In which a slight increase in temperature is cause for mass hysteria.
It’s getting fairly mild in here which means that the British summer has started to arrive. For anybody from these isles complaining about the poor weather we have had this year it is invariably met with the comment “ooh, it’s too hot”.
Important cultural fact about the British, we are basically Goldilocks with the exception we never find anything that is just right. During the long winter my house has been an ice box, requiring the central heating to be on full blast, but the first time that the sun comes out it has converted from a freezer into an oven.
It taunts us like a Frenchman does an English knigit, when I get home it feels nicely cool and refreshing. As soon as that door closes then it whacks itself straight up to gas mark 10 and proceeds to slow roast the household.
Continue reading “Summer is coming”
In which I have to press buttons…buttons!
I don’t really want to say much about how my current phone stopped working, let’s just say if Android is a great operating system to mess around with then I perhaps played a little too rough and may have broke it’s software. Say what you like about Apple’s ridiculously fragile devices and their tendency to crack faster than a vegetarian in a bacon factory, but that software is locked down tight. It barely let’s you change a ringtone let alone the whole OS.
So while my phone awaits an assessment of the problem (which currently consists of it not turning on and refusing to charge) I have been left without a smartphone for the first time since the G1 was launched (which by my reckoning and a quick Google search is four years). I have had to buy a dumb phone, or as my Mum would call it…a phone, to still be able to receive calls and messages but as I didn’t want to spend a fortune I stumped up $15 for an Alcatel OneTouch. Which is a bit of a misnomer as this is technically one touch more than the screen can handle – it has buttons…buttons! What is this? The mid-2000′s? Continue reading “Not a smartphone”
In which cupcakes should join panda’s on the extinction list.
Although I am savoury man I am still partial to a bit of sweet. You can’t beat a nice piece of cake, especially if it is two pieces of sponge with raspberry jam and a sprinkling of sugar on the top. Truly the Victoria Sponge is the queen of cakes.
This leaves a vacancy as king, a position that could be filled by the humble cupcake. It is the Chihuahua of the cake world, the bakery mosquito. Just like a king it serves no purpose in the modern world, provides zero benefit to humanity and gets way more respect than it should.
The most important bit about a cupcake is the icing and decoration, the essential fluff to hide the wafer thin part of the one redeeming feature; the cake. It’s like being wowed by the spectacular paint job on rubbish car. It looks shiny, may impress onlookers but at its heart is still a piece of crap.
Continue reading “Cupcakes have no purpose”
In which I’m not as angry as I used to be.
Once upon a time there was a little blog, and this blog was very angry. It was so angry that it rapidly burnt out under its own rage. That site was my first foray into blogging five years ago and was known as “Angry Fairy Tales”.
It was an attempt to write my way out of some terrible times and consisted of me ranting about “Princesses” and the way they treat men. Now that I have my own “Commoner” (for Mrs G is not, and has never been a princess) I look back on those posts with some embarrassment and bemusement at how angry I was. Yet, I was glad I started.
It was the beginning of a healing process that led to me meeting my wife (whose first knowledge of me was from reading Geek Ergo Sum) and allowed me to develop this little hobby of mine from something purely therapeutic into one that I enjoy and let’s me utilise my creative side.
So, for the first time in five years, the first ever blog post I wrote.
Continue reading “Angry Fairy Tales”
In which there are countless ways I’m not just a ‘numbers’ guy.
One of the most frustrating descriptions of my job is that I’m “The Numbers Guy”. We’ve just done a personality profile exercise when I wasn’t in the “You like spreadsheets” group there was a few incredulous looks. He uses Excel so he must love writing formulas and doing tables?
What if I told you the answer to that was “kinda”, of course I take some pleasure from a well presented set of stats but I do it because I’m good at it (and helps pay the bills) but very few people ever dream of being an analyst when they are little. Even now at the age of 34 (just) I don’t wake up excited about the prospect of firing up a new .xls file.
Instead of being a numbers person what keeps me sane is the fact that I can use this skill to be a more creative person.
Continue reading “More than a spreadsheet”
In which I don’t mess with the settings because they have the snowflake on.
The office thermostat has been set for the summer, and it has been agreed that the temperature should be “South Pole”. A quick check of the weather on Google shows me that the only places on Earth that are colder can be found:
No strike that. Thanks to either global warming, sun spots or liberals there is no place on Earth as cold as our office. Fox news plans to use us as evidence to throw in Al Gores face.
Continue reading “How cold can an office be?”
In which I over-estimate the power of destiny and leave life to fate.
I really hate the idea of destiny, whenever I’m playing a game and my character’s destiny is mentioned it annoys me. It means that my path to the end has already been written, I’m basically taking a train ride and occasionally get to look out the left or right window but know it won’t matter as to my end destination.
As with computer games so with life, I don’t believe that my ending has already been jotted down in some celestial notebook. More than that i don’t want to believe it, otherwise how am anymore than another NPC in a universe wide version of The Sims?
I much prefer the idea that I am master of my own fate and therefore my life’s events will be (mostly of my own doing).
Continue reading “Underestimating fate”
In which I watch people who are famous because people once watched them.
I hate reality TV, for one it is totally misleading. It depicts nothing of reality at all, unless of course everyone else lives in a house of Heat-magazine wannabees, on a desert island, cooking and dancing for judges. Perhaps I live in the crazy world?
Reality TV is ‘rule by the mob’, it reinforces the trope that ‘mean is best’ and being nice is a weakness. It’s a study in nastiness, a modern version of the coliseum but this time we throw the idiots to the lions (who are bordering on idiots themselves).
A reality TV show is the domain of the attractive, “you’re a crazed racist? Oh it doesn’t matter you’ve got big breasts we forgive you”. Woe betide the ugly person though who happens to mention they once sneezed without covering their mouth…that is a crime punishable by tabloid hanging.
So here is my suggestion for a reality show…ladies and gentlemen I present: “I’m a nice person dancing on a desert island let me cook for you.”
Continue reading “Turn off reality television”
In which I work to live and not live to work.
I hate having to work for a living, not the current job I am in per se, just the actual institution of having to get up in the morning and go and sit somewhere else that isn’t home. I understand that I need to to pay for things like bacon and electricity to cook the bacon that I’ve bought, it just seems so unnatural that you need to pay for things that have no real tangible value other than that bestowed upon it by others.
It’s sad that I have to spend 35 hours behind a computer screen to earn pieces of paper and metal that can be exchanged in return for goods and services. The issue isn’t that I’m VDU bound, but more to do with the fact that I have to labour to provide others with more wealth and benefits than I put in myself.
Continue reading “Surviving the work day”
In which Frodo fails to make the sacrifice he set out to make.
Returning home from the end of the last Hobbit movie Me and Mrs G had “that argument” again. Mrs G and me rarely argue, I would like to put this down to the fact we are very similar in beliefs and temperament so we have some kind of harmonious relationship, or it may just be that I’m right all the time.
Religion, politics, we are fine with even when we have polar opposite views. We accept that the other person has reasons why they would take the position they do. There is only one thing we can’t ever seem to see eye to eye over and that is whether Frodo Baggins is a hero.
Before I give considered reasonings I should do this in a scientific manner by presenting my hypothesis, so here we go.
Frodo Baggins is not a hero because he fails in the heroes quest, the task he is assigned he fails and then does not make a large enough sacrifice to redeem himself. Continue reading “Not-Heroes : Frodo Baggins”