Summer 1

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I've been back in my office for only a few days, and already I'm counting down the days to when I can take a holiday, or at the very least a break from work. It doesn't help that today is sunny, and is only the second day of nice weather in my region this summer, and all I can think about is meandering around not doing much other than walking in the sunshine. Somehow I'm still getting work done, but I'm resenting having to do it. Although the last few weeks doing this work for the Graduate School has been interesting and it has been a break from my regular work (and, kind of importantly, I'm getting paid for it) it hasn't been a holiday and I think that's what my mind and body are telling me I sorely need to preserve my sanity.

I don't have a definite plan yet, but I'm checking with a friend on one possibility for a few weeks time (I'm working for the next three weeks, and then taking two weeks off), and if that plays out as I am hoping it will then there should be some interesting things that I can do on the blog as a result. I won't say any more on that for now, I'll just leave it there and hope that when you come to read this there seems to be an air of mystery and coolness about it...

Recently I've thought a lot about my novel that I wrote last year, especially about revisions that need to be made. There was so much that I liked about what I wrote during National Novel Writing Month but at the same time there is so much that needs to be changed in order for it to be a better story. It's not like I'm now planning to kill any characters off that previously lived or anything like that, but there are tweaks that need to be made; whereas one character before was only incidentally responsible for breaking two people up, I think that really she needs to take a more active role in the break-up - but that changes her character, because before she was the kind of person who would never do that. I guess I'm having a hard time persuading myself to make changes to the text because at the moment I'm still too close to the characters that I first hammered out last year, and by making these changes they cease to be the people that I created (in the same way, we often find that we are less close to people when their personality changes over time).

I've also been immersing myself in noir recently, across quite a few subgenres. I've read some Mickey Spillane who I guess is a definitive voice in classic noir, some future noir from Richard Morgan which was very different but definitely in the same tradition, and also some vampire noir by Charlie Huston (his first Joe Pitt novel, Already Dead, is a particularly good novel I think). Although I had considered reading some classics over the summer I've decided to read some more noir first (thank you Amazon.co.uk!), and maybe come back to the classics in the autumn. There's a slight incongruity of reading noir in the summer that is appealing at the moment.

Better keep my fingers crossed that summer actually arrives in time for my break then...

Harry Potter and The Bottom Line

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Like many people around the world I picked up the final Harry Potter book on Saturday. While some picked it up and treasured it, determined to make every page count and so on, I got it with the sole aim of reading it as quickly as possible - both for enjoyment and so that I finished it before both my sister and my friend Chris (I tell myself that the latter wasn't as important... I tell myself that).

I thought that it was a pretty good book all in all. I don't want to spoil it for people who haven't read it yet, or who are still working their way through, but I do want to say that despite having a first half which seemed pretty sparse on plot advancement though heavy on incidents, the book had a second half which more than made up for it, with plots tied up neatly and with some real revelations as well. What I thought was really interesting coming out of book six - Is Snape really a bad guy? Who is R.A.B.? - was that I was right but for the wrong reasons. The resolution of subplots happened but for completely different reasons to those that I thought, and that made it very interesting.

Various newspapers and websites are making a great hullabaloo about the number of copies sold, or about how much money JK Rowling now has etc, but I think for me an important point, second to enjoying the final book, was the final line of this article on the BBC website:

"I like Harry Potter, but it's a shambles as far as the retailing trade is concerned because nobody makes any profit."

Harry Potter may be a publishing phenomenon, but the only way that booksellers really make any money out of it is by hoping that customers will go back to their shops for repeat business. I don't know of a single shop that was selling the book for more than half the RRP - I'm not saying that there is anything intrinsically bad about the customer getting a good deal, but it creates a distorted picture of the state of book sales and profits I think. The money in Harry Potter has come from the films and associated merchandise in the end, and perhaps in the end that will unfortunately be the thing that people remember about Harry Potter.

I do have a small hope that they will remember a good read first and foremost.

Hiatus Interuptus

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noisms is still on holiday, and I've only been in the office for a day trying to catch up on things, so no genuine blog posts this week. Roll on Monday, when I'm sure to write spoilers on the new Harry Potter and possibly non-spoilers for Transformers (since many people might have seen it already) which I might see at a preview on Sunday.

I'll probably also talk about my Grad School experiences of the last two weeks some time next week, amongst lots of other ridiculous nonsense that occurs to me. noisms, no doubt, will talk about incredibly interesting things. Cognitive Blindspot, two blogs for the price of one! Should that be our marketing strategy?

In the mean time, go and read these 200 bad comic strips, which are actually incredibly funny. I recommend reading them in one sitting for maximum effect.

Hiatus

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Well, noisms is away on holiday, I'm Interweb-challenged for the next few days... I guess this is just me telling you not to expect anything until Thursday at the earliest.

Who knows? Maybe it will even be worth the wait.

Stroking One's Beard

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I don't know why, but whenever I tell people that my first degree was a Bachelor of Arts in Maths and Philosophy it surprises them. Since I first made my decision on the UCAS form over eight years ago I've grown accustomed to people saying, "Oh," tilting their head slightly to one side and continuing, "That's an interesting combination."

My reason for studying something other than just maths was because despite taking maths and further maths at A Level and enjoying them immensely I had an idea in my head that three years of nothing but maths would be incredibly boring. It had always been the plan for me to study in Liverpool, but at first I was actually set on studying maths with theology and religious studies at another university in Liverpool - until my head of sixth form persuaded me to look elsewhere and find a course with a better academic reputation.

Since cost was such a great concern in going to university the only real option I had was going to the University of Liverpool, and it was lucky that a friend of the family heard about the course in maths and philosophy. Over the course of three years I realised that while I enjoyed studying philosophy a lot I had been wrong to think that three years of maths would be boring, and so I ended up on the path that I'm on now, shifting after my first degree to a masters in mathematical sciences.

I never forgot what studying philosophy taught me, to try to think clearly, to try and understand things from different angles and different points of view. Although it very much became a second subject for me during my degree I still enjoyed the various courses that I attended, and some of the things that I learned on them have stayed with me ever since, as have the memories of some spectacularly bad courses that I attended.

Anyway, this slice of biography was just a roundabout way of saying that over the next few days (while I'm away) I'll just be presenting a few odd things that I thought about in my studies, and maybe the odd snippet from my old essays (isn't this digital age wonderful?), as well as a few words on the Feminist Philosophies course that I took, which for a semester became my academic nemesis.

General Malaise

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I started watching House recently, and while I don't want to say that it is the best show in the world ever (as one British newspaper has) it is pretty good. Watching Hugh Laurie as Gregory House is a revelation, and also a little weird. To most people in Britain I guess he was more commonly known 'til now as one half of the comedy duo "Fry and Laurie", or as "that posh one from Blackadder Goes Forth.

It is really strange to see him with an American accent, as I've said to people recently since I've started watching the show, it's liking watching an American guy who just happens to look like Hugh Laurie. However, as good as House is, I don't want to talk about the show exactly, but rather one recurring concept that the show (according to Wikipedia) has popularised a lot recently - and also think about how it might apply to me.

Differential diagnosis is the term that recurs frequently in House, where they list the symptoms and state of a patient in order to figure out what is wrong with them. They arrive at a working hypothesis and try to treat for whatever that condition is, and because that first diagnosis is rarely correct they then have to take into account other factors (which often seem conflicting) in order to arrive at the correct diagnosis and treatment about five to seven minutes before the end of the episode.

This is a term that (according to Wiki) has only really entered the public consciousness thanks to House. It's so simple and astounding you would think that it would be on our mind all the time when trying to evaluate problems; maybe it is and I've just never realised it before, maybe people use similar processes consciously all the time but somehow that just doesn't click when I think about it. Look at what is happening, think clearly about all of the effects and then try to understand what the cause might be. I think far too often people see an effect and then try to figure out a cause and in so doing miss out many of the other effects ("symptoms") which could otherwise have helped them figure out what the problem really was.

However, I don't really want to talk about that, I just had to write all of that in order to get to the real crux of it all. What's the differential diagnosis of a 26 year old male in reasonably good health who presents with these symptoms?

1). general tiredness and apathy towards work despite eight to nine hours of sleep
2). recurring dreams about travelling
3). sudden upswing in the number of books read per week (three novels in four days)
4). minor panic attacks at the thought of change in the near future
5). inability to figure out what he wants from life

What's the diagnosis and what treatment would you prescribe?

I'm going to watch some more House and see if I can get some more inspiration. If I notice any more symptoms in the patient I'll let you know.

Lord of the Flies

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I finished Lord Of The Flies yesterday evening, after starting it the day before. I wanted to take English Literature at A Level, but it clashed with nearly every lesson of maths that I would have had, and since I wanted to do maths at university it pretty much ruled out my taking it. Recently I've started to read (along with the usual sci-fi books that I would normally go for) all of the sorts of books that I never got to read at A Level. Things like Catch-22, Pride & Prejudice, Emma... Well, OK, so basically a couple of 20th century classics and some Jane Austen, but it's a start right?

As I was reading it I couldn't help but wonder if perhaps there were hints that Lord Of The Flies was a little bit sci-fi itself... The vague talk of war, the brief mentions of nuclear weapon use and the manner in which the boys arrive on the island (after being shipped somewhere in some kind of airplane), not to mention the description of how the parachutist arrives on the island. Kind of feels like an alternate 1950s, you know?

It doesn't help that we don't really have much of a clue as to what their home lives are like. Some of them mention that their parents are involved in the war somehow, but none really seem to give any indication as to what it is all about. After consulting the Wiki article, which focuses on the symbolism and interpretation of the story and not the setting, I'm not really any the wiser as to where these boys came from.

Knowing where they came from isn't really essential to the enjoyment that the story gives or the thoughts that it provokes; a few language things aside, it could be a story that is more or less set today. How would a group of school children today cope if they suddenly found themselves marooned on a deserted island without adult supervision?

My predictions:
1). They would be nowhere near as successful as Jack, Roger etc at hunting, primarily because many of them would have childhood obesity problems (more severe than Piggy even).
2). It would take drastically less time for them to descend to the level of "savagery" than it does for the boys in the book.
3). Half of them would wonder why their mobile phones didn't work, whilst the other half would wonder where the reality TV cameras were.
4). The fire that scorches a good portion of the island would be done intentionally by some tough little eleven year olds with ASBOs.

I've got a stack of books on my table to read now, but none of them are probably on the UK "English Lit A Level syllabus". If you have any suggestions for books that most likely are and that I should read, please drop me a line.

I'm currently reading "JPod" by Douglas Coupland.

Back to basics

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My problem with when we started this blog a month back is that I was overthinking things, trying to write things that I was sure other people would want to read. That's a mistake I think, so I've decided to just try and write something that is on my mind, or about something that I have seen that I want to comment on.

Time to step it up a gear. Too many weeks without writing - well, I was away for one of them, but I don't know what noisms excuse is - and now I sit here having made an agreement with him that I will write something every weekday for the next few months, so that we build up a great swathe of interesting things.

He is supposed to do the same, so we'll see what happens.

We both became Facebook members in the last week or so. What a curious thing social networking via the internet is... That probably makes me sound slightly strange when I say that, but looking back when I started using the internet seven or eight years ago there really wasn't anything like Facebook or myspace out there. The internet (back then) was all about basically showcasing content of one form or another (and porn, let's not forget that) in some way.

Sure, you had your dating sites, and you had your forums that you were a member of, but there was nothing quite like the idea of what Facebook is. I'm still trying to decide if it is a good thing or not. For example, someone that I know, let's for politeness sake call them an acquaintance, added me as a friend. They don't have my phone number, they have my email but never write to me and I never write to them, they're just somebody that I have met. Whenever I see them we say hello and are polite, but they are by no means what I would think of as a friend.

In real life if you don't talk to someone for a while then you just naturally drift apart, but on Facebook it feels rude not to accept adds even if have no intention of talking to someone. Another site that I am a member of, but which is not social networking just a forum, has this concept of friends/contacts, and you have to accept people trying to add you as a friend. The difference there is that random people just try to add you as a result of a post you might make, without ever talking to you. In that situation I don't feel bad at all about not accepting a friend request.

With Facebook being what it is though - since these are people who in some sense know you - I don't know... Is it rude to decline someone wanting to add me if we are barely acquainted? In "real life" we are not friends. Why should I add them?

And yet I did.

Thirty Years Ago

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I wasn't even born when Star Wars came out. It seems kind of weird watching all of these things about it on the news. Seeing footage of people today attending celebrations and gatherings about it is kind of cool I suppose, but at the same time when you see newsreaders or reporters trying to tell you why it is all so important I just think, "Who are you to tell me this? What are you even adding to the story?"

I have trouble understanding how someone could not be a Star Wars fan. I've never understood the groups of girls (disclaimer: I have known and know girls who have seen and like Star Wars) I have known as I have grown up who had never seen any of the films, or who would say, "Meh, it's alright..." What is there that you don't get? I think (although I am sure there are people who would claim otherwise) that even the people who genuinely don't like Star Wars have to acknowledge the impact it has had on film, cinema and global popular culture.

If I were to make the breathing sound of Darth Vader's helmet you would immediately know what I was doing. Or the sound of a lightsaber as it hums through the air. How could you not? In just thirty years these sounds, never mind the iconic stories presented in the original trilogy have become seared into the collective mind.

That's why, in many ways, this story just doesn't seem to ring true. I can almost believe that he genuinely hasn't seen any of the films, but his utter lack of knowledge about the films (come on, who doesnt know that the first film is Episode IV? Or even who the characters are?) is unbelievable. Who is he trying to kid? The way the article is written made me laugh out loud when I read it this morning, simply because of the awful way that it is written.

Also, at the top of the article, "Warning: This story contains plot spoilers" - oh come on!

Thirty years ago I was minus three years old, a little glimmer of cellular potential... I never saw the original films at the cinema until their 1997 re-release. I loved them long before that time. I know that I had seen Star Wars many times before, but the first time that I remember watching them on TV was at my nan's house one Saturday afternoon. I would have been ten at most I imagine, but that is the first time that sticks in my mind.

I remember jumping out of my chair in sheer childish joy when the Millennium Falcon first jumps into hyperspace, and I still get a shiver up my spine to this day when that happens.

And in just the same way I get goosebumps during the dramatic moments at the end of The Empire Strikes Back and Return Of The Jedi. I prefer Empire, and I think if I remember right noisms prefers Jedi. We're going to watch one of them tonight I think, and I am going to press hard for Empire.

"Obi-Wan never told you what happened to your father..."
"He told me enough! He told me you killed him!"
"No. I am your father."

Anonymous

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In the grand scheme of things I suppose it doesn't matter if you know who I am or not. Obviously, in order to generate something that even approximates to a readership, I have had to tell some people that I have started a blog with a friend. Given that noisms has put a picture up on his profile (and very nice it looks too) then all of you people will know that I am me and he is he; likewise, if you know him then you will know that this is not him writing what you are reading now.

It doesn't matter if you guess my secret identity, but what about if you (hypothetically) guess the identity of a girl I like whose name I just give you the initial of? What if I give you a different initial, or a different name all together?

What if you are the girl?

What about a funny story, a hilarious tale that is guaranteed to have you in stitches, breathing heavy and collapsed on the floor because of your aching sides? What if it is a story that is really funny, but also could be quite embarrassing to the person or persons concerned?

Is it OK for me to just tell you the story and not worry at all about their feelings? Should I "change their names to protect their identities"? Should I not tell the story at all? Names are important even if we only use them as a placeholder, I can't imagine telling the following story without using a name at all.

At various times in my life I have been bulllied, and while I can look back on it and laugh now, or at the very least think about it without any particularly bad feelings, at the time it was a huge deal. I wonder what Raymond thinks of it all now.

Raymond was the kind of boy who was always going to come to the attention of bullies. He was a small kid, even through 'til the end of secondary school, and often circumstances seemed to gravitate towards him as if he were an attractor for weird situations. He was small, very freckly, slightly hunched and spoke very quietly except when he was particularly excited about something.

During the winter when we were about 11 or 12 there was a sudden flurry of snow one week all over the region. My memory exaggerates and tells me that it was several feet deep everywhere, but it couldn't have been more than a few inches; still for where we lived that was something.

One morning, our regular group of friends, banding together because basically we were the people not cool enough to belong to any other group, were talking on the top yard, shivering in the cold winter air when Raymond came down the steps from the crossing guard. If anything his manner suggested that he was even more dejected and downtrodden than usual, but he didn't wait for us to ask what was wrong before he launched into an angry tirade.

"Last night I was walking home," he began, "When a group of Year 8s ganged up on me-"

"What did they do?!" we all gasped, "Did they mug you?!"

"Worse," he replied.

We were Year 7s, and at this point Year 8s were pretty much the pinnacle of society's evils; for those of us who were bullied in one way or another, it was almost always by "a bigger boy," which was by definition an evil Year 8. Our minds boggled at the thought of something worse than mugging... None of us really knew what being mugged was, but we knew that it involved having all of your money taken. Fifty pence was a lot of money then.

"These three Year 8s saw me," he continued, slightly flustered but at the same time determined, "And they ganged up on me. They picked me up and dumped me head first in a snow drift."

None of us laughed. That's not because we didn't want to, it was just such a ridiculous situation that I don't think any of us could summon up a laugh. I think that we all must have just looked suitably shocked, and Raymond took that as a sign to continue.

"They all laughed at me, snow got in my eyes and mouth and everything, it was horrible! Then it was running down my back and stuff."

"You should walk home a different way tonight," someone suggested, "In case they're there again."

Raymond wouldn't hear of this. Why should he have to take another route home just because some stupid guys wanted to mess around. He shouldn't have to! (well, actually, he shouldn't, these guys shouldn't have been such jerks in the first place) Maybe Raymond should have gone and named names, pointed them out to a teacher, but at the time we all believed that "telling a teacher" never really worked (from personal experience, sometimes it does, sometimes it doesn't, you just have to judge for yourself I think), and so he set off for home that evening wondering what would happen.

The next morning we were waiting for him, and he showed up around the regular time, but today with a big smile on his face.

"What happened?" we asked, The snow was still pretty thick in places, and nothing had really melted since the day before. If there had been a snow drift deep enough to dump him in earlier in the week it would likely still be there now.

"Oh, they dropped me headfirst in a drift again," he said, still grinning, "But they won't tonight."

"Why?"

"Because I've got protection!" he said, smile going even wider.

Protection? Had Raymond arranged to walk home with a sibling? No, he couldn't have, his sister went to another school... Maybe he had paid some other kids to act as bodyguards or lookouts? No, no, that was just silly... Well, what, what could he possibly have that was "protection"?

Raymond reached into his pocket after our questions, and pulled out his protection...

...a pair of swimming goggles.

I'm convinced that he must have taken our silence for awe. He put the blue and yellow goggles on right there and then (I can still see the light fall of snowflakes coming down as he adjusted the band above his ears), and explained it to us:

"This way, tonight, they won't dump me in a snow drift - because I've got the goggles on, the snow won't get in my eyes, so they've got no reason to dump me in the snow. Once they realise that they'll just give up!"

I know what you're thinking, this was startling logic for a 12 year old to employ. It was also, as it happened, completely and utterly wrong...

The next morning the snow had started to melt, but we still waited on the top yard to hear what had happened to Raymond. He turned up, dejected once again, slouching over the yard to fill us in.

"What happened Ray?"
"Did it work?"
"Did they leave you alone?"

"They were waiting for me, saw the goggles and laughed," he began slowly, "I told them that their stupid little prank wouldn't work, that the snow wouldn't get in my eyes. Then..."

"What? What happened?"

"Then they dumped me headfirst in a wheelie bin."

We laughed, not because we were malicious, just because it was so funny. Thinking about it now I still laugh, I'm just that bit older now that it makes me think on...

Maybe at the time it wasn't funny for Raymond. For the most part I think that he was a fairly happy guy, he was odd (and by all accounts I think he still is), but he was harmless, he didn't have a malicious bone in his body. Is he able to look back on these things now and recognise them for the trivial incidents of an otherwise happy childhood?

Would Raymond (clearly after my preamble, this isn't his real name) want this story to be told? I don't know. Should I have to check with everyone who is going to be mentioned in a post before I tell a story or recount something that has happened? If there are secrets or confidences involved perhaps I should say nothing at all, but what about a story like this?

Raymond is a part of my life story, and surely that gives me a right to talk about him. By the same token I should be able to talk about Jimmy, whose father was an author and had a basement full of old shop mannequins...

Or Frances, who at 15 would spend every Friday evening waiting for "her boyfriend" to come and pick her up from youth club in his red sports car. We never met this phantom, every week her explanation was "I don't know where he could have got to, he promised that he would be here!"

Or the guy who at 16 didn't look before he leaped, and foolishly jumped down some stairs at a youth weekend away. It was only four or five steps, but the stupid guy didn't notice the low overhang. His head went straight into it and he just dropped like a rag doll to the floor, waking to see his friends anxiously hovering around him, asking "How many fingers am I holding up?"

It makes me wince just thinking about how much my back hurt from where it hit the steps...

Anonymity and privacy are important, and I think they should be respected. I hope that that doesn't infringe on anything I want to say though.

Whys and Wherefores

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Last week I sat in noisms' kitchen, playing Scrabble with him and his fiancée. We were talking about this and that, and the subject of this blog came up. noisms and I had been talking about doing something like this for a while, making an outlet for the kinds of things that we talked about all the time, and this seemed like the thing to do. If everyone else in the world can put themselves out there, why not us? "What are you talking about?" asked noisms' fiancée. "We're talking about the blog we're starting," he replied, "We're going to write a blog together, the pair of us. We're going to write about all of the things that interest and confuse us, all of the weird stuff that people take for granted and the crap that people go along with because they think that that's what they have to put up with these days." noisms said this in the same way that I had been telling people: saying it with the expectation that we would be recognised as creative individuals, people with something to say who were making themselves heard, who were taking the bull by the horns and doing it their way.

"Oh," said his fiancée, "So what?"

It said it all really. We're not special - no, correction, we're no more special than anyone else. We're just two guys who want to write about things that are important to us, things that we think are interesting, things that make us laugh and things that we want to share.

That's all.