Return of the procrastination: the inspiration strikes back… or does it?

I don't care(Yes, I did just use a crummy film reference, but I’ll get to that…)

Well, it seems that in the epic battle between procrastination and motivation, procrastination is Muhammad Ali and motivation is Frankie Cocozza (if you watch reality T.V. you can see why I’ve used him, I’m sure, if not, think of a teenage rock/punk star wannabe with stringy legs in skinny jeans and begrimed untamed hair and who probably has multiple STDs). In other words, motivation is more than very much dead. Yes, if you had cared enough to see my latest post, you would have learnt, from my new ‘Hot Press’ section (designed to inform the faithful readership of new and exciting developments, plans and ambitions in both my blog and my life that everyone should know and care about), that I intend to upload my first ‘official’ piece of literary work – if you will – at some point in the not-so-far off future.

English: Bust portrait of Muhammad Ali, World ...

Win.

To get to the point, right now I couldn’t care for much, it’s too bloody cold in this stupid mouldy student house so that not only can I see my own breath inside on a regular basis, but I have about twelve layers on, over my thermals. And the snow isn’t deep enough to actually cause any kind of disruption to the humdrum routine, and that irritates me at the moment. My bank account seems to continue p*ssing itself down the drain even though I literally do nothing to utilise my already measly financial resources. For some reason, which I cannot for the life of me explain because I have done nothing out of my ordinary lay-about activities, my body aches from my twatting left little toe to the outside corner of my right eye. All this has only exacerbated my procrastination. Hence, and to finally arrive at the main subject of my post, I have taken a little longer to write my ‘short story’ than I had intended. Still, it is making progress, and I have surprised myself in learning I have written the equivalent length of an entire essay in my short story in less than two days, which is about fifty-eight days less than it takes me to write an essay. That must say something.

Already hacked off with most of the values and outlooks that many in their ivory towers seem to take on the world (interpreting anything from anything  – such as the theory that the author of a book is entirely irrelevant in any context – and insisting their own theories are relevant to everyone’s daily lives and those who don’t agree should be condemned to the far corners of the world of Academia), I feel I would like to express myself fully – when I’m not ranting to my Mum or mates, particularly one or two long-suffering house mates – via the medium of writing… By that I mean non-academic writing. Writing which isn’t writing about other writers’ theories about other writers who write about the many anxieties in their life story. Yes, that sums up my degree. Sometimes I would rather grate my face with an industrial lemon zester.

Also, if you were indeed wondering, I have no idea why I picked that title for this blog post, because looking at it now it seems almost total sewerage. Other than a semi-pop-culture/inter-medial reference to a world famous space opera franchise which helps to objectify the two ends of the spectrum which determines a person’s ability to induce or produce something, as well as having a very vague level of appeal to a wide audience, it serves no other relevance to the post. But, thanks to my non-existent care, I don’t care.

Frankie Cocozza

Fail.

I will leave you with a more detailed update of the writing situation. I imagine I should have it finished in the same length of time it took for the events in a far far away galaxy to be told by a Mr. Lucas, or there abouts.

In all seriousness, watch this space, when my motivation finally does return – which I guarantee it will – it will only be a matter of time before you read the greatest piece of writing on this blog in all of history.

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For your amusement whilst continuing to be doing things you shouldn’t be doing but are doing to avoid doing things you should be doing: http://www.wimp.com/procrastinatemuch/  (My life summarised in under two minutes).

Hot Press: coming soon…

Hot Press
Afternoon all. Expanding on what I said in my last post, I have decided I will shortly be uploading my first ever ‘official’ short story, the inspiration for which I had in the shower this morning. I won’t tell you too much about it other than it is, of course, random, and the story itself is partly inspired by my passion for freedom, flight, as well as my philanthropy.

No idea when it will actually be released, just that I know that I have the idea for it and want to write it, and I will. Going on current procrastination levels I’d give it a week. Whatever happens, I hope it is the beginning of a successful endeavour. I also hope it will be less pointless than the rest of this blog!

Watch this space!

Stephen King watch out…

Maserati GranTurismo

Beast. My beast.

Well it’s nearly one whole month into 2012 and it still feels like only yesterday (to use the much overused but increasingly meaningful in older-age cliché) that I was dissapointingly only vaguely intoxicated on New Year’s Eve.

I don’t make New Year’s resolutions, mine would end up being counter-productive, at least that’s the thought I comfort myself with completely hiding the fact it would actually be down to my inadequate willpower. Rather a subtle ambition I have is to at least at some point this year take my interest and passion in one of my fields of interest one step further, so to speak. Since flying planes is ludicrously expensive, and believing I have the resources to purchase either an Aston Martin DBS or a Maserati GranTurismo S would be slightly insane, my most realistic option at present is writing. I have decided I can have at least some arbitrary corporeal elements of all my interests merged into one, which is the “immaterial” medium of writing. Since those interests which require the use of, manipulation, or acquisition of material items normally requires money, and presenting my feelings for these interests in writing, which apart from the ink itself, any interpretation is purely mental, but which most importantly is always free, writing is indeed the way forward… and already I am rambling. See, must be talent there somewhere.

So, in short, I have decided I am going to write a short story about something or other whenever I feel like it. It will normally be about stuff I care about or something completely different about which I may or may not care but still feel the need to write about. It may even turn autobiographical… but don’t expect any revealing secrets!

Anyways, I am so f*cking knackered, my eyes actually feel like planets, and it’s only 11pm. What has my life become?! So to finalise you can expect this so far random-natured and slightly dreary example of writing to get at least a tiny bit more interesting in future.

I am sure you’re thrilled to learn this fact.

Back to reality

Greetings.

A happy New Year to you all.

Just a quick one today, as I can’t really bring myself to write an essay at the moment. Hope you’ve all had a fat, lazy and indulgent Christmas and can remember at least some of New Year’s Eve! I didn’t write at all over Christmas because for the first time in a long time I have genuinely been busy so that I have felt tired in the evenings not because I have stayed up for 27 hours being idle, procrastinating and wilfing; and procrastinating over wilfing, but because from the actual crack of dawn I have been up and actually doing stuff. How things change! Since the first week of me being home I’ve been working. Working in a warehouse. Working my arse off more than ever it seems – I am going to be utterly zombified when I return to Uni! Ah well, it’s all part of the many fibres in the rich tapestry of life.

It seems only right to talk briefly about both the cultural memes that everyone talks about this time of year, and also those specific to this year, in fact. New Years resolutions? None. There, that’s the first one over with. One of my things in life nowadays is try to have few regrets, we learn something from everything we do, and unless we’re stupid, the lessons we learnt will mean we won’t do that thing again. Or we will be technically ‘insane.’ Also, 2012 is supposedly, to those who are of either a more gullible or less rational nature, the last year in all of time. So why not live it like our last? But shouldn’t we do that every year; since no one knows when they are going to die? I can tell you for one, if the world does end this year, it won’t be due to the designers of the Mayan calendar running out of parchment or sensibly thinking that their civilisation could not possibly survive for over a thousand years, nor them being restrained by the physical impossibility of writing to infinity, but it will be because of the breeding of stupid people.

Anyway, I’m off to make some lunch.

How else would you have it?

Grumpy old man smoking cigarYeah yeah, I’m writing about Christmas, but, what else? My only plan for today is to lose my self awareness in a bout of celebratory drinking later this evening.

It’s that time of year again when we can all lay about carelessly eating and drinking to excess such that we soon resemble trembling grotesque greasy blobs of shameful animals. What really is the true ‘spirit’ of Christmas is just this snowballing chain reaction of complacency as most people are more content than usual, perhaps because of the anticipation of the excitement of an entire week off work, or not giving a toss about exams, essays or revision, or then there’s the thought of endless hours of cheesy but somehow feel-good Christmas movies starring such talent as Will Ferrell and Adam Sandler. Then of course, it goes without saying, the consumption of gallons of cheap Stella, Carlsberg, some deceivingly-claiming-to-be-up market champagne, or cheapo wine from bottomless cardboard cartons, and then of course there’s the stuffing one’s face full of molten-hot mince pies, sausage rolls swimming in their own Olympic sized pool of boiling fat, Christmas cakes and puddings crammed full with bullets for raisins. All this lovely little lot and so much more fills us with a sense of fulfilment when we can have indulgent fun and stick a finger up to the elements who try to make us miserable at this otherwise depressing time of year, when the wind whips the rain in our face or the ice repeatedly tries to make us face plant the pavement.

So what does irritate me, among the few things that do so at Christmas, is people who still insist on being moody pain in the arse complain-persistently-on-War and Peace-proportions Scrooges. Why can’t they be very slightly positive for just one month of the year; is that too much to ask?! What specifically ticks me off are those people who are angry at everything in society, and insist that

society is deeply flawed and that all  human beings are plainly shit. Sigh. O, person with a chip on your shoulder, why must you be that

Society memes

Nothing's perfect. It is what you make it.

way? What they fail to realise, as I have said before, is that we are only animals, and that animals can only do so much, and as goes the course of life, animals can never be perfect, so why should that entity that surrounds our individual existence and our habitat and all other human beings and what they do and don’t do, which we have come to call ‘society’ be perfect? The fact they question the ‘perfection’ of society and the actions of other humans goes entirely against their beliefs on the human race: if humans aren’t perfect, then why would society be too? Stop bitching, it doesn’t make any sense.

Then ask them what they would rather have… Communism, Socialism? Yeah, good one (claps sarcastically). I’d far rather have someone tell me what to do and shoot me in the head if I don’t do it than make my own choices and not be shot in the face, obviously. This country, as most other civilised (yes, we are – would you like to live in North Korea, or Zimbabwe… no, didn’t think so) countries are, is a Capitalist Democracy. Apart from the fact this is a cumulative result of centuries of cultural, political, economic and religious and scientific development – hence, part of the natural course of the progress of civilisation –  it is pretty much the fairest and most rational kind of society. Yes, there is corruption, manipulation and fixing throughout any Capitalist culture, but it is the system which is most analogous to the human conditions of evolution and survival. It rewards those who work, and doesn’t reward those who don’t. Simple. Democracy is there to help regulate the Capitalist system and help those out who do struggle. You can think of them as a bull and a lion pulling a sled together. Fundamentally it’s all about what we do with ourselves and how we do it, with Capitalism being the what and democracy the how. Anyways, enough with the laborious technicalities. Today, our country is within the 15.6% of all countries worldwide which are truly ‘Full Democracies.’ Quite astonishing. There are those who take an instant dislike to anyone who shows any inclination to desire acquiring money. This is ironic, since in reality we all want some amount of money. What we need is another matter, but we all need it. I cannot really think of better way of representing the value of the trade between labour and goods or services which shares equal value with everyone… Pine cones? Meatballs? Fig leaves? Grains of sand?

Ultimately, as far as I’m concerned, society is never ‘perfect,’ neither are animals and hence humans. So stop bitching about it and strive to make or extract from it what you believe is ‘perfect,’ or close to that definition. If everything was ‘perfect,’ then life would be really, really, really boring, and then you really would have a reason to nag your vocal chords to shreds, presumably about the ‘perfect’ society being flawed in its very existence. Do you see the sense?

Merry Christmas all.

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Stuff I used for facts:

http://www.spectacle.org/496/demo.html
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Democracy_index (yes, I did use Wikipedia. Some of my lecturers refer to it too, you know?)

Same difference

Time-warpThat’s it. All done and dusted for another year. Well, almost.

I say this because I have just achieved the word limit on my essay, meaning, no matter how much of an irrelevant, pointless, unreadable, off-on-a-tangent laborious example of turd-quality drivel it is, it’s done. Yes. I am pleased with that. Chuffed, in fact. As I have stated before essays are the bane of my life at present. But how I ever thought I wouldn’t need to write at least one whilst at University studying for an English Literature degree I have no idea.  Probably because I’m a tad nuts.

All that’s left to do is polish it off and upload it, but using my previous description, you can’t polish a turd, so yes, I am done with University work this year. And according to the chronological order into which various periods of ‘parts’ of my life fall, this means I’m basically done with this year too. And what a year: I finished my first year at Uni’, and started my second; had some utter cretin write off my first car; nearly killed my cretin self and at the same time crashed my first car myself, bought my second car (which is exactly the same as the first one); landed myself a far better job than the completely cack one I had for three years from which I earnt almost £13.76 in total; started renting a house for the first time; learnt that those intriguing machines stuffed into walls of banks don’t actually give out an endless stream of free crumpled paper, and that month old sweet and sour sauce smells exactly like dark chocolate, but God it does not also taste like it. At all.

An eventful year then, I hear you state. Yes, I reply, yes indeed.

I also turned twenty years of age, which I guess is also vaguely important. Sometimes I remember that I’m no longer a teenager and when I randomly remember I think “oh yeah, I’m twenty.”  It may be a knackered-as-Grandad old cliché but you do really never know what’s around the corner, literally sometimes. If I was to be serious, though, one thing I have definitely been educated on this year, relevant above most other things (except that farting in the bath after a curry is basically suicidal) is that thing we call life really is what we make it, and the gap between life and death really is as thin as is short the story of Ann Widdecombe’s sex life.

Drunk Santa

Me. On January the 1st 2012, 2pm. Beautiful.

Well, all that aside, I am looking forward to acquiring a few stone over Christmas, loosing a few thousand brain-cells through getting “merry” and a few hundred-thousand more through the effects of being utterly gazeboed. In addition, although I’ve been enlightened by an almanacs’ worth of stuff this year, making me a wise old white-haired wizard compared to me a year ago, I intend to leave this year exactly the same way I entered it: very very out of my mind and very off my face.

What happened to opinions?

My free speech is not negotiable

First and foremost, it’s the first of December, so pinch punch and Merry Christmas in advance. Second and next foremost, if you say TLDR to this then so be it. It’s just another rant.

There are certain people who, no matter what, just make you feel good, make you laugh, and forget all the cantankerous deliberately obnoxious awkward twats who try their hardest to make you want to punch them right in the middle of the face. Then there are those pleasures in life that nothing else compares to. Except better pleasures. But those things that make you go ‘ahhhhh, this is the life’ when all that feel-good feeling bubbles up inside you and it’s akin to being wild and carefree when drunk, but you are in fact completely sober and still have all the mental stability that that brings… Unless of course, being drunk is your greatest pleasure, but I often find the humiliation during the aftermath – often comprised of an empty wallet and discovering terrifying images on Facebook – and the aftermath itself, makes this an expensive and less exciting pleasure pursuit.

Some of you might think it’s boring and dull and an ageing cliché but one of my greatest pleasures, ever since the dexterity in my hands allowed me to manipulate a Game Boy, is motoring (more-so since I was legally entitled to cause mayhem on the real-world roads). Yes, that metal rough-cuboid with four wheels at each corner and an internal combustion engine covered in oil and grease and lube and which can go like the clappers, pounding every track, and burn rubber like there’s no tomorrow is one of my greatest pleasures. (I did warn you I’d talk about cars). I have a Citroen Saxo, and no, I am not a chav, nor do I particularly enjoy most other things from France. It is a decent car – when not twatted about in or douched up so much it looks like a storm-troopers head – and when, at a time when a rare opportunity allows, I can slam my foot to the floor, even in a measly 1.1 with 60HP, I do get a little bit excited with myself.

Combine the two and you get Jeremy Clarkson on Top Gear. Literally the greatest show on Earth. It combines the fresh air of free-spirit and free speech with the freedom and thrill of driving and the engineering that makes it happen. That is why I like it. And this is what leads me neatly on to my subject of topical discussion. So, I don’t know if anyone knows or cares about the comments Clarkson made about the  public sector protests on The One Show, and incidentally I don’t know if anyone cares about the whole public sector strikes thing anyway, but it seems to me all those people who are getting over-excited are rather missing the point entirely. They have completely taken it out of context. In actual fact Clarkson was making a fair and entirely uncontroversial point about the BBC being impartial and not being biased, and exploring both sides of the story, which is exactly what they do do, and exactly what Clarkson did. Watch the video here and see for yourself: http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-15977813

See what I mean? If you couldn’t be arsed to watch it, he specifically said – actually undermining what he says next more than anything – “we have to balance it though don’t we? ’cause this is the BBC.” Hmm… well isn’t funny how those who want to find any way of attacking him, like the 9/11 “de-bunkers,” miss vital information? Like for example him justifying his reasons for saying exactly what he was about to say beforehand, in opposition to what he said prior to that. He said it with a jokey demeanour: it was in jest for Christ’s sake.  Not only that, but he actually said it to make a point, that doesn’t mean it was his point. For those who conveniently lost thier hearing for part of the interview, he said something along the lines of “it’s fantastic,” talking about the fact that roads and airports were far less busy. Of course, some might say that he was saying it in a satirical manner, indeed, he was… so apply the last part of the comment to the correct context, and it will be realised that everything he said had no direct meaning at all; there is no need to go all shocked and surprised and condemning and saying “I am holier than thou always saying exactly what I mean and never having a joke because I’m too serious-grumpy-face all the time.” Also, I’m sorry, but isn’t one of the main reasons these protests are going ahead – which directly speak against government policy – our right to free speech? This is of course something many take for granted, otherwise, they would also see that Clarkson – if it was his actual opinion– is also exercising this right. As for that woman in Unison comparing him with Gadaffi… what? I’m not even going to go

Gadaffi and Clarkson

Hmm... I guess there might be a vague similarity in their hair?

there. If Clarkson had the same political power to casually carry out the punchline of a joke then I have the same power to gather all life-endangering mobility scooters, have them flown out to a remote mountain, and exploded into orbit by a 50 Megaton nuclear device.  Get real. He might have even been making the very point to highlight there isn’t just one side of this argument. It just seems quite hypocritical to me; all these people want financial freedom and such in retirement after working most of their lives, like everyone else, but I’m sure they don’t want the “oppression” some of them might suggest the government imposes. If Clarkson is sacked, this will only contribute to any further reputation of this country being “oppressive,” whilst they will call it the “right” to justice.

Don’t get me wrong, assuming he might believe in what he said, I don’t necessarily agree with Clarkson (although I can appreciate both sides of the argument), but I’m not shocked that he said it either, firstly because it’s Clarkson making his usual fatuous remarks, and secondly because it’s blindingly obvious that something like this is going to create fields of opinion poles apart. If the government got as angry with that lot about speaking out as they are with Clarkson there would be no room whatsoever for peaceful protest. Also, I am intelligent and not hate-filled enough to take and utterly fubar the context in which he said his oh-so-horrific comment.

That, people, is just my opinion, it doesn’t make it fact. It has just the same value and legitimacy as the next person’s different opinion. Get over it.