#oneaday, Day 113: Mini-Memes and Offensive GIFs (NSFW)

I have no idea who Bernard Pivot is. The only thing I think of when I hear the word “Pivot” is the array of moderately-to-extremely offensive stickman animations entitled Battle of the Sexes that my friend Sam and I produced using the piece of software of the same name (Pivot, not Battle of the Sexes) while we were back in university, a selection of which you can see at the end of this blog post. That was a very long sentence, wasn’t it? Never mind.

Anyway, the reason I bring up Bernard Pivot is Daniel Lipscombe’s recent post of the same name. Apparently something called Inside the Actors Studio always featured a questionnaire by Mr Pivot that everyone featured would answer. I’m sure Daniel can explain it much better than I can, so go and read his post for more details. I’m just going to answer the questions in a memerrific manner.

Yes, I’m feeling lazy. But I did go and dig into archive.org to go and find those GIF files, previously thought to be lost. I’m good to you, I am. So allow me a little laziness, particularly as I had a job interview today and had to spend seventy-five fucking pounds getting the train to Brighton (65 miles). Ripoff!

I appear to be procrastinating against answering these questions. It’s not deliberate. Here goes:

What is your favorite word?
“Ostensibly”. I’m not sure it’s actually my “favourite”, but I certainly use it a hell of a lot. I guess you could say that ostensibly my favourite word is “ostensibly”. Maybe. But that would make you a prat.
What is your least favorite word?
“Accountability”. Nothing good ever comes of someone using that word. See also: “leverage”, “monetize”, “transparency”, when not used the context of discussing a physical object that is not opaque.
What turns you on?
Porn! Errm, you didn’t mean it like that, did you? An in-depth and deeply, deeply nerdy conversation would be the next best thing.
What turns you off?
Staff meetings in hot, stuffy rooms. I can’t help my eyes getting heavy. I’ve never actually fallen asleep in one but I’ve come perilously close lots of times. Also, spiders.
What sound or noise do you love?
That bubbly sound when you put a straw in a glass of drink and blow.
What sound or noise do you hate?
Bits of polystyrene scraping together.
What is your favorite curse word?
COCK! Said with aplomb.
What profession other than your own would you like to attempt?
I am currently profession-less, technically, unless you count supply teaching. In which case, video game journalism, which I’m sort of doing already anyway. For something completely different, I wouldn’t mind doing something involving driving.
What profession would you not like to do?
Anything that involves sick, poo or blood.
If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?
“Well done for surviving My many challenges that I have thrown in your way! You win my Grand Prize.”

Do have a go at answering these questions in the comments below because I like comments and they make me feel loved and appreciated. While you wait, here are some offensive GIFs involving stickmen and women. I present Battle of the Sexes, a 2005 production of Angry Jedi and Rampant Goose. Click the pics to see the animations, since WordPress doesn’t seem to like displaying inline animated GIFs, at least not in this theme.

Episode 1: First Meeting

Episode 2: Anyone for Tennis?

Episode 3: Man’s Best Friend

Episode 4: Uneasy Alliance

Episode 5: Raging Horn

Episode 6: Supermale

Episode 7: Kiss and Make Up

Episode 8: Big Sister’s Story

Episode 9: Happy Home

I’m sorry. 🙂

#oneaday, Day 112: Hyperbole Squared

Sometimes you come across something – or someone – so utterly wonderful you want to share it – or them – with everyone. Those of you who follow me on Twitter will already know what – or who (okay, I wish I hadn’t started this now, it’s getting tiresome) – I’m talking about. Those of you who have been confused as to why I keep shouting “BAP!” at semi-regular intervals – well, consider yourself prepared for an education.

If you’re wondering who the girl on the right is, this is Allie Brosh. Allie, a self-confessed “sexy lion”, is 24, lives in Montana and has a Boyfriend with a capital B. She also has ADHD, a copy of Paintbrush and a gift for writing things so utterly charming that you can’t help but want to follow the chaotic saga that is her life. Her blog, Hyperbole and a Half, ping-pongs around between heartfelt lucidity, infectious childlike enthusiasm and some of the funniest, most surreal imaginings you’ll ever come across in your travels around the Internet. She also invented the term “mandatory sex party”, which went from being a three-word Googlewhack (so not a true Googlewhack, but I’m not picky) to having 28,800 pages mentioning it in the space of a year. And she apologises for saying fuck a lot.

I have no idea how I found Allie in the first place. I was looking in my Bookmarks Bar in Google Chrome and saw that mysterious » symbol mocking me at the end as if to say “ORGANISE YOUR BOOKMARKS, YOU TOOL!” I clicked on it just to see what forgotten secrets it was hiding and saw a peculiar-looking entry in the pop-up menu that appeared.

“Hyperbole and a Half,” it said. “Come and look. That’s an intriguing title, isn’t it?”

It didn’t actually speak. That would be weird. But anyway, I clicked on the entry to see what it was and was confronted with this post. It made me laugh. A lot. Particularly because of the drawings. Well-done bad MS Paint drawings are always amusing, but Allie has a real talent for drawing hugely expressive faces with the simplest of shapes. This, coupled with the prose, made me know immediately that this was something I wanted to keep reading. So I checked out the featured posts she had in her sidebar.

After reading the first paragraph of this post and looking at the picture, I was literally crying with laughter for a good five minutes. That’s not an exaggeration. Any time I look at the “BAP!” picture (in fact, any time I even imagine the picture) I start giggling uncontrollably. It was perfect – even more so because I know that I’ve done something similar before. The word “COCK!” became a useful, if moderately offensive, shortcut to fill dead air in a conversation for my friends and I some years back, and even as I creep closer to 30 I don’t see that situation changing any time soon. (I’m in touch with my inner child. Sue me. I am rubber, you are glue and all that.)

Also, this.

Once the giggles had subsided, I decided to delve back into Allie’s archives and read her posts from the beginning, which turned out to be the middle of last year. Her blog has evidently changed a lot over time, with it starting out as an opportunity for her to get the things that are seemingly racing around her head out onto a page and shared with the world as quickly as possible. She writes like I imagine her talking – quickly, enthusiastically, jumping from one subject to another and often getting distracted by something, veering off onto a complete tangent and oh look a squirrel that’s nice isn’t it? And she writes about everyday things people get excited about. Destroying snow. Getting drunk and going down a slide, only to find yourself giggling on the floor for a good few minutes afterwards. Grammar pedantry. Imagining monsters in the ice.

Okay, so some of the things she writes about aren’t exactly “everyday” things. But at times, there’s a beautiful, childlike innocence to the way she writes and at others, there’s a wonderful sense of heartfelt sincerity and honesty. There’ll be at least one story she tells on the pages of her blog that everyone can relate to, whether it’s the description of her shower being incapable of anything except “lava water” or “liquid ice”, the tales of her weird neighbour who always collars her for “therapy-time” or her account of the mission she went on to hijack someone’s Wi-Fi just so she could post.

Peppered throughout the blog are more of her hugely expressive MS Paint creations, always there to support one of her stories in a hilariously visual manner. I haven’t yet caught up with the “present day”, but I guess (judging from the recent posts) at some point she started to move more towards the “humour” angle and further away from the “personal stories” angle. In some ways, this is a shame, as the stories she tells about herself are always incredibly entertaining, but fortunately she has a wonderful sense of comedy, too.

So if you’re at a loose end, looking for something to read or want cheering up in a hurry, I strongly encourage you to go and check out Hyperbole and a Half. Be warned, though, once that sexy lion has her claws into you you won’t want to let her go!

#oneaday, Day 111: Post-Mortem

Good morning! Lovely day, isn’t it? Who am I kidding? It’s grey and miserable outside and I woke up at midday. Rather than just lying there stewing in my own self-pity and the stench of a night out, though, I decided to get out into the fresh air and locate some decent coffee before I melted into a puddle of apathy on the floor. Now I’m back and not actually feeling too bad.

After any drunken night out, it’s always wise to take stock of anything stupid you may have done in order to prepare yourself for any potential repercussions. As technology has advanced, the number of ways in which one can humiliate oneself has exponentially increased. Pre-mobile phones, you could just make a twat of yourself in person. Then there were phone calls. Then there were text messages, emails, tweets, Facebook, blogs and all manner of other media with which to do something dumb. Fortunately, the evidence seems to suggest that I only used a few of these last night. This was largely due to the fact my iPhone battery ran out partway through the evening thanks to us all playing with the Omegle app in the pub before moving on to nightclub “Unit”, where ChatRoulette was playing on a big screen, cocks and all.

So, let’s look at the statistics, then.:

Friends getting lost: 1
Friends unable to open their own front door because they were turning their key the wrong way: 1 (the same person)

Phone calls made: 0
Phone calls received: 2 (from the above person)

Voicemails left: 0
Voicemails received: 1 (from the above person)

Text messages sent: 18
Text messages received: 11
Text messages sent to people I shouldn’t have: 0 (whew)
Text messages I regret sending: 0 (double whew)
Text messages along the lines of “I LUV U UR SO AWESOME LOL”: 4
Text messages containing spelling errors: 17
Text messages containing perfect spelling: 1
Text messages containing errant punctuation: 1
Inadvertent mentions of sadistic/masochistic sexual practices: 1

Tweets tweeted: 13
@replies: 1
Mentions of friends trying to kill me: 1
Aspersions cast on friends’ respective sexualities: 2
Aspersions cast on friends’ respective sexualities based on their taste in music: 1
Twitpics/yFrogs: 3
Tweets containing the same picture inadvertently posted twice: 1
Tweets containing hand-drawn “artist’s impressions”: 1
BAP!s: 1
Tweets in ALL CAPS: 0.75
Tweets attempting to quote Annie Lennox songs and failing: 1
Tweets using the hashtag #drunk: 2
Perfectly spelled tweets: 2
Unnecessary requests for readers to fuck off: 1

Blogs posted: 1
Spelling errors in blog: 0
Blog lucidity: 95%
Mentions of men masturbating on webcams being horrifying and compelling at the same time: 1

Not bad. Could be worse. Let’s see a few highlights then, shall we? I hasten to add, these are all ones I sent, not received. Let’s start with some text messages:

Typical post-drunken “THANK YOU FOR AN AWESOME NIGHT!” text. Note the time. I’m impressed I managed to somehow insert a web address and misspell my own name. And what “sebsexbexsusecim” means is anyone’s guess. It’s probably not what you think. Let’s do itcagsin sometime.

The top message covers several of the above bases. We have the “I LUV U UR AWESOME” (“I need to ve ariuvs awesome people and you are awesome. :)”). We have errant punctuation (“..23@@”) and a whole lot of misspelled words. Then underneath we have a beautifully lucid one, proving that the nonsense was more a product of typing too hastily rather than complete spastication. Also, watch out or o can come koj you.

I wasn’t aware my mam was there. Nor do I remember any S&M going on. But it’s all right, because I apologies forcant errors. Note that I appeared to have given up attempting to type “Pete” by this point.

Here are the tweets. I think I can let them speak for themselves. Click for a close-up and read from bottom to top.

And I’ll leave you with my “artist’s impression” of ChatRoulette, drawn using Brushes for iPhone while this very situation was unfolding on the big screen a few metres away from us:

NEXT! NEXT! OH MY GOD! CLICK THE NEXT BUTTON! QUICK!

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#oneaday, Day 110: Hic!

It’s nearly 4am and I’m pissed as a fart. This is officially the first #oneaday I’ve done while under the influence of any sort of substance, so I apologise in advance for any typos or nonsense I am about to produce. I have already tweeted a whole load of shit, so if you’re really into the idea of reading drunken bullshit, I suggest you follow me on Twitter.

I went out tonight. I was meeting up with some friends I used to work with and have really been missing recently. Some of them know the details of what has been going on in my personal life recently, others don’t. (Incidentally, if you’re reading this right now and don’t know the details, I’m not quite ready to make it completely public just yet. Give it time.) The best thing about this evening is that my friends know how to have a good time with the minimum of fuss. There were no difficult conversations required, no prerequisites for the fun we were going to have, just an inordinately large amount of alcohol, some frankly fatal-sounding concoctions that I’m almost certain I’m going to regret in a few hours’ time and an awful lot of homoerotic dancing.

I apologise profusely to all my friends for fondling their nipples in a distinctly inappropriate manner, but none of you seemed to mind at the time.

Friends are great. I encourage you all to get some. As in some you can go out and see on a regular basis. I absolutely love my online friends and trust them absolutely, but sometimes there is no substitute for being in the same physical place as other people, letting your hair down and acting like a complete twat. There’s nothing I’d love more than to do the same with all the members of the Squadron of Shame. One day, perhaps. But for now, a huge shout-out to @dollydaydream, @kslice47, @HarmlessSaucer and @lukejhall for an enormously fun night out involving considerable amounts of drinking and watching ChatRoulette on a big screen.

Seriously, guys, what sort of person are you if you’re quite happy to go onto a webcam site and masturbate in front of someone you don’t know? Disturbing, but horribly, horribly compelling.

#oneaday, Day 109: Southampton Photowalk

It’s election day, but other people have much more fascinating and well-informed opinions on that than me. So instead I’ll share what I was doing this evening, which was wandering around Southampton in the company of various local Twitter types, and taking lots of photographs.

It’s easy to think of Southampton as a shithole sometimes. But there’s lots of interesting stuff around, perhaps most notably the ancient city walls that are scattered around the place. The nice thing about wandering around with photography enthusiasts, though, is that you don’t feel quite so self-conscious taking photos of weird things. Like a rusty old padlock. Or the shutter on a shop. Or a particularly interesting piece of grating. Or indeed lying on the floor to get some nice close-ups of dandelions.

It was a fun evening, a chance to hang out with some lovely people and an opportunity to visit some parts of Southampton (well, a pub) that I’d never seen before. For future reference, the Duke of Wellington pub on Bugle Street is very nice. A proper old pub, with wooden floors and beams and everything. Apparently the food’s good too.

Anyway, without further ado, here are a selection of unretouched photos.

#oneaday, Day 108: Just Like Marilyn Monroe

I went dancing last night. Yes, you read that correctly. You can blame @Amy_Walker for the bizarre image you undoubtedly have in your head right now. She twisted my arm rather less than I expected she’d have to and I agreed to go along and give it a try.

“It?” I hear you cry. Doubtless you’re wondering exactly what kind of wibbling around on the dance floor I was taking part in. Could it be ballet? (No. I don’t look good in tights.) Street dance? (No. Largely because the music makes me want to throw dustbins. But also because it looks far too difficult.) Ballroom dancing? (No. I don’t grin like an idiot enough.)

Dance in question was Mo’Jive, which is, I believe, short for Modern Jive. (Apostrophes make everything cooler, as everyone knows.) It’s actually kind of difficult to describe, but appears to involve lots of holding hands, offering resistance, spinning people around and trying not to accidentally grab anyone’s boobs. It appears to be a pretty versatile sort of dance, too, with the music that was played ranging from the very modern to more traditional stuff from the 50s and 60s. It’s deceptively energetic, too. Although the moves themselves feel relatively straightforward to perform in terms of the amount of effort involved (if not in the considerable amount of coordination required) by the end of the night I felt like I’d had a decent workout. Obviously not quite the same as lifting weights or anything, but definitely from a cardio perspective, things were happening.

I learned three moves throughout the course of the evening which I believe were called the First Move, Push Spin; the Hatchback; and the Man Spin. The geek in me was delighted that I had genuinely learned a selection of moves that sounded like they’d require some pretty advanced button combinations to pull off. (“Man Spin” is quarter-circle forward followed by punch and kick together, if you’re curious.) The social spaz in me was delighted that I didn’t make a complete tit of myself in front of lots of different people. And, well, just me was delighted that I was actually doing something I’d never done before and never thought I would do.

Okay. I made mistakes. I kept using the wrong hand halfway through a Man Spin. I occasionally did too many turns in the middle of a First Move, Push Spin. Sometimes I got completely lost and had to start the whole sequence again. But by the end of the night, I was looking surprisingly convincing. Amy even told me earlier today that several friends she knew from the sessions had mentioned how quickly and well I’d picked things up – especially considering I’d never tried it before. She assured me that she wasn’t just saying it to make me feel better, too. I think I believe her.

I had a good time. No, a really great time, actually. After recent events, I’ve found it especially important to get out there and do stuff. Sitting at home being miserable isn’t going to achieve anything. So I’m glad I stepped out of my comfort zone for once and pushed myself to do something that I wouldn’t normally have even contemplated doing. And more to the point, the results were far from disastrous. It’s given me a bit of much-needed confidence, and God knows I need some of that right now.

I’ll leave you with this, which has to win the Scary and Hilarious Music Video of the Week award. Gotta love the Right Said Fred. Enjoy.

Post-Script: I hasten to add that the Mo’Jive class Amy and I attended didn’t involve any topless bald men, bikini-clad ladies or swimming pools. Or indeed dancing in the style seen in the video. If you’re curious about what it’s actually all about, check out the Mo’Club here.

#oneaday, Day 107: An Open Letter to Hampshire County Council

Kalvinder Athwal
HR Assistant
Pay and Contract Support Services
Hampshire County Council
3rd Floor, Hampshire House
84-98 Southampton Road
Eastleigh SO50 5PA

Dear Mr Athwal,

Thank you for your letter of 27 April 2010, received today, which coincides beautifully with 1) my birthday, 2) [REDACTED BAD THING], 3) my unemployment and 4) my finances reaching breaking point. You are indeed correct that I left my employment with [REDACTED] on the 19th of March 2010. One would have assumed that one’s employers would be in possession of a working payroll department, however, and therefore would have had the good sense to make a note of one’s time of departure at the time one gave one’s notice.

Imagine my surprise, then, when I receive a letter today informing me that due to the incompetence of someone in your department (this was implied, you unfortunately weren’t honest enough to admit it), I have been “overpaid” to the tune of £854.65. That, as I am sure you can appreciate, is quite a lot of money, especially to someone who is not currently in full-time employment. I am sure you are “looking forward” to receiving my payment as you so politely say in your letter, rubbing your greasy hands with glee no doubt, but I am afraid to say that you will be waiting some time for your payment, whether or not you have enclosed an “official” invoice.

You see, Mr Athwal, your department’s incompetence does not only stretch to continuing to pay people after they have left their employment – with several months’ notice, I might add – but also to failing to issue them a contract of employment in the first place. I joined [REDACTED] in November 2009 and left in March 2010. By my calculations, I was working there for some five months, during which time I asked on a number of occasions when I would be issued with an “official” (there’s that word again) contract. Unfortunately, I never received one of these contracts, meaning that I am technically not bound to any of the terms and conditions associated with said non-existent contract. Considering your department is called “Pay and Contract Support Services” and that you have failed to show any degree of competence in either of those areas, I would strongly suggest that the Council saves its money and asks that you all find something else to do with your time. Perhaps they can “overpay” you after your departure too. But – oh no! – with your department closed, who will write the politely worded yet threatening letters regarding “recovering the amount overpaid”?

In the meantime, I enclose a copy of your invoice, which I invite you to take in hand, roll into a tight tube and then jam straight up your arse.

Yours sincerely,

Pete Davison

#oneaday, Day 106: Crystallised Memories

It’s funny how certain objects come to have memories attached to them. Inanimate, unremarkable objects. They could be an item of furniture. They could be a book. They could be a piece of technology. They could be a stuffed toy.

Look around the room you’re in right now. Look at some of the things that are sitting in it. And not just the big things, or things which are specifically designed to evoke a memory, like photographs.

What memories are attached to, say, the lamp by the side of your bed? Or the clock radio? Or the bookcase? Or the books which lay discarded on the floor? Or that mark on the wall? If you think about it, you can probably attach a memory to every tiny little thing that you can see in any room – assuming you’ve had the time to “get to know” that room, of course.

When you move on to a new place, sometimes other peoples’ memories are left behind. They may take away the things that can be carried, packed into boxes or loaded into a van, but some things can’t be taken away. A whole room can hold memories, both good and bad. And it doesn’t have to be just one memory at a time. In the room where I am right now I can see things which represent good times, things which represent bad times, and things which represent the very worst of times. Some objects in this room represent more than one thing. Some things hold conflicting emotions. Those things are confusing, but the important thing to remember is that the object holds all of those memories, not just the bad ones.

It’s easy to let bad memories and bad experiences colour everything that you do. They say bad experiences and bad memories help to make you stronger. It may well be true, but it doesn’t make them any easier to live through, or to relive. But, as received wisdom has it, it’s the sum of our experiences that make us who we are. And it’s by examining the sum of those experiences that we, ourselves, can learn to understand who we are.

I’m not sure I really know who I am. I’ve drifted along for so long, wondering if I’m doing the right thing for myself and for other people. I don’t feel like I’ve found it yet, and recent events (which I won’t be going into detail about here) have made me think that no, clearly I’m not doing the right thing – for myself, more than anything else. It’s a selfish attitude to take, but when it comes down to it, the only person’s destiny that you have any control over is your own. You can’t always live your life for the approval of other people, least of all if you’re not happy yourself.

So that’s why when some of these crystallised memories disappear, when some are left behind and some are taken with me to wherever life takes me next, I know that’s just another step. There have been missteps, and there have been backwards steps, but they’re all steps nonetheless; steps on that long, arduous, exhausting and frankly irritating journey that they call life.

I’m kind of ready to get where I’m supposed to be going now, thanks. I thought I was already there for a while, but there actually seem to be some significant engineering works in the way. Where’s the nearest replacement bus service?

#oneaday, Day 105: Under the Hammer – One (1) Self

I’ve discovered at great, great cost over the years that one should really value oneself more. Because if you don’t value yourself, then it’s going to be very difficult for other people to do the same, too.

Take me. I don’t value myself, even though I know that others do. Because I don’t value myself, I don’t value my own opinions. I don’t think my own opinions are worth listening to. When I post my opinions online in the form of this blog, that’s fine. I can put my ideas out there and if people like them, great. If people want to talk about them, great. If people don’t like them, that’s fine too. If I don’t want to deal with a violent disagreement with something I’ve put (not that I think that’s ever happened) I can just hide. I can delete the comment. I can keep out of trouble, in short.

When dealing with people face-to-face, though, it’s a different matter. If someone’s standing right in front of you and you say something objectionable, there’s no hiding. There’s no deleting their response. You just have to deal with it. Now, there have only been a couple of times in my life where I’ve said something and I didn’t like what the other person said in response. In all those cases, I know I was the one in the right, but it didn’t make it any easier to hear negativity coming from the other party. And that’s what makes me afraid to say things sometimes. I start to think that the other person won’t want to listen to what I’ve got to say, that it’s not valid somehow, that it’s not worth saying. And then I start to think about all the possible responses the other person might come out with. And I assume they’re going to come out with the worst possible response. And not wanting to deal with that worst possible response makes me not want to say anything in the first place. It’s a vicious cycle that’s difficult to break.

Having such a low opinion of yourself is, as you can probably imagine, semi-to-very crippling when it comes to dealing with society at large. Take our Neanderthal friend from the other day, for example. Although I know he’s a complete dick for insulting a random stranger, his words cut deep because I was already thinking pretty poorly of myself, and to discover that other people whom I don’t know have immediately judged me on the same criteria is just horrible. I was so upset by his remarks that I cut a walk into town short and came straight home.

“Man up,” you may say. “Grow a pair.” But it’s not that simple. It’s not about being confident or “masculine” or anything like that. It’s about believing in yourself to such a degree that stupid insults can just bounce off you and that you can say whatever you please with confidence, knowing that it’s your opinion and while not everyone else may agree with it, you have just as much right to say it as the next person. It’s not about arrogance and believing that you’re always right. It’s about feeling that you are able to say those things without feeling embarrassed or self-conscious. And it’s about being able to respond to things that other people say – both positive and negative – without feeling choked inside.

If there’s one thing that recent events have taught me, it’s that I need to value myself more, and believe that the things I say are worth listening to. It’s not easy, though. When you’ve spent as long thinking as badly of yourself as I have, it’s difficult to break that habit.

#oneaday, Day 104: Silence is…

I’ve been back home visiting my folks for the past couple of days. They read this, so don’t be expecting any uncomplimentary remarks, not that I’d do that anyway!

It’s been quite some time since I’ve been home. Even longer since my brother and I were both here. Since he was in the country this weekend, I took the opportunity to catch up with my whole family at once. My immediate family, anyway.

It’s always odd coming back to your childhood stomping grounds. There’s always something different to how you remember it, whether it’s a new housing development that never used to be there, the fact that your childhood home now has double-glazed windows (despite past insistences that would never happen) or the cars across the road being a different colour. Changes are always particularly striking when you’ve been away for a while.

The biggest change since I grew up here is probably the silence. I don’t know if it’s the fact the cat is no longer with us, the fact that the aforementioned double-glazing keeps the noise out quite well or simply that there’s not been any music on the stereo while I’ve been here. But I’ve become so accustomed to living in a relatively noisy environment – living in a city centre, enjoying activities that make noise – that the silence here is strange. It feels like something’s missing, like it should be filled with something,

But silence doesn’t have to be filled. There’s no need for noise all the time. Perhaps John Cage was on to something when he composed 4’33”.

Funny where your mind wanders in the silence of the dead of night.