Hello Children,
It's been a while since I posted as my NSB-Supernerdy self. Those of you who are friends with me in real life will know that I recently started a new crafty blog with my best friend (who is referred to as Polly on this here blog). If you're interested, you can check us out at http://www.satchelfullofsalt.blogspot.co.uk/ But fear not, I'll still be posting on here from time to time - you were worried, weren't you?
About a month ago, I gave up TV for lent. I know what you're thinking: 'Didn't she give up TV last year?' Yes and no. Last year I only let myself watch 3 programmes a day, which, I'm sorry to say, is a big limit for me. However, I found myself, a year later, right back where I started with this telly addiction, and lent right around the corner. So, I went one step further - I could watch TV if I was at someone's house or they invited me to the cinema (what am I gonna say, no? Who wants to be that guy?) but other than that, NO TV.
I've got to say, my brain has not coped well. You see, TV has become a habit of mine to the point where I don't realise quite how much it takes over. I switch on without even thinking about it, and suddenly 5 hours have passed at it's time for bed. The reason I gave it up for lent was that I wanted to break that cycle, and use that time productively. So there I was, Ash Wednesday, and TV wasn't an option. I spent about five minutes thinking, 'So what the hell am I meant to do?' until I settled on writing about 5 craft blogs in one go, just so I didn't have to come up with another activity.
However, though I have got around to little jobs I've been meaning to do, if I'm honest, I'm not handling the TV fast all that well, and am mostly just replacing it with other, mindless things.If you want to give up one form of mindless drivel, there are still plenty more out there. I've been reading random articles on Student Beans, making colour-coded to-do lists that never get done, and surfing for hours on Facebook, Twitter, Sporcle and anything else that means I don't have to think. I was really beating myself up about it too, until 'Hannah' told me that maybe it's ok to have some downtime once in a while. And that got me thinking.
My long-distance wife, Jamie, has a personal philosophy that all boils down to one word: 'Balance'. And the more I think about it, the more I reckon she's on to something. If I don't watch any TV at all, it doesn't stop me from thinking about it practically all the time or switching off with other things, and if I watch too much, according to my mother I am more disengaged, and, apparently, a right grumpy cow. I like TV and I don't think there's anything wrong with that, but when it takes over your life, then it's a problem. Before lent, it was taking over my time, and now it's taking over my thoughts and cravings.
I write for a health magazine, and, when it comes down to it, almost every subject I write about involves getting a right balance. In everything from weight loss to cancer prevention, you need a balance of healthy diet, exercise, socialising, sunshine and, well, everything in moderation. I'm a sucker for starting big projects and not finishing them, and getting obsessed with one hobby or interest and then dropping it altogther for months. In the last few years, I have taken up sewing, baking, scrapbooking, general crafting, the guitar, the piano, the ukulele, writing a novel (albeit that one's with a career in mind), two blogs, two Christian book groups and a reading list that's longer that there's paper to write on.
But there's no balance. I get really into one thing, and then move on to the next, and nothing ever gets finished. All I've got to show for my many pursuits are a pile of half-sewn clothes, a quarter of a novel, a book shelf full of un-read books and three instruments in my conservatory gathering dust. Plus about 10 different mid-process craft projects that are waiting to be blogged about, and all I can think is 'Damn, I wish I could watch Glee again.'
So here's the conclusion I've come to; 'All or nothing' is a stupid way to do things (even though, unfortunately, I seem to be wired that way - not to shirk responsibility or anything, but I blame my Dad). I think the mistake I made with Lent last year was setting the task for lent at all, when really I should have made the 3-a-day thing a permanent, lifestyle-changing habit to restore a balance to my life. An opportunity to, yes, watch TV, but to change the way I watch it. To pick a programme I want to see, watch it, and then, magically, turn off the TV and do something else.
I'm a stubborn bear, and so I'm gonna see this no-TV Lent through, but after that maybe I will have another crack at regulating my viewing. That way, my brain gets the down-time that it sometimes needs, and then is more inspired to finish an odd project, hang out for a bit with other people, and top the day off reading Winnie-the-Pooh with a nice cup of tea.
And hopefully that, my friends, is balance.
Thursday, 14 March 2013
Tuesday, 25 September 2012
The Blues, the Reds, and no, I'm not talking about football.
It's been a while since I've written one of these bad boys. In fact, it's been a while since I've done much of anything. Pimms advised that I could do a blog about baking, seeing as that's the only thing I've done much of in the last few months, but I'm not sure if that fits the overriding theme of these blogs terribly well...
Fair warning: I strongly doubt the potential for hilarity in this particular blog. Yes, you're shocked, as well you should be, but I find myself four months out of Uni now, back in a semi-long-distance relationship, unemployed, living at home and having no idea what's going to happen next. It's not going to be a cheery one, Folks.
However, if there's one thing to come out of this dreary time of my life it's this: I finally understand what Holly Golightly is talking about in Breakfast at Tiffany's. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4jsUIgchHXU
You know how random things seem to have a colour? For some reason, in my head February is orange, November is navy blue...It's more common with feelings; green with envy etc. I wonder who it was that decided the green-eyed monster had green eyes instead of brown, or why being sad meant having 'The Blues' and not 'The Blacks'. If you couldn't be bothered to watch the clip (you know who you are) I shall try to summarise. Holly Golightly (incidentally the only role I've seen Audrey Hepburn in that doesn't irritate me) says 'The Blues' are no big deal. You wallow, chow down on ice cream and chocolate (which would, in fact, be quite a big deal for me and my dairy-intolerant insides but it's what you do) spend the day in your jammies with Ewan McGregor on the screen and the next day you're fine. The Mean Reds are different. It's feeling like the world is on top of you and you're trapped, rootless and aimless and maybe a little bit afraid. Hypothetically speaking, like if you live at home, have no job, don't know where you're heading etc. Ahem...
When Holly Golightly gets the Mean Reds, she goes to Tiffany's. When I get them, I go to the sea. I get Jake to pick me up (come on, as if I'm going on a walk when I'm in a bad mood!) and we park at the beach and sit until I feel like going home again. I don't know why, but it works. Maybe there's something in just having a sit away from the place where you usually spend your life, maybe the Sea and Tiffany's both have something pretty to look at and that's a good distraction. Maybe it's just getting out and getting some air (hey, I roll down the windows...) but for some reason, when you get the Mean Reds that's what you do.
Why am I telling you all of this (to be honest, I'm asking myself that question right now!) I think it's because if there is any tenuous link between the Blues or the Mean Reds and breaking social boundaries it's this: no one talks about having them, and so it seems like you're the only one to ever get them. I think part of the reason why it sucks being down is because you feel so alone in it. It feels like everyone else is getting it right, and you just can't help getting it wrong. Yet, I think the reason I love Breakfast at Tiffany's so much is, aside from a plethora of other reasons, by calling that random feeling I have The Mean Reds, I realised that it has a name for a reason - other people have felt how I feel, and probably do right now. It's a thing.
There's a truth in the saying that 'Misery loves company'. It might sound selfish, and maybe it is, but knowing that a few of my friends are also back home and feeling a bit aimless somehow makes it ok that I feel that way. But when you're miserable, when is it ok to share that with the non-miserable people? No one likes a party pooper, and I'm with them on that, or you ask yourself 'What if they don't get it?' but then you spend so much energy pretending to be fine that you end up resenting your friends for not knowing that you're the furthest thing from it. Do you know how they'll know? If you tell them! Or maybe you don't share enough because it makes you realise how disproportionate your feelings are to the situation, especially if you share with people that have far greater miseries to deal with than your middle-class problems. 'Oh, I have too many choices and I don't know which to pick. I live with my parents, don't pay rent, and have my washing and dinner done for me every day but sometimes I have to unload the dishwasher. I have an awesome boyfriend which sucks cos I only see him 3 days out of 7, I have been blessed with too many best friends and I miss them all.' Sob Sob Tear Tear.
But it still sucks. I'm aware that things aren't all that bad really, but The Mean Reds don't respond to rationality. Today I'm depressed because I can't afford to go to Hatfield - Hatfield. Have you been there? I spent most of my time at Uni wishing I could be in Worthing again, or at least somewhere with more going for it than The Galleria and an Asda. But I miss my life there and have nothing going on here to replace it with yet. I just need something going on in my life.
I guess what I'm trying to say is, I know this is some sort of learning curve for me. I know I'll look back on this time in my life as the first steps towards shaping my future; that something is on it's way round the corner waiting for me and these are the moments just before I reach it. But that doesn't do it for me right now. When you get your heart broken, you don't know at the time it's because something better is going to come along. When you move away from all your friends, you have no idea about the amazing new ones you're going to make. I've had both of those things happen, and so maybe when you're sad because you have to leave Uni you don't realise it's because you're about to start something incredible. So I suppose I'll have to hang my hat on the fact that The Mean Reds is a thing, an actual thing that someone else has felt and named and that means that, at the very least, I'm not alone. Everyone is searching for their place that makes them feel like 'Tiffany's' and until then, I guess I'm glad I live near the beach.
Fair warning: I strongly doubt the potential for hilarity in this particular blog. Yes, you're shocked, as well you should be, but I find myself four months out of Uni now, back in a semi-long-distance relationship, unemployed, living at home and having no idea what's going to happen next. It's not going to be a cheery one, Folks.
However, if there's one thing to come out of this dreary time of my life it's this: I finally understand what Holly Golightly is talking about in Breakfast at Tiffany's. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4jsUIgchHXU
You know how random things seem to have a colour? For some reason, in my head February is orange, November is navy blue...It's more common with feelings; green with envy etc. I wonder who it was that decided the green-eyed monster had green eyes instead of brown, or why being sad meant having 'The Blues' and not 'The Blacks'. If you couldn't be bothered to watch the clip (you know who you are) I shall try to summarise. Holly Golightly (incidentally the only role I've seen Audrey Hepburn in that doesn't irritate me) says 'The Blues' are no big deal. You wallow, chow down on ice cream and chocolate (which would, in fact, be quite a big deal for me and my dairy-intolerant insides but it's what you do) spend the day in your jammies with Ewan McGregor on the screen and the next day you're fine. The Mean Reds are different. It's feeling like the world is on top of you and you're trapped, rootless and aimless and maybe a little bit afraid. Hypothetically speaking, like if you live at home, have no job, don't know where you're heading etc. Ahem...
When Holly Golightly gets the Mean Reds, she goes to Tiffany's. When I get them, I go to the sea. I get Jake to pick me up (come on, as if I'm going on a walk when I'm in a bad mood!) and we park at the beach and sit until I feel like going home again. I don't know why, but it works. Maybe there's something in just having a sit away from the place where you usually spend your life, maybe the Sea and Tiffany's both have something pretty to look at and that's a good distraction. Maybe it's just getting out and getting some air (hey, I roll down the windows...) but for some reason, when you get the Mean Reds that's what you do.
Why am I telling you all of this (to be honest, I'm asking myself that question right now!) I think it's because if there is any tenuous link between the Blues or the Mean Reds and breaking social boundaries it's this: no one talks about having them, and so it seems like you're the only one to ever get them. I think part of the reason why it sucks being down is because you feel so alone in it. It feels like everyone else is getting it right, and you just can't help getting it wrong. Yet, I think the reason I love Breakfast at Tiffany's so much is, aside from a plethora of other reasons, by calling that random feeling I have The Mean Reds, I realised that it has a name for a reason - other people have felt how I feel, and probably do right now. It's a thing.
There's a truth in the saying that 'Misery loves company'. It might sound selfish, and maybe it is, but knowing that a few of my friends are also back home and feeling a bit aimless somehow makes it ok that I feel that way. But when you're miserable, when is it ok to share that with the non-miserable people? No one likes a party pooper, and I'm with them on that, or you ask yourself 'What if they don't get it?' but then you spend so much energy pretending to be fine that you end up resenting your friends for not knowing that you're the furthest thing from it. Do you know how they'll know? If you tell them! Or maybe you don't share enough because it makes you realise how disproportionate your feelings are to the situation, especially if you share with people that have far greater miseries to deal with than your middle-class problems. 'Oh, I have too many choices and I don't know which to pick. I live with my parents, don't pay rent, and have my washing and dinner done for me every day but sometimes I have to unload the dishwasher. I have an awesome boyfriend which sucks cos I only see him 3 days out of 7, I have been blessed with too many best friends and I miss them all.' Sob Sob Tear Tear.
But it still sucks. I'm aware that things aren't all that bad really, but The Mean Reds don't respond to rationality. Today I'm depressed because I can't afford to go to Hatfield - Hatfield. Have you been there? I spent most of my time at Uni wishing I could be in Worthing again, or at least somewhere with more going for it than The Galleria and an Asda. But I miss my life there and have nothing going on here to replace it with yet. I just need something going on in my life.
I guess what I'm trying to say is, I know this is some sort of learning curve for me. I know I'll look back on this time in my life as the first steps towards shaping my future; that something is on it's way round the corner waiting for me and these are the moments just before I reach it. But that doesn't do it for me right now. When you get your heart broken, you don't know at the time it's because something better is going to come along. When you move away from all your friends, you have no idea about the amazing new ones you're going to make. I've had both of those things happen, and so maybe when you're sad because you have to leave Uni you don't realise it's because you're about to start something incredible. So I suppose I'll have to hang my hat on the fact that The Mean Reds is a thing, an actual thing that someone else has felt and named and that means that, at the very least, I'm not alone. Everyone is searching for their place that makes them feel like 'Tiffany's' and until then, I guess I'm glad I live near the beach.
Wednesday, 6 June 2012
Ditch the Label
Hello friends,
Well it has indeed been a while, hasn't it? And while some of that time could have been spent blogging and was spent, instead, watching tv and drinking tea (and thus I shan't apologise because tea = win) the majority was spent GETTING A DEGREE! That's right folks, you are now reading the blog of the No-Social-Boundaries Supernerd, B A ....BOOM!
I'm not sure if I'm allowed to put letters after my name until I graduate in november (or at all) but those little letters symbolise, quite nicely if I say so myself, something I've been thinking about a lot recently: labels.
Here's a big philosophical question: What makes you you? Is it your genes? Your interests? Your beliefs? Your roles and relationships? There are so many possible pathways that lead to the myriad of wonderful gorgeous parts of a person that it's almost impossible to know someone, or one's self, fully. Yet how many times have you heard someone described as 'Oh that's Oliver, he's the sporty one.' or 'You'd like my friend Will, he's really into Disney.' We seem to do this thing where we sum up people in one or two phrases, one or two categories and then that's enough for us. Oliver's sporty. Will likes Disney. And if Oliver and Will are friends (in this case, they aren't because they're from different places but, to clarify, they're both lovely) Will cannot be sporty and Oliver can't like Disney. Sport is Oliver's thing. Mickey and the gang are Will's friends, and Will's alone. That's it please. No more, no less. Let's be friends.
Perhaps I exaggerate, but part of the fun of being friends with someone is discovering new and exciting things about them along the way. I've been friends with Hannah since we were 14 and I only discovered a few weeks ago that she writes poetry, and if three years at uni has taught me anything (other than how to read books - who knew that needed learning) is that people really do change. I've changed. My housemate Jamie changed so much that I don't recognise her in half her facebook pictures. Yet one of the things I was most scared about moving home was that a lot of people in Wo-town haven't been around to see how I've changed. Some of the labels they used to describe me no longer apply, and some newer ones do. And I'm sure the day will come when there will be different things again. There are things I used to be that I didn't like, and the second I suggest that I am something to the contrary, people who have known and loved me for years will still say: 'Coming from you?' But it seems some labels can never be shirked. No matter how many times my friend Polly dyes her hair, she will always be called ginger. Is she naturally a red head? No. How many times has she accidentally gone ginger? Twice, that I can recall. That makes 2 moments out of an infinity of being a brunette but they were hilarious, and thus she is ginger Polly. For all of time.
But here's what I really want to know: do we create the labels, or do the labels create us? It's quite a douchey question so I shall explain and ramble as quickly as possible so you all forget. For my final project in Creative Writing I wrote a chapter for my superhero novel. I read it to Jamie, she liked it. My teacher gave it *toots own horn* a first and I liked it. I think that was something good that I wrote. But I refused to let Pimms read it. Pimms is my older cousin and I've always cared what she thought of me and looked up to her (one thing that hasn't changed about me is that I'm ever so slightly prone to hero worship...) It terrified me that she might not like it, and then I might not like it anymore. So I wouldn't let her read it but then I realised: I'm already starting to think less of it, I'm already stressing out over her opinion when a) it's only one opinion and b) she hasn't even read it! I became the scared, intimidated little cousin again all from fear that she would see me as that. Ludicrous! I ended up just giving it to her for that reason and she liked it. Where was the beef?
How many times does someone have to call you something before you'll believe it, and, even, be it? If enough people said Ryan Gosling was unattractive, would that change how everyone saw him? Or maybe if he heard it, perhaps he would be more self-conscious, exude less of that marvellous yummy-ness, and actually be less attractive. My point is, we need to start thinking about the things we put on people. It's human nature to talk about each other, to work out what makes people tick, but we have to remember to keep an open mind. Who are we to say what or who a person is or isn't? Or that a person is still the same person as they were when they were 16. What damage could we be doing simply by refusing to accept that we can't understand everything about a person? A label shouldn't be written in permanent marker, it's a personality trait, a mood even, something that's there today but might not be tomorrow and isn't for anyone other than you and the big man upstairs to decide about you.
And I don't know about you, but I don't want to live in a world where Ryan Gosling is unattractive. The thought is too much to bear.
Well it has indeed been a while, hasn't it? And while some of that time could have been spent blogging and was spent, instead, watching tv and drinking tea (and thus I shan't apologise because tea = win) the majority was spent GETTING A DEGREE! That's right folks, you are now reading the blog of the No-Social-Boundaries Supernerd, B A ....BOOM!
I'm not sure if I'm allowed to put letters after my name until I graduate in november (or at all) but those little letters symbolise, quite nicely if I say so myself, something I've been thinking about a lot recently: labels.
Here's a big philosophical question: What makes you you? Is it your genes? Your interests? Your beliefs? Your roles and relationships? There are so many possible pathways that lead to the myriad of wonderful gorgeous parts of a person that it's almost impossible to know someone, or one's self, fully. Yet how many times have you heard someone described as 'Oh that's Oliver, he's the sporty one.' or 'You'd like my friend Will, he's really into Disney.' We seem to do this thing where we sum up people in one or two phrases, one or two categories and then that's enough for us. Oliver's sporty. Will likes Disney. And if Oliver and Will are friends (in this case, they aren't because they're from different places but, to clarify, they're both lovely) Will cannot be sporty and Oliver can't like Disney. Sport is Oliver's thing. Mickey and the gang are Will's friends, and Will's alone. That's it please. No more, no less. Let's be friends.
Perhaps I exaggerate, but part of the fun of being friends with someone is discovering new and exciting things about them along the way. I've been friends with Hannah since we were 14 and I only discovered a few weeks ago that she writes poetry, and if three years at uni has taught me anything (other than how to read books - who knew that needed learning) is that people really do change. I've changed. My housemate Jamie changed so much that I don't recognise her in half her facebook pictures. Yet one of the things I was most scared about moving home was that a lot of people in Wo-town haven't been around to see how I've changed. Some of the labels they used to describe me no longer apply, and some newer ones do. And I'm sure the day will come when there will be different things again. There are things I used to be that I didn't like, and the second I suggest that I am something to the contrary, people who have known and loved me for years will still say: 'Coming from you?' But it seems some labels can never be shirked. No matter how many times my friend Polly dyes her hair, she will always be called ginger. Is she naturally a red head? No. How many times has she accidentally gone ginger? Twice, that I can recall. That makes 2 moments out of an infinity of being a brunette but they were hilarious, and thus she is ginger Polly. For all of time.
But here's what I really want to know: do we create the labels, or do the labels create us? It's quite a douchey question so I shall explain and ramble as quickly as possible so you all forget. For my final project in Creative Writing I wrote a chapter for my superhero novel. I read it to Jamie, she liked it. My teacher gave it *toots own horn* a first and I liked it. I think that was something good that I wrote. But I refused to let Pimms read it. Pimms is my older cousin and I've always cared what she thought of me and looked up to her (one thing that hasn't changed about me is that I'm ever so slightly prone to hero worship...) It terrified me that she might not like it, and then I might not like it anymore. So I wouldn't let her read it but then I realised: I'm already starting to think less of it, I'm already stressing out over her opinion when a) it's only one opinion and b) she hasn't even read it! I became the scared, intimidated little cousin again all from fear that she would see me as that. Ludicrous! I ended up just giving it to her for that reason and she liked it. Where was the beef?
How many times does someone have to call you something before you'll believe it, and, even, be it? If enough people said Ryan Gosling was unattractive, would that change how everyone saw him? Or maybe if he heard it, perhaps he would be more self-conscious, exude less of that marvellous yummy-ness, and actually be less attractive. My point is, we need to start thinking about the things we put on people. It's human nature to talk about each other, to work out what makes people tick, but we have to remember to keep an open mind. Who are we to say what or who a person is or isn't? Or that a person is still the same person as they were when they were 16. What damage could we be doing simply by refusing to accept that we can't understand everything about a person? A label shouldn't be written in permanent marker, it's a personality trait, a mood even, something that's there today but might not be tomorrow and isn't for anyone other than you and the big man upstairs to decide about you.
And I don't know about you, but I don't want to live in a world where Ryan Gosling is unattractive. The thought is too much to bear.
Sunday, 26 February 2012
Risky Business
Well hi there! I'm experimenting with bold font, what do we think? These things are very important, you know.
Let's start with a cheeky anecdote. On friday I have a horrible busy day at uni. I'm in from 9 until 4, but with two separate breaks in between lectures which are long enough for boredom to occur, but not so long that it's worth doing anything productive, so we tend to end up in the canteen most of the day, doing the most glorious of all activites: eating.
Last friday, during the first break, Jamie and I had eaten, perhaps, the entire restaurant's supply of chips - all you can eat for £1.20? Challenge accepted. However, when it came to second break, we were both feeling for something sweet, something small, and Jamie decided upon a doughnut. I did a little sad face and said I wanted a doughnut too, to which Jamie said 'Get one, then', but alas, I could not.
Most of you know of the cruel and unusual things that dairy does to my insides, and, being an, if I may say so, astounding cupcake baker, I know that cakey things tend to have butter in them, hence I have to make my own. And I love doughnuts, perhaps even favouring them over all other baked goods, but homemade doughnuts suck, they just do. After cheesecake, doughtnuts have been the thing I've been craving most the whole time I've been a dairy-reject. Jamie, however, changed my life with one little question: 'Aren't doughtnuts more like bread than cakes?'
I googled it. Maybe they didn't have butter; maybe the doughnut and I could be reunited. Yet I searched to no avail. My phone internet was too slow to provide me with the answers, our hour break was drawing to a close. It was now or never, do or die, to doughnut or not to doughnut.
I risked it.
And huzzah, hooray, whoopee and so forth, I was fine! And when I finally got round to looking it up, it seemed as though doughnuts are butter free - who knew? (And if you did know and didn't tell me, I will track. you. down.)
So the point I come to is this, risks are good. It's a simple statement, and if I'm honest, it doesn't always seem to be true but I'm going to say it nonetheless. I'm aware that if that doughnut had hurt my insides, it wouldn't have led to this blog, but now I am on the other side, with a bag of doughnuts on my tesco delivery list, I must declare that it was worth the risk. Thus I set forth this challenge: take a risk. Now, on this day and waste not another moment. Take a risk.
Do something that ordinary, boring you wouldn't normally do and do it now. It doesn't have to be a massive thing. I'm not saying go out and bungee jump or get engaged to the next person you see on the street. Do something small, something tiny, but make sure it's something different and make sure it's a risk. Don't think purple hair would suit you? Risk it. Think Woman in Black looks good but it might be too scary? Risk it. Want to go surprise your friend who lives in another town but they may not be in and you'll have wasted all that time and money getting there? DEFINITELY risk that one!
And yes, it is a risk. You might not suit purple hair, it's not for everyone, but now you know. Woman in Black may make you wet your pants, but at least you saw it. Your friends may not be home, but hey, you're in a new town with an afternoon all to yourself and new things to see, instead of just sitting in bed watching iPlayer. Do it, do it now! Be able to say to yourself in the years to come: 'On that day, at least once, I did something different. Something risky. And I loved it!' Or even: 'Well that went completely tits up, but I tried it, I risked it, I lived.'
Let's start with a cheeky anecdote. On friday I have a horrible busy day at uni. I'm in from 9 until 4, but with two separate breaks in between lectures which are long enough for boredom to occur, but not so long that it's worth doing anything productive, so we tend to end up in the canteen most of the day, doing the most glorious of all activites: eating.
Last friday, during the first break, Jamie and I had eaten, perhaps, the entire restaurant's supply of chips - all you can eat for £1.20? Challenge accepted. However, when it came to second break, we were both feeling for something sweet, something small, and Jamie decided upon a doughnut. I did a little sad face and said I wanted a doughnut too, to which Jamie said 'Get one, then', but alas, I could not.
Most of you know of the cruel and unusual things that dairy does to my insides, and, being an, if I may say so, astounding cupcake baker, I know that cakey things tend to have butter in them, hence I have to make my own. And I love doughnuts, perhaps even favouring them over all other baked goods, but homemade doughnuts suck, they just do. After cheesecake, doughtnuts have been the thing I've been craving most the whole time I've been a dairy-reject. Jamie, however, changed my life with one little question: 'Aren't doughtnuts more like bread than cakes?'
I googled it. Maybe they didn't have butter; maybe the doughnut and I could be reunited. Yet I searched to no avail. My phone internet was too slow to provide me with the answers, our hour break was drawing to a close. It was now or never, do or die, to doughnut or not to doughnut.
I risked it.
And huzzah, hooray, whoopee and so forth, I was fine! And when I finally got round to looking it up, it seemed as though doughnuts are butter free - who knew? (And if you did know and didn't tell me, I will track. you. down.)
So the point I come to is this, risks are good. It's a simple statement, and if I'm honest, it doesn't always seem to be true but I'm going to say it nonetheless. I'm aware that if that doughnut had hurt my insides, it wouldn't have led to this blog, but now I am on the other side, with a bag of doughnuts on my tesco delivery list, I must declare that it was worth the risk. Thus I set forth this challenge: take a risk. Now, on this day and waste not another moment. Take a risk.
Do something that ordinary, boring you wouldn't normally do and do it now. It doesn't have to be a massive thing. I'm not saying go out and bungee jump or get engaged to the next person you see on the street. Do something small, something tiny, but make sure it's something different and make sure it's a risk. Don't think purple hair would suit you? Risk it. Think Woman in Black looks good but it might be too scary? Risk it. Want to go surprise your friend who lives in another town but they may not be in and you'll have wasted all that time and money getting there? DEFINITELY risk that one!
And yes, it is a risk. You might not suit purple hair, it's not for everyone, but now you know. Woman in Black may make you wet your pants, but at least you saw it. Your friends may not be home, but hey, you're in a new town with an afternoon all to yourself and new things to see, instead of just sitting in bed watching iPlayer. Do it, do it now! Be able to say to yourself in the years to come: 'On that day, at least once, I did something different. Something risky. And I loved it!' Or even: 'Well that went completely tits up, but I tried it, I risked it, I lived.'
Tuesday, 21 February 2012
Happy Valentines Year
Hello everyone!
My friend Polly started a blog (she's such a copycat - get your own thing!) I jest. I'm actually really glad she's joined the hallowed ranks of the bloggers because she lives far far away these days so I like seeing pictures of cakes she's baked and Ben Howard quotes and generally what she's been up to, lovely. Her last blog was about Valentines day and it got me thinking about how I feel about Valentines day being that a) I have a boyfriend but b) we're not all that couple-y and c) I like giving presents but d) I hate consumerism's death grip on us all but e) I don't want my friends to feel lonely and sad. It's a very complicated situation going on upstairs but let's see if we can work this out, shall we?
Also, I'm aware I'm a week late for a V-day blog, and today I should post about pancakes but I'm dairy intolerant so I'm ignoring pancake day. I don't much like them anyway, hang their deeper significance!
So, Valentines. I don't know about the rest of you but I've never been such a fan. When you're at school you hope to get a secret admirerer (but I was a nerd in high school so that was never gonna happen) and my mum has always given me a valentine anyway so I've never been bothered. But I think I have beef with Valentines day and I shall tell you for why. It seems to cause more arguments than it cures, starts more stress than it soothes, and makes people feel more lonely than loved.
Think it over, it's one day a year, one day in which you MUST show the person you love that you love them, in the perfect way, or your proverbial balls are in a vice. If you're single it's the one day where everyone has license to rub their love in your face (bingo?) and so you need a date, a card, anything to give evidential proof that you're not alone, which you're not meant to require any other day of the year. It's the pressure of romance and attention, and my biggest beef, if you've not picked up on the repetitions, is that it's only ONE DAY.
Mine and Jake's anniversary is on febuary 1st, right after my birthday which comes right after Christmas which follows Jake's birthday. By Valentines day, we're done. We've exhausted our original cute ideas, our bank balances are dry, but 2 weeks later we have to do it all over again because the world tells us to. It's one day, seemingly picked at random, and surely we should be sharing the love all through the year. My friend Hannah was telling me yesterday that she's taken to writing lovely quotes on tea bags and posting them to people who love tea and need a pick-me-up. Does she do that because it's Valentines? No. She just cares because she cares.
But I did kinda have the best valentines ever this year and it wasn't because Jake did anything for me specifically, it's because Jake, Polly and I had THIRD WHEEL VALENTINES DAY!!! It was AWESOME. I'd had a really stressful week, and had to go straight from uni to the train station and jump on a 3 hour train home and when I got there, Jake was waiting for me in the car, and he and Polly had spent the day at my house cooking me dinner. They made beer butt chicken (Jamie Oliver Recipe :P) Polly made a tiered cake, we drank wine, wonderful.
So, in fairness, we did that because it was Valentines day. And I'm not shirking a great excuse to show people you love them, but we should spread the love all year round, not just on one day. And it definitely shouldn't just be a couples thing because, left to our own devices, Jake and I probably wouldn't have ended up doing anything and if we had, there would have been all this pressure and expectation, and instead we had a great night with someone who LOVES valentines, and it was super fun.
So I hope you enjoyed your day of love, friends, but remember (in a very christmas-carol-esque fashion) to keep the true meaning of valentines day in your hearts, and keep it all the year. Spread the love :)
My friend Polly started a blog (she's such a copycat - get your own thing!) I jest. I'm actually really glad she's joined the hallowed ranks of the bloggers because she lives far far away these days so I like seeing pictures of cakes she's baked and Ben Howard quotes and generally what she's been up to, lovely. Her last blog was about Valentines day and it got me thinking about how I feel about Valentines day being that a) I have a boyfriend but b) we're not all that couple-y and c) I like giving presents but d) I hate consumerism's death grip on us all but e) I don't want my friends to feel lonely and sad. It's a very complicated situation going on upstairs but let's see if we can work this out, shall we?
Also, I'm aware I'm a week late for a V-day blog, and today I should post about pancakes but I'm dairy intolerant so I'm ignoring pancake day. I don't much like them anyway, hang their deeper significance!
So, Valentines. I don't know about the rest of you but I've never been such a fan. When you're at school you hope to get a secret admirerer (but I was a nerd in high school so that was never gonna happen) and my mum has always given me a valentine anyway so I've never been bothered. But I think I have beef with Valentines day and I shall tell you for why. It seems to cause more arguments than it cures, starts more stress than it soothes, and makes people feel more lonely than loved.
Think it over, it's one day a year, one day in which you MUST show the person you love that you love them, in the perfect way, or your proverbial balls are in a vice. If you're single it's the one day where everyone has license to rub their love in your face (bingo?) and so you need a date, a card, anything to give evidential proof that you're not alone, which you're not meant to require any other day of the year. It's the pressure of romance and attention, and my biggest beef, if you've not picked up on the repetitions, is that it's only ONE DAY.
Mine and Jake's anniversary is on febuary 1st, right after my birthday which comes right after Christmas which follows Jake's birthday. By Valentines day, we're done. We've exhausted our original cute ideas, our bank balances are dry, but 2 weeks later we have to do it all over again because the world tells us to. It's one day, seemingly picked at random, and surely we should be sharing the love all through the year. My friend Hannah was telling me yesterday that she's taken to writing lovely quotes on tea bags and posting them to people who love tea and need a pick-me-up. Does she do that because it's Valentines? No. She just cares because she cares.
But I did kinda have the best valentines ever this year and it wasn't because Jake did anything for me specifically, it's because Jake, Polly and I had THIRD WHEEL VALENTINES DAY!!! It was AWESOME. I'd had a really stressful week, and had to go straight from uni to the train station and jump on a 3 hour train home and when I got there, Jake was waiting for me in the car, and he and Polly had spent the day at my house cooking me dinner. They made beer butt chicken (Jamie Oliver Recipe :P) Polly made a tiered cake, we drank wine, wonderful.
So, in fairness, we did that because it was Valentines day. And I'm not shirking a great excuse to show people you love them, but we should spread the love all year round, not just on one day. And it definitely shouldn't just be a couples thing because, left to our own devices, Jake and I probably wouldn't have ended up doing anything and if we had, there would have been all this pressure and expectation, and instead we had a great night with someone who LOVES valentines, and it was super fun.
So I hope you enjoyed your day of love, friends, but remember (in a very christmas-carol-esque fashion) to keep the true meaning of valentines day in your hearts, and keep it all the year. Spread the love :)
Friday, 17 February 2012
Zombieland
Hey buddies :)
First, a warning: to put this blog in context I have to give you a list of the amount of work I had to do this week. It's a dull list, just to warn you. It gets good in a bit.
I had multiple books to read for uni, a 200 page sci-fi novel for wednesday (which gave me two days to read it in as Jake was here all weekend), and a 400 page lesbian novel and 300 page native american novel for friday. (Both of those in two days) Plus I had to write 500 words of my final creative writing piece. However, I also finally got my dissertation back and my friend 'Hannah' has got back from Uganda without contracting a tropical parasite (this time) so that's good. Thus, you catch me at the end of a mixed week. (I know it's only friday but I plan to have a wonderful weekend so that won't count.)
Ok, list time over. The problem with my busy week of reading is that I have plans to go watch the latest episode of The Walking Dead at my friend Percy's tomorrow. Don't worry, these things are related. I am a massive TV addict. I will shamefully admit this, and even go so far as to confess I am not even that choosy. Made in Chelsea? Love it. Skins? It's got a bit crap now, but don't care. I love the more high brow entertainments too, but my weakness is that I have to see the story through. If I watch one episode, I must watch every single episode of that show until they get cancelled. It's a sickness. However, although I have seen odd episodes of The Walking Dead (which by the way is totally awesome) I haven't seen all the episodes and I deemed it necessary to catch up on 2 seasons to be prepared for tomorrow. Did I get my long list of reading done? I did not. Don't judge me.
This was part procrastination, as indeed the prospect of reading 950 collective pages didn't appeal, but the whole thing bit me in the ass in a variety of ways. Firstly, the obvious, I was a bit screwed in my seminars. I got the sci-fi book done, and creative writing, but I only managed half of the native american book and a fifth of the massive lesbian one. Today, I blagged my way through the seminars by the skin of my teeth, but I need to use that lesbian book for an essay eventually, and poor Jamie got stuck with me as a partner in the native american seminar and had to explain the plot to me instead of getting to have an actual discussion. Not cool. Friend points lost.
However, this wasn't the only realisation I had from my WD marathon. When I got home today, deadline free and ready for the weekend, I sat down to watch the last few episodes, but I didn't particularly enjoy it. It wasn't WD's fault, I also made myself watch Grey's Anatomy and 30 Rock, but I didn't even want to watch TV. In truth I only started this blog because I wanted something to do other than that but I know the minute I publish this post I won't tidy my room, or bake, or read, or anything productive or, even, just fun and different. I will watch TV. Why?
TV has turned us into zombies (which, if you've seen WD, is quite ironic). I come home, sit down, and switch on, without even thinking. Whenever I emerge from my room to have tea with Jamie I end up talking about TV shows like it's something that actually happened in my life, or something that someone I know actually said. It's all I have to say when she asks about my day - how depressing is that? Then, when I return to my room, I can't do anything else before I watch something. And do I even want to? Not all the time. I watch programmes I don't even like just to procrastinate but when I've got actual free time TV is boring. Is it that I am just a lazy slob? (Don't answer that.) Or is life so boring or scary or sad that we feel the need to escape into 8 different fictional worlds in a day just to distract ourselves? I even wanted to finish those massive books today - they were actually really good (from what I read of them) - but even wanting to do something else wasn't enough, the box still drew me in. And when you think about how these shows have your time, your attention, your loyalty, you have to wonder; what is this power they have over me? And how, dare I ask, are they going to use it?
First, a warning: to put this blog in context I have to give you a list of the amount of work I had to do this week. It's a dull list, just to warn you. It gets good in a bit.
I had multiple books to read for uni, a 200 page sci-fi novel for wednesday (which gave me two days to read it in as Jake was here all weekend), and a 400 page lesbian novel and 300 page native american novel for friday. (Both of those in two days) Plus I had to write 500 words of my final creative writing piece. However, I also finally got my dissertation back and my friend 'Hannah' has got back from Uganda without contracting a tropical parasite (this time) so that's good. Thus, you catch me at the end of a mixed week. (I know it's only friday but I plan to have a wonderful weekend so that won't count.)
Ok, list time over. The problem with my busy week of reading is that I have plans to go watch the latest episode of The Walking Dead at my friend Percy's tomorrow. Don't worry, these things are related. I am a massive TV addict. I will shamefully admit this, and even go so far as to confess I am not even that choosy. Made in Chelsea? Love it. Skins? It's got a bit crap now, but don't care. I love the more high brow entertainments too, but my weakness is that I have to see the story through. If I watch one episode, I must watch every single episode of that show until they get cancelled. It's a sickness. However, although I have seen odd episodes of The Walking Dead (which by the way is totally awesome) I haven't seen all the episodes and I deemed it necessary to catch up on 2 seasons to be prepared for tomorrow. Did I get my long list of reading done? I did not. Don't judge me.
This was part procrastination, as indeed the prospect of reading 950 collective pages didn't appeal, but the whole thing bit me in the ass in a variety of ways. Firstly, the obvious, I was a bit screwed in my seminars. I got the sci-fi book done, and creative writing, but I only managed half of the native american book and a fifth of the massive lesbian one. Today, I blagged my way through the seminars by the skin of my teeth, but I need to use that lesbian book for an essay eventually, and poor Jamie got stuck with me as a partner in the native american seminar and had to explain the plot to me instead of getting to have an actual discussion. Not cool. Friend points lost.
However, this wasn't the only realisation I had from my WD marathon. When I got home today, deadline free and ready for the weekend, I sat down to watch the last few episodes, but I didn't particularly enjoy it. It wasn't WD's fault, I also made myself watch Grey's Anatomy and 30 Rock, but I didn't even want to watch TV. In truth I only started this blog because I wanted something to do other than that but I know the minute I publish this post I won't tidy my room, or bake, or read, or anything productive or, even, just fun and different. I will watch TV. Why?
TV has turned us into zombies (which, if you've seen WD, is quite ironic). I come home, sit down, and switch on, without even thinking. Whenever I emerge from my room to have tea with Jamie I end up talking about TV shows like it's something that actually happened in my life, or something that someone I know actually said. It's all I have to say when she asks about my day - how depressing is that? Then, when I return to my room, I can't do anything else before I watch something. And do I even want to? Not all the time. I watch programmes I don't even like just to procrastinate but when I've got actual free time TV is boring. Is it that I am just a lazy slob? (Don't answer that.) Or is life so boring or scary or sad that we feel the need to escape into 8 different fictional worlds in a day just to distract ourselves? I even wanted to finish those massive books today - they were actually really good (from what I read of them) - but even wanting to do something else wasn't enough, the box still drew me in. And when you think about how these shows have your time, your attention, your loyalty, you have to wonder; what is this power they have over me? And how, dare I ask, are they going to use it?
Monday, 13 February 2012
No Complaints Here
Hello Friends, and people who have no personal relationship with me but have a strange taste for gross stuff and way too much time on their hands :)
I realise it may have been a while, apologies. It was recently my birthday and my very good friend (I can't remember if I've mentioned him before so we'll re-name him...Pedro) couldn't make it up to H-town which was very sad times. However, lucky for me he is a very talented graphic designer and in penance for his absence he sent me this:
For those of you of the simpler intellect, it's a book! My blogs are, in the loosest sense of the word, published! And he's even illustrated each blog, can you spot them all?
However, as the book ends at my last blog (virtual-oso for those who haven't read it - do it, I have it on good authority that it's a corker!) I've been apprehensive about writing a new one. Hopefully Pedro will get on to a sequel for my Christmas present...
Minor showing off out of the way now, let's begin! Today's blog begins with a paradox, or, at least, a fair whack of hypocrisy. I'm complaining about...complaining! Now how does that work?
I seem to be under some sort of terrible curse. I'll go to a restaurant, let's say with a group of friends, and order dinner as this tends to be what people do in restaurants and, as you know, I'm all about convention. However, and I must stress this fact, WITHOUT FAIL if there is going to be a dinner forgotten, it will be mine. If there is to be a chicken undercooked, mine will be that unfortunate bird. If I order a coke with no ice or lemon, or a burger with no lettuce, the fates have ordained that there shall forever be ice and lemon in that coke, and lettuce in that burger. I may be being a little melodramatic, but it's often my order that gets messed up, and I who has to do that heinous and most unpleasant of tasks: complaining.
You must be thinking; 'But you're a blogger! You went on a 4 paragraphs-long rant because your best friend farts on the toilet and then flushes. Surely complaining comes as easily to you as not showering or trumping in public?' You would think, but no, dear friends, I cannot complain to save my life. I am a complete wuss. Yesterday I had to ring up a lady who'd given me a health test because what she prescribed wasn't working, and I had to have 3 practice run-throughs of the potential conversation with Jake first before I would even dial.
I would say this may be a terribly uptight british thing but we LOVE complaining about stuff, in private. The weather, food, films, politics; you name it, we find fault with it, but if we get a hideous haircut, we still smile away when the hairdresser holds the mirror up at the back and asks 'is this ok?' and when the waitress asks that annoying question 'is everything ok for you here?' we nod and smile and even leave a tip at the end of the meal! I will wait for hours before I finally muster up the nerve to ask where my meal has got to, I will scoop the ice out of my coke and drop it on the floor (don't judge me) before I will mention that I said 'no ice'. Why do we do it? Because we don't want to cause a fuss, because we don't want to hurt anyone's feelings, because we'd rather risk samonella than send back our chicken and embarass everyone else around the table. It's nuts.
And I'm not saying we should all go into our local McDonalds and demand five-star dining. I have worked in a shop and those annoying customers who come in and demand a return still bring me out in a cold sweat. But if someone provides a service or a product that's, frankly, crap, we shouldn't just grin and bear it, but say something with as much poise and serenity as we can muster. Don't be the kind of complainer that yells until their dinner gets refunded, but then their pudding comes with a not-so-secret spitty ingredient. A quiet word and a smile works infinitely better.
But you get these people who have the opposite problem to me, they complain about EVERYTHING trivial in life, and that's just as bad. Don't complain about stupid stuff like your crisps aren't crispy enough or your plate wasn't placed from the left and taken from the right. Get over it! There are so many bigger problems in the world, you could be using your complaing powers for good, and not for the dark side. I have very low standards for general food quality and hygiene standards *salutes*, if it's so bad that even I don't want to eat it, then I think it's time to speak up. But, as in all things, speak out against it if it's unfair, if not, just shut up and eat. There are people starving you know, complain about that, not how much dressing you got on your salad.
I realise it may have been a while, apologies. It was recently my birthday and my very good friend (I can't remember if I've mentioned him before so we'll re-name him...Pedro) couldn't make it up to H-town which was very sad times. However, lucky for me he is a very talented graphic designer and in penance for his absence he sent me this:
However, as the book ends at my last blog (virtual-oso for those who haven't read it - do it, I have it on good authority that it's a corker!) I've been apprehensive about writing a new one. Hopefully Pedro will get on to a sequel for my Christmas present...
Minor showing off out of the way now, let's begin! Today's blog begins with a paradox, or, at least, a fair whack of hypocrisy. I'm complaining about...complaining! Now how does that work?
I seem to be under some sort of terrible curse. I'll go to a restaurant, let's say with a group of friends, and order dinner as this tends to be what people do in restaurants and, as you know, I'm all about convention. However, and I must stress this fact, WITHOUT FAIL if there is going to be a dinner forgotten, it will be mine. If there is to be a chicken undercooked, mine will be that unfortunate bird. If I order a coke with no ice or lemon, or a burger with no lettuce, the fates have ordained that there shall forever be ice and lemon in that coke, and lettuce in that burger. I may be being a little melodramatic, but it's often my order that gets messed up, and I who has to do that heinous and most unpleasant of tasks: complaining.
You must be thinking; 'But you're a blogger! You went on a 4 paragraphs-long rant because your best friend farts on the toilet and then flushes. Surely complaining comes as easily to you as not showering or trumping in public?' You would think, but no, dear friends, I cannot complain to save my life. I am a complete wuss. Yesterday I had to ring up a lady who'd given me a health test because what she prescribed wasn't working, and I had to have 3 practice run-throughs of the potential conversation with Jake first before I would even dial.
I would say this may be a terribly uptight british thing but we LOVE complaining about stuff, in private. The weather, food, films, politics; you name it, we find fault with it, but if we get a hideous haircut, we still smile away when the hairdresser holds the mirror up at the back and asks 'is this ok?' and when the waitress asks that annoying question 'is everything ok for you here?' we nod and smile and even leave a tip at the end of the meal! I will wait for hours before I finally muster up the nerve to ask where my meal has got to, I will scoop the ice out of my coke and drop it on the floor (don't judge me) before I will mention that I said 'no ice'. Why do we do it? Because we don't want to cause a fuss, because we don't want to hurt anyone's feelings, because we'd rather risk samonella than send back our chicken and embarass everyone else around the table. It's nuts.
And I'm not saying we should all go into our local McDonalds and demand five-star dining. I have worked in a shop and those annoying customers who come in and demand a return still bring me out in a cold sweat. But if someone provides a service or a product that's, frankly, crap, we shouldn't just grin and bear it, but say something with as much poise and serenity as we can muster. Don't be the kind of complainer that yells until their dinner gets refunded, but then their pudding comes with a not-so-secret spitty ingredient. A quiet word and a smile works infinitely better.
But you get these people who have the opposite problem to me, they complain about EVERYTHING trivial in life, and that's just as bad. Don't complain about stupid stuff like your crisps aren't crispy enough or your plate wasn't placed from the left and taken from the right. Get over it! There are so many bigger problems in the world, you could be using your complaing powers for good, and not for the dark side. I have very low standards for general food quality and hygiene standards *salutes*, if it's so bad that even I don't want to eat it, then I think it's time to speak up. But, as in all things, speak out against it if it's unfair, if not, just shut up and eat. There are people starving you know, complain about that, not how much dressing you got on your salad.
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