How does it feel to lose your mind?

My memory has never been particularly good. I am reasonably good at retaining things that are interesting to me, but the everyday stuff doesn’t usually stick. Thanks to a wife who is much better at it than me and the occasional making of lists, I manage to get by. Recently however, there was an incident that made me feel uneasy, and wonder if I might be slowly losing my grip on things.

A little ways back we had a spot of sunny weather (hard to believe in our current state of grey skies and rain), during which I dusted off my sunglasses. One day I had taken them to work, and resolved to get a few minor jobs done over my lunch hour. My glasses were on the corner of my desk. At lunchtime I left work and headed to one of our local retail parks. As I arrived at the first shop I wandered inside, picked up a few things, browsed for a moment and went to pay. On the way out I went to put my sunglasses back on, only to realise I didn’t have them.

I checked back at the till, where the shop-worker had no interest in helping me at all. I retraced my way through the shop, checking all the places I had gone. I had a clear memory of wearing my glasses on the walk over, of taking them off as I walked in the shop and of holding them as I walked around. I could only assume that someone had picked them up and walked off with them. Red mist began to descend. While I calmly walked out of the shop and back to work, I was burning internally with a completely over the top fury. The shop, the person who must have taken them, anyone else I found to be slightly irritating; all were wished an untimely and violent death. (As a side note, I don’t genuinely wish for anyone’s death (apart from maybe Robbie Williams’) and wouldn’t attempt to engineer someone’s. I can wish an untimely death on a person internally when I’m annoyed because there’s no such thing as magic, and it wouldn’t actually have any effect. Anyway, due to the aforementioned red mist, this one would like to enter a plea of temporary insanity, guv’nor.)

Upon arriving back at work, it was quite distressing to note that my sunglasses were there on the corner of my desk where I had left them. I had never taken them with me. Those memories of removing them as I entered the shop and such were a garbled pile of steaming crap dreamt up by my failing brain as I struggled to recall the last thing I did with my glasses. So, I had got ridiculously angry over something that I was completely wrong about. Sometimes I can’t help feeling like I’m on the top of a long, gently-sloping decline into obliviousness and dementia. It is a cause for concern.

Can virtual social media spark real social change?

Yes. Trouble is, not always for the better. Social media is, says I as one more know-nothing who talks as though I am an expert, a strange thing. Wondrous, yet frustrating. I spend a fair bit of time on the various sites, facebooking, twittering, and to a lesser degree googleplussing (but I never go myspacing anymore). I do not live on these sites, and even should I wish to, having two young children and a wife in the real world makes it impossible. Same goes for gaming or reading or movie-watching. I’ve spent enough time on them to find some wonderful things. I’ve struck up virtual friendships with people I will never meet in the flesh who have more in common with me than many of my real life acquaintances.

I’ve been witness to social media (Twitter, in particular) saving lives and fanning revolutionary flames. When the earthquake struck Haiti, people were tweeting the locations of survivors buried in the rubble to allow the emergency services to reach them quicker. When revolution began to bubble up across the Middle East, Twitter became a real time instant method of communication, helping the movements to stay organised and allowing witnesses to report events to the outside world as they happened. News breaks quickly on Twitter. Too quick for Fox, BBC, Sky, MSNBC or any of the others to keep up.

Just recently there was the ‘invisible kids’ video which took off quicker and became bigger than anybody thought possible. But now here’s the problem. If something is presented in a certain way, it can allow something that has a suspect ulterior motive reach a much wider audience. I’m all for stopping dictators using child soldiers, but when the person telling me about it turns out to be attempting to build his own child army in service to his own dangerous religious agenda, it isn’t going to get me onside. Furthermore, getting caught wanking in public did him no additional favours. And yet, I wonder how many new recruits signed up to his cause. Too many, no doubt.

The recent issue around climate change is another example. Hacking thousands of emails and taking a few out of context ignited such an unfathomable fury of denial that the perception of science in general and climate science in particular, will probably take years to recover, despite the science being practically as sound as science gets. Nobody will search for the reams and reams of papers out there (try searching using Google scholar (select the ‘More’ drop down menu on the Google homepage, then ‘even more’, then ‘Scholar’) and searching not just for climate change, but some of its affects like ocean acidification, or glacier melt). Even now, very few people are aware that the supposedly damning revelation of ‘Mike’s Nature Trick’ relates to an interesting anomaly about tree rings and how since the 1960s climate data from tree rings has diverged from all the other data sets, and is nothing at all to do with a huge conspiracy involving every scientific institution (including NASA, for buggery’s sake!) and most world governments to, apparently, get rich from solar panels and electric cars. Or something.

So yes, a number of very real surges in public opinion can be attributed at least in part to the supposedly unreal online world, but, as is so often the case when people are involved, sometimes it is beautifully inspiring, and sometimes it makes you want to choke a donkey.

Beware the time-suckers.

A little while ago, I decided to take tentative steps to re-enter the world of gaming by buying an Xbox 360.  Although I used to be able to wipe the floor with the majority of my friends (as well as anyone at school or the neighbourhood kids), I suspected this time I might fair less well. Due to being an adult with a family and full time job, there isn’t a great deal of time to really get stuck in. Furthermore, gaming isn’t really a domain occupied only by children, and to keep an adult interested, the difficulty would likely have to be steeper. Well, it turns out my suspicions were right on the money.

After resisting for a number of years, the buzz around Bayonetta was what finally pulled me in. So, one Friday night after the girls (little and big) had gone to bed, I fired up my new toy. And then had to spend time creating an avatar. This was a tad annoying, but due to my habit of trying to make everything just-so and as exact as they can be (a personality trait that is deadly in this world, but more on that in a bit), I duly spent hours choosing what my little electronic self should wear and how he should look. Then came the game. I couldn’t bring myself to choose a difficulty setting lower than ‘normal’ – I still have some pride. It didn’t take long for me to get my ass handed to me. Repeatedly. It didn’t take long to figure something else out. Bayonetta is insane. To my credit, I persevered, refusing to lower the difficulty. I recently completed it. It’s right up my atheist street because it essentially ends with you summoning the queen of hell to punch god into the sun. Like I said, insane. What do I get for my hard work? The chance to do it again on ‘hard’ difficulty. Yeah, cheers for that. I’ll do it though. Or at least I’ll try. And I’ll try because the obsessively anal (snigger) personality trait mentioned above demands that I do.

You see, there is something I was completely unaware of that forms part of the Xbox gaming world, and that is the system of unlocking achievements to earn points. Everyone on Xbox Live has a points balance. Most games have about 50 achievements worth about 1000 points. How could I ever finish a game and not return to it not having earned all of the achievements? Simply put, I can’t. It is the same reason I won’t buy a James Bond film on DVD or Blu Ray. I would have to then get the entire collection. And really, who wants a copy of Moonraker sitting on their shelf? Nobody in their right mind.  Although, the pleasant surprise that I could download a bunch of those old Atari 2600 games, allowing me to remember a little of what it was to be a kid, is worth almost any number of frustrated attempts to earn meaningless achievements.

Anyway. Now I’m stuck in this limbo; unable to stop, and unable to devote enough time to it. Doomed to be forever on the cusp of competence. My little collection of games is growing, as is the number of locked achievements my stupid brain tells me I must earn. I have now introduced myself to the world of Mass Effect (a trilogy of ridiculously deep and endlessly variable games with a sci-fi plot worthy of James Cameron), Project Gotham Racing (in which it is possible to have a racing career spanning years – I cannot stop until I’m number 1), BioShock (quite simply frightening, to the point where I dread putting it on a little) and Gears of War (which basically involves shooting lots of aliens. Well, perhaps that’s a touch harsh, there is more to it. You sometimes blow them up, too). And this is before the fact that you can play these things online against other people, something I’ve only dabbled in a little, due to the embarrassing level of my shiteness. It can still be a great deal of fun, even though the emphasis is on shooting people a little too much. The way all the big releases seem to be shooters is a large part of the reason I never really wanted one in the first place. It’s probably a good thing there are other demands on my time preventing me from becoming a fully fledged gaming addict. I might have ended up like this guy.

Spoilt for choice.

It’ll soon be time for America to choose a new President, and boy howdy, could they make it difficult for the rest of us. The man currently calling the big White House his home has, regrettably, underwhelmed in his first term. It isn’t necessarily his fault, but for one reason or another (often Republicans in Congress who refuse to co-operate regardless of the matter being discussed or voted on, or whatever it is they do there, simply to oppose for the sake of opposition) his approval rating is falling. Many of the things he has accomplished have been compromised drastically from the initial proposition, most notably the universal health care thing. Even compromised as it is, Republicans are determined to reverse it. The general lack of effectiveness isn’t enough to prevent Obama’s policies slowly reducing unemployment, gradually moving the economy in what is generally agreed to be the right direction. Perhaps if there wasn’t this need to compromise with belligerent petty opposition on every issue, he might have done better. Of course, that would resemble something approaching communism, and our friends in the United States know that would be a Very Bad Thing. Many Republicans may not know exactly what communism is, but they know it’s bad.

Obama has been called, as well as foreigner and the most dangerous President America has ever had (really, Gingrich?), a socialist, communist and Nazi, as if the three are completely interchangeable. He’s not a socialist, although frankly, if he was a little more left-leaning, it might not be a bad thing (although I can’t imagine what names they’d find for him then). As to communism or Nazism, apart from the fact that, on a political scale the two things are polar extremes, to any sensible person he’s clearly neither. You can tell that, because all the rich people are still allowed to get richer regardless of the huge number of people living in the direst poverty, and on the other side, there are no groups of people being forced to wear yellow stars.

Nevertheless, for one reason or another, there is a real chance the Republicans could take the Presidency from him soon. So, who might take it? Surely none of them could be as demented as Bush or Palin, right? Well. There’s Mitt Romney, a Mormon with a track record of destroying American businesses and sending the jobs overseas for ridiculous profits. They kind of guy who posthumously converts atheist loved ones to his religion (which, as religions go, really is one of the dumbest ones). Or there’s Newt Gingrich, who has promised America the first permanent Moon base. This is one of his least crazy ideas. To be honest, that would be kind of awesome, if it weren’t for his desperate need to start wars. And then there is Rick Santorum, the guy with the Google problem. The guy waging wars on homosexuality and women. The guy who thinks a woman who gets pregnant following a rape should be forced to have the baby and consider it a gift from god. There is Ron Paul, who is almost half way sensible, but for the possibility he’s an awful racist. Unfortunately, making the most sense puts him a distant fourth in the race and not really in contention.

So. Um, good luck with that America. Do the rest of the world a favour, and do your best to keep the ineffective, dangerous foreign communist Nazi in power, because one of the others could really cause some trouble.

Perhaps a vow of silence?

"It's better to keep your mouth closed and be thought a fool than to open it and remove all doubt." 

   - Anonymous (possibly Mark Twain, but nobody seems entirely sure)

I know I’ve mentioned this before, but I’m a bit of a broken record when it comes to these things (and the politically sensitive entries that once made up half this blog are now no-go, so it takes me longer to find things it’s okay to talk about. [Is that okay Mr. Cameron? I haven’t crossed a line there have I Mr. Cameron? I’m not- *gets violently ball-gagged* mmmh mm mmh! Mmmh! Mmh-mmh-mh-mmmh! *ball gag removed following nodding promise to change subject*]). 

Anyway, I’m going to mention it again, because it tends to plague me a little. Although this blog is mostly pointless drivel I do occasionally write things I quite like; am even a little proud of. I’ve had compliments about my writing from quite a range of people, some I only know online who read this blog. Others I’m close to like members of my family. Some are work colleagues. This does make me feel pretty good (don’t worry about me getting big-headed, as you’ll soon see). 

All of this good work tends to be undone every time I open my mouth, however. I have a brain that works, but works slowly, and as such cannot debate in real time. This also translates to writing in real time when talking to someone online, but at least I can fact check online so I don’t end up saying something like My Little Eye is a Hollywood remake of Rec (something I genuinely said, which, considering I think enough of my cinematic knowledge and sensibilities to write a film review blog, was a really dumb thing to say). I am so bad at it that I once told someone they were jealous of Alex Turner’s song writing ability because I failed to find the words to defend my love of Arctic Monkeys. Sometimes it isn’t all my fault. Sometimes the person I’m talking to simply over-rides any attempt to engage by repeating their deliberate misunderstanding until I simply stop trying and they call that a win for their purposefully ignorant viewpoint. And I’ve been over-looked and not listened to when I actually do find the right words to say so many times it is becoming ridiculous.

It sometimes gets bad enough that I consider communicating only via email and just shutting my stupid mouth lest I say something that makes me look like a proper knob.  But I won't.

I am not a psychologist.

What’s worse, unrelenting negativity or ceaseless positivity? Depends on my mood probably, but they are both ridiculous ways to live a life. Some things are shit. The menu at my kid’s school (although there are apparently plans afoot to change it), the fact that my four-year-old daughter has to go to school at all, terrorism, Newt Gingrich – all utter cock. In fact, many, many things are shit. It is okay to say so. A lot of things are also great. Music, cinema, the sound of the sea, boobs – each of them stupendously brilliant. The world (and by extension, my life upon it) is both lovely and terrible. As a citizen of the developed world, it is undoubtedly better than most.

I’m not quite sure what my point is. I guess I think that a spade should be called a spade. It is a digging implement (or possibly a playing card). I can’t imagine that it is possible to be either in a great mood or a miserable one all the time, and people who pretend either one are a bit bloody annoying. Shouldn’t self esteem issues work the same way? Sometimes I’m alright – even pretty damn good; when I got my degree, when someone pays me a genuine complement, when my wife smiles at me. Other times, I’m a useless hateful piece of human sputum – when I get something wrong or forget something that causes problems for others, or when I spout some ill-considered, off-the-cuff remark that upsets somebody. I know there are people with genuine deficiencies that can cause extreme spirals of depression, but for the un-afflicted, a love-hate relationship with yourself is surely par for the cause, isn’t it?

I don’t think feeling like crap is necessarily a bad thing. That oft-repeated balls about how you’ve got to love yourself before you can be a proper person makes no sense. Self-hate is just as normal. So feel free to despise yourself at times when you feel useless, fat, ugly or whatever. But try to remember to give yourself appropriate credit when you do brilliant things as well. It might be worth remembering that we’re on a ball of rock flying through the vacuum in the tiniest corner of an inconceivably huge uncaring Universe with only a small layer of atmosphere held down by gravity stopping us all from dying horribly. With that in mind, who really gives a monkey’s bollock how fat you are or how stupid I am?

The strange and depressing case of Donna Williams.

Just before Christmas, I was walking to the bus station to catch the bus home after work. It was late and dark, and I just wanted to get home and see my kids. Walking towards me is a person, stumbling slightly, veering a little, but definitely heading my way. As we close in on each other, I notice that they are very upset, crying, gesturing, wanting very much to communicate something urgently. It is at this point that I reluctantly decide I have to take my headphones out of my ears and engage with this person. Sadly, being able to hear her makes little difference, because she is very upset, very drunk, with a very strong West Midlands (possibly) accent.

As the sounds tumble from her mouth I slowly begin to establish that something bad happened at a cash point. I think maybe some people stole the cash she was withdrawing or perhaps even forced her to withdraw money. It sounds serious so I point her in the direction of the police station, and after much repetition I think she understands. She neglects to make any movement towards said police station, however, choosing instead to stand by me. In a small voice, I hear her say “I think you’d better come with me”. Thinking rather selfishly about my bus and my kids’ bath time, I reluctantly agree - she is so distressed I’m left with little choice. I begin to wonder if she’s on drugs as well.

As we start towards the police station, she seems to find a little self control and I am hoping I can just leave her to whoever’s on duty at the front desk and catch my bus after all. “I’m Donna” she says en route, visibly pleased to have someone else around. We walk into the police station, and it is immediately clear that the guy behind the desk is very reluctant to talk to her, and is barely civil to me.

As Donna feebly attempts to explain what got her so upset in her mostly unintelligible drivel, it seems that in her drunken and possibly drugged state, she may merely have witnessed some people withdrawing cash from a cash point and assumed they were stealing the bank’s, and possibly her money. Even without the drink, the drugs and the distress, it seems clear that Donna never had the benefit of a full education (which might go some way to explaining the drink and the drugs). She continues to talk, to repeat herself while waving her bank card about (it is now I am able to establish her full name as she waves her card under my nose). She talks about her Jobseeker’s money, about how she still has a little in her account, about if the police do catch these apparent thieves, what will happen, going round and round, repeating herself in broken random sentences, while struggling to focus. The guy behind the desk is trying to explain that there would need to be proof of a crime first, and that she should check her account and talk to her bank. My bus has long gone, but it is clear that Donna will get no help from the police tonight. Not that there’s really anything they could do – she’s pissed and going on about people withdrawing cash and her Jobseeker’s. Eventually she is convinced to leave.

Outside, she seems to feel better, so I make my excuses. Donna is off to a pub and invites me along for a drink about ten times before I am finally able to shake her hand and get away. I don’t want to be there to see what a panic she gets in when the pub refuses to serve her. I catch a later bus and get home just in time to say goodnight to my kids as they get into bed.

It seems a shame that people like Donna exist, but it is an inevitable consequence of a civilisation such as ours. Success is measured by achievement and wealth, progress and the accumulation of stuff. When you don’t have the ability to accomplish in the same terms, you get cast down, left to live on Jobseeker’s Allowance, scorned by those around you and with no prospects of it ever changing. Without even the knowledge or basic level of social intelligence to see the kind of problem you have what is left? Drink. Drugs. Other temporary avenues of escape.

I hope Donna is okay. I hope she made it through that night. I hope she finds some miraculous way to improve her circumstances. If you ever meet her, or find yourself forced to interact with someone like her, don’t be an asshole, okay?