Category: Personal and Opinion

#oneaday, Day 25: Read This Post, It's Shit

I started using some new toothpaste last night. It's called "Corsodyl Daily", and the best way to describe its taste would be to invite you to imagine that a cat had drunk an aromatherapy shop dry and then vomited copiously directly into your mouth whilst you were plucking up the courage to swallow the gob of spunk that had inexplicably appeared inside your oral cavity without, to your knowledge, anyone's genitalia having been anywhere near your face.

Sorry. But it really is fucking disgusting. The thing is, though, Corsodyl are well aware that it tastes like some sort of hideous combination of essential massage oils, vomit and sperm, and they pretty much warn you of this on the back of the tube.

"It contains a special combination of plant extracts and mineral salt," it says, "so you may find it takes a few weeks to get used to the unique taste and sensation." I will resist the opportunity to make any obvious jokes at this juncture but I can think of at least one of you readers who are providing said joke for yourself right now. I can read your mind.

It doesn't stop there, though. "Special combination" and "unique taste and sensation" sound quite positive, don't they? Let's not beat around the bush here, Corsodyl. You'd like everyone to know that your toothpaste tastes vile. So why not depict it with a handy graph—oh, you have.

Yes, that handly line graph you're seeing right there (ignore the man behind the curtain toothpaste tube) is indeed a "product satisfaction over time" graph with no scale showing that early in your relationship with Corsodyl Daily, it will make you sadface, whereas an undisclosed amount of time down the road, you will be happyface as a direct result of using it. You'll notice how the graph appears to operate in three dimensions, however, with the line of predicted satisfaction stretching off into the distance, leading me to wonder what the Z-axis represents. Amount of kittens you have allowed to vomit into your gullet? Number of oral sex "giving" sessions you've had? Quantity of pure essential oils consumed over the entire time period of you using the toothpaste?

Whatever. They have apparently proven that vomity-spunky-aromatherapypaste is worth persisting with, because they've proven it with SCIENCE! or possibly MATH!(S!)

The "buy this, it's shit" approach appears to be gathering some momentum. I received a press release from an iPhone developer this morning chastising a large proportion of players for giving their game Crap of Defense the "highest rating for playability". This in humorously broken English, too, which makes the whole thing even more enjoyable. I quote:

"We, the ifun4all team, have to communicate something very important. It is a violation of respect for us that all peples treat us like this. Our team will no longer tolerate such abuse of our game "Crap of Defense." A large part of the population of players should be fined or even a public flogging as we do in our village. "Crap of Defense" was to be the worst game in the world, unfortunately, no one want to listen and then get the highest rating for playability. Enough of this. Our children will live with this stigma. Laszlo met a very nice girl, the daughter of a local merchant of birch syrup. The girl did not have one leg but friends says that they will have beautiful children. We decided to take the game out of the market. Hungary will win again."

And then, of course, there's the famous advertising campaign for Marmite, which proudly states up front that you might hate it. Ballsy. But apparently it works.

In fact, it's the advertising equivalent of that arsehole at the bar who wanders up to the prettiest girl in the place, calls her a cunt and knocks her drink over and ends up shagging her for all eternity. In space. Surrounded by money. And more pretty girls.

I hate that guy.

#oneaday, Day 24: Your Over Their

The T-shirt in the comic above actually exists. So we've arrived at a situation where people don't even proofread clothing.

Actually, I remember a friend who works in the printing business telling me a while back that it's not the responsibility of the printing company to proofread or correct things like this; it's the original designer's fault. And it's true—it is the original designer's fault and they should be ridiculed for producing it (especially as it's a pretty shitty design anyway), not to mention the idiots who pay money for it. I know for a fact if I was asked to print the T-shirt above I'd find it incredibly difficult to not correct it, though.

The reason? I believe in the sanctity of language. That's a pretentious way of saying that I believe strongly that we should continue to spell things "correctly". I know, I know, language changes over time and all that. But the reason we have certain rules in place with today's modern form of English is to aid understanding.

Take "your" vs. "you're". We have two forms of "your/you're" to prevent ambiguity. "You're", as everyone knows* is short for "you are", with the apostrophe denoting that at least one letter has been removed to form a contraction. "Your", on the other hand, is simply a possessive pronoun used as a an attributive adjective showing when something belongs to "you". "If your single, so am I" doesn't make any grammatical sense because, assuming that "single" is being used as a noun (which it should be if it's following the word "your") it needs a verb, otherwise the response to the T-shirt's slogan is "If my single is what?". "If you're single, so am I" does make sense, however, because it's saying "If you are single, so am I". Which is a stupid and somewhat sluttish statement to make, but grammatically correct.

Unless, of course, they were going for a very heavily-buried programming joke. You know, like when you're programming in C or something similar and instead of saying "if (single = true) { haveSexWithMe(); };" you can instead say "if (single) { haveSexWithMe(); };". Essentially, then, suggesting that the full slogan is in fact "If your single status is firmly confirmed without any possibility of you being a cheating skank-basket, you can assume I am also single, even if I am not in reality", but shortened to fit across someone's boobies. I somehow think this scenario is unlikely, however.

Some accuse people who get riled about this sort of thing of being snobs. And perhaps we are; but to my mind, there's not really a good excuse for using the wrong "your". It's two extra keystrokes to type "you're", a couple more flicks of the pen. We're taught how to use "your" and "you're" in primary school. I know plenty of people who have difficulties such as dyslexia who still know how to use the correct form of "your" and do so.

The only explanation I can come up with, then, is either laziness, ignorance or both. In an environment such as the Internet, your (yes, YOUR) written words are how you make your first impression. In reality you don't walk into crowded rooms shouting "HERP DERP HERP", belming and masturbating furiously, do you? So make sure you use the right word once in a while, hmm?**

* Well… apparently not.
** I am not for a second saying that using "your" instead of "you're" means that you're the sort of person who enters a room belming, masturbating furiously and shouting "HERP DERP HERP". Although you might be. In which case you quite possibly deserve everything you get.

#oneaday, Day 22: Make Love, Not Hate

On the Internet, opinions exist in a binary state for many people. There is your opinion (1), and there is everyone else's opinion (0). Sometimes other people's opinions coincide with your own, meaning they can join you in the happy 1 gang, while the 0-toting losers get to stand over there being Wrong.

It's strange, though, really, isn't it? People develop such strong feelings about particular issues, and these opinions spread virally very quickly via all forms of the media. I remember reading about this in A-level Sociology and forget all the names and dates of studies concerned, but since this isn't an essay I'm not going to go and look them up. What I do know is that nowadays, such opinions spread far quicker than they have ever done before thanks to the immediacy of online social interactions, meaning that in some cases people may end up feeling that they should change their opinions on things in order to remain somehow "credible".

'Twas ever thus, of course, with the school bullies always listening to the most badass music out there whilst the flute-playing pansies amongst us voluntarily listened to—or even played—classical music. (Guess which of the two categories I was in, though I didn't play the flute. Flutes are for girls.) One group tended to kick the shit out of the other on a fairly regular basis, and it was usually a pretty one-sided battle.

You shouldn't start actively hating something just because other people say so, though. You should take pride in your tastes, however idiosyncratic or separate from the supposed "norm" they are.

Let's take a few examples of Things I Like That Should Be Embarrassing To Admit But Really Aren't, Honestly, No, Stop Looking At Me Like That And Please Don't Unsubscribe, Think Any Less Of Me Or Be Any Less Likely To Do Nice Things For Me (Like Buy Me Cake, Give Me A Big Wet Snog Or Make Me A Delicious Roast Dinner) Should The Opportunity Come Up.

Okay. I can do this.

(takes deep breath)

I like Robbie Williams. I also enjoy the comedy of Michael McIntyre, the radio show of Chris Moyles, the bubblegum pop music of MIKA and think Ke$ha's album is a work of quirky genius that I believe I have described as "sounding like Kelly Clarkson being forcibly inserted into a NES" on several occasions. I voluntarily bought both Dead or Alive Xtreme games and played them a lot, and not just for the bazongas involved, I enjoyed the dumbass illogical "dating sim" mechanics that were in there too. I follow Katy Perry on Twitter and find her music cheerfully uplifting. And I own two Spice Girls CDs.

Tastes change over time, of course, but who's to say that I'm "wrong" for liking any of those things just because the popular opinion is to hate them and deride those who enjoy them? I'm just as guilty as anyone else, of course; I find myself hating shows such as The X-Factor, Strictly Come Dancing and the like irrationally and automatically. I loathe Call of Duty. I would rather gouge my own eyes out than watch anything involving Piers Morgan (I think we can all agree on that one, surely).

The world would undoubtedly be a nicer place where everyone could feel more confident in themselves if our personal preferences stopped being scrutinised so much, and assumptions made based on those preferences. Take the recent announcement of Final Fantasy XIII-2, for example, a sequel to one of the most controversial Final Fantasy games there has ever been. Not because of the content, but because of the gameplay, which wasn't to everyone's liking. There are people out there who assume that because Final Fantasy XIII wasn't to their taste, XIII-2 is going to be shit as well. Justifications range from "Square have lost their way" (well, perhaps, but can't they pick it up again?) to "it's the same team, of course it's going to be rubbish" (because everyone is always universally good or universally bad?) and it's nonsense. Nonsense I tell you!

Basically, do your blood pressure a bit of good and start concentrating on the things you like a bit more. Tell people how much you like them, by all means. But let's all make a pact to stop making people feel bad about things that you, personally, "hate".

Unless it's terrorism, AIDS or Piers Morgan. You can hate those as much as you like.

#oneaday, Day 21: Fun Games to Play With a Microwave

It's important to have some basic survival strategies in mind for every situation you may potentially find yourself in as part of daily life. And I'm not talking about those "just in case there's a nuclear war and/or zombies" survival situations; I'm talking about those everyday situations which are statistically rather more likely to happen in your own lifetime, however stupid they might be.

For example, plausibly at some point in your life you may find yourself locked in a kitchen. Most people typically don't have locks on their kitchen doors, but you never know; you might find yourself in the one house that does lock their kitchen doors (perhaps they're trying to give up the midnight snacking or something) or indeed the kitchen of a fancy restaurant or hotel.

So picture the scene: disaster has struck. You, and possibly a few companions, have found yourself stuck in a kitchen. You can't get the door open, and everyone outside who could have plausibly let you out of said kitchen has now left the immediate area/building to go and have sex and/or watch television.

You're not left wanting for food—bitch, you be in a kitchen, yo—but you are somewhat starved of entertainment. It's at this point that you—yes, you—can be the resourceful member of the group who teaches your companions how to have fun using only a microwave and some other utensils which are readily available in your average kitchen. Imagine what fun you'll have while you wait to be rescued!

Bomb Disposal

Oh no! There's a bomb in the kitchen! And it looks suspiciously like a microwave! What are you going to do? Defuse it, that's what, and you're going to do it in a cool way like in the movies.

You will need:
A microwave
Something to microwave that won't explode or catch fire (frozen chips are ideal)
Something to keep score with (frozen chips are ideal)

Players: 3-the number of people you can physically fit in the kitchen.

Objective: To be the coolest bomb disposal technician on the Force.

Danger rating: Minimal

How to play:

One player is the Terrorist. They set the microwave to whatever time they like while one player, who is the Bomb Disposal Expert, faces in the other direction.

The Terrorist shouts "You have [amount of time microwave was set to] to save the world, asshole!" and then starts microwaving something. The Bomb Disposal Expert must remain facing in the other direction, and turn round in order to bash the "Stop" button on the microwave before the timer reaches zero. If the timer reaches zero, the current player is eliminated and must eat something raw that is usually cooked (frozen chips are ideal).

Once all non-Terrorist players have had a go, the person who stopped the timer closest to 0:01 wins a point. Give them something to celebrate their victory with (frozen chips are ideal). Repeat until bored, or you run out of microwaveable foodstuffs.

In case of a tie, resort to a frying-pan fight.

The Great Exploding Fruit Race!

It's Race Day in the kitchen, but you're not watching cockroaches scurry along crudely-designed courses marked out by baked beans! No! You're going to make fruit explode!

You will need:
A microwave
Several different types of fruit
Something to write on and with (if no pens or paper are available, use a bottle of tomato ketchup or seafood sauce to write on walls/floor)
Something to keep score with (frozen chips are ideal)

Players: 1-a bajillion

Objective: To correctly bet how long it will take before the fruit you place in the microwave explodes.

Danger Rating: Moderate

How to play:

One player chooses a piece of fruit. Everyone  writes down how long they think it will be before the fruit explodes. The fruit is microwaved until it explodes. The person nearest the correct answer wins a point. Repeat until you run out of fruit, you get bored, or your microwave explodes.

The Great Supper-Time Race!

It's another Race Day in the kitchen, but this time it's all about using your mad chef skills to beat the microwave at its own game! Except microwaves aren't very good at making sandwiches, making you inherently better, so they have something more up their alley (Making Things Unevenly Hot) to do!

You will need:
A microwave
Sandwich ingredients (bread, butter and mutually-agreed fillings)
Some milk
A microwaveable cup

Players: 1-as many as you bloody well want

Objective: To successfully make a delicious sandwich before the microwave finishes warming a cup of milk.

Danger rating: Minimal

How to play:

Fill the cup with milk. Set the microwave for however long it normally takes to warm the milk without exploding—we're not playing the bomb game any more. Two minutes is a good bet for average home microwaves. If you're using a high-power industrial microwave from a restaurant, this game is much more difficult. Then put the cup of milk in the microwave and start it.

Now you must make a complete and structurally-sound sandwich before the milk is finished warming. If you fail to achieve this, all the other players are allowed to call you a "bell-end" six times a day until the end of the week, even if you're in front of your parents.

In case of ties, all participants must then eat their milk and drink their sandwich as quickly as possible. Wait, what?

You Got Balls, Kid, I Like That

This is the most extreme game you can play with a microwave that doesn't involve putting yourself inside it, and since most microwaves are not big enough to fit average-sized drunk humans (because let's face it, if you're locked in a kitchen, you're probably drunk) that isn't an option right now. This game may still result in your death and/or arson charges.

You will need:
A microwave
A selection of metal objects
Something to keep score with (frozen chips are ideal)
Balls of steel/equivalent ladyparts

Players: 1 (if suicidal)-many (mass suicide pact)

Objective: To be the bravest person in the group without killing everyone and/or burning down the kitchen you are locked in.

Danger Rating: If You Play This One For Real, You're An Idiot And Deserve Everything You Get

How to play:

One player chooses a metal object and places it in the microwave. They then turn on the microwave and watch the pretty blue lightning. They must then stop the microwave as soon as they get scared something might be about to catch fire, explode and/or kill them.

The next player then steps up and does the same, until all players have had a go. The player who held on the longest without killing anyone is the winner of that round and gets a point. Repeat until you realise what a stupid idea this game is, and resort to chef's knife swordfighting instead.

If anyone dies during this game, everyone loses.

I hope you enjoy these games. I am not responsible for any deaths that occur as a result of playing You Got Balls, Kid, I Like That.

#oneaday, Day 20: Idea Factory

They—I'm not sure who, just, you know, "them"—say that you should never write about writer's block. Which is why I'm not writing about writers block; I'm writing about how I avoid it. An important thing to consider if you're going to be writing something every day, I'm sure you'll agree.

Firstly, I never think "I have nothing to write about". If you believe you have nothing to write about, you're not thinking hard enough. There is always something to write about, even if it's the mundanity of your day, how much rubbish there is on your desk or how much your pants smell.

Banished that phrase from your memory? Good. Now you can start narrowing down all those possible things that you can write about into the one thing that you actually are going to write about.

First of all, think about your day, personally. Did anything interesting happen? Did anything amusing happen? Would other people find those things interesting or amusing? Is it something that you'd particularly like to remember when looking back over random entries months down the line? If not, then probably best to steer clear of writing about your day.

Next, think about the news. Did anything interesting happen? Did anything amusing happen? You get the idea. Did anything happen that you consider is worth commenting on? If so, why not try writing about it? There have been plenty of posts around the One A Day Project recently that are topical in nature, and they've sparked plenty of discussion in comment threads and even some complete counter-blogs at times.

If there's nothing in the news that tickles your fancy, think about the most recent thing that has irritated you. People seem to enjoy a good rant about annoying things, particularly if they can relate to them. Perhaps you can frame it in the wider context of something else, or even start an occasional series of Things That Really Piss You Off About Socks.

If you're the mild-tempered sort and don't get annoyed about socks or the declining badger population of our riverbanks, perhaps something has inspired you recently. Maybe it's something a friend did or said that's led you on to doing something else. Maybe you've made the decision to make some changes in your own life, and you'd like to state them publicly "for the record", as it were. Even if your blog doesn't enjoy that many readers, putting virtual pen to metaphorical paper and stating in attractive, clear Times New Roman that yes, you are going to stop scratching your testicles in public because it is Freaking People The Fuck Out is more powerful than just making a resolution to yourself.

If there's nothing in reality that tickles your fancy, delve into the realms of fantasy and do some creative writing. There's no one way to be "good" at creative writing, as everyone has their own style. Just write what comes naturally. Perhaps it's a simple, descriptive piece. Perhaps it's a short scene. Perhaps it's a complete self-contained story, or maybe a poem. Whatever it is, you summoned it up from your brain. That's cool. That guy over there hasn't done that today.

And if you struggle for inspiration in the creative sphere, try out "Freewriting". Get a clock or stopwatch, set it for ten minutes, start it and just type. Type type type without stopping, without checking your work and without editing. Let the words flow freely out and see what happens. You may have a surreal, imaginative scene pop out. You may have the things you're thinking about laid bare. Some home truths may be revealed. Whatever pops out as a result of freewriting, it's often interesting to glance over afterwards and figure out where on Earth that came from.

Our world is made of language. There's always something to write about. You just have to find it.

#oneaday, Day 19: Day 365, or: Judgement Day, or: Judgment Day, or: The Best Of 2010 (And A Bit Of 2011)

It's dark. I remember falling through something—a trapdoor? But why would there have been a trapdoor in my house? It doesn't make any sense. But then neither does being in a place so completely devoid of light. There's usually at least a little light to see by, or at the very least, you eyes adjust to the darkness and let you make out the shapes of things in the room.

But here, there's nothing. Just darkness.

Oh wait, and now a pair of glowing red eyes and a supercilious grin.

"Des," I say. "Good to see you."

Des lets out a bellowing laugh that seems to reverberate around this space we're in, even though exactly what "this space" is isn't clear.

"Seriously?" I say. "Evil laugh? There's no need for that, is there?"

"I'm just trying to lend a bit of drama to the occasion," says Des, sounding a little hurt. "Today is a big day, after all."

"You're right," I say. "Though spending some time in a darkened room isn't exactly how I'd have chosen to celebrate 365 entries of non-stop daily blogging. No offence."

"None taken," he says. "I know we haven't always seen eye to eye. But I figured we'd do a bit of a Christmas Carol thing here, and whizz back through some memories. You like memories, right?"

"Hmm," I say. "Depends what they are. If you're referring to the memories of the year just gone, I'm not sure I do."

"Nonsense," Des says, laughing. "You'd be surprised. Let's start from the top, shall we?"

"Must we?" I say. "This is going to be a long story, otherwise."

"Yes," snaps Des, a little more aggressively than he apparently intended, as he says it again, softer. "Yes. From the top."

The blackness shimmers, and fades in to an image of me sitting at a laptop computer at an untidy desk in a classroom. I'm typing at my usual rapid rate of knots, but there's a faintly confused expression on my face. I'm writing nothing in particular. No change there, then.

"Humble beginnings," says Des. "I'm not sure you knew what you wanted to write about."

"No," I said. "I didn't. To be honest, I wasn't sure I'd be able to find something to write about every day for 365 entries. I wasn't terribly happy at the time—no change there, then—but was aiming to take some positive steps to improve life for myself."

"Right, right," says Des. I can't see his hands, but I imagine he'd be stroking his chin if I could. The image fades. "Like going to PAX East?"

"Yes," I say, fondly remembering those awesome few days in March.

"Uh-huh," says Des. "Good times, huh?"

"Right," I say. "Good times. An escape from the unpleasantness that had come before, and the calm before the storm that was to come."

"Overdramatic," says Des. "But probably accurate. It was an interesting time all round, really, wasn't it? What with that leaders' debate, the time you met those Twitter people in town and forged several close friendships as a result and, of course, the day you decided to write all about cock." Images flashed past rapidly as he spoke, ending with a close-up of a penis that I really wished would go away quickly.

"The word 'cock'," I correct him. "Also crudely-drawn ones. Not actual cock."

"Oh," says Des. "Do you have any idea how long it took me to find that perfect image?"

"Approximately 0.19 seconds using Google Images," I say. "Plus maybe a minute's browsing time? I mean, you're the one who was surfing for cock. I don't know how long you spent."

"SHUT UP!" says Des, sounding extremely British. There is an uncomfortable silence for a moment. "You remember the time you picked a fight with Roger Ebert?"

"I wouldn't call it me picking a fight with him," I say. "He started it."

"Oh please," says Des. "What is this, the schoolyard?"

"No," I say. "Fuck him, though, he made a lot of people a bit annoyed with those comments."

"All right, all right," says Des. "Keep your panties on. So, May, huh?"

I grit my teeth. May was not a good time.

"Yes?" I say. "What about May?"

"Well," says Des. "Where to begin? You went dancing. You got really drunk and then analysed the experience in exhaustive and, I have to say, very amusing detail the next day."

"Thanks," I say.

"Welcome," says Des. "You got a reply from Allie Brosh of Hyperbole and a Half. You successfully located some animated GIF images of stickmen shagging that you thought had been lost to the dark days of the Internet gone past."

"Yes," I say. "Thanks for bringing those up. They've been stuck in my top search terms ever since."

"And talking of stickmen," Des says, a flood of light suddenly appearing and a crudely-drawn stickmen dropping to the ground in it, "you introduced Stick-Pete, albeit a somewhat bizarre-looking one."

"He was," I begin, "I was looking worried. Of course his… my face is weird."

"Right," says Des. "Of course, you were under the impression at this point that it wasn't always appropriate to have clumsily-drawn stickmen as part of what were often quite emotionally-draining blog posts."

"Yeah," I say. "I was wondering when that was going to come up."

"I am a personification of your own black cloud of despair," says Des. "Of course it was going to come up. But you know what, people seemed to appreciate the way you dealt with it in writing. You wrote a surprisingly poignant post about bacon sandwiches, which I think no-one was more surprised about the power of than you."

"Uh-huh," I mutter. "Can we talk about something else?"

"I suppose," says Des. "Are you sure you don't want to be miserable for a bit longer?"

"Quite sure," I say. "I can do that every day. Show me something amusing."

The stick-figure Pete is still standing in the beam of light, looking over at the pair of us, squinting into the darkness. I can't tell if he can see us or not.

"Okay," says Des. "How about this, then? Things you thought were true, but aren't. Changed your mind on any of those yet?"

"No," I say. "I still worry about my car exploding when someone throws a fag-end under it. Particularly with the weird noises it makes in cold weather."

"And talking of weird," says Des, sighing at his own pitiful segue, "you explored some of the strangest viral phenomena ever to come out of the Internet in one memorable post, I believe."

There's a sudden burst of sound and a chiptune version of the ALF theme starts playing. Stick-Pete starts dancing with two chicken wings that have inexplicably appeared in his hands. I can't help but smile.

"Haha," I say. "Seriously, what the fuck is that about?"

"I don't know," says Des. "But bear in mind you also prepared an exhaustive and illustrated guide on how to laugh on the Internet the following month, so I'm not sure you're in a position to comment."

The music continues. Stick-Pete continues to dance.

"Can we turn that off?" I say. "It's a little distracting."

"I kind of like it," says Des, his red eyes bobbing around in the dark. "Catchy."

I sigh. "Fair enough."

"You also showed people the ten-step programme of how to go out on your own," says Des. "Though I'm not sure your way of doing it will catch on, to be honest."

"No, perhaps not," I say. "But then, you know what an antisocial git I am. I have time to write a blog every day which includes a comic strip, however crudely drawn it may be. Do you remember when that started?"

"Yes," says Des. "And the first person in it was that blonde bint Lucy. And you."

Stick-Pete stops dancing and the music stops. As amusing as that piece of music is, it's been getting a little tiresome over the last few minutes. A blonde girl stickperson drops down next to Stick-Pete and they smile at each other. Stick-Pete offers her a chicken wing. She accepts.

"While I was taking my work into new and unexplored territory, though," I says, "some other people were deciding that they didn't want to carry on. I chose to honour them in my own individual way."

"And honour them you did," says Des. "Much as you honoured the guys and girls at Kombo when that site went through… changes. And again when The Big Pixels launched. And again when—"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it," I say. "Look, is this going on much longer? Only it's been nearly 1500 words now, and that shit all happened in October."

"All right," says Des. "Let's quickly jump into a few big achievements and leave it at that. I'm sure you have more important things to do. Like writing blogs. Oh wait."

"Shut up," I say. "Celebrate my achievements. I haven't had that many opportunities to do that in the last few months."

"All right, all right," says Des. "How about that time you beat the Couch 2 5K running programme? That was pretty awesome."

"You're right," I say. "That was pretty awesome. Not to mention the fact I'm still going, and aiming for a 10K in May."

"May, huh?"

"Shut up."

"You also did your bit to enhance international understanding," says Des, ignoring me. "And frankly, I'm not sure why you're reviewing the year again right now, because you did just that on New Year's Eve."

"Yes, but—" I begin, not sure where that sentence is going to end. "Never mind. Are we nearly done?"

"I'd say so," says Des. "The recent stuff is… well, recent. People can look back for themselves."

"All right," I say. "Can I go now?"

"In a moment," says Des. "First, you must BEHOLD MY TRUE FORM!!"

There's a flash of light. Stick-Pete and Lucy look on in horror as the darkness swirls around, revealing a huge, slobbering monster with thousands of tentacles, wings, mouths and spider-like legs emanating from it in every direction. I am nonplussed.

"Seriously?" I say. "You're doing the JRPG final boss thing?"

"Oh come on," says Des, his voice now loud and booming. "You love final bosses. You have waxed lyrical at great length on the subject, even long before you started doing this every day."

"Yes," I say, smiling. "But I'm not at the end yet."

#oneaday, Day 18: Why Blog?

Mark Fraser wrote a great post earlier today on the nature of blogging—particularly daily blogging—and the reasons we do it. In this post, I thought I'd explain why I do it. It seems like a faintly topical thing to do, especially since tomorrow marks one year since I started writing daily. One year. 365 entries, most of which are around the 500-1,000 word mark. That's a lot.

So why do it?

Because I enjoy it.

Shit, that sounds like far too simple an answer, and at the end of this sentence that's only 93 words. That's not enough for the arbitrary minimum I set myself back when I started.

But it's the truth. The reason I write this blog is because I enjoy it. Sure, it's great that some people come and read it. Some people are even subscribed to it (that's dedication for you). Other readers have undoubtedly come and gone. Some are recent additions to my little family of readers (oh, you, I love you all) but, you know, the only reason I'm writing this is because I enjoy it. The fact that you lot out there in readerland seem to enjoy some of the things I write is a happy bonus that I wouldn't exchange for anything.

I can tell when something I post is going to be a big hit, though. When I posted about Kevin Smith's unfortunate experiences with Southwest Airlines, I saw a big spike in people reading. Similarly, when I bitched about that ridiculous campaign on Facebook where everyone changed their avatar to a childhood cartoon, I had, I think, the most daily hits I've ever had. Which, given that the daily cartoon for that particular post featured someone masturbating furiously, was something of a bittersweet success. So to speak.

The thing is, though, I don't deliberately court readers. The notion of "hit-chasing" is seen as a necessary evil in the world of online journalism, which is why we get so many games sites lowering the tone with "OMG BEWBZ" articles, because that will get the clicks from the horny teenage boys who supposedly populate the Internet. Unfortunately, it seems to work, leading to something of a self-perpetuating cycle. Similarly, the Daily Mail undoubtedly enjoys a massive spike in traffic by posting something completely cuntish like they did the other day. Go find it yourself, I'm not linking to those bastards again.

But this site? No. This is for me. It's selfish but it's true. I'm very lucky to have some friends who enjoy reading my work and appreciate my stupid cack-handed cartoons—and occasionally some random strangers, too. Writing this blog every day is something fun to do that I look forward to. It's helped me work my way through some difficult times. And it's helped my writing as a result.

Basically, I don't play the game in the same way Mark describes. At least not consciously. But one thing I do enjoy is being an active part of the One A Day Project community—one of the reasons I decided to step up and try and organise the whole thing this year was based on one of the most common complaints last year: there was no sense of community. There was no "centralised" place for people to come together, and some of the participants weren't even aware of each others' existence. This led to the situation where there were only six people left at the end of the year. (Ironically, of course, this led to us becoming friends, as six blogs are much easier to keep up with than 160.)

This year, though, we're already seeing people posting some cool responses to each others' posts as standalone entries in their own right, some discussion and banter on Twitter, and I know of at least a couple of awesome friendships that have already formed as a direct result of all this.

So while I primarily still write for my own amusement, catharsis and/or personal development, I feel it's important to say that I do appreciate the community of other bloggers out there, some of whom might be reading this right now.

Kissy kissy. Wuv yooo.

#oneaday, Day 17: It's Not Blue Monday

You can take the pulse of a day pretty quickly by looking at Twitter at any given point. Looking in the morning generally gives you an idea of how people are going to treat the rest of the day. On a Monday, there's generally a lot of bitching about going back to work, about the weekend not being long enough, about getting up early, that sort of thing.

This morning looked like it was going to be a particular humdinger of a Monday, with everyone seemingly convinced it was the "most depressing day of the year" for some inexplicable reason. Despite the grey, miserable skies and the light "I can't be arsed to rain properly" drizzle falling outside, it didn't feel any more depressing than usual. (Hah! He says.) It just seemed like a fairly typical day in good old Blighty, the kind that Bill Bailey describes as being "one of the days that infuses us as a nation with a kind of wistful melancholy". He's entirely right. No-one likes grey, miserable days, but this day was no more grey and miserable than any other. In fact, up North, they'd probably just call it "a day".

I heard the term "Blue Monday" bandied about a bit, so I decided to investigate this terminology in a little more detail using that reliable fountain of collected human wisdom that is Wikipedia.

Blue Monday, says Wikipedia, was a name given to a date supposedly the "most depressing in the year". It then goes on to add that this was part of a publicity campaign from Sky Travel. Uh-huh. Starting to get the picture here.

But wait! There's SCIENCE! Specifically, a formula. Here it is:

where weather=W, debt=d, time since Christmas=T, time since failing New Year's resolutions=Q, low motivational levels=M and the feeling of a need to take action=Na. Neither "D" nor a unit of measurement are defined.

So already we can see that this isn't the most scientific thing in the world. Supposedly, this nonsensical formula points to the Monday in the last full week of January. Which is not this week, but next week. So even if this theory held any water, today is not Blue Monday.

The fact that the whole thing was part of a marketing campaign is pretty telling, though. Conveniently enough, the supposed "happiest day of the year" has also been calculated as somewhere around midsummer. The source of this "research"? A press release by Wall's ice cream. Who'd have thought that the happiest day of the year according to an ice cream manufacturer would be a good time to enjoy ice-cream?

Hmm. Apparently today may not be the most depressing day of the year but it is certainly starting to feel like the most cynical day of the year.

It's the most wonderful time of the yeeeeeear—

#oneaday, Day 16: I Need A (Non-Copyright-Infringing) Hero

Bloody MMOs. They seem to be something of a weakness of mine, despite the fact that I've never been what I'd call a "hardcore player" of them. To whit, the character I started on the launch day of World of Warcraft only hit level 80 towards the end of last year, and I haven't gone back to it since Cataclysm hit store shelves. Over the years, I've tried Everquest (crashy), Dark Age of Camelot (bewildering and intimidating), Ultima Online (slooooow), Everquest 2 (pretty), City of Heroes (super-fun), Final Fantasy XI (<Incredibly tough><Galka><rod>+<Mithra>=<Help me out!>), Star Trek Online (space combat! Yay!), EVE Online (WTF am I supposed to be doing?) and probably a few others besides.

The thing I love about them is creating a character that is your representation in the world. In single-player games with character creators, you tend to either play the game from a first-person perspective or spend the majority of the game staring at your character's arse. But in an MMO, your carefully-crafted character can be appreciated by other people, and earn you compliments and friends, especially if you play as a woman with boobies.

I enjoyed City of Heroes from the above list particularly; there's something very satisfying and fun about the superhero genre, and the MMO format seemed to fit surprisingly well with it. So I'd been keeping a cautious eye on DC Universe Online, but hadn't thought that much about it. Until it came out, several of my friends started playing and had many positive things to say about it. Friends that didn't particularly play MMOs, in some cases. Even Jessica Chobot's playing.

Now I'll preface the following with the confession that while I like comics and graphic novels, I'm not by any means a comic nerd. I don't know the backstories and histories of the DC Universe characters, and I couldn't name that many if prompted to. But from what I can gather, this is arguably a benefit in DC Universe Online's case, as a few people are getting a bit snobby about some of the power sets and weapons on offer for players. Fair play to them. I don't care.

You know why I don't care? Because DC Universe Online is super-fun. One important thing sets it apart from the vast majority of "me too" RPGs out there, and that's the console-friendly action-game combat system. Instead of hitting the "auto-attack" button once and waiting for either your enemy or your character to fall over first, occasionally triggering skills on cooldown timers that are slightly too long to be comfortable, you feel like you're part of the action, setting off a variety of ridiculous combos with what you've chosen to be your character's signature weapons. So far I've tried a character with a sword and one with twin pistols and they play significantly differently from one another, which is nice. The primary weapon can then be combined with a "power set", which determined what your more spectacular powers involve and your role in the group, and a "movement power"—flight, super-speed or acrobatics.

Now, the key difference that sets DC Universe Online apart from, say, City of Heroes is the fact that the things you're doing from the very beginning seem to actually matter. There are plenty of "go here and kill [x] things" quests, but they make up part of an overarching storyline that culminates in a proper boss fight between hero and villain, usually with the support of some other characters from the DC universe. Contrast this with World of Warcraft, which, pre-Cataclysm (I haven't tried it since, remember) didn't let you into the interesting dungeons prior to gaining a significant number of levels. In DCUO, you're straight into the action. And it's great fun.

The fun factor is helped along by some decent presentation—there's some great-sounding music and plenty of voice acting, too, which is unusual for an MMO. Although the game was supposedly rushed out of the door to meet a deadline (and has a few rough edges here and there as a result—nothing which can't be fixed with a patch, though) it looks good, sounds good and feels like a "proper" game—something which many MMOs forget to do, making the experience feel more like work.

It's also great to see an MMO working well on a console. The control scheme for the PS3 pad keeps everything within easy reach and makes it feel like an action game. It's worth having a keyboard on hand for easy chatting, but there's plenty of predefined chat macros and emotes you can use, so it's not essential. There's also a voice chat facility built in, too, so those of you who want to broadcast the fact that your hot lady hero is actually being played by a 29-year old man (*whistles innocently*) can do so.

I haven't played enough to comment at any great depth on whether or not it gets old or boring later. But there certainly seems to be plenty of content—besides the main missions, there's lots of "collections" and "investigations" to complete, encouraging exploration of the world. There are also races, PVP arenas, "Legends" battles (where you can play as iconic DC heroes and villains) and all manner of other goodies too. So, hopefully, there'll be 1) plenty of things to do for some time yet and 2) a long period of support for the game.

The fact that the PS3 version has sold out in many places is encouraging—even though it's probably simply due to short stock. What it does mean, though, is that people are open to the idea of an MMO on PS3 and are enthusiastic about giving it a chance. This is a good thing, and hopefully the game will enjoy the success it deserves.

Further reports will doubtless follow in the coming weeks as I explore the game further. For now, let it be known that if you're looking for a decent superhero game, DC Universe Online might just fit the bill for you.

(But if you do play it, for heaven's sake come up with a name more imaginative than"Súperman", "Róbin" or "Warcraft", all of whom I've seen today. Seriously. Imagination is free. Use it.)