In which things are not like they were.
There comes a point in everyone’s life when you start to feel old. This is an age Rubicon that I seem to have now passed and can no longer be consider a youngling and must progress wearily into the middle ages.
The real nail in the coffin came this week when on telling someone my age (34) I was told “well that’s not that young”, and meant I was unable to relate to a younger demographic for a marketing campaign. How did I let this happen? Could I have done more to stop the passage of time (perhaps by travelling close to the speed of light)?
The process of feeling old started a month or so ago when playing Minecraft, I was perfectly able to setup a new game and get going but then I decided I wanted to start a multi-player game with Mrs G. As much as I tried I couldn’t seem to set up a server for us to both play on, I was able to run around my blocky world but had nobody to play with. So I did the only thing I could think of, ask someone who might.
That was the 10 year old son of my manager.
Continue reading “My youth has gone”
In which I could really talk to myself.
I’m sure this is not a sentiment shared by many others, in fact it may be considered by other people to be akin to the apocalypse, but I really wish there was more of me to go around.
I’m not talking about the volume of my expanding waistline, I am not looking to increase my vertical (or horizontal) height, I just wish there was another version of me to do all the crap jobs. An assistant Geek Ergo Sum that could do all the boring bits of life, like the cleaning or going to work. That way I could spend more time doing the things I enjoy whilst leaving all the other jobs to someone I can trust to do it the way I would like; me. Forget Dolly the Sheep, what I really want is my own clone.
Yes, there are a number of ethical and philosophical issues around having an exact clone made of myself, and especially for the sole purpose of doing all the menial work I want to get rid of. If they had the same physicality, mind and memory as me then who is really the clone and who is me. Continue reading “More of me”
In which I prepare for my 35th year.
Despite my New Year Humbuggery I do like to have a set of vague goals for the upcoming months. I call them goals because this makes it hurt less when I fail to meet one, naming them resolutions just dares me to break them.
So my goals for 2015 are to try and move life on a bit, I’ve had a good few years laying down the foundations for a good life (getting married, fathering, house buying etc) and now feel as though this is the year to kick on a bit. With that in mind I have my backlog from 2014 and some new aspirations.
Continue reading “2015 Goals (not resolutions)”
In which nothing was stirring, not even a dinosaur.
As I was milling around the house last night I came to realise something quite scary, tomorrow is Christmas. I’m sure that the War on Christmas has scared the holiday into going underground and it has stealthily crept upon me ready to garrotte me with a handful of tinsel.
I dislike preparing for Christmas at the best of times, so when it’s thrust upon me all of a sudden I feel a twinge of regret that I didn’t prepare sooner, say in January. I don’t begrudge Christmas it’s existence more the amount of work that it requires. Continue reading “Here it is, Merry Christmas”
In which I would rather give the money.
Green vegetables and Christmas Shopping. Three things I really hate. Apparently the joy is meant to be in the giving, yet how can such a horrible activity be joyous?
The traditional way I suppose is going out into the Christamased up stores and joining my fellow shoppers in walking around really slowly, blocking up aisles, searching through racks and shelves for the size of item you require. Then once you have acquired said item proceed to join the large queue at the tills to be greeted by a shop assistant with the same amount of Christmas spirit as a virgin hot toddy. All the while knowing that the item you are paying for will be reduced by 25% within hours of the final serving of pudding on the 25th.
The average present is appreciated for less time than it takes to acquire it. Continue reading “The Christmas Joy, of shopping”
In which I don’t need to grab a razor.
Gillette and the shaving industry have me on a blacklist. My DNA could bring down the whole shaving industry in one swoop ruining their ‘cheap handles – extortionate blades’ model. I am the Anti-Remington.
It is almost impossible for me to grow facial hair.
I only really shave once a week, and that is just because I need to reduce the length of the hairs coming from any freckles or moles. I cannot remember when I put the latest blade in my razor, but I have a feeling it was when two blades was the pinnacle of face gardening technology. I don’t really need it to be sharp, a vigorous face wash tends to do the trick. Continue reading “I can’t join in with Movember”