Diary of an up and coming sociopath

Two days of running back and forth between my various family’s houses has, truth be told, left me fairly exhausted. On the other hand, I have a stack of gifts to show for it, and I think if I ate any more food, I would probably spew partially-digested turkey from every orifice, and that’s the important part about Christmas. As far as I remember, anyway.

Nikki and I arrived home following an excellent couple of hours of movies and snacks at Sarah and Craig’s, part of which involved watched the awesome horror-comedy “Santa’s Slay”. It co-stars a wrestler and Her What Was The Pregnant One From Lost (she’s totally hot in it. Gun-toting, hoody-wearing, Transformer-gifting and slightly sexually aggressive. What more could you want from a woman?) and generally has everything you come want from a B-Movie, including many varied methods of Christmas-themed murder, gratuitous nudity, a completely insane plot about Santa being some kind of Antichrist, curling competitions and some fucking genius lines:

Nicholas Yuleson: The clock just struck midnight at the pole. Christmas is officially over for you, Santa!
Santa Claus: You know, most people make the same mistake. The correct time at the pole is completely discretionary, because the poles are where all the time zones actually converge.
Mary “Mac” Mackenzie: He’s scary, yet educational!

This year Nan did go into hospital just before Christmas (again?!) but managed to get released on Christmas Eve, so I went up there for while (dropping Mum and Terry at the Tachbrook club on the way) and helped explain to them what high potassium levels meant and how to avoid it in the future. Meanwhile, Pad ranted about how Nan had been taken off some medication that she’d been on for years because the hospital said the GP should never have put her on it in the first place. Combined with what Nikki’s family have been through recently, I’m forced to conclude that doctors are operating on guesswork over science rather more than they’d like to admit, and that their analysis gets much flakier the older you get.

I wrapped my presents while Mum and Terry were out, picked them up from midnight mass, then we watched TV until about 3am when Mum (perhaps slightly drunkenly) decided we should put the stuffing in the bird so that Terry only had to switch the oven on in the morning. As we were doing it, I kept wondering if stuffing chilled poultry with warm stuffing then leaving it in an inactive oven for 3 hours was something hygiene experts would recommend, but I figured it wasn’t a conversation worth having at 4 in the morning. And hey, it’s 2 days later and I’m still alive and not at all ill, thus proving that experts probably don’t know anything.

Christmas dinner was a far greater success this year, largely because we cooked it all ourselves instead of going the M&S prefab route like last year (a move which ultimately only benefited M&S) - this is, of course, except for the sauteed red cabbage, which was bought in and which no-one liked. We had Cockerel instead of Turkey again, but this year Mum and Terry had to pay for it themselves. It cost an eye-watering £51, and not to say it was bad (I couldn’t get enough and ate until I was nearly sick) but if we had to give an honest assessment, none of us would call it £51 worth of chicken.

Later Rob and I went up to Nan’s, met Dad & Fiona there and unwrapped the rest of our gifts, exchanged ours, then I dropped him off and went over to Nikki’s and did the same there. Then I brought Nikki back home for a couple of hours. By this point, all the driving and eating and general christmassing had left me completely buggered, so I watched a bit of TV, read a few comics and went to sleep about half 1 for a good 9 hours.

On Boxing day, I crawled out of bed at about half 11, and eventually negotiated the horrendous shower of home. Without a word of hyperbole, it is the most insane shower that has ever been conceived by man, and I hate it as much as it is possible for a man to hate a washing aid. It has one dial that reads, clockwise from the top, “Medium, High, Off, Power, High, Low” and a second dial that says “temperature” with a grey arrow pointing left and a red arrow pointing right. Both dials have no markings to orient them. There’s a set of 4 lights labelled “On, Low, Hot and Overheat”, and turning the dials randomly illuminates all of them in various combinations, except the last, which never does anything. You start this shower by pressing an unlabelled button, and turn it off the same way. If you’re lucky, the right combinations of dials and buttons will mean the water comes out and is warm, except it doesn’t matter because when it is switched on, the water pressure here is so rubbish that the only way to make it come out at a sufficient speed to actually rinse shampoo out of your hair is to have it cold anyway.

Eventually I washed my hair. I then went to pick up Nikki, then Rob, and we arrived at Dad’s dead on ten past one as instructed. We had our boxing day dinner with him, then me, Nikki and Rob took Nan and Pad’s dinner up to theirs, and Dad came up after he’d done the washing. While we were at Nan’s, Nikki and I looked through a newly-acquired book about Tachbrook (the village they live in.) Our family has its own “memories of” section, because my granddad and his brother are the two oldest living residents who were born in the village, so I familiarised Nikki with some members of my ancestry who were all conceived, born and educated in Tachbrook and hopefully this hasn’t made her think I’m a completely inbred hick.

I sat with Pad at the table while he ate dinner, and later we all watched “Come Dine With Me” - a rare example of a program that genuinely appealed to all three generations of people in the room, even if for completely different reasons. I think the last time that properly happened was, er, Gladiators? When that finished, we went up to Nikki’s and watched the first Narnia film, which was a rubbish adaptation of a rubbish book. My critical assessment is that CS Lewis had no respect for the notion that his book would one day be a film that needed a Hollywood-style three-act structure, the difficult bastard. The film had a beginning and an end, but no middle. Honestly, I think what it really needed was to be set in modern America and star Dakota Fanning.

After that, I came home and had leftovers for dinner. Cockerel and roast potato sandwiches. Then I spent the rest of the evening reading ALL of Absolute Sandman volume 4, and it was all brilliant. The Kindly Ones was especially amazing, and might well be my favourite arc, but I need to re-read Brief Lives and check. The return of Destruction was very nice to see, and I was particularly excited to see Death go and have a long-awaited chat with Hob Gadling. Marc Hempel’s artwork on The Kindly Ones was particularly excellent, and I proved my nerd credentials to myself by recognising D’Israeli’s inks, even though I didn’t know he was even in the book. For reference, spontaneously recognising inkers in a comic is roughly equivalent to telling who did the production on a song just by listening to it. You have to be a special kind of nerd to manage that.

I am aware that last paragraph might read like gibberish to most of you, but then so did the rest of this entry. Now I’m going to sleep. After, of course, the traditional documentation of this year’s main haul:

Various amounts of cash/vouchers
Watching the Watchmen (a “making of” book)
Absolute Sandman V4
Iron Man DVD
Dead Set DVD
Various clothes (gloves, t-shirts, fleece-jumper, utilitarian socks)
Tyre Inflator
Complete Little Britain Radio series
A couple of “traditional” puzzle toys
Various chocolates, including some giant slab from Hotel Chocolat
The usual succession of imitation brand toiletries off grandparents (including toothpaste)

Chocolate Orange Count: 4

Now, finally, sweet merciful sleep.

Some victories fall easily into your lap, and others are earned through blood, sweat, tears and liberal consumption of poshly-presented chocolate brownies. Today, Sarah, Craig, Karan, Dean, Nikki and I gave the Niblets a taste of their own medicine, thrashing them into second place at the pub quiz and claiming the largely ceremonial £87 prize fund for ourselves.

I won’t lie - we were amazing. Even though things looked grim when we failed to name the states adjacent to New Mexico, our inexplicable knowledge of All Saints’ five-strong catalogue of No. 1 hits undoubtedly redressed the balance. We eventually gambled it all on the bet that Mt. Etna was the highest Volcano in Europe, and it paid off brilliantly.

Of course, the real congratulations should go to Sarah and Craig, who not only assembled this week’s SuperTeam, but spent week after week attempting to topple the Niblets, aided only by whoever could make it in that week. Their struggle has been the stuff of legend, and our eventual success is all the sweeter for being part of it.

Today is Victory over the Niblets day, and tomorrow we all wake up in a new and better world where good can - and does - triumph over evil. At least in the arena of pub-based trivia games.

Because NO-ONE demanded it! An entire post’s worth of waffling about Ben Folds’ latest album, written when I should’ve been doing something that pays! Now, we all know writing about music is often a pointless endeavour unless you’re especially gifted for it (which I’m not) so I’m going to disclose this entry by saying that I’m mainly writing it to try and get the thoughts out of my head. I’ve been going over and over this album for weeks now, trying to figure it out. Hopefully this’ll let me finally exorcise the demons.

Whatever you think of Ben Folds, he’s one of those artists that virtually gets a free pass from me for having written one of those albums that accidentally defines your life in the period you hear it. To this day, The Unauthorised Biography of Reinhold Messnerremains one of my favourite albums, and is one of the 4 discs with a permanent place in the 5-disc changer of our stereo. That’s the benchmark for all new Ben Folds releases. Nothing has lived up to it yet, and it’s hard to think it ever will, but them’s the breaks. Even with that impossibly high standard to live up to, I’ve enjoyed Ben’s work since. Rockin’ the Suburbs, I loved. Songs for Silverman took a while for me to get into, and in retrospect, while I love a couple of the songs to death, most of the album is a bit too morose even for me. SuperSunnySpeedGraphic was just about better than the sum of its parts.

Now, if Songs for Silverman was too morose, then Way to Normal is almost the antithesis of that. Musically, it’s up there with his best, and when I see the songs live in November I’m certain they’re going to be fantastic. However, stripped of the atmosphere and laid down on CD, I’m left with no choice but to focus on the content, rather than the potential performances. And I’m finding it a little lacking.

The album opens with Hiroshima. I don’t even know where to begin with this one. In the past, Folds has had an entertaining sideline in funnier-than-usual novelty B-Sides - but I have no idea how one ended up opening the album. It’s musically and lyrically simplistic, and once you’ve heard it once there’s no substance left. Usually, albums trail off towards the end. This might be the first time I’ve had an album that actually starts at what is almost its worst moment and generally gets better towards the end. A prime example of one of those songs that’ll be incredibly energetic live, but on a record, I genuinely fail to see the point of it.

Dr. Yang is stronger. I’m not fond of it, but I can appreciate that its effects-heavy sound is at least an experimental move for Folds. For a songwriter with his credentials, though, it feels a little like it’s missing the point to be unable to hear the lyrics the bulk of the time, though…

The Frown Song is the first song that really grabs me. It’s got all the white, suburban angst of his solo output and a great tune to go along with it. The relentlessly ironic verses are defused by the chorus and BFF-style backing vocals. It could fit on almost any of his albums, and I do mean that in a good way.

Regina Spektor’s appearance on You Don’t Know Me is probably what makes it the album’s best moment. The vocal performances practically spark off one another, and the stripped-down music leaves the singing to speak for itself, which it does so brilliantly. As close to faultless as this album gets.

Before Cologne/Cologne is the first time on this album that Folds’ gift for piano melodies gets a real look in. I’m partial to any Folds songs where the facade drops and he allows himself to be directly sincere. It’s a traditional Ben Folds “failed relationship” song in the tradition of Smoke/Don’t Change Your Plans et al and those are usually my favourites. It won’t be for everyone, but it’s probably my favourite track.

And sadly, it’s followed up with my least favourite. I can’t engage with Errant Dog on any level. It sounds like it was written and recorded in one day, which is funny because it’s worse than the “fake” Way to Normal tracks which practically were written and recorded in one day. His most redneck song since Rent a Cop.

Free Coffee is the point where you start to realise that the album contains almost nothing but bile, directed at everyone. Earlier in the album, he’s admonishing the people who sneer at teenage baristas. Now he’s the one doing it. No-one is safe from his acid mind. It’s got a unique sound to begin with, but by the end it peters out into improv jazz, and I really don’t know what to make of that. I actually preferred the “fake” version of this, which was retroactively named “Free Coffee Town”.

There’s then a dubious spoken-word interlude, which serves as a lead in to Bitch Went Nuts. The one song on the album where his musical energy and lyrical quirks come together as they should. Fun on the record, and you know it’ll be great live. The sentiments are fairly adolescent, but it’s a valid artistic route if nothing else. He’s done relationship nuance often enough that I’m satisfied it’s done on purpose.

Brainwascht has a great pounding tune, and a backstory that makes it enjoyable. It’s a response to a song written about him by some former friends (current theories suggests Fleming and John’s I was wrong as the likely target) and it’s the one point on the album where the vitriol really works, because for once it does feel justified.

Effington is something of a sequel to Songs for Silverman’s “Jesusland” in the “road trip through suburban America” sense. It’s upbeat and meandering. Not perfect, but good. Perhaps relies a little too strongly on the “effing” pun, but we’ve seen worse.

The final song on the album is Kylie from Connecticut, and it’s another of those character-study songs that I enjoy, about regrets and the pragmatic acceptance that some things can’t be changed. I’m thinking of Fred Jones Pt. 2 and Annie Waits for you Rockin’ the Suburbs fans. The most brutally honest track on the album, full of lyrical kicks in the gut. Leaves me wishing it could all be that sincere.

Despite the bad tracks, there are still 7 songs that I really like on this album. That’s a good ratio. The problem, as I see it, is that it doesn’t feel like an album in the coherent, creative sense - just a collection of songs, if you can see what I mean. To me, that represents a step backwards. Maybe that’s why I’m finding it hard to enjoy, despite the high number of songs I do actually like. I’m fairly certain, anyway. I’ll probably have to wait for superior music critics to explain it to me.

I finally got around to reading Chuck Palahniuk’s new book “Snuff” recently, but I actually found a little disappointing. It took me months to get around to reading his last book, “Rant”, which wasn’t without its problems but at least had a strong mystery and compelling characters at the centre. Snuff read more like a writing exercise.

The book features 4 characters, all of whom are in some way associated with the making of a porn film in which the female star is attempting to set a record for the number of men she can have sex with, with the understanding that she’ll also die during the performance. Three of the characters are men waiting for their turn, and the 4th is the “talent wranger”, and each chapter assumes a different viewpoint.

Gratifyingly, Palahniuk has finally started writing characters with distinct voices. In any of his previous books that features multiple narrators, the tone and speech of every character was near-identical to Palahniuk’s own voice, and it got really distracting after a while. That aside, the twist in Snuff felt like it was telegraphed a mile off, and the content wasn’t half as shocking as I’d been led to believe. I found myself entertained, but largely indifferent.

It’s a strange reaction to have for a book I was looking forward to. Rant had me almost wretching at some points with its more graphic moments, and his book before that, Haunted, actually was a disturbing read at times, and I say that as someone with a deeply cynical view of the world. Snuff isn’t just tame by comparison, it’s uninteresting on a technical and intellectual level, and I’m not sure I got anything out of it beyond some of Palahniuk’s trademark “hidden knowledge” moments. Oh well. Maybe next time…

Hmm. Clearly, the workblog experiment has fared about as well as my non-work blogging has, recently. I haven’t actually had time to update either, especially since I just moved house and haven’t had ANY time to myself in between work, unpacking and arguing with various utility companies in pursuit of a broadband connection and energy bills. I don’t even manage to update Twitter frequently enough for it to be useful!

Anyway, in case you’re interested, my recent work includes near-weekly articles for Micro Mart and countless reviews and features for the likes of CBR, Comics Daily, Classic Gaming and Den of Geek. In fact, part of the reason I’m updating is for pre-emptive purposes. If you are finding my site because of the “Britain’s Best Blogs” feature in Micro Mart then:

1) I apologise for any errors I may have inadvertently made in your write-up that you are now here to point out.

2) Yes, I agree that the list is a little biased towards my personal tastes. Will everyone on the planet appreciate sporadic updates from Adam Buxton, or daily diatribes from Richard Herring? Of course not! More fool them.

It’s a bit of a fluff piece, I have to admit, but it was nice to give a bit of publicity to the stuff I’m really enthusiastic about under the guise of “reviewing” their blog. Yesterday I faced the unenviable task of composing an article about the lifespan of storage media, and ridiculously, I ENJOYED doing it. How strange is that? I guess I actually am a writer at heart, because this is the first time I’ve actually enjoyed doing my job. In some ways it’s a pity I didn’t listen to that nagging doubt before University, really, but at least I’m there now.

I was going to do a write-up about the Reading Festival, but at this point there’s not much to say. I feel like I’ve outgrown it, or it’s outgrown me, or something along those lines. There’s almost certainly a Phonogram story in that, somewhere. I remember the first year I went, and I looked out of place because I was wearing jeans. Almost everyone else was dressed entirely in Goth and Nu-Metal black. This year, almost a decade later, I looked out of place because I wasn’t daubed in UV body paint, and there was a period in the middle where, even on the crap years where it rained, simply being at Reading awakened an almost religious fervour in me. Nowadays, not so much. Next year, we’re going to stick to Latitude and maybe go to one of them cushier festivals in a warm European country, where they don’t set your tents on fire during the night.

Also, I am 26 now. The goal I wanted to fulfil when I was 25 was “Paid Freelance Work” and that worked out better than I expected, because I’m now supporting myself on freelance income, just about. This year? It’s time to get serious about being creative. I want to self-publish a comic and write (if not publish) a novel. Anything after that is bonus.

Anyway, enough rambling. I think I’ll probably fold the Workblog back into a portfolio of my most favourite work shortly. Unofficially, I’m going to try a little bit harder to make this blog a going concern amongst all my other output, but y’know. No promises.

I have over 10,000 words to write before Thursday. That’s as long as my dissertation was. Although, I do get paid for these words, I suppose. After that, it’s Reading, and after that we’re moving house, and christ knows when we’ll have Internet access during all that. Then it’s a housewarming of some kind, and my birthday. Then MAYBE things will calm down a little. A fun fortnight ahead…

Earlier today I completed Braid, the game some people are calling “Portal for 2008″ for reasons that would become clear if you played it. Not that it’s anything like Portal, of course, it’s just that kind of experience. I have nothing new to say, but wish to express that it is an amazing puzzle-platformer that actually rewards you for playing with beautiful aesthetics, a well-written story, and the feeling that you are some kind of genius every time you figure out a new solution. If you have an Xbox, purchase it IMMEDIATELY. If you don’t have an xbox, what the hell is wrong with you? It will, however, be coming out on the PC later this year, so at the very least you should remember the name for when that happens.

Some of you will know that I’m regrettably a massive Star Trek nerd. In fact, I’m so massive a Trek nerd that I think J.J. Abrams’ remake/reboot of the franchise is going to be horrible even though the world at large knows almost nothing concrete about it! That’s nerd-thinking for you. To that end, I’ve written up my reasoning in an article on Den of Geek, in the true Den of Geek style - an annotated list. Take it all with a pinch of salt, this article is nothing if not self-aware.

5 Reasons to be worried about J.J. Abrams’ Star Trek.

One year on (and a couple of months) from our much-celebrated Bristol Comic Expo Interview with the superstar team of Kieron “Warhammer” Gillen and Jamie “Negative Burn” McKelvie, Seb and I, accompanied by our Comics Daily partner in crime Julian, interviewed Paul Cornell, top Doctor Who TV scribe (and writer of Captain Britain, the actual best Marvel comic being released at the moment) My contribution to the interview, if you haven’t guessed, was mostly the comics stuff. Should interest nerds and norms alike.

Latest Alternate Cover column sees me choosing my 3 favourite Wolverine moments, then calling them the “best three” in order to stimulate some rage in the reading public. The thing I learnt from writing this article: over 12 years after buying Wolverine #99 from a small WH Smiths in Wales, I still have never read Wolverine #100. How wrong is that?

Alternate Cover: Top 3 Wolverine Moments