2013: The Year in Saltine Hubris

We are.

We won't always be. But for now we are.

Each tick of the clock is a death for thousands. But not yet for us.

Tick, tock, there goes a village.

We must be thankful. Take each day as it comes. Take each month as it comes. And, at the end of the year, write an article summing up the things that have happened. Plato would have done exactly that, if he'd been born in the spacebar era.

DiamondBadger's Headscissors Review of 2013

I do this every year. It's a light-hearted look back at the thrills and spills of my soup kitchen rollercoaster. I also talk about the year in question.

This year, the year in question is "2013".

The question is "What happened in 2013?".

The answer is "the following".

Here are previous entries:

2007
2008
2009

2010

2011

2012

If I contradict myself and repeat myself exactly the same number of times, I can consider this a wash.

Life-Changing Event of 2013

I put "buying a flat" in this slot last year. This year we actually moved. The whole year has been life-changing, and not in a good way. I don't even feel I'm the same person I was in 2012. Someone must have forged my name tag.

But I can't go into too much depth about it. Let's just say that my fundamental essence has been forever altered by moving ten minutes' drive down the road.

I own a power drill now. This is serious business.

TV Programme of 2013

I've watched a lot of TV this year. So much so that I've had to embolden part of that sentence. Most if it has been in box-set form. I now feel more engaged with television as an art form. I've been taking part in the national conversation. It's not the conversation of my nation, but still... This was a real breakout year for Malta's Got Talent.

I watched lots of series for the first time, some of which I wasn't too fond of (Game of Thrones, The Walking Dead, Girls), and some of which I was rather taken by/with.

For me, the year boils down to three big ones: Mad Men, Breaking Bad and Enlightened.

I'd barely seen any Mad Men episodes before this year, so I decided to take the plunge. I ended up watching all six seasons in just a few months. It really changed the way I saw the world. 'Peggy' is short for Margaret?! WTF? How does that work? Right? Am I right? Am I?

I'm still not sure what I think of it. At it's best, it's mesmerising, and some of the characters are as complicated and fun as you could wish for. But sometimes, its greatest strength (huge scope; slow pace; meandering, deep exploration of the human condition) becomes a bit of a burden. It can move slowly, or be too obvious. Or it can spend too much time with beautifully-developed characters that aren't that interesting. It finds beauty in truth, but truth is often boring.

It has peaks and troughs in quality, but overall is very satisfying. My opinions on certain characters (hello, Pete) have gone from loathing to understanding and then back again. Elisabeth Moss's Peggy is one of my favourite television characters of all time: showing real (fictional) growth, and handling heartbreaking drama and hilarious comedy with aplomb, often in the same episode.

But I don't know if I feel a great affection for the series as a whole. I don't know why. It might be because showrunner Matt Weiner slightly rubs me up the wrong way in interviews. I like Mad Men, but I don't think it's quite managed to crawl into my soul. Perhaps that's a good thing. There's not much room up there.

Breaking Bad ended this year in a hail of publicity. Lots of people have compared Mad Men to Breaking Bad, so I might as well have a quick stab at it.

The two shows are sort of opposites in a way. Mad Men sprawls all over the place and gives us a taste of everything. Plot isn't as important as themes or character.

Breaking Bad is an almost miraculously tightly-focussed story, with a clear beginning, middle and end. It has a narrower cast of characters.

Mad Men is about the American Dream. Or gender politics. Or social change.

Breaking Bad is about Walter White and what happens to him.

That's a terrible simplification. Mad Men is about loads of stuff. And maybe Walter White's story is the story of America. It isn't though. It's the story of Walter White.

Anyway, whilst I generally prefer big vague ambiguous philosophical pretentious profound meaning-of-life fare to tightly-written morality plays, I think I like Breaking Bad better.

Doing a single story over a number of seasons, whilst still making it seem satisfying, and not treading water at any point, is a huge achievement. I'm not its biggest fan (there are many other shows I prefer, and I question to what extent it will be as fun on second viewing), but it certainly is exhilarating viewing. The final season had some fantastic moments - though I didn't think it was as perfect as some seemed to - and it was a fun ride.

That was all a bit long. Especially, as I prefer Enlightened to both of those.

I've written about it before, so I don't want to cover old ground, but it really is a great show. I watched both seasons this year (the second one began in January, but I was behind). It's touching, great-looking, different, and is about something. It's definitely more Mad Men than it is Breaking Bad, and maybe if it hadn't been cancelled, it might have suffered some of the former's problems, but it stands as a really beautiful chunk of television.

Do chunks stand? Probably, if you lean them against a wall.

Amy Jellicoe (played by Laura Dern) is a fantastic character, who is somehow both self-obsessed and a complete hero. How can a character be completely deluded and yet fundamentally right? Ask Mike White.

This trailer doesn't really convey the tone of the show, but I should probably embed something, right?



Yeah. Gotta embed. It's like the rhyme says:

If you don't embed, your readers will... do something else. Instead.

Shoe of 2013

I bought new shoes this year. But I think the winner has to be that sandal that broke the whole NSA story.

Film of 2013

I don't know about films. What came out when? Who am I, Paul Ross?

I saw Before Midnight and Upstream Color. Those are films that people seemed to like. If I say it was them, will you let me go?

Moment of 2013

In Turkey, we went to a hidden island (hidden from all but the regular tour groups that go there). We sat on a peaceful sandy beach, looking at the river.

That was nice. I didn't see it mentioned on The Big Fat Quiz of 2013, though.

So the moment was probably that time a celebrity accidentally tweeted a picture of themselves wearing odd socks. Peter Sissons, let's say.

Music of 2013

I've done a list! But I couldn't find a lot of the songs on Grooveshark, so it's only on my iTunes. If you want to come round and have a look, you can.

I liked good new albums by Fuck Buttons, Death Grips, Janelle Monae and Mountains.

I very much enjoyed the Run The Jewels album. I spent a lot of time this year channelling its aggressiveness into energy, helping me climb Headington Hill.

Here are a few choice morsels.

Run The Jewels - Sea Legs



Grouper - Living Room

Trust Punks - Prone Hold



Sonny Smith - Some Women Artists All Around Town

(this is the only version I can find)



My favourite song of the year wasn't released in 2013. I'm forty-two years late with this one, but it's still as fresh as a daisy.

Caetano Veloso - Maria Bethania



Misunderstanding of 2013

I kept winking and people in Turkey and asking where the beak was. It turns out that people in Turkey don't know what winks mean. The local equivalent is looking bored and irritated.

Knock-Knock Joke of 2013 (category retired - it was a stupid one)

New Habit of 2013 (new category!)

I kick our small football around the flat all the time. It's a good way to get some exercise whilst listening to sermons on the radio.

Stuffed Animal of 2013

Me - after Christmas dinner!

Because I'd eaten so much!

I'm an animal!

I was sewn shut!

Tendon of 2013 (category retired - it was a stupid one)

Ordeal of 2013

The flat has been one big ordeal, though most of that stuff has subsided for now. I suppose the big ones were not having any useful heating last winter (sobbing and shivering, working as a team!) and our bathroom leaking into the downstairs flat. That was quite traumatic. We had to talk to a plumber.

But both of those problems have been solved. We have a nice new bathroom and nice new heaters. No money, but money doesn't keep you warm and dry.

Albert of 2013

(Some of the image URLs on my old entries were broken, so apologies if I've used this Albert before.)

Stand-up of 2013

I didn't see much stand-up this year. I'll probably use this slot to talk about my own stand-up. I only did one gig, but it was very nice indeed. I remember telling a football joke, and saying to a man in the front row "you look like you're a bigger fan of football than you are of comedy". That doesn't even mean anything! Those are the best things to say. People like those things.

Oh, and Louis CK and Maria Bamford are still hilarious.

Podcast of 2013 (category retired - I've stopped listening to podcasts)

Number of 2013

0.4

Celebrity Sighting of 2013

As I mentioned on here before, we saw John Sessions in a Gatwick Pret a Manger. I sobbed into his shoulder "It's you! It's really you!". Whilst he was distracted, Lucy stole his wallet.

Picture of a Vegetable Made in MS Paint of 2013

Odd Celebrity Crush of 2013

(Man, there are a lot of these categories - I'll thin them out next year)

Who's odd? Anna Chlumsky? Jon Hamm? The woman from Limmy's Show? An anthropomorphised mosquito that I dreamt about?

Stop thinking in such narrow terms. We're all humans.

Language of 2013

Bill Fralic

Tool of 2013

David Cameron! #satire

Annoyance of 2013

Michael Owen's football commentary. He has almost every bad quality that a commentator might have, all wrapped up in a symmetrical little package. Not many people are nasal, ill-informed, banal, closed-minded, biased, and tedious. But he manages it.

Disclaimer of 2013

I'm writing this under duress. Though, that's how I do most things. Duress is my life coach.

Oh - also, I'm probably not going to proofread this. You might have noticed.

Clothing Item of 2013

I bought some pyjamas, and the top was one of those t-shirts that has buttons. It was black. I wear it all the time. It's a t-shirt, so I look casual. But it has buttons, so I look like an executive. I also ordered a red t-shirt online that arrived yesterday. It's much too big. I feel like a Sesame Street character.

Hero of 2013 (new category!)

Most years, this will be Spider-Man. This year, it is Lucy.

She has really stepped up. When faced with the difficulties of owning a house and speaking to builders and being alive, I've buckled like a belt and crumbled like a soft biscuit. Lucy has held everything together (including me), which is impressive as she hates all those things as much as I do. Especially soft biscuits.

A strong woman, that one. Hopefully I'll be able to woman-up in the new year and start handling my shit.

Catchphrase of 2013

"By the same token..."

Fact of 2013

The wingspan of an albatross is much smaller when the bird in question is hiding from the police.

Best Bit from My Review of 2013

"themes"

Prediction for 2014

Oh man, I don't know.

Maybe England will win the World Cup. Stranger things have happened.

Maybe I'll put up the mirror we bought a couple of weeks ago. It was missing its wall fixings, and the ones I bought were too big. But there's a whole world of wall fixings out there. All I need to do is go out there and grab them and pay for them and put them in my pocket.

The only limit to your number of mirrors is how many mirrors you have.

***

I'm glad that it's January tomorrow. This intravenous tinsel isn't as festive as that doctor suggested.

I think he was a doctor... He had a bag with, like, a hundred scalpels in it.

Barbecue Sauce

Saturday - 3pm:

I'm reorganising my web browser bookmarks. Merry Christmas.

I'm officially on holiday until twenty-fourteen. We have mince pies and barbecue sauce in the house. There are lights and slippers. The whole set-up screams "festive" and "why am I sentient?!", so we've had to start wearing earplugs.

Tuesday - 12:03am:

Days have passed. Things don't seem to happen at Christmas.

It's very windy. I can hear it outside. It's Christmas Eve.

There are too many lights on in this room.

I've turned some of them off.

I feel like my senses have been dulled. Writing is difficult. Thinking is difficult. It must be something about Christmas. I ate a mince pie not long ago. Now I can't think. Why?

Whose interests does it serve, this listlessness? (I had to google "sluggish synonym" to find that word.)

A whole nation of people, drowsy, dull, clumsy, lethargic. A nation of half people. The end of December every year, the nation becomes blunt.

Normally, I'd suggest that it's the machinations of consumerism. It's easier to sell products to dullards. But that doesn't really explain it. It's Christmas Eve. The shops will be closed soon. Most people have already completed their disproportionate Xmas spend-a-thon by now. But the main Christmas period (eve; day; day [boxing]) are when we are at the nadir of our torpor.

Or, would the nadir of our torpor be when we are energetic? Perhaps the zenith of our torpor? I don't know. I'm... struggling.

Google is of little help.

We've all been brainwashed. But brainwashing usually serves a purpose. People are brainwashed into betraying their country, giving up smoking, or agreeing with Ayn Rand.

But this brainwashing seems to be so empty. The iconography and ideology behind Christmas is so muddled, that I'm not sure what we're supposed to think. We're not suppose to think anything. We're just supposed to eat chocolate.

Writing this has been like swimming through a viscous trough. Each word is a mountain to be scaled. Each sentence is a tour of duty in some godforsaken war. I'm trying to reach the truth, but the festive pastry is making me forget myself; the mincemeat is making itself of me.

It's not a conspiracy, I don't think. It can't be. No-one benefits from a world of slugs. It's probably more of a natural phenomenon. Perhaps the world needs a few days of non-interference to complete some vital maintenance. Maybe the planet's axle is being greased.

But what about those who don't celebrate Christmas? Or don't celebrate it by watching terrible television in paper hats?

I can't even begin to work out their role in this disgusting equation.

Just look at how disgusting the equation is. The equals sign is two dead snakes, decaying slowly.

Tomorrow, I'll have forgotten all of this. This hasn't been a revelation. I've revealed nothing. But I have, out of the corner of my eye, seen the obfuscating curtain.

Tomorrow, I won't see the curtain. I'll just see the solid wall, covered with photographs of robins.

And it won't matter. Not all revelations are worthwhile. Not all truths are important. Who cares if I eat another mince pie, and my brain gets slower and slower and porridge and stopping?

Who cares if I decide to watch The Big Bang Theory?

It's nearly 2014. And nothing sharpens the wits like a pre-recorded Jools Holland gesturing towards a venerable Hispanic gentleman knocking the shit out of a marimba.

In The Right

The other day, I remembered a couple of childhood arguments I'd had with my friend Chris. I haven't spoken to Chris for a number of years, so I haven't been able to verify these. But I'm pretty sure they're correct. Traumatic events imprint themselves on the memory. If you were ever chained to a post box, I bet you'd remember what colour it was.

The arguments are impressively petty, but the main thing about them is that, at the time, I found both of them genuinely upsetting. They weren't just pointless wind-up-your-friends devil's-advocate debate-as-sport arguments. They were completely serious. In both cases, Chris was being unreasonable. (This might be libellous, so I should probably change his name.)

Edgar was being unreasonable. I'm perfectly sure of this, even though I can't remember who was on what side for the first one. I think these arguments might have contributed to my many psychological problems. If I had a therapist, she'd probably lay the blame exclusively at Chris's door. Or Edgar's door. In fact, they live together. It's his fault that I'm thirty-one and still have a panic attack whenever someone asks me for a lighter.

Argument One

I insightfully claimed that if you're both hungry and thirsty, you should eat an apple. Apples are food, but also contain enough juice to unparch even the driest of throats.

He said that was stupid. You should have both something to eat and something to drink separately. He thought that was the better solution.

Do you see how unreasonable he was?

Though, again, I'm not 100% sure which side of the argument I was on. I'm fairly sure I was pro-apple.

Argument Two

This argument came about because of a joke I made. Yes, even back then, I was churning out material. I was precocious as a boy. Precocious and covered in pips.

My joke was a companion piece to something I read in a joke book. The original joke book joke was as follows:

What goes ha-ha PLOP?
A man laughing his head off.

It's a joke. This was the marble from which my own joke was... carved? Do you carve marble?

I took the existing structure, but added a clever twist. It's a bit like the stuff I do now, but more carefully honed.

My version was:

What goes boo-hoo PLINK PLINK?
A man crying his eyes out.

Pretty excellent. It's obviously a great joke.

But bloody Edgar didn't see it that way. Not only did he not find it funny, but he said that it didn't work because eyeballs wouldn't make that sound. Eyeballs wouldn't go "PLINK".

I claimed that they would make that sound (or something similar). Especially if they were falling into water (the aforementioned tears). He argued against this with too much force, with the result that I was close to tears. But not so close that I was able to prove my point.

What does it matter, anyway?! Plink, plonk, plop, plip... The noise isn't important. It's not about content! It's about form!

Edgar. If you're reading this, I expect a written apology within the next month. If you're not reading this, I won't expect that.

I think the lesson to be learned here is that children don't have a very good sense of proportion. The most innocuous of conversations can burn with the heat of a thousand guns.

The other lesson to be learned is that I've always been really funny and knowledgeable about fruit.

I might have an apple right now.

Because I'm thirsty.

***

I was going to end there, but realised that my previous blog post also ended with a proclamation of my thirst.

I don't want my family thinking I've got dropsy. Especially with Christmas coming up.

Honestly, I'm fine.

Glass

I have a day off today. Writing a blog seems like the kind of thing I should be doing with my time. Productivity is the watchword. 

I've had quite the week, with a stressful appointment yesterday, a personal milestone today, and a cold. We also bought a heavy mirror on Wednesday, but it seems to be missing its fittings. So for now, it's leaning against the wall, showing me how dirty my shins are.

I'm tired. I woke up too early. I took some glass to a glass recycling bank place thing. I used my hand to dust a furniture-top.

And I have a cold. I mentioned it earlier, but it was part of a list of things, and most people don't read to the end of lists. The symptoms aren't too bad, but it has made me quite foggy-headed. I can't remember where I left my good man!

Friday? It seems to be that. Things are swirling round in my head. I should probably get off this rocking horse.

Productivity is the watchword.

I'm thirsty.

Drawn

I had an all-day meeting this week, and I'm still alive! It's probably my greatest triumph. You never know what you can do if you put your mind to something. If you put your mind to paper, you can cover it in brain smears! Yeah!

The most important thing to come out of the meeting was a whole page of doodles. As you might remember from previous entries, I'm quite the artist when bored and confined. Mostly, I've just done a few isolated pieces, but this week's meeting generated this:

It's my Guernica.

It's tough to complete art of this scale in what's supposed to be a work event. So how did I do it without anyone noticing?

I didn't. Everyone noticed. They just didn't care, and neither did I.

Let's have a look at some of the individual elements.

Not much up here. Spider-Man's head (I can't do his body), a man with a moustache, a weird squiggle that might be a face, a strange lantern-like shape.

This is a very interesting section. You'll notice a lot of mixed iconography: constellations, religious symbols, a witch's hat/traffic cone, and even a couple of extra faces. The lines and circles suggest a birthday party. They do.

The piece is dominated by this creature. It has the tail of a lion, the head of a... lizard(?) and appears to have shaved its legs some time ago. This really speaks to our primordial past, saying "Hey! Primordial Past! What's with the spikes and that?".

An odd sideways geometric face, a trident and some kind of cannister. Then there's a coat of arms, displaying these words:

OPINION
OBLIVION

That's my family motto. But, similarly, might it also perhaps not be maybe?

Two not disturbing faces that are crying!

This is probably my favourite section. This woman is wearing culottes with stripes on them, and has whips for hands. I think they are crackling with electricity. But look at her face! With so few lines, at such a small scale, I've really captured her personality. She's cheeky, but with an underlying sadness. Possibly because of her terrible haircut.

 

Not much of interest here. A ballroom dancer with a weird crossed-out face, an angry, ugly man, and a shining machete. The white boxes are where I've censored my only actual work-related notes. I wouldn't want to give away any of our company secrets.

Oh, I forgot to censor that one. Never mind, it doesn't make any sense.

This one's hard to see, but I think it's a stylised castle on a hill (in the bottom right-hand corner), and a sun with large rays. One of the rays goes up to meet the ballroom dancer's dress with pleasing symmetry.

Finally, there's this guy. He's wearing some kind of robe, and has a halo. He's probably a monk. Also, he has a weird lip/moustache thing going on, like a holy catfish.

So.

What have we learned?

The world is a place of complexity and wonder. Nature, spirituality, violence, electric whips and geometry form the soup we call reality. The line between emotion and mathematics is blurred; anger and grief are everywhere.

The monk looks at the ballroom dancer. What does he see? A secular, unknowable beauty? A demon in sheep's clothing? Is oblivion the only valid opinion? Does Poseidon rule the oceans, or are they filled with dinosaurs?

Why didn't I include that weird devil/fox face on the right-hand side in my analysis? Do I have something to hide?

I'm not here to offer answers. That is not the duty of the artist. Our job is to merely show people the universe and say THIS IS ME. THIS IS YOU. WE ARE A TRILLION SPIDER-MEN SPINNING A SINGLE WEB. DARE YOU GAZE INTO YOUR OWN SOUL?

Then nod and leave the room. The canvas will soak up the fluids we have brought forth.

It's a good thing scanners exist, or this work might have been confined to the page. Now it will live forever.

...

My God. It really will.

Better The Drivel You Know

I'm a vain man, so I've been going over old reviews of my stand-up. It's not just because I want to pat myself on the trumpet; this is a marketing exercise. Now, when I do future gigs, I can point to this page.

I won't link to this page. I'll point to it.

I think this is the best I can come up with.

"gruffly brilliant" - The Londonist

"cuttingly comic observations" - Oxford Theatre Review

"confident and polished material" - Oxford Theatre Review

"confident and cool, he's the type of comic you want to befriend, whilst simultaneously making you hate yourself" - Cherwell.org

I think I'll get rid of the third one. You don't want two reviews from the same source, unless they're both from the Guardian or Terry Jones. Also, they both begin with "confident" which is repetitive and inaccurate.

The last one is clearly the best, even if it might not be totally grammatically accurate.

***

I'm wearing slippers. Slippers are the future, my friends. They're warmer than socks, but not as constrictive. You can answer the door in slippers. Admittedly, you'll lose a lot of respect from the postman.

"What are you doing here?" he'll say. "And how did you open my front door? It was locked!"

"I made a key!" you'll say, in your slippers. "How about a taste of your own medicine?"

Then you'll give him his mail.

***

In an attempt to keep my momentum going, I'm not going to dwell in any one area for too long.

Here are some words that you see a lot on message boards and comment sections. They tell you a lot about the person writing them.

Dross

If someone describes something as "dross", they invariably have terrible taste.

Drivel

Ditto.

Asinine

People use this term to make themselves sound intelligent, but the only people who use it are desperately insecure about their ability to understand things.

Naff

Using the word 'naff'' is naff, and it was so even back in the early nineties.

Puerile

Nobody with even an ounce of imagination or joy has ever criticised something by saying it is "puerile". It's a term that ten-year-olds use to show their superiority to nine-year-olds.

There are probably more that I'm forgetting. This is important work.

***

FOOTBALL'S ON TONIGHT!

COME ON YOU REDS!

SOUTHAMPTON FOOTBALL CLUB!

COME ON THE GOAL KICKERS!

LET'S BE UP IN DEM DROP-BALLS, YO!

One of Southampton's (many) bright young stars is James Ward-Prowse. He's good at taking free-kicks.

His name is good for chanting. I'd particularly like to hear his name sung to Our House by Madness ("in the middle of our team" perhaps?). This tune was previously used for defender Claus Lundekvam back in the day, so it's a definite possibility.

An outside choice would be the Mighty Mouse theme song (immortalised by Andy Kaufman). It would be a bit complicated. But if he ever won us a game, he genuinely would have saved the day.

But the one I always get stuck in my head is the Simon & Garfunkel song So Long Frank Lloyd Wright.

"So long, James Ward-Prowse..."

It's not ideally suited to a football chant. Chants aren't normally so... wistful. If the Northam stand started singing that, I think the whole team would just feel a bit melancholy. It's not a good motivator.

Also, there's a flute in it. You'd need to have a section of the crowd with flutes, which could be hazards if thrown on to the pitch.

Even if the words were changed to "come on, James Ward-Prowse", I can't see it catching on anywhere beyond my flat.

***

My legs are cold. The slippers can only do so much. I'm going to have to take off some of these ice packs.

It's difficult to know when to finish a blog post. If I force myself to keep writing, I might come up with something amazing. On the other hand, it is my day off. I should be winding down. Genius is exhausting. If I come up with something amazing, I'll be feeling it tomorrow.

It's best to go now. Keep your powder dry, as the coke dealer said to the captain of The Titanic.

Though we all know how that turned out...