  Not by resolving to, but just by doing so.  

Whatever you resolve to do, I hope you stick to it.  It's tough, and that's why I chose to do something more realistic.  If you succeed, I salute you.  If you don't, just keep at it.  Until next year, and next decade, I shan't be writing any more bullshit.  

And I only wish that all of you  may be sealed and inscribed for a good year.  

Season's Greetings

So!  Here it is!  MERRY CHRISTMAS!

What can I say?  Christmas is the only time of year that I am legally obliged to be happy.  Seriously.  You might have noticed that I'm not terribly happy over the course of the year...I suppose this year especially has been somewhat unique...(ha ha fucking ha), but overall, pretty much of the same.  So at Christmastide, I am usually a little more cheerful.

2010 has not been a good year.  Not in the slightest.  If there was a year that I would choose to obliterate from reality, it would be this one, funnily enough.  Never have I been more depressed or sorry to see the outside world.  The first eight months anyway.

From the back end of September onwards, my time has improved.  I've had a great first term at Uni, my living arrangements have been wonderful, my marks have been pretty good and I'm having a great Christmas holiday.  On the other hand, I haven't been able to get a date and my regular choir appointment has been less than happy.  Look at that!  I'm more bothered about the things that have gone wrong than the things that have gone right!  Typical.

I tell you what though, I was very sincerely and genuinely happy on Christmas Day itself.  I got a small haul of great presents, and spent all day with my mother, and the only brother related to me by blood, Nathan.  Sadly, Nathan is in the throes of 'Oh I got dumped so I'm going to be a miserable shit and I've got a bit of a sniffle so I've got the flu' at the moment, so that isn't the greatest Christmas message ever.  He's got a bit of a cold, so we're looking after him as much as he actually needs, not to what he wants.  

In fact, that last clause brings me on to my Christmas message, as it were.  The Lord sends us what we need, not what we want.  It's one of my core beliefs in the Lord, that he looks after us as is necessary, not as we desire.  *cough* Anyway, the hell I'm getting religious.  Let's speed on to the next part of my Chrimbo message.

I've sent my Christmas with my family.  I saw Alter Pappy on Christmas Eve, we picked Nathan up on the same night, Christmas with Nathan and Momme, and I went to HQ with Hannah tonight.  Over the next twelve days, I will spend as much time as I can with my extended family, the Captain's nearest and dearest.  Soon, I'll be back in Norwich, that "fine city", with the pleasures of St. Peter Mancroft Choral Scholarship to keep me.  I'm going to see Alter Pappy before I go back as well, and I've promised Uncle Philip that I'll see him before I go back.  I am a busy man!  

So what is my Christmas message?  Good question.  I advocate having a good time, remembering your family, and...well, I guess that's it.  That's all I had.  That's all you need.  Christmas is the only time of year I'm legally obliged to be happy, so I bloody will be!  Soon, I'll go back to flat 15/16, and begin the new term, but until then...best wishes of this most festive season, from me, to you.  Have a great Christmas.

May you be sealed and inscribed...

You know, I'm conscious of writing a lot of tawdry bullshit over the past year. I mean, seriously I am Mr. Boohoo. Life isn't exactly easy for someone with my somewhat unique combination of talents and disabilities, I sincerely doubt there is anyone quite like me in all the world. Ok, how glib was that? No, I seriously think it. I'm surrounded by indentikit stereotypes, from the 'naive idealist' to 'ignorant bourgeoisie', (Can you guess who? Answers on the back of a postage stamp to the usual address...) with all shades between as well, and who knows, maybe even I represent some sort of hackneyed cliche...the copper bottom bastard?

I've spent far too long being all weepy weepy and depressed, really it's time I reacquainted with the side of me that is nothing but a nasty piece of work. It's always worked in the past! Right? I wonder why I gave in? SILLY BOY. Anyway. I have spent a year trying to survive, and succeeding (but not very well), and a term trying to do well in my work and get a date...column A can receive a healthy tick. Column B can fuck right off. Even at this late stage there are considerations, but you know I can't tell anyway SO THROW IT ALL IN. I've now left Norwich for Derby, and certainly not a moment too soon. In fact, far later than I should have truly desired. As much as Norwich is a fine city, and Derby is the arse hole of the Midlands, I am still far happier away from these Norfolk environs. I have certainly met some wonderful people this term, coincedentally connected to the fact I'm in Halls again (NC15 and NC16, I love you), and HEAVENS ABOVE as many as TWO of the music freshers have worked out how to treat me like an actual human being. I will not desert them, as long as they do not reject me in my old age.

So. Enough about my inability to get laid. Let's complain about something else. I wonder what that could be? Well. Here's a clue. I didn't put 'poor end of the stall' at the head of my page for nothing you know...

The moment your Director looks you in the eye and calls you a lier is not a Hallmark Moment (tm). It is not a moment I wish to repeat, nor a moment I wish on anyone else. Especially when you're not lying. It was some petty squabble about my voice "ringing out" (that's verbatim, folks) after everyone else at the end of a phrase. As ever, a man of my specific abilities will never sit terribly well with such a small set-up of five girls and two tenors; indeed, perhaps I am no longer suited to life at Spamcroft. It's a big step, but perhaps I am at fault. Working on my powers of projection, breath control and forthright pronunciation in such a specific way may very well mean that I am to exit, stage left.

I'm not going to get involved in some sort of tit for tat arguement of whether I'm better than anyone, or that they're better than me, but things have become difficult again. Some people on the line feel similarly about how life at the Church of the Parish of St. Peter Mancroft continues, but none are so foolish to be so vocal, bad-mannered and ill-tempered as I am. Old dogs &c as far as I'm concerned, but there's still hope for the others. I never quite could keep my head down and my mouth shut...

But anyway. Home sweet home. The Tour continues. Now into our festive flavoured ADESTE FIDELES leg, I've been to the pub twice in a row, arranged an intense curry feast, and tomorrow will go and see the new motion picture sensation, TRON LEGACY. The only reason I'm going is for the Daft Punk soundtrack, being an Electrowhore, but upon further investigation, I think that watching Olivia Wilde in an electro-jumpsuit wouldn't go amiss in the slightest, no sir. Christmas is coming, and the Goose is getting fat! I look forward to a raucous and inebriated celebration of the birth of a Nazarene Carpenter and Lord alone knows what's happening on New Year's, but we all know I'll go without any miseltoe joy, and then I shall presently leave for Norwich, at which point IT'S SPAMMING TIME. Oy vey. I've been told that the recent lunar eclipse on the winter solstice was a sign of great change for everyone. I can only hope so. Time to draw the Death card in the Tarot. I'm 21 soon. And I'm nearing the end of my Undergraduate study. Isn't that frightening?

Speaking of frightening, I love that old adage, that goes "Do something that frightens you every day." Well, I leave the house...

Vignette X

God moves in a mysterious way

     His wonders to perform;

He plants his footsteps in the sea,

     And rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines

     Of never-failing skill

He treasures up his bright designs,

     And works his sovereign will.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take,

     The clouds ye so much dread

Are big with mercy, and shall break

     In blessings on your head.

Amen.

                                    Fin

Losing it, or 'Lamentio in divers parts'

De* lamentationem de Ethan Ben Saul**, Cantorae...

Well, the dust has settled if only somewhat from the hurly-burly of last week's emotional endeavours, and now we look forward to the field of battle to be entered, that of the profession I like to think of as my vocation, yes kids that calling again, being a musician.  Only then can we truly say that it's over, because the worst is yet to come.  

So, what am I losing?  Surely I'm always on the losing side?  Victory doesn't favour me very often, that's true.  But let's look in that sideways fashion (if you're having difficulty imaging that just turn your head sideways as you read) like I always do, and see if we can learn anything through that most important of rabbinical teaching tools...sarcasm.  I'm going to take a two-pronged attitude to this; one prong will be my never ending campaign against the vicissitudes of emotion, and the other...well, the other will be everything else; finance, work, and the reality of being disabled.  I realise that in putting a like in my sidebar of my FaceyB removes much of the anonimity that I once enjoyed, but if you don't know me by now, you never will.  Or maybe you won't ever?  Hmm.  But I will be very careful with names &c...I don't want people working out that I've referred to them quite so quickly, for reasons that will become clear as we plough on.

Well shoot.  As I'm sure you can work out for yourself, things have proceeded in their usual fashion: I like a girl, decide to take the plunge and do something about it and end up being, well, you know...rejected.  Ugh, nasty, eh?  I decided to throw all caution to the winds and just go with my gut and that didn't really end in the fashion I was hoping.  The hell it did.  I ended up walking home through snow in the park to get back.  I say that and make it sound terrible, but I had always planned the long walk home regardless of the outcome.  I guess I can say that I held me head up high, and did and died!  While my courage might have been slightly dutch, at least I went.  But like always, it's a sharp reminder of the sad truth that I cannot, and never will be able to tell when is the right time or who is the right person.  I thought I had made made the right decision.  There's no way under the heavens I would have even considered it had I not thought it was certain.  Look, this isn't meant to be some sort of internet-based guilt trip either.  It is the way of all things, and of course as I like to say, the shape of things to come.  It's just how it went.

But what happens then?  I can only doubt my judgement.  Perhaps Descartes was right, and sensory information id indeed a total falsehood.  I can only perceive these things to be through my senses, and not through a priori reasoning.  In fact, using my powers of reason only leads me to one question: who would look at a freak like me?

Although it's not like this is an unique occurrence this term.  Long time readers and neighbours may remember that time at the end of September, when I lost it completely and ended up bawling my eyes out.  And then what about all the people whose names I've never dropped as well?  Apart from the loser I've had more than enough heart ache in between; passing fancies not accounted for (or indeed those already in relationships because I sure can't tell who is or isn't these days).  I was moved to pass a fresher until the eternal words "I hope you don't fancy me" happened and I also decided that I wasn't going to have another Stockholm Syndrome relationship.  Then there was her from the Other Place; it was always tenuous but after Saturday night's Crime of the Century, I fear it may not be just I who reassess my position.  More on that story later.  And of course, the lady I followed through sheer intuition.  The question truly remains unanswered (in my mind at least), but two good and close friends have told me to shut up shop and move on, to avoid the chance of future upset.  I have to admit, it's probably for the best.  I can't help but see the pattern formed.  What can I do though?  Being told to give up and leave off never sits well with me, due to the fact that my daily existence keeps me away from the majority of people being, y'know, autistic and feeling uncomfortably awkward in any social situation.  Perhaps it's my efforts of seeming normal that have made people forget that any gathering of any sort pushes me to the edge of my coping, and God alone help me with interpersonal contact and indeed any sort of intimacy.  Oy gevalt.

Which leads me to the next part.  Crime of the Century.  Ho ho.  I'm using this as my example, as it reminded me of well, everything, I suppose.  I won't name names.  Mainly because I suppose I won't have to.  The particulars are irrelevant, it's more that I observed and recalled.  Or maybe the disbelief.  

Watching two people, arguably with the aid of alcohol (but how much aid was really needed is a subject of much speculation), who became continually closer as time went on (but only a short space) and shared...how do we say...a succession of moments.  Suffice to say, it wasn't that this was happening that distressed me so much, more that I found myself thinking that I have almost completely forgotten how I would do similar.  There is no situation in my life now that demands a knowledge of one-to-one (or indeed, one-on-one) intimacy, even less that require the action.  It was just at that point that I realised it had gone completely and that I had lost it, that I decided to get completely smashed.  It made me remember what I had and what I lost, and I'm frightened I will never have it back.  

So where does that leave me?  A bucketload of self-doubt, a lack of self-worth, and certainly no belief in one's self.  And of course, the question.  Who would even look at a poor, mentally disabled depressed cripple?  Yes, I'm back on the stick.  Snow, freezing fog and a night temperature of minus FUCKING five means I am down to using my cane again.  I tread a fine line of having enough ankle support and keeping the blood flowing.  Oh, that and the fine dusting of grey hair I have now.  Feh.

So, anyway.  Sexual frustration aside, I am tired and I have had enough.  But I can't stop, because I never do.  You'd have thought I'd have learnt something by now, but OH NO.  Not me!  No sir.  I'm going to keep on until I go snow white.  And what about the girl who calls me Bubby?  Even in my iciest of dispositions I can't help but kindle warmth for her; she improves my day more than I should want to admit, but sure as hell I ain't gonna breathe a word.  Other than this, I'm keeping that one close to my chest.  Well, I should like to keep her close to my chest, but you know, I'm not even sure I'd know what to do anymore.  I'm repeating myself now, so I shall stop.  If you've read this far, then congratulations!  Hopefully there won't be another pathetic moan like this for another month or so.

I can't go on, I must go on.  I have no choice.  The less people can tell, the better.  Tomorrow is my recital day, and I must sleep to prepare.  

* 'Of' or 'from', 'out of' &c

** My name as originally intended, in its Hebrew form

Vignette IX

You know,I just want to say this.  Although seeing my considerable record of failure in the past it's no surprise I'm leaning towards keeping this one under my hat.  

I'm sure the educated can make a guess; all entires on the back of a postage stamp to the usual address.  

Ok, deep breath.  Here goes.

You know what, I think I'm in love.  But just a little bit.  There's no education behind it.  Purely an intuitive conclusion.  Which may, of course turn out to be completely wrong.  But that's what it's all about, isn't it?  The beats skip and I feel that long-forgotten flutter.  I then immediately check my specs for rose tinting on the lenses, but I wouldn't be much of a cynic if I didn't as a reflex.  

Time to break the rules.  Shift expectations, and change the world.  

The Shape of Things to Come

Time for another episode of my life!  It's like I Hate It Here, with a little I'm so poor and depressed, topped of with pop culture references and then just a smidgen of wow hey there's this girl.  META.

I managed to go for the entirety of October without writing and publishing an entry here, and we're over halfway through November with almost the same statistic.  Basically, 3rd year has turned out to be what we in the trade call a shitter, much like the step from GCSE to A level really.  Last year, quite basically, fucked me up, and to be perfectly honest I'm very lucky to have stepped back onto campus let alone stay.  I'm going to make the best of a bad job, and clear as much of this mess up as I possibly can.  I have no idea how many weeks are left to term...about 4?  Makes sense; Spamcroft doesn't finish til the 19th of December, and term only just behind on the 17th.  I've got a horror story of things to do in that time, and most of this includes getting up early and eating regularly, the latter of which is usally one of my skills, the former famously a non-entity.  

Due to my complete inability to budget, I am down to YOU ARE FUCKED into my overdraft. Man, debt never got so self-perpetuating!  Zomg.  Actually it's really bad, this stuff is just slipping through my fingers, certainly not dripping any more!  Drat.  I don't know, it could be worse, but at the moment it's flat out bad.  Importantly survivable though, and a damn good character building experience!  At least, I'm sure that suffering builds character, right?  

Over the past term I have been asked to continue for an entire cantata, learn a new piece for a recital in 3 weeks, learn my sung recital in 2 weeks, play hymns, organise and direct a choir, direct evensong, be the librarian for the UEA choir, not kill anyone...&c &c.  You get the point.  Yes, I'm sure some of you losers out there will see all this off with the tipping of your voluminous hat, but for some of us this is difficult.  Very difficult.  I recieve no sympathy, because I don't ask for any.  Academic and musically based tasks can be shifted under my own steam with effort and that's it.  Making sure everything else is in ship shape is another matter though.  Work just about comes in on the radar, but I'm the tiniest bit behind (but constantly trying to not be), that 9am start on a Monday never gets any easier, does it?  YES I KNOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE 9AM STARTS EVERY DAY OF EVERY WEEK.  Jesus Christ...

Dissertation-wise, I actually feel pretty happy though!  I'm writing an incredible beard-scratcher about the English Pipe Organ in the Eighteenth and early Nineteenth centuries.  I'm going out on a massive limb and say that in comparison to Continental building fashions, the English Organ was basically anomalous, but the developments that took place are a worthy addition to the international tradition of Organ Building.  Basically, due to the short length (10k-12k, bibliography and footnotes included), I will only have room to write about two things, which are the main focus of the anomalous trend anyway, the Swell Department and the so-called 'Iron Pedal, the Shifting Movement.  Registration aids never really caught on in the big continental schools like they did in Blightly, and enclosed departments even later...except for the Iberian school?  Much research is needed.  But it'll be good!  Honest.  If you're into that sort of thing though.  

And what about the most predictably ponderous part of my life?  What of that capricious and alluring female form?  Well, what of it indeed.  Current results are...hmm...Confounding.  I'm still having that same old problem of mixing messages and misreading signs.  Just like always.  At least some things never change, eh?  Tcham, to hell if I know!  There is one in particular (isn't there always?) who has really got my attention.  Without even trying, obviously.  There are points if you can guess, but I doubt anyone will, especially if I keep this cryptic enough...heh heh.  But it's strange, I have began to treat this girl slightly differently to others without even realising I'm doing so, in fact I found myself reacting mentally to my physical actions in a rather surprised way.  The long and the short of it is I have no genuine idea whether it'll go anywhere or if I'll get the "That's so sweet but..." line (oh how I tire), but you know, I feel a little closer to an actual human being than usual, and that makes me happy.  Who knows where anything else could go.  If I do indeed try, it means stepping up onto a supernatural stage, where truly I am an alien in foreign lands.  But as we all know, all the world's a stage and the rest...the rest is vaudeville.  

More time, and a little patience will tell.  Maybe some self belief won't go amiss either.  You know what he says...CREDO!

Campus Residence Part 2: Electric Boogaloo

So.  Nelson Court, eh?  A ground floor, en suite flat in a (mostly...) quiet corner of campus, with 8 freshers.  This is where the real work begins.  Or has to begin anyway, if I'm ever going to salvage anything out of these three years...

I write this in the midst of one of my famous bad weeks.  As a sufferer of depression, I usually put up a pretty good front, but like always, when one little thing goes wrong, it all goes down hill after that.  Let's take this morning, for example.  This very morning.  I managed to wake up at half past four, on the dot.  No joke.  The next three hours were spent trying to get comfortable, and importantly keeping my eyes shut...but to no avail.  I've now been up for oooo...far too fucking long.  This has taken its toll on my already tenuous sense of humour and world-famous short fuse, and I'm now channeling my brother on the Tea-intake front.  Not that that's actually a terribly bad thing...as long as my teeth stay this side of yellow anyway.

Today's stint in SocMart (Society Market?  That'll do) in the LCR basically finished my poor sanity off, having repeated the same thing over and over again about UEA Choir to everyone that came up to me...ARGH.  I was there for five hours straight, had one pint of Abbot Ale (When the student is ready, the Master will appear), one pint of Coca Cola (savour the flavour of capitalism), and one toilet break, after which I went for a wander round the LCR, having actually not seen what else was going off.  Add to this the lecture I missed yesterday, and the half seven start I've got tomorrow morning, I really should have made more of the lack of activity I was so bored by Wednesday-Saturday of last week.  Well, I say lack of activity.  I mean, of course, other than having Mother dear run me about sorting stuff out and moving me in.  I ended up going out four nights in a row, but managing to find a friend behind the UEA bar on two of those made it a little better, to say the least.

So now what?  I'm still sorting out books and arranging the space allocated to me.  I usually manage to over-steam the shower pod and run out of breath (hilair, I know) if I'm not careful, and shaving has become much easier with the liberal application of both new blades and a large mirror in the en-suite.  Thankfully the new glasses have been a hit!  I don't think anybody has seen the metal frames (outside of Spamcroft anyway), and to be honest I rather like the plastic ones more, even if they do rub against the back of my ear in that annoying way.

And tonight?  Early to bed.  I AM SUCH A BORING MAN.  I have an Organ lesson at Spamcroft with the enigmatic J of N at 9AfuckingM, which means I have to be up, awake and dressed by 8 in order to make the bus into town.  Bloody hell.  This is NOT a regular occurrence, or more that I won't bloody let it become so.  On the other hand I have Chamber Choir in the middle of the day, so Byrd a5 and Anthems by the original Funky Gibbons Orlando will go down a treat.  For now though, it's just me, a lot of tea and the music of Tom Waits, veering wildly between visceral blues, spoken word and Piano based tear-jerkers.  There's so much in his music that just...reaches out and strikes me unaware.  From the Early Years' fresh voiced songs to the gravelled beauty of Picture in a Frame from Mule Variations, nothing disappoints.

So anyway.  I'm still alive, even if I am in Norfolk now.  I've lost a bit of momentum, but give me a few good days and I'll pick it up again.  I want to try and get a weekly writing schedule for this ponderous blog, probably on a Friday-Saturday sort of thing, so I can wrap a week up with an acerbic critique of the preceding, and so I can bitch about how awful having to do things over and over at choir practice was while it's still fresh.  

Everything will be ok though.  I often find the most depressing thing about depression is talking about it, so I try to avoid it.  Even typing makes it seem a little more real, so god help me each and every time I talk about it.  No seriously.  God, help me.  Although a little mortal aid wouldn't go amiss either.

Vignette VIII

It begins again.  It is time!  The rivers will run red, the crops will fail, and fire and brimstone will fall as rain.

You know what?  I'm going to take this year, and beat it.  I'm going to succeed.  Progress and success will go hand in hand this time.  

Tonight, one man went above and beyond the call of his profession and salary, and saved my career.  What happens if I let him down?  My life isn't worth living.  I won't let anybody down.  Forget myself.  So many others are relying on me to perform to the best of my abilities, here and there.  

Here is my message to those who oppose me:  Forget it.  Get lost.  Don't even bother.  

You failed to stop me because I'm coming back.  I have a course to complete, scholarships to earn, and a reputation to uphold.  I am the great contradiction, and nobody will slow me down.  

Speech Day.  The great event for the Old boys and the New Derbians.  And the Old Derbians!  An Old Blacktonian as myself can hardly keep away, and indeed, I would not wish to stay back.

Tonight reminded me of what a home I have here.  But in conversation with everyone, I found that they were going away, to all corners of the land.  While they will not be here while I am away, come Christmas, Easter, Summer Vac and next Speech Day, they will return.  And they will welcome me as I welcome them, and I will be home.  Who am I to fail my friends, my supporters, my fans and my family?  Forget it.  Far beyond pushing the envelope, I will burn it and set a new benchmark to inspire others.  

To those who are behind me: Thank you!  You haven't seen anything yet.  I will surpass your expectations and prove that I can cope. 

A great friend was in conversation about my youngest brother, who has gone on to the very pinnacle of employment for an undergraduate scholar (he's at St. George's, Windsor.  Look him up.  He is the Master of us all), about how he is so talented (and rightfully so!).  His companion was talking about how they could not believe how good my brother is!  My great friend replied, saying that my brother is supremely talented, and deserving of every accolade, but went on.  He said with a straight face and in the height of sincerity that he knew someone who could do anything.  Anything at all!  And he was talking about me.

And he is not wrong.

STREETLIGHT MANIFESTO

That's right.  It actually happened in this lifetime.  I went to see Streetlight Manifesto LIVE and certainly very kicking in the back room of The Old Bell Hotel, in DERBADOS!  OH MY GOD.

Ok, so, calling in for a cheeky one at the Sleaper* for a quick Pedi**, I went with Il Dottore himself to The Old Bell, now a well known 'rocker' establishment and Gig venue.  Doors at 8:30, £15 advance tickets.  Ouch?  Maybe a little but certainly worth it.  I should think that at £15 it was a snip!  Once in the back room, we observed many things: 

1) Tattoos are awesome

2) Drinks are expensive

3) They really are a white man's band

Ten minutes later the first supporting act came on, the James Warner Prophecies.  having never heard of them before, I was naturally a little skeptical, but that was swiftly blown away in waves of awesomeness, Derby banter, Drop D tuning and basically great tunes.  The set was tight and to be perfectly honest could have gone on for a few songs more, but surely this is the sign of a perfect support act?  They were headlining on the 3rd, but I couldn't get to it!  Gutted.  But I did buy their latest EP at the show, and engaged in lively conversation with their front man (handshake secured!) about all sorts of music and whatnot!  They are pretty much awesome guys!

Next up after a short quarter of an hour were RANDOM HAND.  That's right, RANDOM HAND.  What a bunch of nutcases.  Drums, Guitar, Bass, Vox and...Trombone?  You look at it and go "Eh?" and then remember that they're a Ska Punk/Punk/Hardcore Band, and then go "eh?" again and then what the even hell just go see them, they're INSANE.  They got a Wall of Death*** started with only 100 people.  It was crazy.  Standout banter moment was when their lead Vox/Trmb. suddenly noticed that the taping on the mic wire just happened to be an accurate portrayal of the Polish flag!  Who knew?  I first saw them when they were supporting Reel Big Fish in 2009 at UEA.  They are also pretty much awesome...if you like it like that.

It was during RH's set that my companion noticed that there was an orange on the floor.  That's right.  An actual orange.  Those who received the text were confused to say the least, but true story bro.  It was really there.  

On to the main event.  What we were all there for.  Like all of us.  Literally everyone.  At this point my memory tells me only a few things: I had to sit on a wooden bar and dance from the waist up because I had hurt myself that much already; Water is good; My Brother is a folk tale.  That last one makes sense, trust me.  Oh my Christ they are SO much better live...I mean, most bands are, especially Ska bands.  Ska is a live sport, evidenced fortuitously by Dance Craze, a film all about the 2-Tone scene that included loads of footage of the big names of the time live, and also had a companion LP, which I picked up in an Oxfam for like, a quid fifty?  Genius.  

There was one moment where the entire room held its breath.  One tiny island of silence in the maelstrom and miniature mosh pit that had reformed after Random Hand's concussive performance.  What could this be?  Seconds later, this happened...

I got a gun in my hand but the gun won't cock, my finger's on the trigger but the trigger seems locked.  I can't stop staring at the tick tock clock, and even if I could I would never give up.

With a vest on my chest, a bullet in my lung, I can't believe I'm dying with my song unsung; and if and when I die won't you bury me alone, 'cos I'll never get to heaven if I'm singing this song...

And at that point the entire place explodes.  And I mean seriously.  Everybody knows the words, everybody knows the timing, everybody knows when the horns stop and start and everybody moves as one.  You ever felt that feeling, for one brief second of belonging?  Check.  I can't remember all the songs in the set list now, but I can remember how much pain I was in the next day.  I spent an entire 36 hours laid up basically.  Told you I was crippled!  You know what?  It was worth it.  I don't care that I fell down every time I got up.  I bruised my feet, pulled my calves and rendered the ligaments in my ankles completely useless for the chance to see and sing and dance to my favourite band.  Worth it.

Nathan came to meet us just at the end.  He just came in and looked for the whirlwind.  Ask him!  Anyway, he stuck around and got pint after pint of water for us and got us to the taxi rank.  What happened next propels my brother into legend as far as I'm concerned.  Knowing a lot of people that run pubs and clubs in Derby is no bad thing.  Basically, with a few well placed questions and a holy mission, he got to meet the band.  WHAT.  Yep, while I was being whisked home by a bright yellow taxi (Pikachu yellow?), he met the band.  And then he got their autographs for me.  AAAAAAHHH!!!  The menu they all scribbled on is safe and sound in a pocket, and then possibly to be framed.  WOOP WOOP.

So.  Conclusion?  Best thing ever.  Bar none.  All the concerts and operas and recitals in the world that I have done and will do will never ever come close.  Sorry, but that's the way it goes.  Even though I will ever be a Songman, I know where my heart lies, and that's not a lie.   I'm certainly getting branded (inked), but probably not pierced.  The Bishop almost threw a fit when I said to him straight faced that I was getting branded, and saying it out loud the other night at HQ certainly garnered some welcome attention, so I just have to decide what I want and how it'll go.  I've got a lot of blank canvas on my back, so we might as well get a lot of coverage.  We'll just have to see.

So.  Streetlight Manifesto.  Live.  In Derby.  Almost too good to be true.  I did miss Big D and the Kids Table though, and I sure love those guys too.  Given the choice I would always go Streetlight though.  OH MY GOD IT WAS LITERALLY THE BEST THING EVER!

* The Thomas Leaper, a Wetherspoons on Irongate (A6)

**Pedigree, a fine English Ale brewed by Marston's of Burton

***A circular mosh pit in which persons involved are flung around the edge by other members of the outlying crowd

End of the Month Syndrome

Alright.  Basically the last week and a half has been...crazy.  It's swung wildly from the sublime to the ridiculous without any warning, and is pretty much likely to continue in this fashion for quite a while.  

In short, I have had literally two of the best days ever within almost a week, I've been given a new name, and I'm trying to divert the Apocalypse.  Oh.  And I'm still very worried about my little brother.  And a little bit hurt.

Obviously this summer on the whole has been testing time for me, what with the depression and the unemployment and having to watch every penny and so on and so forth...and now I have to start thinking about going back to Norwich.  I don't really want to go back, and I certainly don't care for going back, but untold danger will ensue if I don't go back when I 'should', as I'll miss the start of choir term (...) and get it in the neck from a certain director and quite possibly lose the will to carry on.  I have bigger fish to fry though, and I doubt there could be any real threats made.  Definitely no promises.  

Last Monday I went to see Streetlight Manifesto live.  That's right.  LIVE.  In Derby.  More to follow.  Today, I went to Skegness with Mother and my Close Company.  SKEGNESS!  It was Awesome.  More to follow similarly.  I've seen my youngest brother off to Windsor for a year to be the Organ Scholar there, and will be making firm plans to see him when I'm settled in halls...and when he's settled in his apartment!  We're all so proud!  He is truly the master of us all.

However.  Life defining live music events and seaside trips aside, I'm coming to the end of my limited tether as far as life at this exact moment is concerned.  I'm beginning to wear out as my Chutzpah begins to wane, and what with a weekend flyover to Norwich for work before my Halls contract starts and having nowhere to stay is taking its toll.  I just hope I don't get a phone call before I get to make the one that might save me.  And to add to this I get the horrible feeling that someone else very close found his "group of friends who..."  Obviously, we're not right for him anymore.  I have let him down.  How though?  I can't make him want to talk, but you know, I can't help but feel hurt.  Just a bit,

Although.  Consider well that his musical life at university is roughly opposite mine.  Back at my old School, they still talk about me, and they remember me as the man who could do everything, and do it well.  A confident and skilled performer, at the top of everyone's list for anything.  Norwich?  I feel little more than a statistic.  Ouch.  

Anyway.  It's not so much time of the month but the end of the month.  And almost the end of the Vac.  It's hardly been a holiday this year sadly.  I've only got one more year and as long as I get back to the grindstone but keep my head above water, I can graduate successfully and actually make positive progress!  I will be making plans to permanently escape Norwich as well.  I do not see myself in Norfolk in 5 years, let's put it that way.

Oh, and I had a haircut as well.  So you know, it could be a lot worse, right?

Wherein I become an Archeologist

You can pretty much take the title at face value; this week I've been rearranging/clearing/sorting my room.  Admittedly I could try harder, liiiiiike instead of doing half the things I've done this past week I could have spent the entire time cleaning up &c &c, but you know me.  I don't like change.

It's been quite the journey of discovery.  Most of the detritus in my room as a whole is arranged in layers, or Strati, coincidentally the name of one of my favourite albums ever.  In fact, the initial move to clean up was based on my losing of two vitally important and imported artifacts, the 2003 Gameboy Advance release of Fire Emblem, imported just after its American debut in early February, and the aforementioned Strati, Stemage's debut solo album of 2006.  With the safe return of these two, progress has ground slowly to a bit of a halt, but upon my own mother's threats will resume with gusto in the morning.  

I like to stack things.  As a recovering Tetris-addict, I love stacking things.  Thing is though, as I stack all my belongings, they (arguably thankfully) don't disappear when lines form.  Instead they teeter menacingly so I begin a new pile and often mix piles together when they inevitably fall.  Right now from my seat I can see a stack of music, shoes, lumberjack shirts and bags.  Y'know, Christmas present bags.  Not to mention the pile of all my old school books under the desk.  Oh yes.  Unless I specifically need or want to, there are no magical "Hey!  Look at this book from year 8!" moments, thanks to my tight organisational scheme.  I'm not getting rid of them, but I don't need them on show either.  There are two stacks, at least 40 books deep each if not more.  I'm still waiting for a long piece to come down.

Rearranging drawers has formed the most part of this operation so far, and a great deal of history has been uncovered in doing so!  As usual, instead of actually throwing anything out, I'm just restacking the existing contents and leaving it at that.  Seeing as I'm keeping everything anyway, there's no point in doing anything else, right?  Right.  Because I'm allowing my belongings to remain in their original states almost, I can track back to when they were originally put away, and recall exactly what was going off when, and gradually recall who and what and all sorts of things that are all connected to the particular order of this or that there pile.  Fascinating.  

Also fascinating but horrific in its own special way, is the amount of dust that everything attracts.  I have swallowed several pints of the stuff just over the last 4 days alone, some unique type of conqueror dust that chokes and blinds and still carries the smell of a former deodourant.  Mmmm.  Delicious.  This ever-increasing dust cloud has been one of the many events that I have used to my advantage in order to slow and ultimately postpone the process of reordering my personal pit.  

There is a bag for refuse though.  Some things just have to be thrown out after all this time, like broken bike lights, pens that no longer work, rubbish...you know, the usual.  Although usually, I just put all these things in another place in my room so I can keep hold of them, just in case.  Upon further assessment, my room is in essence a gigantic version of Michael McIntyre's Man Drawer, (SPOILER ALERT) in which the unlikely hero of the sketch is a man with a slight hoarding compulsion, who is called upon to use his wild and varied items to...er, do something that I have forgotten.  

Other than digging through piles and piles of books, toys and musical instruments, I also quite successfully rearranged the inside of my wardrobe, making it much easier for the unfamiliar (or just the familiar) to navigate.  My suits have been spread rather liberally around the upstairs, as there's no way they'll ever fit now.  Let's dive in to some incredibly boring/earth-shatteringly interesting/beard scratching factoids:

! Alongside my seven waistcoats, six complete suits, two jackets and thirteen pairs of trousers, I own forty shirts, including dress shirts with both full and wing collars, work shirts, ten that belong to dedicated combinations, and both black and white linen shirts.  Not to mention colour-coded lumberjack shirts (three) with their own dedicated combination rules.

" I still have custody of Anna Proctor's red Ukulele.

£ I made a pair of Nunchucks out of wood from IKEA, string and sellotape.  

$ I own eight rulers that are 12" long, and one that is 18"

% I have a drawer dedicated to plain t-shirts

^ I have kept all of my old pairs of glasses.  All 12 pairs.

& I have a bust of Luigi of Nintendo fame, which I asked Nathan to make for me in order to enter a competition, but then decided it was too nice to send off (no returns policy), so I decided to keep it.

* I really do own a copy of Super Metroid. 

()All the clocks in my room show different times.

Wow.  Don't scratch your beard too hard now.

So there we have it.  This operation will continue, at some sort of rate, notwithstanding visitors, pub trips, and days where I can't be arsed.  I own a lot of strange things, and I'm not even talking about my Transformers either.  I can see a Sega Megadrive from where I'm sat, the box proudly proclaiming its 16-bit Hardware architecture.  

And don't forget the Bongos...

The only way is up - Because I say so

As I write this, we have passed into the 15th of August, the 3rd Sunday of the month and importantly the start of a new week.  In 5 month's time, I will turn 21, the last significant milestone before 30.  If you look at the way the numbers stack up there it's all quite nice actually.  Anyway.  I'm in the mood for some resolutions, and hopefully I'll keep them and get round to keeping them quicker than my new years...

Even in light of my recent materialist urges, I'm going keep possessions off the agenda.  Sure, my laptop is bordering on muderously slow, and my mobile keeps switching itself off every now and again (I like to say it's having a nap), but they both still work and they both still do what I want them to do, and that, at the end of the day is what really matters.  I really would like new ones as far as both ports are concerned, not to mention a Bass Guitar of my very own, a Resonator for my Tenor Banjo, more sheet music and so on and so forth, but really I can wait.  Deploy the Trombones though, as I'm going all out for existential goals this time.

BOOM PARP KABOOM.

Interestingly enough, this very Web log was the only New Year's resolution I can remember, probably because I kept it in the end!  By April.

Anyway.  I'm a sad little man with poor self image who suffers from mild to intense depression, who can't get a date or a job.  This changes.

Not instantly either.  The biggest mistake that most people make with their resolutions is to start this new regime instantly.  Cold Turkey, we call it in the business.  It's pointless, it's ineffective, and bluntly doomed to failure.  I am not wired for constant failure, so I'm going to try to put a stop to it...in my own special way, in my own sweet time.  I've got 5 months until I'm 21, it's possible to change all of those things in that time.  Realistically (yes, not defeatist), I can successfully find employment and lift the depression.  How?  I have very little idea, but I will somehow.  Getting up before 11 am for starters might help.  The day is often far spent by the time I heave my carcass out of my chamber, therefore nothing happens.

I must step up and impose order upon chaos.  My order on my chaos, and that's how it will be.  Big words from a little man!  So a wake up plan is in serious order.  If I can tidy up, I can get myself up, I'm on the up.  Ok!  Good stuff.  A great plan so far.

Employment will have to take care of itself at a certain point.  I need to shake my CV into order and submit it to agencies and UEA Student Union.  Once I've handed in, all I can do is wait, and wait I will.  I haven't got long before I go back to Uni, so maybe I can find something?  Times are indeed very very tough, but I might be able to find something if I'm very lucky, and Lord knows there's volunteering to be done.  

NEXT.

My self image and depression problems can only improve once everything else improves really.  Work is its own reward!  Hoo-Ha!

Ok.  Last hurdle.  Fire up the Trombones.  Deep breath.  

Dating.  Like I said last time, I haven't been on any sort of date for what I consider to be a bloody long time.  I am pretty much out of touch with reality on a good day with a following wind, so this could get tricky.  Ergo, I label this one, er, optional.  Aha.  No, really now, I only have a finite supply of chutzpah, so I need to be careful.  But then again, erring solely on the side of caution will get me nowhere!  But then again, it would have saved me a lot of heartache and several friendships along the way.  But all this wailing and "boo-hoo nobody likes me" rather ensures that nobody will.  The fact that I hate going out to clubs &c for a night out, with their sticky floors, over-priced drinks, oppressive atmospheres and questionable clientèle doesn't bode well for me either, as this is where most of this "attracting a mate" process goes on these days (OR SO I AM LED TO BELIEVE), but hey, I'm in halls next year and there'll be flat parties which are basically the same except smaller and the booze is shared and RING OF FIRE happens and so on and so forth.  I might 'get lucky', I might not.  I might even find a lasting relationship.  I'm certainly going to try to be more positive about it anyway, or I shall never get anywhere.  I even bought new clothes this past year specifically so I had something good to wear on a date...suffice to say they haven't been bothered yet.  

Just wish me luck, m'kay?

So I feel positively optimistic about all this.  Hopefully I can remember to be optimistic as the time goes on.  I'm not setting myself a definite timetable for all this (except my room really does need a clean when I get up), but that things are looking up and moving in a good direction by my 21st.  Who knows?  I may even un-cancel my birthday celebrations and once again go out on the lash.  Banter.   Banter 2011?  Wow.  

Dead End or just Miss a Turn?

Surprise surprise, I'm reading several blogs from various authors from over the pond, in fact I've got a couple open simultaneously right not.  Always on my list is Mr. John DeVore found all over the Internet, (who even has his own website now!), [Redacted] Guy, Dater X...etc etc.  Any guest writer that catches my eye with an hilarious title gets a look in as well, there's no discrimination here Smith.  GuySpeak is also a personal favourite, often just for the silly questions people ask, or the questions that I wonder about appear or Michael Swaim posts something else...and while we're touching the subject of comedy let's not forget Gladstone.  Hate by Numbers might be on Asylum these days, but he still writes the occasional column for Cracked, which is brilliant.

Anyway, I digress.

The point is, as your friendly neighbourhood unfeeling subhuman Autistic person, I have extreme difficulty in the area of interpersonal romantic relationships, or dating as it is more commonly known.  So much difficulty in fact, that the last girl I wanted to go out with not only understood my uncomfortably and clumsily worded invitation, but then proceeded to run more than the usual mile (true story bro).  I then gave 'upset' my best shot, didn't sleep, eat &c for a while and beset my poor friends with enough moaning and "woe is me for I am alone" to last them several years.  I haven't spoken to her since and here I am writing about it all again.  Funny really.

Traditionally, I would suppose that Autistic people such as yours truly often don't realise (or maybe they do.  I apologise to anyone I might be insulting) that people pair up, go on dates, sleep together &c &c in such a fashion that the world seems content to proceed with.  For a long time (I have held my peace but now will I speak...no, hang on) I thought that it all just happened, you know, mummy and daddy are married (like mine weren't), and you live in a happy family house (like I didn't)...ok ok, so I observed other people's lives worked like that.  Enough already.  Elder siblings were undisputedly cool, you know, being older and cooler.  If they had girlfriends/boyfriends you didn't question it, they just were.  How this happened was a total mystery, as was what they did and indeed how and when they did it and so on and so forth.  

But like the Freak I am, I started to notice that at a certain age, people started you know...getting together with others.  Because I went to an all-male private Grammar School, I never saw the (male) homosexual side of the coin, as everyone from my school was pretty much expected to find a girlfriend from the all-female High School half a mile up the road.  School Discos were fraught with sexual tension (haha) and Valentines was the most exciting secular festival evar.  Roses were sold and VIth formers literally laughed their faces off at (comparatively) young children acting with that indisputable herd instinct, managing to stay at opposite sides of the hall, stand in smalls groups gossiping and giggling/trying to attract that 'special someone's' attention and of course general dickery.  That particular episode saw me give a rose to a girl who wasn't interested, but in her defence accepted graciously and treated me no different afterwards. (Ok, so every now and again it gets brought up for old time's sake or something, but we can all look back and laugh.  At me.)  

Fast forward.  

My first girlfriend was, and remains to be two years younger than I am.  We met at a choir rehearsal (Romantic!  Like it.) and there was no going back.  I had long hair.  It was almost as long as hers.  Funnily enough, I still have the rubber duck on my shelf.  I really didn't have any idea how to treat her properly though, so we finished before long and I was genuinely cut up about it but she found someone better for her and for all I know they're happy now so...great!  I don't actually begrudge her anything.  Mercy.

That was a long time ago.  Another two years pass, while almost everyone around me learns how to be sociable and polite and not KEEP LOOKING FOR THE NEAREST ESCAPE ROUTE ARGH WHO ARE ALL THESE PEOPLE and importantly with this new age demographic, the heady spectre of Sex starts to cast its coital shadow over the land.  Suffice to say, I find it hard to keep up with people, and most girls who know me view me as a Freak (and oh my god are you 'normal' people allergic to freaks) so I almost give up and once again, chew my poor friends' ears off with the whole "woe is me" routine...until...

Until I met her.  Talk about a split second decision.  One of my friends (with whom contact is now very patchy) was seeing this girl from (wait for it) ANOTHER SCHOOL SOMEWHERE ELSE IN DERBYSHIRE.  This might seem ridiculous to our new-age sensibilities, and our twenty-something eyes, but go back four or five years and think about it properly.  This is absolutely revolutionary.  Nobody knows who these people are.  They're not vetted by anybody else, and they're not pre-judged &c &c.  Anyway, kid's politics aside, my friend he gone bigged me up and got one of his girl's friends all all intrigued and so we end up going to see Borat.  Like, I dunno, four of us and four of them.  So we all go on this first 'group date' or whatever and we hit it off.  A week later, I go to Berlin, one of my totem holiday destinations.  I stay in touch via the power of MySpace but still feel anxious like hell.  I get back, and by some act of God, it's still on.  What happens next is (somehow) 2 (potted) years of learning how to deal with being with another person, making a bucketload of mistakes, being forgiven (most of the time) and you know, general rose tinted spectacle perception of reality.  And the L word.  Yes, that one.  How it ended is not a subject for discussion.  So don't even bother.  Let's just say...it was fatal.  I still regret the ultimate way it played out...and I might have just about finished my penance.  I don't know.  Do we ever truly?  

And now I'm at the end of another terrible year.  A disaster, you might say.  Domestically, Academically, and of course, romantically.  There was...well, something at the start of the year that was hard to class; a relationship of some sort that ended up breaking down because guess what!  I can't cope with interpersonal human contact.  Ha ha.  Great.  Well, it didn't work out because...not everything's meant to work out.  Fine.  

But that was in September of '09.  In a month's time it'll be September '10, and I'll officially gone an entire year without...well, anything at all.  It's been almost two years since I've been on a proper date, and you know, I actually like dating.  If it's done right then the rewards justify the gamble.  And yes, I'm just a twenty-something complaining about one whole year of being out of any sort of game, but this is a dangerous amount of time for a Freak like me.  Unlike the rest of the vast majority of society, I have almost completely forgotten how to deal with this or that situation without LOOKING FOR THE NEAREST ESCAPE ROUTE which usually gets tricky even with people I relatively know.  Perhaps it's time to give up again and wait for something to just roll up...

But it just won't happen like that again.  All the times I've been told to stop looking I remind both my conversational companion and indeed myself that my natural path through my day means that I see the least amount of people possible, preferably none.  It's nothing personal, it's just that I'm uncomfortable around well, almost anyone and I know you might take that the wrong way!  So please, don't  It's not you, it's really all me.  Just let me keep trying and everything will be fine.  And that's just friends!  Like I said earlier, the last girl who got a clue that I wanted to date her officially ran a God forsaken mile.  I really would rather not spend the rest of my days in an eternal bachelorhood either, I rather like having someone else.  I got used to it in that halcyon two year period, ok it wasn't perfect but nothing ever is, right?  I just like having someone there and being there for that someone on a...full time basis.  Yes, I'm always there for my friends, but you know what I mean.  

So looks like the only question left is the one that I used for the title.  Dead end or just miss a turn?  Will I sit this year out completely in order to find myself luckier after?  Or is this really it?  I've already used up all my relationship credits and I'm going to be one man for the rest of my days?  What a terrible melodramatist I am.  But it's a genuine concern.  From where I am it always looks like everyone else has it so easy.  You're all attractive and charming and interesting and have a chance of getting a decent job and making a good career and having a family...all of which I cannot see for myself.  

If it was easy, what would the point be?  If it wasn't so blazingly difficult I might just enjoy how tricky it is.  But alas.  It's the tiniest bit out of reach.  And I'm tired.  We all go through this one way or another.  So maybe I am like the rest of the Losers in the world and don't know it and I'm mouthing off at a problem faced by everyone.  Add to the fact I feel almost completely cut off from everyone I've met at University (the perils of not using Facebook), I'm of a mood to just stay in Derby.  Why bother being unhappy somewhere else when you can be unhappy at home?

Anyway.  After all this typing, I think I shall say...MISS A TURN.  Roll a natural 20 to join again.  As we've seen, I've already had one turn at happiness, so I might as well wait for another.  Friends with benefits and One night stands aren't really my sort of thing.  I know a lot of people can justify both, indeed both at the same time...but it's difficult.  Too grey really.  It never lasts (or does it?), so it's worth the wait.  

But only just.

Mr. Sandman...

Another very personal subject close to my heart. Being published on the Internet. Oh well, it's not like I have a world-beating readership, is it? Haha... Read on, if you like.

Dearest reader, I have chosen to discuss my habit of dreaming. I dream almost every night, and therefore feel as if I have quite a handle on it. Obviously confident enough to tell you about it anyway. My dreaming is linked to the ever-deepening chasm of Synaesthesia that I face, which I will discuss for 40 marks herein. I think it might help explain my crazy ways, but then again it might not as well. Who knows! This could be fun.

Every time's pot luck, inasmuch as I could dream about anything, anyone, anywhere in any way. How exciting. There is no episodic content (so far), and I can't remember having any recurring dreams either, but just because I can't remember doesn't mean they haven't happened. 20 and a half years is a long time, so sue me for not being able to remember everything. A-hem. This said, the content of my dreams are usually on the 'every day' side of perception; I never have special powers, I'm not The Batman, I don't have High Tea with Optimus Prime &c &c (but boy would I like High Tea with Optimus Prime). The people I see in my dreams are the people I see on a regular basis. So I probably dream about you all the time, but not in a creepy way. It's just that you're there when I'm awake and pretending to be a functioning human being, so it's natural that I think about you and that my subconscious puts you there in my head while I sleep (don't get freaked out, I'll keep digging). This because I often dream in complete sensory immersion.

I mean, think about it. It is crazy. I'm closing my eyes and then seeing, hearing, smelling, tasting and feeling just like I do when I'm awake. I'm not aware of the fact that I'm dreaming when I'm dreaming, but come round to it shortly after reawakening into this cold and unforgiving plane of existence we call reality, usually because I start to forget the things that aren't details. Sometimes the situations are unreal though, you know? There's nothing 'wrong', the sky is still cerulean, cars are still on the left hand side of the road and public transport is still rubbish. It's just that I'll see people who don't 'belong', you know? Like I'll go to HQ and say, Julian of Norwich will be behind the bar, or something. Completely believable while I'm snoozing but a little questionable in the light of day. Perhaps it means I miss them? Or some deeper symbolism at work? What is HQ? Why is such and such a person who I met in Norfolk in my local? What does it mean really? I try not to worry too much about it actually, but I certainly see what my horoscope has to say as well. Perhaps the planets and stars have a hand in it, I don't know.

It gets better. These big immersive episodes aren't always on the menu. The usual fare consist of about three of my so-called senses in operation, usually (but not always) sight with its cycling line up of wingmen. This is where the other type of magic happens. More often in third person, I distinctly remember one dream, as an outside observer walking through countryside with one particular Norfolk resident being able to smell...everything. It had recently rained (in my head), and I remember that we were talking, but I can't actually recall any detail. Sometimes all I can 'see' are colours, specifically colours that react to sounds, like music or someone talking to me (in my head) &c &c. I'm not unnerved by this anymore. I mean, far be it for me to lose sleep over it! (Boo)

Funny things crack off while I'm asleep, no doubt. I usually discard most of what happens almost immediately on waking. If I'm traveling, it's usually not important so I don't hold on to it. If I go to a public place that's usually full of people I don't know, saaaaaaaay HQ, I'll put a load of people I don't know in the dream and not pay any attention to them. Just that I'm there and it's always full of unfamiliar locals so my subconscious fills in the gaps for me. Until I dream about going there and it's empty. AND WHAT WILL HAPPEN THEN?!? You get the picture. Mostly there's one person who's important to the story, and whatever happens happens around them. I try to remember as much as I can. In or out of character, there must be something important or my subconscious wouldn't bring them into the focus like that. And so on. I feel their touch, and see the shine in their eyes. If we're firing on all cylinders I'll wake up and wonder if they really own that perfume or I did just make it up. Standard, no?

Enough's enough though. Time to stop boring you with this drivel. Keep tuning in, because there'll be more stuff up soon. I've kind of been taking a holiday from most of the Internet the past few weeks. I was trying to arrange a trip to Norwich, but insufficient funds and a lack of anywhere to stay put the kibosh on that one. I haven't been on my Facebook for ages now, and I shall probably just pop on to post the link for this and then not even stop to check; I can't really be bothered at the moment. I'm operating out of my twitter though, and I'm always on call (haha). I'm on the path to recovery, especially after a very harrowing time of my month (more on that story later), so we'll see how it goes. Who knows where it could lead, eh? (Probable disaster). Time for bed.

Vignette VII

I'm worried about my little brother.

I think he's upset.  Have I upset him?  I'm puzzled.  He had a suggestion, which I urged him to reconsider.  He wants to see them again.  You know, them.  

See, I'm not sure if he grasps what happened.  We were all friends then, but that's because there were couples (see, you know what I'm talking about now), but when all the couples broke up, we didn't speak to each other again.  That's kind of how it goes.  While we might have been kids back then, we sure gave pretending to be adults our best shot at the time.  So it was all very serious, and now we don't talk to each other anymore.

And he wants to see them again.

He said, "I don't have a group of friends who..." and he sort of ground to a halt...so I said, "Who what?"

Have we failed him?  Have we let him down?  Have I let him down?  

I said I was game to go though.  I mean, why should I not be?  Seriously, a part of me would like to see them all again as well, but I am more than conscious of the reasons why we don't, or maybe shouldn't.  I used to be in touch with her for a while after, but that sort of trailed off to what might be considered a natural end.   And you know, I respect that we've all moved on in our own special and distinct ways.

But maybe he hasn't?  Because of one thing or another, he never went through the same mangler that the others did, so of course he won't know.  Maybe I upset him by asking him to reconsider.  I didn't say it was a bad idea, I just said maybe you should think about it.  There are reasons.  You must respect these reasons just as much as you respect the people involved.

I hope he's ok.  I am worried though.  He's still my little brother, and I love him like we all love our little brothers.  I won't let him down.  I won't let any of them down.

Revolution, schmrevolution

Well, would you look at that. For the first time, in like, evar, I'm using an Apple product, not only of my own free will, but (keep this on the down low) I'm actually enjoying it!

Welcome, fellow blogospherics, to the new age. In his infinite wisdom, Saint Steve of Jobs has come down from his lofty Californian throne and gifted us with the most useless technological update in the history of technological updates: the iPad. Here's my hands-on review.

 Let's get to it. Without investing in some serious simultaneous research, I have no idea how the numbers crunch on this...well, roof slate. The screen's nice and can support multi-touch for up to 10 human fingers. Or is it 11? There's a weird electro-plaything app called "uzu" (you should get it, it's brilliant stress relief. Unfortuately it doesn't make noise) that uses them all. Of course apps are being developed constantly, and for shiggles I played with it at the same time as Bloom on an iPhone and by golly is that fun. (Don't worry fact fans, I'll crunch numbers later either when I'm used to it or I get back to my steam powered brick shithouse.) SO I'M ON THE INTERNET, HUH?!!1! That is pretty much the best thing about it. And that somehow, my retarded method of typing works perfectly on the on-screen keyboard. It's nice! Completely intuitive as well; the adverts aren't exaggerating when they say "you already know how to use it." Or they could obviously be riffing on the fact that we're using the same OS GUI and basic interface that we have been since the first iPhone way back when. This said, we must not forget that if it isn't broken it doesn't need fixing. It is suffering from wi-fi issues, but the update patch from 3.2 to 4.0 (wow, a whole 0.8 worth of software generation in one go? Tight.)  should see to it. 

Here we go though. What's missing, what will never be here and why I can't commit. Look Steve, this JUST ISN'T GOING TO WORK. I'M SORRY IT'S NOT YOU IT'S ME.

Flippancy aside, there are just some things that don't sit well at all. The current lack of multitasking is poor, to put it bluntly. Yes it'll get seen to in a firmware update soon enough, but even then it's not real multitasking.  I'm now back on my shambolic Toshiba Portege laptop (which can convert to a tablet mode as well), and I'm running 3 high RAM usage programs at the same time, namely Opera 10.60 Internet Browser, Windows Media Player 11 (I think it's 11) and Windows Live! Messenger 8.5.  Ok, I'm extremely lucky that I'm running all 3 without too much chuntering, but the boiler's at full steam and let's just keep praying it stays that way.  Funnily enough my computer starts to lag at about 2am, and I usually take that as a sign to call it a night if I haven't already.  Anyway, we're off the point.  I can run as many programs as I like (more to the point, that my 1.6 GHz Intel Centrino can handle) at a time.  I'm currently running 9 tabs in Opera, or I could do so in Firefox, or Google Chrome or even heaven forbid Internet Exploder...or any other browser I choose to.  My system is medium to low power, but ultimately (and indeed, for technically more money than it's really worth) upgradeable if I wish it.  

This is another thing you see.  If I buy an iPad, I'm buying into Apple's business philosophy, a philosophy I don't believe in.  Somehow, Steve Jobs is trying and slowly but surely succeeding in wiping basically the last 40(!) years of computing.  The graveyard of IBM 286, 386, 486, and 386DXII towers and components in my mother's attic are testament, as is Dell's current Business plan.  Windows computers always have been, and probably always will be modular units.  If something breaks down, replace it.  And by 'it', I mean a singular component.  Not the entire unit.  Software also follows this modular idea, coming firstly on tapes, then the ubiquitous floppy disk, Compact Disc and now PCDVD.  A range of external peripherals, such as printers, cameras and storage units are available as well, thanks to the Universal Serial Bus Connector.  Admittedly this is being replaced slowly by USB 2.0 and Firewire, but USB is still backwards compatible.  This is it, things can be patched up, often literally as far as software and indeed firmware are concerned, to a personal standard, of both computing power and aesthetic.  A sideways look at PC modification, even basic stuff like overclocking puts me rather in mind of the 'used universe' way of looking at the future, which the designers for the Star Wars saga (and indeed Blade Runner (Atari!)(Maybe even Firefly?)) were so keen to latch on to; it's believable, and very possible.  Spare wires hanging out everywhere.  You look at it and think "where does that go?  How can I improve it?" &c &c.  Very little suspension of disbelief is needed when you see the Sandcrawler, for example.  There's no way that shit couldn't roll around on tank treads...and can you really see Steve Jobs running around on tank treads?  Exactly.

This is not the Apple way, and I think this is the fundamental academic problem I've had with them.  Ever since the iPod arrived waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay back when I can't even remember (never owned one anyway), Apple have seemingly latched onto this...you do as we tell you.  There is no way at all of legally modifying your Apple iPad.  I know, shock horror etc etc.  Newsflash: They don't want you to.  However.  It is possible.  The technique known as 'Jail-breaking', which when used on an iPhone effectively 'unlocks' it, similar to other mobiles and network locking.  Once broken, your iPad no longer has any will of its own, or inclination to free itself from your control...  No hang on.

Once broken, you are free to install alternative software, such as another Internet browser, replace the uselessness of iTunes, which alongside being no better than WMP or RealPlayer, ALSO HAS NO STOP BUTTON ARGH.  And so on and so forth?  The price?  YOUR SOUL.  Or alternatively, your warranty should anything go wrong.  You can also access different App Stores, ie Not just Apple's.  The horror!  

Upon reading the front page of the Independent this very evening, Apple, or perhaps just Steve Jobs are beginning to get into some bother, mainly over the iPhone 4.  The 4th generation model hasn't come with 4th generation firmware, and there's also a nasty problem about signal.  Whoops.  Scotch tape?  Special case?  NO,  FIX YOUR HARDWARE APPLE.  Sorry.  The point is that they aren't acknowledging any mechanical fault, which is funnily enough what it is.  Unless iOS7 has a patch that can fix it.  Sucks to be an early adopter, huh?

Ok, so I started this yesterday in a pretty good mood, until I discovered I had to leave it because the iPad wouldn't let me scroll down in the text window, let alone use the compose toolbar.  I've come back to the familiarity of arguably one of the worst windows OS, but still windows.  What do I think about the iPad?  Well, what do I think it is?  A toy.  It's an electronic roof slate that I can tweet from and Facebook from and read comics and read other people's blogs from.  I can check the weather and intercept RSS feeds no problem...but that's really all the use I can see for it.  Ok, I could probably get a lot of use out of it as an organiser, and like I said, I can type pretty well on it without much readjusting, so it's good for note taking, even without the keyboard dock.  I do still like the clink-clunk of a hardware keyboard though.  Call me old fashioned.  Apple have certainly squeezed a lot of efficiency out of their roof tile, I'll give them that.  Display resolution is high, and processing is quick, for saying it's a 1GHz.  But then again it is ARM11.

Unlike the next generation of Windows 7 and Android based Slate computers that are beginning to trundle over the horizon, the iPad is no genuine advance.  It's a good usage of existing material though, I'll admit.  It'll make them a shedload of cash as well.  And every time an iPad battery gives up the ghost, the entire unit will get replaced.  By the time my laptop battery does the same, replacement parts will be cheap enough for me to get a couple, just in case, and maybe I'll paint my casing for teh lulz.  The iPad is a novelty sized iPod touch to cynics like me.  Hands on hands off it'll never do what I want it to do, and I'm just a music student.  Yes, it can replace entire computers for some people, and to those people I say try it and make your own minds up!  I could quite happily get one to play with, but just to play with.  I'm sorry Steve, but this was never meant to be.  Your closed system aesthetic and hardware attitude clash with well...my decision.  To be perfectly honest, I'm quite happy with my broken down dream machine, and I'm not really very willing to replace it out of hand, even with a new Windows 7 lappy or Slate (eventually), let alone one of your silver death machines.  Sorry, got a bit ahead of myself there.  I'll patch that up...maybe by Winter 2010...

Vignette VI

So it is farewell, Loser.

                    The Loser like no other.

                                               But even Losers must make do.

                                               Make friends with Disaster.                                               

Misfortune is your cousin.

Leave your regrets behind.  

Tomorrow, it could be You.

NE NE NA NA NA NA NU NU

That's it!  That's exactly what I've been looking for!  All this time cut off from the land of the living!

I consider the 2-Tone movement of the 1980's to be part of my musical heritage.  My history.  My music.  My noise!  I managed to pick up the companion LP to Dance Craze, basically a film made for, all about and jam packed with 2-Tone.  I had literally forgotten what this stuff does, and it changes my life every time.  Live Ska is a gift from Heaven above, my lifeblood and my saviour.  I mean, one you accept Suggs as your lord...

I can't even remember when I really started listening to Ska.  It was that long ago...maybe about 15 year back?  You know, dribs and drabs every so often, I'd seek out this incredible...thing, basically so I could shout and jump around because I was a hyperactive little shit.  The real moment came when I was about 8, and Suggs presented a radio programme on BBC Radio 2, all about the origins of this wonderful stuff.  I was swept up by the first wave.  First Wave Ska is brilliant.  It's incredible and full of movement and energy and dynamic &c &c.  The only thing is it's a little slow in comparison these days, but not worth any less.  

However, the real deal for me isn't even the first steps into the 4th Wave (I do love Streetlight Manifesto though), with their tight horn sections and catchy hooks.  No sir.  Not quite the best.  My heart will always belong to the 2nd wave, to the Rudies and Skinheads of the 2nd wave, 2-Tone.

I'll never forget reading in the Leicester Mercury about Laurel Aitken's death, you know?  This is the guy who basically brought Ska to this island with a little brown suitcase full of records.  Not only that, but he was a damn fine musician as well, still playing packed-out shows until sadly, ill health got the better of him, and ultimately lead to his death.  Where were you when JFK died?  Princess Diana?  No?  Definitely one of those moments.  Sat in Aunt Lil's front room, sat on the floor next to the table, suddenly happening upon the obituary page.  Man.

Anyway.  I put my record on.  And the switch flicked in my head.  Again.  This is the greatest music I have ever heard.  Like, ever.  No take backsies.  I would throw it all in in a heartbeat to play this stuff for real.  I don't care.  No, I do care!  Dance and shout and sing at the top of your voice.  Sleep all day, it's the (DU DU DA DA DA!) only way.  I love Ska.  Bish bash bosh.  This is my music, it gives me back to myself after everything that happens.  I'm off to town in a bit to meet up with The Drum, but I shall trawl the charity shops for more Ska because after all, one half of me is black, and the other half is white.  And we're together again.

Now go away and listen to Nite Klub, and Monkey Man, and Night Boat to Cairo and Lip Up Fatty and anything else by anyone else.  Just do it.  Don't regret it.  What is life without regrets?  More importantly, what is life without Ska?  Disaster.