Thursday, 28 February 2013
Don't ask me why, but that moniker really grips my shit - even more so when (as above) the term is dished out by some cunt who's younger than me. It's like a put down, as if calling you 'young' means 'less worldly' or something. I know this is all a load of bullshit that I'm spouting here, and I shouldn't spend my time wondering what some random dick means when they call me 'young man,' but what winds me up even more is realising that not only am I usually older than them, but I've (probably) seen and done a hell of a lot more in my time than they could ever imagine. When somebody calls me 'young man,' I want to grab them by the sides of the face, touch foreheads and perform a goddamn mind-meld info-dump on the fucker and let them know all the shit I've been through; all the places I've been too and all the experiences and sadness and joy and strife I've been subjected to - all while they were either wondering at their first pubes sprouting or having their Findus Crispy Pancakes warmed up by mummy. Cunts.
Just wanted to get that off my chest. So yes - I'm 31 years old (young?) on Monday. I'll be celebrating this momentous milestone in true British fashion by getting well and truly ringbolted (tipsy) on Saturday night. Excellent.
I went to watch Manchester United play against Reading in the FA Cup last Monday night. It was a pretty dull game in all honesty, but on the plus side I found £5 on the pavement on my way into the stadium. We were sat up in the top tier of the Sir Alex ferguson stand, and while it was a pretty steep incline, the position offered us a sterling view of the pitch:
Other than that, there hasn't been much of interest or import happening. I've decided to start looking for alternative means of employment, as the job I was offered still hasn't started and the recruitment department are still dragging their asses over a start date etc. I've been waiting the best part of two months now and the sheer boredom of being off work is starting to drive me insane (there are only so many Archfiend/AVGN/Irate Gamer bitching Youtube videos one can stomach in one day/week/month), so I think I'm just going to have to cut my losses and look elsewhere for a way to earn a meagre crust.
Speaking of boredom and ways to quelch it (thanks Tenacious D), I recently went to my mum's house to retrieve some more of my random boxes of shit I'd been storing there.
One of these boxes contained my old Nintendo 64 and a handful of games (post title? eh? yes it's true - I'm a genius!), and I was pretty stoked at the thought of being able to hook the old girl (the N64, not my mum) up to my massive plasma TV and play Golden Eye, Mario Kart 64 and (shiver) Mission Impossible in all their anti-aliased glory. Imagine then, my world-ending disappointment when I hooked the N64 up and threw the switch only to be confronted with a blank screen. I tried all the channels and a whole host of different cables/inputs only to be met with the same 'no signal - check connection' message floating around the screen. I thought there may be something wrong with the TV so I tried it with the other, smaller Samsung LCD we have - no joy, same thing. I did a bit of Googling and discovered to my abject horror that no, the N64 will not work with most of these new flatscreen LCD/LED/Plasma screen TVs due to the maximum resolution output (or some such shit) of the N64 console. Goddamn archaic Nintendo hardware architecture! When I think about it though, the N64 looked pretty awful on the old CRT TVs of yesteryear (well, the 1990s) so blowing the lo-res crap up to HDTV proportions would make it look even worse, so its probably for the best: rose-tinted specs with lenses the depth of jam jars wouldn't have made them look any less horrible. Although, I wish I'd known that before I went and splashed out on Jet Force Gemini, World Driver Championship and Perfect Dark. Harrumph. My only option is to go and get an old portable CRT telly from somewhere, but not having a car could make that a little tricky.
Watch this SDTV space.
Thursday, 4 March 2010
Well, it's my birthday. Yep - 28 years ago today (at 5.30 PM, to be precise), I was dragged from the warmth and comfort of my mum's womb into this disgusting reality. I can vividly remember lying in my bed while I was still at school (after the school day had finished, obviously) and wondering what I'd be doing in 10 or 20 years. If I'd known then what lay in store for me (various massive family bust-ups, nights sleeping rough, a bullshit University course that has given me nothing but hideous debt, and the eventual downward slide through the gutter of office temping and into a pointless role in Her Majesty's Royal Navy), I'd have probably have just drank a bottle of weed killer and be done with it. Or ran away to join the Texas Rangers like Lard Ass did in the alternative, Teddy Duchamp ending to Geordie Lachance's campfire tale in Stand By Me.
It's not all bad though - I've finally found out just what the hell is going on with my knee. I went to see a physio on Tuesday, and I have to admit that the cynic in me had actually already completely devoured the rest of my personality before I'd even entered the surgery. I was determined that I'd just be made to do a few star jumps and told to fuck off. And I have to say that I was pleasantly surprised by the actual session that ensued. The physio asked me to detail how the injury had come about, how long ago, what it felt like etc and then did a proper examination of my legs, range of movement and strength...before coming to the conclusion that I have fucked up my knee by having weak ass muscles. Which is nice. So now I've got a programme of leg exercises to do, and with any luck I should be out running again in the next few months. Happy days.
I've also found a rather nice little trinket in the local Pound Shop. It's a little opaque-white ball that you can put on a shelf (or anywhere else you may want) that lights up when you turn it on via the little switch underneath. Only it doesn't just light up...it cycles through all the wondrous colours of the rainbow! It's a pointless little contraption, but for a single pound - a QUID - I thought it was rather marvellous. I use it as a little night light thing next to my bed, and with the big light off it casts lovely pastel hues across the walls. A bit gay, yes, but soothing...and it COST A FUCKING QUID! What else can you buy for a quid nowadays. Not a fucking lot, I'll tell you. In some newsagents, a can of Pepsi Max costs a quid these days. I remember when a can of pop was 30p - I shit you not, there was a can machine in our school that dispensed ice-cold cans of Sunkist and The Official Alton Towers Nemesis Drink (that tasted of Sambuca mixed with 18 bags of sugar and turned your tongue black) for thirty New Pence. Ah, halcyon days of yore.
This post isn't really going anywhere to be honest, I'm just rambling for my own enjoyment. And there's not a fucking thing you can do about it! Well, there is - you could just go back to reading Wikipedia or adding random fit birds to your 'friends' on Facebook - but where's the fun in that?! Remember my Palm Pre? It's going from strength to strength you know. It updated itself to WebOS 1.4 the other day, and this new software edition has added a few cool new things to the phone. Cool things that you'd already get on other phones, granted (video recording, more stable OS etc), but cool nonetheless. I even got Need For Speed Undercover to download onto it for free the other day. You should see the graphics - it sounds like I'm taking the piss, but they're better than owt I've ever seen on the PSP. Madness ain't it!
Regardless of the above though, it's still my birthday and I still can't go and get bollocksed because I'm at work. Never mind, I'll make up for it next week by necking a bottle of vodka and walking in front of a bus.