Proper, hardcore, mother-fucking update

Wankers. Actually, I wish people would call me a wanker more often. Not in an aggressive way, rather in a "Haha, you're such a wanker!" kind of way, as a result of me doing something ridiculously harsh yet funny, like a practical joke. People don't do that enough. They just glare at me, maybe smirk a bit. Anyway, I'm finally writing a proper update as a result of fan pressure, which I guess is the way it should be, which is something, I guess. Plus, I've got fuck all else to do. Sadly, this also means I don't have anything to write about, so something of a double-edged sword. And a bloody sharp double-edged sword at that! (Not bloody as in covered in blood, just... the other one.) I don't know how sword sharpness is measured, but I reckon if I did, it would be up near the top ranking. I like to think that they're quite descriptive, with maybe "mildly perilous" for the blunter swords up to... I dunno. See, this is why I didn't know how to describe my double-edged sword - I just can't think that sharp (ba-doom, tish).

You know what else I can't describe? Toes. I went to the doctor's for a toenail infection a few weeks ago. As I was taking my sock off, she asked me which toe it was (the anticipation was apparently just too much for her). I thought about it for a moment before realising that the best I could do was "the one next to my little one". Surely that can't be the best we can do? We've walked on the moon, we've cloned sheep, but we can't name our toes?! Fingers, no problem. Thumb, index finger, middle finger, ring finger (which, incidentally, takes on a whole new meaning with internet porn), and last but not least... actually, that doesn't work. Last and least, little finger. Some of them even have alternative names - pinky, pointer, arse-scratcher (I actually have a hole in my pyjama bottoms from that). But as soon as it comes to toes, it all falls apart. So much wasted potential. On a similar theme, I got a blister on my toe next to my little toe on my right foot, which fortunately was not the foot I got the nail infection on, or, quite frankly, I could have died from pain, or at least had to have the toe amputated, then at the toe funeral, one toe would ask "What was his name?" and another toe would say "No one knows." How tragic. Anyway, I mention that because I'd been sitting on my backside pretty much non-stop during the two weeks prior to me getting the blister, so it was weird. As for the nail infection, that's cleared up now.

Continuing my non-literal dissection of my body, a couple of weeks ago, I finally had my braces removed (my teeth are actually really nice when they're straight). Unfortunately, my oral liberation was short-lived, as the following week I had them replaced by a retainer. Apparently, quite a few people don't know what a retainer is, so I shall explain. It retains. There. It's not quite as bad as the braces, because I can take it out to eat, but against it, I do have to clean it every morning, and even worse, it's given me a lisp and generally made me ununderstandable (I don't think that's a word, but it sounds cool). Someone asked me why that's such a problem. To me it is obvious, and that person is an idiot. However, as I did for the similarly obvious "retainer", I shall explain. Firstly, it means I'm going to have to cut down on cool, made-up words like "ununderstandable" to try and make steps back to clarity. More importantly, however, people can't understand what I'm saying! I shall give an example of a situation in which this has already been a problem.

When I was getting the retainer fitted, my orthodonist said to me "You're going to have difficulty swallowing for a while," to which I replied, "Just as well I don't swallow, then." But he didn't hear me! It was like the episode of The Simpsons where Homer thinks to himself "There it is, Homer. The cleverest thing you'll ever say and nobody heard it." (I looked that up by the way, so it's definitely right.) In my favour, I've probably said something cleverer, and I probably will do so again in the future, but that's not the point. I want people to hear all the clever things I say. Which is kind of why I started this blog. To be honest, I'm not sure that I actually had the retainer in why I said it. In fact, I'm pretty sure I didn't. I was probably just speaking too quietly for him to hear me, but that's not the point either. The point is I could have had the retainer in, and it could have been the reason for him not hearing what I said, so it could be responsible for people not hearing the clever things I say in future. Which is not good.

My last physics teacher could never hear me. He was deaf. Not completely, but enough to need a hearing aid. Last summer, I played in a students versus teachers 'Quasar' match, with my aforementioned former physics teacher, who shall from now on be known as 'Jack', on the teachers' team. (God only knows why he chose to release himself into society at this stage in his life. Suffice to say, he was probably disappointed when he got there and realised there wasn't going to be any staring through telescopes.) Once everyone had arrived, our marshal led us into the briefing room for a talk on rules and safety. After we had all sat down, he proceeded to bravely struggle to put together coherent sentences for the next five to ten minutes, before issuing the rallying cry "DID EVERYONE HEAR THAT?" It was then that Jack stood up and took his opportunity to inform the marshal, in the most serious of tones, "Actually, I have a hearing problem. I didn't hear a word of what you just said." But I digress.

On Wednesday the 6th of July, having finished my exams on Wednesday the 29th of June, I went into school to hand in my text books. I knew that the deadline had been June 30th, but I also knew that issued deadlines always pre-empt actually deadlines by at least a week, because whoever is setting the deadline knows that people will not meet it. Thus, just under a week after the deadline had passed, I dragged in about 40 books and the entirety of my navy cadet uniform, which collectively weighed about as much as a small car (albeit one lacking an engine, and probably a few seats). I decided to hand in my physics books last. So, after a fairly amusing conversation with the head of economics in which we joked about the appalling condition of my books, and he poked fun at my pathetic attempt to tape one of the covers back on, I knocked on the door to Jack's classroom. Remembering that he was deaf, I gave up on waiting for a response and walked in uninvited. Happy as ever to see me, Jack greeted me with a warm "What do you want?"
"I have some books for you, sir," I replied.
"Well I'm busy now. Come back later."
I found it doubtful that he was insinuating that any time in the future would be good for him, and instead concluding that he just wanted to tell me to fuck off again, I asked him what exactly he meant by "later". Told that he'd see me in 10 minutes time, I buggered off to the library, not to return for 20 minutes. That's right: TWENTY. Satisfied that I had that battle well and truly won, I returned to the physics department.

Here I ecountered a problem. Jack had moved from his classroom to the physics office, which had a sign on the door that very clearly stated you were not allowed to enter without permission. Not being one to ignore a sign and with Jack facing away from the door, I knocked and hoped for a miracle. But that miracle did not come. In the 20 minutes since we had last spoken, Jack had failed to regain his hearing. "Damn!" I thought, as sweat ran down my brow and my foot began to tap. Was this the end of the road for our intrepid hero? Did I finally face defeat at the hands of my nemesis? Suddenly, I had a brainwave.
"Oi Jack, you wanker!" I shouted. "Can I come in?" He turned around.
"Come in," he replied, with a typical air of self-importance, both allowing me into the office and, thankfully, confirming that he was deaf enough to not have heard what I said. "You have some books for me?"
"You remember well, my young Padawan." I wanted to also add "Although you hear shite", but thought better of it.
"You're late."
"Well you're the one who couldn't see me 10 minutes ago." There was a moment's silence. What looked like a tear emerged out of the corner of Jack's eye.

I took the initiative and began removing the books from my bag. As I did so, I saw him slide out a piece of paper from his desk. Nothing special. Just a list of the books I was supposed to be returning. Eventually I came to two thin books that he probably picked up for 50p at a car boot sale.
"I ordered new copies of those yesterday," Jack snarled. "What am I supposed to do with them now?"
"Well I could always keep them if you want," I suggested. (That bit's actually true.) He snatched them off me. (And that.)
"Look," I pleaded. "I'm, sure I'm not the only person to have returned books late."
"You're not," he conceded, "but you're the only one not have have apologised for it."
"I'm sorry." (Look, it was a bit of of a lose-lose situation, okay!)
"No; that's not good enough. You just think the whole world revolves around you." In retrospect, I should have protested "Sir! What sort of physicist would I be if I thought that?!" but at the time, I was more focused towards giving him some sort of serious argument.
"Okay," I said, despite not agreeing with him, "but to be fair, you're the only one of my teachers to have made such a big deal over this." (Once again, all this really happened.) There was another awkward silence (aka, the sound of victory). A tear appeared in Jack's other eye (okay, that bit didn't), and I continued with the stream of text books.
"This one was damaged when I got it."
"Well why didn't you tell me at the time?"
"Well why did you fucking give it to me?!" I thought. I shrugged.

He opened his desk drawer again and reached in for another piece of paper, before scribbling something on it.
"This is your bill," he explained. "Just be grateful I can absorb the cost of those books I've already ordered replacements for." I inwardly expressed my gratitude for the fact that he hadn't really ordered replacements. He had, however, charged me for the book which was "damage beyond use" (*cough* bullshit *cough*). I wanted to offer to repare it (just needed a bit of glue down the spine), but I should probably add now that Jack was also my form tutor, and therefore the guy that will write my university reference, so I wanted to try and keep on as good a side of him as possible. He actually said at one stage "I'm going to write about this in your reference". What exactly are you going to write?! "Sadly, Adam blemished his almost perfect school record after he had officially left the school by returning his text books six days late." Yes.

Continuing with the story, as I let myself out of the office, I turned to say "Really, if I knew that I'd be putting you out at all, I would have made sure that I'd got the books to you on time."
"Yes, well you have put me out," he graciously replied, before slamming the door in my face. Fucker.

So what can we learn from this? Well, I decided that I'm going to call my autobiography Why Are All Physics Teachers Wankers? I'm not saying that I'm basing my opinion of all physics teachers on my opinion of this one guy. That would be stupid. I had another physics teacher who was a wanker too. He gave me four detentions in a term (all but one of which I got out of - always good to be friendly with the head of year), then made me apologise to him (for, amongst other fabrications, failing to hand in six pieces of homework in that same term) in front of his form group. So yes. Why are all physics teachers wankers?

Along with physics teachers, I've developed another pet hate lately: people who think that "Enough said", and similar phrases, constitute an argument. No! All they constitute is an example of your stupidity. If you can't justify your opinion, don't give it. Also, not so much of a hate, rather a mild irritance, are people who, on internet forums, put "sp?" in brackets after a word to indicate that they're not sure how to spell that word. You're on the fucking internet, for fuck's sake! If you're not sure how to spell a word, LOOK IT UP! While you're there, look up 'thankyou'. Not there? Really? Maybe that's because IT'S NOT A FUCKING WORD. Two words, people! TWO! ('Thank' and 'you', for the simple-minded.) Shamefully, that's a gripe I've picked up from my mum. She bought one of my primary school teachers a present once and duly received a "thank you" letter a few days later. I remember her reading it and muttering "Ooh, she spelt 'thank you' as one word." At the time, it didn't bother me, but she had a point. It's such a common mistake, even amongst people with supposedly good spelling. So please, don't do it. For me.

On a more positive word-related note, I have a new favourite one. Some of you may know that, some time ago, I forgot my favourite word. Going back to Simpsons quotes, Nelson said it once. He was ice skating across the screen, when he said, I think to Bart, "Ha ha! You're *favourite word*!" before skating back across and saying "Ha ha! You're still *favourite word*!" The fact that he said it twice suggests to me that it's also Matt Groening's favourite, which makes the fact that I can't remember it even more frustrating! (Don't think, by the way, that just because I have a new favourite word, I don't want to remember my original one. I really, really do, so if anyone recognises the Nelson quote, or if you're Matt Groening, please tell me what the missing word is/what your favourite word is. Although the quote might be slightly wrong.) So now, the grand unveiling. Announced here before anywhere else, online or off, my new favourite word is: tantamount.

I think it might have actually been my favourite word for quite a while now, I just never thought to myself "Hey, that's my favourite word!" until a few weeks ago. I've always wanted to say/splutter "That's tantamount to treason!" Preferably just after somebody's called me a wanker. Possibly whilst removing a pipe from my mouth (as in one that I've been smoking to demonstrate my superior social standing rather than one I've just conjured up from out of my throat as part of some crazy magic trick). Also, I've started referring to my home town, Kenton, as "K-Town". I don't know why, it just sounds cool. It begins with 'K', it's a town, ends in 'ton', which sounds like town, and probably originally was; hence, 'K-Town'. It's bound to catch on.

Talking of dreams, I had one of the other kind the other night. At least, I think it was a dream; it was so vivid (to introduce a cliché). I dreamt that I fell in love with Gwyneth Paltrow, aka my friend's sister, and considering that I'm pretty sure said friend isn't Gwyneth Paltrow's brother, I'm going to continue with this assuming that it was indeed a dream. Not much really happened, other than I met her, spoke to her a bit, went to the cinema, left without exchanging phone numbers, realised that I loved her and got her email address from my friend. But falling in love's a pretty odd thing to dream about, which is why I'm telling you about this dream as if dreaming for me's something of a rarity, rather than just telling you about the dream I had last night, which just so happened to be an infinitely more interesting one about a paintball game gone bad, where I realised all my friends were in fact armed with real guns and on a mission to kill me. Actually, I'm not sure that's right. I'm fairly certain I had allies, and I seem to remember having to kill one of them. I don't know. Maybe it was actually just an everyone for themselves deathmatch, so I ended up killing people I was friendly with. Anyway, I won, but for the second time during this entry, I digress.

What I wanted to say was, that's the second time I've dreamed about falling in love. To dream about it once is odd, but to have that same dream twice is slightly scary. Is the idea of finding an ideal partner that prominent in my subconscious? Surely it can't be healthy to be that preoccupied with it. Why can't I just have a good old-fashioned sex dream? I seem to have the impression that to lead a truly fulfilling life, I need to fall in love, become famous for something and to change the world (I think for the better, but I'm not totally decided yet), but I'd be lucky to get one of those things, and I should be happy just to maintain a stable relationship with someone, be successful in my own field and to have a roof over my head. Some people would say my attitude is endearing, and that in setting my sights so high, I am at least strengthening my chances of success, even if I fail. I used to look at it the same way, but as I find myself asking the question "How can so many people be satisfied with their lives?" more and more often, it is becoming increasingly apparent that my own disappointment is inevitable. Because, if the satisfaction of others is so incredulous to me, I must harbour a genuine fear for my own, and if I am fearing my own reaction to something that is very probably going to happen, the reaction that I fear is surely not much less probable, if not equally so.

Of course, in asking myself "How can so many people be satisfied with their lives?", I am making the assumption that so many people are satisfied with their lives. Which they might not be. However, I do think if that were the case, the human suicide rate would be higher than it is. Most people might wish they could have done more with their lives, but I still think that they're satisfied. For most people, the little things are enough to carry them through. Like when I was at school, most people would go in, talk to their friends, have a laugh, and even though there were plenty of aspects they didn't enjoy, on the whole, it was a perfectly pleasant experience. Life, for them, is enough in what it is. But I've never had that. Going to school wasn't a perfectly pleasant experience; it was a chore that just happened to have good bits, like football at lunchtime or the latest NME in the library every Wednesday morning, chucked in. Struggling for acceptance and having to face up to people taking the piss out of the way I looked, talked and acted every single day were what really defined it. I didn't want to get up in the morning and life wasn't enough in what it was to be worth the effort.

I can't believe that everyone feels like that, which probably answers the question way back at the beginning of the last paragraph. Living is its own reward for most. But I wouldn't be able to face up to another 70 or so years of what I've got now. Hence, I set myself such high aspirations, because I feel that they're the only things that will make life worth living. The question is, will I get them, and if I don't, will I have changed my outlook before not getting them makes me think that my life truly has no purpose. I'll set myself a deadline of 35. And now that I've dreamt about being in love and what it feels like, at least I know what I'm looking for.

So what do I have now? Well, I have the radio, which brings me to a new section: this week on the radio. THIS WEEK ON THE RADIO... Lauren Laverne played the uncensored version of the Stereophonics' 'Superman' on Xfm. That's right kids - not for the first time in radio history, the word 'fuck' was broadcast to the people of Britain before the watershed (whenever the fuck that is for radio). It wouldn't have been so bad if the show wasn't pre-recorded. And someone had noticed by the time the show was repeated two days later. As it is, I felt it was worth noting.

On the same radio station, they've been playing Oasis's 'The Importance of Being Idle' quite a lot, which actually is a tune. It got me thinking, though - from their last two albums, 'Songbird', written and sung by Liam Gallagher, 'Little by Little', written and sung by Noel Gallagher, and the aforementioned 'The Importance of Being Idle', also written and sung by Noel Gallagher, have been far the best songs, the only tracks keeping alive the hope that Oasis may one day return to their former greatness. The thing is, they're not really Oasis songs. Real Oasis songs are written by Noel and sung by Liam, but with all of those songs, only one brother was necessary in its creation. In conclusion, Oasis should split up, saving us the bother of thinking that maybe their next album could match the standards set all those years ago by Definitely Maybe and (What's The Story) Morning Glory?, and maybe, in fact, produce one or two albums that are actually worth listening to in their entirety!

From the very old to the very new, 'Oh Honey', from new band Alterkicks, is another song that's been getting quite a bit of airplay lately. Heard them a few months ago, I think supporting British Sea Power, and thought they were good, but had forgotten about them, as had, seemingly, everyone else. Now they've released a single, hopefully they'll get the attention they deserve. Not so much on the single, but I checked out a few more tracks on their website and there's a really heavy Radiohead influence, although it's a slightly punkier sound. And despite the fact that they hail from Liverpool, they also seem to remind me of Newcastle based Maximo Park (fuck the Umlaut). Maybe just something to do with regional English accents of frontmen in general. So anyway: Alterkicks = my new favourite (new) band. Check 'em out, watch 'em grow.

And finally, the advert for current Frat Pack box office smash Wedding Crashers. One person interviewed said "I'm still laughing now!" If you're still laughing 20 minutes after seeing a film, it doesn't mean that the film was funny; it means you're MENTALLY ILL.

Not wanting to give preferential treatment to any particular medium of entertainment, time for a TV round-up as well. There's only one thing I've been paying particular attention to lately: Boston Legal. I'm not sure that it's supposed to be, but it's absolutely hilarious. Forget all your Ricky Gervais bollocks (apart from the first episode, been pretty disappointed with Extras); this is where it's at. It's a drama, by the way. From the guy who wrote Ally McBeal. Also, Rhona Mitra is soooooooo fit. That's not just a random comment; she plays a lawyer in it. So overall, brilliant stuff. New episode every Monday at 10pm on LivingTV, with it repeated every Friday at the same time.

For all those terrestrial only folks out there... well, you've only got five channels to choose from, so you probably don't need me to tell you what's worth watching. Little challenge, though. You know that Pizza Hut advert thing at the beginning of every episode of The Simpsons on C4? See if you can name every Pizza Hut used in it. Don't bother telling me though; it's just for fun, as the good people on The Big Breakfast used to say. Talking of adverts (kind of), anyone seen that new 'THINK!' one? You know, the one where that guy's sitting in a pub, when you see him hurtled out of his chair and a gash appears on his forehead. Then the narrator says, "It takes less than you might think to become a drink driver." I've got to say, they've got me there, because I was always under the impression that you had to get in a car. Something new every day. And one more quick thing: when Davina McCall does an impression of Derek from Big Brother, she sounds like my aunt.

On both TV and radio, as well as in "magazines", everybody seems to be talking about these Blackberry things. Not having a clue what they were, I did a bit of research (typed 'Blackberry' into Google), and it turns out a Blackberry is a "one-stop, no-compromise, wireless solution". The solution to what, I do not know, so I'm just going to say that they're palmtop computers, following the trend set by Apple and Apricot in being organically named. I can just imagine the meeting where Apple decided upon their company name.
"Well, we've done all we can to convince people that they need computers in their lives, but still, nothing's doing. What can we do to get people to embrace their, cold, hard artificiality?"
"Hey boss, I think I've got it!"
"What is it, nameless lackey?"
"We name them after FRUIT."
It was probably a good idea at the time, but to be honest, whenever someone mentions "Blackberry", I just think of a chav wearing some cheap Burberry knock-off.

Back in my life, yesterday I was witness to possibly the most embarrassing conversation I ever will be. Please God, I hope it was.
My mum to her friend: "I want to get some private health insurance. Who do you think I should go with?"
Friend: "I'd go with Bupa. Why?"
Mum: "I think I'm going to have to get a hysterectomy."
Friend: "I've got to say, getting a hysterectomy was the best thing I've ever done."
Me to my mum's (I'm not going to beat around the bush here - clinically obese) friend: "Why are you standing in the door way?"
Friend: "Because I'm about to go."
Me (in tears): "But I want to go, NOW!"
Ah, life.

Well, this is starting to drag on a bit. Turns out I did have stuff to write about after all. Whoops. And indeed, I still have plenty to do. Took my guitar to the guitar shop and got the broken peg taken out, although the shop owner did shout at me for not taking better care of my guitar. My conscience was sufficiently affected for me to therefore take all the strings off and give it a good clean. The pegs are currently arranged in the shape of a sin wave on my desk, so at some stage I should probably put a new set of strings on. Also, I've got about 6GB of files to recover from my PC, ready for a reformat, and a room to tidy. Currently, it looks something like this:



Waiting to see whether I fail (get a B in) Economics or not before I do anything about it, because my notes are clearly in the best possible state for me to revise from should I need to retake it. Okay, so I don't have plenty, and since that's the case, you'd think I'd have plenty of time and inclination to do it. Sadly, I'm currently in a state of post-boredom. Look it up on one of those DIY psychology sites. Probably doesn't mean anything. I've just become so bored that I can't even muster the effort to get out of it. Like when you're so tired, you can't get to sleep. Couldn't sleep at all a couple of nights ago. Took this photo:



As any rational person would do, when I realised I wasn't going to nod off, I decided to get my camera out to take photos of the sky as the sun came up. Unfortunately, due to the fact that I had to have the flash off and be zoomed right in, I needed to keep a perfectly steady hand, and could only manage that for the one I've posted. The rest are blurry and shit, and hence, you won't be seeing them.

Update on the retainer situation - I've developed an ulcer underneath my tongue, right where the retainer clips in, so doing so hurts A LOT. Every time I go for it, my mouth tenses up and starts shaking. Who'd have thought putting something in your mouth could be so scary?

Some of you may be wondering now how I could already have an update on my retainer, when only earlier on in this entry, I was telling you that I got it fitted last week, whilst the quicker of you will have realised that I've in fact been writing this for quite a while now. For that reason, don't pay much attention to any of the time references in here. Just enjoy. Also, since I didn't write it all in one sitting, I don't expect you to read it all in one sitting. Split it up or something. Probably should have said that at the beginning, actually. Oh well. If you managed to work out that it would be a good idea yourself, well done! By far the longest entry I've written. Was thinking about splitting it up, but then I realised that what I had saved to put in a later entry would only be added to as more exciting things happened to me, meaning that when I finally got round to posting again, I'd have as much as I would have had if I'd just posted all I had for this entry in this entry. So that's what I did. And the length isn't the only reason it's special. It marks another landmark in being the 50th entry I've written! Well, 44th, but close enough.

As a result, I'm all blogged out. This may in fact be the last blog entry I ever write. But it probably won't. I'll see what the reaction to this is like. I can, however, pretty much guarantee that I won't ever write anything as long as this again. Not until my novel, anyway. Well that's it, after two weeks in the making. Nothing more to say except, I ate an apple seed by mistake yesterday. I hope a tree doesn't grow out of me.