Yes, as the title would suggest, Christmas looms down upon us like the Citadel looms over City 17, or the Burj Hotel looms over Abu Dhabi, or Andre the Giant loomed over just about everyone else. In spite of this, I'm not exactly getting into the 'Christmas Spirit'. At my (dad's) house, for instance, the decorations haven't gone up yet, six days before Christmas is due to commence.
The only reminders of Christmas time I have are the constant bombardment of Christmas-themed commercials on the TV and the radio, and the billboards, the bus stop posters, posters in shops, and just about every spare square inch of exposed wall in the city centre. All of which keep telling me "It's fucking Christmas, motherfucker! Just look at these motherfucking Christmas motherfucking deals, motherfucker! Christmas bargains fit for a motherfucking messiah!" and so forth. If you didn't just read that last sentence in Samuel L Jackson's voice, you should be ashamed of yourself.
Christmas also means having to buy people things, which is all very well and good if you have the financial means to do so; being an unemployed student, I do not. It's a good thing my dad buys things for my family on my behalf (he does this for my two brothers as well). I'm so spoiled.
There are of course good things about Christmas; receiving free shit, for a start, tearing into the wrapping paper of your first present; then there's the food, whatever it is you eat on Christmas day where you come from, I have roast turkey because I'm English and that's what we do. No it's not with chips. There are also bad things; I have to cover up all the swastikas in my bedroom, for instance, and I don't think I have that many posters to cover them with. There are laborious things, like putting up the decorations; if we didn't have any decorations, Santa wouldn't know where to put the presents, so he'd just assume we're Jewish or something and donate them to charity and we paid good money for those presents, god dammit!
Christmas is also the time of year Satan gets a load of letters from dyslexic children.
May you have a supremely white Christmas.
P.S:
I shouldn't have to tell you lot that I don't actually have a load of swastikas in my bedroom, and I'm not actually racist but I will anyway because some of you will believe any old shit, won't you?
Wednesday, 19 December 2012
Monday, 19 November 2012
It's Been Awhile
As the above would suggest, it has indeed been awhile. Since I last posted on my blog, that is, and as usual, I can't think of what to write about. This often happens, so I'm not worried.
I can't seem to find much motivation to do anything lately. Maybe I need more sleep, that's what my dad would say. That's why I haven't done a blog in nearly two months. That and I can never think of anything to write about.
I'm trying to listen to Shiny Happy People by R.E.M. on YouTube on a different tab at the moment and it keeps buffering, even though it's running at 360p. This is, I think, because I'm currently using my father's desktop PC, which is okay, it's a rather powerful machine with a decent processor, it's just that I'm using Internet Explorer and I'm not on an admin account so I can't download Firefox or Chrome. By the sacred wounds of the Lord Jesers Crust, this is the worst browser I've ever had the misfortune of having to use. It's slower than a dead horse with broken legs, it can't run YouTube videos without intermittantly crashing, and it keeps trying to push toolbars on me.
Moving away from ranting about things I don't like, I can't quite figure out if having little motivation to do anything productive is my fault. Is it my fault that my mind keeps going blank every time I try doing anything creative? It's really off-putting. Even writing this is taking far longer than it should because I'm having to stop and think for ages every other sentence. It's also really buggering up my college work. I'm finding it really hard to write practice essays for my English A-level because I just don't know how what to write or how to go about writing it. Same goes for my UCAS personal statement. I end up writing about eight lines of text before ceasing up completely because I've forgotten everything about the subject I'm writing for. The only thing I seem to know what I'm doing in is photography, and even then I'm in two minds about it. Only one of the two teacher I have for that subject approves of my work, the other just critisizes everything I do to the point where I don't know what to do anymore. What I really want to do is take pictures of real life, not some moody black-and-white photo of a pretty teenage girl with an emo fringe and too much eye makeup with some text on it saying something like: "Why is life so hard?" or "Look, I'm pretending to cry, give me an A*!"
But I can't take pictures of real life and get anything above a D, so I've had to resort to heavily editing my photos. Which I'm actually okay with because I'm making them look creepy rather than 'moody', but it's not like that hasn't been done before.
I'm sure it'll pass...
Wednesday, 3 October 2012
Lessons in Time Wasting
If you attend college in England (and possibly the rest of the UK as well) you have to take what's known as an 'enrichment' course, wherein you are taught things like 'thinking' and 'reasoning' and 'critical thinking,' and the most productive of all, 'general studies' which are all things that are supposed to help you get into university. What they actually do is teach you nothing in particular that is any more helpful for getting into uni than being taught first aid. The best thing in the world, without a shadow of doubt, is doing 'extended project' in A2 (second year) because you failed thinking and reasoning in the first year because you were ill. Especially when the teacher isn't there because she seems to be permanently ill. All that happens whenever I actually attend one of these extended project sessions (to call them "lessons" would be like referring to the CIA as an "afterschool club") is a bloke called Richard takes the register, sends us all an email containing a useless document which nobody's going to take the time to read because we're all too busy trying to get an education, and a noticeable amount of time is wasted.
I haven't actually been told what I'm supposed to be doing in these extended project sessions, all the documents tell me is that I can do "literally anything." Like what? At least give me some bloody ideas. I can't ask Richard because he probably doesn't really know either and all he does is takes the register and then bloody leaves. He doesn't come back. He's probably gone to make himself a cup of instant coffee with semi-skimmed milk and two teaspoons of white sugar and sit in the staffroom doing the crossword in the papers.
Now, my father's been sent a letter by the college telling him that I've only been going to 20% of the extended project lessons I've been required to go to. It told him that if my attendance were to drop to below 75% by half term, I'd have to go into college on a day off, and attend an all-day session. Big fucking brass bollocks. I bet what's going to happen is I'll go to the first of my bi-weekly sessions to be told I don't have to attend for the next few weeks because my teacher, although in college and teaching English, isn't quite '100%.' Gah!
I haven't actually been told what I'm supposed to be doing in these extended project sessions, all the documents tell me is that I can do "literally anything." Like what? At least give me some bloody ideas. I can't ask Richard because he probably doesn't really know either and all he does is takes the register and then bloody leaves. He doesn't come back. He's probably gone to make himself a cup of instant coffee with semi-skimmed milk and two teaspoons of white sugar and sit in the staffroom doing the crossword in the papers.
Now, my father's been sent a letter by the college telling him that I've only been going to 20% of the extended project lessons I've been required to go to. It told him that if my attendance were to drop to below 75% by half term, I'd have to go into college on a day off, and attend an all-day session. Big fucking brass bollocks. I bet what's going to happen is I'll go to the first of my bi-weekly sessions to be told I don't have to attend for the next few weeks because my teacher, although in college and teaching English, isn't quite '100%.' Gah!
Wednesday, 5 September 2012
Anger Issues
Everyone seems really angry these days. This could be because the vast majority of the people I know are in their late teens and at this age, you either love something, hate something, or couldn't give a shit either way. You can't quite like something, or not really like something, or be impartial to a bit of something on the odd occasion, for instance, I don't know many people who love the PS3 and also rather like the Xbox 360, they either love the PlayStation and hate the Xbox or vice-versa, the same goes for Marmite, Stella Artois, and "heavy metal" band Black Veil Brides.
People always say "The Black Veil Brides". That's wrong. It's like saying "The Spider-Man" or "The Red Dwarf", there's no 'the'. Believe me, I hate BVB as much as the next guy but that's not the point. It's also annoying when people say "Porsh" instead of "Porsha", as it should be because it's German (about the German car manufacturer Porsche, if you don't know what I'm talking/writing about). Same goes for Asbergers. It's Ass-Burgers because it's an Austrian name and the Austrian national language is German, and in German, the letter G is pronounced as a hard G ('guh') if it precedes a vowel within a word. So nyuhh. I mean you don't say "Mer-seeds" (Mercedes), do you?
Anyway, where were we? Anger, that's right. People need to stop being so angry about music that's not to their tastes; it was created for people to enjoy, and they do, so be angry about something worth being angry about, like racism, or homophobia, or Nickelback, or something.
Goodness me...
People always say "The Black Veil Brides". That's wrong. It's like saying "The Spider-Man" or "The Red Dwarf", there's no 'the'. Believe me, I hate BVB as much as the next guy but that's not the point. It's also annoying when people say "Porsh" instead of "Porsha", as it should be because it's German (about the German car manufacturer Porsche, if you don't know what I'm talking/writing about). Same goes for Asbergers. It's Ass-Burgers because it's an Austrian name and the Austrian national language is German, and in German, the letter G is pronounced as a hard G ('guh') if it precedes a vowel within a word. So nyuhh. I mean you don't say "Mer-seeds" (Mercedes), do you?
Anyway, where were we? Anger, that's right. People need to stop being so angry about music that's not to their tastes; it was created for people to enjoy, and they do, so be angry about something worth being angry about, like racism, or homophobia, or Nickelback, or something.
Goodness me...
Tuesday, 28 August 2012
Silly People Are So Silly
It's okay to think Steely Dan is a solo artist if you've never heard of them. I did. It is not, however, okay to think Lynyrd Skynyrd, Pink Floyd, or Fleetwood Mac are solo artists, it is unbelievably silly. The kind of people who think this also think Adolf Hitler is still alive, they think Titanic is a work of fiction, they even think the Apollo 11 moon landings were filmed in a studio in California. Silly, silly people.
I am a silly person. Silly for not liking Queen because my mum doesn't, silly for eating breakfast at 1:30 in the afternoon, silly for eating that Chinese curry which has (along with a buggertonne of caffeinated energy drinks) given me the furious shits, which isn't pleasant considering I've spent the last week or so with a colon like a game of Kerplunk - i.e.: I pull out a straw and hope I don't drop a marble - although on the flipside, having the brown mist descend gave me the unending pleasure of shitting on a largely empty beach in the Norfolk sunshine. It was messy. It's probably still there.
There's nothing quite like finding a nice, picturesque, pristine sand dune overlooking a nice, picturesque, pristine beach one side and a nice, picturesque, pristine salt marsh on the other with a nice, picturesque, pristine English countryside landscape, and pouring a well-cooked bum casserole all over it.
This entire post is very silly indeed, and needs to end before I lose my marbles (in more ways than one).
Merry meet, merry part, and merry meet again.
I am a silly person. Silly for not liking Queen because my mum doesn't, silly for eating breakfast at 1:30 in the afternoon, silly for eating that Chinese curry which has (along with a buggertonne of caffeinated energy drinks) given me the furious shits, which isn't pleasant considering I've spent the last week or so with a colon like a game of Kerplunk - i.e.: I pull out a straw and hope I don't drop a marble - although on the flipside, having the brown mist descend gave me the unending pleasure of shitting on a largely empty beach in the Norfolk sunshine. It was messy. It's probably still there.
There's nothing quite like finding a nice, picturesque, pristine sand dune overlooking a nice, picturesque, pristine beach one side and a nice, picturesque, pristine salt marsh on the other with a nice, picturesque, pristine English countryside landscape, and pouring a well-cooked bum casserole all over it.
This entire post is very silly indeed, and needs to end before I lose my marbles (in more ways than one).
Merry meet, merry part, and merry meet again.
Thursday, 16 August 2012
Day of Reckoning
So I got my A level results today. They were pretty good, considering I failed the shit out of music. Don't feel too bad for me, it's not the end of the world, I can still go back in September.
Some of the systems my college have are really silly sometimes. For instance, this year my college aren't printing out hard copies of results for students, which means we can only access them online. What if a student has no internet connection? I know it's 2012 but you still can't completely rule it out. Also, their security is severly flawed, using turnstyles activated by swipe cards (something which I imagine isn't uncommon) which only work if they feel like it. Much like the students who pass through them on a daily basis. The cards themselves are disabled by the slightest crack or split in the least compromising area (my which I mean nowhere near the magnetic strip). They are silly. Very silly indeed.
Not much has happened in the month since I last posted. Coffee still summons the chocolate monsoon, I still can't drive, and I've still got more useless crap than I know what to do with. Maybe I'll use them to build a glider and fly to Paradise City, where the grass is green and the girls are pretty; or Hotel California, such a lovely place.
I'm running out of ideas now.
Farewell.
Some of the systems my college have are really silly sometimes. For instance, this year my college aren't printing out hard copies of results for students, which means we can only access them online. What if a student has no internet connection? I know it's 2012 but you still can't completely rule it out. Also, their security is severly flawed, using turnstyles activated by swipe cards (something which I imagine isn't uncommon) which only work if they feel like it. Much like the students who pass through them on a daily basis. The cards themselves are disabled by the slightest crack or split in the least compromising area (my which I mean nowhere near the magnetic strip). They are silly. Very silly indeed.
Not much has happened in the month since I last posted. Coffee still summons the chocolate monsoon, I still can't drive, and I've still got more useless crap than I know what to do with. Maybe I'll use them to build a glider and fly to Paradise City, where the grass is green and the girls are pretty; or Hotel California, such a lovely place.
I'm running out of ideas now.
Farewell.
Monday, 16 July 2012
A Letter to Coffee
Dear coffee,
Oh, how I love you so; your ability to give me the energy to face the day; your strong, wonderous flavour, unspoiled by semi-skimmed milk and/or sugar; and your seemingly endless supply, instant or otherwise. But I have one question to ask, coffee:
Why, dear God why, do you always insist on giving me the raging shits every time I feel like a hot cup of brown? Honestly, it's really annoying. I still can't figure out if instant is worse than ground, or vice versa. Even if I consume the rich, brown, almost immorally delicious nectar that you are on an empty stomach, you can turn nothing into a metric tonne of shit. How in the name of Jesus H. Tapdancing Fucking Christ do you do that? Even weapons grade laxatives have a hard time doing that.
What I'm trying to say, coffee, is that you are everything I could want in a hot beverage: hot (always a good place to start), strong, brewed, rich, dark, invigorating, and fucking God damn delicious. Except you punish me (and everyone else's sinuses) for no reason. It's a shame we can't take our relationship further, it really is. Unfortunately, there's no chance of us ever having a sexual relationship because
A) You're a drink
and
B) The human personification of the kind of coffee I like is Mr T and quite frankly I'd rather have a sexual relationship with the leftover bits of Anne Robinson.
Sorry.
Your's sensually,
Sam x
Oh, how I love you so; your ability to give me the energy to face the day; your strong, wonderous flavour, unspoiled by semi-skimmed milk and/or sugar; and your seemingly endless supply, instant or otherwise. But I have one question to ask, coffee:
Why, dear God why, do you always insist on giving me the raging shits every time I feel like a hot cup of brown? Honestly, it's really annoying. I still can't figure out if instant is worse than ground, or vice versa. Even if I consume the rich, brown, almost immorally delicious nectar that you are on an empty stomach, you can turn nothing into a metric tonne of shit. How in the name of Jesus H. Tapdancing Fucking Christ do you do that? Even weapons grade laxatives have a hard time doing that.
What I'm trying to say, coffee, is that you are everything I could want in a hot beverage: hot (always a good place to start), strong, brewed, rich, dark, invigorating, and fucking God damn delicious. Except you punish me (and everyone else's sinuses) for no reason. It's a shame we can't take our relationship further, it really is. Unfortunately, there's no chance of us ever having a sexual relationship because
A) You're a drink
and
B) The human personification of the kind of coffee I like is Mr T and quite frankly I'd rather have a sexual relationship with the leftover bits of Anne Robinson.
Sorry.
Your's sensually,
Sam x
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