A Quarter To Dead

Brothers In Arms

2010-03-06T01:10:00.002Z

Ironically today's blog isn't about the video game 'Brothers in Arms', nor is it about Dire Straits's seminal album. Instead it's about 'Battlefield Bad Company 2', a game that has been out for just one day, and has already proven itself to be incredible.

The one thing that the Battlefield series has always had over its rivals is an enforced sense of teamwork within its online multiplayer. Favouring objective based team games and depending on specific class load-outs, players are always encouraged to work together to overcome the odds. Bad Company 2 is no different, with tonight's online session confirming its excellence.

Moving as a team of four, I've never before witnessed such a well orchestrated operation. We had a medic who would bring us back from the brink of death, to whom we'd return the favour using his own kit should he take a hit himself. We had a heavy weapons specialist who'd take out vehicles and create short-cuts through buildings when needed. We had an assault soldier who'd provide ammo on the move, and finally there was me, inexperienced and armed only with a light machine gun and a tracer dart pistol, spotting and targeting vehicles for the others.

Moving through the narrow streets of one of the game's desert levels, it was the closest thing to a single-player set piece that I'd ever encountered in an online game. Staying close together, covering each other's blind spots and providing aid and suppressing fire when required, for the first time ever I felt like I was part of some covert strike team in a war, rather than some bloke sat at home in his pants with his headset on.

With everyone performing their designated roles, we moved through the town with speed and precision and it wasn't long before we'd accomplished our goal. Moving from cover to cover, holding our ground and flanking as a fully functioning squad was far more satisfying than any kill-streak reward. Not once did I feel the need to run off on my own in the search for personal gain, because the satisfaction of keeping with the team, staying alive and helping each other through as we moved from point to point was all the incentive we needed.

In the space of a day Bad Company 2 has already become a favourite online game of mine. I already can't wait to get back into the action, and not because I seek to rank up or gain new merits or any of that stuff - but because its an experience that is shared in a much greater sense than that of many of its rivals.

If you're reading this and you're convinced that Modern Warfare 2 is the be-all and end-all of the online console shooter, stop. Go out and get a copy of Bad Company 2, give it a chance to grab you, then watch as you get sucked in and never let back out.

Long Island Iced Tea

2010-03-05T01:00:00.002Z

Though I've lived in Japan for a fair while, some of the more memorable things to happen to me occured during a short holiday some months after my initial stays.

There's a myriad of tales that lead up to today's blog, not least the one of my having my debit card details stolen leaving me with zero cash in the middle of Tokyo, but today's blog is about a rather unfortunate episode in Fukoka.

I'd arrived in Fukoka on what was probably the rainiest day I'd ever witnessed. As my travels were pretty short I only had the one night, which I decided to spend in the most expensive hotel in the city (despite my previously stated financial difficulty).

Regardless of the torrential downpour, I venture off up the Fukoka tower - a relatively small broadcast tower that isn't particularly interesting. The nice lady on the desk (who almost definitely fancied me) tried to disuade me from wasting my money, but I'd come to Fukoka, on my own, and I was going up that fucking tower.

When I got up there I couldn't see a fucking thing, so I decided to visit the bar. Looking at the menu I noticed they did Manhattans, which I had seen once in the Simpsons, so I ordered one of those. It was pretty vile, and I later learned quite potent. Disappointed with my trip to Fukoka tower I decided to treat myself to dinner at Hard Rock Cafe followed by a film, which would later turn out to be Zack Snyder's '300'.

At Hard Rock Cafe I was asked if I'd like a drink. I said yes. I looked at the menu and noticed they sold Long Island Iced Teas. I didn't know what this was, so I ordered it. When it came, I still couldn't tell what it was, so I drank it without reserve. I had my meal, paid and went for a walk around the shopping centre while I waited for my film to start.

By this point it turned out I'd become a fair bit tipsy - albeit withouth realising. Once more wandering a Japanese entertainment centre while intoxicated I had an ice cream (as you do) and nipped off to the loo before the film.

You should, at this point, be aware that I was in dire need of a number two. I made my way into the toilets, made myself comfortable in a cubicle and prepared for 'business'. Sat there with little to do but internally evaluate my current mental state, I heard the sound of what seemed to be high heels making its way into the gents toilets and setting up shop in the cubicle next door. I found this odd, and concerned that I may embarress the poor woman who has idiotically found her way into the men's.

Imagine my surprise when, having listened to silly woman finally exit the toilet, I emerged from my cubicle - a little bit lighter - only to find it was I who had made the mistake, and was now stood in the middle of the lady's lav, just a little bit pissed.

Horrorfied at this notion I swiftly made my way to the cinema before anyone arrested me. I fell asleep through 300 and made my way back to the hotel filled with vague memories of oily men.

And that's why I no longer drink. Or order stuff I've never heard of.

Achievement Unlocked

2010-03-04T00:27:00.002Z

Today I finally did it. Following last Friday's bid to 100% complete Skate 2 before the launch of Skate 3, I went at it like next door's dog. Finally, after over two hundred matches in the space of five days I am victorious: 60 out of 60 achievements unlocked.

I've never been a huge fan of achievements; a good video game will make you feel rewarded by design alone, not a little message that pops up telling you you're a few more numbers higher to completion. In fact, the very nature of achievements adds a sort of finality to a video game. Once you've hit a thousand Gs you know the game is over and you can trade it in.

That's not really the case of course - I'll still be playing Skate 2 right up until the launch of Skate 3, because it's a good game. It makes me wonder though how many people really do think like this, and instead of playing a game for the sheer enjoyment, they play it until they've been awarded the correct amount of points that tells them they've finished, whether they've really gained a sufficient amount of enjoyment out of it or not.

I'm happy to say that, although I've spent the last week repeating match after match of the same tedious combos over the same tedious courses, I won't be throwing the game to one side to make way for something else. Instead I'll be going back to play it the way it was meant to be played, the way I decided to play it over a year ago when I decided that 2500 more EXP was a fucking stupid objective, and I'd much rather enjoy dicking about on my board creating lines and having fun.

I'm off to bed now, to think about what I have achieved today. I may not have cured cancer, and I may not have found life on Mars, I may not have even set foot on a skateboard. But I just achieved 2500 EXP in the space of five days and it was fucking hard so fuck off.

Stubborn

2010-03-03T00:45:00.003Z

Today's blog was going to be the last of the #onedays that I would write, it's got to a point where I'm writing purely for the sake of it and everyone else, including the guy behind #oneaday has already seemingly quit.

But you know what, it's not that bad. I simply haven't been giving myself enough time to do them, and once more I've allowed the blog writing process to be something that comes at the end of the day when I'm tired and can't be arsed. So this isn't me quitting, this is me re-writing my disclaimer.

I will still write one blog a day. It may not be particularly good, and it may be for some completely pointless reason that I can't even justify in my own head, but I refuse to curl up and die like everybody else seems to.

It may mean that more of these blogs are about video games. I'm afraid that's just the way it is, that's what I do, that's who I am. I'll try and avoid the subject, but I'm no longer going to write absolute shite about how I dislike re-runs of Friends, when I could be discussing things I actually care about.

I will write a blog a day, even if it means I'm an absolute wreck by the end of the year. At least until I forget. Or die.

Clip Shows

2010-03-02T00:59:00.002Z

Not wanting to disappoint those who've come to acknowledge my utter hatred for most things, today I shall be moaning about clip shows.

I'm pretty sure everybody else hates them as much as me, they're hardly an exciting substitute for an actual well-written programme, but I always feel a bit let down by them, like a child who was promised sweets, then given Tunes instead.

I've just sat down to watch last week's Newswipe on the iPlayer, looking forward to an evening of belly laughs topped off with some mild depression as all those serious bits hit home. But no, tonight's (last Tuesday's) Newswipe is a collection of clips from this series and last, apparently giving us an overview of the last two years.

Charlie Brooker is excellent, but I sort of wish instead of having an episode of stuff I've already seen they just cut the series down by one. I'm sure it's funny, and I'd no doubt laugh again, but it's stuff I've laughed at only the previous couple of weeks, I really don't need a reminder this soon.

It's worse when it happens in something like Friends. Let's assume that Friend's has a lavishly detailed plot that blends character development with groundbreaking satire. Now let's imagine the writers just couldn't give any less of a fuck about what to do with an episode. The only reasonable solution is to slash together a bunch of jokes from previous episodes, resulting in an unnecessary series of jokes that have little to do with anything in particular. Though some may argue that is all Friends is.

Of course, the solution to this problem is for me to not watch them. That'd be a start anyway. It's late and I'm tired and Newswipe was a let down, I've not thought this one through very well.

Off to Freeview channel 94 I go!

Video Gaming's Direct Link With Autism

2010-02-28T23:48:00.002Z

There is a direct link between video games and autism. True fact.

I don't know what it is, and I'm not going to pretend I'm medically educated enough to hazard a guess. It's impossible to ignore the fact however, that at least once a day the shop will be visited by either:

a.) A person (usually male) between the age of 18 and 30 who suffers from autism.

b.) A parent who claims they are buying a video game for their child (usually male) who suffers from autism.

It should be noted that almost every time, those described above will ask for a sonic the hedgehog game.

A part of me wants to believe that this is a result of Sega putting subliminal messaging in their Sonic games that forces autistics to desire even more Sonic games. It would explain the sales of the 2007 abomination at least.

The real reason is probably because from birth lazy parents have dumped their children in front of a games console. Why it's always Sonic, I'll never understand. Maybe it's something to do with the the character's movement being at just the right speed so that through the mind of an autistic child (in which everything is seen in bullet time) the game appears to be at normal pace.

Then again, maybe it isn't that games are the only medium that fulfill the requirements of an autism sufferer, but in actual fact video games are the cause of autism. Anyone reading this who's an avid video gamer is shaking their head and thinking "no, not me - I can't be autistic" is secretly deep down feeling a sudden urge to pick up Sonic Unleashed on the Wii.

One day I might read a book about autism, and see if there's any scientific proof to back up my inane ramblings. Until then, I'm off for a spot of Skate 2.

Only 1243 EXP to go!

An Urgent Phone Call

2010-02-27T23:11:00.002Z

Yesterday one of our regular customers came scurrying into the shop, face bright red and out of breath. He was sweating, and had clearly made his way in quite a hurry, marching straight up to the counter and motioning towards the manager.

The man in question visits the shop about once a day on average, usually coming in to spread about propaganda in Sony's favour - because "Sony understand the gamer, and aren't just out to get their money".

This time was different, he looked flustered and seemed to be in quite a panic. He said he desperately needed to use the phone, as he'd left is bag in his place of work and was worried someone may have picked it up. As this seemed to be a matter of great urgency, we allowed him to use the phone - after all, if his wallet and/or keys were there he could be in a serious pickle.

Alas, the conversation that followed seemed to suggest otherwise:

"Hello?...It's (NAME)...hiya, I think I've left my bag there...is it there?...it is?...aw that's brilliant...no, no, just a can of Red Bull and a Boost...no it's alright, if anyone wants them they can have them...okay, thanks for letting me know...bye!"

Tears of laughter were rolling down my face. This man, who is in his mid-thirties (or looks as though he should be), had pretty much convinced us that his life would end should he not have his bag. He had run to the shop, to use the phone.

All for a can of Red Bull and a fucking Boost, which he then offered up to everyone and anyone.

Brilliant.

Completionist

2010-02-26T23:55:00.002Z

When I was young there were very few video games I'd actually finish.

The first was probably Link's Awakening on the Game Boy, at that took me the span of three years before I completed it. Other than that, most games I played from age eight to fourteen were half finished then put to one side as I attained new ones. I've still not finished Final Fantasy 7, Tomb Raider 2 + 3 (though I finished the first using a guide, the whole way through) or Crash Bandicoot.

Not so much anymore. These days I tend to get through a game in a matter of days, usually because I'm reviewing it - but often because I know that if I don't, some cunt will spoil the entire thing for me. Today's blog isn't about games you can spoil though, it's about completing a game that doesn't really require completion.

Skate 2, as I've written before, is one of my favourite games of all time. Which is a bold statement to make considering the number of games out there. I have played it for far too long over the last year, but I've never fully completed it. Including DLC, there are 1500 achievement points available for Skate 2. I have 1450.

This score has been like this for the better part of the last year, and it's because the final achievement is the sort of thing only weird autistics who spend too much time playing the same game over and over can achieve. Weird autistics like me.

Having put of the last achievement for about ten months, I've decided that - as a sign of respect to black box for making such an excellent game, even if their achievement system is fucking stupid - I'm going to finally obtain that final achievement. To do this I will need to gain 1984 Experience points in online ranked matches.

If I grind away at the game type I'm best at, I can average about 20 Experience points per match. However: The only people playing Skate 2 a year after its launch, are fucking weirdos. This means I'm up against the creme de la creme of dodgy glitching bastards who have nothing better to do than cheat on a year old game.

Give or take the occasional bad day, I'm going to need to play about one hundred matches online to gain the required experience points. This can, and will, be done. It has to be done. I need to do it. So wish me luck, as I throw myself into a pointless chore, that could easily be avoided if I wasn't so bloody stubborn. My mind is set on this, and I'm going to need all the support I can get.

There will highly interesting updates as I near the promised land. If anybody's still reading by then.

Bread and Crisps

2010-02-26T00:09:00.002Z

That's what I had when I went to Pizza Hut today.

Technically it was a garlic ciabatta and nachos, but when I looked down it hit me that what I'd actually paid about six quid for was a plate of crisps and some bread. It didn't even taste much like garlic.

I'm not complaining, it was an enjoyable meal - if meal is the right word. What I found astounding though, was how long it took to deliver a plate of crisps and a basket of bread to our table. Other than two cheescake smoothies (imagine sticking a cheesecake in a blender - it was damn fine), the nachos and bread were all we ordered.

It took about fifteen minutes to arrive. Maybe that's fast, I don't know. I'm not sociable enough to visit enough restaurants to deem me an expert, but it seemed pretty slow. When you think that it's basically (basically) the same as putting a finger roll and a bag of doritos in the microwave, it sort of takes the piss.

Anyway, that's today's fascinating blog, I hope you all appreciate just how shoddily thrown together they're becoming. I'll leave you with an excellent thing that I saw on the way to Pizza Hut:

Guilty Pleasures

2010-02-24T22:28:00.002Z

I like a lot of stuff. A lot of that stuff is awful. Here's some of it:

Friends.

Right, I am aware that friends is rubbish. I know that, like the Simpsons, the few series that aren't rubbish are never shown on E4. But I still enjoy watching it. It's boring and inoffensive and yes, it's the same formulaic joke every episode, but shut up. Friends is my safety net, it's that show you can watch while you have your tea and know that for twenty five minutes you'll be mildly entertained. Also, young Jennifer Aniston's nipples are permanently hard. True fact.

Feist.

Feist got big by being in an iPod advert. iPods are for twats. Following extensive calculations I've come to the conclusion that Feist are therefore, for twats. But I like Feist, sure it's music for young professionals in polar-neck woolen sweaters drinking red wine and discussing contemporary art, but fuck off. The music is lovely and the videos are well good.

Alone in the Dark.

Not the Uwe Boll film of the same name, if that was my guilty pleasure you'd find me in the cupboard with a rope around my throat and balls. I'm talking about the video game, the 2007 remake in fact, the one that was, y'know, broken beyond disbelief. One day I'm going to dedicate an entire post to Alone in the Dark, because for all its faults and for all its awful, awful scripting, the developer (Eden) put more good ideas into that one game than most studios put into their entire output. Yes none of them worked, but go away.

I'll probably do another of these when I remember more things that make me absolutely terrible, but that's your lot for now.

Sad face.

Film 2010 With Mum And Dad

2010-02-24T02:12:00.005Z

Today has brought with it a new type of discomfort as I realise once more I am getting older and older and older.

My dad came in and asked me if he and my mum could borrow a DVD to watch. This is disturbing for two reasons:

1.) They are my parents.

2.) They are old.

The fact they are borrowing films that I, a young person, enjoys freaks me the fuck out. I don't think I'd even mind if it was something that was aimed at a general audience, but they borrowed Pulp fucking Fiction.

I don't know what worries me more, that I'm becoming more like them, or that they're becoming more like me. They have their own LoveFilm account and I've watched a countless number of films with them in the past, I've even sat through Brokeback Mountain with them, but there's something about the fact they're borrowing my DVDs, DVDs that are cool and from my collection.

Of course this probably means that my DVDs not cool, and I've actually already hit middle-age and am well on the way to my inevitable doom. I need some way to stop this madness. I think from now on, I'll buy nothing but pornography.

And hope to God they don't ask to borrow that.

Japanese Sex Dolls

2010-02-23T02:05:00.002Z

That's right, Japanese sex dolls. And only moments after I removed the adult content warning.

Back when I was living in Tokyo, one of my friend's (not me) decided it would be a good idea to go searching for a high-end sex doll showroom that he'd found (for one reason or another) on the Internet. As it happened, the showroom was only a few stops from where we lived, so one afternoon after lessons about five of us all hopped on the Yamanote Line and made our way to Okachimachi.

The shop itself was up a set of stairs in a small unassuming building, that almost appeared to be a residency rather than a retail outlet. It was so well hidden in fact that we almost left having no luck finding it, but thankfully intrigue won the day and after a bit more searching we recognised the company logo from the web page.

You have to understand that groups of white males in their early twenties are usually perceived as a potential case for trouble in most parts of Tokyo, so I was anxious as to how we would be received on going in. The thought had also crossed my mind that we were entering a fucking sex doll shop, which was hardly the best of ideas.

Regardless we pushed through the door, only to be greeted by the bizarre sight of multiple fake women sat on couches and stood around in a variety of poses. The room was incredibly well presented, made up to look like a front room with a variety of chairs, it was softly lit and surprisingly welcoming - not the dingy back street seedy porn dungeon I expected (read: hoped) it would be.

The shopkeeper came out from the back area following a chime from the door. At first he seemed quite flustered, explaining that usually you have to phone thirty minutes in advance in order to get an appointment. Luckily he was fairly pleasant and said we could have a look around for twenty minutes or so, but then we'd have to vacate for the next customer.

So we looked around, we were allowed to touch and prod and poke, and the shopkeeper seemed pleased to answer questions - which I provided a constant stream of, so as to keep up the appearance that we were potential customers and not just some kids from abroad come to giggle at the breasts. As far as I can remember all the models there were clothed, what was unsettling was that some of them appeared to be of children, or at least of younger than legal age.

I asked the shopkeeper what ages the models ranged from, to which he replied there was no age, simply small, medium and large - a clever yet disturbing work-around. As I continued in my most polite Japanese to ask questions and provide input/lie about what we were doing there, the shopkeeper told me he would show me something and walked off behind the counter area.

When he came back he was brandishing what appeared to be a long fleshy tube. On further inspection, one end had what appeared to be labia moulded on to it, he explained it was one of the removable vaginas used with the models (dishwasher friendly kids!). He assured me it was highly realistic, and decided I should feel for myself - I was not so sure. He emptied a sachet of lubricant into the bodiless vagina, and proceeded to push his fingers in - goo oozing from between the lips and dribbling down the sides.

At this point everyone had gathered round to see what was happening, and as the polite gentleman held out his vagina for me to feel I took a glance at the faces of those stood near me. Each one held the exact same expression - wide eyed with panicked features that read 'don't do it man'. I turned to look at the prosthetic gaping hole in front of me, the man reassured me: 'go ahead and feel, but don't use the real thing' he said as he motioned to his groin (I think it was a joke).

So there I was confronted by a rubber vagina, five pairs of eyes telling me it was a bad idea, and my conscience telling me if I didn't stick my fingers in, I was basically telling this man that I disrespected his business.

I took a deep breath and plunged a reluctant finger into the flesh slot.

'Wow, it does feel real' I remarked, the man smiling with appreciation.

I took my fingers out and looked to my audience, and do you know what? Every single one then went and stuck their fingers in. Yep, everybody had a feel, it was all hands on deck at the vagina party, Annabel Chong hadn't seen that much action.

Afterwards we thanked the man for showing us around and putting up with us poking around his store, took a bunch of photos (none of which I have to hand, but if I can get in touch with one of the guys who was there, I'll try and upload one) and were on our way.

It was a truly bizarre experience, the odd combination of a product that was incredibly taboo, but in an environment that was stupidly professional. As far as shops go, it was one of the nicest, most well presented stores I've been in. That said, there aren't many places I've been to since that allow you to stick you fingers in a vagina. Well, none that don't chase you out afterwards anyway.

Pot-HATE-oes

2010-02-22T19:10:00.003Z

I have just had beef and chips for tea. I dislike chips immensely, in fact I fucking LOATHE them.

I hate potatoes in general. Fucking boring potatoes. I wish potatoes would fuck off. Those poor sods who lived through the Irish potato famine? Lucky lucky bastards. Potatoes seem to make up about 98% of British cuisine, and it annoys me to no end. I fail to understand why what appears to be LITERALLY everybody likes potatoes.

Potatoes are the most uninteresting food-stuff I've ever encountered. Their bland taste is the most uninspiring flavour I can think of, and the dreadfully not-quite-solid texture goes right through me. The idea that this is the key factor to most Briton's staple diet make me cringe, and knowing that I'm almost definitely the only person in England who hates the stupid things annoys me further.

And yeah I know what you're thinking 'ooh look at Mr BA Japanese with honours, speaks forren and now he thinks he's better than me with his rice cooker and his dried pasta'. Well I fucking do, so fuck off and take your potatoes with you.

Fuck off, potatoes.

Birthday Cards

2010-02-20T23:48:00.002Z

Today is my father's birthday, he is pretty old.

Since birth I have made each member of my family a birthday card, using nought but my bare hands, some colourful tissue paper, and a variety of felt-tips and glitter. There has been the odd occassion on which I'll go out and buy a card from a shop, but these are limited to moments of unquestionable laziness, or times when I've just forgotten and had to buy something during the actual event itself.

The problem is; I am twenty five years old, and each year I become a little busier, a little less motivated and a lot less creative.

For my Dad's birthday this year I gave him a piece of brown card folded in half, with a message highlighting how rubbish his card was. It was supposed to be ironic, and he laughed a lot, but the truth is it was because I was up until 1am watching Battlestar Galactica and couldn't really take advantage of the necessary resources required to make a card that wasn't absolutely shite.

What's most worrying is even when I was in that kind of situation before, I was able to make something excellent out of the scraps I had to hand. Not this time. This time it was simply a case of roll over and die, which must mean the creativity inside me is finally dying off once and for all. As such, I'm deciding to pull my finger out and make sure that next year's birthday card is the card to end all cards. Maybe even the card to end the world. Until then I'll leave you with a photo of the card I made for my sister's twentieth birthday.

I am very proud of it.

The Customer Is Always Wrong

2010-02-19T23:28:00.002Z

Having worked in retail for almost five years now, I've learned one incredibly valuable lesson: The customer, is almost always wrong.

I don't care what any team of customer service big-wigs say, the average customer is not only wrong, they are staggeringly wrong. They're so wrong, they make Joseph Fritzl's actions seem right. They are a lost, confused, uneducated bunch of narrow minded dimwits who have no concept of the meaning of 'right'.

Customers feel the need to concrete some sense of self worth, be it by lecturing the shop assistant in things they really know nothing about, or the determination to save money, even if they have no idea what it is they're buying. They're a breed of moronic drones, compelled to purchase things they really don't need, for reasons they don't understand. And yet they insist they know more about it than the retailer, because y'know, it's not as though the shop assistant trying to help them knows what they're talking about.

There are mothers who think they know best, and buy games like Bioshock for their six year old kids, returning them promptly when said child has developed a series of horrific nightmares. Retailer's fault. There are men who against all advice bought Damnation then complained because it was shite. Retailer's fault. About a week ago I had a guy come up to me, and complain that he'd already got to disc two of Mass Effect 2. He complained, as though I could offer him some sort of compensation because he'd not bothered to explore the game.

As far as I'm concerned, consumer rights can kiss my grotesquely scarred scrotum. The proles that I have to deal with every day are walking, mouth-breathing proof that the consumer is most certainly not always right. In fact, considering the amount of un-warranted returns and refunds, they're barely customers.

Why I One-A-Day

2010-02-18T22:37:00.002Z

Each night when I sit down at my PC, having spent an enjoyable evening doing the things I like, I remember that in order to complete the day and win my right to sleep I must write a 'one-a-day'. If I do not write my 'one-a-day', the guilt will drive me mad, and I'll have an awful night's sleep.

Why? Because deep down inside me there's this awful conscience that's constantly gnawing at my insides, telling me that if I don't I'll have let the side down - the side that consists of a growing number of people who appear to have given up on the whole 'one-a-day' process anyway.

I must admit, the reason I began doing this was purely to see if I could. While I felt that I had ample material from my travels to fill this up, the notion of writing something every day for a year was, at the time, an idea that I saw as a compelling challenge. It's a challenge alright, but one that is slowly ruining me and my ability to write.

Over the space of a month my reasoning for writing a blog each day has changed dramatically, and while I still feel a pang of excitement when I conjure up a subject that I deem interesting enough to broadcast to the few who read this blog, lately the continuation of this daily chore has become based purely on stubborn loyalty.

This likely stems from the fact that I leave myself hardly any time at all to write, most cases happening in the early hours of the morning just before I sleep. When I write reviews and essays and the like, it's usually midday or early afternoon. The reason being, any later and my writing turns to absolute shite - which is why so far I haven't written a single decent blog.

So with this blog I'm starting afresh. From now on I'm going to make an effort to give myself time to write a decent, fleshed-out piece with an interesting subject matter and much better structure. Hopefully it will once more encourage my creative juices to flow correctly. Instead of out of a hole in my anus.

Cosmic Encounter

2010-02-18T01:13:00.003Z

For a long time I'd written off board games. Though they kept me company for about eight years from birth, once the video game came into play there was little incentive to lure me back to the days of dice, counters and cards.

The closes I ever came to re-visiting the board game was my fleeting affair with the pen and paper RPG, which failed to take off in the end, mainly for logistical reasons. Today I discovered that I hadn't grown out of board games, it was merely that video games were the more efficient, more accessible of the two, and it's for that reason that I did away with the board game. Until today.

Today I finally sat down with two friends and played 'Cosmic Encounter' a game of intergalactic colonisation, in which you have to stake a claim of other players planets in which to win. There are an absolute ton of rules that I really can't be bothered writing out at half one in the morning, but regardless it's a game of allegiance, deception, strategy and all-out stabbing your friends in the back and being an absolute mercenary tosser.

This final point is what makes it so good. Cosmic Encounter is the sort of game that will have good friends screaming at each other by the end of it. You're constantly having to forge alliances, but at the same time keep your own goals as your main priority, and this causes no end of intensity, excitement, and more importantly; fun.

As it happened, today I was the victor. It didn't really matter, as we weren't exactly playing it right anyway, but it was enjoyable and the fact that the most incredible event took place just as the Mass Effect soundtrack (that we were using as background music) reached its final majestic crescendo, made it all the more spectacular.

This evening's experiences with Cosmic Encounter has made me realise that board games are actually brilliant, and as long as you have some similar minded friends (which I do, which is probably the best fucking part), then they can provide experiences just as fun as video games. Something which I pretty much thought I'd never say.

Hopefully this will lead to my discovery of more board games, and hopefully the guys I played with tonight will be up for far more of this sort of thing in the future. And hopefully next time, we won't discover half of the rules ten minutes from the end.

Con Air And Easter Eggs

2010-02-17T01:22:00.003Z

Today I am staying at my good friend Sean's house so this 'oneaday' is being typed on my iPhone. Any spelling errors or out of place letters will probably be ammended tommorrow, or y'know, they might not.

Now that I'm twenty five I don't really get to stay over at friend's houses but this means that on the rare occasion that I do, we fucking go all out.

This evening we watched Con Air whilst eating Easter Eggs. Con Fucking Air, the film that features Nicholas Cage, John Malkovich, Ving Rhames, Danny Trejo, Steve Buscemi and Dave fucking Chappelle AND Easter Eggs. Easter Eggs two months before Easter. On pancake day.

Why? Because I'm a God damn grown up with disposable income and if I want to eat Easter eggs and watch Con Air then then I fucking will. Tonight I've learned a myriad of lessons, not least that Nicholas Cage will fuck you up, and eatingan entire Easter egg will also fuck you up.

Rating for this evning's festivities: FUCK! out of ME!

Skate

2010-02-16T01:19:00.004Z

Following on from yesterday's blog about skateboarding, I felt the need to go into a little more depth about what has become one of my favourite games of all time; Skate 2.

Though the original Skate will always hold a special place in my heart, Skate 2 is the more refined, more sophisticated game. It's for this reason that I'm constantly going back to it, both online and off. EA Black Box managed to create something so addictive and so rewarding that over a year after its release my friends and I are still returning to its streets. And though there are plenty of games that I'll rummage out of my collection to stick on every once in a while, Skate 2 is a game that I always have to hand. This isn't merely putting it on for a quick blast, I play it for the same amount of time as I did back in its early months.

Take this evening for example. This evening has consisted solely of me attempting to jump from a high up balcony to the street below. It has taken me three hours to successfully execute, and in that time I have done nothing but jump, reset and jump again. How can a year old game command such dedication from me? Well probably because I have hints of autism swimming around in my brain, but it's more likely to be the freedom to do whatever you like that Skate 2 provides. Within Skate 2's San Vanelona City, there are a huge amount of movable items - all physics objects - that can be dragged around wherever you can manage to take them. This pretty much means that if you can think it up, you can do it (keeping within the laws of physics of course).

Far more subtle than a mere 'create-a-park' mode, everything is manipulated in-game, in real time. Building up an obstacle course for performing lines and set pieces is as easy as holding down a button and dragging them into place. Sure your character feels like a wheelie bin to control, but once you've got the knack, the skies the limit. It's this that has brought me back time and time again, as my creative juices get flowing every time I boot the game up, and I spend unhealthy amounts of time attempting a single trick.

And then at the end of it all, you can upload the footage and show everyone just how good/obsessed you are. To a lot of people the videos will be meaningless, it's difficult to appreciate the level of skill required to perform a lot of the tricks and grinds in Skate. It's also difficult to appreciate something as simple as jumping down a set of stairs, or doing a kick flip under a single barrier. To those who've never tried Skate, or to those who've only ever known the Tony Hawks series of games, the tricks performed in Skate will no doubt be considered little more than a few button presses. To those in the know however, the true skill behind what is a frustratingly difficult, but overwhelmingly accomplished video game.

On that note I leave you with this. This is what I spent three hours of my evening doing. Was it worth it? Fuck. Yes.

(The video was meant to be embedded here, but apparently they only do one size and it messed up the blog layout, here's a link instead)

Doing A Skateboarding

2010-02-15T00:02:00.002Z

When I was really young, say about five or six, I had a Teenage Mutant Hero Turtles skateboard. It was rubbish, but I loved it, and I loved the idea of skateboarding because skateboarding was cool.

The weird thing about skateboarding is, you can be any age and still think it's cool. Sure when you get to your mid twenties you realise that most skateboarders look, act and smell like absolute cocks, but you can still sort of appreciate the skill it takes to jump of a roof into a half pipe.

When I got to about eleven, I desperately wanted a skateboard. Yes, I had the Turtles one in the shed, but it weighed about three stone and only had grip tape in the areas shaped like turtle feet. There was no way I was going to pop an Ollie on that. I'd dream of buying a 'real' skateboard, I'd look in the Argos catalogue and imagine how amazingly cool I'd be if I had one with two kick tails and ABEC 3 bearings.

My father, a man who has difficulty understanding the opinions of those who don't happen to be him, was dead against me getting a skateboard. He never ever told me why, I think maybe because they were dangerous, or that he associated them with violent gangs like on Police Academy, but either way he was not letting me have one.

About a year later, Tony Hawk's Pro Skateboarding came out for the PlayStation. I rented it from block buster, it was the best game I'd ever played. I'd play it all day and all night, learning all the trick names and the brand logos. I started buying clothes that didn't fit, and wearing baseball caps backwards and looked absolutely ridiculous.

I then mustered up the courage to go and buy a skateboard, against my dad's will. I went to JJB Sports (the best place to buy your skateboards) and bought one for twenty quid. That night I went out with some friends from school, trying to do tricks on the school car park. Later that evening I came home with blood all up my neck and chin, from where I'd 'done a stunt' and managed to meld with the pavement.

After that evening I decided I wasn't very good at skateboarding. I also realised that I care too much for my well-being to ever be a decent skateboarder. I went out a fair bit trying, but never had the courage to ever do anything than attempt to jump over stones and occasionally my empty back pack.

I still enjoy skateboarding, not the doing but the watching. I've read Tony Hawk's autobiography (it's a bit rubbish) and I own a few skateboarding DVDs, and since EA's Skate and its sequel came out, I've put a combined 160 hours into them, but you'll never get me back on a skateboard.

I enjoy the concept of skateboarding but I don't really find it cool any more, too many kids like myself cramping its style with their Tony Hawk video game educated ways. And then there's Avril Lavigne, who managed to single handedly ruin skateboarding for everyone.

I still would, mind.

Assassin's Creed 2

2010-02-14T00:01:00.002Z

AS it's late, and this sort of thing isn't technically cheating, here's a review of Assassin's Creed 2 that I wrote for DarkZero, an independent game website that's linked on the right. I don't get paid for this sort of thing, and there's probably a good reason too.

History has a funny habit of repeating itself. The original Assassin’s Creed was a near perfect example of video game marketing done absolutely right. An example of how the hype-machine can be used to take a fairly average action game and sell it to millions of people, regardless of a relatively cold critical reception. It would appear that slow-motion footage of hooded men cutting guys up to moody electro-rock is all you need to whet the appetite of the mass gaming public, which is why it’s unsurprising that the same approach has been taken to promote Ubisoft’s next fairly average action game.

The first Assassin’s Creed centred itself on the theme of illusion. After a long advertising campaign leading all to believe the game was purely a period thriller, it fooled the world as it pulled back its hood and showed its true colours; a dodgy science fiction story rife with conspiracy theories and unnecessary plot twists. The second game follows on immediately from where the first left off, and in much the same way continues to build on the themes of its predecessor. This time around however, the illusion seems far more unintentional – to the point at which it would appear Ubisoft may well be fooling themselves.

In a completely unforeseen twist, Desmond – the most uninspired protagonist in the world – is rescued from his former captors, and led to a loft apartment where he – wait for it – is shoved into another Animus! This time he assumes the role of Ezio, an unlikeable womanizer who enjoys starting fights. Also he is Italian. Eventually his father and brothers are framed by a rival family and then executed, and so Ezio starts out for revenge, which is where the game starts treading even more familiar ground.

While the original was praised for creating a visually stunning game-world, it was criticised for lacking variety. Each mission became a uniform series of events that soon became far too familiar to consider genuinely fun. For the sequel the developer promised change, they promised a great deal more in which to participate outside of the main story arc, they hinted at side-quests that would impact the story in ways that didn’t exist in the first game. What they actually delivered however was a mixed bag of fetch-missions and races.

While some of these are genuinely interesting, a lot of them seem to be treading the same ground as before. Arguably the best of the bunch are assassination missions; receive a target from a pigeon coop detailing their relationship with the client, track them down and kill them. These occasionally come with variables such as ‘don’t be seen’ or ‘kill the mark in a certain way’, and take great advantage of the nature of Assassin’s Creed 2’s world. To begin with, tracking down a target, planning where and how you’ll make the hit and escaping into the night can be quite exhilarating. It’s almost reminiscent of a watered down ‘Hit Man’, perform five or so of exactly the same mission however, and it soon loses its initial charm.

Which can be said for most of the non-plot based missions really - it’s not that any of them are particularly bad ideas; it’s that they rarely manage to sustain enjoyment after the third or fourth go. While Ubisoft Montreal promised a greater number of things to do, they appear to have missed the point that – over such a large game area – increasing the type of sub-quest by however many still isn’t going to provide as much variation as necessary. Though it’s clear that the developer has strived to create a highly detailed representation of various parts of Italy, the ambition to create an ‘epic’ has taken priority over the ambition to create a ‘good game’.

While Assassin’s Creed 2 is undoubtedly vast, much of its content has been spread as thinly as possible over a game that was already being criticised two years prior. Rather than condensing the game area and focusing more on ways to improve the experience, Ubisoft have opted to double the size and wring as much content out of a handful of ideas as is possible. A good example is the tutorial, which appears to be still on-going four hours after the game has started. For each element of game-play that exists, an unnecessary side mission appears – at one point being little more than just following an NPC around, for no reason other than what I can only assume is to allow PR types to declare the game as thirty hours long. It wouldn’t matter, but a lot of what the tutorial is teaching later on in the game, is stuff you’ve already had to figure out for yourself through necessity.

The fact that all of this takes place using game mechanics that haven’t changed at all in two years is also pretty damning. One of the main gripes with the original game’s free-running ability was that it took too much control away from the player. In other open-world sandbox games like Grand Theft Auto 4 and Crackdown, climbing buildings and leaping from rooftop to rooftop required a great deal of user input. Successfully traversing a series of terraces in GTA4 took skill, it required timing and a developed sense of spatial awareness, and because of this it was ultimately satisfying. Assassin’s Creed 2 sees the return of the free-run button, hold it down and push a direction and watch as you gracefully navigate every corner, shack and balcony with ease. How incredibly dull.

Interestingly, there has been a new edition to the free-run mechanic. There is now a ‘grab’ button, which you can hit having missed a ledge, allowing for Ezio to cling on to passing hand-holds in an attempt to avoid breaking his legs. While at first this appears to be a step in the right direction, providing more hands on control for the player, in reality it seems to be a bi-product of the game being unable to judge where the player really wants to go. In most cases the free-running is fluid and natural, but there are an increasing number of occasions throughout the game in which the computer won’t quite understand where it is the player wants to be. The ‘grab’ button appears to be a result of this. Later on it’s coupled with a vertical jump allowing for a jump-grab combo to get Ezio up to hard to reach places. While this is more of the sort of interaction the game needs, it’s handled sloppily as the button for ‘grab’ and the button for ‘let go’ are the same, resulting in a slew of mishaps that could easily be avoided.

Where the free-running shines is during the interior platforming sections of the game. New to Assassin’s Creed 2, these feel far more like Tomb Raider and Uncharted, requiring thought and planning rather than just pushing directions and holding a button. Navigating the complex series of beams and struts gives a hint of Assassin’s Creed’s potential as a decent action-platformer, and had there been more clever little puzzle sections like these it would have been a much better game. Sadly these are limited to a handful of stages, but manage to impress none-the-less. If Ubisoft can somehow work these into the inevitable third game in a much more prominent way, then they may have more than just a re-hash of the original on their hands.

As for combat, little has changed. There are additional types of weaponry ranging from pikes, to heavy axes, all of which are upgradeable at shops – but the upgrades feel tacked on, serving little purpose other than providing another thing to fill up the time, most fights can be won by simply holding the block button and waiting for an opening, with little incentive to work in combos. In a year in which we saw Rocksteady introduce the ‘freeflow’ combat of Batman: Arkham Asylum, Assassin’s Creed 2 feels sluggish and clumsy by comparison. It’s by no means bad, but yet another element that has failed to develop since the last Assassin’s Creed.

And then there’s the story.

Unravelling like something thrown together by the bastard child of Dan Brown and L Ron Hubbard, Assassin’s Creed 2 will leave you stunned beyond all belief. What began as an interesting but flawed venture into the realms of Sci-Fi, becomes an over-bloated, swelling mass of absolute drivel. The care and dedication put into the historic side of the Italian cities and towns is crushed beneath what can only be described as a colossal mess, the kind that makes the plot of ‘Lost’ seem like a well-planned and highly intelligent piece of literature. What’s worse, the development of Ezio as a character, and his personal story, invites a great deal of player immersion – only for the game to break the flow as you’re quickly reminded that you’re actually playing as the most boring man in the world, stuck in a chair watching what is in essence an interactive version of the history channel.

To say the least, Assassin’s Creed 2 is a disappointment - not because it’s bad, but because we were promised so much more. Everything Ubisoft claimed they were changing has stayed the same, and what little new touches they’ve included fail to impact in the long run. While there are numerous additions such as upgrading armour, upgrading town shops, catching pick pockets and paying thieves to cause distractions, they’ve been cast across such an unnecessarily long-winded and laborious narrative that even these become repetitive and stale. As with most sequels it will please those who enjoyed the original game, the production values are still incredibly high, and there's nothing to repel fans of the series. For those who saw the original for what it really was however, this is not the Assassin’s Creed to change their minds. Instead it rests behind its smoke and mirrors, no doubt selling millions with the least of effort.

The Holiday List Revisited

2010-02-12T23:55:00.002Z

Back before I finished work for a week, I made a list on this blog of things I planned to do before the holiday was up. How did I do? Pretty poorly, but I did more than I thought so that's sort of a bonus.

1.) Watch at least two series of Battlestar Galactica.

Watched most of series one, given that my holiday doesn't technically end until tomorrow evening, I could finish at least one, which is better than nothing, right?

2.) Finish Mass Effect 2.

Done! And it was fucking brilliant, game of the year? Could well be!

3.) Play through Mass Effect 2 for a second time.

Done! Just as exciting as the first time, though with far more tragedy. Sad faces all round.

4.) Start and finish Bioshock 2.

Started, could finish by tomorrow - unless I watch the rest of Battlestar Galactica. This poses a dilemma, probably best to spend the day masturbating instead.

5.) Order Mass Effect 2 hoody on Wednesday when they start taking pre-orders again.

Done! It's been ordered and posted and when it arrives I'll look fucking fly.

6.) Read at least one book, preferably sci-fi but not by L. Ron Hubbard.

Not done. Though I did 'read' the art book that came with Mass Effect 2, so shut up.

7.) Learn to play the entire sound track to Final Fantasy 7 on the piano.

Fuck that noise.

8.) Make a Youtube video of me playing the entire soundtrack to Final Fantasy 7 on the piano, hitting the very final note with my cock.

No.

9.) Discover the best Mexican restaurant in the Liverpool/Manchester area and go there alone, wearing a sombrero.

This was on track until I learned that Sean didn't like Mexican food and therefore wouldn't go with me, he also started shitting smelly water out of his anus so it sort of ruined everything.

10.) Do not masturbate once.

Failed.

11.) Visit a museum (any museum).

I visited the Manchester art gallery on Tuesday, that was pretty excellent. Most of the exhibits are 18th Century and pre-raphaelite paintings, but I really enjoyed the few hours I spent there.

12.) Go to the zoo.

I did not go to the zoo.

13.) Play some more drums.

Since I haven't got a proper drum kit, I had to do with playing 'Cut Your Hair' by Pavement, over and over again on Guitar Hero 5. This totally counts - success!

14.) Start a Pixies cover band.

No.

15.) Spend one night on the highest floor of the Hilton Manchester.

I took a photo of the Hilton Manchester. From the ground. In the dark. With a rubbish iPhone camera :(

16.) Sell something to make up for the money lost spending a night on the highest floor of the Hilton Manchester.

Unnecessary due to the failure of 15.

17.) Kill two men while attempting to defend my family, spend time in jail then make my way home on a plane full of dangerous convicts led by John Malkovich.

This looked as though it was going to happen until it turned out the two men were actually elderly women, and instead of fighting them to defend my family I told them where Piccadilly Gardens were.

18.) Watch Hot Rod.

FUCK, need to get on this.

19.) Write a blog every day.

Done! My life is so much better for it.*

20.) Do not take my pyjamas off once.

I have a job interview tomorrow, so I probably can't get away with this. I also left the house on two occasions, so that pretty much ruined everything.

*Biggest fucking lie in the history of lies.

Battlestar Galactica

2010-02-12T02:15:00.002Z

Is pretty damn good.

I'm about halfway through the first series (which I've already seen once, but due to buying the whole frackin' lot on BluRay I've decided to start again), and it's one of the most compelling TV shows, let alone Science Fiction shows I've ever seen.

I've always been a fan of space-based sci-fi, growing up with Star Wars and *cough* Flash Gordon as a child. I never got into Star Trek for some reason, but I'll probably get round to watching it (ALL of it) at some point. Most notably of late(ish) is Firefly and it's movie spin-off Serenity, District 9 and Moon - each a fantastic Science Fiction outing in it's own right, but being more than simply an adventure in/involving space, they tackle themes and situations that lie outside the traditional perception of science fiction, proving to be far more interesting than your run of the mill action film.

Battlestar Galactica is probably the peak of this, an intelligently written, believable universe with a cast of characters so well detailed and realised that it's impossible to simply watch one episode. Battlestar is addictive, you put a disc in and the next thing you know it's three in the morning and you have to write your stupid 'one a day' because you got engrossed in its fantastic story.

While I'd love to write an actual 'review' of the series, I'll probably leave that for a future blog, one that isn't written this late at night and once I've actually finished watching the damn thing. If I continue at this rate, factoring in work and other play-throughs of Mass Effect 2, it'll probably be done in about a month. Probably.

Until then I urge anybody reading this who loves them some excellent science fiction to go out and buy it, even if it is going to cost you seventy plus quid. It'll be worth every penny.

So say we all.

Jaws

2010-02-11T01:01:00.003Z

My teeth are fucking sharp.

Teeth are supposed to be sharp right? For tearing through steak, and the necks of virgin maidens. If teeth weren't sharp, there'd be no Twilight Saga - teen girls the world over wouldn't have anything to aspire to, they'd go mad with rage and end up burning things.

Anyway, my teeth are too sharp. I don't think there's been a single day when I haven't bitten my lip, cheek, or elbow because my teeth are slightly too pointy and far too sharp. Worse than that, they scrape against the inside of my mouth when I talk, eat, and do goldfish impressions.

I'm pretty sure this has come about due to a paranoia of tooth decay from an early name. Terrified into routine cleaning from birth, it seems that instead of simply maintaining a healthy set of teeth, I've spawned a set of canines capable of ripping through the very fabric of time itself.

I could file them down, but it's sort of a novelty, despite all the pain they cause. Plus, if I ever get forced to perform felatio I'll cause some serious damage.

Corrupt 'un Factor

2010-02-10T01:31:00.002Z

I learned something about myself today:

Though I strive to be a model citizen and always aim to do the right thing, if the right thing involves waiting for an hour in the customer service line at Primark, then I'll quite happily participate in what is technically theft.

A good friend of mine who shall remain nameless, needed to return a pair of jeans and swap them for a size that fits him (because he is a right fatty). At the jeans shelf my friend turned to a nearby shop assistant and asked if he could simply put the original jeans back on the shelf, and take a larger pair instead.

This completely baffled me. Of course the woman said 'no', it's going to fuck with their stock levels, and I don't care if it is just Primark, it's still going to - somewhere down the line - create some kind of anarchic situation in which there are no size 34 jeans left despite the system's insisting that there are.

So we went up to customer services where we found twenty people (I counted them) lining up to return whatever shitty fleeces and bras they'd been buying, each one moving along every fifteen minutes. It was it this point something in my head clicked, I'd mentally swatted Jiminy Cricket and decided that, regardless of Primark's returns policy, we were dumping the Jeans on the shelf and taking the new pair instead.

And so I did (notice I'm saying I did, because at this point my friend had fannied out and wanted to stay in the queue). I took the old jeans down in one hand pretended I'd picked them up to look at, and kept the larger jeans in my other hand with the receipt that simply said "jeans" or something.

And that's how you shop lift from Primark. The prices were the same, and everything other than the SKU code was identical, it's not like they hadn't received the six quid for the jeans anyway, we just sort of made their stock audit one pair of trousers more difficult.

So what have I learned? One - I'm not as honest as I thought I was, and two - it is piss easy to nick stuff from Primark.

Naked Gun

2010-02-08T23:22:00.002Z

A couple of years ago I visited my friend Jon in New York. During the stay he, my friend Lucy and I, took a trip to Washington to do the tourist thing. Though the journey there warrants a blog in itself (the Chinatown bus is possibly the worst form of transport in the world), it was what happened during our walk to the peace memorial that is the subject of today's piece.

So what did happen on the way to the peace memorial?

Jon, model citizen that he is, realise that if we just got a train over the border to Virginia, we could go shooting at a gun range instead. So we did, and an hour later we were standing outside the public gun range, wondering what on earth we were doing there.

You'd think with all the paranoia surrounding terrorism it would be pretty tough for two foreigners to walk in to a place, hand over sixty dollars and receive semi-automatic weapons and a couple of boxes of bullets each, but apparently not. Sure, we had to show some ID, but that means nothing when you consider a man is giving us things that we could quite easily kill him through the head with.

Even more stunning was the fact he quite blatantly knew we were lying when we nervously nodded 'yes' to the question 'have you done this before, do you know how to use a gun'. The guy took the Glock he'd just removed from the cabinet and very slowly showed us the motions as he talked us through what he was doing, confirming our knowledge of basic firearms, and definitely not showing us what to do, of course.

And that was it, off we went with our bullets and our guns, into the range in which a man was firing what sounded like a canon but was probably one of those ladies guns from James Bond, amplified by the fact I had never heard gun go off before. I stapled my target (a rather tasteful image of Osama Bin Laden's skeleton with score points on) to the provided cardboard, clipped it to the over head rail, and pushed a button to move it down the range. Just like Deus Ex!

It's amazing how easy it is to load and fire a gun. Based purely on my knowledge of films and video games (and the brief intro by our trusting host) I could load, aim and fire the pistol with pretty decent accuracy. Yes I was pulling the slide after every shot, not realising it was a semi-automatic and ignoring the fact that live rounds were flying out every time I did it, but I soon got wind and pushed them all back into the magazine, hoping nobody had noticed what a nob I was.

To say the experience was scary is a bit of an understatement. From the moment we arrived at the range my insides were turning. On the range I was practically shitting it, somehow I'd thought it a good idea to come to this place and play with something that could potentially end my life right there and then. I was shaking for a while after we'd left, and when I think back to how reckless we were - going in without any sort of training - it still sort of scares me.

Lucy on the other hand went into it without a fear in the world. I guess if you don't spend every day performing headshots on Call of Duty then you just don't appreciate how dangerous guns are. Whether it was for that reason or something else, I think Lucy went into the range thinking that firing a gun was going to be like squirting a water pistol. Where as I went in well aware of things like lining the sights, recoil, the correct loading procedure etc, Lucy went in blind.

Lucy is left-handed, and while I was aware this made a huge difference, she didn't and therefore failed to mention it to the clerk. Thus having let Jon load her gun for her, Lucy picks up the Glock - one-handed - and starts firing towards the target, shell after shell flying out of the wrong side of the gun and hitting her all over the show. It was probably a good job that I was in a booth further down and unable to see it happening, because I would have no doubt freaked out at the danger on display.

I think Lucy was eventually asked by the clerk to stop due to 'deadly', and in all honesty it was probably for the best. Once our time was up we headed off for Mexican food and eventually back to Washington to get the awful bus back home again.

Looking back, it was probably the stupidest idea we've ever had - and the fact that we could obtain the firearms so easily is even more worrying. I'm still amazed at the people who claim video games are huge influence on the US's gun crime levels, when someone who doesn't even have US citizenship can wander into a place, obtain a gun and ammo and start shooting the place up.

I'm not sure if I'd ever do it again - I'm now pretty proficient in preparing and firing a pistol but it took me long enough to get over the last time. At least I know I'm prepared for the day I go 'Bickle'.

Accepting The Strategy Guide

2010-02-08T02:13:00.002Z

Up until the last couple of years I've been fairly vocal with my hatred for strategy guides.

Strategy guides (or 'strategy guides') have, in my head, always existed as little more than an attachment for sales assistants, rinsing the most out of idiotic parents who don't really understand what they're buying for their kids. Granted, the very first time I played through Tomb Raider it was done entirely following the thickest of documents, printed by a family friend from HappyPuppy.com (RIP), this was before I'd even tried of my own accord. There was something sinister about paying for that knowledge however, or at least something idiotic about it.

As I grew older, I began to realise how utterly pointless my favoured medium was to those who bought into the strategy guide culture. These were people that had spent a vast sum on a piece of entertainment that requires user input, that plays on decisions and actions that they themselves make, and then they do so following the instruction of someone else. Not only that but they pay even more money to do so. Even now, looking at strategy guides from the perspective of those that buy and read it alongside their initial play through of a game absolutely blows my mind. What exactly are they getting from these games? It seems completely moronic, and a lot of people no doubt still have the opinion that I did when it comes to the existence of guides, but over the last few years I've begun to notice some serious changes.

The video game strategy guide, in the same way that the special edition and the pre-order bonus, has evolved. It's a process that has managed to slip by me during the last ten years, and had I not worked in 'entertainment retail' I'd probably still be blind to it, but as video games have developed, the strategy guide too has become something new - something more desirable.

The first strategy guide I bought at full price was for Metal Gear Solid 4. It stayed sealed until I finished the game, at which point I deemed it safe to open. You see, I spent the first year of MGS4's existence without the system to play it on. I'd avoided every possible trailer, every possible review, preview and headline so as to enjoy it for myself, from scratch. The logic in buying the guide was not to help me get through the game, but instead to go back and appreciate all the little intricacies that make the Metal Gear series so unique, of which there are so many it would likely take a great deal of play-throughs to experience them all. While it could be argued that a web-based FAQ would do the same, the presentation of the book, with it's run-down of the history of the series, the developer interviews and the extra snippets of concept art etc make it something more than just a means to an end, it's a memento of a much-loved experience.

In contrast the second strategy guide that saw me pay full-whack was for Street Fighter IV. In this case it wasn't about finding secrets or even appreciating any of the extra stuff included with MGS4 (because there wasn't any), it was all about learning. Playing Street Fighter IV properly requires a great deal of skill, and the guide acts far more as a text book than a mere video game walkthrough. Similarly, Bayonetta with it's ruthless but perfectly crafted combat system is another game that I've forked money to buy a guide for. The difference being, the Bayonetta guide includes a load of artwork and a nice bookmark made out of hair. You know, if you're into that sort of thing.

The final guide, which I've literally ordered today, is for Mass Effect 2. I won't talk too much about it here, as it too is likely to appear in future 'oneaday's, but that game is so well made, there are so many decisions and choices that affect how the rest of the game plays out, that simply reading the outcomes of certain actions, even if I never do them myself, is something that I'd enjoy regardless. Whether the money gets anywhere near the developer or not is unknown to me, but I'd also like to think it a way of showing my gratitude, you know, by buying more of their tat.

I'd like to think I'm finally at peace with the strategy guide. There's always going to be the occasional guide that I fail to comprehend the reasoning behind (like Terminator Salvation, of which the game, guide, and film they're based on shouldn't exist), but for the most part I'm happy to say I am strategy guide enthusiast, and I think more people should give them a chance.

My Nan's Dog

2010-02-07T02:44:00.003Z

In the sixties my nan had a dog called 'Nigger'. I won't tell you what colour it was.

I guess back then that sort of thing was okay - I'd hate to be the one calling its name to come in at night, but at the time using that term probably wasn't considered to be inappropriate. I suppose if everyone is racist, then racism ceases to exist.

She understands now that it was a pretty awful thing to do, but in her old age she still has little quirks, tiny hints of her bygone days left in her, as most elderly folk do I would imagine. She occasionally refers to homosexuals as poofs, and does a gesture with her arm to make sure we fully understand the concept. She laughs at Whoopie Goldberg wearing sun glasses because, you know, 'they look funny against her dark face'.

I always burst out in uproar whenever she makes one of these delightfully naive statements, and I think through seeing how disgusted I am she learns that it's not the correct terminology to use. Maybe I'm too harsh, and it's just a case senility coupled with ignorance, but I make sure she understands that you can't really say those things any more.

My Grandad (from my mother's side) occasionally refers to black folk as 'darkies'. Back in his youth this was just the collective term for them, it was widely accepted as the right word to use. I explain that times have changed, and so he's started saying 'coloured gentlemen' instead. I suppose it's a start.

While there are a great deal of apologists for this amusing but highly unsettling trend, I think it's important that we educate the elderly, regardless of whether they are 'set in their ways' or not. Just because they can't remember their own names, doesn't mean they should go about using racial slurs.

As for me, I'm off to feed my goldfish - 'Paki'.

I Have A Cunning Plan

2010-02-06T01:19:00.003Z

As of today I am off work for exactly one week. I have no commitments, no appointments, no reason to not do any of the following:

1.) Watch at least two series of Battlestar Galactica.
2.) Finish Mass Effect 2.
3.) Play through Mass Effect 2 for a second time.
4.) Start and finish Bioshock 2.
5.) Order this hoody on Wednesday when they start taking pre-orders again.
6.) Read at least one book, preferably sci-fi but not by L. Ron Hubbard.
7.) Learn to play the entire sound track to Final Fantasy 7 on the piano.
8.) Make a Youtube video of me playing the entire soundtrack to Final Fantasy 7 on the piano, hitting the very final note with my cock.
9.) Discover the best Mexican restaurant in the Liverpool/Manchester area and go there alone, wearing a sombrero.
10.) Do not masturbate once.
11.) Visit a museum (any museum).
12.) Go to the zoo.
13.) Play some more drums.
14.) Start a Pixies cover band.
15.) Spend one night on the highest floor of the Hilton Manchester.
16.) Sell something to make up for the money lost spending a night on the highest floor of the Hilton Manchester.
17.) Kill two men while attempting to defend my family, spend time in jail then make my way home on a plane full of dangerous convicts led by John Malkovich.
18.) Watch Hot Rod.
19.) Write a blog every day.
20.) Do not take my pyjamas off once.

Any other suggestions are welcome, but I'll probably just ignore them.

Holiday

2010-02-04T23:52:00.003Z

At exactly six o'clock tomorrow I will begin my first week's holiday in about a year.

I work in what can probably be labelled 'Entertainment Retail'. A large part of my job involves speaking to the kind of people you often see rummaging through the bins at ASDA, or lying in a bus shelter with a syringe sticking out of their arm, surrounded by the scent of some kind of faeces/alcohol concoction. This isn't because they want to buy stuff from me, but because they've got nothing better to do. So instead of doing the honourable thing and throwing themselves onto the M56, they come and talk to me, pretending to give a shit about the memory capacity of a PS2 memory card.

November through January is always the busiest period in my line of work, and so I can honestly say that, without a doubt, I am more excited about this coming week than any other holiday I've ever had. Not because I have some amazing plan, or because there's anything to be specificically looking forward to, but because it's the first week in a year that I can just sit in silence away from the addicts, the paedophiles, the rapists, the people who just smell like absolute shit, and waste away in my own little world.

That said, I'm open to suggestions - Tomorrow's Oneaday will be a break down of things I have to do during my week off, so any ideas are highly welcomed. As long as they don't involve interacting with the general public, walking within twenty metres of the general public or generally going outside at all.

Uncultured Yob

2010-02-03T23:16:00.003Z

That's me! Rarely read books, hardly ever watch the news, have never bought a newspaper that wasn't for the free CD and have never been to a museum out of choice.

Weird thing is, none of the above is based on a dislike for any of the mentioned items. When I do read I thoroughly enjoy myself, I find politics and international relations fascinating and I have a genuine interest in history, science and maths. That's right, I have an interest in maths, like I think it's fun.

So why is it that I so rarely participate in any of the above activities? Two reasons really:

1.) I lack - or convince myself that I lack - the time to do any of them.

2.) Walking around a museum on your own is weird.

Now if you're wondering just how much I can stretch out the purchase of a newspaper so as to fit it in the category of 'takes too much time', I am of course referring to the reading of said media. I can't think of a moment in the day when I'm not working, that I could possibly sit and read the news. The Internet is an obvious answer to this problem, but then I'm faced with an even larger dilemma; Why read the BBC news site when there are pictures of Shakira in bikinis elsewhere?

Of course the answer is 'so you don't turn into some cock-driven mouth breather' but fuck it, it's Shakira. In a bikini.

A lot of it is probably down to my short attention span, or maybe because the only time I'm ever on the Internet I'm on one of the hundreds (possibly thousands) of video games that I own, which may form some part of the problem. Video games have a far more instantly satisfying nature to them, and they spark up the endorphins and that too.

There's also the issue of knowing what to read. I find that with a video game or film you instantly know whether you're going to enjoy it or not. With books I'm not so brilliant at making an instant assessment - except with Angels and Demons which was absolute toss within the first three pages. I love all things sci-fi but there are so many millions of books out there that it's impossible to know where to start, and yes I know there are reviews and things but books are like a completely new genre for me, I have no idea who to trust.

My second point, about it being weird to wander around a museum on your own, is an unsolvable problem.

If you go to a museum with others, you can't really appreciate the mass of text available for intake. If you go on your own you become one of those people. The type who spend their lives wandering the halls of galleries and museums, smiling at randoms and pitching in every two seconds explaining why some of the details are technically incorrect, occasionally appearing in the background of their photographs, stalking the unaware through visual history.

I suppose the answer is in finding someone equally as dull as myself willing to stand reading the same bit of text until we're both ready to move on to the next exhibit, signaling with a nod and a sort of half-smile indicating the acquirement of new knowledge, and a smug grin that says 'I finished reading it before you'.

I'm going to try my best to become less of an uncultured yob, maybe with the help of the iPad (because I'm still looking for excuses to buy one), and hopefully with the recommendations of any poor sod who happens to read this and take pity on me.

If not, I'm doomed to watch a loop of 'She Wolf' as I gradually whittle my cock down to a bloody stump with nothing but my right hand and an Addidas sock.

Spoilers!

2010-02-03T00:15:00.002Z

When it comes to spoilers in video games I get a bit autistic.

If even the slightest detail of a game is revealed to me before I have chance to experience it first-hand I go a bit mental, angry that I've been robbed of the chance to enjoy it for myself, and afterwards I sulk - dwelling on how amazing it would have been had I not known 'insert plot detail' was coming. The problem with video games is, most times it's not even about the plot.

When I first played Grand Theft Auto 4, I was literally astonished by the level of detail that had gone into Liberty City (and I still to this day continue to be dumbfounded by the place). Walking through the streets for the first time is an experience everybody should be allowed, without knowing what they're going to encounter. A week before its launch I read a review in a magazine that basically listed a load of interesting little quirks that could be seen around the city - bin men riding on the back of bin trucks, the statue of happiness holding up a coffee cup and the fact you could see Ricky Gervais at a comedy club (not that you'd want to) - all of which would have been amazing little touches had I first seen them for myself.

None of these things contributed in any way to the plot, but they each held a specific role in making the city come to life, and having them pointed out to me before I got to experience them myself really got to me. Of course, there's only so much a journalist can avoid without their article becoming a mysterious barrage of nonsensical text that doesn't quite explain anything, and at the end of the day it's my own fault for reading the damn thing, but when those who don't really playvideo games to the same extent as I do, and fail to really get into them to the point at which they've become immersed in the world, go and mouth off about stuff like this, and think it's okay because it's nothing to do with the plot, it really annoys and upsets me.

Sadly I work with the general public, and mostly the game playing general public. Keep in mind that's not gamers, that's the proles that chomp on the teat of Call of Duty, the same ones who probably bought Kane and Lynch because they thought it looked good. When they start revealing stuff left right and centre they're pretty much destroying the only thing I ever do, taking the one thing that keeps me from going a bit mental, and telling me all about it before I get chance to even glimpse it.

Maybe I do overreact, and maybe I should just get a new hobby, or better still a new job if it's affecting me so much, I just wish that those who don't really 'get' video games understood that there's more to spoil than just a plot.

In The Future There Will Be Robots

2010-02-01T23:12:00.004Z

Robots fascinate me.

I suppose it's one of those things that most men are supposed to take interest in, gizmos and gadgets, boys' toys and all that. Rather than just thinking they're cool, and daydreaming of one day becoming Robocop however, I genuinely find the concept of robotics amazing.

Granted, robots have been around for years - building our cars, baking our bread, threatening us with uprising every minute of the day - but they're becoming more and more like the stuff I grew up reading about and seeing in films, and more importantly - video games.

This is Big Dog. I won't go into any details but you can find a bunch of info here. I don't think I'll ever be as impressed as I was the first time I saw that video. The programming that's gone into Big Dog is astonishing. I can't even begin to imagine the processes that keep it standing upright, but my God imagine riding one of those to work.

Slowly, the world of science is gradually matching my boy-hood fantasies. Exoskeletons that allow a normal man to lift ten times the usual amount, back mounted jet packs that actually provide a means to individual flight, and robotic dogs providing ammo and supplies for soldiers in inhospitable locations.

There was little reasoning behind today's blog other than to maybe introduce Big Dog to more people, and hopefully make them realise that their childish fantasies are closer than they may believe. I'm hoping that in ten years time, I'll be writing this from a touch screen built into my arm, as I ride atop my robotic steed, wearing my robotic stetson.

Time For Bed

2010-02-01T02:07:00.002Z

I am terrible when it comes to going to bed.

I don't suffer insomnia or anything like that, but I get so side-tracked that more often than not I'll get to bed three or four hours later than I originally intended. It's likely the result of too many video games, coupled with an incredible level of laziness - yes, I'm too lazy to make the effort to get into bed and sleep - but it's starting to get to me, and I think my body may well be about to show me just what it thinks of my awful lifestyle.

Yesterday I ate my dinner whilst watching TV. About half an hour later I woke up to discover a completely different show, and my spaghetti going cold. What's more, having placed my tray to one side deciding to get up to go to the bathroom, my body was still in a state of paralysis from the nap, resulting in me crawling around the floor as I willed my legs to work correctly.

I'm worried as this is highly unlike anything I've done before. Back at university in Tokyo I'd often get up every morning at five, take a two hour train journey to school, get a two hour journey back in the afternoon and go out to karaoke and all that jazz. Not once did I ever need a 'nap' or fall asleep at an inappropriate time (that said, I did tend to doze on the train so maybe I'm just talking shit).

My main concern is that either:

a.) I'm actually feeling the strain of getting older.

or

b.) I am ill.

Neither of these is a good answer, but for some reason I really hope it's because I'm ill, because to admit that I'm getting to a point in my life where I need a nap just to be able to keep awake during work and during lengthy gaming sessions is pretty chuffing depressing.

Maybe it's not, maybe I just need to sort my fucking schedule out and learn how to turn Mass Effect off, even if it is reaching a particularly exciting bit.

Writing these stupid blogs at half two in the morning probably isn't helping either.

Japanese Porno Adventure

2010-01-31T00:44:00.003Z

It's one of those nights folks: Stayed up too late playing video games and now I have to think of something interesting to write about. Fuck.

By now you've no doubt noticed that when this happens, all I do is recite a tale from my many days in Japan, and today is no different.

Tokyo is littered with convenience stores. These are 24 hour shops that are found on literally every street corner. Without exaggerating, the frequency at which you'll see a convenience store whilst walking down a street in Tokyo is unbelievably high. A few weeks into my initial stay, I decided (having noticed the abundance of adult magazines in most convenience stores)that I was going to educate myself in the contents of said specialist magazines.

The problem was, I was one of a very small number of white guys in the area I was staying. The community surrounding my place of work was incredibly close, and I'd somehow got it into my head that purchasing 'gentlemen's literature' near to where I lived was treading on dangerous ground. God forbid I be labelled a pervert!

So late one evening, when the chances of bumping into anyone I may know were extremely low, I set off on my quest to purchase said reading materials.

Now, when I say it was late, it was literally eleven at night. Deciding it be best to get as far away from where I worked as possible (just to be sure) I felt that jogging would be a good idea, and so I set off at a decent pace, off into the wild unknown. I had no planned direction, and no real destination, I'd simply jog until I felt I was far enough away, and dip into the first convenience store I came to.

At the time it was the beginning of March, winter was on the way out but that didn't stop it from being in the minus degrees. While the jogging kept me warm, my extremities were feeling the sting of the cold night air. Regardless I soldiered on, too much thought had gone in to this plan, and I wasn't turning back now. I jogged/walked for about half an hour, and deciding I was probably far enough away started to search for a convenience store.

There were no convenience stores.

Somehow, by some absolute fucking miracle, I'd managed to jog my way into the one bit of Tokyo that had absolutely no convenience stores. Fearing I may lose my way back home, I found my self wandering up a minor road, walking back, moving to the next cross roads and repeating myself. This went on for another half hour, with no success.

It was the middle of the night. I was about four miles from home. I was freezing cold, and I had no idea what on earth made me think this was a good idea. Just then, at the end of a T junction I saw something glowing in the distance. A Lawson Station! Thank the stars!

I hurriedly made my way to the welcoming glow of the shop and made some last minute checks:

1.) No other customers - check!
2.) Only one member of staff on the counter (limit witnesses) - check!
3.) Member of staff is not a hot girl - check!

We're fucking on!

I walk to the back of the shop where the magazines are kept, I pretend I'm looking at drinks, but I eye up the desired publication. It's not the one I was hoping for, but it'll have to do. I grab the mag, and start off towards the counter.

I think about the current situation, and worried that a lone white guy turning up at midnight and buying nothing but a single porno mag may seem a bit weird, decide to buy something else as well, y'know, so I don't look desperate. I look around - nothing particularly useful - fuck it, I'll have an ice cream.

I put the magazine and the ice cream on the counter, and the clerk looks at me, scans the two items, and asks for the required payment. I fumble about in my pockets for my wallet, why is it taking so long? I panic and decide to make small talk while I attempt to acquire the cash.

You have to understand, having only been in Japan for a couple of weeks, and having arrived knowing absolutely nothing of the language, my vocabulary was incredibly limited. Drawing upon my recent conversations with some of the staff at the centre, I said the only thing that I could think of at the exact moment in time.

'Samuii desu ne?'

This translate to 'it's cold isn't it?'

The shop assistant smiles, and agrees - it is cold.

Though it didn't occur to me at the time, I probably couldn't have come across any more odd if I tried.

Here was a foreigner, at midnight, buying pornography, casually dressed in jeans and a hoodie whilst outside it's minus three degrees, complaining that it's cold, purchasing an ice cream.

I got back home at about one. Exhausted and freezing cold, I went to bed immediately and didn't even bother looking at the prize which I so desperately sought. What's more, when I eventually did, I received probably the greatest lesson of all.

Japanese pornography is rubbish.

iPad! (Well everyone else is talking about it)

2010-01-29T23:27:00.002Z

For those worried that this blog will soon turn into a daily update of my inner turmoil as I grapple with my conscience regarding my (probably eventual) purchase of an iPad, fear not! This will be the first and last time I mention it. Until I buy one, and then I will talk about it all the fucking time.

So firstly, let's get the obvious out of the way:

OH MY FUCKING GOD, IT IS A BIG IPHONE WITHOUT THE PHONE SO TECHNICALLY WE SHOULD PROBABLY CALL IT A BIG IPOD TOUCH INSTEAD OF COMPARING IT TO AN IPHONE LIKE A BUNCH OF FUCKING MORONS. MY LAPTOP DOES MORE STUFF THAN THAT AND IT COST A FRACTION OF THE PRICE, FFFFFUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU

It's funny really, back when Steve Jobs wandered out on stage and announced Apples newest 'thing' was an MP3 player, it got pretty much the same reaction. While I realise that anonymous nerds need to vent, for fear they may explode under the pressure of their own brilliant lol-catz-based wit, it's got to a point at which I feel genuine fatigue at the mass stupidity on display.

I have my fair share of issues with the iPad - its price (which is likely to increase in the UK), its (so far) seemingly limited functionality, and its reliance on FUCKING iTunes. But at the same time, I'm preferring to look at it not for what it is now but for what it will become in two years time.

The original iPhone was a fantastic idea, but it was a bit toss. Two years down the line and we've reached the iPhone 3GS - an all singing all dancing iteration of the original concept. Taking what we've learned from the iPhone's development and applying it to the iPad creates an enormous amount of potential for Apple's new device.

In a couple of years time I fully expect to be able to video chat over Skype, from a train, window-in-window while I browse the web or use a word processor, all the while holding nothing but a single plate of half-inch thick plastic and glass. And the scary thing is, none of the above is impossible by any means - in fact with the unveiling of the iPad it's highly likely to happen.

I always used to hate hearing people say how they couldn't live without their iPhone, and having finally given in and bought one, I now completely agree. While the current build of the iPad may appear flawed in many ways, and while Steve Jobs sitting in a comfy chair saying things like "Isn't this a nice way to look at your photos" isn't the most compelling key note speech I've witnessed, I look forward with a great deal of optimism towards the future of the iPad.

And hopefully by that time, I'll have taken out enough loans to buy one.

Got YOUR Number

2010-01-28T21:28:00.004Z

Haha! Remember that rubbish 118 advert? Shit!

Anyway, just before Christmas I ventured into Maplin to buy some cable or other, and whilst there I spotted Peggle Nights on the budget PC stand. My sister, a student, had asked for simple PC games she could play on her less than powerful laptop instead of revising, and seeing this as an opportunity to educate her in the ways of PopCap, I snapped it up. As I handed it to the oddly creepy shop assistant he asked me for ID.

Here is what PEGI has to say about Peggle Nights:

"Peggle Nights is a pachinko-style arcade game in which players shoot balls at colored pegs and bricks in order to clear game boards. Various 'power-ups' can increase points and allow several pegs to be removed at once."

It is rated 'E' for 'Everyone' meaning everyone can play it, without risk of turning into some mass murdering child rapist. The European equivalent PEGI rated it '3+' which means you have to be over 3 years old to play it, or you run the risk of becoming a mass murdering child-rapist.

The point is, the guy was a prick. Having faked a brief smile at his idiocy I produced my driver's licence and he agreed I was over the age of 3. Twat. He then went on to ask for my postcode, and house number. Having worked in electronics retail, I realise there are times when this information is required, and given that I was tired of being messed around I gave said details without any fuss. I left the shop, and never returned to that branch again.

A couple of months later and I find myself in a different branch of Maplin whilst waiting for a friend. I see a 12 foot Tos-Link cable, that i need for my overly expensive headphones, and buy it on a whim. At the register the shop assistant cheerfully says "Right, give us your post code and we'll get some vouchers out to you".

"No, thanks" I reply.

"Shame, this cable would've only cost you about a tenner".

Prick.

I look at him with an impatient glare and he gives up and puts it through the till. I walk off adding another branch of Maplin to my list of branches of Maplin I refuse to enter. No more than a week later and a letter arrives for me. I open it up, and by Christ if it isn't from fucking Maplin.

Turns out when Cunty McTwat requested my ID for fucking Peggle Nights, he was merely forcing a scenario in which he could convince me to give him my postcode and house number so he could bombard me with his stupid fucking coupons. What's more, they were for five quid off when you spend over fifty pounds. Which in turn proved Cocky McArsehole to be a liar, seeing as I'd have to buy five Tos-Link cables just to start saving money.

I'm usually incredibly careful when it comes to handing out my contact details. I'm pretty cautious as it is, but this little debacle has now made me more determined than ever to protect my privacy. The fact that shop clerks are now lying through their teeth, resorting to trickery in order to get your details, is a depressing notion indeed.

Needless to say I won't be returning to Maplin, the Internet is by far cheaper and you don't have to talk to anyone.

Here Come The Girls

2010-01-27T22:53:00.002Z

You there! Yes you! Mr Marketing Director! Do you have a product, television show, movie, edible substance, gynecological aid loosely aimed at women/girls/gender confused males? Then why not create an ad/trailer/musical pamphlet featuring Ernie K-Doe's phenomenal hit 'Here come the girls'!?

Absolutely nobody has thought to utilise this classic example of sixties soul, especially not the brassy hook of the chorus, which would almost definitely secure sales of your generi-femi-product. Think about it, an ad for girls that has the line 'here come the girls', all you'd need to do is get a bunch of boring looking duffers, stick them in some leggings with their t-shirts barely covering their collective Lycra-clad arse and get them to walk towards the camera grinning like some over-medicate buffoon.

Better still, fuck Ernie K-Doe, get the remix in - y'know the one that by that group that used to be a different group, that have taken said riff and looped it for three minutes singing the same words over and over again. The tampon figures will be through the roof! They'll cry your name out in the streets: 'Hooray for Mr Marketing Director and his clever, clever ad - if it wasn't for him, we'd be knee deep in menstrual blood'.

Fin.

On Tattoos And Why They're Stupid

2010-01-26T18:34:00.004Z

I recently had a conversation with a close female friend about tattoos. She asked if I'd ever have one, to which I firmly replied 'no'.

My reasoning for this is simple: I think tattoos are stupid.

I don't think I can think of any single moment in my life when I've stopped and thought 'hang on, needling a load of ink into your skin so you can never get rid of it without expensive surgery is actually a great idea!'. There's just nothing I can find that appeals to me about the process or the concept of a tattoo, regardless of how impressive the art work may be.

I bring up the quality of the image because back in Japan I met an American guy called Scott who had some Hokusai-esque imagery running up his legs and arms, and on an artistic level, they were damn impressive. But then I'd think for a moment, and come to realise that those pictures are there FOREVER. You can't wash them off after a few months, they're with you to the grave. I look around when I'm out at the shops and there are young girls with bare midriffs, with enormous blotchy patterns strewn across their lower backs and I think 'when they grow up, they're going to look absolutely fucking ridiculous'.

I have no issue with tattooing, if someone wants to get some God-awful pattern grafted to their left arm then they should totally go for it, I'm sure a lot of people have very good reasons for wanting them - be it religious, traditional, or just because they're an absolute twat. Me; I'm never getting a tattoo and I'll tell you why:

1.) When I eventually forget to pull out, and my fragile sperm manages against all odds to crack an egg, I'm not going to have to explain to my wretched offspring why there's a fifteen inch image of Metal Gear Rex across my back.

2.) When I go swimming and a hot girl is checking out my abs (which happens a great deal I assure you), I'm not going to have to explain the Battlestar Galactica quote that runs down my fore-arm.

3.) When I eventually go a bit 'Travis Bickle', leaving a shopping centre full of women and children screaming and bleeding in my wake, no police detective is going to be able to say "There he is, someone stop the guy with the Batman tattoo on his neck!"

Tattoos for me are merely a backwards turned hat, or a pair of converse with the laces pulled out and the tongue pushed as far forward as possible. A daft fashion statement that in a few years time is going to be haunting you every time you look in the mirror and see the fucking lyrics of some toss band you liked at the time scrawled across your chest, reminding you of how absolutely shit you really are.

To emphasise my point:

Religion Is Ruining My Desserts

2010-01-26T00:55:00.003Z

I fucking love Christmas cake.

While I appreciate that it sort of needs Christmas to be Christmas cake, I still get fairly annoyed that for the rest of the year I have to make do without.

Of course, had I the skills, the patience and the time within which to bake a Christmas cake, then I wouldn't have to type out this inane drivel, but as it stands I'm a lazy bastard with absolutely no talent for the art of baking delicious cakes. All I want is the ability to walk into Tesco, buy a Christmas cake, and eat it - albeit in the middle of June.

My mother (hero that she is) understands my pain. She's seen the addiction ravage me, as she's walked into the kitchen at two in the morning, only to find me kneeling on the floor slumped over a block of marzipan, mashing sultanas and cherries into it in a fit of rage as I try to recreate the delicious fruity sweet. Knowing that, now a month after Christmas, I'd be suffering withdrawals - made it her business to acquire me some Christmas cake that had been made by a friend.

On seeing the cake I remarked at how it was merely plain fruit cake, lacking the important combination of thick sugary icing on marzipan. Now, I'm not sure how she did it, or where she got it from, but a couple of hours later I walk into the kitchen to discover this:

That right there is a feat of super-human proportions.

God knows where she got it, but somehow she found the tinest bit of left over icing, and the tiniest bit of left over marzipan, and hammered them flat and threw them together, making some kind of horrific looking Frankenstein's monster of a Christmas cake. And do you know what? It was fucking lovely.

I'll probably get a load of comments now saying that I can get Christmas cake from Tesco, and that Cadbury's Mini Eggs are sold all year round, but whatever. I wanted to take this opportunity to tell you of my pain, the demon I live with, this awful addiction, and the lengths that those that care will go to.

Also, I will fight anybody who dares badmouth Christmas cake in the comments. Go on, fucking try me.

Dancing Makes Me Feel Odd

2010-01-24T22:50:00.000Z

I like to dance. What I consider to be me 'dancing' is rarely considered to be dancing by the rest of the human race, but there's something about violently shaking my body in time to music that I find compelling. I'd never do it in front of people, unless it's in some sort of ironic 'thing', but put me in a room on my own with a source of upbeat sound, and watch me gyrate like some sort of excellent palsy sufferer.

I find dancing fascinating. Singin' in the Rain is one of my favourite films (of ALL time) based purely on the choreography (and it's quite funny, y'know for an oldie), but for all the brilliant little moves performed, I can't help but think that surely for the performer it doesn't feel anywhere near as fluid or as seamless as it looks. When I throw my arms around like a mad bastard it feels like I'm doing something cool - but watch it back and I look like a complete tit. To get something so perfectly seamless as the set pieces in Singin' in the Rain surely can't contain the same levels of enjoyment as just involuntarily spasming to music.

As I type this I have figure skating on British Eurosport (don't ask), and as I watch I'm mesmerised by the concept of it all. People shouldn't be able to move like that, at those speeds, in such tiny leotards. The amount of effort, and thought, and concentration that goes into a single run must be absolutely fucking mental. Can it really be as enjoyable to do as it is to watch? Maybe I should take it up and find out, and maybe I will, or maybe I won't because - although the idea of wearing a leotard without ending up in a police station is highly appealing - I'm not as young as I once was, and quite frankly, spinning around that many times looks fucking terrifying.

To summarise: Dancing intrigues me. I like dancing. Dancing scares me. I have a figure skating fetish. Dancing is difficult. Dancing is too fucking difficult for me.

Also, some woman just slid across the ice in splits and I'm pretty sure she's just frozen her pubis off.

Vivid Memories from my Childhood

2010-01-23T22:51:00.000Z

A dead snake at the side of the road, viewed from inside a car whilst on holiday in Yugoslavia.

Purposefully rubbing my eyes so that I could pretend I hadn't seen the queen bee at bee keeping display at the St Helens show.

My kite breaking away from the string and boring into the local sandstone rock-face in a dream.

Being offered a paper hat at the fair, and saying 'no' because I thought the lady was asking if I had one already.

Peeing on a girl's hand in infant school.

Crawling across the floor on my back in order to look up the skirts of my nursery teachers.

A hotel somewhere abroad that had what I thought be a pole that lead to the Bat Cave. I was so intent on staring at it that I kept defying my dad, who eventually dragged me inside and hurt my arm.

Telling a joke at my dad's work's Christmas party for kids. It was the one about the guy dressed as a teenage mutant hero turtle with a girl on his back.

At the same party, the entertainer (dressed as Pinocchio) pointing and yelling 'it's Superman'. When we turned back around, a long prosthetic nose had been attached to his face.

Hitting my sister in the face with a golf club at crazy golf. Possibly in the Isle of Wight.

Building a model of the digestive system in infant school using a tissue box, and egg carton, a toilet roll tube and some string.

Kissing the bridesmaid under the table at a wedding (aged five or possibly six).

Going with my nan to see Jurassic Park at the cinema and laughing at the teens in the line who kept calling her 'gran'. Now I realise they were taking the piss.

Dressing up as an old woman called 'Deidre Deary' and playing post office with my sister.

Vomiting up the wall of my babysitter's house and promptly being hit on the hand for the inconvenience.

Standing on my babysitter's tortoise in an attempt to climb her washing line pole.

Exposing myself behind the newspaper recycling bin in infant school, and being sent to the head teacher's office soon after.

Tales From The Yeast (East)

2010-01-23T00:51:00.000Z

It's very nearly 1am, I've spent the last couple of hours playing an indie game that cost little more than 50p, and I feel pretty fucking drained. As such, today's blog shall be another story from my bag of Japanese fables.

The year or so leading up to my first visit to Japan, I was completely tee-total. I didn't drink a single drop of alcohol, nor did I eat food with alcohol in it. One day, whilst out exploring on a day off, I came across kourakuen, a sort of amusement park built around a shopping centre, and home of the Tokyo Dome.

As it was a sunny day I decided to get a bento and eat outside in the fresh air (though apparently, it's a pretty strange thing to do out in public in Tokyo). I'd noticed nearby some attractive ladies were handing out free cans of drink to passers-by, and not one to decline a drink from an attractive lady, I made it my business - bento in hand - to obtain said can of whatever it was, and save myself some money.

Now standing with a bento in one hand and a can of some sort of drink in the other, I realised that I was going to have to eat standing up, as looking around there were few places to sit that didn't already have people sitting in them. Faced with this most difficult of situations, I decided the best course of action was to drink the free beverage as fast as possible, in order to free up my hand to eat my bento with.

A sound plan I'm sure you agree, but what I wasn't prepared for was the secret contents inside my gift. It wasn't the greatest tasting thing in the world, but I downed the lot, only afterwards deciding it would be a good idea to attempt to read from the ingredients list. At the time my Japanese was poor, but I noticed something that began to set my alarm bells ringing: "3%".

Taking out the various notes from my weekly Japanese lessons at the centre, I began to slowly translate the Katakana lettering before it:

Aru-Co-Ho-ru... Alcohol 3%

So there I was, sober for a year only to down an entire can of some sort of alcoholic liquid on an empty stomach. I put my notes back in my bag, ate my bento, and spent the rest of the day wandering around an amusement park feeling completely pissed.

The moral of the story? Probably something like 'don't accept free drinks from attractive women in promotional jackets with Asahi written on them'.

The Best Place To Find New Music...

2010-01-21T23:49:00.000Z

...is apparently on your PC's hard disk.

I'm not talking about 'Maid with the Flaxen Hair' by Richard Stoltzman, found in the sample music folder of Windows 7, though I've never actually listened to it and it could be monumentally brilliant. Instead my story lies with the music currently pumping into my ears as I type.

The album in question is 'Alligator' by The National - a Brooklyn based indie group who according to Wikipedia formed in 1999 and did a lot for the Obama campaign during the presidential election in 2008. Factoids aside, the reason I've made this the topic of today's blog, is that I have absolutely no idea whatsoever with regards to how I came into possession of this album.

My first memory of listening to the album was back in Tokyo in 2006. Going through the music folder on my (now dead) laptop, I came across a folder called 'The National'. I didn't have a clue where it had come from, but added it to my iAudio to give it a listen anyway. I instantly fell in love with every single song on there, and to this day continue to listen to it an unhealthy amount.

It's probably not the greatest album in the world, it hardly makes any sort of massively important musical statement, but I enjoy it none-the-less. To this day however, the question of its origin still drives me mad. Sure I used to download a lot - and at the time I was networked with five other people, all sharing several terabytes of media locally - and yet none of them have any idea where it came from. I've asked everybody, I've checked my library transactions in case I rented it and ripped it without even knowing, but nothing.

So to this day I continue to be driven mad by the mystery that surrounds 'Alligator'. I doubt I'll ever truly discover its roots, it's almost five years since it found its way into my music collection, and probably about time I just sort of accepted it and let it go.

There's not really a real 'point' to this blog post other than to maybe get you to take a quick glance at your music collection and see if there's anything that you weren't aware of. If there is, you should probably give it a listen, it could secretly be on of your favourite albums.

Or it could be "Maid with the Flaxen Hair" by Richard Stoltzman :(

GOOOOOOOOAAAAAALLLLLLLL!

2010-01-20T23:53:00.000Z

I am an avid fan of video games.

This basically means that I'm not allowed to have an interest in sports, unless they involve the term 'extreme', or involve women in leotards contorting their bodies, revealing their most intimate creases. Combinations of the two are even better.

I did have a brief flirt with football from birth to around age twelve, brought on by a Liverpool obsessed father, and the general misconception by most of England that football is the most important thing in the world. I'd wear my replica Liverpool kit with pride, tell relatives how one day I wanted to play for England, and later enrolled in a local under twelve's football team.

The problem was, I was shit at football. It wasn't that I didn't try, I put just as much effort in as anyone else, but I was plagued by the scientific fact that having a deep interest in computers, technology and video games means you lack the the genes that make you able to lob a keeper at thirty yards.

In fact, my footballing capabilities became quite notorious about school and the local area. PE teachers would often ironically sing 'There's only one Ian Dickson', and in the local park some bright spark had penned "IAN DICKSON SOCCER SKILLS" in giant letters across a children's climbing frame. To be honest had I not been about ten at the time, I would've probably been told to fuck off by the coach of the team I played for (who were actually quite reputable), instead he played me as far back as possible and only really let me on once we were winning by a couple of goals.

So despite an early passion for the sport, including several trips to Wembley to see the local team lose against Woking, I hung up my football boots and picked up a Dual Shock controller instead, forever condemning football as the thing normal, popular people do.

Just over ten years later, and something strange is happening. I downloaded the demo for FIFA 10 on a friend's recommendation. Despite my clear obsession with video games, I'd not played a football related game post-Sensible Soccer on the Amiga. Why would I? It's a game based on a sport I have zero interest in, I don't understand the terminology, the rules, and my knowledge of team rosters is based on a sticker collection from 1994.

But the weird thing about FIFA 10 is, it's such a well made video game that even without a knowledge of any of the above, it's still surprisingly enjoyable once you get your head around the basic game rules. So much so, that having played the demo two days straight I went out and bought the full game at full retail price.

Stranger still, I've sort of started to care about football. I still hold the opinion that it's far less important than it's supposed to be, and the amount of money those guys get paid will always baffle me, but I appreciate the skill, and I appreciate the sport as a tactical game, something that I doubt I ever would have managed had I simply sat down and watched a match.

This evening I sat down with my dad and watched the Liverpool game from start to finish, and enjoyed it immensely. It's hard to figure out whether this is all because of my experience with FIFA 10, or whether it's something that just happens when you reach a certain age (which would also explain all this extra hair I'm sprouting) but for the time being I can sort of say that after a decade of not giving a shit, I sort of, just almost, might like football again.

Next on the list: Drinking beer and punching men in the face.

Back To Front To Back

2010-01-20T00:07:00.000Z

It's only the third blog in, and I know we're not really on such personal terms yet, but it's late and I can't think of anything else to write about so I'm just going to get this out of my system.

I have no idea if I'm wiping my bum correctly.

It's not that I have difficulty performing the above task, and the result is always good, but I can't help but think that there may be some other more resourceful, more efficient way of doing it. I don't mean to imply that I'm using half a loo roll every time, because I'm not, nor am I pulling said roll off the holder and using the entire thing in it's cylindrical form. Rather, I often wonder if everyone else does it exactly like me, or if someone knows something I don't - some secret technique that's passed down over generations.

I don't take ages doing it, and it's not like any adjustment would improve my life in any way, but it's the not knowing - and more to the point not being able to really ask - that I find frustrating. That said, there's probably a bunch of videos somewhere on the web, though I'll be damned if I'm the one who looks for them.

At the end of the day, if it continues to bother me I think I'll just cough up and buy a bidet. At least it'll stop me from having to vault up onto the sink.

No Jump. No Rape.

2010-01-19T00:34:00.000Z

Most people who know me are aware that I've spent a fair bit of time living in Japan. Despite this I've never actually documented any of the things I witnessed whilst over there, and seeing as I've nothing else to write about I figured this was a good place to start.

During my first visit to Tokyo I lived and worked in a community centre, supervising children who would arrive after school, and stay until their parents picked them up after work. Genius that I am, I'd made my way out to Japan without knowing a single word of Japanese, and so the first few months were confused to say the least.

During one weekday afternoon, the junior-high school children had come to take part in their weekly activity club, and as a 'leader' I joined in with the fun and games - which this week turned out to be basketball. While I'm not overly tall, I pretty much towered over the group of girls on the other team, and so they decided to lay down the rules before we began. One of the girls approached and in her best Junior-High school English proclaimed:

"We, jump okay. You, no jump. No rape".

Now either there's a crucial misunderstanding in Japanese schools of the term 'rape' or they knew exactly who they were dealing with. Regardless, there was no jumping or raping, and I still won.

Later on in my stay some of the boys asked me if I'd ever 'done rape'. At this point I began to question the sort-of beard I'd been growing, though I probably should've been questioning the kids' English vocabulary given that they barely knew anything other than their please and thank yous yet they all seemed able to say 'rape'.

I don't know, maybe that's just the way the Japanese roll, or maybe I just have one of those faces.

A Quarter To Dead: Why This Was A Terrible Idea.

2010-01-18T00:51:00.001Z

Hello boys. And girls I suppose.

This is officially the first of what will soon become the biggest fucking chore of my life, but everyone else is doing it so why not me, eh?

You're probably thinking "because you're a boring cunt with nothing to write about" and you'd be right, but I've decided to delve into the narcissistic world of writing a personal blog once a day, in the hope that by the end of the year I'll have finally justified my suicide.

Expect a lot of mindless drivel about video games, Japan, working a dead end job in retail and frequent references to Shakira.

I'll eventually change this awful template, and if you're wondering about the title; I'm twenty five years old, exactly quarter of the way to my death. Assuming I die at a hundred. Which I probably won't get anywhere near. Which makes this whole thing a massive waste of time really.

And that's your lot, my first 'one a day'.

Terrible!