#oneaday Day 600: Childish Fancies and The Faces Traffic Lights Pull

When you’re a kid — or, more specifically, if you’re me as a kid, your imagination sometimes likes to play tricks on you. Or perhaps it’s not “tricks” as such, but more a sense of artistic verisimilitude, or other such pretentious-sounding words. In simple terms, my mind liked to imagine that mundane things looked like other things.

Electricity pylons, for example, looked like an angry moustachio’d man. They stood there in the fields and meadows of the English countryside, glowering down at me as I sat in the back seat of my parents’ car on the way somewhere. I was always most keenly aware of them on long journeys, particularly the ride from Cambridgeshire to my grandparents’ home in the West Midlands. This was a journey of about two hours or so which was largely motorway based, and so there was relatively little to look at save electricity pylons for the majority of the route. (There was also the mass of TV and radio aerials near the town of Daventry, which our whole family knew was where King Graham was from, even though said farm of masts didn’t appeal in the King’s Quest series even once, disappointingly.)

I don’t feel such a strong sense of “alternate identity” with electricity pylons any more. That side of my childish imagination has gone the way of my childhood. But certain things have stuck with me — chief among which is the fact that I genuinely believe that traffic lights look like faces.

No, wait, stay with me. Let me describe it first and if you’re still not convinced I’ll draw you a picture.

Red lights are looking somewhat surprised, wide-eyed and open mouthed. Red and amber together are still eyebrows raised, but pleasantly surprised — a smile is creeping onto their lips. A green light is grinning with eyes closed — the facial expression most commonly associated with the obnoxiously overused emoticon “XD” nowadays — and an amber light, preparing to return to red, is eyes closed, looking worried — the kind of expression you might pull before driving your pedal car into an expensive plant pot, or something like that.

No? I can see I’m going to have to demonstrate this in a visual manner.

[Pause, while Pete fumbles with Paint.net]

All right. You want proof? Here it is. Traffic lights pull faces. And if I don’t convince you after this, then your sense of childish imagination is disappointingly withered, possibly dead. So there.

All right. That may not be the most compelling evidence ever put down on paper (real or virtual) but it’s what I saw as a kid and it’s what I still see now. I bet there’s something weird you look at in the same way. It may not be traffic lights, but I bet there’s something.

#oneaday Day 599: Black Dog

The fragility of my own emotions infuriates me sometimes. I know it’s partly just who I am — I’ve always been on the sensitive side — and partly to do with our old friend Des, the Black Dog, whatever you want to call it. But it doesn’t stop it being any less irritating when what was a perfectly good day can be spoiled by something as simple as an unkind word from a stranger.

Such as it was today. I’m not going to go into too specific detail because there’s really no need to. Suffice to say, I got up feeling reasonably positive, did my EA Sports Active workout an appropriate amount of time after breakfast (OatSoSimple, aka oatmeal, aka porridge) and despite knackering my whole body (yet never creeping into the “zone 5” on the heart rate graph which either means “you’re working super-crazy pro athlete hard” or “you’re about to die”) I came out of the experience feeling refreshed, positive and ready to tackle the day.

And the day went pretty well, too. I decided to experiment with the nice EA lady’s suggestion of 5-6 small “meals” per day (basically an invitation to snack every couple of hours, albeit on healthy foods) and see how that worked. That seemed to go well too — when I got to lunchtime I didn’t feel the need to stuff myself on crisps and whatnot as well as my sammich because I’d already had some fruit a couple of hours previously. I see how this works.

The day continued to go reasonably well until our old friend, the Internet, dredges up its favourite way of flooring those who lack self-confidence — trolling from strangers. I know it’s really not worth getting wound up over the opinions of people I will possibly never meet, ever. But I can’t help it. As I outlined above, it’s the kind of person I am. I need to develop a thicker skin against this sort of thing — but old habits die hard and all that.

It infuriates me how a few simple hurtful comments can turn an otherwise positive day into one which reminds me that the Black Dog is still very much at my gate, ready to sneak in at any opportunity. He can usually be dispatched with a good rant at someone or an hour or two on Xenoblade Chronicles, but he’ll be back. He always is.

One day he might leave me be, but sadly that day is not today.

#oneaday Day 598: Activity, Ho!

My copy of EA Sports Active 2 showed up today. I went for the PS3 version as it seemed the most practical option thanks to its wireless motion sensing armbands. I don’t have a Kinect and the Wii version sees you constantly getting tangled up in the Nunchuk cable, which isn’t ideal. The motion sensing on the Wii version is a bit dodgy at times, too. (It is a little on the PS3 version, as it happens, but that may just be my appalling posture.)

So, how was it? It’s good. While the graphics are functional at best even in glorious HD, the game, like its predecessor, puts up a good fight. By the end of your 30-ish minute workout you’ll likely be sweating. The addition of a heart rate monitor to the mix also lets you see how hard you’re working yourself, which is pretty neat.

There’s a good broad range of exercises on offer, too, and not all of them are straight muscle workouts. There’s a nice mix of simple motion games that require “proper” exercise moves to complete alongside more traditional stretches and resistance exercises. And the warmups and cooldown stretches are much better integrated than in the previous version — rather than simply doing low intensity versions of other exercises, there are now dedicated warmup and cooldown stretches to complete, which bookend your workout nicely.

The resistance band is, once again, rather flimsy and doesn’t offer very much resistance. With the wireless armbands, however, you’re free to use your own weights and can even tell the game what you’re using for it to more accurately calculate your calorie usage. This is neat — I may look into acquiring some weights for use alongside the programme, if only to avoid being constantly outwitted by that stupid elastic band.

After one workout, it seems good. There’s a nice range of “gamey” features to encourage motivation — there’s a “gauge” to fill each day, for example, encouraging you to complete exercises and the game’s surveys, and a wide range of trophies to unlock and publicly brag to your friends about.

There’s also some online functionality that I’d be keen to try out once we get Internetz here. I’m not sure what it offers but it appears there’s some sort of “group” system, presumably allowing friends to motivate each other. If anyone else out there has a copy and wants to group up once I get Internet next Tuesday, just let me know.

And so it’s time for a rest now. ‘Cause I’m bloody knackered.

#oneaday Day 597: An Open Letter to That Guy Driving Up My Arse with His Lights on Full

Dear Sir,

I have not bothered to address this post “Dear Sir/Madam” because you and I both know that if there’s someone on the road driving like a dicktwat, it’s inevitably a person of the penis-sporting bloke persuasion, and often sporting a small penis at that. (I have no actual empirical or scientific evidence for this, but it is a fact.)

I write with regard to your driving this evening, when you drove up our arse (not literally) with your lights on full (literally) in an attempt to overtake by any means necessary. I can only assume that you were either on some sort of secret mission and being pursued by Polish mobsters or that you were Polish mobsters pursuing someone on a secret mission. Otherwise I can’t possibly imagine what would require you to get past quite so urgently on a relatively quiet Wiltshire road at about 7.30 in the evening.

I do hope you didn’t find the fact that we were driving relatively slowly to be too much of an inconvenience. Obviously being in our own car we were unable to hear what you were saying, but doubtless you were encouraging us to drive faster. However, as you undoubtedly discovered when you did eventually get past, we were ourselves driving behind a large milk lorry which felt the need to brake for every slight corner, however shallow it might have been.

I trust that nothing in your car’s interior or about your person was on fire at the time of you requiring to get past with such urgency. As I have already intimated, I am somewhat at a loss as to exactly why you would need to be in front of us quite so urgently. Perhaps your scrotum was being eaten by a flesh-eating bacteria and you were on the way to receive treatment at a hospital. However, if this was indeed the case and you find yourself the unfortunate victim of scrotal flesh-eating bacteria again in the near future, I would encourage you to call for an ambulance rather than attempting to drive there yourself. Having your scrotum eaten by flesh-eating bacteria is doubtless somewhat painful, or at the least somewhat irritating, which would take your attention off the road to an arguably dangerous degree. While it may be embarrassing to explain to the nice ladies and gentlemen on the 999 line that your scrotum is being slowly ingested by said flesh-eating bacteria, you’ll only have to explain yourself in person when you eventually arrive at the hospital clutching your ballsack to yourself like a bag of marbles with a hole in it.

Perhaps I have misjudged you. Perhaps you were, in fact, on a humanitarian mission to deliver food to poverty-stricken families in a Third World country. If this was indeed the case, however, you are a long way from the nearest airport, being in deepest darkest Wiltshire as you were. And although there are plenty of hills here, I doubt very much that parking atop one of them and throwing the food off would carry it far enough to reach its intended recipients.

Or perhaps I was correct in my initial snap judgement of you in that I believe you are a bellend. The fact you overtook first us and then the milk lorry on a dark road with little regard for whether or not anything was coming the other way suggests something of a devil-may-care attitude towards life which some people may find laudable but others may find to be the mark of a tit-faced wanksplat. I am, as you may have guessed, in the latter category.

I remain, sir,

Yours,

Pete Davison

#oneaday Day 596: Back in the Saddle

(As an aside, I heard the song “Back in the Saddle Again” the other day for the first time and I thought it was incredibly dull. This means nothing to the following blog post, I just thought I’d share it.)

In the next few days/weeks/months I will be resuming some sort of fitness plan. I went out and investigated local gyms the other day — there are two nearby, one of which has a slightly inferior gym but also has a swimming pool, jacuzzi and sauna, while the other has a much larger, superior gym and a significantly more “hardcore” attitude, from the looks of things.

Hopefully after payday Andie and I will be joining one of the two (likely the former, as we both like swimming) and torturing ourselves into something resembling shape. Or at least slightly more fit. We shall see.

In the meantime, I found a cheap copy of EA Sports Active 2 for PS3 on Amazon, so I snapped it up while I had the chance. The original for Wii was very good (though I must confess to never having finished the “30 day challenge” mode) but slightly marred by a resistance band which offered very little in the way of resistance and a leg strap which repeatedly fell off. Having a Nunchuk and Wii Remote wired around your hands while faffing around with the resistance band was a bit of a pain, too. The PS3 version comes with its own arm and leg bands that can’t get tangled up in anything — apparently the leg strap is still a little prone to slipping off but I can live with that — and also doesn’t require any additional hardware, unlike the Xbox version, which requires Kinect.

I enjoy exercising with games and have done ever since EyeToy Kinetic brought the idea to my attention. EyeToy Kinetic wasn’t perfect by any means — though this was more down to the limitations of EyeToy than anything else — but it was proof that video games can get you up off the couch and moving around. That’s not to say (as some people assume) that all games must get you up off the couch and moving around. But if a few can, that’s good for everyone, surely.

Wii Fit was similarly good, though disappointingly lacking in structure and challenge — before I came across the first EA Sports Active title I took to doing the 30 minute stepping programme with my own music on (a combination of Space Channel 5 and Persona if I remember correctly) in order to up the challenge factor a bit. The muscle exercises were good but without the game forcing you to do specific ones it was easy to fall into the habit of avoiding the “painful” ones and doing the “easy” ones all the time. EA Sports Active, on the other hand, puts together a programme for you each day and you follow it. Sure, you can build your own to avoid the difficult ones again, but since the structure is there in the first place you feel more inclined to follow it.

I’m looking forward to trying it, anyway. It should be here in the next couple of days, and then I can support any work I do at the gym with EA Sports Active days. If the pre-made programmes work anything like the original, there’ll be “rest” days which I fully intend on using the gym on so the two things will hopefully complement each other nicely.

We’ll see. Good intentions and all that.

#oneaday Day 595: Life Expectancy

I forgot to blog about a book I read while I was away in Germany, and that is Life Expectancy by Dean Koontz, recommended to me by one Jeff “Feenwager” Parsons. Such was the impact that said book clearly had on our Jeff, if you happen to have him on your Xbox Live friends list and then start reading this book, you’ll likely have the same reaction as I did.

But anyway. Enough about Jeff and his Gamertag — what about the book?

It was a great read. It helped a great deal that the book was narrated by a likeable character who was honest about when narrating things which took place at different times didn’t quite make sense — how could he possibly remember what was happening when he was born, for example? In fact, the whole cast of the book was made up of strong characters, from our protagonists to some of the more minor people who had a role to play in the story.

The structure was interesting, too — for those unfamiliar with the novel, it’s centred around one Jimmy Tock, who entered the world just as his grandfather departed it. Said grandfather came out with a series of chilling predictions on his deathbed, which Jimmy’s life then begins to revolve around. We join the tale after four out of the “five terrible days” have already taken place, so there’s some tension as Jimmy narrates the events, but we at least know that he’s going to be all right — until we reach the last one, that is.

Jimmy, it has to be said, is a bit of a joker and there are at least two occasions in the novel where he outright lies to the reader only to come back with the literary equivalent of “lol jk” at the start of the next chapter. Unreliable narrators are one thing, but having a narrator who outright lies to you is a new one on me. It elevated the prose somewhat above the usual fare you get with first-person narration — it was more like someone actually talking to you. Pretty cool.

I enjoyed the novel a great deal, in other words — and I’m consciously trying not to give away any spoilers here. It was a thrill ride that kept me interested from start to finish. I’d never read anything by Koontz before, but my good experience with this piece is enough to make me interested to try some of his other stuff.

As always, if anyone has any recommendations along those lines, do feel free to let me know.

#oneaday Day 594: Pus, Pus, Pus

Certain words beautifully sum up their own characteristics. They don’t require any extra adjectives to be wonderfully descriptive and evocative, and through their use it becomes possible to manipulate the emotions of others — usually in a negative manner.

Take the word “pus” for example. Even if you’re unaware of what pus actually is, simply expectorating that word sounds unpleasant — there’s no real need to add adjectives such as “oozing”, “bubbling”, “dribbling” or the like (though they help) in order to make it absolutely clear that the word you’re talking about is an unpleasant thing.

Ditto for “sputum”. In fact, it can be said for most bodily fluids — urine, sperm, mucus, bile and all manner of others. Part of this can perhaps be attributed to the fact that some of these words have alternate meanings — “bile” in particular is one which is bandied around somewhat, particularly when referring to unfair criticism.

Thinking of all these disgusting words, it actually becomes somewhat difficult to think of more pleasant ones which work in quite such a powerful manner. Bodily fluids are right out the window, obviously (not literally… hopefully), since none of those are especially pleasant. “Effervescent” is quite a nice word, though not many people remember what it means, even when looking at packets of Solpadeine.

Somewhere between the positive and negative camps is the word “rich”. Whenever I hear the word “rich” either in the context of food or pretentious discussion of “content”, I think of chocolate cake. This is obviously a positive connotation (assuming you like chocolate cake) but is clearly somewhat inappropriate when contemplating a website with a “rich content strategy” or a “rich interface” or whatever bollocks the marketers are spouting this week. But a big sticky slice of chocolate cake is often described as having a “rich” flavour, and hopefully not being filled with pus or anything like that. There, put you right off now, didn’t I?

Words are powerful, crafty little things. Obviously my experience with them lies in English. I often wonder if other languages are as rich — there’s that word again — in associations and imagery. German, for example, is a very literal language (the German word for bra literally means “breast-stopper”, for example) and due to its habit of capitalising all nouns, not just proper ones, often looks like it’s being a lot more formal than it actually is. It’d be like writing that you were going to the Shops with some Friends to buy some Bread and Milk. All wrong — to us anyway.

There was a point somewhere in all this but I’m feeling somewhat sleepy as we’ve spent the weekend putting a new bed together and installing a freezer. So I will be bidding you good night now, and joining the Americans in having a pleasant day off for Labor (yes, Labor — I’m an honorary American so far as public holidays are concerned) Day tomorrow.

Try not to ooze any pus onto the sheets.

#oneaday Day 593: X Marks the Spot

I watched The X-Factor tonight and for once didn’t immediately want to rip my eyeballs out and fling them at the TV. I’m not entirely sure of the precise reasons for this, as the tried and tested formula for the show — including the overuse of Carmina Burrana — is present and correct. But I think it can almost entirely be attributed to Simon Cowell.

For many people, Simon Cowell was The X-Factor. His cynical, rude, petty observations masquerading as “feedback” were the main reason many people watched the show. His boorishness and arrogance was perversely appealing; he became an anti-hero, a person people loved to hate.

But now he’s no more; the panel is now made up of Louis Walsh (wishy washy as ever); Tulisa from N-Dubz (arguably the only one from that particular outfit to have any vague talent and even if she doesn’t is at least semi-hot); Kelly Rowland (American); and Gary Barlow. It’s a lineup made up almost entirely of recording artists rather than record execs, and that gives it a different feeling altogether. While it’s easy to be cynical about the pop fluff that Tulisa, Rowland and Barlow have ejaculated from their vocal cords, they’ve experienced the business firsthand and are musicians — or at least performers. The feedback they’ll be able to offer the prospective stars, then, will be of a different type to that from record execs who always have one eye on the bottom line. Possibly, anyway.

The audition phase — which now inexplicably takes place in front of a massive audience — also seems to have been toned down somewhat, even if its presentation is somewhat more bombastic. By that I mean there’s less focus on the “wacky” failures and a little more in the way of people with actual talent. Sure, part of the appeal of the auditions phase is to see people make a tit of themselves, but that whole shtick — much like Cowell’s “Mr Nasty” approach — has been getting old for some time, so this slight shift in formula makes the programme feel pleasingly fresh. If it’s enough to make me stomach a whole episode without wanting to inflict bodily injuries on myself and everyone around me, they’re doing something right.

I can’t say for sure if the changes are enough to make me want to sit and watch the whole series — particularly the interminable series of live shows which seem to go on forever towards the end of each run — but I’m certainly a lot more willing to give this televisual candyfloss the time of day than I ever have before. I might feel differently as soon as the usual “audience booing anything they believe to be ‘unfair’ negative feedback even when it’s perfectly correct” nonsense starts again; but for now, it’s vaguely enjoyable, inoffensive fluff. And that, certainly, is a considerable degree of progress over what I’ve thought of the series in the past.

#oneaday Day 592: Little Miracles

I finished another book… well, ebook today. I shouldn’t really make that distinction because a book’s a book whatever medium it might be “printed” on — or perhaps it might be more accurate to say “a novel’s a novel”.

Anyway, I read a second book by Giselle Green as I rather enjoyed Pandora’s Box, despite its slightly convoluted ending. Also, like Pandora’s Box, it was only 99p on iBooks. I’m all for the bargain hunting, especially when I’ve just blown a large chunk of cash on the deposit for the house I’m writing this to you from.

Anyway. Little Miracles tells the story of Julia and Charlie, and their young son Hadyn. Julia is a stay at home mother, having given up a career, while Charlie is a plastic surgeon who does charity work, particularly with African kids whose faces have been disfigured by a disease I can’t remember the name of.

A short distance into the book, Hadyn disappears. (That isn’t a spoiler — it’s plastered all over the novel’s blurb as the central premise of the story.) The remainder of the tale explores Charlie and Julia’s different attitudes towards the tragedy as they attempt to come to terms with the possible death of their son.

Structurally it’s very similar to Pandora’s Box, jumping back and forth between the dual perspectives of Charlie and Julia, both of whom are well-defined, interesting characters with their own backgrounds which come to light throughout the course of the story. And, like its predecessor, it’s in possession of a somewhat frustrating ending, albeit for slightly different reasons.

This doesn’t diminish the fact that it’s once again a highly readable book based on in depth explorations of Charlie and Julia in particular — but through them we find out plenty about the supporting cast, too. Ironically, the only character who doesn’t get fleshed out much is Hadyn, but since he’s under the age of two there’s only so much you can say beyond “he likes his cuddly elephant called Bap-Bap.”

It’s a well paced book — perhaps slightly too long if I’m honest — and eminently readable. Green’s prose flows well and she has a skill for writing in markedly different voices when narrating from the perspectives of different characters. By the end of the story, Charlie and Julia are like old friends — a good way to be given the lengthy journey the reader is expected to take with them. Both have their own tragic flaws, and both come to terms with the situation in their own way. It’s interesting to “watch” — though at times frustrating as you will the pair of them to communicate more.

All in all, though, it was an excellent read and one I’m glad I took the time (and the vast expense) to read. While it won’t appeal to those who need a little more sex/murder/explosions in their novels, it’s a compelling tale that tugs at the heartstrings without being overly melodramatic.

#oneaday Day 591: Proper Intarnetz Plz

You don’t realise how much you’re going to miss the “proper” Internet until you don’t have it. I’m writing this using a T-Mobile 3G dongle which, to be fair, works perfectly fine for the most part (except for the data limits, which make it impractical for use for anything more than fairly light web browsing) but it’s 1) not as fast as “proper” Internet and 2) rather more expensive at £2 per day.

Proper Internet for us is still about two weeks away. I’ve never quite understood exactly why it takes so long for Internet access (and a phone line, for that matter) to reach your house. After all, in most cases the infrastructure is already in place. Okay, sure, sometimes they have to “send an engineer out” but the last few times I’ve set up my own Internet access said engineer has done very little besides bring some equipment. While the personal touch is nice, I’d be happier with receiving it by post if someone can just flip a switch a bit quicker.

I know, I know, it’s probably considerably more complicated than that, and with all the households in the UK, the finite stock of engineers which can be sent out at any one time only goes so far. But have a heart; how will I watch endless cat videos, play stupid Flash games and indeed download the gigabytes of updates my reinstalled (again) Mac insists are absolutely necessary?

That said, where we are now is certainly a far cry from just five to ten years ago. I recall struggling on with dial-up Internet for a few weeks when moving in to a new place, and inevitably forgetting to disconnect it at one point only to confront the next person to pick the phone up with digital squealing. And even further back than that, I recall dial-up Internet being the only Internet. Getting some time on the Internet (after 6pm, naturally) was a real treat, and downloading a file of 1MB or more was something you had to plan ahead for.

In some ways, I miss those days. It made browsing the Web seem like a “special” experience — particularly with the pain in the arse it was to get some browsers working with certain ISPs. Nowadays, we just take our Facebook, YouTube and Wikipedia for granted.

I guess it’s one way of the human race showing how adaptable it is. Give the people a new tool to use and it won’t be very long in the grand scheme of things before its widespread adoption worldwide. Perhaps our bodies have stopped evolving, and all future evolution will be done in the digital space?

Perhaps. It sounds like an exciting sci-fi future. But it’s all very well until there’s a power cut.