Happy Birthday!

On the 11th of April, 2010, the first entry of this new blog was published.  Several hiatuses (hiati?) and breaks down the line, sure, but I've been writing and publishing basically at least once a month for three years.  Three years!  I've got friends who are leaving for degree courses that last as long.  I've already done mine!

When you think about it, like I'm doing now sat in one of the coldest parts of the Scholary (my room, duh), this is pretty amazing.  Usually each post is at least a thousand words, (last week's was two thousand), done in a whole continual draft and re-edit process.  I've only ever redrafted one piece from scratch, and I don't delete my abandoned posts...merely leave them as they are.  Maybe, one day when I'm rich and famous I'll get the whole thing printed in volumes, bound in real leather and lined with gold leaf, printed and bound in it's completeness...ahhh.  Yeah right.  Since that first post, I've moved house no less than three times,had three short term relationships, three part time jobs, almost £2000 worth of private instrumental and vocal teaching under four different teachers, two different laptops and an almost infinite number of other arbitrary statistics.  As I log in to my blogger homepage, I've had 7,700 pageviews, which is no small potatoes for a slice-of-life blog, which mainly focuses on how miserable I am and how difficult everything can be!  I know I have a core audience of supporters who fall upon each and every post that gets linked, several of whom let me know how much they enjoy reading my work.  To you, thanks and praise.  I know it can't be easy sometimes when it's not all sweetness and light...but my intention is to present a true account of how I feel and what's happening.  I know that what I've written sometimes has been... interpreted differently though, a dangerous journey into the limited power of authorial intent versus what people actually read into.  I try not to use people's real names as well, which sometimes works out well, but I'm sure it isn't too difficult to work out who I'm talking about all the time.  I remember coming up with all sorts of nicknames for people in Norwich, like The Chief, Sensei, The Philanderer, The Maestro, and of course The Loser... The Loser like no other. 

This will be my 109th published post by the time I get round to finishing it.  It doesn't take me especially long to write either, so in retrospect the fact that I managed to hash out a 12,021 word dissertation (with full colour pictures) in 8 days is actually less surprising the more I think about it.  I usually make this stuff up off the top of my head, no research material or drafting, rather than having stacks of prepared sources.  I still write my blog for the same reasons that I started it: I enjoy writing and it makes getting things off my chest a lot easier, like some sort of spleen vent valve.  Delving through the beginning of the archive, it's interesting to see how much my writing has changed.  It's quite like a number of other first-time writers without formal training.  Of course, all this practice later and well... I dunno.  At least I've learned to be less grandstanding.  It's still the same ponderous dross, from the same ponderous old git, but I'd like to think it's become more readable since I began.

At this point in my life, things are less than exciting.  I'm still unemployed, still with no immediate place to go once I leave the Scholary.  Arrangements in Truro aren't especially geared towards those without disposable income.  I've been living off the least amount possible, which has been a surprising journey into boring meal solutions, not even going into shops for fear of spending money, and drying my liver out.  My dear mother, the greatest Jewess on the soil, sent my Nintendo Gamecube down via courier, which has been installed next to the television in the living room, co-existing peacefully with the resident Xbox 360, jacked in to the scart on the side leaving the usual HDMI well alone.  This is shades of Bury street all over again, because everything really does just roll around and it's all exactly the same.  The only thing left is for a stray cat to enter the house and we're almost done.  It's business as usual as far as my gaming habits are concerned as well, as one of my most important pieces of software is here too: KILLER7.  Anybody who follows me on Twitter will know that I am ever so slightly obsessed with this insane thing, which I usually describe as a work of art before I say it's a videogame.  I've started all over again on not only that, but Metroid Prime (what the hell is with that control system anyway), Super Smash Brothers Melee and Soul Calibur II.  I've also got Metal Gear Solid, Fire Emblem and The Legend of Zelda; The Wind Waker too, but I haven't deleted my precious saves for them.  I'm unemployed, single and have little funds: I'm very interested in staying in at the moment, so I'm going to do it properly.  I might just get hold of a cheap telly with a scart port in the back after I get paid so I can take the 'Cube up to my room so there's definitely no chance of conflicting with my fellow Housemates' desires for on demand television services or FIFA/Burnout party &c &c.  This isn't about having arguments with people, this is just about making everything as easy as possible for all parties.  Sometimes it's possible to please most of the people most of the time. 

Staying in because I'm poor has actually been an enjoyable experience.  Brain-bending odysseys and arcade fighting games make a wonderful panacea when coupled with an almost constant intake of tea, a worthy distraction from NOT going out and NOT drinking.  The past couple of times I've been out have actually been hilariously enjoyable experiences - a week ago I managed to reach my physical limit for beer and survived and at the weekend saw Chippie, a really good and honest friend I met at that home from home from home, The City Inn, Truro.  The Playhouse Bar it certainly ain't, but a real pub that's far enough away from the Cathedral to matter makes all the difference.  The 'clientele', (or patrons as they're usually known) are pretty nice guys, and coming from hard-drinking stock, I find being in a pub a familiar and relaxing experience.  The fact that they serve alcohol in large and satisfying doses is... well, just an added bonus! (haha yeah right).  The weekend also brought its share of awkward social politics and answers to a lot of unspoken questions about the social state of play.  It's all good fun after all.

So, what next for the Songman's Rest?  I don't really know, to be quite honest!  I'm at an intermediary point in my life still, what with all this employment and accommodation still in the air.  I'm still really quite scared about basically not being able to afford to live in Cornwall: being brutally honest, I could be unemployed, unsure of the future and playing videogames and obsessing about washing up literally anywhere else in the country.  I do not need to be here, worrying about the ridiculous cost of housing, when I could be somewhere else.  I could be back in Norwich for God's sake.  But... I don't want to be anywhere else.  I want to be a Lay Vicar of Truro Cathedral Choir.  I am proud that I have been asked to join the full time team, and I will make a difference and I will succeed here...somehow.  I'm not going to let anybody down, especially not myself, or indeed the Big Man.  You'll be pleased to hear that I still haven't had a date since... Oh like, the summer now, or indeed that I even have the courage or confidence in order to ask.  Of course there is somebody I kind of like, have a crush on I guess, but we'll see how that goes.  Maybe I will ask.  But probably I won't.

The tagline still stands.  This is a tale of love, of life, and the end of the stall (being Decani Alto 1 puts you at the end anyway) which is poor only in a financial sense now.  Gone are the days where I am bullied by the senior, or at odds with the director.  I am joining a respectable team of good-humoured and skilled semi-professional singers.  It's only semi (careful) because the pay is... vocational more than a wage.  The attitude brought and the skill and musicality of these people is maybe not quite as high as say, Westminster Cathedral, but is without question the best musical environment I have been in so far.  I am fortunate and incredibly grateful to be a part of it not only last year, or this year, but for years to come.  


I think I'll be keeping to the almost-weekly schedule.  I wouldn't keep writing if I didn't enjoy it, and the weeks where I haven't written anything have been those weeks where I've either been too down to consider it, or very busy; times where writing just hasn't fit into the schedule of either my life or my mood.  I will continue to write exactly what I want to, and boo hoo if you don't like it.  I've made and lost friends over what's been published before, and I would hate for that to change either.  Maybe one day I'll be fortunate enough to take some writing classes, and really improve my form, but until then, I'll keep blithering on, and I'll see you on the other side.

Catharsis

The answer's all in the title for this one.  This week's question, therefore is "Why do I do this?"

"This", of course is my blog.  True to type I do a lot of ranting, mostly about the way my love life is as dead as the hope that it might improve.  Man am I tired.  Everybody hides and everybody goes away.  See III-V for more on that story.  I haven't done toooooo much about the poor end of the stall, but choir is often the least of my concerns, paling in comparison to my financial situation for starters.  There was the odd comment about the junior handshake brigade, but I think that's all I can be bothered to say on that.  THEIR LOSS.

Generally, things are ok.  There, I said it.  My life isn't that bad.  I have a bit of spare change to my name, I eat whenever I want to, and I have a stable back line of bestest buddies behind me for when I inevitably fall.  In keeping me going on this mortal plane, The Doctor, The Drum, The Bishop, Slam Dunk and The Royalty have a lot to answer for.

I mean, this is a 'serious' (ok, semi-serious at best) entry into this ponderous log.  I've had enough vignette-ing for now, Lord knows you're probably all tired of reading about my private life anyway.  It's always been easier to write about these things than talk about them.  Not only am I male, but also an Autistic male; I have no hope of being able to participate in open discussion of what I really feel, hence my usual response of "whatever I think doesn't matter".  It never does to rock the boat anyway, and seeing as I'm usually the dissenter of the company, it's more trouble than it's worth.  

On the other hand, I type out this drivel because of two other factors: choice and ability.  Being a native speaker of the English Language with the power of literacy literally at my fingertips, I can write out what I like.  And my handwriting's abysmal, so Times New Roman is a good friend in a pinch at the best of times.  And hell, this is the Internet after all!  If you update your Facebook status or are a regular Twitter user, or heaven forbid BOTH then you're microblogging anyway.  As we can see I do all 3 but then again I don't have a Tumblr or a Flickr or some such.  I might have a PhotoBucket account, but I've forgotten the password and blah blah blah.  

So there we go.  Artificial Spleen vent when things don't go my way and a method of self-comforting when there's no more booze.  Nobody else is going to make me feel any better now, are they? (HURR HURR EMO)  Oh well, as long as you're entertained.

Anyway, enough already.  I just heard my brother enter the building (yes, my actual brother), and I'm going out later.  Life always finds a way.  There's always another way.  

Oh...And anyone who has reading III-V...I laughed it off.  HUSTLE.

Social what now?

If you are reading this, it means you're on the Internet.  Hell, the fact that you can read it means that I'm on the Internet too.  Hi!  How are you?  What brings you here?  &c &c...

Whatever the Internet was originally conceived for, that premise is no longer the priority.  Military intelligence network?  A way of opening the Peer Review process out to potentially the entire world's Scientific community?  Mind Control?  Who knows!  Actually, a lot of that still goes on, unbelievably.  I know, right?  In the mid-ninties, something else happened.  Google was born.  Now the entire world could look for the entire world while comparing stocks and shares, or whatever serious people use the Internet for.  The order of the day in this rip-roaring 21st century, as I'm sure you're already aware as you read this from a holographic display in your flying car piloted by your robot butler, is Wikipedia, Instant Messaging, free Pornography, Twitter, reading newspapers, "Web logging" (Blog), and the real bread, onions and beer of this particular soliloquy (at least I think it's a soliloquy...): Social Networking.  Oh, and comics.

What is the point of "Social Networking" then?  Answers on the back of a postage stamp to the usual address as standard please (more on that story later).  All of the major sites (or more accurately, the ones I know about/can be bothered to remember), Bebo MySpace and of course the mighty Facebook all follow the same pattern.  You sign up, and depending on your real age and the service you're registering for give a real or fictionalised account of your date of birth, marital status, &c &c  You fill in your sundry details and put up a picture of yourself so you may attract the people you know and can recognise you by sight to your page/profile and attract people you don't know with your handsome face, interesting hobbies, witty quotes and so on and so forth.  This process continues until you can basically talk to anyone you want, and several people you don't want, with out actually speaking or committing word to page.  Brilliant!  All the hard work taken out of being sociable right?  Wrong.  You can't have a drink, be that coffee, alcohol or coffee with alcohol in it over the internet.  You cannot share an impromptu song, or the smell of perfume or a scribble on a napkin or anything like that.  Don't forget you can't make eye contact.  Very important.  Or a handshake, for that matter.  

Am I just being old fashioned?  I mean, sometimes it's the closest you can get to someone when they're on another continent, I guess.  Or it's the middle of the night, and you happen to be on an IM service.  False situations are created, I'm not saying they're all bad but they're still false.  Black and White, are they right or wrong?  OH GOD I DON'T KNOW IT'S A GREY AREA NOOOOOOOO *a-hem*

All said, I rather enjoy writing this crap.  I know I don't have a massive readership by any measure, but some people are reading this somewhere, and I don't care if on reading my Vignettes you think I'm some whiny emo kid suffering a terminal case of being an ass hat, because I am quite an ass hat and I rather feel as if I'm suffering a terminal case of heartbreak as well so go figure pal.  

Ironically enough, as an internet-based nerd with crippling social difficulties and a mental disability, I rather relish the challenge of meeting people in the flesh.  Yes, I have to listen to someone else's stories, share my precious personal space and usually spend refreshment for myself or them as well, but I rather like it on balance.  Hell may well be other people, but if heaven were peaceful I'd find a way to get myself kicked out.  The uneasy monster of dating is looming nearby, but what with my recent record I'm in no fit state to talk about it so openly.  Let's just say for now that I don't date.  

What about writing though, that ancient medium?  As much as these are words that you are reading that I have wrest into order, nothing beats pen (or pencil) on paper.  It's easily my best method of communication, the written word, which is how these blasted posts manage to be so long.  There's an almost unbroken brain-to-hand trail, unlike brain-to-mouth, which is tricky at best.  That vital second of thought makes all the difference for writing/typing/signing &c.  I rather like letters.  Who out there wants to correspond?  Handwritten as standard.  There is one particular person I really want to write to, but I'm actually frightened to ask, for once.  Sorry, I meant AS USUAL.  I haven't even seen them online for days, and the wonders of the Short Message Service haven't been effective.  Anyway.  If anybody out there who is reading this crap wants to get in touch, do it.  If you show me yours, I'll show you mine.  Of course I meant address, you prevert.  

Social Networking, Old School Stylee.

Confessions

Dear Reader (yes, I know who you are), it is time to get a little piece of information out of the way.  If I am to continue with this ridiculous "writing about life/myself/other people" schtik on the internet, I must get this off my chest.

I am a nerd.  Like, hardcore.

ZOMG shock horror lol!!!1!!  Blogger admits to being a nerd!  Who would have seen that coming?  Isn't the internet solely populated by cartoonists, nerds, gamers and porn?  I'm playing Fire Emblem: Path of Radience on my Nintendo Gamecube as I type, with Jeph Jacques' Questionable Content open in one of my tabs, in Opera 10.51.  Next to me are 3 books: Star Trek Concordance, Star Trek Phase II the lost series and A.B.C WARRIORS The Volgan War volume 01.  Not 3 feet away from me is a bag from Tombland Books, containing a KJV Bible complete with Apocrypha and a book of the Complete Letters of J.C.W.T. Mozart.  It formerly contained a book of psalm chants and a Critical and Biographical study of Thomas Weelkes.  

This is the thing.  I am a nerd about so many things at once that it boggles the mind.  Like, seriously.  One often wonders how I can go without wearing a shirt with my entire pen collection stashed in the pocket every day...

For instance, I just sent dear old mummy home (after her quick trip down for the opera) with my VCR and DVD players, alongside my video collection, which included the first 8 Star Trek Films and Episodes IV-VI of Star Wars, in the gold special edition box set released in...1998?  Also, my £400 Great Coat is safely back in Derby.  Who the hell just casually owns Star Trek films anyway?  Especially on video?  Next year I'll bring my Hitch-Hikers Guide to the Galaxy with me as well.  Not the ponderous film adaption, but the classic BBC series.  And if I'm questioned, as I obviously will be, I'll just say it's an integral part of this country's Science Fiction Heritage.  Because it is.  Reading that back, I must have typed that with milk bottle glasses and a massive overbite.

And thinking about it, my overbite is pretty substantial, but I feel I manage to get away with it.

Ok, so being a Trekkie on the quiet is pretty standard for a nerd.  Let's take this to the fridge.  I've followed Questionable Content more-or-less since it started (I joined early but went back to the start as well), so that's 7 years of dedicated reading, 2 days, then 3 days, then 5 days a week for 7 years.  I haven't bought any of the Merchandise yet, but don't think I won't.  I also follow Commissioned, Dresden Codak, Sam & Fuzzy, XKCD, PVP, Reprographics and Least I Could Do religiously.  If I miss a few days I'll backtrack.  Not only that, but I follow the artists/creators on Twitter, and I even follow Yelling Bird because god help me it is so funny.  Eventually, I'll improve this blog post when I learn how to HTML code again, and get all the links in so you can click on the names instead of googling them, or whatever.  

I buy Transformers off eBay, and while preferring G1 rather like the movie designs even though they're horrifically impractical for toy design.  I am salivating wildly at the prospect of purchasing War for Cybertron and actually being Optimus Prime, if in a figurative sense.  IT'S GOING TO BE OFF THE HOOK.  I actually cannot adequately describe how much I love Transformers, right down to the last 'bot and 'con, but especially Grimlock.  He IS Badass in physical form.  As is the Batman!  Man, this gets worse.  Should I keep going?  Hah!  If you're reading this anyway you must have some sort of inkling of my unholy geekdom.  

I enjoy Chess, and actually miss playing regularly.  I have problems with Tetris addiction.  I own my own Dice bag, and know enough D&D basics to fight my corner in a quest.  I used to collect Warhammer 40K (Dark Angels).  Terrible, isn't it?  

Musically, I'm just as bad, which is once again, pretty standard for a music student.  Equal Temperament is for suckers, and Valotti is for the weak.  Johann Sebastien Bach got thrown into prison in Weimar for getting into a fight in public.  Orlando Gibbons died of a stroke, Nicholaus Bruhns could improvise a bass line on the Pedals and play solo Violin over the top.  Samuel Pepys was a Flageolet player.  Handel learned to play keyboard on a Spinet in his attic.  Blah blah blah...

I could go on.  In a totally specific way about absolutely everything.  All the time.  So I just thought I'd let you know, I'm a bit of a nerd.  How the hell do I show my face in public?  Answers on a postcard to the usual address...

p.s.  If you can find the DK reference you get points.