Floods are kind of my guilty pleasure

Lots of people say that certain T.V. shows are their guilty pleasures, because they enjoy them but are slightly embarrassed about the fact they enjoy them. Like when it’s really late and you’ve just gotten back from a night out and the guy you love is sprawled on the sofa next to you and you try your best not to giggle when You’ve Been Framed comes on because you want to maintain a sophisticated aura, but then he chuckles, and you decide what the Hell? and just enjoy it.

For me, it’s floods. And I think I come from a defensible position. My character and moral compass cannot be attacked or compromised. My house was flooded in June, and destroyed, and we were out of it until November last. My piano was destroyed; so were my books, photograph albums, all the furniture, and the interior walls. I have experience, and can both sympathise and empathise with moderate-flood victims. Not ones who’s houses are torn down, or those who have lost loved ones. I’m talking just a bit of structural damage,  nostalgic memorabilia loss, and inconvenience.

The floods that cause these losses, a few feet, slow flowing… these are my guilty pleasures. Yes, I know they cost people their livelihoods, their homes, things that mean a lot to them: but for some horrible reason, I still like them. There’s something gut-wrenchingly exciting about watching the water creep up the steps to your home, as you lie in wait, barricaded and prepared.

For your entertainment, I also include a photograph of my back garden. That little bit of wall sticking up to the left midground is waist level, and there are steps leading down lower past it. Yup. It was deep. I apologise for the poor quality, I had only my phone to record the apocalypse.

2013-01-25 16.37.48

Night Out!

So mid-term has finally sprung upon me, unexpected in its seeming lateness. And thus begins the nights-out. I’m not the most socially adept of people (bar that three hour conversation with a guy on the phone last night… but even that was about economics, politics and bullying), but the few friends I have force me to attend birthday parties (ghastly things) and try their best to integrate me into society. Bless them.

So I’ve spent most of this evening disastrously trying to piece together an outfit for tomorrow night. I quickly realised that my homemade Lieutenant Uhura costume would not really fit the occasion  and that neither my spiderman tee or my t-shirt with a massive Pi symbol composed of Pi to 10,000 decimal places would be appreciated.

I think I have found a combination that won’t be offensive to the general crowd attending the ‘do tomorrow night. Now all I need to do is revise accepted social etiquette of the 21st century, look up colloquial slang, and I’ll fit right in.

Maybe.

I play games, or the only pick up line you’ll ever need

It’s funny how loads of people put up videos on YouTube about what guys look for in girls or the other way around. I have my solution. Perhaps I called this post “the only pick up line you’ll ever need”  because I wanted to attract the attention of lonely people who crave company, and convert them to users. Perhaps. But the story is still true.

On more than five or six occasions  I have had love professed to me because I casually slipped into conversation that I love Bioshock, or that I am a little addicted to Portal, or that Halflife is my life, or that Assassins Creed is hilarious, or that Fallout is taking over my everything. Nothing else quite has the same effect. Enjoying comic books and loving the Avengers, Batman, or Spiderman just isn’t quite good enough. Same with Harry Potter. Sometimes, if you get a little more specific or obscure, you find similar minded people. Such as raving about Luna Lovegood, or saying how the adventures of Judge Dredd keep you up at night. Doctor Who equally opens doors.

But no one has ever, EVER professed love to me over any of those things.

So girls, tell the guys the games you play. You never know, they might just love angry birds.

Unless they’re the outdoorsy, free spirited type. Then they might just think you’re sad for spending hours exploring underwater steampunk dystopian realms on a screen. But it’s not like you’d want them anyway, right? Hah, healthy lads with a love of fresh air… so last year.

Why anime scares me a little, or the serial killer German student

I like comics and graphic novels in general, but something about anime, whether it be in book form or animation, just gives me the shivers and makes me think of overweight, greasy-ponytail wearing men in their late forties. For some reason. On the other hand, when I get past that, there is of course the amazing cosplay and also epic stories and pretty cool art.

But something makes my brain automatically flash “Weirdo alert!” whenever I see someone reading an anime comic or watching a film. I pondered for many a day over what exactly caused this rooted discrimination within me, and I think I have finally found the source.

Throughout my past, I have stitched together certain books, music or films with events in my life. For example, Inkheart by Cornelia Funke always makes me think of autumn, and my uncle leaving to go home to Nepal. Doctor Who always makes me think of my friend Liam, Pride and Prejudice of my friend Uli, and the song Kids in America by Kim Wilde makes me think of Jimmy Neutron, and being small.The Gladiator and Russell Crowe makes me think (rather oddly) of Christmas, since I vividly remember watching that film one Christmas night.

Last year, I went to stay in Germany with my German class. I was assigned a rather odd girl, who used to stand under trees sniffing leaves. Seeing as I have a little brother with autism, I feverishly started watching her behaviour to see if she might be on the autistic spectrum.

After having her return to my house, I think it’s fair to say she had serious psychotic issues. Everything that happened was someone else’s fault. She never seemed to feel embarrassed when caught rifling through my things, and had a seriously strong sense of self preservation, and said to my question whether she was lonely, “I don’t need friends. They cannot keep up to me.”

One thing she did while I was there was take her parents credit card and spend €150 on anime books. Then did the same again the next day. And thought they wouldn’t find out. I was forced to sit through an obscure anime film in German (which I’m not very good at, I’m doing French instead) while everyone else in the group went to a barbecue.

I feel at ease now that I know where my deep seated indignation of anime comes from, but I’d feel even better if I knew how to fix it, and untangle it from the memories of the girl who may one day be a serial killer.

Ideas for the physics lab, or, how I want to look good in front of people

I’ve been asked to mind both the art room and the physics lab on open night in our school, for little primary school kids to come and gawk. I love the art room; it has something cosy and lovely about it, with the smell of paint and melting glue and wax about it. If I mind it, I can work on my current art project and possibly play music and generally relax.

Whereas the physics labs are cold and clinical, with harsh lighting and super white furniture. Everything is white. If I mind the lab, I probably have to be a bit more serious, not as laid back, and I won’t be as cosy. However, I can run experiments and release my inner physics nerd. I can bring in posters, magazines, books; I can wear my Pi shirt under my uniform, I can set up my Doctor Who figurines, and watch nerdy documentaries.

And I think I know which kind of person I want the general public to see me as, and it’s not a flaky art student.

Other people pull off the cute geek so well

Unfortunately for me, I could never really do the cute, awkward geek. I tend to be the inarticulate bumbling geek who accidentally spills the beer she’s pretending to drink to look cool all over whoever she’s trying to look cool in front of. But heck, I’ve got soul. Sort of.

Anyway, I like how all of a sudden being a nerd is kind of cool. If you do it right. I suddenly have the chance to breath without fearing that the whole world is sniggering (yes I do care what other’s think). I now only have to hide the extreme geek inside. Like the whole Star Trek obsession, that’s apparently still not cool. The new one, sure, you’re allowed like that for the sake of Chris Pine, or because you love JJ Abram’s work. But not for Spock. And the old shows, especially The Original (and the best in my opinion) Series, are just cringe worthy to like.

Also, you shouldn’t put The Original Series theme tune as your phone ringtone. You end up getting either weird glances from people, or total weirdos starting up conversations about how they like Star Trek too. Lose-lose situation.

So I’ve decided that my best (and possibly only) option is to curl up in bed with a DVD of Journey to the Center of the Earth, a pair of old red and green 3D glasses, and a new blog.

If writers stopped writing about what happened to them, then there would be a lot of empty pages, or, when Fallout 3 arrived

Elaine Liner said that. I’m not claiming to be a writer, but would like to struggle against the phenomenon of text speak and indecent punctuation and write like hell even if I myself mess up on grammar and punctuation every now and then along the way.

So, I will tell you the story of the late night, the new arrival, and the laptop.

It was late one evening last week, and I decided to change my password on my laptop. It had been Pioneer 8 after the space shuttle, but after I played out (in my head) an awkward incident where I tried to explain that I wasn’t a fervent religious alcohol abstainer to a computer repairs guy, I decided to change it.

I even went and wrote it down so I wouldn’t forget it. I went to sleep, watching Amelie (to satisfy my need to feel cultured), and left the laptop switch off.

Joy of joys, next day, Fallout 3 arrived in the post. I couldn’t wait to play it, and went and grabbed my xbox controller and switched on my laptop. It asked for my password. I reached for the paper I had written the password down on, and copied it out.

Incorrect password.

The letters stood like a beacon of lost hope and despair. No matter how hard I tried, it wouldn’t accept it. I used my old password, misspelled my new one, did it with Caps Lock on, did it standing on my head. Nothing. Just Incorrect Password. And disappointed my with my controller and new game.

Three days, a small slow netbook, three USB sticks and lots of tears later, I have failed to boot my laptop from a password reset USB. I believe I may have broken laws in five countries and skirted close to it in a few dozen more, given the reputation of programs that reset laptop passwords.

And I still haven’t being able to play Fallout 3. Sure, I have Ubuntu on the same laptop and that’s fine, but Steam won’t work for me properly on it.

FML.