Dented Nerd

Illness.

noreply@blogger.com (Joey) — Sun, 11 Mar 2012 22:39:00 +0000

As you probably know, I'm not well.

But rather than bore you with the details, here's what I've been doing lately to try and stave it off.

How To Be Perfectly Cromulent

My new blogging venture is a collection of how-tos and tutorials, mostly reblogged from around Tumblr. I write a few myself when I have the inspiration, and even more come from the web at large. It's only got a small following right now, but it's a lot of fun to keep up. Some are funny, some are serious, and some are seriously awesome. It's also had one or two unexpected side effects on me, but I'll get to those in a moment.

How To Be Perfectly Cromulent - follow on Tumblr
How To Be Perfectly Cromulent - like on Facebook
How To Be Perfectly Cromulent - subscribe via RSS

Zeffy

After taking it offline for a little while in a fit of indecision, I've rebooted my music page. Yes, Zeffy is short for The Zefiris Project. It just seemed like a bit of a mouthful in the end. My inner perfectionist is not happy with these tracks being online, not to mention the ones that will surely follow. But then my inner perfectionist will never be happy. In case you ever wondered what it was I did at uni, here's your answer.

Zeffy - like on Facebook
Zeffy - follow on Soundcloud

Crochet

So through my work on HTBPC, I discovered I have a talent for arts and crafts. Go figure. Over the past couple of weeks, I've taken up crochet again - I did a little when I was a kid, then lost the knack. But I've been churning out headbands, hats and scarves, and right now I'm working on a blanket that I figure I'll give to my gramma on Mother's Day. Being as that's super-secret right now, here's a picture of a scarf I made last week.

Here's the video I learned to crochet from.

Boxes, cards and other things

Not long after I started up HTBPC, I came across this gorgeous little tutorial for magic boxes. Simple, stylish, quirky - in short, I was all over it. Did Stat's head in good and proper too, heh heh. I went through a whole tube of glue in a weekend making these things. They're great for keeping small things in - I have one for sewing needles and odd threads, and another for hair pins and earrings. This was the first one I made, and it's still my favourite.

In the background of this photo, you can see the Indian elephant blanket my gramma and aunty got me for Christmas. I love this blanket. Kitties are not allowed on this blanket.

In these troubled times, you have to find what makes you happy, then pick that mofo up and run with it. Gotta do what you gotta do.

An Atheist's Reconfiguration

noreply@blogger.com (Joey) — Sun, 05 Feb 2012 01:56:00 +0000

Five-and-a-half years have gone by since I wrote this post, discussing inter-faith conflict and how it had shattered any faith I might have had. Six months later, I followed it up by examining how those with faith see those without. A lot of things have changed in the five years between then and now, but the stance I put forward in these posts hasn't changed.

Still, five years don't often go by without some things changing. I'm older, I've graduated, I'm in a solid relationship and I'm living independently, like a proper grown-up and everything. And whilst I still define myself as an atheist, I'm arriving at this same conclusion from another angle, another direction. In short, I am an atheist with faith.

Allow me to break it down.

A Definition of Atheism

The following references are from Wikipedia. Not the most academic of sources, I know, but then I'm not trying to be academic here.

Firstly: what is atheism?

Atheism is, in a broad sense, the rejection of belief in the existence of deities.

To understand this definition, you need to understand what a deity is.

A deity is a recognized preternatural or supernatural immortal being, who may be thought of as holy, divine, or sacred, held in high regard, and respected by believers.

It's that first clause I have trouble with. A "preternatural or supernatural immortal being" - what exactly is that?

The supernatural is that which is not subject to the laws of nature, or more figuratively, that which is said to exist above and beyond nature.

In contrast to the supernatural, preternatural phenomena are presumed to have rational explanations that are, as of yet, unknown.

To me, nature covers everything that exists, everything that's real. I'm not just talking about plants and flowers and little hoppy bunnies - I mean the whole universe. All of spacey-wacey timey-wimey. I can't conceive of anything existing outside of time and space, outside of nature. If a god or gods are meant to exist above and beyond nature, then I just can't believe in them. It's not even that I won't - I can't.

That little term "preternatural", though... I'm reading that as a sort of get-out clause. That's theism saying "Well, we might be able to rationalise the existence of God one day, but we can't yet." My response is this: knowing what we now know about the laws of nature, about space and time and quantum physics and other over-arching scientific concepts, if the existence of a deity can't be rationalised now, then it never will be.

This is my explanation of my own brand of atheism, if you will. Other people's definitions will vary. I'm just talking about myself here.

Of Gods and Theists

God did not create Man. Man created God.

There are hundreds and thousands of reasons for mankind to have originated the concept of the "supernatural immortal being", but, in essence, a god is a manifestation - a personification, if you like - of will, of energy, of desire, of belief. I can put it no more simply than this: if you believe in God, only then will God exist. The more belief that there is in a god, the more power and credence that god will have. No belief means no god.

I hope that this explains why I don't look down on those that do believe in deities. Their belief makes their deity real. Said deity won't be real to me, because I don't believe in it. But that shouldn't make God less real to those who do believe. Who the hell would I be to interfere with someone else's beliefs? That's none of my business, just as my lack of belief is none of anyone else's.

Yeah, I know that because you're reading this right now, I am kinda sorta making it your business. But the underlying principle is to live and let live.

How I Regained My Faith

Now that I've provided a little backdrop to my essential beliefs, I can expand on that "with faith" part that must have looked a little contradictory back there.

Back when we first got together, Stat and I talked about religion and spirituality a lot. Stat has been pagan for a number of years, and the more he told me about his beliefs, the more they made sense to me - but not in a "wow, this is brand new thinking to me, I am now enlightened" sense. Quite the opposite, actually. It summed up what I'd been thinking and feeling all along.

Paganism doesn't concern itself with the hereafter / great beyond / life after death as much as it concerns itself with here and now. Our brief human lives are inextricably connected with the planet we live on, and by extension, the universe. When we do good, it should not be for selfish spiritual reward. It should be for the good of everything and everyone around us. Your actions have very real and very tangible results, and it is these consequences that need to be focused on.

It appealed to little old rational-headed me, so I decided to look into it. My path began in earnest on my 25th birthday, when Stat presented me, appropriately enough, with a goddess-themed tarot deck.

Here's how paganism works for me:

I have to be constantly mindful of my connection to the earth and the universe. I'm just one part of a single energy source, so it's my duty to dedicate the energy I've been given to maintaining that source and everything else that depends upon it.
I try my best to do no harm to anything or anyone. Sometimes, of course, it's impossible not to, but I have to mitigate it as much as possible.
Instead of praying to an entity beyond nature and hoping that a certain course of action will take place as a result, I focus my will and desire into real and tangible objects and actions, by means of a little thing called spell-casting. What's more, I do this with the knowledge that if what I want is not meant to happen, it won't, and that's fine.

Pagan Gods

There are pagan gods and goddesses, of course. First and foremost is the Goddess, the feminine principle. See, paganism recognises that life cannot exist with the masculine principle alone. When it comes to creation, it argues that the female has more power than the male. The Goddess is honoured above the God. (Admittedly, that was another appeal that paganism had on little old feminist me.)

But beyond the Goddess, who is the manifestation of all female divinity, and the God, who is male divinity, paganism doesn't mind how many other gods or goddesses you place your belief in. Any and all pantheons are welcome - Greek, Roman, Norse, Celtic, Hindu, Egyptian and everything in-between. The Charge of the Goddess, an invocation common to many pagan ritual forms, begins:

Listen to the words of the Great Mother, who was of old called amongst men Artemis, Astarte, Dione, Melusine, Aphrodite, Cerridwen, Diana, Arianrhod, Bride, and by many other names.

The goddess tarot that Stat gave me contains representations of many pantheons, and each goddess represents just one aspect or element of the divinity to which we all belong. Divinity isn't something we should strive to attain - divinity is what we are, and all we have to do is realise it for ourselves.

An Atheist Pagan?

Now, don't be getting your noodle in a pickle. This will make sense in a moment... I hope.

Both myself and the faith I belong to are concerned with all things natural. A deity by the definition of a "supernatural immortal being" has no place in my particular interpretation of paganism. The pagan gods and goddesses are aspects of nature and reality. Indeed, the Goddess herself is the feminine principle - a concept that most definitely belongs in the natural universe.

Yet I remain atheist. I do not believe in gods or goddesses as separate entities with their own power or governance. They are avatars of abstracts, and it is the abstract I place my faith in, not the avatar.

Put it this way: I love Statley very much. I'm not in love with a picture of him, or a voodoo doll that kind of looks like him. Furthermore, I don't love him for how he looks or dresses or presents himself. It's his quintessential Stat-ness that I love.

And so it is with the feminine divinity. I do not love the Goddess, because she is an avatar. I love that which she represents. When I consult my tarot, the pictures of beautiful ladies I see are representations of aspects of the message the tarot is trying to give me.

Goddesses and gods are extremely useful concepts. Each one represents a lot of abstract concepts, and instead of going to great lengths to describe those aspects each time we want to invoke them, we just speak the name of the goddess that represents them. It's for that same reason that we each have names. Nobody calls me "crazy nerdy cat lady who likes anime and spicy food and writes massive theological essays at stupid o'clock in the morning". People call me Joey, because my name represents me and everything I am. My name isn't me, and the Goddess isn't the female principle. She represents it, and so pagans work with her name and image when they invoke it.

...I Have A Headache.

If you've stuck with me all the way to the end, you're brilliant. That was a monster effort. Still, it's nice to be able to write about how my faith works and what my own little take on the universe at large is right now. I say "right now" because this kind of thing is always subject to change. My beliefs are far from concrete, you know? And it's probably better that way.

Joey's 2011 Review

noreply@blogger.com (Joey) — Sat, 31 Dec 2011 17:15:00 +0000

This post is dedicated to the furry feline friends we have lost this year: Holly, Squish and Digit.

Oh, crap. I've left it that long, huh? Well, here's a New Year's Resolution that I know I can keep, for reasons I will explain later: I will blog more in 2012. And if I don't, you can kick my little hiney from here to Manhattan, Dear Reader.

So, it's been a really weird year. It's been rough as all hell, but I feel better for coming through it in one piece. That, and Statley and I have experienced a remarkable twist of fate lately, which has caused me to question my worldview in more than one sense. If you'd asked me in October if miracles existed, I would have said no. But now, I'm not so sure.

How about a quick run-down of events this year?

January

Stat's dad got sick, and ended up in hospital for four months.

February

Manchester City Council announced their budget cuts, and the charity I worked for, the City Centre Project, was featured on an ITN report into the effect on our services and the young people we worked for.

March

I was taken into hospital myself, and was diagnosed with asthma. Also, my beloved Calcifer died, and was replaced with Haruhi.

April

Thanks to those budget cuts, I was made redundant at the City Centre Project. I haven't been able to secure employment since. Oh well, at least I had Doctor Who to cheer me up.

May

...What happened in May? I think I lost this month. In other news, John Cena became champ, and Osama bin Laden died.

June

Stat and I discovered the utter joy that is Gurren Lagann. Highly recommended, if you've not seen it already. BRO BRO FIGHT THE POWAH.

July

THUNDERCATS REMAKE. That is all.

August

I went to visit my friend on the other side of Salford, and when I came back, all hell had broken loose. But Statley's birthday came around, and he was given a new cat - Squeegee! Our cat count is now at four. If we get to five, it will officially make us Crazy Cat People.

September

Stat threw me a Doctor Who-themed birthday party, to coincide with the end of the season. I had a fez, a sonic screwdriver, Jammie Dodgers, and growed-up drinkies. It was great. Best Present Award goes to Marv for a little book he got me.

October

Purrdy's fur fell out overnight. The vets made her better, but her fur is still growing back, poor possum.

November

Stat got back in contact with his sister, who he hadn't seen for four years! As momentously joyous occasions go, this was as good as it gets.

December

We've had a grand festive season - Stat in Nottingham with his sis, and me in Shropshire with the folks as usual. But the real fun is due to start any day now, thanks to that little turn of events I mentioned. I can't say much about it right now, but a few changes are about to happen around here.

(NO I AM NOT PREGNANT. THAT WILL NEVER HAPPEN.)

I haven't mentioned the hand-to-mouth living, the meds I've been put on or the countless times when I just wanted to jack everything in this year. But with thanks to Statley and our ever-loyal gang of compadres, I've made it through - and things couldn't look more hopeful.

So Happy New Year, one and all! Even if this day looks darker than any other, I can safely tell you that there is a brighter day coming. I know, because I've been there. *hugs*

Ten Years Ago

noreply@blogger.com (Joey) — Sun, 11 Sep 2011 08:00:00 +0000

School finished and I got into my ma's waiting car. I asked if she could drop me off in town to go to my part-time job; she didn't approve of me working there, and we argued. As we waited for the girls that carpooled with us, she told me that she'd heard about a plane flying into the World Trade Center in New York. I shrugged. In my youthful English ignorance, I'd never heard of the place, and if I'd not heard of it, it couldn't be that important, could it? An image formed in my mind of an old man falling asleep in the cockpit of a Cessna and managing to break a few windows on a skyscraper.

Ma relented on the work argument, and half an hour later I was at the office. I worked part-time after school and at weekends as a door canvasser for a shady double glazing company, which essentially meant having doors slammed in my face for commission (no basic). "Exploitation" was a word that didn't occur to me until much later. My team had already left for the evening shift by the time I got there, thanks to my mother's remonstrations, but this didn't bother me. Soul-crushing as the job was, my purpose there was not to earn money or gain valuable work experience. I simply preferred being made to feel like shit by strangers in other towns, rather than by my family at home. It was an experience that would end, like almost everything at that point in my life, in disaster.

I was in no rush to get home. Someone had a radio on, buzzing with news about the plane crash Ma had mentioned. Apparently it was more serious than she'd realised - some people had been killed. Neither I nor anyone else in the office reacted to it. Even if the extent of the situation had been apparent at that moment, this was not the sort of workplace to react accordingly to major news events. The size of the plane expanded in my mind's eye, but that was all.

I talked my boss into giving me a bus fare home. An hour or so later, I walked into my bedroom, tossed my bag onto the bed, turned on the TV - and watched as all hell broke loose.

Although the enormity of those scenes took me a few days to truly realise, my first thoughts were of a psychology class I'd been in not forty-eight hours earlier. I was mere days into sixth form and A-level classes, and my first psychology lessons revolved around the psychology of memory. I remembered my tutor saying that our next lesson, scheduled for the next day, would revolve around the concept of flashbulb memory. You know how you remember where you were and what you were doing in near-exact detail when something of huge importance happens? That's a flashbulb memory, and this would become a flashbulb memory on a global scale - the term "9/11" to become as evocative as "Challenger", "Diana" or "JFK". Dully, I wondered if this was some heinous cosmic joke intended to make me pass A-level psychology.

The next day, I wore a red hoodie emblazoned with "NEW YORK" in large white capitals, and a stars-and-stripes bandana over my bunches. I hadn't bought these items in order to profess my love of the United States, but it seemed appropriate to show solidarity; I recall that my guitar teacher approved of this. My psychology tutor commented that it would be a long while before the truth of the situation would be found, before launching into Brown and Kulik (1977). (Incidentally, 9/11 would do nothing to improve my psychology grade. I failed the coursework and barely scraped a pass.) School was pervaded with a sense that something great and terrible had happened, but we were teenage girls, thousands of miles away from these events and their consequences, with entirely different mindsets and agendas. Politics wasn't high on the list of conversation topics in the canteen.

Looking back on the days, months and years that followed, it was one hell of a political awakening. On September 11th 2001, I was a nearly-seventeen-year-old with no interest whatsoever in the nonsense a bunch of suits spouted from their leather seats in London - just a vague sense that none of them was to be trusted. One teacher's earlier suggestion that I should become a politician based upon my excellent debating skills was met with distaste.

Then our country went to war in Afghanistan, which I could almost understand, and in Iraq, which I couldn't at all. I came to see Bush as a playground bully whose idiocy was only matched by his outright evil, and Blair not so much as a prime minister rather than a presidential yes-man. I began to wonder why we British were leaping on the American bandwagon, when this appeared to have very little to do with us.

And this was all before I discovered the likes of Michael Moore, Alex Jones and Peter Joseph, to name but a few.

Ten years on, I feel as though the damage caused by the "war on terror" will never cease to cascade onto innocent citizens. My vague mistrust of politicians on both domestic and global levels has fully bloomed into loathing and skepticism. I believe that 9/11 was a false flag attack, orchestrated by the American government in order to assert dictatorship-like control over its patriots, to speed the slow erosion of democracy all over the Western world, and to perpetuate false wars in order to boost global economy. I read the news every day now - which would have been unthinkable to me back then - and the headlines continue to carry its echoes: the repatriation of British soldiers from Afghanistan; legalized sexual assault in the name of "airport security"; the economy lurching from crisis to crisis; any excuse for a terror warning. September 11th 2001 was one awful day in American history, but its legacy is one of global horrors - then, now, and in years to come.

Here's a thought: when you are faced with something frightening, you can choose either to live in terror of it and be governed by that terror thereafter, or to smack it in the face, send it running out of town, and live happily ever after. The people in power on this planet would have you believe otherwise. They want you to live in constant terror of anything - any little thing - that could possibly pose a threat to you, however improbable. Myself, I don't fear the invisible things the government tells me to fear. I am scared of heights, I am truly afraid that I will never sing again, and sometimes I have nightmares in which I never see Stat or my cats again. But I don't fear being blown up on a plane, or secret cults rising up to wage war on the streets, or even total economic collapse. In terms of the world outside my front door, I have only one fear, and this fear is the key difference between the outlook I had ten years ago and the one I have today. Back then, the future was bright and full of promise. Today, I fear it.

I Saw The Salford Riots.

noreply@blogger.com (Joey) — Tue, 09 Aug 2011 21:23:00 +0000

(I originally posted this over on Tumblr.)

I was at my friend’s house in Swinton when the riots started. To get back to our flat on the Quays would mean an unavoidable journey around Salford Shopping City, or just “the precinct” as it’s known around here. The news was full of bricks being thrown at riot police, cars being torched and shops being looted. My friend wanted me to stay at hers, but Stat wouldn’t have that.

Both he and our friend Neil, who is tough and cool, met me by St Thomas’s Church, and we went through the subways and up towards the precinct. Everything seemed to have calmed down, in comparison to the pictures I’d just seen on the news. Tactical aid units were still circling the precinct, but apart from a lingering smell of smoke there wasn’t any sign of fire. With the TAUs still taking up all of the Hankinson Way side of the precinct, we walked down the other to find the road blocked not by police, but by spectators sitting on the roofs of their cars. Someone was just breaking into a newsagent as we passed.

Crossing the roundabout, we saw the source of the smoke - the two cars on fire I’d heard about, flipped over and blocking the dual carriageway, now completely burned out. The crowd seemed less interested in the precinct now though. They were moving onto Fitzwarren Street, and as we turned onto Highfield Road, we saw men in balaclavas smashing cars up in the Lidl car park.

What I didn’t see much of in the area was the police. They were concentrated around the wrong side of the precinct from all the action we saw. Even once we were back home, the pictures rotating from the news were all from earlier in the day, with the scallies throwing missiles at the police on Churchill Way. It seemed to me that the police hadn’t bothered to follow them round the corner. The helicopters are still overhead even now though. This is going to go on well into the night, and it will probably get worse before the end.

So, here’s a question: What caused the riots in Salford, Manchester, Birmingham and the Midlands, when the first riots were sparked by a man being shot in London?

I can’t speak for everyone involved, but I’m going to hazard a guess and say that these new riots today have nothing to do with Mark Duggan, and probably not a whole lot to do with suspected police brutality.

Truth is, riots of some description have been on the cards in this country for quite some time now. The economic, political and sociological climates lately have all showed the warning signs of an event on this scale. Think of Britain as a brushfire: the trees on the other side of the wood didn’t know a thing about the match that started it, but something was going to set them alight at some point.

To everyone around the world watching our country now and asking why this is happening, let me offer this explanation:

Our jobs have been dismantled. Our services have been cut back or destroyed. Our wealth has been taken from us. All this, by a government we never truly voted into power in the first place. A government who answer not to their people, but to the bankers and financiers who have no conscience about causing such chaos, as long as their own bonuses are protected.

As reprehensible and counter-productive as rioting is, there appears to be no other way to have our voices heard by those in charge.

I have witnessed with my own eyes a desperate piece of history being written today. For now, there is nothing else to do but hope that the ends justify the means.

Inventory

noreply@blogger.com (Joey) — Sun, 26 Jun 2011 12:40:00 +0000

OMG I HAZ A BLOGGER.

I know I'm bad at all this, but three months of nothing has got to be a record. Maybe I should reintroduce myself.

Hey, how ya doing, etc etc. My name's Joey, or some variation on that theme. I'm 26 years old and I live in Salford, the soon-to-be media capital of the country. I live in a cute little flat near the Quays, with my best beloved Will, aka Statley, and our three cats, Purrdy, Charley and Mischief. My likes include anime, point-and-click adventure games, and spicy food. My dislikes include hypocrisy, consumerism and the government.

I grew up in High Wycombe, and I haven't been back since my parents moved up to Shropshire four years ago. Don't really miss it, not much to miss. I have a brother called Marv, who I see a lot of, and a sister called Pook, who I don't since we stopped living together. They both live on the next street over from ours. Maybe it was coincidence, or maybe they just couldn't bear to be parted from their illustrious big sister. I dunno, you'd have to ask them.

This is the seventh year I've lived in Salford. I graduated from Salford University with a degree in popular music three years ago, and since then it's been about as much use to me as a chocolate teapot. I've spent a little over one of the past three years in employment, thanks to half-baked government initiatives and spending cuts. I was made redundant from my last job in mid-April, and I'm still looking. Meanwhile, I've lost all passion for music. I haven't written a single song since I left uni, and I haven't listened to any new albums this year. Guess my final year really took it out of me.

Can't complain, though. One of those half-baked government initiatives brought me Statley, and he's my Absolute Favourite Person. We've been together for two years, and our relationship is very peaceful. Unlike a lot of people our age (Stat is almost 26, almost a year younger than me) marriage and having kids is None Of Our Business. We don't get stressed or nag each other, and I could count the number of fights we've had on one hand. Instead we watch a lot of movies, go for long walks, run roleplay sessions and have big philosophical talks at stupid o'clock in the morning. I don't mean to brag, but what we have is as close to perfect as it gets.

Stat moved to Manchester when he was a year old (I arrived two weeks before my twentieth birthday), but he's been in Salford less time than I have. He's a Leo, an ENFP, and a fellow musician. He should be working as a security guard, but injury took him out three years ago, and government incompetence has kept him out ever since. He doesn't look like a security guard - he's skinny because he barely eats, and his hair is longer than mine. But between you and me... he's toned.

He likes horror movies, Stephen King novels and the WWE. He listens to Tom Petty, Janis Ian and Nirvana, and his console of choice is the Xbox, as is mine. He can start a conversation with anyone, and he's a great friend to have, especially in troubled times. I call him my "big kitty" because he gives great cuddles, and when I tickle him he gets a goopy face on like our cats do. He also hates when I blog about him, because I make him sound all smooshy. Don't get me wrong, he's also very tough and doesn't take any crap.

I love my cats like they're my babies, because my maternal instinct has to go somewhere. Purrdy is the eldest, and she looks after the flat when we go out. By "look after" I mean "stop Charley and Chief from tearing up the place". Possibly as a result of this stressful occupation, she suffers from a strange skin condition where the fur around her tail keeps falling out. (I sympathise with this, having grown up with eczema.) Purrdy likes to sit on the backs of chairs, and watch you do your thing. She's a very observant cat. Her favourite thing to watch on TV is the snooker - something about all those coloured balls hypnotises her. She doesn't say much unless she's hungry, in which case you get no peace until she's fed.

Charley, on the other hand, talks a lot - to the point where I can translate his meows into human equivalents. He says things like "Hi, I missed you!", "I'm sorry I knocked over your action figures again," and "Is it okay to sit here?" As a kitten he was scared of everything, and although he's a lot braver now, you can tell that he still worries a lot. For instance, he's only just realised that Sitting On Laps Is Okay. He's a soppy thing, always wanting a fuss, but he's always on his guard in case he gets into trouble. He shouldn't, though. He's very well-behaved.

Mischief isn't. The name gives her away, I guess. I call her Chief or Chieftain in hopes that she won't automatically misbehave, but it doesn't work. She spends more time in the back bedroom on a time-out than she does in the rest of the flat. Her trouble is that she hasn't learned discipline yet. She likes sitting on laps, but she'll jump up on you just after she's washed her paws in the drinking bowl. She'll jump up on your shoulder and bunt you with her head, but then she'll sink her claws in for no reason. She gets on with everyone except Charley, who she hisses at and runs away from. She wants to be a good girl, and she's got the right idea. But her execution's all off.

Our little family is dirt poor, but we're very happy. We have a lot of fun together, and we don't let the bad stuff beat us down. Isn't it everyone's wish to be happy rather than rich? Because I wouldn't trade this for all the money in the world.

Anyways, now that we're all friends again and not strangers anymore, maybe I'll start writing a bit more.

These Past Four Weeks

noreply@blogger.com (Joey) — Sun, 27 Mar 2011 15:44:00 +0000

Interesting developments this month. You know the kind, ones that put a lid on one can of worms whilst simultaneously opening twelve more. Don't worry, this isn't an angry post where I bemoan the state of the economy and all the broken promises of my youth. All things considered, I feel quite calm, if a little confused about what to do next.

It started, as always, with another fucking cold.

I've had about one a month since last August. Counting the two days I took off work at the beginning of March, I think I must have missed about four weeks' work over the past six months with being ill so often. Never mind how my employers must have felt about it - I was getting pissed off. After all, I'd been doing everything I could think of to prevent any more colds. Since my aunt was diagnosed with type 2 diabetes back in 2006, followed by my ma in 2009, I've been watching everything I eat like a hawk. My drawer at work resembles a branch of Holland and Barrett, replete with multivitamin pills, evening primrose oil capsules to iron out any kinks in my hormones, sunflower and pumpkin seeds to snack on, and raisins and goji berries to boost my immunity. For the first time in my life, I'd been eating three squares a day (breakfast? What is breakfast?) and getting in the occasional burst of exercise.

Clearly something else was afoot.

The cold went away after a couple of days, so I returned to work with a sniffle and a slightly sore chest. Trouble was, by Friday afternoon, the sore chest had developed into a full-blown wheeze and a hacking cough. "Oh crap," thought I, "it's Halloween all over again."

Turns out I was right. Stat called me an ambulance in the early hours, when the wheezing and the chest pain were so bad I couldn't sleep, and off I went to Hope Hospital. Unlike last time, where I was kept in for a suspected pulmonary embolism (eek), the doctor knew straightaway what was wrong with me.

Asthma.

I know, right? Bit weird to be diagnosed with asthma at the age of 26. Although it doesn't run in my immediate family, a few of my cousins have it. What's more, I was born with severe eczema, and I've had hayfever almost every summer since I was small. The three things - asthma, eczema and hayfever - always tend to come as a package. If you've got two, chances are you'll be diagnosed with the third at some point. The doctor at the hospital was surprised they hadn't picked up on this last time I was in hospital. *cue obligatory NHS grumble*

I was sent home after a few hours with some steroids and a set of inhalers, and spent most of the next week (I was on leave anyway, you see) in bed. I got tired very easily, and my chest took a long time to stop being so painful. Stat helped me clear out the back bedroom, to turn it into a little recovery space for when I felt bad. We aired it out, made up the bed, and moved the Wii in there so I could do my yoga stretches in peace.

My plan for the week had been to get some hardcore Warcraft play in, which would have been an ideal chance for my chest to get itself rested. But even this was thwarted when, halfway through the week, my dearly beloved computer Calcifer up and died. He'd been my faithful companion ever since Matt put him together for me on Evil Day in 2006, and he'd never grumbled, not once. Yet when I was asleep one night, Calcifer turned himself off and couldn't be rebooted. Nothing internally seems to be wrong with him, so hopefully my hard drives can be salvaged from him. We took in an old computer from some friends of ours, so thankfully I managed to get back onto Warcraft the following night, but it was traumatic to lose an old friend so suddenly. A moment of silence, please, for Calcifer - and also one for Diana Wynne Jones, who passed away yesterday and whose book 'Howl's Moving Castle' gave Calcifer his name. What a fantastic writer she was!

I went back to work the following week, feeling better overall, but also pretty delicate, as though a gust of wind could have knocked me over. Well, it turned out not to be a gust of wind, but workmen. They were replacing the ceiling tiles in reception at work, and although they did the work while I was away from my desk for an afternoon, it still went wrong. Bless those guys, they were lovely, but what on earth was the point of putting a dustsheet over my desk if all they did was shake it out over the carpet when they were done? Five minutes at my desk was all it took to set me off.

Leaving work with a great deal of pain in my chest, I called my GP first - they couldn't fit me in, and told me to go to the walk-in centre. So I jumped in a cab, and by the time rush hour traffic had let us through there I was in agony. I got to the desk at the walk-in, practically begging the receptionist for an inhaler - my reliever had run out just that morning. Timing, eh? Seeing my need, the receptionist sent me in straightaway to see a nurse, who may have been the biggest idiot I've ever met in my life. Asking me all sorts of stupid questions when he could see I was having trouble breathing, he promptly ignored my diagnosis of asthma and told me I had pericarditis. Now, I'm no doctor, but I know enough of medical terms to know that "card" means "heart" and "itis" means "inflammation". (Stat looked it up for me afterwards.) If you're thinking WHAT THE EVERLOVING FUCK, don't worry. So was I.

Let me tell you, sobbing whilst having difficulty getting the air in your lungs to sob is bloody painful. Not to mention that this chump insisted on crowding me. OH OH OH and he had an argument over the phone with the 999 operator who was sending out the ambulance. Just to, you know, reassure me and everything. If I'd had the energy in me, I'd have hit this fucking guy.

Just my luck that Salford was full of accidents and emergencies that night. The ambulance took 45 minutes to arrive (that's right, 45 minutes with Chump Change for a nurse and no painkillers), and the staff at Hope's A&E department were overworked, to put it politely. Or, to put it truthfully and not at all politely, they were bloody ignorant. The nurse did another ECG on me, ignoring the results from the ECG I'd had in the ambulance that I was waving at her. I asked her to call Stat for me and get him to come down. She told him that I was fine and that he didn't need to come to the hospital. The doctor I saw - once - took some blood without apologising for being "vicious" (her word, not mine). Aside from these, I was left alone for three hours. Three hours, in agony, with no pain relief, no nebuliser for my breathing, nothing.

After thinking he'd abandoned me to my fate, Stat eventually showed up at A&E. He told me what the nurse had said to him on the phone, which made my mind up. I demanded FUCKING PAINKILLERS NOW, brought in by a sheepish nurse who mumbled something about a changeover, and once he'd left the room I downed the codeine, got dressed and stormed out of A&E to a chorus of horrified stares from doctors and nurses alike and leaving Stat to explain behind me. (Stat is very good at explaining my anger to other people. I tend to lose my faculties of speech when I'm angry, which I most definitely was.)

The codeine kicked in once I was safely back in bed at home, and Stat took a call from the vicious doctor, now very apologetic about how I'd been treated, and also angry at Chump Change for scaring me half to death with the pericarditis nonsense. It really had just been another asthma attack. The next morning, I got the inhaler I'd needed all along from my now-not-busy GP, and I went back to work. Funny how getting back to work can be such a relief after a blazing trauma.

So this week, I've concentrated on getting my wobbly lungs back to normal. I had another week off work (two weeks off, but not a fortnight... long story, too dull for blogaroo) so I went down to Shropshire for a few days, where the country air set me straight, the dentist gave me a clean bill of health and I nearly ruined my folks' computer with Warcraft. When I got back to Manchester, my GP upped my inhaler dosage slightly, and Stat gave me lots of cuddles and baked me a cake. He always misses me when I go away for a few days, bless his heart.

I'm still adjusting to the idea of having asthma. Like the diabetes I'm trying to avoid, it's something I've got to live with from now on. It's never going to go away. Even now, although I feel a hell of a lot better than I did when my chest first started getting bad, I don't feel normal. I wonder if I ever will again. I wonder if I'll ever sing again. Hmm. A can of worms, indeed.

A Happy Place

noreply@blogger.com (Joey) — Tue, 11 Jan 2011 12:35:00 +0000

Exactly two weeks after my last post, I started my new job as a receptionist for a young people's charity, based in the Northern Quarter. It's a great place to work. I get to work with some wonderful people, and I actually feel useful, which I certainly didn't working for a certain city council. It also feels ridiculously cool to be working in the Quarter, although I don't think I'll ever be considered a true Mancunian hipster.

Do I feel silly for writing my last post now? Not in the slightest. My luck might have changed, but I'm only one person. It hasn't changed for the people that come through our doors every day. It hasn't changed for my beloved Statley either, who continues to be jerked about by that ever more useless organisation they call the Jobcentre. Oddly, yesterday I met a worker from the training company that Stat and I first met at, who told me that it's going under in the spring. Wonder who the Jobcentre are going to foist all their long-term clients onto next.

But I'm tired of talking about the worsening state of the nation. I read about it in the news every day (I've started reading the Guardian online, first drawn there by Charlie Brooker's editorials but staying for the good coverage), and every day I despair a little more. I don't want to talk about despair.

This year I could afford to get Christmas presents for everyone, including the cats, and even a few extra gifts, like a housewarming present for Pook and Marv. They've just moved into a flat that I can see from across the car park that divides us. It's a little bit creepy that they finally found a place to live so close by, as if they can't bear to be without their big sissy-wissy. (Yes, I am a big sissy. I'm comfortable with it.) But they have a very cosy flat, of similar size to ours, with a door wedge in the shape of a little man being squished under the living room door. I choose great gifts.

We spent Christmas in Shropshire as always, this year under four inches of snow. My folks got me a new printer and a stack of books, and Stat got me Cataclysm (early, of course) and a Steelseries mouse for Warcraft. I left some presents in a Santa sack back at home for Stat, our good friend Jimbob, and the cats, so they wouldn't miss out. Charley is still obsessed with his little red catnip-stuffed mouse.

The three of us had a very peaceful New Year celebration back at the flat. Going out and getting wasted isn't our style anymore, so Stat read his new Horus Heresy books with a bottle of gin, Jim played Star Trek Online with a bottle of Smirnoff Ice (I've never known a guy drink tart fuel before... go figure), and I went to the Winter Veil party in Orgrimmar with a bottle of Bailey's. Best New Year ever. No long queues, no overpriced drinks, no playing sardines in an overcrowded venue - just each of us having fun in our own way, together.

Life is good right now. Amidst helping Marv move in to the new flat over the weekend (Pook's already been there a little while), I finally managed to get my big TV and the rest of my books back. Ma gave us the old entertainment centre to sit it on, which hasn't been used since the folks left Wycombe. The boys are happy, because they don't have to squint at a tiny screen to play Smackdown vs. Raw 2011 anymore (Stat's Christmas present from Jim and me), and I'm happy because all the shelves in the entertainment centre are housing my mountains of books. (Marv asked me at Christmas why I didn't just go to the library. I told him I prefer to own my literature, at which my Aunty Sue cheered.)

Thanks to my brilliant new job, the bills are paid, the fridge is full, and I'm feeling fulfilled. Admittedly, I'm trying to stave off the January blues - Manchester does get a little gloomy this time of year - and I'm writing this whilst off sick from work with a cold. I did get ill a lot last year, especially at Halloween when I went to hospital, and when I took almost two weeks off work with the flu, not long after starting. My health had better improve this year. But right now, that's my only major bugbear. What I want more than anything in 2011 is to keep these good times rolling, as long as possible. I have a wonderful partner who I adore more than anything, a gorgeous flat to live in, a fantastic job, and everything we need.

I never normally make New Year's Resolutions, and this year I'm even less inclined to do so. There are a lot of things I want to do, just like at every other time of year, but nothing needs resolving. For once, I will be very happy if things stay just the way they are.

One Brush Tars All

noreply@blogger.com (Joey) — Mon, 15 Nov 2010 12:48:00 +0000

This time tomorrow, I shall be claiming Jobseeker's Allowance once more. Back to being a mere statistic, one of the millions of casualties of this recession, taking the punishment for a situation not of our making. Yes, I'm bitter. Six months ago, I was led to believe that, once completing the Future Jobs Fund program, I would have a job. That's what the name implies, right? Well, the day I started the FJF, the Labour government of this country ended, giving way to the ConDemNation. I'm under no illusions that any changes the coalition bring in will actually change things for the better, and so far, I've not been proved wrong.

Take Iain Duncan-Smith - former Tory leader, turned Minister for Work and Pensions. Seems he's had a chip on his shoulder since he was booted out of the Tory leadership by a vote of no confidence back in 2003. Like a playground bully with an inferiority complex, he's seized on the opportunity to make himself look big by taking his frustrations out on the weakest members of society. Among his vast, sweeping changes of the welfare system is the notion that the long-term unemployed will be forced to undertake unpaid community work, in order to keep claiming their benefits. In plain English, Duncan-Smith wants you picking litter, cleaning toilets and shovelling shit, or you don't get the money you need to live on.

So, the average jobseeker, hunting for a job that doesn't exist because, holy shit Batman, there's a recession on, will be punished even further by this situation that they had no hand in creating. They will be demeaned and humiliated, not just by the nature of the work they will be forced to undertake, but by the fact that they will not be paid for it. They will suffer and weep as Duncan-Smith gloats about his victory, not just over welfare reform, but about the lazy, idle 5 million people in this country whom he believes shouldn't be claiming benefits in the first place. The bully reigns supreme.

That's the crux of it, isn't it? This move will be popular not just in government, but out on the street and in the real world too. We're made to believe that everyone claiming Jobseeker's Allowance or something similar is gleefully draining society, happy to live on taxpayers' money and never having to work a day in their life. Let's ignore the recession and assume that there really are enough jobs to go around. Aren't the unemployed awful?

In this age of ConDemNation, it seems that any and all groups of people shall be judged solely on the merits and reputations of their worst members. There's no better example than last Tuesday's student protests in London - another vulnerable group, bearing the brunt of recession misery. The media chose to ignore the peaceful parts of the protest, both in London and elsewhere, and instead chose to broadcast the footage of the anarchists - not students - who seized upon an opportunity to get one over on the Metropolitan Police, by smashing windows and throwing fire extinguishers. Never mind that the majority of students comdemned this action. No, the media was determined to paint an image of all studenthood as a gang of violent thugs. Aren't students awful?

Or last Thursday's poppy-burning protest during the Remembrance ceremony. Another group of anarchists, this time under the name "Muslims Against Crusades", chanted "British soldiers burn in hell" during the two-minute silence. Once again, the media ignored that Islam is essentially a religion of peace, and tried to convince us all that Muslims the world over want to defile the memory of our fallen soliders - soldiers who died protecting their right to protest.

Disgusting and deplorable as these acts were, they have been used to misrepresent vast swathes of people, rather than the minorities responsible. These are the people who ought to be rightly punished. Instead, we are told to attach inaccurate adjectives to the labels we give these people. All students are violent. All Muslims are racist. All the unemployed are lazy.

I really, really hate this country right now.

Skill vs. Experience, or Why Younguns Are Screwed

noreply@blogger.com (Joey) — Wed, 20 Oct 2010 18:47:00 +0000

So my World of Warcraft server is down for some hasty maintenance, following the massive up-fuckery of Patch 4.0.1. Come back online soon, Hellfire! Anywho, it suddenly occurred to me that I haven't written here for a little while, so here I am, to share some thoughts I was thinking earlier today.

Right now, I'm jobhunting. Yes, again. My six-month placement is coming to an end, which in many ways I am grateful for. My experience of this Labour-government initiative to get young people* into work, the Future Jobs Fund, has been far from positive. Take, for example, the placement itself. I haven't worked for Salford City Council since the beginning of September. Turns out they don't discriminate when they treat people like shit, up to and including their own employees. Long story; maybe later.

Right now, I'm working for a careers advice service for teenagers. I really like it, and it pains me to leave them so soon, especially as the experience I'm gaining through working with these young people is going to be of great benefit to a future career option I've got lined up (again, maybe later). But this particular placement has given me a golden opportunity to add a skill to my CV that I've been sorely lacking for some time - the golden word "receptionist".

For the life of me, I cannot understand why all - ALL - employers in these parts insist on hiring "experienced receptionists". How the hell is a new receptionist going to gain any experience if she's not going to get hired BECAUSE she's got no experience? Did nobody ever stop to think about this? It's a meet-and-greet, first response kind of job. We're not developing a cure for cancer here.

It's not like I've never had the skills either. I was an expert with Microsoft Office before we were even taught it in school. I was writing my own computer programs when I was eight. I write for a hobby, and I was the first person in my family to have an email address. My ma was a civil servant back in the day - she taught me everything I know about "phone voice" and the subtle art of the stroppy letter.

Yet it seems employers still place experience over skills.

In short, those of us screwed over by the recession continue to be screwed over because of this skewed perception that it doesn't matter what you can do, but how long you've been doing it for. If I hadn't struck lucky with this placement, I wouldn't have been able to apply for half the jobs I've applied for this week. I could be have the best receptionist skills in Greater Manchester, but if my CV still didn't have the word "receptionist" under "work experience", it wouldn't count in the eyes of potential employers. Yes, my friends, that is the stench of bullshit clogging your nostrils.

Trouble is, what can be done about it? It's not all the employers' fault. They're looking for good employees that they can retain as long as possible. The recession hasn't just hit the jobseeker, after all.

But it's still not fair. Everyone needs to grab every chance they can these days, what with all this talk of government budget cuts to... well, to just about everything they could possibly cut. They'd be taxing us for breathing right now if they could justify it. But being denied the chance to do a job you know you'd be good at and can prove you'd be good at, just because someone else hasn't offered you the chance first, is tantamount to denying you the career, and even the quality of life, you want for yourself.

In a way, it's a form of discrimination. It's not as morally wrong as racism, sexism and all those other isms, but it unduly punishes the young, the long-term unemployed and the downright unlucky among us. Perhaps if a few more employers considered this, they'd think twice before adding the magic sentence "2 years' experience in a similar role required" to their vacancy adverts.

Anywho, wish me luck. Hopefully I won't be back on the dole by mid-November.

* Apparently I am still "young people" at the age of 26. This, I like.

Hacked! A Horror Story

noreply@blogger.com (Joey) — Sat, 04 Sep 2010 10:51:00 +0000

I know it's a little early for horror stories, what with Halloween being two months away. But yesterday I saw a kid running around Morrisons with an Advent calendar, and if that isn't scary I don't know what is. So gather round, dim the lights or switch them off if you don't have dimmers (ten points to Gryffindor if you get that reference) and listen to my tale.

I hadn't been on World of Warcraft in a while. A long while. March was the last time I logged in, and I only remember that because the Armory tells me that Ruka, my main character, had got one of the Lunar Festival achievements. Makes sense that I haven't played since - Stat and I have gone through a hell of a lot since March.

Anyhow, I got my first inkling that something was wrong when my little achievement tracking Facebook app popped up on July 23rd. "Professional Grand Master"? Since when? I checked the Armory, and Ruka was fine. Guessing it must just have been a blip in the system, I ignored it.

Oh, foolish child. Why did I not check then for my other characters? Hindsight is a whore.

Fast forward a couple of weeks to early August, and I was doing one of my regular Firefox geek-outs - tweaking my settings, playing with the interface, clearing out the bookmarks... you get me, right? I found my Battle.net bookmark, and thought "Hey, it's been a while. Let's see what's going on with Warcraft." So I entered my login details.

"Authenticator Code Required."

Um, what?

I'd never owned an authenticator, yet here was Battle.net telling me that one was assigned to my account. So I spent fifteen minutes on hold to Blizzard Support, who reset my password for me and said they'd check to see if my account had been compromised. I didn't hear anything back, so I assumed everything was fine.

Oh, cruel Blizzard. You said my characters would be safe.

Fast forward again to September 1st, Wednesday just gone. I was dying on the couch. Stayed home from work with a chest infection and the sneezes. When I wasn't trying to cough up the cigarette filters that some unkind person had clearly shoved into my lungs when I wasn't looking, I was trying to stop my sinuses from feeling as though they were being eaten from the inside.

Can't have a good horror story without a gnarly descriptive passage.

Ever the gentleman, Stat went out to get meds for me. What I didn't know was that he also had a cure for my dejected state of mind too.

He came home with Wrath of the Lich King for me.

Now, you have to understand the magnitude of this gesture. Stat HATES World of Warcraft. I let him roll a death knight so he could try it out, and he hated it. Well, he quite likes the lore behind it, but he can't stand the gameplay. He plays Warhammer 40,000, which is as diametrically opposed to Warcraft as it's possible to get. He calls Ruka "that stupid cow-person", and laughs at me when I tell him that the tauren are a noble race, and that they've squished people for lesser insults. His reasoning is that a squad of Space Marines could take the Lich King down in seconds. Yeah, whatev.

So, for him to actually spend money to get me an expansion for a game he can't stand is... well, I told him that it was flat out the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me. I have the best boyfriend.

It was back to Azeroth for me then. I installed it, renewed my subscription, spent 45 minutes downloading all the new patches, and logged in...

...to find all but two of my characters gone.

(I shall pause here to let the pain sink in.)

Ruka was there, praise the Earthmother. My other tauren, a low-level shaman named Makota, was also there. Six characters were missing. In their place was a level 1 orc warrior named Scpprr, with no gear and over 300 gold. What tore me up most was that Ruka was in Dalaran. I'd planned to make my grand entrance in Dalaran by levelling through the Wrath quests. The little scrotum sucker who had hacked my account - which was, of course, quite apparent now - had deprived me of that. Ruka's bags were full of high-level ores, which was odd considering that she's a leatherworker and skinner, not a miner.

I spent 45 minutes on hold to Blizzard Support this time, unleashing my panic and fury onto an unsuspecting tech support guy named Pierre. (He had a voice like melted chocolate. Darn those French and their sexy accents.) He said he'd get Ruka's gear back to her and restore my poor deleted characters as soon as possible. Merci, Pierre!

My characters still haven't returned. I think they'll reappear after server maintenance on Tuesday night - if not it'll be another freaked-out call to Blizzard. And their hold queues are farking redonkulous.

A moment of silence, if you please, for my lost characters:

Aramantine, feral night elf druid, last seen in Outland
Aramanth, shadow night elf priest, the first character I ever rolled, last seen in the Wetlands (I need to get her out of there before Deathwing levels the place)
Anareya, a low-level human warlock, who I was never that fond of
Aeriya, a low-level draenei mage, who I wasn't getting on with
Therru, a low-level blood elf paladin, last seen in Silverwing City
Ahrimann, Stat's death knight, who had only just got past his starter quests

There is an upshot to all of this. Once I'd mailed all of Scpprr's gold to Ruka and deleted the little fucker, I took all that ore and shiny stuff to the auction house. Let me tell you something - Ruka is now LOADED. She's powering through the Howling Fjord, keeping up with the Outland dailies, and working through some low-level dailies to get a raptor mount. Nibbles, her trusty devilsaur pet, is still as hardcore as ever. Devilsaurs have the best DPS output of any hunter pet in the game. Fact.

And to that little hacker fuck that's lurking out there... joke's on you, pal.

Five Years On

noreply@blogger.com (Joey) — Sun, 29 Aug 2010 15:34:00 +0000

It's been five years to the day since Hurricane Katrina levelled New Orleans. According to the BBC, President Obama is due to pledge his continuing support to the rebuilding of the city.

What still chills me, five years later, is that virtually nothing was done to prevent this level of destruction. How can a government do that to its own people?

Here are some statistics:

Katrina was predicted in 2001. No extra measures to protect New Orleans were taken before Katrina hit.
The levees protecting New Orleans were breached 53 times. Some conspiracy theories claim that the levees were dynamited to divert the floods away from the rich, white neighbourhoods.
Over 80% of the city and its surroundings were submerged in the resulting floods - over twenty feet high in some areas.
1,836 people died as a result of Katrina - 1,577 of those were in Louisiana.
$81 billion worth of damage was caused, making Katrina the costliest natural disaster in the United States to date.

And what of the US government's response? Help did not start to arrive in New Orleans until September 2nd - four days after the hurricane. It took then-President Bush a year after the disaster to feign interest in the destroyed city. Is that not the very definition of disenfranchisement? Over a fifth of the population of New Orleans has not returned. The entire East Side of the city remains abandoned. Can you blame them?

Five years ago, it appalled me that this was allowed to happen. Today, I write this knowing better. No government places the best interests of its people at the top of its agenda. The Zeitgeist movies go into great detail about the kind of slavery we are subject to, without even realising it. Loose Change reveals the huge cover-up surrounding 9/11 - it's not a stretch of the imagination to see how easily New Orleans was abandoned after Katrina by comparison. Even the Story of Stuff films, although more light-hearted and eco-oriented, show how little governments care for their own.

This was a disaster waiting to happen. The rescue and recovery of New Orleans was not so slow to start by mere accident. Bush and his administration simply didn't care.

Knee Fit

noreply@blogger.com (Joey) — Tue, 17 Aug 2010 19:55:00 +0000

My knee is borked. This would be news if it hadn't started, oh, six years ago or so. Back when I was working in the Mythical Land of Percy's, before the Time of Uni or the Coming of the Cats, I started getting inexplicable pain in my knee. The doctors didn't know what to make of it. I had blood tests, X-rays, exams and all sorts, everything came back normal. They were about to refer me to a specialist just before I left wicked Wycombe for mighty Manchester.

As suddenly as it started, it stopped for a long time. I'd get the odd twinge, the rare sleepless night with it, but I wasn't constantly on medication. (Boy, do I miss the Cocodamol days. The world looked so shiny and electro, like the inside of Vince Noir's brain.)

Then I got with Statley, and all of a sudden it came back. It was aching one day while we were watching a rerun of Doctor Who. I went to stand up from the couch, and SNAP! It sounded like a gunshot going off. I didn't move from the couch again for 48 hours, and since then it's been constantly painful.

Things came to a head about a month ago when my hip started giving out too. Getting up and down stairs was bringing tears to my eyes. I started getting weird looks at the photocopier at work for letting out involuntary squeals. Back to the doctor I went, for another round of X-rays and exams. The verdict this time has come back a little differently - soft tissue damage.

I've been referred to a physiotherapist, but I've got no painkillers this time around. Anti-inflammatories weren't touching it, so my doctor's taken me off all meds. So what's a gal to do in her hour of need?

Turn to video games, of course!

While I'm waiting to hear from the physio, I've borrowed Marv's Wii Fit and got back into yoga and aerobics. I like Wii Fit a lot. Sure, it relies too heavily on that bullshit BMI theory for its measurements (health is not something that can be measured by statistics!), but its focus on balance and posture is really helpful for me at the moment. I've been feeling like I've been limping and throwing my hips at an angle to compensate for my knee pain. Even the Wii Fit trainer tells me that I need to work on my right leg's stability.

FYI, I use the female trainer. I don't trust guys with widdly little ponytails.

Stat thinks it's hilarious. His line is that Wii Fit makes people look like idiots in the comfort of their own homes. My response would be that I'd rather look like a tit in privacy than surrounded by people at a gym. There's something about it being a video game that makes it that much easier to get to grips with. I've been in gyms and been scared away by all the freaky-looking equipment and the trainers that Take This Shit Seriously. Eep.

I don't want a personal trainer that yells at me and makes me do push-ups! The Wii Fit only gives me encouragement and tells me nice things. My Wii Fit age is always close to my actual age (today it's bang on), and despite my knee trouble, my balance is really good.

Besides, I don't mind doing yoga stretches if there's only Stat to laugh at me. I'm just dreading the day I fall over mid-exercise and land on one of the cats. Oh, man. Dreading it.

The Importance of Being Cool

noreply@blogger.com (Joey) — Fri, 13 Aug 2010 19:47:00 +0000

I haven't listened to any new music lately. The last two new albums to enter my music rotation were Anais Mitchell's 'Hadestown' (whose brilliance I am obsessed with) and Hanson's 'Shout It Out' (for reasons that really ought to be clear by now). I've been listening to these for about three months now. Three months, and nothing new since.

I wonder why.

You see, PMR ended two years ago now. I could count the number of gigs I've attended since on one hand, up to and including the only one I performed in. I haven't seen or spoken to a lot of the folks that were my buddies at uni for a very long time now. Hell, I can't even remember what Incassum look like.

A lot of that may be to do with the demise of Ben-and-me as a single unit, but that would be a digression I don't want to go into right now.

I still sing, and I still play guitar. Stat and I are always messing about with songs. It's nice, but I haven't learned anything new there for a while either. I haven't got the slightest inclination to get out and perform again, to join another band or a choir, or even to record one of my old songs.

A few months ago, my lack of spark was worrying me. I thought PMR had killed it. Making music had become a chore instead of a passion. But now it's gone even further. Gigs no longer interest me - even if I could afford to go, I probably wouldn't. I shrug at the new releases and recommendations the intarwebs tries to tempt me with.

I wonder why.

Well, I have a theory, and it goes like this: I don't want to be cool anymore.

Now, you know and I know that I've never outwardly identified myself as cool, not ever. It's "Dented Nerd", not "Ice Cold and Bang On". The general definition of cool has never applied to me. I've always made my own version of cool. Being geeky is just another version of coolty, if you want to look at it like that.

Inwardly though, I think I wanted to prove to myself that I could be cool... if I chose to be. I'm the perennial outside, partly by circumstance, partly by choice, and it was that choice I wanted to explore. If I could be popular, a lead singer in a band, a performer with style and trend, I'd be cool. I used to crave popularity because I thought that was how a person was measured - by the number of friends they had. I wanted to be able to choose popularity, if I wanted to.

Turns out I don't.

Realising how far my paradigm has shifted has taken a while, but I think I can finally make sense of my complete self-removal from the music scene. (Ugh, I hate that word.) I did prove it, to myself and everyone else. But in the end, it wasn't what I wanted. Keeping up with trends, trying to stay with the in-crowd - how is that important? Does it really improve your self-worth? What is that sort of "cool" but a never-ending cycle based on the fear of rejection?

Now that I'm firmly back on the outside, I feel a lot more at ease with myself. There's no pressure to impress anyone. I've got my little family, and right now my sole focus is to look after them as best I can. Being cool is no longer important. I may as well have dropped off the face of the earth as far as my uni friends go, but I don't feel the need to remind them of my presence. They know where I am if they want to hang out with me. It doesn't cost the price of a gig ticket or a night out to be my friend. There's no dress code at my door.

Being cool was a front for me, and one that I couldn't keep up past uni. I can only be myself. And if that means listening to the music I want to listen to, at my own pace, that's what I'll do. Gone are the days when I cared about how people perceived me. I know I'm on no-one's radar right now, apart from those that I really care about and who care about me in return.

It's a very liberating experience, to not have to live by other people's standards. I'd recommend it to anyone.

You've Heard This Rant Before.

noreply@blogger.com (Joey) — Sun, 01 Aug 2010 21:32:00 +0000

So it seems that recently, I may have offended a few people with my overt distaste for everything in and around the 'Twilight' series. Namely, by posting this:

I'm sure experiences like this are far from unheard of. A lot of people seem to have an obsession with the phenomenon, many unhealthily so. Now, I used to be a fangirl. Heck, even now, just the mere mention of Hanson makes me gooey. But they're real people. 'Twilight' is fiction. That's why it's starting to scare me when I'm suddenly offending people by expressing my opinion. (You know how I hate to offend people. It makes me ill sometimes.)

However, I'm not going to apologise for how I feel about it. It's not going to change, even if someone tries to change my mind. I'm just going to explain the reasons why I cannot enjoy the series the way others do.

1. It's not Stephenie Meyer's best work.

Have you read her novel 'The Host'? It's much better, I assure you. The concept and the storyline are very clever, and the characters are developed so much more fully and realistically. In fact, the characters of Wanda and Melanie are written in such a way that their collective vapidity and insecurity (which I'll get to in a moment) works for the story.

2. Twilight's characters are generic.

It's clear to see why Meyer wrote the main characters so as to give them absolutely no personality whatsoever. It's so that it's easier for people to relate to them, to fit into their shoes and imagine themselves as a character in the story. Unfortunately, this approach doesn't work for everyone. Yes, it may be the reason why the story is so undeservedly popular, but it's lazy storytelling at the end of the day. When trying to inspire readers' imaginations, the writer should give them something more to work with beyond an empty shell.

The Oatmeal makes this point much more clearly than I ever could.

3. Anne Rice writes better vampire fiction.

Personal bias, perhaps. But 'The Vampire Chronicles' don't read like bad fanfiction. Besides, there's plenty of dramatic tension among the vampires themselves without dragging werewolves into the mix. If you've read my last post, you'll know that I'm not happy with werewolves at the moment.

FYI: Lestats in order of preference: Stat*, Stuart Townsend, Tom *spit* Cruise.

4. You don't mess with tradition.

It's a given that exposure to sunlight kills vampires. It's as intrinsic a part of the vampire mythology as it's possible to get. Rewriting a centuries-old tradition just so your characters can get smoochy after school is Just Not Kosher.

It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth just talking about this stupid series. I'm sure I've not added anything new to the argument against it, but I really had to get this off my chest. As I've said, a lot of people out there are taking their love of 'Twilight' to scary lengths, and it's just not right that I'm sitting here feeling like crap for having offended people when I'm perfectly entitled to my opinion, and they've taken theirs too far.

To wrap things up. here's a horror story to sleep on.

*Where else would he have got his nickname from?

Grumblecakes

noreply@blogger.com (Joey) — Tue, 20 Jul 2010 18:37:00 +0000

I has grievances. Let me show you them.

Firstly, Stat is ill. This makes me grumpy because there is not a bright blue thing I can do about it. I hate to see him suffer so.

Secondly, this stupid weather is really aggravating me. It's nearly 100% humidity in Manchester right now. I thought only crazy far-off places like Dubai got 100% humidity, but here we are, dying of the closeness... and it's RAINING. Did we get some other country's monsoon or something? May and June were two of the hottest and driest months on record, and then July comes along and tries to both suffocate and drown us all. BOO YOU, JULY.

Thirdly, I ordered Pook and Marv's birthday presents ten days ago from Play.com, and they haven't showed. Their birthday was last Friday. (Also, Marv graduated last Thursday. He got a 2:1 for his English degree. That's a nice un-grumpy thought.) This is not the first time I've heard of Play magically losing orders and keeping the cash. I sense some strong words coming on.

Fourthly, we mooched all the way over to Longsight and back again for a meeting with our solicitor earlier. We got precisely zip done. It's not really the getting-zip-done that annoyed me, but it was the missions we went through to get there in order for aforementioned zip to get done. Precisely, a two-hour round trip on public transport to get zip done. Did I mention that Stat's ill today too?

Fifthly, actual grumblecakes, by which I refer to Homestar Runner. What's with the freakin' hiatus, Chaps? Mama need her sbemails!

Sixthly, I wish Charley would chill the eff out. If he's not sleeping or eating, he's howling. He's not a dog and there's no full moon, yet if he's left to his own devices for more than two minutes at a time lately, it's this constant "MAAAAOOO! MAAAAOOO! MAAAAAAAOOOOOO!" Even Purrdy's taken to giving him the STFU stink-eye.

Seventhly, I'm currently reading 'A Thousand Sons', one of the Warhammer 40K Horus Heresy books. Council of Nikaea, anyone? Next time I meet a Space Wolf, I'm gonna punch its back-stabbing, Twilight-looking, fuzzy ginger lights out. FUCK YOU, RUSS. Mortarion too.

Eighthly, World of Warcraft is getting seriously fucked about with in my absence, to the point where I'm wondering if it'll be worth my while getting back into it once Cataclysm comes out. 31-point talent trees? Mastery? WTF??

Ninthly, congratulations, Boise, Idaho! You get to see Hanson on my birthday, you mean lucky people. Where are their plans to tour with their new album in Europe? Boys, seriously. I will learn your crazy dance, I will buy your merchandise, I will even get my boobs out if you want. Just come back to Manchester, prettiest of pleases?

Tenthly, I feel a bit silly writing all this. Not but a few months ago, I had serious grievances, the kind that puts a whole life on hold. Most of these are just little dramas of my own making. My flat is still awesome, my job is still awesome, and all three of my kitties give me all the cuddles I need. Is it just part of the human condition to seek out negativity where there really isn't any?

Hello, Sunshine

noreply@blogger.com (Joey) — Tue, 15 Jun 2010 22:29:00 +0000

It was always going to be a long hiatus. Some situations insist on getting darker and darker before that drastic change you've needed makes itself known. We've known that for a while round here, haven't we? Change was never so sorely needed.

So you'll be glad to hear that I finally have some good news. Masses of it.

Like many situations, things first had to get worse before they could get better. April 6th was the day things really went to hell. Stat and I were kicked out of the flat I used to love, but had come to hate. I really can't say a whole lot about the circumstances surrounding it, except that our eviction was far from kosher.

We crammed our cats and mountains of stuff (95% mine, it must be said) into the front room of a tiny flat in Eccles belonging to a very generous friend of ours. We slept on a fold-out couch that was broken at one end. Stat, being so much more worldly-wise than I, didn't think twice about roughing it, but I quickly grew claustrophobic and miserable. Purrdy and Charley grew restless at nighttime, so sleep was patchy at best. I had internet withdrawal symptoms. Simple things like privacy and rest became precious commodities, to be snatched at elsewhere.

But then, on May 10th, the turnaround. I started a new job.

You'd never guess who with, so I'll just tell you.

One of my many nemeses. Salford City Council.

It's a good job too. I'm working in children's services, which is an odd little twist on that PGCE idea I had. (Still, fuck you, fuck you forever, Liverpool Abandon-All-Hope.) I'm an admin assistant, and I'm finding that I'm pretty good at it. I guess I have a natural knack for being organised, which makes me wonder if I was ever really cut out to be a chaotic musician. The people are great, all mad as a box of frogs, and I've already been on a team-building excursion with them all.

In short, I'm enjoying myself and getting paid for it - enough, in fact, for Stat and I to move to a new flat. A bigger, nicer flat than the one we left behind, with balconies and a huge garden out back. We're still moving our things in, piece by piece, but the cats love having so much space to run around in, and windowsills to sunbathe on. Stat wants to turn the back bedroom into a recording studio. I'm planning to plant a herb garden.

The four of us are happy again.

Love 1, Valentine's Day 0.

noreply@blogger.com (Joey) — Mon, 15 Feb 2010 03:06:00 +0000

So I've just spent a very pleasant February 14th with a very handsome man. We spent the day in bed watching horror movies, eating stir-fry to celebrate the Year of the Tiger and getting pounced on by ever-growing kittens. We were chilling, just like we always do on a Sunday, indulging in each other's company without any great celebration or fanfare.

Not one card has been exchanged, nor a single rose, nor even the tiniest crumb of chocolate. Know why? Because Valentine's Day is fucking GROSS.

This pseudo-religious festival, long since appropriated by the corporate demons in charge of restaurants, greetings cards, flowers and confectionery, is a noxious social institution that detracts from the very thing it has been designed to promote. V-Day isn't about love - that all-consuming, fundamental human emotion that supposedly makes the world go round. Hooo, no. It's a 24-hour guilt trip. The single are made to feel guilty for not having anyone, and the poor saps that are actually in stable relationships are made to feel that they have to "celebrate" their love by buying naff tokens and overpriced food.

"Happy Valentine's Day! Let's boost the economy by getting sozzled on champagne and forgetting each other's names! I WUV YEW XXXX"

Blech.

So, last time I checked, love existed on the other 364 days of the year. It sure as shit does over here. Stat and I have been together over nine months now (leading me into the weird analogy that, if our love were a foetus, we'd be changing nappies by now... sorry, carry on), and not an hour goes by where one of us doesn't say "I love you". The reason for this constant affirmation lies somewhere between my beloved's naturally affectionate nature (which is freakin' AWESOME, let me tell you) and my unabashed neediness. Yes, yes, I have issues. You know this by now.

Any-dang-way, why in the name of Hayao Miyazaki would we need to suddenly up the smoosh factor one day in a year? Why would anyone in a relationship* like ours? Surely sending a Valentine would be a person's way of admitting "Okay, I realise that I don't show you enough love, so here's a dumb cartoon and some words to make up for this fact for one day. Please don't dump me." My friend, if you need to be reminded to show more love by fucking capitalism, you do not deserve to be with ANYONE EVER.

By all means, buy chocolates, send flowers, and shovel down those £30 T-bone steaks. But don't do it because you're being told to do it. And more than just once a year, for crying out loud.

All things considered, this rant sounds like it's coming from a bitter singleton who's spent the day in bed reading 'The Vagina Monologues'. And yes, I used to be that singleton. But today's actually the first February 14th wherein I've had a boyfriend, and things haven't gone spectacularly wrong. Today's the first Valentine's Day in my 25 miserable little years that I haven't felt the slightest pressure to shower someone in manufactured, sugar-coated, plastic-wrapped affection.

My affections are homebaked and are available 365 days a year free of charge, thankyouverymuch.

Let me leave you with this little gem: as I write this, Stat is upstairs trying to sort out what was a very loud and emotional-sounding argument between the Bad Musician From Upstairs and his Strangely Coiffed Girlfriend. All's been quiet for the past half-hour, so I assume he's working his Statley magic. Who needs Thornton's with a guy this good, eh?

*Earlier today, Stat said the word "relationship" was wrong for us. He deemed us a "coalition", based on our time-together-to-argument ratio. For a couple of nutters, we get on awfully well.

On Second Thought...

noreply@blogger.com (Joey) — Sat, 06 Feb 2010 02:48:00 +0000

...maybe I won't quit Blogger after all.

Yeah, I decided to stay. I upgraded this site to Blogspot, redesigned the dentednerd.com front page to have all my site feeds in one place, then transferred the new design over here. Can you smell the lemony freshness?

Really? You can? You really shouldn't be using Mr Sheen to clean the inside of your computer, you know. (Sorry. I'm full of the bad jokes lately. The boys have had me hanging my head in shame almost every hour.)

I'm glad I decided to stick with Blogger. I upgraded at first just to test the waters and see what Layout settings were like, and I was impressed with how pliable they were. The widget concept wasn't so hard to get my head around, and it's not hard at all to get your CSS and widgets working together. I was expecting an awkward beast, but I've found a friendly interface. How sweet!

It also keeps my blog away from my horrible ISP. They've got my domain name hijacked and tied up in a corner somewhere in Silicon Valley, so redirecting it - even transferring it to another ISP - is completely out of the question. Knowing that this blog here would be moving to a new address, the only answer was to create a splash page for the dotcom itself. Due in no small part to the wonders of Feedburner, I've pulled together this blog, my new tumblelog, and my Twitter feed into one place.

I've been resisting this change for so long, but it's actually been a lot of fun. I feel like that little guy from "Who Moved My Cheese?" (Heh. Marv got me a copy for Christmas.)

So I'll still be ranting here from time to time. I like posting tidbits over at Tumblr, but sometimes you've just got to write it all out. Whatever "it" is. And as long as someone out there's reading this (hi Tim) it won't be completely pointless.

And besides, this redesign has been my vehicle of revenge. Last week, Stat widowed me for 24. Today, I've left him for sweet, sweet code, and he's been pining for me all day. Teehee! But now it's almost 3am, and I think I owe him a snuggle. Hasta la vista.

The Writing On The Blogger Wall

noreply@blogger.com (Joey) — Sat, 23 Jan 2010 14:56:00 +0000

So this morning Blogger announced that, as of late March, they're ceasing FTP publishing on all their blogs. It makes me a little proud to be part of such a small percentile - only 0.5% of Blogger blogs still use FTP - but the ol' Nerd is one such blog. (I suspect that this has something to do with Google's troubled operations in China, what with FTP publishing being the only option for bloggers over there, but whatev...)

At first I was a little bit worried. "How am I going to publish my blog?"

But then I stopped. "Do I even want to blog anymore?"

Let's face it, I barely update this old thing anymore. It's a nice little distraction when I'm bored, and I can geek out and mess around with code and graphics to my heart's content. But writing all these big long spiels once in a blue moon, just for nobody to read them? Is that fun? At the last count, only two people ever read this. Tim? Matt? You guys still with me?

Assuming you are, here's what I'm doing. I'm moving. I'm jumping ship and switching to miniblogging. So far (as in the past few hours), it's been a whole lot of fun. I'm thinking my life these days suits a more stream-of-consciousness style. It breaks my heart to leave Blogger behind me - I've been here since frickin' forever - but there are plenty of reasons.

My crappy, ripoff, useless ISP wouldn't let me choose the Custom Domain option here, even if I wanted to.
I'm a lot busier these days than I used to be, what with protecting my family from the ever-growing chorus of morons and, just this week, embarking on an entirely new direction. Blogging little snippets on the fly suits me more than blabbing a page of nonsense once a month.
My new blog ties all the threads of my internet presence together quite extraordinarily. I have no need for a clumsy, constantly broken "lifestream" page. My new blog is my lifestream. Much neater.

So I'll still be around, just maybe not here. Even if I can somehow manage to redirect dentednerd.com to the new blog, I might not even want to be Dented Nerd for much longer. I've had this net moniker for eleven years now, so maybe it's time for a change. Just about everything else is changing...

I'll more than likely make one last post over here before wrapping things up for good. But in the meantime, check my new crib out!

Out With The Old, In With The... Oh.

noreply@blogger.com (Joey) — Tue, 05 Jan 2010 00:57:00 +0000

So how was your festive season? Fun and frolics? Hope for the new decade? Tears for the Doctor? (Don't be ashamed to admit it. We sobbed like schoolgirls over here.)

As for me, I think I'll let my little boy sum up the last month for me.

In a word: boring. Maybe I'm getting too old for this saccharine crap, because the spirit of the season just didn't find me this year. I downloaded masses of Christmas albums in 2008, yet barely a single one of them came through my speakers in 2009. I didn't even listen to 'Fairytale of New York'. Not once. I only got five cards too, and one of those was from a crappy Indian takeaway whose chicken pathia made me sick. Go figure.

Or maybe events just conspired against me. A week before Christmas, Will went into hospital for an operation on his mouth. Since coming out he's not been able to eat solid food, he's had to sleep upright on the couch, and he's been in excruciating pain. So I've been running the flat on my own, fending off the chorus of morons and being the perfect little housewife. And you know what? I'm actually really good at it. The flat's freakishly neat and tidy, the kittens are getting bigger by the second, and my best beloved gets everything he wants while he recuperates. Perhaps this is years of suppressed motherly impulses coming out, but I'm enjoying playing wifey far too much. I'm scared...

Leaving Will to spend another neurotic Christmas in Shropshire was hard. I was afraid of all sorts of drama among the family, not to mention all the things that could go wrong at the flat while I was away. But Christmas came, and there was no drama, no hi-jinks, not even many presents. (I got money instead, which has come in a lot more useful.) It was just a very quiet, placid Christmas. And back home, Will slept through the whole day, which was just what he needed.

New Year's was even more uneventful. We got the beers in, we got our little party all set up... and we fell asleep. We woke up just in time to see the fireworks, hear the chimes, and stare up at the gorgeous full moon. Simple pleasures, eh? My only resolution for 2010 is to recycle more. I let the recycling slip towards the end of 2009, and I felt guilty about it. But it's a resolution I know I can keep.

I've got a lot of hopes for this new year too. In 2009, the only real success I had was meeting Will, who, even as he's still recovering, continues to be a shining example of The Perfect Boyfriend. Hopefully my chances of finding a job, or at least a new direction to go in, will recover this year too. Drifting like this wouldn't be such an issue if I didn't have a little family to protect now. It would be a nightmare for Will to find a job before I do, and for him to pay all our bills single-handedly. I can't stand the thought of being kept, even if circumstances prevent it from being any other way. Taking care of the flat has kept me grounded, but it wouldn't be fair if Will paid for me to stay at home.

The cynic in me keeps reminding me how well the word "hope" treated me in 2009. But it's a new year and a new start, and hoping is all I can do.

December 1st, 2009

noreply@blogger.com (Joey) — Tue, 01 Dec 2009 23:27:00 +0000

good things that happened today

Took a wander around the Christmas market in town. It never stops being awesome, year after year. Got some gift ideas.

Made it around town without my knee flipping out on me. This was nice, after being housebound last week with chronic pain.

Had some naptime to counteract a night of insomnia. It's not often I get to do that.

Saw the Coke advert for the first time on TV, which makes the countdown to Christmas official. December 1st is an acceptable date for this. Mid-October is not.

Went on a computer-fixing mission to save Marv and his girlfriend from uni assignment hell. Hugely impressed by the work they're doing.

Observed ultimate cuteness when Charley fell asleep in my coat.

Cooked a chicken madras. Been a while since my last curry.

Discovered that Glassjaw are coming to the Academy for a gig in January. Insanely excited at a rare chance to see my idol Daryl Palumbo again.

bad things that happened today

Signed on. The Jobcentre never stops being lame and tedious.

Queued for twenty minutes outside Greggs in the cold to get sausage rolls. (They were yummy though.)

Nearly killed by a fruit smoothie Marv made. Stupid allergies.

Logged into Warcraft, then logged out again. Nelf druid at level 56. Pre-Outland quests are boring as shit. Really, really want Wrath.

Will has been asleep since we got back from town. He didn't sleep last night either, and he won't tonight from the looks of things.

Realised that January 24th is ages and ages away. It'll be worth it in the end, but I'm all fangirl-bouncy and WANT GLASSJAW NAO PLZ KTHX.

Learning

noreply@blogger.com (Joey) — Fri, 06 Nov 2009 22:31:00 +0000

This Wednesday just gone - November 4th - marked the anniversary of a pretty ignominious event. Friends, I have been unemployed for a year. I'm not at the fifty-two week mark as far as benefits are concerned just yet, due to the combined efforts of the Got-No-Jobcentre and Liverpool Abandon-All-Hope University earlier this year. (In fact, the Jobcentre seem to think that I'm freshly unemployed as of September 15th, but I've got enough pickles in my pantry right now, and this one isn't mine.)

A shit state of affairs, you might say. From one perspective, you'd be right. But the education this past year has given me isn't the kind that can be found in academic establishments - and it's given me some of the most valuable life lessons that can be had.

Lesson #1: money isn't everything

It's true that having money does make things a lot easier, and the cost of living certainly isn't getting any cheaper. But money can only buy you stuff. It can't buy you freedom or love, and it certainly can't bring you true happiness. But when I compare the person I was a year ago to the person I am now - a miserable little misfit slaving away for other people's ideals, versus a person happy in the knowledge of what she wants, having all her basic needs cared for - I'm so glad that life has taken me down this tempestuous little path. In money terms, I may be poorer than I was (and only slightly poorer at that), but every other aspect of my life has gained from this year.

Lesson #2: know who your friends are

Even when I could afford to go out at the weekend, I had a sneaking suspicion that a few of the people I was hanging out with wouldn't stick around if and when things went sour. It sucks to be proved right with things like this, but to some people, not showing your face in the right places makes you persona non grata, despite all your unanswered texts or emails to them. Real friends are the people that will still make the effort to visit, call, or send the occasional shout over Facebook. I've learned not to waste good energy on people still living with the high school "be there or be square" mentality, and spend more of it on the peeps I care about most.

Lesson #3: our government really doesn't care about us

To the PTB, we're not people with real lives and real troubles. We're not even faces with names. We're just numbers in a database. The Jobcentre don't consider your future career, nor do they want to help you get the right training, but they do want you to take the first shitty little job you find that'll make you worse off than you are right now - but at least you'll be off benefits, right? Meanwhile, at Salford City Council the people resemble the computers they spend their days in front of - programmed robots with plenty of script but no skill in human interaction. "Never mind that you're behind with your rent - a computer error has messed your benefits up and delayed everything by another two months. Never mind that you're angry about it - we'll keep feeding you misinformation without the slightest hint of an apology. Never mind that we've underpaid you again - we'll keep overcharging you for something else in the meantime." Heck, I'm tired of bitching about bureaucracy. Let's move on.

Lesson #4: the value of education is forever diminishing

I swear that the biggest flaw on my CV is my degree. I'm certain that employers look at that one little achievement and decide that I'm either over-qualified, wrongly qualified, or a stoner. (Holy shit, Batman! Only people that smoke pot would ever want to study popular music! *facepalm*) It's my opinion that degrees do nothing for your prospects these days - perhaps even work against them. Employers are only looking for work experience, not for people that can drink for fifteen hours solid and still see straight. (I wish...) And yes, I'm aware that I'm admitting that four years of my life have apparently been a total waste of time. Seems some people think that the lessons I learned at uni were nothing compared to the lessons I could have learned slaving away behind a cashdesk.

Lesson #5: never put all your eggs in a basket with holes in it

Deep down, I think I knew I could never be a teacher. I had too many doubts; I was too insecure about going back to the classroom. Yet that was the only future I'd planned for. I knew that it would give me a stable career and fix all my financial problems, potentially for the rest of my life, and that was what I chose to focus on, whilst ignoring that niggling little question of whether it was what I actually wanted. Since that all blew up in my face, I've learned that huge choices like these should only be made if you're completely comfortable with them - and definitely not make a decision just because it seems like the right thing to do. If there's any question about it, however small, it'll be for a good reason. Don't run with it unless you're absolutely happy with it.

Lesson #6: never do something to please someone else

I think that getting my degree and trying to get into teaching weren't ideas I would necessarily have gone for, had I been thinking solely of what I wanted out of life. I figured that choosing this path would gain me the pride and respect I wanted from certain people. Well, it hasn't, so I felt like a big disappointment as well as a failure. Losing it all in September was a big wake-up call for me. The reason the way I was going had suddenly become blocked to me was because it wasn't the right way for me. I'm an adult with my own dreams and ideals; why the hell should I be trying to please someone else? I didn't realise this until it was pointed out to me, but this simple question has caused a monumental shift in my perspective. Don't worry, I'm not about to become self-centred and demanding like some petulant diva - but I've learned that I need to place myself a little higher on my list of priorities, especially when it comes to the big life decisions. Do you see anyone else living this life?

Finally, Lesson #7: never, ever work in a call centre

It will destroy your soul. How do you think I became so miserable in the first place?

Have You Met My Buddy Turmeric?

noreply@blogger.com (Joey) — Mon, 02 Nov 2009 18:26:00 +0000

This season, I was the first to get the sneeze-nasties. It's not for me to say whether I got it the worst, but I'm responsible for starting it spreading amongst my peeps - making me the head vampire, if you will. I'm glad nobody staked me, thinking it would cure them.

Tip #1: no staking.

So all my recent experience of fighting of the evil bugalug has left me full of good advice for would-be cold warriors. As well as the usual cold symptoms - bad nose, throat and head, along with chills and a high temperature - I got a chest infection that felt as though I was trying to breathe through wads of cotton wool stuffed into my lungs. Passing along all these nasties made me pretty unpopular for a few weeks, I tells ya.

Tip #2: lots and lots of hot toddies.

Even before I got sick, my beloved Will developed a toddy recipe that works wonders. It involves a mug of boiling water, a spoon or two of honey depending on the size of the mug, about the same amount of lemon juice, a shot of whisky, and, if you're feeling brave, a Beechams powder. Stir it all up and drink it down before it gets cold. As well as warming your chills, the lemon and whisky act as antiseptics and general bug-killing devices. The honey soothes your sore throat and makes the whole concotion taste a lot nicer.

The powder - the best on the market, better than Lemsip - should only be added to the mix when you're feeling super-crappy, because the nice floaty feeling you get from the combination of booze and medication is highly addictive in your fragile state, and cannot be recommended by anyone. Nosireebob. Nuh-uh.

Tip #3: as much hot curry as you can handle.

Come on, you hardly think I'm going to pass up an opportunity to recommend the food of my ancestors, do you? I can, will, and have already waxed lyrical about the numerous health benefits of a well-made curry, but when you've got a cold, I recommend the hottest one you can eat. The hot spices will clear out your sinuses, and the main ingredient, turmeric, is an antiseptic and anti-inflammatory to stop you getting blocked up again. Cumin will boost your immune system, and pepper will help you to sweat out your cold.

Make sure you eat a big one too. Remember the old saying: "feed a cold, starve a fever." Go on and smother that nasty ol' bug with food. I went through bucketfuls of chicken madras to squish those sneezes. Ah, perfection.

Tip #4: stay indoors at all costs.

The biggest mistake I made was leaving the house in my condition. Once the cold air got to my lungs, it was game over - I ended up being kept awake all night, wheezing and spluttering. If you really need the fresh air, open a window and wrap up as warm as you can. Exposure to any sort of cold is a bad plan. Big quilts, hot water bottles and sweaters that are five sizes too big - all good. Cold drinks and ice cream - bad. Which leads me to...

Tip #5: avoid dairy.

I know from experience with hayfever that dairy does bad things to a sniffly nose - namely, blocking it up good and proper. You don't want that. If you're going to drink milk, warm it up first and sprinkle a little cinnamon over it. (I discovered whilst ill that this will certainly cheer up a poorly soul.) But stay away from chilled or frozen dairy! I had a tub of Half-Baked sat in the freezer for two weeks because I wasn't well enough to eat it. Torture.

Tip #6: rest, rest and more rest.

You're not going to get better if you're up and about, worrying over things that are ten times harder to do because you're ill. The sooner you feel better, the sooner you can get things done, and the quickest way to get better is to do nothing at all. So wrap up, get as much sleep as you can, do some light reading (happy stories to keep your spirits up), watch some DVDs (hours of stand-up worked for me, particularly Bill Hicks and George Carlin) and concentrate on nothing but feeling better.

I was in a bad way for a good couple of weeks, but with the state I was in, I would have been ill for a lot longer if it hadn't been for all these little remedies. Straight-up medication hardly ever cures the sneeze-nasties, so it's good to share around the homemade fixer-uppers when cold season comes a-knockin'.

(Inspired, for the first time in a while, by Plinky.)

Book Me Till I Burst!

noreply@blogger.com (Joey) — Sun, 01 Nov 2009 21:28:00 +0000

In the absence of anything positive to write about my life that isn't kitten- or boyfriend-related, I've got a list for you instead. It's a list of all the books I've got lined up to be read. Hugely nerdy, but I've recently started to read again at the rate I did when I was a kid, so I don't reckon it'll take too long to plough through this... erm, mountain.

Firstly, from my DS's 100 Classic Book Collection:

Pride and Prejudice
Uncle Tom's Cabin
Lorna Doone
Jane Eyre
The Pilgrim's Progress
The Secret Garden
The Woman in White
The Adventures of Pinocchio (I'm certain there's something Disney's not telling us)
What Katy Did
The Three Musketeers
Tess of the D'Urbervilles
Les Miserables (which I'm dreading - started it once before and hate Hugo's style)
Sons and Lovers
The Call of the Wild
White Fang
Moby Dick
Black Beauty
Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
Gulliver's Travels
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer
Round the World in Eighty Days
The Picture of Dorian Gray

(Notice the absence of Dickens and Shakespeare. I'll get round to them eventually.)

Then I've got a few serials to tackle. I used to make a big fuss about not getting sucked into the whole Harry Potter fever, but maybe, just maybe, they'll be worth a read. A gajillion people can't be wrong, I guess.

...Philosopher's Stone
...Chamber of Secrets
...Prisoner of Azkaban
...Goblet of Fire
...Order of the Phoenix
...Half-Blood Prince
...Deathly Hallows

The World of Warcraft lore should be promising, but Richard A. Knaak's sketchy start has made me put it on hold until I've read other things.

The Well of Eternity
The Demon Soul
The Sundering
Rise of the Horde
The Last Guardian
Tides of Darkness
Beyond the Dark Portal
Day of the Dragon
Lord of the Clans
Of Blood and Honor
Cycle of Hatred
Night of the Dragon

On the other hand, what I've read so far of the Horus Heresy series, the lore preceding Warhammer 40,000, is brilliantly written.

Horus Rising
False Gods
Galaxy In Flames
(I've already read Flight of the Eisenstein out of sequence...)
Fulgrim
Descent of Angels
Legion
The Dark King/The Lightning Tower
(...along with Battle for the Abyss.)
Mechanicum
(Then, when they're released, A Thousand Sons, Prospero Burns and Nemesis.)

I'm halfway through Garth Nix's Abhorsen trilogy:

Lirael (literally, halfway through it)
Abhorsen

From then on, the list gets a little sketchy. Will wants to get me into Clive Barker and HP Lovecraft, as if getting me role-playing Call of Cthulu wasn't enough. I'm still trying to muddle through the very esoteric The Only Planet of Choice (I'm honestly trying, Matt, but it's such a headfuck!), and I keep getting threatened by various Stephanie Meyer books. Right, like I'm going to touch any of this Twilight nonsense with a fifty-foot pole.

That about wraps up my list, but I can recommend a few books that I've recently finished:

A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini
The Long Walk, the first of the Bachman Books by Stephen King (only got as far as that one before it went back to the library)
The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne

Yep, it's a random library I've got at the moment, but it's not like I've got much else to do at the moment, eh?