2011 has been quite an exciting year for my ears and eyes. I have been so generous as to allow them to feast upon some of the premier musical acts in the world. Of course, in order for the balance of the universe to be maintained, I had to expose myself to some truly vile noisemakers. I thought I’d write a little retrospective on some high points and low points of this fine adventure in aural earpunching…
So, I’ve been working on a secret plan. This time, it’s not plotting how to surgically swap Ant and Dec’s brains to see if anyone will notice (So far… no) or how to cure myself of my recent addiction to aniseed flavoured gum. (Seriously, what’s with that)
I have been secretly preparing myself for a second run. Yeah that’s how little I really enjoyed the first one, it’s taken well over two months for me to repress the hatred of it. I guess it still counts as ‘regular’, y’know, like an ice age. It has been an amount of preparation which will seem to anyone with a modicum of an exercise regime to be tantamount to eating breakfast or yawning, but to me it is equivalent to doing an iron-man triathlon while being chased by someone trying to sell me the big issue.
So I’ve been exercising a bit almost every day, and when it came for the second run, it past much more smoothly than the first. I didn’t even attempt to will myself out of existence once. If that’s not impressive I don’t know what is. I felt good afterwards. By good I mean I didn’t dial 999 into my phone and hold my finger over the dial button like last time. Who knows, maybe this will work its way into my daily routine?
(Note: I have finished this post the next day, forsaken the run I promised myself I would complete, didn’t finish my excercise and am considering ordering pizza. If only I could download willpower)
Does using Twitter count as cheating?
I have an admission to make. I’ve gotten too close to a friend for me to bare. They constantly tell me what they’re eating, what music they’re listening to and what their opinion on mauve is. And I have to admit, I indulge them too, I frequently send them links to this blog, and send them songs that I know they’ll have no interest in and share abysmal jokes with them. Sadly, it’s time to end this, even if only for a brief spell. I don’t care any more. Sorry. I’m indifferent about your alcohol consumption and your weatabix preferences (ew)
Actually, this isn’t one friend. It’s friends. Plural. Two hundred and forty five of them to be exact. OK, I’m being a bit oblique because it’s cool and trendy and makes more interesting reading (Shut up, it’s my blog) I am, of course, referring to Facebook. As you all know (Because I only post links to this blog on Facebook) I use Facebook a hell of a lot, but I glean no joy from this. In fact I find the whole thing just another monument to how much of a brainless trudge we would all actually quite like our lives to be. (Christ knows I certainly would a lot of the time), is this advancing society or me as an individual? Not an iota. Despite what Zuckerburg says, if I ever have grandchildren, they probably will not give a tramp’s toenail about that day when I was 22 when I posted a picture of me half blinking with an overpriced Whiskey Sour in my hand, accompanied by some people I only vaguely know. In all likelihood, they’ll go back and look at the amount of updates I’ve posted, deem me to have wasted my life and decide to abandon society and create their own upon a floating island, roaming the seas in search of something slightly more meaningful than CHARLIE JENKINS LIKES THIS.
(For anyone interested in how I will go about achieving this, I’ve changed my hosts file so I can’t access facebook.com by brainlessly typing it (go go gadget comp sci degree))
Let’s see how this goes eh?
So, I have failed in my quest to ascend to a state of non alcoholiness. I, like many of you, am not very surprised. I’d like to think that there was a big build up to this, with a stock market crash and Harrison Ford looking for his family, but not at all. The story around this colossal dick up of mine is as follows:
“And what will you have to drink with your fucking awesome chimmichanga?”
Boring isn’t it. I then followed it up with the free flowing of whiskey and wine down my gullet that evening.
So what have I learned?
So the first week of September has passed, and I’m still alive. Admittedly, one week of not drinking isn’t really a feat, and is probably something I do without thinking about every now and then (Though probably not as often as I should) consciously making an effort to do it seemed rather hard initially, I have created the following diagram to demonstrate the difference in thought process after a long day at work (This month on the right. Obviously):
So this has been rather quiet recently. The past few weeks have not contained any spark or inspiration to do anything interesting. Just the general monotony of life. Well we can’t be having that. Because I’m a badass. (This is true! I once punched the sun so hard that it became winter. In the middle of July. Just because I had to take off my jumper and tie it around my waist.)
So like all badassi (Correct plural) I’m going to shake the apple cart a bit.
In an effort to save my liver and wallet I have decided to stop drinking for the whole month of September. This will of course be the equivalent of a normal (read: not fat and lazy) human being conquering Everest or punching the face of God, or something of that ilk.
And I don’t know about you, but punching of the face of God sounds like something a badass such as myself should be accomplishing ON THE REGULAR.
Updates soon if I don’t die.
So today everyone has an opinion. Including me. But that’s not news, I have opinions on fucking everything. (Robins are the best birds, Neurofen is overrated and Eazy-E was the best member of N.W.A.) But before I get into my opinions, I’d like to make a brief announcement.
Everyone calm the fuck down. Sit down, light up a fatty and listen to this:
While staring at this for 4 minutes:
I woke up this morning (Wednesday), after a mostly sleepless night, “We got any food Andy?” “Nope, just weetabix…”
Weetabix. There I was, deciding I want to try more things, and there it was, a golden brown wheaty gift from the heavens. Like a mass produced manna (see here) if you will. For you see, I haven’t eaten weetabix since I was a nipper, and since then I have grown an immense dislike of cereal. So there I went, watching Andy create a mighty stack of four (Yes! Four!) of the cereal slugs and drowning them in two inches of milk, I picked two out and placed them into their milky paddling pool. I managed a whole one before I nearly threw up.
1/10 - Wouldn’t eat again if my life depended on it, but probably would for a bet.
But, ladies and gentlemen, this isn’t why I ache and feel like death. I have decided that I need to start running. Why? Because beer and expenses make me fat, and as dieting and teetotalism are for chumps (Or so my mate’s second cousin’s dad who works for Nintendo says) Ok, this isn’t the first time I’ve ever been running for pleasure. I did it once before, I didn’t make it to the park where we were meant to be running. But this time was going to be different. I live much closer to a park now.
So, I donned my mighty shorts and unveiled my mighty pale white legs to the world before setting off. Upon reaching the park, I got into my stride. “This is BRILLIANT” I said to myself, flailing my legs as if I was having ECT. “Why didn’t I do this years ago! I could run the marathon! I could be the next Usain Bolt “
I lasted least three steps before my dreams of athletic mastery were washed away by a sea of pain and sweat. Who’d have thought that all this hard work would be so much hard work? I managed half way around the park before my legs packed up. “I’ll just walk this little bit, so everyone else doesn’t feel bad” I convinced myself. Then this little bit became this bit, which became a quarter of the park.
“Right” My eyes burned with determination, “I can’t let the people who saw me run into the park walk out, they’ll know how pitiful I am!” I slowly build up to full pace again, inside my head all of the great film sporting anthems are blaring out, Chariots of Fire, Rocky’s Training music, the song about montages in Team America. “I can do this!”
I got about 10 metres before I fucked off home for a beer.