An Enthralled Synapse...

Holly Candy! I missed my Christmas night out!!!

2006-12-16T11:47:00.000-08:00

Yep, I did it again! Last year I missed the Christmas work lunch and this year I missed the whole Christmas night out. I was really disappointed as I had all the intentions of going and having a good time. But the last few years has seen a change in the wind with regards formal office parties. What had once been fun events have turned into terrible contrivances and since my new job at the Revenue and Customs Department, it would appear that circumstances beyond my control have conspired to make me miss out on it all together! OK, If there is a Will there is always a Way... but somehow it just does not work out. The writing was on the wall, it could be said, for over a year and although I might fancy that there is some dialectic force compelling me to screw up such simple office parties, the pattern can be traced far into the past. So, if you will be patient, I shall outline a potted history regards my woeful Christmas party experiences and hopefully this will paint some excuse as to why I missed, what is for many, a happy excuse to get drunk and fondle each other.

The office party, especially the Christmas Office Party, is a well known tradition in the Modern World. It offers a huge opportunity to get fired, blackmail your boss and get charged with sexual harassment. But despite all the assaults (sexual or other wise), it is still a cherished tradition along side buying overly expensive gifts, getting suicidal over the Christmas turkey and spending an evening with relatives you loath with every fiber of your being. Why do we do it? The same question can be asked of American Slavery, Blood sports and the sacrifice of children to pagan gods. It was something that made sense at the time but with a shift in paradigm, we look back at it differently. The same can be said of "office parties". It is something that we do.... esprit decor!

It has been said that I like a good drink, a good laugh and to goof off. Thus it would appear that I am predisposed to a good office party. When I was an undergraduate , the last two years had a departmental “wine and cheese” event in which I would get very drunk, fall into bushes, and possibly be involved in some rather dubious activities that I shall leave up to your imagination. At the end of the year there would also be a number of parties whose sole purpose was to make as much noise, drink all the liquids available and tell each other why you hated the course, the faculty and make up all manner of poisonous gossip about your fellows. It was heady days and a few pictures survive of me throwing up in a toilet, getting pushed into the street and trying to chat up some people WAY out of my league. But that is what undergraduates do and I would like to think that I was at least good at that. So when I found myself in the real world with a “real” job, it was at first a bit difficult fitting into the routine. Despite all the forms and university policy, it was generally accepted that you would miss tutorials and taken as read that you would not attend that many morning lectures either. Perhaps there was a time when students were more formally constricted but if that were the case, I have seen little evidence of it today. But after a few “hiccups”, I got into the swing of things at work. You turned up on time, did your business and got paid at the end of the month. But then came my first Christmas party! Holy Cow, that was an eye opener. In fact I soon became quite excited by the notion of an "office party", especially the Christmas Night out. So it comes as a strange turn of events the last few years. I don't think I have turned into a curmudgeon but it looks like it.

My first proper office party came with my second job after university. My previous job was part time and that fitted into my classes and carried on for about six months after I graduated. As a "home help", I looked after people as part of their respite care and after I graduated I had just two people still on my books. After they had gone, I moved on. My new job was just awful and was with a company that hired out staff and services to hotels. I didn't last that long there and I don't put it on my C.V either although I wasn't fired or anything bad like that. At that time my boss was this grey portly guy who drove an expensive car and smoked large stinky cigars almost all the time. He was a walking caricature and he was universally disliked. Bigotry and boasting was his forte and he would bring his blonde air head girlfriend into the office and together they would make snide comments about anyone who wasn’t within ear shot. Even his daughter, who thankfully didn’t look at all like him, was quite open about her distain for him although she was only 17 or 18 at the time. But despite that, when it came to Christmas he really pushed the boat out. At first I thought this was his way of showing he wasn’t such a bad guy after all and that he appreciated the work we had done but it soon became apparent that he was actually showing off his largess and all through the party he acted like some Victorian charity handing out bread to the riff raff. Fortunately he left before the serious drinking had started, I would learn later that this was because previously people had started to tell him what they really thought of him with harsh words, obscene gestures and threats of violence. I am still sorry that I missed that! But it was a memorable night out… what I can remember that is. After that I made an effort to get a proper job but one with any clear career prospects was never forthcoming. The result was that I seemed stuck on a continuous holding pattern of entry-level jobs that went no where. If there was an upshot it was that my fellow workers were students, newly graduated or a coterie of interesting and aging disgracefully “drop outs”, all of whom I naturally got on well with. Thus the office parties were familiar fantastic affairs and some of these guys and galls had incredible stories to tell. There was one old “teddy boy” with LOVE and HATE tattooed onto his knuckles and wore an Elvis quaff that seemed varnished into his died black hair. He had been in Jail, his only son had died of an overdose while visiting him and he had been in the army. That is what I mean by “life experience” and talking to characters like that just showed how lifeless ones own existence had been so far. So you took another swig of grog, brushed yourself off and wobbled to the dance floor and curse all who got in your way! Woo Hoo!

The mechanics of the “office party” are a strange one and are definitely not as simple as it may at first seem. You work with someone over a period of time, you get to know their habits, character and you may even get to like them. When I was an office temp for a brief stint where all the workers were well groomed to the point of decorous soigné. I hated every minute and was in a dark mood from when I walked through the stain free glass doors in the morning to when I exited that evening. Part of this was because all my near neighbours were modishly dressed and I doubt that any of them ever farted, suffered a black head or pimple and most likely never deigned to swear. Sure they were polite and hard working but they had all the character of an electric kettle and were as deep as a kids paddling pool. They also had an annoying habit of playing “Friends”, that popular television comedy programme. Each one had their favourite character or quote and they would play this out during the tea break or when they passed each other en route to the water cooler. I’m sure they must have gone diabetic with all the saccharine that pervaded the work environment.

But observing them, I became aware of the pantomime that was going on. These were not androids or idiot savants! They had desires, grudges and dark impulses but all where subsumed beneath a thin veneer or office decorum. One smart guy liked to tell slightly racist jokes but only to me. Was he trying to provoke me, to sound me out or was he trying to prove his superiority in a game of counting “coo”. I didn’t bite but annoyingly he took that as submission. One other occasion is burned into my mind and happened after I left the office temp business; I saw C_ walking along but she failed to recognise me, I had put on about a stone in weight and had grown a beard, but she was unmistakable. It was raining and she was very wet. Her long red hair hung lank down her face and she was hugging herself for warmth. It looked like she had been crying and was very miserable. I called out but she looked right through me as if I was not there and shuffled off along street and through the grey cold rain of Autumn. We never know our work mates. You can spend a life time shuffling papers and complaining about the work load but you never see beneath the facade and if you are honest, nor would you ever want to. They are not your friends and they are not tied to you by any social quality other than you go to the same place to work. It's like trying to befriend someone who waits at the same bus stop as yourself; its just not done. There are office romances and some office friendships but I think that is due either to pure animal magnetism or by some other OUTSIDE contributory factor. Being "just" workmates is just that. I don't mean to be so "down" but I think it is delusional to expect something more from co-workers if all you share is the same work address. But I would like to think I get on with a lot of people at work and an "office party" is a nice gesture never the less.

WHAT has this got to do with Christmas night outs and Office parties. Essentially for a few years, I had a wonderful time revelling with all the other bodies. But now I started to experience an ennui as I noticed that in this bacchanalia was a destruction of self, be it in drink, sex or by shared group “experience”, that reinforced ones submission of self to the group. The full exploitation of the individual in our society was not only the economic slavery to commodities via a popularist consumerism but also the erosion of individuality by the culture of excess. I found myself in the eye of the storm. You want to loose yourself in the cacophony but the price is always too high. Fortunately ennui won the day. What was closer or easiest won the day. I am no revolutionary, I'm stuck in the flood but rather than swim against the tide, I try and grasp at the weeds and flotsam that comes my way. Living so close to campus means that the “wine and cheese” party wins over the drunken invasion of Manchester or a trip to Amsterdam. Boring, certainly!

Two years ago was the first “bad” office party. I had already made my mind to jump ship but I hadn’t told anyone. The last one was held at a bowling rink and had started off all right until something happened between my sister and my then bosses girlfriend. I was in the difficult position of knowing my bosses previous girlfriend as well as another one he had met during a “pause” in his current relationship. So I was unsure how much any of the women knew so I kept to my own council and remained polite, if a little formal. But then I was an employee and it was not my place to do otherwise. So we all went off to some cr*ppy club my boss really liked. My sister was under firm instruction not to attend as I didn’t want any problems this time round. Unfortunately a part time French Jewess (that’s how she described herself to everyone by way of introduction) decided to have a “chat” with the girlfriend and the result was a very uncomfortable “scene” that involved drink and a pair of car keys being thrown at me… I would be fated to be hit again when, a few months later, I came across this girlfriend vandalizing my bosses car. Anyway I wished my sister had attended, if only so she would have glassed someone so I could make good my escape from the club and out the country. I quit three months later but the boss and his crazy girlfriend are still an item. Go figure!

Last year was my first Christmas party with the Civil Service and I was expecting great things! I had two bad Christmas parties, so I assumed I must be due for a good one. I arrived early, four hours early, and sat at the bar nursing a gin and tonic. I had thought there would be a few bodies already there but I was alone. On my second drink, I found I was at the wrong party and walked to the hotel at the end of the road. Peeking through the window, I saw it was also empty so I decided to walk home and come back later. As I reached the Meadows, I bumped into A_ who had just studying for some Sports injury and rehabilitation course. I was never sure what it was exactly. Anyway he was with a small group and they were going to the pub for a quick lunch and so I joined them. It was a nice crowd and I hadn’t seen A_ for almost a year and a half since we took a Summer job over at the University Halls of Residence. There was a French girl who found my pronunciation of her language uproariously funny and we decided to make an evening of it. But after awhile I thought it best to go and join my work group and either try and combine the two or else try and find A_ and his friends later. My singularly bad habit is that I am forever forgetting my mobile phone number so I wrote down their numbers and bid them adieu. When I found my office co-workers, they had finished their lunch and after lunch drinking and dancing. The plan was to go off to some other venue and so I tagged along… only to end up going to some god forsaken Sports bar where everyone decided to go online and play “hot or not” or Google raunchy flash cartoons al night. The hard core “titty bar” brigade had already fled to the nearest lap dancer place and so I was stuck with a small group of people drinking themselves stupid. In the end it all fell apart rather quickly and to top it all off, I lost my numbers! I have never seen A_ or that charming girl again and the next day I was really pi*sed off with the whole “office party” business.

This year was going to be different. Strangely I found I could cherry pick from some of the groups or niches in the building but I chose none of them. It had become apparent to me that many of the people I talked to didn't actually like me. But this didnt bother me as I had a life outside work and had already met up with a few people from my previous jobs as well as fellow students, but I don’t think that could be classed as an “office do”. There was a small event over at the Student Union but I only know a handful of students since I’m not an undergraduate or part of a large group undertaking a taught course. And there is nothing so vulgar than a hoard of drunken sods aged approximately 18 to 24 and puking in every direction. So once again it was a small informal gathering but it still bashed my liver a wee bit. I’m no longer welcome at my last employers “office” party as his girlfriend thinks I’m some sort of sex pest who provokes her 40 something boyfriend into picking up East European lap dancers. I’m innocent! In fact I could site a grievance as I almost got beaten up the last time I went to the “stripy” with him and that was a few years ago!

Hence I was looking forward to sharing a few "bevies" with my new group. I'm still fairly new so they don't know of any of my bad habits yet.

I am in a new work group in my office and this is composed of about eleven people including a new Front Line Manager. The group is quite mixed with some full time people and some part timers like myself. I think I've been there a few months now but only working a couple of days a week means that I'm not that well known in the group. So I was hoping that the night out would "break the ice" and help me fit in better. Or that was the original idea anyway. Anyway I chose to forgo the Christmas meal as I had already had meals out as mentioned before and this was a new group so I didn’t see the point. Instead I would go to the “night out” and planned to meet everyone around three. I left the office and was going to leave my stuff at a friends but no one answered the door. So I walked home, dropped my stuff and had a quick shower. There was a cheque that came through the post and so I went to the bank…. BIG MISTAKE. They close for the weekend and are grossly inefficient and slow. The small office was crammed with business folk depositing their takings for the week and it seemed most of the bank staff were doing some review so there was only one till open. I could have decided to leave it but it would be Wednesday before I could hand it in and it takes three days to clear. What a rigmarole! While I was waiting I noticed my old boss and afterwards he wanted to talk to me about something. I wont mention it here but WHAT!!!! I’m surprised his girlfriend hasn’t done a Bobbitt on him. It was now five and there were missed calls and messages. I knew a few had already left as “oz” wasn’t going to hang about and the others said they were going to leave at five anyway. So I made my way to the Haymarket as I knew some students who usually go down there with the idea of hopefully meeting up with a few of my co-workers. Last New Year I ended up playing “catch up” with a few people and missing everyone and getting thoroughly pis*ed off. So this time I thought to wait at the centre and wait for them to come to me. Big mistake as I hardly know them and they chose to either stay at CARGO or went to the Cowmarket. So I had a few drinks, stayed within my budget and got home about oneish. So not bad but not an “office” party. Perhaps it is fate or perhaps I need a new office? I feel bad that I had not managed to meet up with my co-workers but I don't think I was missed much. If I am to be blamed, then it was that I did not turn up rather than I did not participate. A sad indictment of the "office party" philosophy. Hopefully no one will be offended especially as this was just an office party and a small one at that.

So what next? Well I think I will have to plan something. I'm way too passive when it comes to work related events and so things tend to be out of my control. I must try harder. That which does not kill us, makes us STRONGER.

Oh, boy!

Holy Crud! I forgot about my late Library books!!!

2006-12-13T11:54:00.000-08:00

Some of you might remember my previous posts lamenting my library fines and my many futile complaints about hostile or maladroit librarians who get between me and the archives, books or manuscripts I desire. Certainly I have been in Libraries so long that I have become somewhat complacent, even cavalier with my actions and activities with them.

With the words of the august Britney Spears in my mind; oops, I did it again. Yes, it was only a month ago that I lamented to anyone who would hear me about my £25 library charge with an extra £12 fine to clear the account. Sure I took out way too many text books, hadn't bothered to scan or photocopy the relevant articles and had left them to gather dust on my shelf... but despite the fact that I hadn't bothered even to check their due dates on-line, I somehow felt that I didn't deserve such a punishment. I'm a researcher after all, we're supposed to keep books and hoard stuff. Yet despite the debit to my wallet, something I can ill afford, I go and do the crime all over again. Can't wait to see the supercilious face of the head librarian as I come back to hand over even more cash. At this rate (and it is looking like a pattern is forming here) I should ask for the new library wing to be named in my (dis)honour.

"Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me!"

Anyway, here I am again. This isn't even the second time either but part of a repetitive track record of late library fines and dealing with asinine library staff. What happened this time is that I can't renew on-line as the fine is over £15 but I cant make it in until next Wednesday. The fine is temporarily frozen but when I pay it, it automatically adds on the time difference so I'll have to pay almost a weeks worth of fines! Only a week - well we are talking of over 20 books and texts here. Why does this keep happening. I don't think I'm stupid or beleaguered by some philia for library hi jinks. Perhaps it is in the blood? My sister once was fined somewhere in the £100's mark when she temporarily absconded with some precious book from the School of Oriental and African studies a number of years back. I'm bad, but not THAT bad. Still all these £20 pound notes are adding up over the year.

Although I do not believe in "New Year Resolutions", I have promised myself that this is the last library violation I am going to make or at least the ones that are easily avoided with a modicum of foresight! Must try harder as my old report cards used to say. Let this be the last library fine especially as it is so easy to renew online!!!! So it goes.

07/01/2007

Just an addendum to the above. My assertion that I would not incur another library fine lasted just a week into the new year. I have just paid £42 in fines. Essentially I forgot that I had a few short loan books so when I went to renew the lot online, I found I had incurred library fines. There had already been a fine of £10 in the system which I had decided to pay the next time I was in the library. Then I decided to return my library books and pay the fine BUT I forgot that the library closed early on the 22nd. Add a few more feeble excuses and you have me trying to renew the books this morning. Oh dear!

When I arrived at the library there was a small group of studious "swats" in the reading room and a few fresh faced bodies wandering around. It was generally quiet and the weekend librarian staff where on. Generally they are very good natured, despite working on a Sunday, although some I rarely see so they may be part time workers. Anyway I walked up and handed over my library card sheepishly.

Essentially I am of the opinion that my public demeanour is good and that I come off as a friendly sort of chap. In most cases I can get on with strangers and often get on the good side of people when talking to them. Unfortunately if I run into a "jobsworth", or a "I hate that I have to serve YOU" type, I am generally sunk as my good friendly banter quickly gear shifts into a passive supplicant that only brings out the worse in such types. In fact I have meekly put up with some frankly rude (if not abusive) people in my time. I rarely complain and try to remain friendly even in the face of incompetence. Its a very bad character flaw that has caused a fair bit of bother. The fact is that bullies often crumple when someone bites back but redouble their efforts if you wilt or appear meek before them.

Fortunately this time the librarian was nice and we got to chatting about things. It must have been a slow day for her. Anyway she gave me all manner of options, including just paying £1 to unfreeze my account, but I opted to pay the whole whack. It was I who failed to renew the books, it was I who failed to come in earlier and it was I who knew how these fines can easily ratchet up in a short stretch of time. The full fine was £43.90 but she said £42 would be alright.

So will this bee my last infraction? I hope so as these bites out of my wallet are slowly mounting up! Fingers crossed.

impressions - IMVU Insanity.

2006-10-24T20:52:00.000-07:00

I have always wondered if there is some point in a persons life when they know they are about to go over a line over which there is no return? Does a binge drinker know that if he goes to that pub, he'll now be an alcoholic? Did Howard Hughes pause just before he put on his first pair of tissue box slippers and wonder where it would all go? Probably not. Life and life choices are never so simple or so clinical.

But I asked myself this just before signing up for a free guest account on the IMVU web site. It is a fairly new instant messaging (I.M) service with a very extensive array of accessories for your graphic avatar. I was already a closet fan of "The Sims 2" so it seemed quite familiar. Previously I had avoided OKCupid (save for the time wasting and pointless tests) and MYSPACE because there was nothing there that attracted me. I'm not the sort who felt comfortable chatting anonymously via my computer to some stranger. Yet after I had finished my IMVU avatar, I instinctively clicked the "CHAT NOW" button and was instantly immersed in the surreal world of I.M babble. Old maps once had warnings of "Beware Dragons", well IMVU has that and a hell of a lot more.

Now, those who know me will probably be shaking your heads at this point. I am aware that this sounds very sad. I.M is often seen as the domain of sad gits, just the same way as confirmed bachelor means gay. I'm not quite sure about that but I think we should set as side our preconceived notions and see how it pans out.Let me start this by saying that I came to this juncture following two very innocent paths;

The need to find a reliable chat or Internet talk provider.
A recent BBC Radio 4 talk show on the emergence of Internet currency.

I should mention that my Dad is abroad and travels around a lot - often to countries and places with heavy Internet or bandwidth restrictions so Internet phones are sporadic at best. The result is that we often have to fall back on I.M services. I am not comfortable with Yahoo and MSN is too plebeian for my tastes so that's out as well. The result is Google Talk but I am always got an eye out for other providers. Just now I'm experimenting with VSO chat. So when I saw that IMVU was in beta testing (I was a beta tester for Windows XP), I could not resist. Well that's my excuse.

There was also the fact that a few days earlier there was a BBC radio program on the development of on-line and virtual industries on the Internet. They noted that although the bubble broke some time ago as regards the heady days of Internet based investment, that there was still a lot of money to be made, such as the sale of YOUTUBE to Google. But that there is also a growing trade in Internet goods and services that are not strictly real and were inhabiting a gray area as regards corporate law or traditional business practices. They mentioned the curious tale of World of Warcraft on-line virtual markets and even the possibility of virtual stock markets for virtual currencies. A google search brought me to IMVU - it wasn't the one that was mentioned but I liked the look of it and decided to investigate further.

NOW - so far everything appears above board. Those who know me personally are, I hope, imagining me approaching this area almost academically. But no matter how high you think my intentions are, the very concept of avatar based chat rooms evokes a very sinister image...

The Internet chat room has been seen as the traditional home of pedophiles, pornographers and preteens who seem eager to appear on the sides of milk cartons or crime watch programs. After all, what normal thinking adult would want to dress up in some virtual costume and chat up strangers? Any foray into this area will show that the conversations tend to be puerile, base and often racist and soul destroying. Satre might have said HELL is other people, it is especially true of most chat room conversations.

I have tried to be delicate but this is what comes to mind...

PLEASE note!

I am not that man in the picture above. But I am the sort who likes to email. I like to write long letters and have maintained a hand written correspondence with friends, old workmates and relatives over the years. I'm verbose by nature. Its in the blood. Getting started with IMVU is not difficult but a few precautions are a good idea. I run spyware and viral checks regularly and dont use a real world photo or my actual name. The set up itself is fairly simple - you chose your user name and general appearance and you get free introductory credits to which you can invest in your avatar by buying different clothes, items and what not. There are three standard scenes - a coffee shop, a fairground wheel and a darkly lit rooftop straight out of Gotham. In the adjacent picture, you can see me looking all dark and brooding. I am also clutching a book - an old habit I picked up as an undergraduate so as to appear "intellectual". As you can see, it actually makes me look like a prat. I can say that now, but it took me three years before I realised that was the effect.

You can buy extra scenes, clothing and even pets. I suppose it all depends upon what sort of impression you want to give or perhaps you like that sort of thing. It's like playing with dolls or an action man when you were a child. But I'm basically cheap and although I can find the time to do all that while playing "The Sims 2", I'm not about to fork over my credit card for the same service here. That is why I'm stuck looking like Harry Potters older but unhip older brother. So it goes...

After the first few attempts, it became obvious that 90% of the users were ambi-curious. There were girls named "naughtyteen", "2hot_2touch" or "reelslutie15" and they tended to start the conversation by mentioning their age or their virtual looks. Avoiding them, I tried to strike up conversations with (hopefully) like minded individuals... ...who were all very thin on the ground. What struck me as odd was the huge amount of male avatars looking for "female" avatars. Sure, in real life us guys can be very superficial but in a virtual environment where a 70 year old ex-con can pretend to be a 16 year old vixen, judging solely on looks beggars belief.

On my second day, I was starting to get paranoid. You'd exchange pleasantries only to be asked "A/S/L". On one occasion the person cried "I hate Scots" and on another "I want pussy" and logged off. This was certainly not the Electronic Global Community I was looking for. Soon I suspected everyone.

By the third day, I had found a few very friendly people and we talked about culture, politics and popular myths. My optimism regards Humanity returned. Then I ran into a slew of sex mad avatars! One got angry because I hadn't commented on their homepage - I checked it out and there was a picture of a really rough girl drinking vodka in a miniskirt. I fled only to run into another - this time touting for avatar on avatar touching. EEK! My dream of utopia was dissolving into the pixalated version of Sodom and Gomorrah. There is still hope, a few glimmers but the vast majority of users are mere chaf. Although I do accept I'm no great catch myself.

Perhaps I was becoming over sensitive but there is something VERY disturbing about chatting with a complete stranger who has chosen to appear as a living barbie doll and is adamant that they will flirt with you at all costs. It's a little like being mugged by a transvestite with 12 o'clock shadow but not as interesting.

But wait! It can't be that bad? True, it isn't. In my brief digital wanderings, I have come across a few nice people. Perhaps they are evil perverts pretending to be nice, but I doubt it. There are a number of friendly folk who are just playing around with the system, either with their friends and family or else just looking for someone to talk to.

Now sometimes you bump into people who seem actually interested in talking but because they have had to be confronted by half a dozen crazy people, the conversation is a little stilted. Imagine, if you like, being a stand up comic at a Rape Councilors convention and you get the picture. Thus I am not entirely convinced that you could find a best friend or, dare I say, future beloved solely through the Internet, but it is still an interesting and enjoyable world into which you can share banter and interests. So the jury is still out.

A FEW WEEKS LATER...

Well I went off the deep end and uninstalled IMVU from my system and ran away screaming! The problem was that your avatar always looked like some damn horny "Bratz" doll and I suspect most users use it as an electronic version of hanging around school yards. Certainly some user homepages seemed to have that in mind and I'm surprised that they were not pulled from the system. The other downer was a number of racist and sometimes sexist users who seemed to think that IMVU was an apt forum to spill their vitriol into. So despite a few very interesting and pleasant individuals, the whole thing was just poison to the soul.

There was also one other thing that, like the final nail in the proverbial coffin, persuaded me to end my very brief dalliance with IMVU. My sister and a few others from University noted my blog comment on IMVU and decided to hunt me out. Despite not knowing each other, all three did exactly the same; pretended to be strangers who thought my homepage was "cool" and wanted a chat. The fact that I could not differentiate them from a few "crazies" who had started leaving very strange private messages on my homepage, just showed that despite all its graphic sophistication, it was still just a chat room into which very little meaningful or accurate information could be transmitted. If a suspicious guy like me found it uncomfortable - what must a daily existence in the strange world of IMVU really be like and what does it say about the type of individual who prefers to hang around its virtual hangout joints than in the real world?

Here is a link to a YOUTUBE vid cap featuring Dave Chapelle and what the "Internet" life would be like if it were real. CLICKY HERE.

impressions - Amazon Angst.

2006-10-05T21:39:00.000-07:00

Previously I have complained about Ebay, not so much the web site itself, but the barmy way the various users buy and sell their goods. It was a good natured ribbing as I have only heard a few stories of fraudulent behavior which was dealt efficiently. So I continue to use Ebay from time to time despite the occasional eccentricity!

Why am I banging on about it again? Well this time I want to talk to you about Amazon, that great on-line dealer in electronics, books and other fun items. Unlike Ebay, which is a sort of junk shop filled with like minded individuals, Amazon is a more standard on-line retail provider. I’ve used them for books, games (your guaranteed they are not copies) and some low end electronics. You do a search for what you want; you pop it into your virtual basket and then sort out delivery and payment. Then all you do is to wait for the postman and you get your goodies. Hurrah!

Now I have said that I was introduced to Ebay at work. Part of my duties was to monitor searches, contact dealers and help sort out delivery and feedback. I also had to sell some low grade antique items and took photos, set up the page and dealt with general enquiries. It went smoothly and there were few hiccups but both buyer and seller were amateurs and so small delays were expected. So when I eventually started to use Amazon I liked the fact that they maintained their stock so you knew what they had and you were confident that you could buy what you wanted, when you wanted it.

But only recently, since I’ve used Amazon.co.uk has suppliers in Europe and the United Kingdom so that shatters that theory. In my email account there are innumerate emails expressing apologies for the delay and I have even received about 35 pounds in gift vouchers as recompense.

My recent order for two text books and a South American collection of Short Stories was expected to be delivered in a weeks time but when that time came up, I got an email saying the delivery had been pushed back a further 2 to 3 weeks! I’m not annoyed as payment has not been deducted, but it is still galling that this is a repeating problem.

I’m sure the reason is that I seek to purchase obscure literature, specialized text books and avoid the plebian tastes has a part to play in this. Dan Brown is in near constant demand as are Madonna albums, so there must be case loads of the stuff in warehouses around Britain. I doubt that my interests solicit such a loyal following and so the infrastructure isn’t in place to make sure my demand is met as quick. And yet saying that, it does not assuage my disappointment as when I place my order, the display window for the items claim a quick delivery which I know, through long experience, will not be met. That aside, I am still a loyal customer of Amazon… until I am made aware of a better service provider. Such is the way of things.

impressions - Ebay Anger.

2006-10-03T06:15:00.000-07:00

There has been an uneasy relationship between myself and the virtual marketplace that is Ebay. I came to Ebay quite late in the day, sometime after it had already entered the public consciousness and seeped into popular culture. In fact I had mistaken Ebay for a retro-graphic site that had made a spoof version of Ebay so I imagined it as a more complicated version of an internet chat room. This error was only corrected about four years ago when I started working in a small Edinburgh antique shop whose ground floor was very stuffy, hot and dusty while the basement was cold, damp and prone to flooding. It also was famed for having the second worse toilet in Edinburgh, but I digress. My then employer was a fan of Ebay and used it to scout for all sorts of stuff and was quick to make a profit from it with little bother.

Since those dark days, I have bought an awfully lot of tat but have also sold some of my more useless junk to pack rats around the globe. I shall not reveal to you my Ebay identity name or even what my feedback number happens to be although I am proud to say that I have had no negative or even neutral feedback.

Now I assume that you are aware of the mechanics of Ebay. If you are one of those rare few who have not visited the site then all you need know is that it is not so much an electronic supermarket but an electronic car boot sale. A real car boot sale is often dirty, disorganized and possibly illegal unlike Ebay – after all it uses a sophisticated Boolean search engine so you can easily find that pirated copy of “Debby Does Dallas”.

Now since Ebay is one of the most popular internet sites, why am I going on about it on this small pedantic web blog of mine? Good question and one that I won’t answer but I will say that I have this love / hate relationship with it and it is that which I want to talk to you about today.

When I stumbled into this virtual arena of buyers and sellers, it felt like I had found the Mother of all curiosity shops into which I could search for all those strange and obscure items my imagination could invent reasons for me to purchase.

While my old boss bought art nouveau lighting, glass ware and difficult to find documents, I bought comics, assorted cigarette cards and reproduction photographs of 1920’s beauty pageants. Money well worth spent!

Now the reason I find that I have to wax lyrical and vent my spleen at the same time is as follows; some twit outbid me on a much needed book. In fact this was the second time I had been outbid and that both bids were illogical – they were willing to pay over the retail price (not including the overly exaggerated postage cost) for a second hand item. A quick search showed the same book on sale as new for less than there bid. So what was the logic behind that? In fact there has been similar nonsensical behavior, such as when one auction saw a small bidding war with the price being driven up while an identical item with a similar description and seller attracted no bidding at all. I am sure that if you are familiar with Ebay then you will have your own examples, perhaps even taking part in such extreme behavior yourself? I can well understand how internet buying can draw people in – but that still does not excuse stupid behavior!

So please take these words under advisement; think before you go crazy and click that mouse button!!! After all is that rusty Tonka Toy, Latoya CD or oversized Manchester United t-shirt really worth all that money? Let some other sucker forsake their hard earned cash in their endless pursuit of useless tat. Also spare a thought for the hapless student who needs to buy hard to find text books, out of print reference material and assorted documents.

Be seeing you… through the wrong side of the looking glass! Ha Ha Ha.

Wondrous Things - The Mazinga Z Model.

2006-10-01T20:32:00.000-07:00

Why Wondrous things? It is a section of blog entries dealing with the strange "stuff" one finds oneself attached to. I may be in error but I think that the late Angela Carter once wrote about a sort of existential special room that we create for ourselves, which is filled with memories and objects as we pass through life. What would you find in mine?

Many years ago, when I was about twelve, I had a rather puritan turn of mind. All the baddies I read about in books or comics were ultimately defeated by their obsession with “stuff”. In all the great stories, the heroes were the ones able to cast aside their assumptions or desires for a “greater good” while the baddies were hamstrung by their venal obsessions and habits. Terms like “commercialism” and “consumerism” where, back in those heady days of Hippy idealism, were considered dirty words. So I imagined that my future self would mirror this ideal. That I would live an austere life and concentrate on "real" things like personal enlightenment, independence of will and self-sufficiency. I would not be as foolish as to become overly attached to material possessions and would live an uncluttered life. Perhaps not Spartan or austere, but a lifestyle definitely minimalist in application and a life suited to purpose and direction without the mess of nick knacks, gonks or pointless collections. The popularist Desmond Morris noted that our need to decorate our home environment is tantamount to urinating so as to mark our territory.

The road to hell is littered with good intentions and I ended up quite the opposite. I am a bit of a pack rat and have amassed a small collection of pointless stuff that I know is without any intrinsic worth but still appear as needful things in my daily habit.

A word in my own defense is the fact that it has been my experience that some of the most tidy rooms and desks have belonged to the most boring, unimaginative and bland people I have ever met!

-o0o-

A "MAZINGA - Z" ROBOT

When I lived in Australia, my father worked for long periods away from home. He would be away for a month or so and would return with his bags full of all sorts of goodies from his travels. One thing that I really liked and became almost a tradition was his buying me various die-cast Japanese toys. He would arrive and I would follow him around like a puppy dog, until he came to unpacking his bag upon which he would slowly reveal the presents he had bought for us all. One day he brought back a few strange packages that he had bought in Japan. I had never seen anything like them up to that point and the boxes were printed in this intense futuristic manner with Japanese splashed along the sides beside dramatic pictures of the toy in action. These strange looking figures were so alien and different that they certainly put my old Dinky toys of delivery vans and airplanes in their place!

One of my early favorites was a metal Super Mazinger robot. It had red wings, a black body and shot its fists at a press of the button. I kept the toy with me for years and my attachment grew when we moved to the Philippines and I found that the television showed a host of badly translated Japanese robot cartoons. On a Tuesday afternoon (I think) they showed the original Mazinger Z and it blew my ten year old mind.

Anyway, while I was staying in Malaysia for a short while, I walked into a model shop and found an almost one foot tall Mazinger Z which instantly compelled me to buy. I suspect that I had not got used to their currency and so any frugality was automatically shortcircuited in my mind. But the figure was so iconic that it was a "must have" moment! That also explains why the robot is still on my shelf, looking over my desk and can be seen while I type this out on my computer.

I am not sure what happened to my original die-cast "Super Mazinga" robot. All I recall was that around the late 1980's he had lost his rocket arms, his winged jet pack and his black paint has started to peel. He looked like he had been in the wars - which I guess was true as he had been involved in many childish campaigns of the imagination. He had faced off giant monsters, explored the ocean depths and been thrown through the endless bounds of Space. But all childish things are imperminent and are soon cast aside and forgotten - almost forgotten. That is why I have a "collectable" Mazinga - Z robot model. Although if it was suposed to be "collectable", I would have kept it in its original packaging, but where would the fun be in that?

I have seen a few copies of the original comic and the cartoon was very much a faithful reproduction that captured the imagination of legions of school children around the world. A quick search on the internet shows that the program was translated and broadcasted in South America, most of the Mediterranean such a Spain and Italy as well as in the Middle East and much of Asia. Curiously it made little impact in Northern Europe and Anime didnt really become popular there until the 1980's, particularly with the advent of the Transformers and Go-bot marketed toy phenomenon.

The cartoon itself was quite basic with Dr. Hell and his army of evil robots being the usual generic crackpot baddies familiar to many comic shows. The design of the robot was rather basic. The hero would fly his hover plane into the head of the robot and activate it. It could emit rays from its chest crest, fire its rocket arms and what not. It could not fly and much of the earlier background story had the hero trying to prove the scientists wrong by getting him to fly.

The standard story convention for Mazinger Z and, for that matter, most subsequent Japanese Giant robot cartoons was as follows; The baddies introduce their new robot champion, the robot goes and destroys something and usually catches the goodies by surprise. The hero robot is defeated but manages to escape. Que some rigourous soul searching, researching a new weapon or discovering the one weakness of the evil robot. There is another fight and the hero destroys the bad robot. The baddies are forced to retreat, vowing to return. The hero has learned a valuable lesson. Harah! But despite the cliché, each episode was enormous fun and I remember the series fondly. This structure evolved into the standard template that became de rigour for future giant robot cartoons and can still be seen in the scripting by numbers story lines of the endlessly repetative episodes of the much later but less original Power Rangers or Pokemon cartoons. I suspect that the popularity of those derivitive programs was because the consumer didn't know any better and the Pokemon card game was an obvious "cash for trash" ploy aimed at impressionable children and their parents disposable income! Don't get me started about that bugbear!

For those who missed this fantastic cartoon, or if you remember it and want to be reminded, here is the introduction to the first season.

Mazinger-Z intro. This is from about 1976/7.

Now the main theme music to both Mazinger Z and its upgraded brother Great Mazinger would both make great drunken karaoke songs! You want proof? Well here it is through the glory that is Youtube;

Mazinger Z Opening Theme Song - includes some original clips as well.

Great Mazinger Opening Theme Song (Live) - sung by the original performer Ichirou Mizuki who seems to own a special red frock coat for such robot themed events.

Although I only knew enough Japanese to get myself to the toilet (but not back again), I could sing the Mazinga Z song by heart! After all the years that have passed since then, I may no longer be able to sing that song but when hear it, I still get that shiver of excitement!

But I must confess, although I fondly remember the Mazinger Z cartoon and as a grown man have a model of it on my shelf , Mazinger Z was not my favorite show. That goes to DAIMOS and VOLTES V. Both were made a few years later and the quality of the animation was generally better. Yet with that in mind, there will always be a special place for Mazinger Z in the heart of this particular Fan Boy.That is why my Mazinger Z reproduction statuette retains its pride of place on my bookcase.

Impressions - My Second Hand Lap Top

2006-09-15T22:21:00.000-07:00

Let me talk to you about my back up computer. I use a second hand lap top that was bought from an I.T guy who had claimed to own the machine for less than a year. The machine itself is an Acer Travel mate 3210 and came with a T.V input device that lets you watch some very grainy television. I wasn’t too keen on this add-on as I had read that the Arial feed is effected by the computers own radiation and so you are guaranteed a blurry and troublesome picture, but the device was already on the table and I went for it.

This was the first time that I had used a second hand machine. The reason for this was not some inherent snobbery but because all my previous computers were left in a sad state of affairs; fused motherboards, corrupted programs and all its wires spilling out of the case. Hence my reluctance to buy and use a machine that some other sod has had his incompetent way with! But needs must, as the saying goes and I am now the proud owner of a silver colour laptop.

Initially I was not a fan of the laptop and put them on par with digital watches and leather file fax thingies. Probably because I remember the early days of laptop machines when they broke easily and that they are still quite pricy for what you get. There was also the wee news story of the batteries bursting into flames which is actually more dramatic than their usual behavior which sees them loosing their charge capacity (memory) to only a few minutes. But my mind was changed by the fact that many library reading rooms around Edinburgh are becoming more crowed, especially around term time, but I noticed the tables set aside for laptops were often empty! So I use a laptop as an artifice so I can avoid sitting next to amateur genealogists, hung over students and strange smelling scholars. There is always a solution to every irritation if you have the patience and the resources to face them off!

Upon receipt of the computer, I noticed that the guy had wiped the hard drive and reinstalled Windows. That was expected and all above board although he had not included the disk for the DVD player and the one he had installed was only a demo version. The other surprising thing was half a dozen pictures of pneumatically enhanced bathing beauties on a non-descript beach. These pictures were located in a file marked "screensaver" in the "My Pictures" directory. From the look of it, they formed part of a screensaver program although a few pictures were degraded. Fortunately they were not properly installed as they would have appeared while I was making notes (still by hand) in the library. God knows, the librarians do not need any excuse to lower their estimation of me already!

The question is why they were there at all? There were no games, no humorous pictures, nothing else installed. Everything was back to factory specs. The machine had been reformatted so any previous data would be destroyed. If this was a comic extra, then why not properly install it and if this was a deliberate act on his part – what does it say to his character or his opinion of me. Do I look like the sort of man who needs a bit of free porn with all his purchases? On the other hand, when he sells his furniture does he include a topless calendar? A strange situation, I think.

Before I end, I would like to point out that there are no pornographic (soft, hard or exceptionally questionable) on my computer. I download a few tunes and play games, but the largest percentage of work done on my machines is research based. I’m the sort of guy who takes a perverse glee in the fact that I edit Wikipedia entries and have my own blog site. Sad isn’t it?

4. This Blog.

2005-10-26T10:47:00.000-07:00

Those few who visit this site may notice that most of it has gone! Once again I have gone on a massive edit spree and erased huge swathes - almost all the blog entries and even the useful "links page" and the popular "who I work with" post. All as part of my on going effort to spruce up this blog site. Some have expressed annoyance at my blanket erasure as an awful lot of pages have gone for good and even one person thought I had erased the blog entirely.

My motivation was to get rid of all the "fluff" and start to build a more structured narrative for this blog. Sadly I really didn't think it through and just erasing whole entries without thinking of what I was going to replace it all with was a little stupid. But here I am and I'm starting all over again. Fortunately the people behind this type of blog site have upgraded their system and have made it easier to archive various types of entry. My hope is that slowly a more disciplined blog will slowly unfold. Think of it as an "organic" development.

Let us look at the first principles behind my creating this web blog. Why did I start this blog? What is it that motivates me to make these entries? To be sure vanity plays no small part. Creating a blog like this is only a few rungs down to having your "novel" or "biography" published via the vanity press. Nothing is so reaffirming than seeing your words published and even though hardly anyone will notice it, there is a small thrill seeing your entries appear on the screen of your computer. But I don't think that is the main reason I find myself typing all this. I actually think it is cathartic; a cheap form of therapy and an effort to express ones thoughts, feelings and ideas. I like writting and maintaining correspondence and, as a student, I am familiar with writing essays, presentations and reports. I like to write. I like to express myself.

Everyone has ideas that are specific to their comprehension and experience. Thus human experience is original and precious in its individuality. A study of history often gives a superficial understanding since so many individual voices have been lost. Perhaps the ability for so many people today to express and exchange ideas on the Internet is its saving grace, I try and remind myself of that when faced with countless Spam emails, pop-ups and forums given over to racist, pornographic or small minded pursuits!

As I have already said; I like to write, to debate and to explore. I have always wanted to keep a diary and make frequent journal entries but the reality did not match the desire. Many a time I would start a journal, only to loose interest a few weeks later. Sometimes I would make some eloquent statement or pithy observation but then would devolve into an uninspired rant against the trivial and the tawdry. When I would return to my pages, I was not inspired but aghast that I could write such puerile self-conscious pap! The life of such diaries was short, what I imagined would be interesting archives of my thoughts and experience, end up as a mere couple of pages that I would eventually consign to the bin. Perhaps I expected too much? Perhaps my desire out weighed my capacity? What ever the reason, I found the electronic Blog a far easier device to use.

Originally I set up a family web site, the kind that came free with the internet server you subscribe with. It was fairly basic and was not at all satisfactory. I then found a free web site that offered a few bare bones and I posted a few pictures. Once again, I struggled to find a voice or even a direction. Sure the Internet is so wide that you can find all manner of interests and ideas but it is much harder to find a comfortable niche into which to set up a forum. It was only by accident that I found this Blog site.

The first site was set up just to mention and discuss the few movies, concerts or events I attended. After a few first attempts, I found things started to coalesce around the Edinburgh Festival. I may not have added to that site for some time, but it did wet my appetite for a more regularly updated blog – hence this one.

I confess that it is not a lean, well organized blog and it certainly holds an uncertain passage between diary and editorial, between the personal and the political, the comic and the serious. Perhaps time will bring clarity, but in the mean time I shall keep this as a “rompas” room of ideas and recollections. In fact, I can not guarantee that I shall not erase this whole site again in an act of caprice! In the meantime, please feel free to issue any comments on what is here.

That is all I want to say for now. I notice the date but shall not discuss why I should remember it. A sad date. But pay that no heed!

3. What dreams may come?

2005-10-19T20:00:00.000-07:00

Before I begin, here is a small insert from my curriculum vitae;

C.S.E, C.E.E, O-Level, O-Grade, Higher, A-Levels in various subjects.
Graduated with a 2.1 BSc (hons) in the Social Sciences.
Studied history f/t for one year as a Non-Graduating Student.
Completed 2 years of an undergraduate degree (BA) Psychology & Philosophy before transferring to an MA.
Graduated MA in Philosophy.
Completed Open University (arts) courses in the humanities.
Completed one year of a Higher Diploma in Criminal Justice.
Currently a research student undertaking a PhD program

Now with that information, you would think that would be it. Well sadly it isn’t. The act of writing down my dreadful academic history has put me in a retrospective mood. What is a C.V? What have I actually done and what does it say about me? The answer to those questions won’t be answered here. Instead I shall just address my continuing problem with the C.V format and give an outline of my experience to date; part rant part biography. Who are we? What are our capabilities and where are we going? We all ask ourselves these questions, particularly if our hopes and expectations remain simply that, wishful hopes and unsatisfied expectations. But many ask these self same questions of us and for nothing so banal than whether or not we can clean a toilet, greet people behind a desk or sit contentedly in a call centre. As human beings we can empathize with our fellows and so such questions are used by biographers, employers and the simply curious and to judge our worth. It is important as it is how, out of the vast army of eager and not so eager applicants are sifted out to produce a manageable group of candidates. Questions are asked but some selectors make their selections on the statement “I don’t like the look of that person”. Certainly a gut reaction, an instinct, perhaps born from some six senses or an unspoken intolerance, but in the highly complex and super-numerate population of job seekers, the formalism of the C.V replaces the simplicity of whether or not the appellate wears a tie, has white skin or has a pair of testicles! Or so the theory goes.

So we find ourselves in a situation where a potential employer reads through a mound of various C.V copies before choosing the most suitable on the basis of the information provided. It is supposed to be fair as you only have the basis of the information to work with although as a theory it omits the fact that the poor might not have word processors, obvious “ethnic” nomenclature and that you don’t get paper proofs of valid life experiences. But that aside, the employer reads the C.V and asks “Would She fit the job” and thereby gauge if they can fry potatoes, provide adequate crowd control or file papers in the right order. Sounds like a simple question but any answer, with even a modicum of accuracy, needs a vast amount of detail. Which is highly questionable given the limitations of the C.V, its size and the disparity of subjective interpretation?

So with that in mind I would like to pose another question; what use are the all those Curriculum Vitae papers we shuffle about between employers, organizations and departments? If anything, it is my belief that they are next to useless and only help facilitate existing bias. I also think that a lot of talented people are overlooked because their C.V fails to differentiate them from the rest – also how do you write down things like life skills, character and promise? Tradition would argue that it is in the interview that such things would be detected – as if middle management and those with personnel management business training are especially gifted with insight. I think you can tell how I regard that particular caste of humanity. I am biased but that is only because one sees maladroitness in almost all levels of business hierarchy.

That aside, I do declare that my own previous C.V efforts have left much to be desired. In one instance, I listed my acting experience at the end of it and at the expense of any details of my varied volunteer work. I was blissfully unaware that many in the business world equate amateur acting on a par with recreational drug abuse and facial tattoos. I also once listed myself as “educationally disadvantaged” on the advice of a teacher as a way of explaining why I had a mixed bag of basic school qualifications almost all achieved as an external student or at college after I left school. Of course the word “disadvantage” probably erroneously evokes the image of “disability”. Certainly I lacked a degree of perspicaciousness as regards what management wanted and specifically the watch words they look for. For this lack of insight, I blame my lack of career advancement. I remained in short term entry level or part time posts as well as a host of dead end jobs. As the great Kurt Vonnegut would say, “So it goes”.

Anyway, the reason for this entry was to act as the typical C.V page much as you find on many other vanity blogger sites. Personally I don’t feel comfortable giving out anything of detail but a basic outline would be all right.

C.S.E, C.E.E, O-Level, O-Grade, Higher, A-Levels in various subjects. Graduated with a 2.1 BSc (hons) in the Social Sciences. Studied history f/t for one year as a Non-Graduating Student. Completed 2 years of an undergraduate degree (BA) Psychology & Philosophy before transferring to an MA. Graduated MA in Philosophy. Completed Open University (arts) courses in the humanities (150 points) Completed one year of a Higher Diploma in Criminal Justice. Currently a research student undertaking a PhD program.

Looking at the above I can see that a lot has been lost in the details, such as with my shift from a second undergraduate degree to a Masters program. Think of it as background or foreshadowing to this rather pedantic blog site of mine. So here are the details…

I left school with hardly any qualifications save for rag tags bunch of vocational qualifications that hardly anyone recognized. I did earn a Pitman Typing certificate but when I managed to get an A in a single O-Level I sat as an external student that persuaded my parents to send me to college.

Going to college was strange. Over the previous years, as I previously intimated, I had generated a lot of hostility to teachers in general. I found many of them to be dogmatic, teaching by rote and interpreting any debate as a threat to their authority. When I researched something that questioned the facts they were espousing – I was seen as disruptive. Perhaps I was? But going to college, I found such debate welcomed and encouraged. I learned to value the knowledge my tutors possessed. It really was incredible and it was a fun time for me. Looking back everything was rosy except for a small run in with a few twits and that a fellow pupil whom I used to drink with got himself killed in a motorcycle accident.

I enjoyed myself at college and found it hard to leave. The result was a string of O-Grades, O-Levels, Scottish Highers and A-Levels. I probably be still there now had not the Principle (or what ever his title) taken me aside and told that I could not do another year. So in a panic I sent out application forms to other colleges to study for a Diploma but it was too late, going through the last minute clearing system and I ended up with a place at University! I hadn’t bothered to read the degree outline before accepting the offer, satisfied as I was with its wide range of subjects it touched upon. The result was that I was obliged to work through a mound of math and even business theory. The course was almost one third mathematics for the first two years! This was a problem almost from day one and I had to do the resit for my Calculus exam in my first year. But despite that hic-up, I graduated with a 2.1 BSc (hons) in the Social Sciences. The mathematics, mostly multivariate statistics, meant I did a lot of work in demographics and sociology at work with analysis in production and interaction. My honors project was titled, “Post Modern Educational Communication Systems” or some such waffle. After all that work, I ended up missing my own graduation and I suspect that my parents still have not forgiven me!

After that I rested on my laurels and when the World failed to beat a path to my door, I left the country for a bit. On my return, I found that my prospects had not improved. Looking back I now know that my C.V was so poorly written that I could not have done any worse had I given Charles Manson as a character reference.

So began my Wilderness years and it was during this time that I started a string of dead end jobs but I also started undertaking volunteer work with a couple of charities as well as some amateur acting which culminated in a “blink and you miss it” walk on part at the Lyceum Theatre. I also wrote a number of short stories which all attracted polite rejection letters for each submission. In fact I still have them – perhaps one day I’ll wallpaper my bedroom with them! It was during this time that I realized that the technical aspects of my degree were becoming outdated and that my lack of good work experience was becoming a liability. When did these Wilderness years come to a close? I’m not sure that they ever did.

When it became obvious that things were not working out I decided to go back to university to get another qualification and settled on an undergraduate degree but this time in Psychology and Philosophy. I had studied psychology as part of my first degree but not to any great detail as I chose electives favoring sociology and demographics. Previously I had attended classes in History as well as courses exploring culture and society – all subjects that interested me and I was able to take as I was working weekends and only part time during the week, so it also helped pack the week out. But going back to University with proper exams and course work was an entirely different matter. My thinking was that with a BA in Psychology, I would automatically become a member of the British Psychological Society (a professional body) and would have the kudos of being able to call myself a bone fade psychologist. The rational was that with a second degree and a professional accreditation, I would make myself irresistible to employers. Alas my brilliant notion would not reach fruition. After two years, I felt psychology to be a questionable science and found the company of my peers to be quite tedious. Switching to Philosophy wasn’t hard but in the third year I found out that there was a Masters program and that I was eligible. I had the chance for a good job for a few months and so I dropped out (later going abroad for a bit) and returned the next academic year to study for my Masters. Ethical Philosophy was my chosen subject area. My dissertation is a bit of a blur, weaving in all sort of out dated post-modernist analysis when ever I could but I won’t bore you with the details. The upshot was that my parents finally saw me graduate.

A wee while later I studied part time for a post-graduate diploma in Criminal Justice while I worked in an Antiques shop. Perhaps Criminology would have been more appropriate. Most of the other students where police officers, lawyers or those who worked in that area. The fact that these people were already following a career path and this diploma would move them up to the next rung sort of made me feel rather self-conscious – I hadn’t even found the ladder yet! After the first year I was offered a better job and decided to put my studies on hold. At the time, I thought of working straight for a year or so and then go back to the studies and as it was part time. The University was very helpful and was happy to let me go. Shortly after finishing my training at work, I was at a party and got into conversation with some non-descript guy. His girlfriend was as high as a kite, so much so that she was stuck on the ceiling and he looked kind of embarrassed by it all. Anyway he mentioned that he was just finishing off on a PhD and from what I gathered it was relatively easy to get set up in that sort of thing. Walking home, the gears of my mind were slowly grinding over what I had learned. The result was that I sent a letter to the head of department (I had attended some of his lectures previously) with some vague sweeping research topic. A few months later I was offered an interview from which I was later accepted onto a research PhD program.

We are now almost up to date! I shall not bother describing my current work – perhaps I will at a later date. What I will say is that I am only doing it part time although that will change in the future. I will also say that my aim is to reign in my rather dilettante approach to academic studies and to get on with it and not getting side-tracked.

NOTE: I must apologies for the above rambling diatribe against the C.V. It was meant to be a brief sketch but instead my verbose nature took charge and the result is fairly obvious. What does it tell about me; a reflection of a lack of discipline perhaps? They say that someone who babbles perhaps has the least to say – hopefully that is not the case with me but as I cast my eyes over the above, I can only apologies to anyone who has the misfortune to read it. Yet after all that I am being disingenuous as I wrote this on my laptop before uploading it onto my main computer and then transferring the file onto the blog site – so this is not an act of caprice but of design. So no amount of equivocation or stated apologies is going to ameliorate the fact that I am a long winded blowhard. Well at least I’m aware of my problem which, so it is commonly believed, is half the battle won. Salute!

Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn!

Nuff Said!

2. A damp water closet.

2005-10-16T22:44:00.000-07:00

You may notice the comments below that were "removed by the administrator" - me. This was because they were automatic adverts that basically read that they liked the blog and for similar comments to visit their blog - which sold insurance, web tool programs or for business services. So I erased them.

The reason for the title of this entry was a flood caused by a leaky toilet two floors up from myself. This entry originally had me ranting at the carelessness of absentee landlords to maintain their properties, tenants who couldn't give a f**k and a council strategy that saw old flats being turned into student dumping grounds. This blog entry was 100% rant. Looking back it was obviously 100% badly written and my only excuse was that the spellcheck on blogger is abhorrent and that when I write angrily, I am oft to miss the proper key strokes and not notice. So bye Bye angry rant and hellow strange graphic of a nude guy on a pentagram.

Nuff Said.

1. The beginning is a very dangerous time.

2005-09-04T08:12:00.000-07:00

Eat less Fruit.

Many years ago I found myself ensconced in a rather austere boarding school. There were old torn and dusty curtains on the windows and we slept in iron frame beds with flacky paint and piss stained horse hair mattresses. These mattresses were ancient, hard and were marked with multiple soilings that were reminiscent of tie-dye t-shirts but without the bright colours. It was in one of these beds that I badly twisted and tore a tendon when I fell asleep with my foot through the railings. That aside the beds were not that uncomfortable as generations of incontinent public school boys had made a permanent body print in the stiff horse hair and into which you could curl up.

Curiously I now find myself aghast at student and motel bed sheets. Ancient urine is one thing but multiple donor seminal fluid stains is of an entirely different magnitude and should be avoided. There was one hygiene show that used some special phosphorous light that showed splashes, dribbles and puddles of the stuff on the bed, the carpet, the curtains and all over the toilet. And yet people think poo throwing monkeys are dirty! But I digress...

Back at boarding school we had a plump lady who would come in once a week to wash our hair. Obviously we could not be trusted with such a simple task. Anyway after we were all scrubbed and towelled off, she would plop us all in front of the telly to watch Scooby Doo. She loved Scooby Doo! Here was a forty year plus woman who actually show surprise that the old caretaker et cetera was the ghost. But it was her words of homespun wisdom that stuck in my mind after all these decades; Eat less Fruit. Whenever a boy started crying, threw up or was stricken with the runs (sometimes all three at once) - she would nod sagely and tell them to eat less fruit. Words to live by...

Am I a Snob?

A long time ago, when I was still at school I decided to become a Communist. I read "Das Kapital" and although I did not understand it, I assumed its wisdom would be absorbed osmotically into my body. I carried the book around like a talisman and would place it before me when I talked to anyone. That was until one of my Fathers business colleagues totally took apart my revolutionary rhetoric and showed that I was bourgeois. Oh well, we're teenagers only for a short time.

What has that little biographic snippet have to do with the above graphic? Absolutely nothing. It comes from one of those "What sort of Goth type are you" quizzes that are totally fatuous and a fantastic waste of time. Yet, when I showed the above result - everyone agreed that was what I was.