Self-Assessment

It's that time of year again.

***

I wrote that earlier on today, and I have no idea what it means. What time of year is it? March? Noon? Michelangelo's birthday? Will Eisner's birthday? Rufus Hound's birthday?

I didn't know any of those things until I looked them up on Wikipedia just now (except for March and noon, which I remember from school).

I was probably going nowhere.

That's probably what time of year it is: nowhere o'clock. I just looked at my watch and I don't have one, which proves my point.

I'm procrastinating today. I have my work appraisal this week, so I have to think about what my job is. It's very stressful. Nothing has changed since last year, but we're all supposed to have ideas and goals and objectives and opinions. I have some of those, but none are work-related. So instead of knuckling down, I'm knuckling up like 3 Ninjas, even though I only have a third as many knuckles.

The appraisal involves talking about my job, which I can handle. But there are also sections asking me to identify my strengths, what changes could be made to make my job better, what career aspirations I have, and what learning and development might be useful.

Filling in these sections is torture. But I'll do it here to get my brain working. I can then edit them for swearing, then copy and paste them into the actual form.

(I realise this is a public forum, so keep in mind that I've never mentioned where I work, and that even if I did, there could be hundreds of people with my same name and face.)

Strengths

Freestyle rapping, walking down bus stairs when the vehicle is in motion, random italicising, impersonating Rod Serling, looking tired.

I really have no strengths that can be applied to the world of work. Any actual useful traits I have are immediately cancelled out by my laziness. I always say that I'm a good problem solver. That's a nice vague strength to list. You can tell it's true because I've solved the problem of what strengths to invent.

Changes

I don't want things to change. I mean, I'd like more money and fewer hours. But I generally don't want to rock the boat. I'm stuck in a nice little rut here (in my boat), and changing things could lead to difficulties. Improving things inevitably leads to disappointment. Never improve, never evolve, never experiment. Just sit tight in your rut-boat and wait until you die of exposure. Which will be quite a while, because my rut is rather sheltered.

I think I should probably be asking for more responsibility. That's what a human would ask for, right? But I don't want responsibility. It's enough of a struggle trying to dress myself.

Oh, here's one change idea: FEWER APPRAISALS. They should be like the Olympics: one every four years, me dressed in Lycra, and a horrific accident in the steeplechase.

Career Aspirations

This one's the tough one. I've been in my job longer than pretty much everyone else in this office. I've never been promoted. I've never wanted to be promoted. But people must be wondering why I'm so happy to remain stationary.

...

Hang on a minute. This has all gotten a bit serious, hasn't it? I didn't intend this. I thought I'd use this to generate hilarious content, but I've ended up just whining. I'm not even that downbeat about it. I'm fine. My job is fine. I must just tend towards misery.

I'll try to right myself.

Career Aspirations

I think I'll say I want to be Pope. I'll insist that it's a realistic goal. I'll continue talking about it for far too long, monopolising the allotted meeting time. I'll go on long diversions. I'll ask for advice in achieving this goal. I'll expose my ignorance of the papacy, and my own atheism, but will continue to ramble on until long past bedtime.

Learning and Development

Some kind of martial art. I'll ask what's available. If no martial arts are being taught at my place of work, I'll teach one myself. It will involve dressing up as a pencil and drawing an offensive doodle on any would-be assailant. I'll offer to make pencil costumes for everyone.

I'll wear a pencil costume into the appraisal and not even mention it for the first three quarters of the meeting. I'll wear it all day. I'll be respected.

I'm wearing it right now. I am respected.

But people must be wondering why I'm so happy to remain stationery.

YES. I WENT WITH THAT.

***

When I was a child, I invented my own language. I think it's probably a common thing to do.

Children are bewildered by the world at first, and it takes a while to learn all the rules. You're buffeted from idea to idea, from experience to experience, with no grounding and no morality. You have to learn as you go. Your parents might help you, but they are only slightly less clueless than you, and they've forgotten what it's like to be young and have a fresher cluelessness.

But you struggle through. You learn the ropes. And then you want to take some measure of control. You want to be able to create. You want to be able to set the agenda. So you experiment.

Some kids invent an imaginary friend, or create personalities for their toys, or have a secret haven inside their own head. They've become gods. They can create their own worlds. You may not be able to drive or to smoke or to eat ice cream before dinner, but you can be the emperor of your own special realm.

Creating a language is part of the same trend. You want to have access to knowledge that no-one else does. If you create a secret code, it's your private playground. Even your parents don't have access to it.

You can share it with your friends or your siblings, but it's yours. You've planted your flag in reality, claiming a small area of mental space as your own.

So I invented a language.

I called it "Spanish".

I named it after the country Spain (which before 1989 spoke only Portuguese). It sounded silly, but I was only a child.

First of all, I invented some nouns. For example, "bordillo" was my word for "curb".

Then I branched out into verbs and adjectives and... those other words that aren't those things.

I shared it with my sister and some close friends.

Within two years, the entire country of Spain had adopted my language as its own. Other countries, including several Latin American ones, followed suit. Soon, "Spanish" was being taught in schools and used to write great works of literature. Even Don Quixote was translated into Spanish.

I was quite pleased by this, but grew a bit bored of it by the time I was twelve. I've forgotten most of my language now. I think "búfalo" is some kind of car.

Still, it just goes to show how children deal with the world. My desire to create something lead to a whole something something something something

***

For fun - for a game - try to identify the exact point I lost interest in that hilarious comedy idea. I think you'll be surprised by how early it was.

Have a lovely day.

Twice Shy

I'm shy.

I've been shy for as long as I can remember. It's possible that I wasn't shy as a young child. Most babies aren't shy. They cry. They crave attention. They're pompous and needy. So I was probably like that.

But I got shy. I stayed shy.

I don't know why.

My parents aren't particularly shy. I used to think that was because they were adults, and that no adults were shy. But I am now an adult. There's no getting around it. And I'm shy.

My shyness waxes and wanes, I think. You can condition yourself to be less shy by spending more time with people. But the underlying shyness remains. I'm terrible at meeting new people. I give off an awkward energy that makes everyone else uncomfortable.

Unless I'm drunk. Alcohol dampens my shyness. Unless I'm just too drunk to notice it.

That's probably why I don't drink. I need my shyness. It's like a comfort blanket. In an uncertain world, it's good to hold onto something concrete, even if the concrete thing is a statue of me not knowing whether or not to hug a friend.

I think shyness is a genuine psychological condition. But I'm not sure, because I've never had the guts to turn up to any shy support group meetings. It would be awkward. We'd all just sit there for fifty minutes, wondering if we should introduce ourselves, then go home.

Mood

Shy. One of the lesser-recognised no-vowel words. The 'y' is the supply teacher of vowels - stepping in to take over when one of the main vowels is busy.

The 'y' wasn't formally trained in vowelling - but when push comes to shove, and the 'u' is in 'push', and the 'o' and the 'e' are in 'shove' and the 'a' is in 'and', and the 'i' is too egocentric to turn up, you have to call on the 'y'.

The 'y' is a utility player. The Phil Neville of letters.

Sometimes, I'm sure the 'y' questions itself. "Why?", it might ask. "Why not?", it may answer, with a reluctant 'o'.

Listening to

Quite often, I listen to a Frank Black song and wonder why he's not more popular. I think he's probably too prolific. A constant stream of genius is difficult to take on board. The spectacular becomes mundane. He releases albums all the time - always of a high standard.

What's that?

There's an analogy to be made between his output and this blog?

We are both so prolific - him with his albums, me with my hundreds of blog posts - that it's like drowning our audience in treacle and beauty and money?

We should both be much more famous, laden with awards, and respected by the entire planet?

I don't know if I agree with that.

I don't know. I can sort-of see what you're getting at. It does make sense. It...

Yes.

I agree.

We are both geniuses.

And yes, I am even geniuser than him.

...

I'm shy, by the way. I don't know if I mentioned that.


Reading

More Pinker.

People under state control are less likely to die than hunter/gatherers. I think it's because that term is cumbersome. Hunter/gatherers. You don't want a slash in your occupation (unless you're a large-hatted guitarist).

They should combine the terms. Huntatherers. That's much better.

The olden days people would have been less likely to bludgeon their fellow man if they were all huntatherers.

Though perhaps warfare would emerge between the huntatherers and the gunters.

I hate the gunters.

Watching

We watched The Dark Knight again yesterday, this time on Blu-ray. It looked great. I'm still not 100% sold on it, but am probably 96% sold, which is pretty good.

Also, I watched Blackburn vs Bolton. I have nothing interesting to say about that. I wasn't even going to bring it up, but I thought it might be fun as a challenge.

Can I say something interesting about a football match, when a large proportion of my readership don't care about football, and I have no particular interest in either team?

Can I?

No. Not today. But the abbreviated team names did make me think of the Marvel character Black Bolt.

Black Bolt can't speak, because his voice is powerful enough to destroy mountains. Which is cool.

'Black Bolt' is short for 'Blackagar Boltagon'. Which is not.

I might call my son Blackagar.

Blackagar Fung.

They can call him Black Fu for short, though he'll have to learn a racist martial art.

Playing

The Highlander in a confusing nativity play.

Eating

Tenderstem broccoli dipped in Moroccan-topped houmous. Because I worry that I'm not middle class enough.

And some supermarket pepperoni pizza. Because I don't worry that.

Drinking

Jasmine tea.

There's nothing funny about that, but I always tell the truth.

***

What have we learned today?

Firstly, that I'm shy.

Secondly, that I'm arrogant.

Thirdly, that Boltagon is a common surname.

Fourthly, that I always tell the truth.

Fifthly, that I don't always tell the truth.

Remember: believe in yourself. You definitely exist. I've checked.

A Billion Eyes

I'm multi-tasking.

I don't think that needs a hyphen. But it doesn't really matter - I'm multi-tasking and multitasking simultaneously.

I'm currently listening to a David Ackles album, watching two FA Cup matches and writing these words (for example, the word I'm writing NOW, is "now").

I tend to do several things at once. I'm sure I've discussed this before. Maybe I'll check my previous posts (why not add another activity to the pile?). But what to search for? "Tasking"?

"Tasking" yielded no results. And "multi" produced nothing relevant. I'm sure that can't be right.

Anyway, I like to have things to occupy my eyes, ears, hands and brain. Sometimes I'll play Freecell whilst listening to music, or play the guitar whilst watching television, or fiddle whilst watching Rome burn (on Youtube).

I think it's probably because I'm AMAZING.

So I'm writing this.

The Ackles album has finished, so I'll put something else on.

I've chosen a John Peel compilation thing on Spotify. This song is by The Misunderstood. I don't know who they are.

I'm watching the football on our picture-in-picture feature. Or "PIP". That's what it's called on our remote: PIP.

I don't like to call it that. I prefer to call it juxtapovision.

Not really. But I will from now on.

Though technically, this isn't PIP. It's PAP (picture-alongside-picture?). It means both channels are equally sized, and I can enjoy both games.

By which I mean I can not really follow either of them properly, and can only see them small. It's basically an unpleasant experience all round.

At least the music is good.

And the blog writing, of course.

This should give you a flavour of my evening. It's exhausting and fulfilling.

Ooh, Tim Hardin's just come on! Good work, Peel.

I really wish I'd listened to John Peel's radio show more often when he was alive. I did listen sometimes, but I really think I would love it now. And he selfishly had to go and die.

It taught me an important lesson about taking nothing for granted, and appreciating the fleetingness of life.

Which is why I'm watching two FA Cup games, listening to music and writing a blog post, all at the same time. Making the best of my existence.

***

I don't know why I put those asterisks there. I suppose I thought I was going down a blind alley, and that the asterisks might burst their way through the brickwork and create a path to the Elysian Fields or an all-night Toys R Us.

Adam Buxton (of Adam and Joe fame) has put together a great playlist of music videos on Youtube. He does a live show called BUG where he discusses cool videos, and this is the online version.

I thought I'd post a couple of my favourites here. I don't know if people ever watch the videos I put on here, or if they always skip over them.

I should put together some kind of survey. It would be marketing research on my readership. Questions could be something like:

Q1: When Paul rambles on for a few paragraphs about something you don't understand, do you find it:
a) Fantastic
b) Educational
c) Edutastic
f) "Like the height of The Beatles"

Q2: When Paul posts an embedded video, do you:
a) Skip over it in search of more PaulWords
b) Watch it avidly
c) Stop EVERYTHING

Q3: When Paul posts an imaginary survey, do you find it:
a) An amusing experiment in form
b) A welcome means by which to communicate
c) Impossible to participate in - thus useless

I'll do a full list soon (no more than ten pages or so). Then I'll be able to really give the people what they want.

That reminds me of a joke I once wrote:

Q:How do you find out about oxygen?
A: Question air.

AAHAHAHAHA

(ie Questionnaire. They're spelled differently, but sound similar, you see. That's why the joke works so well)

I got sidetracked.

Videos!

This is really odd, quite disturbing, catchy and sweet, all at the same time.



This next one is my quirky video pioneers OK Go. Everyone's probably already seen this, but I think it's pretty cool. Especially with the constant goose appearances.



There's lots of other cool ones on the Buxton list too.

***

More asterisks there. The asterisks are my friends.

They don't find me boring.

Hey, look at this cool wrestling picture!

***

Between you and me (and I think I'm probably correct in assuming there's only two of us), I think the multitasking (and the multi-tasking, for that matter) have impacted on the quality of this post.

I haven't been able to concentrate properly, so I'm not sure if I've been my usual eloquent self.

To be fair, I haven't been eloquent since last spring. And that was only because I'd been possessed by the ghost of Noel Coward.

Oh well. At least there are some entertaining videos and a nice picture to look at.

***

Q4: Do you find Paul's self-deprecation to be:
a) Endearing
b) Unconvincing
c) Justified

***

These football matches are getting all the more one-sided. Both of them. That's half a side each. I think I should call an end to this whole experiment.

***

Q5: Paul's refusal to use question marks to punctuate what are obviously questions is:
a) Annoying?
b) Annoying.
c) I hadn't noticed. No-one noticed. Don't flatter yourself.

It's Beginning To Feel A Lot Like Citrus

An Idiot Flaps Odyssey - Part 9
Intro
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8

***

Anthony Burgess - A Clockwork Orange


My expression in that photo doesn't reflect my feelings about the book. I look displeased up there. And maybe I am displeased, but not with Mr Burgess. I enjoyed the book a great deal.

I was going to write lots of insightful things about the use of language, the themes of adolescence and social control, and the relation to the Kubrick film version, but I'm sure it has already been covered by people more qualified and skilled than I.

Maybe I'm displeased about my giant hand, or the lack of colour in my face.

It's a lot easier to read novels than non-fiction. If my shelf was all novels, I'd have raced through it. But I am interested in the non-fiction stuff: the politics, the history, the social analysis.

It also helps me understand the fiction on a deeper level. I'm sure Machiavelli and Spenser will really sharpen my appreciation for the themes in Fantastic Mr Fox and Russell Brand's Booky Wook.

I should either:
a) Write something interesting about the books I'm reading, or
b) Use the books as a springboard to other interesting ideas

I seem to be doing neither of those things, due to my waning mood.

Perhaps I should just stop writing this blog for a while until I feel more motivated. But I worry that that time may never come. So it's best to have these little chunks of dour vapidity to act as placeholders for a while.

Also, I should stop suggesting that what I write is dour and vapid. I think that, but only because of my current mindset. I'm sure everyone reading this was thrilled by the insight and energy of my writing, and was subsequently shocked to learn of the low opinion I have for my words.

It's all about attitude. From now on, I'm going to enthuse about my blog to such an extent as to become obnoxious and unreadable.

Then I'll have to tone it down to create a sense of balance. It's tricky to walk that fine line between wet blanket and loud-mouthed bravado blanket (though using both does keep the heat in, during these cold winter nights).

I should also stop putting my face in these blogs. I don't like being reminded of my sullen visage every time I click on the page.

On the other hand, I am extremely handsome, vibrant and aesthetically rich in facial construction. Most people see my face and are given a real boost to their day. People probably check for updates every 45 minutes to get a new snatch of my proud countenance.

On the other hand, no they don't.

On the other hand, they might.

That's four hands (or half an octopus [with hands]).

I'm really enjoying this. I think I'm being funny and interesting. This is probably the best blog post I've ever written.

Though to be honest, the transparency of that falsehood may be enough to permanently alienate any of my obtuse perceptive ugly beautiful readers, so I'd do well to both delete this without publishing it, and also post it several hundred times, on different websites, and print out versions of it to stick on walls and noticeboards and lampposts and then graffiti insults over the grotesque and brilliant text therein.

I should also post some more pictures of my face, and the back of my head for balance.

***

We put up our Christmas decorations recently. I'm currently listening to White Christmas, Bing Crosby's Aryan Festive Classic.

I don't want all my Christmases to be white. I'd like a puce Christmas every so often. Like a leap year.

We've got lots of lights, which is very pleasant. It feels like we're living in a neon brain, and rejoicing at the colourful synapses. We're like brain elves.

Nat King Cole has just barged his way into proceedings. Santa Claus may well be coming to town, but I don't appreciate a song composed mainly of threats.

Except for I'm Going to Punch Your Wife by UB40 or You've Got 'Til the Count of Three - One... Two... Three... *CLICK* *BLAM* by Ladysmith Black Mambazo.

I'd continue writing hilarious commentary on all the songs that come up, but doing that would expose how slow I am at writing.

For example, in the time it took to write the last sentence, I've gone through all of our Christmas music, all of our New Years music, all of our Shrove Tuesday music, and am now listening to Frank Sinatra sing a touching ballad about the Easter Bunny.

Yes, I do sort my iTunes by festive season. I find it to be appropriate.

I'm going to go and pour myself a large glass of water now.

I need water to live.

Verses Versus

Welcome to another edition of Annotated Poetry Corner. You may remember previous editions from your English lessons, or from inside my head (if you've ever been there).

This week, one of my favourites:

The Second Coming by WB Yeats
[my notes in blue]


Turning and turning in the widening gyre
[Unnecessary repetition of the word 'turning'. We get it, Bill. Sheesh.]
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
[Of course: birds don't have ears]
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
[Shopping centre? Health centre? Why can't they hold? Shoddy masonry?]
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
[Phew. I was worried for a moment.]
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
[Menstruation allegory?] The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
[I had a ceremony of innocence once. Well, I say innocence. It was more a ceremony of casting innocence into sharp relief. ... I went to a strip club.]
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
[eg. Wayne Rooney]
Surely some revelation is at hand;
[Oooh! A twist! He's a clone's ghost!]
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
[Derivative...]
The Second Coming! [Yeah, yeah...] Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
[YOU'RE a waste of desert sand, you nonce!]
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
[Lion-O from off of Thundercats! Wait, that was the other way round...]
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
[Or olives]
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
[Probably because they can't hear. The desert falconer, or... y'know. Whatever.]
The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty[-one] centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
[If this cradle's a rockin', don't... hang on]
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
[Some kind of sandpaper ox? I don't know. I'm thirsty.]

***

I don't know about you, but I've never been more annoyed with myself than I am after reading that. What an idiot. Not funny, just obnoxious.

I'm sorry.

Oh well, even the best of us have days where we make people want to punch us. If you see me, feel free to punch me in the face. I won't complain. I'll thank you.

Train Track

Hi. Remember me?

Yes, I used to write frequent posts here. Lately, they've been less frequent, and more infrequent. Not a good combination.

I've had a busy couple of weeks in terms of work and travel. By which I mean one full five-day week and one pleasant weekend by the sea. Now I know what it must be like to be a Wall Street Big Cheese Apple.

There has also been the terrible burden of beautiful weather, which has required lying in the park, drinking Pimms, and generally loafing in my pants.

Wait, that sounded wrong. I meant general lazing whilst wearing pants. Nothing untoward there.

But I'll try to increase my post count from now on. This is only my sixth post this month, and time is running out. I haven't written fewer than ten posts in a month since last August. And we all remember what happened then.

(We don't really. Nothing happened. Unless it did.)

I'm currently sitting on my sofa, with my large fan (Big Dave) cooling me, listening to Credence Clearwater Revival's version of I Heard It Through the Grapevine.

Which all sounds very pleasant. Except I don't feel very relaxed. I feel like there are lots of little worries poking me with sharpened guns. I'm not sure why.

I've felt a bit tense lately. Maybe I should try some homemade acupuncture, or grow my own Zen cardigan.

I had two days of training for a new computer system at work last week, and I think it has damaged my subconscious. I keep dreaming in a meeting format.

The main things I learned during the meetings were how to make noises that are vaguely approving yet nonspecific, and the ability to disguise my utter horror at being asked a question in the middle of a daydream.

It's more difficult than you might think, but I'm pretty good at it now. I manipulate my facial muscles into a facsimile of understanding and warmth ("Mm-hm. Yep. OK, that sounds fine."), when in reality I'm devastated ("OH GOD! OH JESUS, NO! I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING! I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO BE HERE!")

And that's what it's like. I'm like that new prisoner at the beginning of The Shawshank Redemption, crying and explaining that I don't belong; that there's been some mistake, and I end up getting beaten to death by the wardens.

Well OK, it's not exactly like that.

I'm not complaining.

I mean, I am. But they're not genuine complaints. I'm just caught between minor inconveniences that weigh on me more than they should, and a heaven world of sunshine and luxury.

But then, self-doubt and internal battles are probably part and parcel (whatever that means) of an appealing person. People who aren't crippled by introspective angst are probably too insensitive to have a deep conversation; even though they're the people most likely to start one.

Speaking of angst, here's the delightful Jeffrey Lewis, with a song on similar themes. At least I'm not that bad.



***

I'm looking forward to the World Cup. More than is rational.

Annoyingly I'll be working, so won't be able to watch all the matches. In 2006 I took off the period of the whole tournament between temp jobs, and watched everything. It was awesome. (Except for England's terribleness, of course).

But it will still be great. I love following new countries, learning about new players, and getting embroiled in all the thousands of stories that occur simultaneously.

I will also enjoy drinking cold beer. I don't really drink (though my current Pimms phase may belie that), and don't really like any alcohol that much. But there's something glorious about a cold beer on a summer day. It's more the associations it conjures, rather than the beverage itself.

But this summer, I'll drink a frosty one (beer, not Tony the Tiger), watch football in the sun, and it will be great. Until England play, when it will become excruciating.

***

I think there are too many things going on in my brain. That might be why I can't relax (and might be why this post has been so unfocused).

I should try to concentrate on one thing at a time.

(I genuinely stopped in the middle of that sentence - after the 'th-' of 'thing' to be precise - to put my music back on. How amusing).

Hey, Graham Coxon. He's good.

Where was I?

I've just done a quick search, and the term 'Where was I?' has brought up over twenty blog posts (probably more than that, but I got bored checking).

I think that says a lot about my lack of focus. I should try to come up with a new way of expressing a desire to get back on track.

How about RUNAWAY TRAIN (because of the track connection)?

I'll try to do that. Instead of 'Where was I?', I'll just type RUNAWAY TRAIN, then get back on the horse (mixed metaphors are my bread and buttersidedownstreamwithoutapaddle).

Ooh, Roots Manuva just came on. Good track.

RUNAWAY TRAIN.

I should probably stop here. That way, if I think of anything else I can add it as a new post, increasing May's count. If I don't make it to ten posts this month, I'll feel just like I did last August.

Remember?

There's nothing to remember.

All Over The Place

David Mitchell is something of a hero of mine.

I don't think I am (or could be) very much like him, but I respect him and wish I had his job. He seems to be totally sensible and reasonable, and despite doing lots of stuff, still has a very high success rate in terms of quality comedy.

In an interview with Time Out, he beautifully articulates a point that I've been thinking about and obsessing over for ages:

'One of the things that makes me angry is people thoughtlessly dismissing what is a broadly functional society. That sort of lazy internet cynicism is maddening – people with no historical sense of quite how miserable and inept most regimes in most periods of history have been, and here we are, with street lighting and the vote and sewers and all sorts of amazing things. In the overall scheme of things, we need to thank our lucky stars.’

Well said, sir.

I always want to write a long blog about that, but can never seem to manage it. Maybe I should plan it first.

I never planned essays or exams at school. Not out of any noble pursuit of spontaneous self-expression, but out of boredom. I didn't want to write about boring shit in the first place, let alone conduct a shit inventory, lay it all out in neat rows, and meticulously check my shit before diving in.

I'm not down with that shit.

(I've probably said 'shit' too much for one blog post. I'll try to avoid it from now on.)

So the topics I'd like to cover in this never-to-be-written blog post include the following:

- There's no place for optimism in the world (both the Left and the Right disdain it)

- Everyone thinks the period in which they're living is hugely significant

- People always think TV, music, art, are suddenly in decline, and that there was a golden age at some point (music was at its peak when you were 17, and nothing since has been any good)

- Stewart Lee (for all his genius) constantly espouses the above opinion

- The nerdish internet community is obsessed with privacy, government surveillance, conspiracy, 1984, but doesn't seem to care about people (a lot of their concerns are justified, but the attitude is repellent to me)

- the same left-leaning bloggers/commenters are political libertarians (a position I share), but have the same overwhelming self-interest of economic libertarians

- too many people (of all political hues) suffer from a lack of empathy (expressed through disgusting tabloids, hatred of criminals/outsiders, closed-mindedness)

- If you're Right-Wing, you have to be stupid and evil, but it can be in any ratio: you can be really stupid and not that evil, or really clever and exceedingly evil

- Having said that, I don't believe 'evil' exists, morality is ultimately subjective, and the world is essentially deterministic

And that is why it will never be written.

The trouble is, all my theories on the world bleed into other theories. My entire conception of life is all interlinked. If I pull on one thread, everything will unravel.

My conversations always go through the same process, through the same steps, and usually ends up with a discussion of evolution.

In short: I'm a pretentious idiot.

I'm interested in lots of stuff, but I'm not dedicated enough to turn it into something coherent.

So I get away with it by presenting it in short-form: rambling and self-deprecating, so I can have my lazy cake, and eat it (in a hammock).

It's like when I think of an offensive joke. Sometimes instead of just saying it, I'll soften the blow by starting: "I was going to say..."

As though I was showing restraint. But of course by even mentioning the joke, I show that I have none.

This has been quite ramshackle. For that I apologise. I'm sure my next entry will be exactly the kind of tightly-constructed, finely-tuned treatise that has made this blog such a rousing success.

Fact Up

I'm suddenly hugely upbeat!

I put it down to:

1) a big mug of coffee
2) two thirds of a carton of Ruby Breakfast
3) an apple
4) a day off tomorrow
5) the glorious wonder of existence
6) the pills I found on the toilet floor (I thought they were funky aspirin)

Maybe I should take advantage of this, and write some kind of opera about Marlon King.

Probably won't work written down (or spoken out-loud, or thought of in a human brain). Maybe I should just offer some interesting facts.

Interesting Fact:

"Tom Hanks" is rhyming slang for "tanks".

It is common to hear soldiers, in the midst of battle, shouting: "We need the Tom Hanks in here now!" Some soldiers also watch DVDs of the 1988 film Punchline.

In fact, most army rhyming slang comes from this film, eg Sally Field = yield. ["Shoot at us all you want! We shall not Sally Field!"]

Interesting Fact:

There's so much salt in the Pacific Ocean, that if it were ever to be removed, Gaia would weep.

Interesting Fact:

The first actor to portray James Bond was actually Bob Hoskins. They filmed half of the first Bond film (Diamonds Are Forever) with him in the 007 role, but these scenes were later re-shot due to an unacceptable level of askew glances at test screenings.

Interesting Fact:

'Bread' is an anagram of 'Breads'.

Interesting Fact:

The word 'placard' was removed from the Oxford English Dictionary in the early 1980s at the request of Michael Heseltine. However, it was secretly smuggled back in to the OED in 1994, disguised as the word 'frond'.

Interesting Fact:

Though commonly believed to be the blue whale, the fastest land mammal is actually The SprintBot 500.

***

I think that's enough. I'd just like to say that I'm unhappy with my use of the following comedy clichés: Bob Hoskins, Michael Heseltine, use of specific dates, and dull rhymes. I also thought Gaia was spelled Gaea (which I prefer), but that might just be the Japanese women's wrestling company.

I'm not going to change any of those things. I don't compromise. That's not strictly true - I do compromise, but only in making things equally unsatisfactory for everyone.

Festive Nugget

That's right, no festive break from me! This blog observes no holidays, festivals, or opening hours. This is the blog that never sleeps (which is odd, as this blogger sleeps more than any other human).

I don't really want to talk about Christmas, but nothing else has been happening. Tinsel has invaded my brain like a parasite. Everything I think about is pine-needles this and egg nog that; wise men this and Kirsty MacColl that.

I'm trying to think of non-Christmassy things. Perhaps I can arrange a Non-Christmas. We can do it in mid-summer. What's the opposite of a Christmas tree? A palm tree? No, no, no. The opposite would be something completely un-treelike.

Oh, I know! A puddle of Dr Pepper. With a little army-man floating in it. Dressed as a clown.

Yes, that's a good start.

Instead of presents, we can all make facial expressions suggesting we've remembered something important, but then realised that it doesn't really matter. Non-stop. For four hours.

Yes, Non-Christmas is taking shape.

Non-Christmas dinner will merely consist of inhaling all of the noble gases (except neon, perhaps), followed by a round of Ian Dury impressions until the Queen's speech (spoken through a kazoo).

Yes, those certainly are some unusual things. Well done, Paul. Everyone likes it when you make lists of things that are out of place. It's much better than actually coming up with something interesting to say.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

The full-stop is the best punctuation for sarcasm. Some people think the exclamation mark is better, but they are wrong.

***

I tried in vain to think of something interesting to pad out this entry. Oh well. I suppose it's better to dish out small things often than large things rarely.

There's a sexual innuendo there somewhere, but I'm tired.

When you're smiling...

What am I doing here?

I ask, not in the existential sense, but in the physical one. Why am I in this office? This office. Why am I in this organisation? This city?

It wasn't choice, was it?

That's not to say that it's terrible here. Or even particularly tedious. It's just that I'm sure I should be somewhere else. Surely, someone with such a wide range of egotistical beliefs should be spectacularly failing somewhere expensive.

I am egotistical. It's just not always clear because I'm quiet and shy, and most big-headed people have a mouth to match. (The fact that I literally have a big head and mouth is irrelevant here, I think). I don't think I'm the best at anything, but I'm pretty good at loads of stuff, and I'm exceptionally brilliant at being falsely modest.

I'm certainly more talented than, let's say, Chris Moyles. And I don't hate Chris Moyles. But I could do what he does. Except he's louder than me. That's why he's a success.

And why I'm sitting here, being reasonably well paid to do fuck-all on a computer and drinking coffee from a mug that's dirty because I'm too lazy to go to the kitchen.

I'm lazy and quiet. A dangerous mix. Perhaps I should sellotape a megaphone to my mouth and snort cocaine at the beginning of each day, and I could zoom around the city spraying feedback and invention over the fools that live each day, moderately volumed, moderately hard-working, and unwilling to whine on the internet about their lot.

I'm lazy and quiet and afraid of being part of organisations. I hate the idea of 'working my way up the ladder', or being part of a system. I like temping because it's like tying a rope around me and anchoring myself to my bed so that I can't be sucked into the real world. I hate acronyms and forms and people talking about the quirks of colleagues. If I learn the names of everyone in my office, it's time to leave.

My only hope of success in a field I'm interested in is someone important plucking me off (easy, now) the street and thrusting me into the limelight. Which is difficult because when I'm on the street, I'm listening to my iPod and avoiding eye contact with passers-by.

I'm lazy, quiet, afraid of being part of organisations, and inherently optimistic. This optimism stops me from coagulating in the mass of reality, but also gives me unrealistic expectations.

A long time ago, I realised that I wasn't the main character in my own life. Now, I'm not even part of the cast. I'm just someone who lurks on an internet message board discussion of My Life, and I sometimes think of something to say, but don't post it because I might miss a typo, or because Match of the Day is on.

Hmm.

I'm not sure what that metaphor was about. It didn't really make sense, did it? In fact this whole post didn't make much sense, either. I'm actually pretty happy, and only wrote the above because I'm cold and bored and caffeined up to the arseballs (you heard me).

Well, at least I've added to October's post count! Take that, September, you nonce!

I feel a tremendous sense of achievement in writing about myself, to myself.

I'm lazy, I'm quiet, I'm afraid of being part of a system, I'm optimistic, and I'm so fucking egocentric it makes me want to puke

or dance or something I dunno....

Starting something I can't finish

I'm desperate to avoid writing anything unoriginal on this blog. Especially on my first post. But it's impossible. There are so many blogs, that I'm sure someone has written, to the letter, eveything I'm writing here. Even that. Even THAT. Even this. And the next one.

I'm going to soldier on, though, for the good of the internet. For every intelligible post I make, it cancels out a piece of child pornography or a shitty flash animation of dogs playing the violin (both of which I may include here if I run out of ideas).

It's July, and I'm in Sidmouth, enjoying the temporary sunshine and the threat of rain. I tried to write about the death of Chris Benoit, but just ended up depressing myself. Instead of that, I'll probably just suggest some of the topics I might be covering in this blog:

1) News events. But only when I'm particularly angered or amused by something. Eg. the banning of Manhunt 2 (the video game). Censorship is always stupid, as it assumes the people in charge of classifying things have a greater capacity to deal with disturbing content than I do.

2) Wrestling. I know no-one is interested in it but me, but I think about it a worrying amount. I may not talk about this for a while, however, due to the aforementioned Benoit shit.

3)Theories on life. Life is like a pineapple in many ways... Bullshit like that.

4)My life and what is happening.

In other words, this is like every other blog on the net, except far less interesting.

Thanks for reading!