being friendly

I am a guilt ridden soul sometimes.

I am a poor friend to many. In a modern world of satellite communications, internet social activity and even a household telephone, I rarely talk to my friends. In a rather meaningless way, this year has returned the results of my lack of labours in a superb showing of four Christmas cards arriving at my home, three of which are from family.

I completely understand that basing my friend’s opinions of me using the receipt of Christmas cards is utterly retarded. I understand that we’ve had this white stuff clogging up every transport based delivery system for a few weeks now. But in my rather strange and somewhat paranoid mind, I am no longer liked.

Maybe I should explain why I tend not to contact people, excepting for face to face meetings. I am abstract communication averse. I dislike talking to people on the phone, via text or via email. I find it rather a prescribed affair which seems to date back to listening to other people’s (read: adults when I was a child) conversations. Most have a strict and binding conversation pattern:

1. The obligatory are you alive and of good health question, followed by an anticipation of its reciprocation.
2. The rather open and empty question of how things are going in your life, which is generally answered positively, seeing as if something was wrong you’d either be a) eating through a tube b) not be able to answer the phone or c) dead. Could happen.
3. Plans for future events and discussion into the well-being of family members / shared acquaintances.
4. Friendly exchange of farewells.

This is not to dampen or disapprove of such conversations, they are well suited to their purpose and I’m sure do much for many. But not for me. I find it really difficult to fill points 2. and 3. with items of interest and I really dislike that I am following this routine that has been replicated hundreds of times.

If I have ever contacted you via telephone call, consider yourself a highly valued individual. It is an activity that I very rarely partake in. I would much rather see people in person and chat that way, it feels more natural and more real to me. It is a typical state of affairs however that doing such a thing on a regular basis is beyond my means. Maybe it should be a new resolution, a charge that I should strive to complete.

… well, it could be.

For those of you that do know me, do read this blog regularly and only hear from me on seldom occasion, you are golden. You are truly my closest friends. For the public access and completely open nature of the internet, you my super people, are the few that actually read this mindless drivel that spurts somewhat infrequently from my cavernous mind.

I will see you again. I will. Unsurprisingly, I have a list of things I aim to accomplish upon establishing myself a steady salary that I am comfortable with. The highest priority has been assigned to meeting valued friends. If you are reading this, MGMH, CS, RLH, MG and others, I am coming to see you, I miss you and I appreciate your friendship.

…

I just wish I was a good enough person to show it more.

Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year.

To YOU

Ten reasons why.

1. Because you make me laugh.

2. Because you are beauty in your own unique way.

3. Because life is too short to hate.

4. Because drinking alone really isn’t healthy.

5. Because you are an inspiration yet also an aggravation, a blessing and a curse.

6. Because it seems like only yesterday.

7. Because I know you’ll be there, through thick and thin.

8. Because old in mind young in spirit is a fact, not a saying.

9. Because you are there.

10. Because.

(UK) Happy Mother’s Day

I meant to post this on Sunday. But such is life, that the topic of the previous post destroyed all hope of that happening.

Well, that and the fact my wife was busy on the computer all weekend too. (It wasn’t me! Hooray )

This post is specifically aimed at an audience of one. If you’re not my Mother, you may find it a bit mushy and I’ll not deny that. So if that’s not what you’re after, skip this one. However, if it so happens that you’re my Mother, then read on, and I hope you enjoy it.

ode to faulenzen

Mentally exerted, I have neglected this space for a while. It is a dire consequence of a busy life, that things like “optional” blogging start to suffer.

How am I? Well.

Read that as you will, I’m well as in healthy, happy and humoured, but I’m also well, you know.

Also, in less than two weeks, I will be 25. Twenty-five, a quarter of a century old. That is a milestone.

Amongst the joys and woes of turning another year older, I always find myself turning backwards to see how far I’ve come. The trials and tribulations that have made me who I am as it were. Both distant and recent, there has been events that have shaped who I have become and who I will be. Petty things and things of massive effect. I’ve written about these plenty of times, but I haven’t written about writing.

I said earlier in the year that I was using this space as a means to constantly develop my writing. Fact is, I’ve not written anything in ages. There’s been two reasons for this. One, I haven’t made the time. Two, I’m searching for the reason why I’m still doing this. This blog didn’t start over a year ago just as a random decision to spout my verbal dirge. I started because I needed an outlet for my thoughts, during one of the most difficult phases of my life ever. I noticed just now, looking through the archives, that I actually only outwardly mentioned it once (see play hard). That was after the event. But writing here was an escape from the difficulties I was facing at the time and it really did help. Once that was over, I carried on writing because I felt the need to comment on political / social, religious or mostly racial issues. I should still be doing that really, my wife can vouch for the fact that I’m still moaning about them all. Now, I keep trying to work out what my reason for writing is. I don’t technically need a reason, but I’d like one.

I have been writing posts, but each time I have, they haven’t been post worthy. They have been art-sy pretentious drivel. Honestly. When you start writing metaphors à la 18th Century Romanticists you are being pretentious. Fact. I lacked purpose, so the action of thinking was being sieved through a veil of Keatsean murk.

So, new reason. I’ll post the oldies amongst some newies. I’ll tell you a bit more about me, I think. We’re definitely due some “memories” posts, and I need. To. Make. More. Lists. Perhaps I’ll through in some thoughts on purchases. Ooh, perhaps a taste review of a few hardy ales. Obviously that will take some time, as I have to sample them first. Defining this reason will take some time. And beer.

Overriding any real reason however, is the prevailing mindset. I should be writing to avoid “faulenzen”, a German word roughly equating to the art of slothing about your life rather than actually getting on with stuff. So, aside from trying to abate a certain Mancunian, I am writing to not be lazy. And because, lets face it, you’re worth it.

thanksgiving: best day ever?

This Thursday was special. Special beyond the normal realms of special. Lots, and I mean more than is necessarily normal amounts of  “lots”, lots of special things happened. On one day. It is even spreading over to today. But before we deal with the present, lets flick back through the awesomeness that was yesterday.

I woke up feeling much fresher than usual, took the wife to work and came back home. I then had enough time to enjoy a breakfast and some coffee before catching the train into University.

Nothing too special there. But wait. It gets better.

I arrive at Guildford on schedule and make good time to get to Library with 30 minutes to print my translation for the upcoming seminar. The printer functioned, the job was done and off I toddled to the seminar. In the seminar I discover that I had masterfully completed last week’s translation, achieving an almighty 69 (wahey in-your-endo and all that). Then, we finish early. That was abmormal. Abmormal. What a mistype. I’m going to keep that there as a tribute to my Mormon encounters, which themselves were truly “abmormal” haha.

Anyway, moving on, already glowing from my 69 and early finish (the Todd would be proud), I go to collect the results of the essay I wrote two weeks back or so. The essay I wrote on German beer commercials. The essay that I wrote in one flaming afternoon’s creativity. I check the mark. 68. SIXTY EIGHT. I jigged a little in the office, signed it off and left the receptionist smiling. This mark is particularly special for two reasons:

1. It clarifies my passion and love of all things words and translation.

2. It is the single (well maybe second) highest achieved graded essay that I have attained whilst at University.

I felt proud, like I had finally arrived with the other students that attend to learn rather than to test the facilities of the local watering holes.

So the day is going pretty darn well. Then the true highlight occurred. Upon searching in my bag for a pen, I DISCOVER A FIVE POUND NOTE.

This needs an aside on the joys of note finding. It is one of the best personal victories, when you pick up a bag / pair of jeans / jacket that you haven’t used in ages, dive into the pockets and discover £5, £10 or even the fabled gold dust, £20 notes therein. You jump, you cheer, you power punch the air with cries of childhood “Yeeeeeessssssss!”. It is truly glorious. I had one friend who was packing up ready to leave halls at Uni, who discovered whilst packing that he had absent-mindedly left himself a happy trail of £20 delights in multiple items of clothing. I joke not, the guy finished the pack on a £80 high. THAT is a leaving present to be proud of.

Back to the task at hand, I get some lunch and munch through it whilst reading the Telegraph. Twas most relaxing. This was followed by a internet session, where I initiated a Linkedin account (not so much awesomeness, but still worthy of mention. The site is pants though). My University specials finished at my final lecture where, again, we finished early. This one was special. This lecture is a two hour beast, starting at 4 and finishing at 6. SIX. It’s the last one of the week, I’m tired and want to go home. Finishing early achieved this for me. Hooray for early finishes! This then allowed me to catch the early train, which then got me home early for what was to be a special evening; in keeping with a (approximately) 100 year old tradition, we were celebrating Thanksgiving. Cue food in abundance, including a perfectly roasted, honey glazed and rustic sliced Ham. It was a Ham to end all Hams. Hamtabulous, Hamtastic, and Hambastic. Summary, it was tasty. This hammy delight was topped off with, nay, glossed with, further glorified with a wondrous Pumpkin Pie. Copiously coated with whipped cream, this thing was desert paradise, only it was a dessert. The Sahara and Black Forest gateaux have NOTHING on that bad boy.

So yeah, best day ever.

It has further continued today, in that my shift at work was cancelled, and I’m now getting ready to head back up t’ north, in pursuit of a family visit.

Thanksgiving. I give thanks to early finishes, cheeky cash finds and super essay scoring. Thanks to great Hams and Pumpkin desserts.

Thank you all.