Please Leave - NOW

I have made an observation, and it is nothing new. However: TV is making stupid people even STUPIDER.

I will make this very clear now, the stuff on the TV is NOT REAL. Even the news is chopped into bite-sized manageable bits so you can digest it. If you see something on the television, please think about what you are seeing and engage at least ONE PART of that thing buried deep inside your skull. Maybe - oh, I don't know - investigate what you are watching for yourself. The Internet - it's NOT just for porn.

You may be wondering, dear reader, something along the lines of "What has rattled his chain NOW?" and I don't blame you. However, today, I was confronted with monumental stupidity on a scale of which takes a lot.

We also discovered that I am, in fact, a complete arsehole.

As you well know, we live in the town of Basildon, slap bang in the county of Essex. Here in the south-east of England, life bumbles along as it does pretty much everywhere else in the country. For whatever reasons, the rest of the country has gotten the idea - that started in the late 80s/early 90s - that us Essex folk are all common-as-muck, alcoholics, and, more importantly, thick as arseholes.

Yes, we have common-as-muck sorts, we have alcoholics on the street, and we do in fact have thick-as-arseholes people. But find me a county that doesn't.

I don't watch TV - there is so much crap on there, I just don't bother - but even without watching, I know for a FACT there are two programs on that show the country what Essex is "really" like.  I am talking about, of course, The Only Way Is Essex, and the other one, Educating Essex.

I admit, I have only ever seen snippets of the former, and nothing of the latter. However, the first is apparently a good example of Essex life.

Fake tan, thick as shit, "cool words" that are only now being used because of the program, fashion sense - all the rest of it. It's supposed to be reality TV as it happens, but is so obviously scripted and as fake as their tits it's unreal.

And yet, the country loves it. It's won AWARDS for goodness sake.

The other program I can't even be bothered to research. Looking at it's main page, it's got bleach-haired, short-skirted, fake-tan girls smeared all over it.

Yeah, good cross-section there.

And no, out of sheer principle, I am not linking them. Google them if you live under a rock/in another country. Don't blame me for any brain-cell implosion from viewing video clips.

It's all well and good, people enjoy the TV they watch - fair enough. But please realise they are made for TV, and are about as accurate as me writing a report on the banking crisis off the top of my head. If Essex were actually like this, then I am going to turn on the gas and take a deep breath as I light a match.

But these shows and this arsing stereotype of Essex being like this is NOT the reason for my rant.  No folks, something worse has pushed me over the edge.

Today, as every day, the buses to and from school have been knackered. Properly, full on, running at a time other than that under the guise of "Time Table". Again, instead of one every ten minutes, it's been nothing for thirty minutes, then three or four. Brilliant. This in itself has rattled my chain, but isn't worthy of a blog post yet.

In an effort to get the buses back on track, they decided, in their wisdom, to kick everyone off of three of them, and send THOSE buses off ahead of the route to try and catch up with their time table. With four buses of people, the remaining bus was full, so me and a half-dozen others - a couple of schoolies, a grannie, a couple of mums, and a weird-looking bloke with big glasses - are standing around waiting for another bus, placing bets on A) when the next bus will arrive, and B) how many will turn up.

So there we are stood, chatting shit as people at bus stops tend to do, when this group of four people turned up, armed with a map. Tourists. Pegged them straight off. They had the bewildered look of people without a clue, and were aiming for us.

"'scuse us -" their accent was northern - very northern, but not northern enough to be Scots. "Can you tell us where the towie people are?"

I blinked. It took a second, to realise "towie" was "T.O.W.I.E" which is short for The Only Way Is Essex.

Mother of God.

I know from my dear fiancée that that program is filmed in another part of Essex, closer to London. I also know from my dear fiancée that the club they frequent/film in is called The Sugar Hut. I know this, because a few months back, she went there. I also know this, as a local footballer was beaten into paralysis a few weeks back outside the very same club.

Like I say, classy.

So, I digress, back to Northern Lass and her posse of three.

The schoolies at the bus stop giggled and shook their heads. The mothers stared open-mouthed, their minds clearly screaming internally as mine was. Granny was confused. Crazy man watched a pigeon.

"You realise you're in the wrong part of Essex, right. And you realise you're looking for TV characters, don't you..." I didn't word it as a question.

"Oh aye -" OK, I know I am trying to talk anti-stereotypes here, but she DID say 'Oh Aye' in a proper northern way "- we seen them on the TV and wanted to see that sort of life for ourselves. We've come to Essex for a week to experience it..."

I could feel the last vestiges of Faith in Humanity crumbling into dust within me. Here are a group of people that have come to Essex from the north of England - probably 200 miles or more - to see and experience something they've seen on the telly.

The mums looked at me with wide eyes, one shaking her head. Yep, she had that crumbling feeling too. The schoolies piped up "That program is crap, man" and laughed. Northern Lass, however, was not deterred. In fact, I think she was convinced we were covering something up, like these were OUR people, that we only let out for the TV cameras, and we hid them when not in use.

"We've been here since yesterday, and haven't seen anything about them. We know there's the club, but don't know how to get there from here, but where are the people like that around here so we can meet them?"

So, 24 hours in Essex, and they couldn't work out how Public Transport/Road Signs worked, and couldn't understand where we keep the Orange-Skinned, Collagen/Sillicone-Filled, floppy haired twats.

I try again. "You DO realise that's only a TV program, right? It's not *real* but a TV program." She blinked and looked at her friends. They looked as bewildered as she did. "Yes, but where are they?" The mums are now talking in low voices trying to stifle laughter. Gran is watching with a confused look on her face. The man is still watching his pigeon. One of the kids is on their blackberry, texting furiously. I can see it now. "OMG 4 ppl lkin 4 TOWIE cast in Bas. Proper bellends LOL"

"They're not real." I tell her. I might as well have stabbed her with the crazy blokes pigeon. She looked like I had crapped in her coffee and handed it to her.

"They are!" she exclaims, and follows through with the classic....

"We've seen them on the telly"

I honestly don't know how to respond. I don't know what to tell her. I consider sending her as far north as I can until she realises she near her house. I try a different tactic. "OK, if I came to your town and asked you were the people from Coronation Street lived, what would you tell me?"

She laughed, and without hesitation, "I'd tell you you were in the wrong place, that their studios are somewhere else!" She and her pals chuckled at my obvious need for special treatment. Then, like a bolt, it seemed that it came to her. I actually watched someone having an epiphany, realising that she was an idiot, and that she was looking for a cast of characters, and that Essex is nothing like that...

"Wait, you're saying they're not around HERE but somewhere else?" Oooh so close, I wanted to /facepalm myself. The kids were cracking up openly. "Alright look, are you driving or using public transport." She said they had driven down. Result. So, I took her map of Essex, showed her where she WAS, and after a few moments, pointed to where she needed to go with her posse, and how to get there via the nice big road heading in that direction.

"Head there - it's only a half hour down the A13 -" (I think) "- and around there start asking. That's your best bet, it's much closer to where you want to be and they will probably be better placed to help you. Probably be worth checking the pubs in the evenings too in case you get no joy during the day."

"Thanks lad -" she said as they virtually RAN to where they had left their car "- hopefully we'll be on the show soon!"

Within seconds, they were gone. I was left standing, wondering what the hell just happened, half wondering if someone as bat-shit crazy would end up on the show, and if my directions may be sending me straight to Hell on a flaming Harley.

"Do you know where the Sugar Hut is?" one of the mums asked. Sadly, I couldn't remember where Kellie & Kerry spent the evening, but I probably wouldn't have sent them there anyway.

"Not a clue, I couldn't remember and don't watch it anyway." I replied.

I knew it was coming. I knew someone would HAVE to ask. It was the the other mum.

"So where did you give them directions to?" she asked with that furrowed-wrinkled-brow expression.

"Dagenham." I replied.

To use the vernacular of the youth, the kids and the mums LOL'd. They LOL'd hard. The granny just watched the world go by, and the man carried on watching the pigeon.

Some Stuff

I really need to work out what to entitle these random posts of bits and bobs... But none the less, here's another!

Rules for the Younger Generation

Rule 1: Life is not fair – get used to it!

Rule 2: The world doesn’t care about your self-esteem. The world will expect you to accomplish something BEFORE you feel good about yourself.

Rule 3: You will NOT make $100,000 a year right out of high school, and you won’t be a CEO with a sports car, until you earn both.

Rule 4: If you think your teacher is tough, wait till you get a boss.

Rule 5: Working at KFC is not beneath your dignity. It is an opportunity.

Rule 6: If you mess up, it’s not your parents fault, so don’t whine about your mistakes, learn from them.

Rule 7: Before you were born, your parents weren’t as boring as they are now. They got that way from paying your bills, cleaning your clothes and listening to you talk about how cool you thought you were. So before you try to save the rain forest from the parasites of your parent’s generation, try delousing the closet in your own room.

Rule 8: Your school may have done away with winners and losers, but life has NOT. In some schools, they have abolished failing grades and they’ll give you as MANY TIMES as you want to get the right answer. This doesn’t bear the slightest resemblance to ANYTHING in real life.

Rule 9: Life is not divided into semesters. You don’t get summers off and very few  employers are interested in helping you FIND YOURSELF... Do that on your own time.

Rule 10: Television is NOT real life. In real life people actually have to leave the coffee shop and go to jobs.

Rule 11: Be nice to nerds. Chances are you’ll end up working for one.

On Being Psychic

With the power of my crystal balls (stop giggling) I have decided I am a 100% bona-fide psychic. The trouble is, I can't control my new found powers.

Curses.

I won't admit to predicting lottery numbers. I won't admit to reading the mind of Kellie to woo her in the way she wanted to be woo'd (piss taking is probably not very high on many peoples Woo Lists. If such lists even exist). I also won't admit to working with the military to plan their military strikes or telling them where Bin Laden was hiding.

No, my power is much more subtle.

Kellie has - for the last two weeks - had an icky headache. I'm not talking the dramatic Woe Is Me For I Am Dying! headache, but it's been borderline nasty headache/migraine for a while now.

No, she won't see a doctor. She's brave. Or something, but whatever, she refuses.

Laying in bed not sleeping, my powers take over, and my train of thought projects into the void. It went something like this:

-Poor Kellie has a headache.
-What can I do to help it go away.
-What could be CAUSING it in the first place.
-Medication?
-Wrong glasses/lenses prescription?
-Ooooh Carbon Monoxide poisoning!
-I get headaches too...
-Maybe it IS Carbon Monoxide...
-But then the kids would have headaches as well.
-But then, if they aren't down here near the boiler, it wouldn't affect them as bad!
-Oooh maybe it IS Carbon Monoxide.
-But then, I spend more time downstairs than Kellie does..
-Maybe I should get a Carbon Monoxide detector.
-I'll get a Carbon Monoxide detector on Wednesday!

And then it went off into the land of wandering around town, using non-existent money to open a business in an empty shop that would make me a millionarre..

The postman plonks his stuff in my slot this morning (stop giggling!) and there is but a solitary letter. I open it up.

Dear You,

Blah blah blah government laws blah blah, last inspection blah blah, missing an item blahdy blah...

We will fit a new Carbon Monoxide detector in your home on blah blah Wednesday blah December blah blah...

Yours blah blah...

See that. Clear and complete proof that I am, in fact, psychic. And to back it up, you are now thinking "He's mad."

TA DAH!

Musical Monday #118 - The Beautiful People

One of the many signs of the impending Apocalypse has to be Cover Versions and Remixes. Songs from my youth being taken, bent over a barrel, taken inappropriately by a new "arist" and re-releasing it as their own work.

They are all at it, and so many tracks you hear now that the Youth go nuts over, turn out to be songs from Way Back When.

Songs from Way Back When being bent over the afore-mentioned barrel.

So, imagine my surprise-quickly-becoming-horror when, last night, Kellie and myself were snuggled down on the sofa watching a movie - Burlesque - when a bit of music came on that I love. "Oooh, I love this!" I exclaimed as the guitar/drum went on.

Imagine, then, my horror as the barrel was rolled out, the song was bent over it, and, well... You know the rest.  There wasn't even any lube.

I happen to LOVE Marylin Manson - The Beautiful People. It's a brilliant song, especially cranked up loud. I often rock out to it (that is, I listen to it and may or may not tap my head in time to the beat), so imagine my surprise to hear in the movie that Christina Aguilera is the one with the barrel.

The humanity.




It is all I can do to not ram chopsticks into my ears and ride sideways into a wall. Twice.

Please be aware, I am sharing this song NOT because I like it, not because I love her style, but because I loathe its very existence.

To balance all in the universe once more, here is the PROPER version of the song by Marylin Manson, which is a bit of a freaky video, so skip it if you're a girl.

Killing Time...

The Ten Commandments of Email:

1. Thou shalt include a clear and specific subject line.
2. Thou shalt edit any quoted text down to the minimum thou needest.
3. Thou shalt read thine own message thrice before thou sendest it.
4. Thou shalt ponder how thy recipient might react to thy message.
5. Thou shalt check thy spelling and thy grammar.
6. Thou shalt not curse, flame, spam or USE ALL CAPS.
7. Thou shalt not forward any chain letter.
8. Thou shalt not use e-mail for any illegal or unethical purpose.
9. Thou shalt not rely on the privacy of e-mail, especially from work.
10. That which thou findest hateful to receive, sendest thou not unto others.

SO want this on a Tee Shirt!
(Clicky to Embiggen)

Amused me for some reason!
(Clicky to Embiggen)

Lastly, this may or may not work on you. If you've done it before, then probably not... However, it might entertain someone!

Don't look ahead! Just do it step by step SLOWLY.
DO NOT SKIP AHEAD. Read this message ONE LINE AT A TIME and just do what it says.

-Pick a number from 1-9
-Subtract 5
-Multiply by 3
-Square the number (multiply by the same number -- not square root)
-Add the digits until you get only one digit (i.e. 64=6+4= 10= > 1+0=1)
-If the number is less than 5, add five. Otherwise subtract 4.
-Multiply by 2
-Subtract 6
-Map the digit to a letter in the alphabet 1=A, 2=B, 3=C, etc...
-Pick a name of a country that begins with that letter
-Take the second letter in the country name and think of a mammal that begins with that letter.
-Think of the color of that mammal
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DO NOT SCROLL DOWN UNTIL YOU HAVE DONE ALL OF THE ABOVE!


Here it comes, NO CHEATING or you'll be sorry!
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You should have a grey elephant from Denmark.

OopsArseOuch...

For those that are not aware, this little blue dude is a member of Roger Hargreaves Mr Men that goes by the name of Mr Bump. Since I can remember, most of my family - my late Granddad in particular - used to refer to me as Mr Bump.

If you've been reading here for any real length of time, you will probably understand WHY, but if not (or if you're a bit special) it's simply because I am accident prone.

From the youngest age, I have managed to find stupid things to fall into, on to, off of or even through. I've had bumps, scrapes, cuts, stitches, sprains, tears, fractures, breaks, concussions and various types of poisoning. When I say the following, I don't mean I did it on purpose, but MOST of all of this has been self-inflicted.

Sheer stupidity, for the most part. Not looking where I am going or whatever.

However, a fair few of these incidents over the years have just been sheer bad luck. Gravity being a bit stronger here, a pool of flammable liquid there...

This last week, gravity seems to be a bit thicker where ever I go, and has definitely got it in for me. Having a busy Saturday planned - which is a post all of its own to come in the next few days - we decided last week that I should take it easy, not do too much, and not knacker myself out so I could enjoy the day.

Despite my body attempting to sweep, mop, lug laundry around, wander to and from town, I resisted. I was determined to feel good for Saturday.  Thursday, Kellie goes off to work, and I bring down a few bits of laundry to do - not much, just a few odds and sods to keep abreast of things. I realise I have left my phone on the bed, so go back up, get my phone, and come back down. 

Gravity struck.

About halfway down the stairs, my brain frazzled. With confusion in my brain I kinda sorts forgot how to walk, and decided the simplest way down the stairs was to tumble down on my back side.  As I toppled, the gum I was chewing flew straight down my windpipe and wedged in there good and tight. I crashed down seven or eight stairs, bouncing on my coccyx, jarring my spine good and proper and finally, coming to a crashing rest on my lower back. Lucky for me, that final bump caused the gum wedged in my throat to cough out.

The thought crossed my mind that had I managed to save myself falling, I would have probably choked to death. So hurrah for little victories I suppose.

I was a very very sore boy from Thursday onwards - including Saturday unfortunately.

Saturday was a very busy day, so by about 5pm, I was dead on my feet, but carried on.

Sunday, I took it easy as best I could.

Monday, I was a bit of a crap mess. I could hardly walk, I was shuffling around like a prat, but as usual, everything went pear-shaped. Thanks to changing our electricity supplier, the cheeky gits that we were with previously opted to take a final charge from our electric meter. Which left us with 11p to see us through till Wednesday. Which wasn't going to happen. Added to this, we were skint. Proper broke. Not two coins to rub together (to generate electricity I suppose)

A quick phone call to the 0dd Mother, and she had some money we could borrow for a couple of days - but she couldn't come out as she has ManFlu. With the girls due to go to Beavers/Cubs, and dinner on, I told Kellie I'd shoot over on the bike. Granted, I felt like arse, but didn't want her out in the dark riding across Basildonia. It's a good few miles each way, and she's not cycled for ages, so I said "It's all good, I'll go..."

Just over the halfway mark TO the 0dd Mothers, my brain frazzled out once again. While peddling down St. Nicholas Lane at a decent rate of knots, I literally, honest-to-god, could not figure out how to PEDDLE. I got so confused, and my brain stepped in.

"Hang about Dan, you're doing it wrong..." it piped up "You need to be peddling with your ARMS and HANDS! DUUUUH!"

So, my body dutifully responded. While gripping the handlebars, I tried to push and pull them forwards in an attempt to peddle with them.

No, I know it makes no sense what-so-ever, but that's how it was at the time.  Of course, jamming the handlebars ninety degrees left while travelling at speed only ended in one way. Gravity, once again, took over, and down I went. CRASH! onto the left knee, THWACK! onto the left shoulder, SPANG! onto the left side of my noggin.  However, the knee took the brunt of it, and I hit with such force, my knee tore through my very nice and very favourite pair of jeans I got for my birthday and left several inches of flesh on the pavement. In a trade, however, the pavement left several nice deposits of grit and crap (not literal) in the flesh on my knee.

Being fifteen minutes from mums, I opted to walk the rest of the way, and when I got there, I showed my mummy my owie.  Mummy then proceeded to SCRUB it clean with disinfectant and SCRAP out the grit and crud left behind.

I phoned Kellie to tell her I was a knobhead, and after she finished laughing, she called me a few choice names for being a dick.

I still maintain, however, it was NOT my fault. My brain frazzled out and completely lost the plot.

Silly brain.

After getting scraped and bleached clean, having a drink, knocking back some meds, I then proceeded on the very long, slow and painful journey home, rushing as best I could so the tribe I had abandoned wouldn't be left in the dark for long. It took me twice as long to get home, but I made it just in time and saved the day.  Granted, I was mocked for being a twat and laughed at, but Kellie did give me a cuddle.

So now today I am really feeling it. I have no energy, am eating painkillers like Smarties, am trying my damnest to do Sod-All (but failing, it has to be said!) and generally feeling very sorry for myself.

I often hoped, as a child, that this whole "Oops-Crash-Ouch" was just a phase. I hoped as a youngster once I learned co-ordination, it'd be better. Then as a teen, I hoped it was just where I was kind of gangly. Then as a young adult, it was because my body had stopped grown. Now, as a proper adult, I am hoping it's just a phase or something.

Maybe I SHOULD be one of these people that is wrapped in cotton wool - for the safety of others, if not myself...  But for now, I shall remain Mr Bump. As it says on the Mr Men homepage:

"If there were a prize for being accident prone, Mr Bump would probably trip over it."

Incidentally, for anyone wanting a big ol' picture of all the Mr Men/Little Miss, there's a high-res picture available by Clicking Here.

The Things She Says #12

I couldn't make these up:

Me: Dom was laughing so hard he was ACTUALLY ROFL'ing... (and, I should add, he was physically doing so)
Kellie: ROFL?
Me: Yeah, you know...

Kellie: I thought that stood for "Right Old F"cking Laugh"

I honestly have to wonder some days...

Summing Up Today

Random Image Fun

Me, as a child.
And now, in fact...

Tagged: Zombie Apocalypse

OK folks, it's that time again. If you want to do it, tag, you're it...
It's the end of the world. The undead have risen, and the Zombie Apocalypse is upon us:

-The last person you sent a text is your Survival Partner:
That would be Ms. Posh Totty...

-The last weapon you used in a Video Game will have unlimited ammunition, but you cannot use any other weapon:
Hmmm I believe the last time I played a computer game it was a Tomb Raider game, so I have her two pistols.

-How screwed are you?
Depends on how well Ms Posh can keep up with me, and whether or not she has a decent weapon. Otherwise, I'm sure she'll make the ultimate sacrifice to save slowing me down ;)

Yes, I am bored. Yes indeed.

On Mobile Phones...

I have noticed a lot of snobbery of late in reference, of all things, to mobile phones. Either regarding other peoples choices, the opinions of others, or directed at people that have stated a simple preference.

A couple of weeks back, Ms. Posh decided her phone was on its way out and asked for advice as to what she should get. Actually, none of that is entirely true. A bit before that, we had a conversation (on Twitter I think) about my general dislike of Blackberry (the phone, not the fruit). Again, a personal decision based on my own preferences after having read reviews, fiddled with a couple of models and spoken to others that use them.

After stating that I didn't like them, I actually received flak from die-hard fans telling me how wrong I was, that they are the best thing ever, and other general fan-boy rubbish.  "They're just better coz they ARE!" is not an argument.

The same has happened in the past when I have stated openly that I don't like the iPhones either. Granted, they are pretty, but then, "pretty" isn't my basis for buying something. When one of the Brand Spanking New iPhones came out, I compared it to my six-month-old Dumb Phone (which was a Sony Ericsson W995), and proved using actual facts that the technical specs were pretty much the same thing - except people would kill for one of them, pay STUPID amounts of money for it, and state it's the best thing since sliced bread.

Again, fan-boys screaming at me do nothing but actually put me off a brand.

For years and years, I generally only used Sony Ericsson phones. Not because "OMG They're just the best ever coz they ARE!" but because at the time, their phones had the best specs for what I wanted, did the things I wanted them to do and were generally very very good phones. I never had any issues with any of my SE phones. I've tried Motorola before, and after four different models, I just didn't like how they functioned, how they did the things I wanted to do and so on.

So anyway, back to the point.

Ms. Posh was asking about which phone she should get, I stated "not a BB" and gave a breakdown as to why not. And again, I got flak (I should point out, at no point was it people I consider friends shooting at me, but completely random strangers). Given the choice of ANY phone on the market, I would go with an Android device. Yes, the iPhone may have features the Androids don't, but I just prefer how the Android phones feel. Going from Dumb Phone to Smart Phone IS an intimidating step, especially if you're ditching a buttoned phone for a touch-screen.

Now, before someone starts screaming that I'm Anti-Apple and just hating on the iPhone because I can, I'll point out that no, I'm not. I'm stating I prefer my Desire HD to the iPhone because I personally think it's a better phone. I'm not jumping on the "Bad Apple" bandwagon, nor the "Get Android!" bandwagon for the sake of jumping on. Exactly the same as I couldn't give a rats arse about Team Jacob/Team Edward. Granted, they're both shit, but that's another post for another day*

If you're looking at phones, I can honestly see no reason to get a Blackberry. The screens are smaller - I compared one to my phone the other day, and it was a third of the size - and the person using it was on Facebook... Why have such a small screen? Then you get the people stating they NEED buttons to text. Really? Have you SEEN the buttons on a BB? They slap an entire QWERTY keyboard across the width of the phone which was equally as wide as mine. If you've got fingers like me, you're not pressing one button at a time, you're pressing three or four.

"Oh but it's GREAT for email!" some will say. Really, how can it be better than any other email program on any other phone? I have a Gmail app on my phone - how can your phone be better than that? I can send, receive, add attachments, reply, forward, delete and report spam. What else is there?

Other will extol the virtues of BBM, the "private" messaging service between users. That's great, you can chat to anyone else with BBM. But if you download WhatsApp, I can chat to everyone else that uses it, regardless of their phone make, model or even brand! And wait - it's also "private" And unlike with the Blackberry - which, as you remember, died a death a few weeks back - if the WhatsApp servers go down, I can use a different app, still access the Internet and everything else. What happened with the BB servers died? Oh right, they couldn't do ANYTHING.

The biggest excuse most people use for BB is the fact it's a smart phone, but with buttons. That's great - if only there were Android phones with buttons. Oh wait, there are - they have proper-sized, slide out keyboards.

Honestly, if you're willing to spend a chunk of money on a phone, then surely you would get the best you can for the money you have? I can't see why someone would go out looking for a contract for £25 a month, and opt for a smaller, less powerful, small-buttoned, smaller screen phone, when they can get a bigger (HD, even!) screened, more powerful, faster phone with more functionality, and so many apps you can sit and go through the Market all day long and still only scratch the surface of what's available.

At this juncture, I will point out I am not pro nor con which of the smart phones you "should" get. If you want to get an iPhone, then get an iPhone. If you want to get an Android device, get an Android. Personally I think the iPhone is simply just an over-hyped, over-rated, well over-priced lump of pretty and people have to have them because others have them. The hype surrounding a new iPhone launch just astonishes me, yet all that generally changes is a few bits inside - yet people rush out and buy a new one because "it's new!"

I'm sure that someone will come along and prod and poke at me saying "this is wrong" and "that is wrong" which I don't mind at all.  I'm quite happy for a discussion to spontaneously break out and for people to talk about their phones. What I can't stand is the planks that will scream and shout that their phone is better simply because "it is"

I'd also be quite interested to hear why you chose the phone you have. Did you go on looks, what's inside, what it can do, or *shudder* because everyone else had one? What made you get the phone you have (assuming, of course, you had a choice and a say in it) and if you're due to get a new one soon, how will you chose its replacement?



*Yes, I've tried reading Twilight. Three times. Holy Crap what a boring pile of loo paper. If you want "sexy creatures of the night" then read the Anita Blake stories. Those stories might have angst in them, but not on every bloody page...

Damn You, Biddies!

I'm currently stood on a bus. I WOULD have been sat, but in typical Me vs. Pensioners style, I just got beaten in one of their twisted games.

I dropped Tam off at school and headed to the bus stop to return home. Being that there was no one else there, I sat on the bench and waited knowing.g full well the bus would be late. As I air, others joined me, some sitting, some standing. Eventually, the bench was full.

Cue the coffin dodgers. Being that I have manners, whenever a old folk turns up, I let them sit. So a doddery old man turns up, he gets my seat. It's simple manners.

Now I am stood beside the old bloke. Cue more oldies, who want to chat to him, so I shift back so they can stand beside him. Now I'm at the end of the bench. Then more arrive and want to talk to the others, so I move again.

Now I'm at the far end of the bus stop. The bus arrives, and despite being first there, I'm now stood so far away, every other person barges on to the bus - old doddery man let's his cronies on first!

These old folk, they're happy to shout blue murder  if you even attempt to be rude to them, but they are easily one of the rudest groups around...

Location : 38-56 Long Riding, Basildon, Essex SS14 1,
Posted from my HTC Desire HD, so apologies for typos and strange formatting ;)

The Things She Says #11

Despite the fact I've not done one of these in a while, Kellie still remains happy opening her mouth and letting very random words tumble out. Her proverbial light at the end of the tunnel, however, is the fact that I have a memory like a sieve.

If I don't keep repeating what she has said, then I forget all about it.  Oops.

But not so this time.

We were sat on the sofa late one evening. Galadrial was sodding around on Kellies lap, and Gimli was sat at the other end of the sofa. The room is dimly lit, and both cats are staring at her.

Kellie: Oooh, Gimli has eyes like cat eyes!
Me: *The Look*
Kellie: You know, eyes, like a cat!

Now, I admit, I know what she means - or rather, what she is trying to convey. However, with The Look, she just wiggles in deeper and deeper.

Of course, she doesn't help herself by saying "It's not very bright in here, their eyes are glowing!"

So there you have it, cats have eyes like cats, and when there's not much light, they glow. Much like a childs night-light I suppose.

Bless.

Where Do You Do It?

Being that I, The Great Misogynist Dan, have managed to off the missus for a while, I have, I discovered, been tagged over on Pink Oddys blog.

Actually, I should start over. For, you see, when I say I have "off'd the missus" what I actually mean is, I have run her a nice deep bubbly bath, lit the worlds supply of candles, plied her with cool alcohol, and left her in a little ceramic tub of relaxation.

Which is another way of saying, I'm killing time till she is relatively well broiled in her own juices. Which sounds wrong, now that I think about it.

Anyway. Tangent.

I have bee tagged in the Where Do You Do It? style of meme. 

Now, personally, because I am THAT good, I actually do it everywhere. Generally, I do it on the sofa once I'm done with the housework and want to chill out or let off steam during the day. Other times, I do it on the kitchen work surfaces if I am waiting for something on the hob or whatever. I've been known to do it in the loo, on the stairs, in the back garden - even when I am out in public.

Thanks to having a computer, a laptop and a smart-phone, I am pretty much able to do it anywhere. I am, of course, talking about blogging.

Wait, you thought... Oooh you dirty so-and-so.

Yes folks, because I am in the 21st Century, I am mobile, and blog either on my laptop - using the Blogger in Draft GUI, or on my desktop computer which is in the bedroom. Otherwise, using the very handy-dandy Blogaway app, I can blog where-ever my phone is with a decent signal. I'm actually capable of writing a blog post while walking through a shopping center, through dark streets at night, or sitting on the bus killing time.

With my laptop, I will blog anywhere in the house except the bathroom - moisture in the air is bad MmmKay. But I've sat on the stairs, the bog, the kitchen side, various household floors, the bedroom - I am not fussed. I will also use the mobile phone to blog if laying in bed in the dead of night so as not to disturb Kellie.

Because I'm nice like that.

So there we have it, tag complete :)

I hereby tag any of you that feel inclined to share!

Privacy?

In recent years, we can all agree that the one thing people seem to be banging on about on the internet is "Privacy" in it's many forms. Not a week goes by when some group or organisation admits that it's had an oopsie with tens of thousands (if not millions) of it's users data, or someone has snuck in and helped themselves to said-information.

All the social networks - past and present - have been involved in various privacy/hacking/exposed data issues over the years, and people have constantly stomped, shouted and stamped to get tighter controls on privacy, but...

If you're using a Social Network - be it your Facebook, MySpaz, Twitter - or if you own a Smartphone where your data is stored on the Cloud, if you use the internet to buy or sell "things", or if you're on forums or whatever... Surely you should realise that everything you do somewhere, somehow, is tracked?

I had someone message me on Twitter the other day, telling me I should be worried that people can see where I am tweeting from. I had just dropped the kids off at their mums and was twittering away merrily when the message arrived. Yes, I do use location on my tweets, but the bigger questions here is: So? Does it really affect me that people know my tweet three minutes ago came from the High Street?

Same goes for my blog posts - invariably, if I am posting, I am sat on the sofa at my house, and every now and then, Blogger decides to insert my location under the posts. Granted, it doesn't give my address, but it either slaps in my postcode, or it puts "32-58 Long Riding" which is the street I live on, and my band of houses.

If people really wanted to find my address, there are easier ways. First off, people know where I live thanks to the descriptions I give in my posts: Blood Red House of Death across the road, for example. Secondly, I own web domains - including 0ddness.co.uk - so a simple WhoIs enquiry will show you my name, address and phone number.

There are people on Facebook that jump up and down screaming that Facebook put a cookie on their computer so they know what sites they've been on, but you're on THE INTERNET - cookies are A) nothing new, and B) most companies use them. If you have the right software, you can see what cookies you have on your computer, and generally, there will be LOTS on there. ALL shopping sites use them. Marketing sites. Survey sites. MySpace used them - in fact, MySpace was AWFUL for giving peoples personal info away, yet it never ever made the headlines. Google track their users too - searches are logged on their servers, pages they visit, files downloaded - and that is on both your computer AND your android device. Earlier this year, Apple got smacked wrists after a couple of blokes discovered that everywhere you go is mapped by your iPhone and stored online. Blackberry users are quite happy using their BBM system, but most of you don't realise every chat, every file shared - it's all logged and saved on RIMs servers...

My point is this - if you want TRUE privacy, then you shouldn't be on the internet, and you shouldn't own a smartphone. Everything you have ever done, the sites you have been on, the things you have bought, the files you have downloaded - they are all logged somewhere.

How many of you - honestly - have ever read through the License Agreement of any bit of software you've ever installed? Granted, it's always long-winded and tedious, but by clicking accept without reading, you're basically saying allowing that bit of software to do whatever they makers have set it to do. If they put a clause in there stating that they can harvest your contact details daily, and you click accept - the onus is on YOU, not them, to have made up your mind that you do or do not want your data shared.

Then, we have things like Facebook, that often change how they work, how they store or share your data... Now, for several years, everyone has KNOWN that Facebook change their privacy settings at the drop of a hat. Everyone KNOWS that they may or may not use your data for whatever they want... Yet when it hits the news that they've done This, That or The Other, people jump up and down and scream and shout about their privacy being breached. The same goes for some smartphones, or photo storage sites or whatever... Things are changed, or weaknesses are discovered and exploited.

Let's put it another way. There's a Storage Company near you. Everyone you know keeps their Important Things in there, and because everyone else does, you do too. Every few months, the storage company changes how they operate, and the Important Things you have stored are visible to everyone, regardless of you wanting them to see them or not. Also, every few months, you hear about a break-in and lots of people having their Important Things taken. The company respond by saying "This is how it is, end of subject"

You wouldn't keep your things in there, would you? Granted, you would expect things to be safe, but you need to take into account the fact that there are people out there that would quite happily root through your stuff and take/publish things that are private.

A while ago, I found a post detailing how to access ANYONES Facebook page. It was a bit technical, and involved hiding where you were, setting up dummy email accounts and everything else, but the fact is, people would have taken this information and used it to access the Facebook page of anyone it wants. Compromising pictures on FB?

A while back, I made a similar post about Privacy, when it occurred to me how easy it is for someone - with a bit of time and effort - to take little bits of info about you and build a complete profile of someone, with enough data to attempt accessing things like PayPal, your Bank Account or similar sensitive pages.

As bloggers, we often get the random questions (Tagged!) circulating around, with many many mundane questions. But if you were to collate several of these questionnaires, you would see that you are giving away information that function as Security Questions. Mothers Maiden Name, Street You Grew Up On, First School, Best Friends Name, Name of First Pet - these have all popped up as security questions for me over the recent months and years...

My point is, while you might expect privacy on the internet, or on your phone, or through your email, the fact is you leave a trail where ever you go, one that can be picked up by anyone - good or bad - and used for whatever purposes. While you can expect the things you do and say to be hidden, keep in mind that this is the internet, and that even the computer you are using is flawed. Chances are, you're on a PC, and that means there's a good bet you're on Windows. Microsoft release patches every week to fix holes and vulnerabilities on the machine you are using. If someone wants to access your machine, and has the knowledge to do so, they will.

Before you jump up and down about wanting your internet life to be private, just remember:  It's Not.

Misogynist!

Those that have been reading a while will remember just over a year ago, I received a very amusing message on the old Tagboard accusing me of being a misogynist. The original post can be read by clicking this handy link.

In short, someone anonymously pointed a finger at me and accused me of being a misogynist just like I used to be. It literally came from nowhere, and they never re-emerged to back up their claim, apologise or anything else. As far as I was concerned, while I take the piss and make sexist comments all the time to friends/family, pretty much everyone that has eyes and can read can see that at NO point do I make sexist comments with malice.

To make light of the situation, I grabbed Kim and she made me a new blog header, Memoirs of a Mis0DDgyinst, mainly because it ticked me so that someone accused me.  In case you're not sure what tickled me so much, let's recap:

• I'm a stay-at-home Dad
• I'm a house-husband
• I cook
• I clean
• I do laundry
• I scrub toilets
• I have girlie hair

Let's be honest, I run the house. I'm the cook, the cleaner, the nanny, the nurse, and the PA. I'm a busy boy 95% of the time.

Do I complain? Nope, actually, I quite like it.
Does Kellie complain? Nope, she likes going to work.
Do the kids complain? Nope, except when they're in trouble, and it's ME they have to deal with.

So here is my problem. This morning, I've had a REALLY busy day. Properly, running-on-fumes from the start, past empty at the end. I've had to swallow a handful of painkillers and struggled to eat and drink something. I start writing a post about - of all things, Privacy on the internet - when I notice my good friend Kay has updated her Facebook status.

Now, Kay and myself go back years and years. We "met" in a chat room and the same group of us always chatted together, day and night, into the wee small hours. We stayed in touch, her life went a bit topsy turvey, and she married a Brit and moved over here. We tend to rip the shit out of one another on a regular basis, as I tend to do with most of my friends. We joke, we laugh, we take the piss.

Kay made a typical girlie statement about her washing machine being dead, and having nothing to wear. I retorted - as I would - with a statement on how women have too many clothes:

I REFUSE to believe you - as a woman - have nothing to wear. Even with a cupboard FULL of clothes you women have "nothing to wear"

As I knew she would, she made a comment about me being a man and not understanding, that women need their clothes, and not to get into it because I'd lose. So, I went off on a typical Dan Ranty Tangent:

I have three, maybe four pair of jeans. Boxers that are holier than the entire Vatican, socks that are considered "a pair" because there are two of them. Tee Shirts aplenty. A few shirts. THAT is my entire wardrobe.

Oh, and a coat.

YOU - and I mean you as a species, not You personally - have the same top in multiple colours, different kinds and cuts of jeans, trousers, skirts of varying lengths and styles...

The amount of clothing you own is mind boggling, and when one of you utters the phrase "I haven't got anything to wear" I want to take all the clothes from your wardrobe (because let's face it, it ain't empty at this point) and throw them all away. NOW you have nothing to wear luv.

And when I say "Throw Away" I mean "BURN"

And what is it with women trading clothes?! Can I borrow that top? Never have I said to one of my blokey friends, cor, nice shirt, can I have a go?!

In fact, all you have done here by getting on your high clothes horse is reinforced the fact that you are all, to a person, MENTAL.

This message bought to you by the little slave children that made your clothes.

My typical, par-for-the-course reply to someone that A) I am friends with, and B) understandable to friends that I am not really that worried, but here's my point anyway. Yes, men don't own many clothes (Well, I can think of one that owns too many, and has recently started wearing womens underwear, but we won't go there...) and yes, women own lots of clothes, and no matter what, they've never got anything to wear.

Cue someone, out of the blue, who doesn't know me from Adam, jumping in on the conversation with this little gem:

Good idea above Kay, burn all your clothes so that the little slave child who wrote that post can make some more clothes. Oh and pity the woman who lives with the misogynist who wrote that post.

I'm not entirely sure if I was offended, pissed off, or genuinely amused at first. But a few minutes afterwards, I was actually pissed off. First off - it wasn't written by a little slave child, but on their behalf. Secondly, let's pity the woman that CLEARLY is treated like dirt by the man that does everything around the house. I think what pissed me off the most, is  that she has judged and weighed-up someone, based on a Facebook post of 211 words.

Yes, I counted.

Now, I get that people might not know me, I KNOW that if you don't know me I'm very strange, scary and weird - I have been told before that new people don't know how to take me - but to jump in and outwardly insult someone you've never met... Just... Wow.

And you know what, reading my longer-comment on the matter... I'm not even sure that is inaccurately or even actually sexist. Yes, there are a few women that don't own a multitude of clothes, and there are some that don't even enjoy clothes shopping.

I know, I know, it's just a random person on the internet spewing random crap. BUT - I am very very tired, I've had a manic day, I'm hurting and miserable, so today, for a change, I decided to take something personally. I don't want nor expect an apology - people known for making snap decisions and offending strangers aren't known for admitting they were out of order and saying sorry... And if you think I actually AM a miso- can't be arsed to try typing it again - then kindly shuffle off elsewhere to the internet.

I might be a misogynist, but I don't judge people and make rude statements about them in a heartbeat.


PS: The post-image is a pair of ladies undergarments I added for extra "I'm a Sexist Wanker" appeal.

Random Random Stuff

Having one of those days, and decided to slap these up to entertain/make you think/whatever... You'll have to clicky to embiggen some of them :)

This is SOOOO Gemma, the 0dd Sister!

Musical Monday #117 - When The Rush Comes

Music has always influenced my mood, or helped me to relax. It has to be said though, that the same music doesn't always have the same effect on me though. Sometimes, I need slow, peaceful music to chill out, other times, random Dance/Trance music helps me relax. Some nights, rock music might help me drift off, other times, it'll be white noise.

My body just likes to keep me on my toes I think.

Irrigardless, I've had a busy week, a stressful weekend, and today, I've been a very very busy boy - to the point I know when a certain fiancee gets home, I'm going to get in trouble.  Lucky for me, I have plenty of hiding places.

Sat chilling, I've gone through various music-types, and have settled on dance music for the chill-out theme for today. I can live with that. I have no idea why this one in particular sticks in my mind, but it has done.  It also has to be said, that I have several versions of this very same track (as it the case with Dance music) but this is the one I am posting. Paul Oakenfold - When The Rush Comes

Reward

£100million* to the person that gets me out of my blood test successfully. And by that I mean, doesn't get it deferred to a different time/day.




*to be paid in installments of no more than 1p a month till the day one of us dies.

Location : 38-56 Long Riding, Basildon, Essex SS14 1,
Posted from my HTC Desire HD, so apologies for typos and strange formatting ;)

A Dose of Awwww

It's not often I post fuzzy things (Kellie-related notwithstanding) but I saw this and thought it was waaay too nice to not post.

Not one of ours I'll grant you but it IS sickly sweet.

Pain Is Boring

 It goes without saying that in general, people don't like pain. I know what you're thinking; there ARE people that like pain; but that's not my point. In general, "people" don't like pain.

I believe I have a very high pain threshold. I have done all sorts of silly things to my body over the years, some self-inflicted, some accidentally self-inflicted, others just the result of various physical forces meeting in the same area as my body and damaging it.

OK OK, most of my injuries over the years are self-inflicted in some form or another. Gravity MAY have dragged me out of that tree, but were I not swinging from branch to branch in the first place...

My point is, is that I have snapped, cracked, splintered and shattered many things over the years. Additionally, I have slashed, cut, torn, ripped and shredded other parts of my person. I have had fluid ooze from places it shouldn't, seen parts of my body that only a doctor tells you exist, and put things inside me that either shouldn't be there at all, or have added too much of something outright.

And, as such, I can take a LOT of pain. I don't enjoy it, but I don't register it the same as "other people"

I do, however, have my limits. There is a big difference, say, between having your leg caught in the bannisters and tearing your tendons, versus a slow, constant, always-there-keeping-you-awake grinding pain in the bottom-middle of your spine. While with the former, I was laid up for a few weeks and hobbled around on crutches, the latter is ALWAYS there, regardless of what you do, how you sit or stand or lay.

And, it would seem, there is sweet F.A that can be done to get rid of the pain.

Now.  Imagine that every day for nearly eleven years. Yep, nice. Hence the title of the post, Pain Is Boring. Some days, I will say "I feel quite good today, I'll do THIS!" and people seem to think that when I say that, I am over it, not in pain and ready to run a marathon. What I mean is, is that I am STILL in pain, and it still hurts to do, well, most things, but it's either decreased a little for today, or I'm just too cheerful to let it get me down.

If you see me mowing the lawn, or hoovering through, or wrestling with children, that again does not mean that I am cured and better. It means I am having to do whatever I am doing and getting on with it as best I can. What you DON'T see, is the fact that once I've mown the lawn, I can barely walk for the next three-four days. What you don't see when I've hoovered through, is the handful of painkillers I have to take so I don't burst into tears when walking up the stairs. What you don't see after I've been playing with the kids, is me having to arrange my pillows just so, so that I can lay in bed and consider myself to be a little more comfortable than before.

When someone asks me "How you feeling?" or "How's it going, everything OK?" I could very well answer with "I'm in enough pain that I want to cry. My legs feel like they are made of molten lead and hurt to move. My hands have the strength of spaghetti, and the pain shooting up the back of my neck is akin to searingly hot needles being pressed into the base of my skull" but I don't. Why? Because that - or something similar - would be my answer every single day. What I do say is "Oh I'm fine, bit tired, but everything is good!" because I am sick of people looking at me like I am whining about it.

And it's not just the pain - it's everything that goes along with it. My concentration levels some days are non-existent. I can watch a movie and not follow it at all. I can read page after page of a book, but not have any clue what I've just read. I sometimes find blog posts saved as draft that I either don't remember writing, or it's is just a completely random rambling mess of words. Other days, my vocal skills are second to everyone on the planet coming joint first. I can't form a sentence, I can't remember words, names, places, times... Last week, I was writing notes for kids to take to school, and three times in a row, I put the year as 1992.  Why? I have no bloody idea. At all. It's like my brain is dozing off, and when I nudge it, it just blurts out whatever it was dreaming about.

I've been asked before if I am drunk while out and about during the day. Some days, my talky skills are not so hot. I trip over words, stumble over concepts, and occasionally slur. I can hear myself and I scream internally as to what the f$ck is going on. Last week, my status on Facebook was "I cannot brain today, I have the dumb" and while it is amusing to read, it summed me up perfectly. My brain is a danger zone some days, and I find myself trying to put the kettle in the microwave, or wondering why the microwave isn't microwaving, only to realise the START button needs poking...

I was talking to Kellie about it this morning, and I know that she understands what I mean and what I say. She knows that if I am talking about my legs hurting, then my legs are killing me. At no point do I ever say "My Body-Part is hurting" when I mean "I want sympathy" because to be honest, the last thing I want is sympathy. Understanding, compassion, realisation that I am in constant pain, but not "Aw poor Dan-Dan" It's very rare that I will change my plans due to being in pain - in fact, I'm not sure the last time I said I can't do something or go somewhere due to my pain levels. Why? Because I don't want people thinking I can't do X, Y or Z, that I'm "Being a wimp" or just trying to get out of doing something.

And therein lies one of my problems... Quite often, I push myself that teeny bit too far, and make myself feel ten times worse for the following week. And while I am feeling like crap, I try to do "little things" that need doing, making my recovery even longer. I find it very hard to say "No" to people, mainly because - and this sounds pathetic - in case they give me that look when I say "No, I can't because my legs/back/arms are hurting"  How pathetic is that? That I make myself feel worse by not telling people I'm a wreck.

Why is this coming up today? Well, last week, I got started on new medication to sort the pain, and I knew it was the low dose, and that it was only a low dose in order to get it built up in my system. "Start with this dose -" Mr Doctor Man told me "-and then in a month, we'll see how it's going, and increase it..." Fair enough - I've been after new painkillers for a while now, and these (Lyrica/Pregablin) are supposed to be very good.  However, less than a fortnight in, I am in a world of pain, and aside from the first two mornings that I woke up and thought "Hmmm, legs are less ouchy", they have done nothing.

Kellie doesn't like to see me hobbling around, wincing and catching my breath doing things like Sitting Down or Opening Doors, so she managed to pester the doctor into seeing me again today. I'm not sure I'm hugely glad that she did because he used two words that, separately, I don't mind, but together, fill me with dread: Blood, and Test.

Arse.

So, tomorrow morning, after having to partake of a ten-hour fasting test, I'm have to have a battery of bloods taken, and he's checking for everything. Electrolytes, Liver Function, Bone (Calcium), Fasting Lipids, C-Reactive Protein, Glucose, Thyroid Disease, Blood Count, plus he's added additional tests; RF (Rheumatoid Factor, to test for some sort of Arthritis), Anti CCP (Another Arthritis test), ESR (Erythrocyte Sedimentation Rate - tests for inflammation, apparently) and Autoantibody Score (I have no idea, prolly reading handwriting wrong!)

Kellie believes they are going to slash my neck and collect the blood in a bucket.

HOPEFULLY these results won't take forever to come in, but looking at it, he's going down the Arthritis route, which is nice... At 35 years of age.

On top of these, the next time I see him, he's going to refer me to the Rheumatologists, and I suspect, Orthopaedics and the Pain Clinic - obviously depending on the results from the bloods. While I am hoping that this is going to get me answers, I'm a little worried that they're going to find something I don't want to know about. I'm a firm believer in "If you examine something hard enough and long enough, you'll find something wrong with it" or, to put it another way, "If you peer at your burger long enough, you'll find that tubes/hair/spit"

On the other side of the coin, what if they don't find anything? Nothing to report, I'm just MENTAL. That's much more comforting.

In the mean time, my painkillers are increased, so fingers crossed the pain is lessened and become less boring. I'm getting fed up hearing my own voice whining about the pain I'm in... In the mean time, this post is mainly for my benefit, to vocalise to people that I lie to on a daily basis.

This post is my long-winded answer to the question, "How are you today?"

Grown Up Night Out

With the veritable shenanigans from last weeks evening out, the four of us had the back up parachute that was THIS weekend, when we would be going out for a nice evening out that, all things considered, was likely to finish later than midnight.

Woot.

The plan was to go and see Kerrys cousin play with his band at a club in Southend on Friday night. So, babysitters were advised to be ready, plans were made, details were hammered out... Luckily for some of us, yours truly is a smart-arse that likes to check things, and through a little bit of luck, I noticed that the flyer for the band showed they were playing SATURDAY night. Not Friday. So, another flurry of activity, and the babysitters and arrangements were juggled around so we could go out Saturday - not Friday.

FYI: it was the GIRLS that had planned the night out this time around... They are both claiming they were given bad information by the band, but I digress. I'm not one to blame others unless they are in the wrong.

*ahem*

So, Saturday night, the plan was pretty much, kids gone by four, we leave by five, meet Kerry & James on the train to Southend by about half five, get into Southend about six, have dinner in an Indian restaurant, have some drinks at the bar, watch the band, have some more drinks, head home.

The fact James called at four, running late in traffic, didn't bode well. We were ready to go just before five, but Kerry & James were having a nervous breakdown trying to get their shite together.  It should be added, that where women sulk that they "don't have a thing to wear" or "that's it, I look crap, I'm not going out" I need to point out that James is right up there with them. So with our group being comprised of three-quarters girly women that have to look just so, it's no wonder we were running late.

Blame where blame is due, after all.

So, with James crying down the phone that they were now at the station and cold, we were getting our arse into gear waiting for our cab and just missed one train. Back on the phone to James, we missed this train, but the next is due in fifteen minutes. Our train arrives, we get on, and let them know we're on the second carriage, at the second set of doors, and will be with them in a little bit.

A few minutes later, my phone rings, and once again, it's the six foot four woman.

James: You're not on this train?
Me: Er, yes we are...
James: No, you're not on THIS train...
Me: Did you get on the wrong train?

Now, technically, it's not the wrong train - it goes to Southend, but it wasn't the train WE were on. So, a few minutes ahead of us, they arrived in Southend, then we arrived too. Hi hi hello, you're late, you're fault, her fault, his fault, call a cab to the restaurant.

Miserable-arse taxi driver (number two of the night) drops us at the Indian place, and from that point on, the booze started flowing. Now, before we went out - and because we were ready and they were not, we had time to kill at home, so like any youngish couple that is child free with some spare time, we did what anyone would do.

We started drinking at home. Two or three Jagerbombs were already in our system.

So, at the restaurant, James decided it was Champagne o' Clock. I decided it would be a waste of time ME drinking champagne, as to me it's just fizzy wine. So I had a beer while they started on the champers. I know what you're thinking, champagne vs. beer is a no-brainer, but it doesn't do anything for me. At all. But, we were drinking, then out came the Sambuca, then we went to our table.

The food was gorgeous, absolutely wonderful, and while the girls were watching the clock worrying we'd miss the band, we enjoyed ourselves. Good food, good drinks, having a good evening, chatting and laughing. Another bottle of champagne, though this time with a measure of Amaretto in the glass (of which I partook!) while we were eating, and then out came the Long Island Iced Teas which, as it turned out, were gross, so they went back and were replaced by Woo-Woos for the girls, and Kentucky Jack for us boys. Cocktails are always a laugh...

With the meal all done with, we headed out along the seafront.  Now, a few years back, Southend-on-Sea was a busy spot for people going out, and was always heaving on a Saturday night. There are bars and clubs and pubs and amusement and a theme-park type thing too, not to mention the theatre up top and a couple of casinos, and loads of restaurants... THIS Saturday night, however, seemed, well... Quiet. There were people around, but it wasn't what I would consider busy by any stretch of the imagination.

By the time we got to the bar, we decided we needed more drinks. We met up with Chris and his band, said hellos and got some more drinks in. Dirty Vimtos (Port & WKD Blue) all around, followed by Jagerbombs. Once they were gone, it was Vodka & Coke for Kerry, JD & Coke for Kellie, and Rum & Coke for James and Myself. The bar was WARM so we had to keep our fluid intake up ;)

We left the bar and went to the venue next door and listened to a couple of bands play - all amateur, but pretty good. None of this Britains Got X Talent crap, proper bands with proper music. While we were waiting, we opted for more drink - JD & Coke, Vodka & Coke, I had a beer, James had something - oh, and more Jagerbombs.

Finally, despite flapping about being here or there late, people taking ages to get ready, people getting on the wrong train, eating dinner at a slow, leisurely pace, we were in the right place AND at the right time to see Chris and his band - FTL - come on and do their set. Before you go much further, go visit them on Facebook! Clicky clicky clicky!

They were brilliant - three guitars and a drum kit, you can't go wrong - and we all rocked out while drinking more drinks.  The did several songs, and afterwards, after giving our congrats and saying our goodbyes, the band left.

Yes folks, you read that right - the youngsters that are living a rock and roll life went home as they were tired. Us lot, however, well, even though we could have made the last train home (at a push), we decided to plunder Southend a little more. It was a little after 11pm, and upon leaving the venue, we were pretty much in awe at the lack of people on the seafront on a Saturday night. It wasn't particularly chilly despite being early November. There were no "sporting events" on that I could think of - besides, all the pubs had big-screen TVs for such occasions. Unless the world has gone MeNtAl and everyone stays in now to watch Reality TV (which, as I write this, is actually a fairly good assumption), Southend was deserted.

So, what do four people with babysitters, no kids, and time to kill do?

That's right, we sat down and ordered more drinks! We sat outside the bar for just over an hour, drinking, chatting, laughing - we had a REALLY good night, putting the world to rights, talking about complete an utter shit, talking about serious stuff... It was brilliant.

With it now gone midnight, and all still a little tipsy, we decided food was in order, so we plundered the local chippy, got a load of chips and had a munch out. James, being "manly" and all had a cup of tea.

*ahem*

With food in our bellies, and being on the Seafront, there is only really one other thing to do. We hit the arcades! Getting a pocketful of change, we started playing games. Kellie & myself had a rip-roaring games of Air Hockey. Granted, I kicked her pretty little backside 7-3, and I scored two of her points. I cheated, apparently, but unless my telekinetic powers have finally blossomed, I'm fairly sure that's another way of her saying "Shit, I'm pissed, I need an excuse..."

With her luck being what it was, she then tried her luck on a fruit machine, and swore at it after it stole her £1.70. Time Crisis next, and while I had NO idea what was going on with the plot, I racked up 70% of the kills with 86% accuracy. I think Kellie was the eye-candy in that movie.. Lastly, to give the government additional research into Drink Driving, we hopped on Mario Kart. We didn't play together - she pressed the wrong pedal - but while both WELL over the limit, we both won our games. However, it is fair to say the rules of the road do NOT apply to Mario Kart - I've not seen many Real World drivers firing mushrooms at people, and ramming a gorilla off the road - while amusing - is not an every-day occurrence.

Just before half one, Mr Taxi Driver arrived outside, so we all bundled in and dropped the first two weirdos off on Canvey - even if it was ME that had to point out where their road was to the driver. I think they were dozing.. Kellie and myself rolled in the front door just before 2am, and set to picking up the chaos of sweets that the cats had dragged everywhere - Galadriel has a thing for taking sweets off the side and unwrapping them - and possibly eating them - to play with the wrappers themselves.  Freaks.

Despite the drink, despite taking a handful of painkillers once I fell into bed, despite being shattered, I could NOT get to sleep properly. It was gone five last time I looked at the clock, and then, at half eight, the 0dd Mother-in-Law dropped off the kids.

Of the two of us, 50% of us did not have a hang over. Nor did 50% of us remain in bed dribbling till lunchtime. Nor did we keep drinking water, ask for the TV to be turned down, for voices to be lowered or pull the curtains to keep daylight out.

Or, to put it another way, I was fine. Kellie, however, was not. I even had to pop out to get her a Pot Noodle to get her some carbs.

A brilliant night was had by all. It was nice to not have to watch a clock, worry about the babysitters getting pissy, to talk about pretty much ANYTHING without causing offence, to have a good laugh and joke, and to let our proverbial hair down to good food, good drinks and good music.

Oh, and as a lasting memory - sitting in the cold has made Kellie poorly, who is now sucking furiously on throat medicines, and sounds like she's turning into Yoda.

Musical Monday #116 - Thunderstruck

Saturday night - as alluded to via Twitter & Facebook - we went out for the evening. A night of food, booze and music - accompanied by mental people, as usual.

THAT, however, is a separate blog post that will appear later (when I've finished it, that is!). This post, however, is very very tenuously linked to Saturday. See, after getting to Southend, then eating our meal, then going to the bar, then seeing a band, THEN going BACK to the bar - I heard this song while we all sat outside drinking various alcoholic beverages. I used the sentence "GoingToGetDrinksBackInAMin!" as an excuse to go in and listen to the song.

I love me some proper rock, and AC/DC - Thunderstuck is just that. I love this song - apparently, enough to run off and "buy drinks" when a little tipsy. So to my friends and, of course, my poor, suffering fiancee, I apologise - and dedicate todays Musical Monday to the three of you.

Now shush, I'm rocking out!

Geekdom

I have been - on occasion - been referred to as a Geek or a Nerd, but I have to say, at no point in my life have I A) Taken it as an insult, or, B) Denied it. I AM a Geek, and I AM a Nerd - a bit fat one on both accounts. I like looking at the internal gubbins of computers, I laugh at technical-related jokes, I come out with things that I consider to be both interesting and amusing, but others around me tend to scratch their heads and wonder what the buggery Dan is on about now...

For a while now, people have been on and on at me to watch a TV Show called The Big Bang Theory, but for whatever reasons, I've either resisted watching it, or plain forgotten to see it. Because I'm smart like that. Last week, I managed to get my hands on the first few seasons, so one evening, we put it on and snuggled down to watch it.

Oh my goodness how we laughed. Granted, some of the science is so far out there it means nothing to most people, but most of the geeky stuff I - and, in fact, WE - have been chuckling away at. Kellies foray into super-hero movies and having me prattle on about random crap has educated her into the Way of the Geek.

Where we've been watching it on the PS3, something about the opening credits combined with the Playstation brains causes some strange jumping/stuttering effect... The credits are a series of pictures flashing on the screen portraying a journey through evolution, invention and history to the modern day. With the image jumping, it occasionally froze for a few moments on different pictures, and got me thinking...

What IS in that intro.

So yesterday, after I pottered around the house and did stuff, I loaded it up on my laptop, and started the intro off... And went through it frame by frame, taking a screenshot of each image, saving it, and moving on to the next.

It only took about an hour, but upon completion, I had all 111 images saved! The intro is only about 20 seconds long, and each image flashes up on screen for anything from 1 frame to 3 frames.

Yes, it occurred to me that I was sad and geeky and a nerd. Yes, it also occurred to me that I could probably find the sequence in slow motion online somewhere. But I wanted to do it myself.

So, after poking around with Picasa, I've manage to put all the images into a video - somehow - and posted it to YouTube. I didn't bother with music or anything fancy, but it was that, or attempt to add 111 pictures to a single blogpost. So, here are all the pictures to the opening sequence to The Big Bang Theory!




You MAY have to click it to make it bigger (ie, go to the YouTube site) but otherwise, I admit it is very boring, unless you want to know what's in that intro - in which case, there you are!

For the sake of consistency, and for those that don't have a CLUE what I am prattling on about, here is the original intro for you: