Fun With Ye Olde Photoshoppe

I've been fucking around with Photoshop. It's quite an old version (Photoshop 6.0) that I nicked from my sister a few years ago, but it does the job. Have a gander at some of the edits I've made to a few of my recent photos:

This is the original

Changed to black and white and added noise

Mucked around with the colour saturation and hue

With extra lens flare added 

So yeah. Hardly award-winning shots or edits, but I'm learning new shit. Christ - I've had serious man-flu since Saturday morning and the amount of snot that's been dripping from my nose has to bee seen to be believed. It looks like the River Exe has burst it's banks on my face...and it hasn't stopped for 3 days - where the fuck is all the moisture coming from? By rights, I should look like a fucking prune right now with all the fluid that's exiting my body through my schnoz. Going for a run along Bournemouth beach in 70mph wind and lashing rain probably didn't help, but meh. I've been taking shit loads of medicine (at proper intervals, naturally), but nothing seems to be able to get rid of this damn headache, sore throat or streaming nose. I hate colds. I'm dripping snot on the keyboard now so I'm going to stop typing. Urgh.

Images of Bournemouth

Went to see Frankie Boyle at Bournemouth BIC on Friday night. He was as acerbic and offensive as usual - which is why I like his comedy so much. I'll do a full blog post about the weekend over the next few days but in the meantime, here are a few pictures I took with my new camera:

I'm starting to get the hang of the HS30 EXR now I've had a few chances to get out and play with the maual settings, but I'm probably going to invest in a digital photography guidebook and maybe even a short course in the subject. Might put a full review of the camera up here too in the next few days.

Wiidiculous

The Wii U comes out next Friday and I have to say that when it comes to hardware launches, this is the most apathetic I’ve ever been. I can pretty much recall every major hardware release since I first became interested in gaming, and only in recent years has my interest waned due to more important shit (like adult working life) getting in the way. I vaguely recall the Sega Saturn and PS1 launches, if only through the mags that I was reading at the time, but the N64 launch is particularly vivid in my mind simply because of the intense media activity, the queues in Manchester’s Market Street and the fact that one of my mates actually went and stood in line for one. His tales of fights breaking out and people being mugged for their newly acquired hardware just made me want one even more. Alas, being a broke schoolboy meant all I could do was go and play the demo machine in GAME. The next launch after that was the Dreamcast, a console that I still have a special place in my heart for, and then came the PS2, Gamecube and Xbox and then the current ones. Yadda yadda yadda. I’m not going to give you a history of gaming simply because it’s a fucking cliché and it’s been written about multiple times before by people better qualified than I to do so. What I will give you though, are my opinions on the Wii U console and the games that are launching with it. So here it is: I think the Wii U looks fucking terrible. 

The last Nintendo console I actually bought with real money (and not the glowing green rupees I pay for my grocery shopping with) was the Gamecube, and it was a fine machine that served its purpose well. After that I went towards the Xbox and 360 and have never looked back. The Wii never appealed to me simply because of the casual gamer image it assumed, and the odd ‘lifestyle’ adverts full of smiling, sockless idiots playing Wii Sports in neutrally coloured IKEA living rooms turned me completely off: was that the audience Nintendo were suddenly trying to attract after years of ‘proper’ gaming? It just alienated me is all, and my desire to own a Wii died before it even had a chance to draw a single breath. And in hindsight, I’m glad I didn’t fork out for a Wii because there’s so little of any real value there for the serious, adult gamer. Sure, there are the Zelda games and a few decent Mario offerings but where are the Mass Effects and the Halos? The serious football games and driving simulators? I want to be blowing shit up in full HD, not waving a fucking Wiimote around trying to knock hats off statues of clowns. Jesus. 

And now we have the Wii U. What the fuck were they thinking? Releasing a console with an iPad for a controller? The design of the Wii U is retarded on so many levels I barely have enough words to describe how annoyed I am at the thing’s very existence. Great – you can keep playing if somebody wants to watch TV. Er, Nintendo? It isn’t 1979 anymore - most people have more than one TV these days. And if that’s what  Nintendo are pushing as the killer feature, I have a horrible feeling that the Wii U will bomb with disastrous results. But wait – there’s more:  the Wii U uses a proprietary Blu-ray format for its games, but can’t play Blu-ray movies or DVDs. The Wii U controller pad monstrosity has a battery life of about 3 hours before it needs to be recharged. Buying a second pad will require you taking out a bank loan, and the pro controller (the one that looks like a normal control pad) isn’t compatible with every game. The console needs a software update out of the box to enable a lot of the extra features (like backwards compatibility), so if you haven’t got broadband at home...you’re fucked. These are just a few of the screw-ups I’ve been able to glean from new user reviews, and there seem to be more weird little problems everywhere you look...but the main one for me is that it just feels like a stop gap. A stop gap before the next consoles from Microsoft and Sony appear and basically redraw the console war battle lines. 

Where will Nintendo be then? I’ll wager they’ll be in exactly the same place Sega found they were in when the PS2 appeared, only without a console even half as good as the Dreamcast was compared to its rival. The Wii U does at least have HD graphics, but the two models available have pitifully small storage options (8GB and 32GB) and the technical specifications are likely to be dwarfed by the next generation Xbox and PlayStation. I don’t care that you can add external storage – the Wii U should have come with at least a 60GB hard drive and in one technical configuration. Different colours are fine, but the different versions thing is just insulting and confusing for people who aren’t really gamers (like parents buying Christmas presents, for example). 

Nintendo have really fucked up here, and I don’t think I’ll be proven wrong. The Wii U already boasts inferior visuals to most 360 games, and that’s worrying: all of the pre-release shots of ZombiU (the only game that really interested me) seem to have been mock-ups judging by footage I’ve seen in most of the video reviews flying around Youtube, and the other games that are ports of existing 360 and PS3 titles...well, opinions are mixed but who exactly are they trying to appeal to? PS3 and 360 owners who already played Mass Effect 3 and Arkham City a year ago? Quite. I want to make it clear that I’m not a Nintendo basher – I’ve owned every Nintendo console up until the Wii, but this new direction the company has taken infuriates me more than it probably should. Please Nintendo, drop the boring motion control shit, the odd controllers and the ‘we don’t care about technical specs...we care about fun’ holier-than-thou preachy bullshit. Just go back to making kick-ass, boundary-pushing games that run on a conventional, graphical ball-buster of a console. Or to put it more simply, go back to making N64s. Urgh. Just thinking about how much of a cock-up the Wii U is makes me want to punch something – why Nintendo? Why? It could have been so different. OK – you wanted to try something new with the original Wii and it paid off. Good work, but trying to draw it out and appeal to the same audience with a new hardware release that shares a name with the predecessor will only end badly. 

Confusion, poor sales and consumer alienation are probably the only things that will make Nintendo sit up and realise that actual gamers want a convention console from them. I really hope their next offering comes quickly, and there isn't a motion sensor or a tablet PC in sight.

Aperture Crazy

Was messing around with the HS30 at work this lunchtime. One of the guys I work with knows a little about photography and he gave me a 5-minute crash course in depth of field and aperture settings. The result of this uber-productive coffee break? Here:

Some are better than others, but I think you'll agree that the depth of field is pretty good in most of them. Also, I make no apologies for the really boring subject matter. It's an office...what dost thou expect?!

Check out the 'Photos' tab at the top for some examples of the HS30's night modes in action.

Punctures

Last Thursday evening when I was riding my bike around in the dark looking for something to do (I didn’t find anything, incidentally), I discovered that my back tire was a little soft. It still had enough air in to allow me to pedal and it didn’t completely deflate so I figured that in the months that I’ve owned the bike, air had just naturally escaped leaving the inner tube a little saggy. Upon returning home, I chained the bike up and forgot about the soft tire, telling myself I’d deal with it at some unfixed time in the future when I could be arsed looking for my bike pump. 

Come Monday morning, the tire was completely flat and so it was deduced that I had indeed, contrary to earlier opinion, managed to get myself a puncture. I whipped out the repair kit on Monday evening after work and proceeded to set about patching my inner tube. What followed was the most drawn-out and labourious puncture repair saga I think I have ever endured. 

First, upon removing the inner tube and pumping it up to find the hole, I was amazed to discover that there wasn’t one. I was doing all of this in the dimly-lit car park outside the block where I’m living so I didn’t have a bowl of water with which to locate any tell-tale air bubbles escaping from the tube – I was just holding the thing up to my ear to see if I could hear air escaping. There didn’t appear to be anything wrong with the tube so I happily resigned that maybe the air had escaped through the valve, and just started putting it back into the tire ready for the wheel to be reattached to the bike. Reattaching the wheel turned out to be a task in itself seeing as the rest of the bike was still chained to a fence post (all in the name of convenience, you understand. In practice, it turned out to be anything but convenient), but I eventually got it on, tightened the quick-release nuts and then started to re-inflate. As soon as I plunged the pump handle down I heard hissing. I tried to tell myself it wasn’t coming from the wheel, but it blatantly was, so incredulously I once again removed the wheel, once again at great difficulty due to the bike being chained to a fence. I really do seem to enjoy making things more difficult than they need to be. 

Anyway, upon removing the inner tube from the tire, I pumped it up again and this time managed to find where the air was escaping from – a tiny pinprick of a hole on the outer side of the tube opposite the valve. I sanded the area, applied the rubber solution and stuck a patch on. I waited about 10 minutes in that cold, dark car park and then went about reinserting the tube into the tire and going through the hole rigmarole of reattaching the wheel (while the bike was still attached to the fence). I began to pump. Hissing. Again. Un-fucking-believable. So yet again I went through the whole process of taking the wheel off, removing the tube looking and listening for air escaping. It was coming from the same place I’d just stuck the patch...how was that possible? The patch was still there, bonded to the tube with rubber solution, yet the air was still pissing out. I figured that maybe I hadn’t stuck the patch down with enough glue, so with great difficulty I ripped the patch off and set about sticking another, bigger patch onto the area. After another 5 minutes of fumbling around in the half-light, cursing like Mutley and resisting the urge to throw the fucking wheel over a nearby shed, I got the wheel on. I went to make a quick phone call and came back, giving the glue time to cure and then I carefully started to pump the tire up. One pump, two pumps...no hissing. So far so good. Three pumps, four pumps...HISSING! AAARGH! At that point I just gave up and left the damned thing to rot. And there it would have stayed until it were naught but a few rusty sprigs of metal, if I hadn’t had to rely on it to get me to work and back. 

I could use the Goose to commute daily if I so wished but that would be plain lazy, and the combination of continuously atrocious weather and the poor condition of most of the local roads (not to mention the ridiculous number of traffic lights) make riding around this town a pretty treacherous and arduous task. My quest to repair the existing inner tube had resulted in failure so I admitted defeat (ungraciously, you understand) and resigned to just buying a new one. That’s where the story becomes slightly more surreal – I went to four different places during my lunch hour yesterday to get an inner tube. None of them sold the right one for my bike. I would have expected this if I owned a penny farthing or some other arcane or unusual artefact from the history of cycling...but I don’t. It’s just a cheapo hybrid with standard wheels, yet none of the stores that I visited had the right size of inner tube. 

The last place I went to before I gave up did have some that were almost the right size and the salesman assured me that it would fit my wheel, so I bought it...but not before also having to also buy a puncture repair kit too because they wouldn’t take card payments of under £5 (that shit winds me up too...but that’s another post). So I left with my new inner tube and my new repair kit, happy in the knowledge that the next time I popped that fucking wheel off my bike, it would be going back on with a leak-free tube installed. So last night I went for it. I got the wheel off, ripped out the old tube, tried to insert the new one...and realised that the valve tube was too wide for the hole in the wheel rim. I stifled an anguished cry of anger and pain - the new tube had a Schrader valve instead of the one where you have to unscrew the little top bit and press it down, meaning the shaft was wider...and meaning that I couldn’t use the tube. 

Determined, I took the old tube back up to the flat and inspected it. I dug deep into my reserves of logical, methodical calmness. I removed the old patch from the day before. I filled the sink, pumped up the tube and then plunged it into the water, and lo -two columns of bubbles rose it’s the battle-scarred surface. Two. One on either side – that’s why the hole hadn’t been sealed; whatever had caused the puncture had pierced both sides of the tube and I’d been ignorantly trying to patch only one. That little mystery solved, I fixed two patches and waited for them to dry. Once dry, I pumped the tube up a second time and checked it in the water again, only to find yet another hole on the other side, adjacent to the two I’d just covered! Upon patching this one too, the tube stayed solid. Jubilantly, triumphantly, I put the tube back into the tire and wrestled the wheel back onto the bike (it was still chained to the fence) and then took it out for a little ride just to test the integrity of the repair. It held – by God it held! 

So I decided to have a ride down to the fairly well-lit docks area of Gloucester to take some night shots with my new camera. I chained the bike up and went off to snap away...and on returning to the bike discovered that some retarded member of the indigenous mono-brain celled population (also the kind of individual I like to refer to as a cunt) had stolen my lights.

**Update**

While I was looking for an inner tube yesterday lunchtime, I tweeted about how disgusted I was at not being able to find what I was looking for:

"Reasons I hate Gloucester number 27 - even the most ubiquitous of items are impossible to get hold of. Example: a bicycle inner tube!"

I don't know how or why, but the local newspaper (The Citizen) seems to have dredged it from the depths of obscurity with some kind of search algorithm that recognises the word 'Gloucester' and printed the thing on the letters page of today's edition:

Fame/Infamy await. I'm guessing there'll be pitchforks and flaming torches waiting for me when I get home tonight. Excellent.

A Tale of Yore

I mentioned a few posts ago the issue I have with my landlord/housemate’s toileting habits. Smearing faecal matter all over the toilet seat and bog roll just isn’t the type of thing somebody in their late 20s should be doing this side of a mental asylum’s front door. Nevertheless, I got back from my weekend in Dorset to discover that the bloke had yet again managed to pebble dash the entire toilet bowl and underside of the seat with slurry. I really don’t know how to approach this awkward issue with him – I mean, what do I say? “Excuse me mate, would you mind not leaving your shit all over the place?” See my point? Hopefully I’ll have moved out before long...but that’s another post (coming soon, maybe). 

I also mentioned in the recent past how I’m really looking forward to having my own crib, and that isn’t something that’s likely to change whilst I’m living under the same roof as poo boy. It’s not until you live in a shared flat or house that you can really appreciate just how fucking annoying other people can be, and just how inconsiderate too. Case in point – not only does Hong Kong Pooey (as he shall henceforth be referred to) do the scat thing, he also has several other endearing properties. Like, for example, doing the washing up at any time after 10:30pm every night of the week. Not the biggest sin in Christendom, you may think – until you understand that the kitchen backs onto my bedroom and so every slammed cupboard door and every clanging pan, pot, cup and plate comes echoing through the paper-thin plasterboard like a freight train passing the window. Why at such a late hour? Every night? Why not at, say, 7.30? or 8? Why is it after 10.30 that the cacophony starts up? I’ve been on the edge of storming into the kitchen and smashing every plate and cup in the fucking flat on more than one occasion. Gah! Seriously, it’s not until you’ve experienced it 5 nights on the trot that your sanity starts to seep out through your ears. 

Another treat is the guy’s penchant for slamming doors. Early AM? BOOM! Late PM? BOOM! The guy walks around in a self-consuming daze and just slams doors like Thor slams heads. I’m surprised there are any left on their hinges in the damned place with the amount of slamming that goes on. And then there’s me trying to be quiet (whilst trying to avoid touching the shit-encrusted toilet seat) if I need a piss in the middle of the night like some kind of bitch. Upon re-reading what I’ve just written, I think I’ll start laying the slam-down myself next time I need to drain the main vein at 3am. See how Hong Kong Pooey likes them shit-stained apples. 

So as you can probably tell, not only am I not overly enamoured with this pathetic excuse for a town (I refuse to call it a city), my current accommodation setup is pretty undesirable too. This isn’t the first time I’ve lived in such intolerable circumstances. When I graduated back in 2003, I moved back to my mother’s house in a bid to save some money. I found it unbearable and when a friend of a friend mentioned he was looking for some housemates to rent rooms in his newly-acquired rental property, I jumped at the chance. After about a week, I and another friend (let’s call him...erm...Frank (?!) moved in and I was all set for it to turn into a real-life episode of Friends. 

After about a month, however, I realised that living in a house with two blokes who don’t really get on was less like an episode of Friends and more like an episode of Bottom. Plus, I also discovered that the ‘landlord’ (he wasn’t, although he claimed to be because his name was on the tenancy agreement) was a complete weirdo who constantly complained about ‘cross contaminating’ the dish cloths and refused to have any dairy products near his shelf in the fridge. Also, he had the ability to drink two pints of Guinness and then projectile vomit all over the carpet. After a further couple of months, Frank had decided he’d had enough and left to live with his girlfriend. That really bummed me out because I was left living alone with ‘landlord,’ who we shall now refer to as Mr Strange. We continued as a party of two for a couple of weeks and I rarely saw the bloke unless he was in the kitchen complaining about the dish cloths or cooking up his non-dairy rice-pudding with prawns slop. And then McRae happened. McRae was a random bloke that Mr Strange had recruited from his office as a third housemate, partly (I’d wager) as a way of obtaining an ally in the house (did I mention things had gone a bit sour between us?!), and partly as a way of once again splitting the rent three ways. When I first met McRae, It was on a Sunday night after I’d got back from visiting my dad in outer Lancashire. He was sat in the living room loudly bleating some clichéd political view whilst clutching a can of lager. Mr Strange sat there nodding and laughing falsely – it was like David Brent fawning after Finchy in an episode of the Office. So in I went, introduced myself, made small talk, had a few beers with the pair of them...and left thinking that maybe the guy was alright and that I shouldn’t be so quick to make assumptions based merely on association. These impressions quickly faded after it transpired that McRae was the smelliest, scruffiest man alive. 

He slept on top of a bare mattress in a sleeping bag and lived exclusively on takeaways. But he invariably didn’t finish said fast food and just left the wrappers and food remains all over his bedroom floor or on the kitchen worktop. He never washed his clothes (at least as far as I could tell) and as with the takeaway cartons and kebab foil, just left stinking socks and underpants lying all over the place. I recall one incident when I was walking up the stairs; a gust of wind must have blown in through his open bedroom window, collected the stench from within and then forced its way through the gap under the door. It hit me full in the face as I walked up the stairs and it nearly knocked me back down them again: sweat, shit, feet, rot and decay, all combined in one demonic sucker punch to the nasal cavity.

It later transpired that he’d also run up a fucking huge phone bill talking to some toothless ‘girlfriend’ on her mobile (this was 2003 remember). The phone line was in my name so the bill came out of my account...and McRae valiantly offered to repay me £5 a month until the debt was honoured. I told him to get fucked and angrily demanded the sum of the bill...which he then suddenly happened to have. I moved out not long after, and not long after that I joined the navy. Upon which I endured a further 6 years of smelling other people’s unwashed bodies and putting up with their abhorrent ‘ways.’ After that came the ‘house of the bathroom-floor period blood,’ as described in another recent post...and now we’re bang up to date.  So it’s either been shit on the toilet seat, period blood on the bathroom floor or stinking, unwashed socks and takeaway cartons blocking the hallways. Yes, my experiences in shared accommodation have been ‘interesting’ to say the least.

This will be the last.

Photoburst

Friday evening’s ride into the heart of the wilderness (well, Dorset) was probably the most ventricle-threatening trip I’ve yet to have on a motorbike. I set off from work at 4pm and as soon as I got on the M5 the fog just started rolling in like something out of a zombie film. Either that, or an N64 racing game. And that, dear reader, is an oblique reference to said hardware’s inability to cope with scenery ‘pop-up,’ forcing racing game developers to mask trackside detail just ‘appearing’ in the middle-distance by blanketing everything in grey mist. See San Francisco Rush for further details. Once I hit Bristol (and that damned 50mph zone that has been there, seemingly, forever...even though no road works appear to be taking place), the fog was truly enveloping and it stayed that way all the way down to my exit at Taunton. It didn’t stop most of my fellow road users driving like fucking maniacs though – and people still act amazed when there’s a report of a major crash on our highways. Driving at 100mph+ on a fairly clear day is (probably) dicing with death...doing it when you can barely see the next vehicle’s back lights is just asking for the Grim Reaper to get out of his comfy chair and put his cloak on. I opted to spend most of the journey in the outside lane, letting the idiots race past into the fog with abandon knowing that even if a fireball did suddenly erupt in the distance and illuminate the grey dreariness, I’d have ample time to pull over onto the hard shoulder, stop the bike and guffaw heartily to myself. Callous? Yes.

Once I left the relatively well illuminated motorway, I was forced to use the badly maintained, narrow and downright scary back roads of Somerset and Dorset in order to reach my destination. I find these roads hair-raising at the best of times, what with their winding nature, framed with thick hedgerows and usually strewn with clods of mud from the frequent tractors that use them to get from field to field. I’m sure there’s something in the Highway Code about depositing mud on public roads, and how it’s illegal (and fucking dangerous)...but the bumpkins who are guilty of the action don’t really seem to give a toss. Throw in darkness, fog and an Audi driving right up behind you and the experience becomes extremely undesirable. It’s these kinds of trips that can either make you a better rider...or kill you. Obviously, by the way you’re reading these words, you can hopefully tell that I didn’t die that night (unless I’m dead and don’t actually realise, ala The Others...), but I didn’t enjoy the journey one iota. Hopefully, once sunnier times return the experiences of 2012’s pretty shocking weather will put me in good stead and make me an even safer motorcyclist. Unfortunately, no matter how good a rider I am, it won’t stop people in cars being fucking arseholes. I think I’ve spent enough time berating other non-motorcycling road-users in recent months though, so for now I’ll let the subject rest. Well, until some other prick almost kills me through arrogance and over-confidence in his/her own driving ability.

On Saturday I bit the bullet and bought something I’ve been coveting for quite some time. I’ve always been interested in photography and wanted to make it into a hobby but never really had the equipment to do so. I have my Lumix point and click digital camera, which is an amazing piece of equipment...but it isn’t really designed to take photos of the kind I want. It’s fine for taking snaps of friends on nights out, or of family occasions...but of stunning sunsets or majestic vistas? Well, no. The quality is sublime – what would you expect from a 16 megapixel compact? It’s just that depth of field is nonexistent and manual focus isn’t an option. As for the zoom...well it’s pretty pointless. The Lumix is a great camera for the intended purpose yes, but not really a ‘photographers’ camera. So I went to Curry’s and bought a Fujifilm HS30 EXR digital bridge camera. It cost a small fortune (just under £300), but by God does it take nice photos:

I’m by no means an expert when it comes to photography, but the numerous settings are so beginner friendly that even the biggest idiot can get the thing out of the box and start taking great photos immediately. If you are an expert though, there are enough settings that you can (more than likely) produce some simply stunning pictures. The main attraction of the HS30 for me was the manual zoom and focus rings around the zoom lens. Most cameras in this class have motorised zooms (where you press a button or switch to zoom in and out), but the HS30 lets you rotate the rings to do it. It does make you look very professional and also lends a look of a proper DSLR to the thing. The only drawback is when you’re filming video and the zoom is manual so unless you’ve got robotic wrists the zoom can be a little jerky. To be fair though, I didn’t buy it to make films (even though it does shoot in 1080 full HD and has several high-speed modes allowing for rather impressive slow motion recording). The number of shooting modes and special features is a little overwhelming at first, but one I got my head around the basic functions and how to just point, zoom and focus I was away. I took the camera out (well, my girlfriend drove me) into the hills of Dorset and we managed to get some pretty spectacular shots of the surrounding countryside and late afternoon sun. Most of the following were taken in the vicinity of Hardy’s Monument overlooking the seaside resort of Weymouth and the town of Dorchester:

Dorsetshire

Hardy's Monument

This was actually taken from a moving car...but it still looks good.

Logs

The English Channel (I think...)

Some Swans. Erm.

Hardy’s Monument was erected in honour of Vice-Admiral Hardy – the bloke who Admiral Nelson famously asked to be kissed by on his deathbed, and the setting is very picturesque with views (on a clear day) that go all the way along the south coast towards Lulworth Cove in one direction and Burton Bradstock and Golden Cap in the other, whilst the island of Portland looms directly ahead. It’s a really nice place to visit when the weather is good simply because of the vistas available...what isn't so good though is the situation with the monument and the surrounding land. There’s a fairly large gravel car park around the base of the monument that you used to be able to park in, and on nice days there was a little van selling proper ice cream and drinks...but for some reason the gimps who own the land have decided to close that car park (why??) so now you have to park either in a lay bye along the main (narrow as hell) road or in one of the makeshift car parks at the bottom of the hill and walk up. I believe it’s due to some form of disagreement between the private land-owner and the National Trust (who own the monument)...but all it’s really doing is putting visitors off.

Anyhow, that’s enough from me today. Over the next few days, weeks and months I shall be getting to grips with the new camera and posting the results here (I’m going to add a new section called...erm...photos), and I’d appreciate any comments either positive or negative. Negative! Geddit?! Haha...oh.