Goodbye Sasquatch

He’ll never read this because he’s pretty lazy and he’s still finishing chapter 2 of Back to the Future: A Novel (he started last millennium). However, I feel compelled to write this. For today Sasquatch, my pal, has left the British Isles to seek adventure around the other side of the world.

This is a huge achievement, actually planning, funding and going through with buying a plane ticket for a round the world trip. He’s talked about it before, in fact incessantly, but doing it is something different. Totally. He’s off to Thailand, Oz, New Zealand, Fiji, Hawaii, then finishing in the US of A.

Relatively prepared he’s about to embark on this crazy journey of seeing different cultures, experiencing new cuisines, meeting different people who live life in a totally different way, he’s going to love it.

I’ve got a lot of admiration for what he has already done, and wish him all the best. I wish I could do what he is doing, but at this moment in time, I cannot. Odd thing is, I don’t think I’ll see Sasquatch for a long, long time. The travelling vibe suits his aura and I think he’ll stay in Oz for many years, in fact maybe even permanently. I’ll be checking out Neighbours now and then just to see if some guy, who looks like Jonny Rico’s bleached blonde friend from Starship Troopers, walks on and says, ‘alright geese, where’s Daphne?’


Good luck Sasquatch, and well done for actually going through with it.

Paper Mache?

Yesterday I bought The Guardian for the first time in a long time. Perhaps about four or five months had passed since I walked into Smiths or a mini-mart to buy a periodical. I think it was the death of Michael Jackson that had me ambling along to the newsagents to buy a paper. I was curious about the media reaction to his death and how it would be commented upon.

It struck me almost immediately after reading the stories about Michael Jackson that the newspaper offered almost nothing new (although Comment was good). The main story was just a regurgitation of what everyone already knew. And how did we all know? Because we are now highly-skilled technological freaks, who log on and start searching for crap when a big story breaks and no longer wait until the next day to read about it in the paper, The Guardian et al cannot compete in paper format.

I think it was some website called TMZ who broke the news that MJ had died. This website is allegedly well known for breaking Hollywood stories into the public domain. And as everyone heard the news, probably via radio or television went straight to the interweb to find out more information. Why? Because the interweb has more opinions and resources than News 24 or Sky News do. We have to wait for those channels to tell us the news, whereas when we log onto Google and run a search we begin our journey to find our ‘own’ news. We are in a sense conducting investigative journalism, perhaps in a crude way, it could be argued. But take the example, of someone hearing breaking news on the radio, dashes to their laptop and runs a search. Finds TMZ at the top of the search rankings which discloses the details that Michael Jackson had a cardiac arrest, then this person has a blog and posts the news and the link on there. This contributes to the feeding and momentum of the story which can be updated within minutes whereas a periodical takes considerably longer. I mean Google themselves thought they were under attack because so many searches were conducted regarding the Prince of Pop.

So where does this leave the good ol’ paper. Well I think they are in a bit of trouble. Everything written on Saturday had already been covered meticulously by other interweb sources which meant all they could really do is stitch together the pieces of info that the readership already knew about. I don’t want to come over as pessimistic about the livelihood of newspapers, they all do have their websites which are updated frequently, but I feel newspapers must look at how people react when big news occurs and that repeating what has already been covered perhaps isn’t the best tact.

One thing I did like was the Comment section, and here is where I think newspapers can excel. Having people ‘in the know’ write their opinions on the matter and discuss how this affects the country, the world even. It’s that sort of tone I think newspapers need to adopt throughout their column inches, pushing journalist’s interpretations at the forefront and backed up with clear facts. They do this already, granted, because just by the nature of writing something they are expressing their opinion in some form. I just feel it should be done more.

I also accept that it is done in the supplementary material. I have noticed an increase in supplementary material in weekend papers just by the sheer weight of picking up one of those bad boys. I feel sorry for those paperboys and girls who have to deliver five copies of The Sunday Times. Having sections such as Life, Money, Cars, Technology, Mid Morning Brunch, How To Live Your Life does include an abundant amount of opinions but I just don’t think it’s topical news and that’s the lifeblood of a newspaper, surely? If I want to read about cars, I’ll just buy AutoTrader magazine, or even better visit the website.

Perhaps, I’m writing rubbish, I don’t know. But something just didn’t seem right when I spent £1.70 just to read everything I have already read elsewhere (excluding the Comment section) and for free.

In other news, I’ve started watching The West Wing and I am loving it. It makes working in an office look cool.

The Quentin Thomas Effect

Some of you probably know who he already is; I didn’t, although I should as I’ve seen his name at least seventy times.

I was sitting in the Slug ‘n Lettuce today, sipping on Peroni, when I started to think about how much nothing has happened this year. It just seems to be plodding by. I took another sip, and thought that perhaps this was actually true. This year, I’ve not really done anything other than attend work, do work, go off on holiday for a bit and then return. Nothing has changed, compared to 2008, and perhaps that was just a continuation of how things were in 2007.

Air, came on in the pub, and I sat back, thinking, that truly nothing has moved on. It didn’t make me glum, but I thought the purpose of living was to advance? Well, maybe that isn’t exactly true because, for some people, it is literally to try and stay alive. It still though rested uncomfortably with me. All around looked and felt the same. Even the blaring of Kelly Rock the Stars had me thinking that there was a possibility that it was even the same when that tune was first heard by my ears. My Peroni was now half empty.

I sniffed and thought about it a bit more. In fact I started spinning the pepper pot in front of me when I decided that this year has been a bit of a blur. Wasn’t it snowing the other month (February)? Then, it dawned that things had changed, I have. I’ve managed to save up some cash money to put my estate into some sort of order instead of being in disrepute. I’m more confident in my job now having grown into it. I generally feel a bit more stable. I have carved out a path using the sabre of determination and it’s there in front of me should I want to start running that way (I always run and never walk). Even in my appearance I’ve changed, I’ve developed red eye due to a bad contact lens (everyone now thinks I’m stoner).

I should explain who Quentin Thomas is, in case you don’t know, (Coldbrain, I wonder if you got it straight away?). Quentin Thomas is the president of the BBFC and issues the age ratings for all films that are screened in the UK. Quentin’s name always appears just before you see a film in the cinema. No shit, he’s always there. It’s always the same black background with a shaky signature informing the viewer he’s approved this film rating.

And for every film I’ve seen ranging from Gremlins 2: The new Batch to Angels & Demons I had never realised, never really ‘looked’ just like I had not realised I’ve grown, altered morphed into something different than last year, but because I stare in the mirror every morning with a Mac 4 in one hand, I’m oblivious to it. It’s these little alterations in life that contribute to something but I don’t notice because I forget, can’t be arsed or am too scared to, but they are always there. I see the clear base of the glass as I take a large swig of Peroni. To me, this is the Quentin Thomas effect. Not noticing the little things even though they are there to be clearly seen.

Sitting in the Slug ‘n Lettuce made me realise actually spending time to think about yourself and where you are going, is a good thing, isn’t it? I mean, I will carry on living regardless but highlighting major fuckups and learning from them is a pretty good way of avoiding them the next time. Also, you don’t feel like nothing has changed whereas the surroundings remain the same.

I finished my Peroni.

Appetite

There’s something that I don’t understand. Why is it that relatives always want you to eat so much that you’re left unable to move and wishing some crane would come and pick you up?

When I was younger I used to dread meal times because I’d be given the largest plate of spaghetti and feel that I have to finish it. My aunt or whoever would look at me ever so often to check that I was consuming the half tonne of pasta. If it looked like I was struggling she would holler that I was ill or that perhaps some fever had affected my appetite. Twenty minutes later and I’m slumped on the chair just like Mojo the monkey from The Simpsons, barely able to breath because my body has shut down virtually all functions in order to digest the food I’d just consumed. It is only then that relatives are content that you are a healthy growing boy, although to me this is just irony at its best.

As I got older I started saying ‘no’ to portions that could feed a small family and I’d receive a scornful look. It wasn’t one of annoyance but more of disappointment, both in me and at their perceived failure to nourish me. With my normal portion of food I’m quite content but because I’m a fast eater I always finish first. Yet this prompts a nudge followed by large spoon of sustenance shoved in my direction. I raise my hands in protest and I get that look again, before some non-verbal communication enacted by patting my stomach ends the issue for the time being. In fact, I realised that in order to avoid the spoon scenario altogether I needed to lay my knife and fork down very carefully so that it makes no noise.

Recently I caved in and remembered just what it’s like to feel like Mojo again when I was visiting a relative. I had a huge piece of Shepherd’s Pie and scoffed it all like a famished dog. I think it was all gone in about four minutes. I forgot to lay the fork down carefully and it made a rattling sound on the plate. I was promptly asked if I wanted another piece. I still felt hungry and so nodded in agreement. What I was expecting was the final leftover piece, but instead, a whole new pie appeared from the oven and was given a piece larger than my original. Still I felt that I should at least attempt to eat it. Forty minutes later, I finished and I wanted to go to sleep. I’d not felt that full in years. I was practically waddling to the sofa and kept thinking to myself surely this isn’t healthy.


Thing is, I’m pretty certain that when I’m older this is exactly what I will do. In fact I better start taking notes, a male of 5’10 stature requires one plate the size of Ben Nevis. When the next generation arrives at my gaff I’m sure I’ll be there ready to dish out the food and will give ‘the look’ should someone refuse an extra dollop of goulash. It’s weird but I guess that’s what happens.

In other news, never go out wearing just one contact lens.

Chilling & Consideration

¿Hola, como estas? I’m currently chilling in Madrid for a week. I thought some time off work would do me some good and reinvigorate me to concentrate on things I like. At present I’m sitting in that very Spanish institution, Starbucks, looking over all the people scurrying around below in a place called Sol.

Anyway, enough of that, what I really wanted to write about was the film ‘Yes Man’. Before I’d watched the film I referred to it with a Jamaican accent and thought it wasn’t worth watching at all. In fact, after I checked it out I thought it was quite a liberating film and also made me think of what on earth would happen if I applied that kind of logic to my everyday life. Half way through the film I started to think that I don’t get many choices where it involves a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ answer. I was being stupid however, of course there are, but what I seemed to do is just proceed with out actually thinking about them. Like, I always avoid the sandwiches at work or when I go for a walk at lunch it is always the same route, even if someone says ‘shall we try this way’. I tend to say ‘nah, let’s go this way’. How rubbish is that, but I don’t really think about it. Or when I see three drains adjacent to one another, I always avoid them. I’ve done this for so long that I can’t remember why and it has become part of my default setting, along the lines of: 3 x drains + 1 x Mr P. Shadow = bad luck.

But why do I avoid the three drains? I’ve forgotten, other than somewhere down the line someone once said that if you walk over three drains you will suffer misfortune. Thing is I can’t really remember the actual tale or who told me it. Yet, when I see three drains I tend to do this really odd skip, pivot and bounce to avoid them. It’s quite a street dance performance but I step around them with serious intent. I know this is genuine characteristics of someone with obsessive compulsive disorder but in an odd way I kind of like avoiding those drains. Obviously I want to avoid the bad luck which will strike down on me should I one day step all over them, but also, I want to continue this lore that I know thousands of others abide by. And how do I know this? Well because every time I’m up town I see people doing their own little hop, skip and jump to avoid those three drains. It’s like we are all strangers but are all part of this subculture where somewhere down the line someone told us the story of how treading on three drains brings untold misery and so we avoid them at all cost. They even do it in Madrid. Perhaps there’s a wikipedia page about it all but I can’t really be bothered to check but at least I’ve now considered something that I just do generally without thinking, thing is, I’m quite happy to just continue doing it so really I haven’t changed anything at all. Ah well.