Darfuria

Social networking websites have grown over the past few years. Gone are the days where we give people our phone numbers, and instead we give them a link to our MySpace profile.

Fantastic. I’m sure you’ve seen MySpace. Personally I don’t think that I’ve never seen such a collection of beauty. It’s like the whole world united for an annual colour co-ordination ceremony, drank the punch and then took a very insulting dump on the Mona Lisa.

Seriously, what the hell were the developers thinking when they let people edit their profile? Okay, so on the upside, every 14 year old girl in the world that isn’t crying because her parents wouldn’t buy her a bottle of WKD Blue gets to use a few snippets of XHTML after school.

I remember being absolutely bewildered by one person’s profile simply because there was so much stuff just scattered over the page, it looked like a group of retarded toddlers had tried playing dot-to-dot with some finger paints and a collage of magazine cut-outs. After about five minutes of staring at this random idiot’s profile, drowning in the swamp of clutter I remember saying aloud “Holy shit! There’s a fucking ship in the background!”

Thankfully one man, or one group of people saw the problem with MySpace (I haven’t actually done the research, and don’t really give a damn) and thus Facebook was born. Facebook started out fantastically. To begin with it is developed in a real programming language that offers stability. Secondly, people aren’t given the ability to use their own shitty layouts. Okay, so ignoring the few faults that were discovered when people were able to view contact details without having people on their friends list. I mean, come on, if you’re going to put your phone number, address and various other information into a database, you’re practically begging people to come and watch you get changed anyway.

But then things got bad. Facebook released its API to the world so that people could develop their own applications. This has progressed and evolved as more and more developers have gotten their fingers into it, and it has come to the point where I have chosen to develop my very own Facebook application. It’s called

NO I DON’T FUCKING CARE ABOUT YOUR STUPID FUCKING HATCHING KITTEN.

Everytime I login to Facebook, I have countless requests asking if I want to put hatching kittens or superwalls or pirates or vampires on my profile. I mean, seriously. What is all of this pathetic digital fluff that is plaguing the social networking world? I just can’t fucking stand it. Why has nobody made an application that just gives all of the other applications the finger and protects you from the endless stream of pointless messages about how well your friend did on a questionnaire about a TV show.

YES, THAT’S RIGHT. I REALLY COULDN’T CARE LESS ABOUT HOW MUCH YOU KNOW ABOUT LOST.

Oh no. End of the world.

I thought Facebook had it down. It’s such a nicely written website that works so perfectly, but the developers just had to allow the idiots to come and and jump up and down all over it with their big “I’m an idiot and I’m clearly better than you because I have 8 hatched kittens on my profile” boots. Fuckers.

I’m going to develop my own social networking website. I’m going to give it a catchy name, and instead of being able to do ludicrously pointless things like put Mabel the Retarded Goat above the comments section on my profile, with a tagline that says something along the lines of “Brush Mabel to win a Nintendo Wii” so that you get every dribble-dripping monstrosity of a completely oblivious simpleton clicking away, infecting their PC with more spyware with each button push, everytime you leave a comment on someone’s profile, it’ll redirect your browser to this image.

Through my entire blogging life, I don’t think I have ever posted about how annoying I find the immaturity of people in their late-teens who act like they are still in high school. This has to be one of the most irritating things that frustrates every single nerve cell in my brain. Today I faced someone conforming to this immaturity - it made me want to recolonise the world so that any typical teenage grudge-holding twat is left to rot in the barrens of my pure hatred. Yet, I’m still unable to construct a sentence that depicts just how frustrating I find it.

I wish there were artificial reality suites so that I could probe my mind into Grand Theft Auto and recklessly kill a load of innocent civillians without any reality-bound consequences. It would certainly make me feel better.

I’m really quite proud of the “hyperglycemic midget with PD” metaphor I used in an earlier post. In fact, I’m so proud of it that I worked on it a little. Now it’s a hyperglycemic diabetic midget with ALS. Just for the added spasms. If you want a better visual of this, just picture a short, neurodegenerative bastard on a sugar high. Yeah, I thought it was great too.

I want a little chef that will make me a little sandwich in a little kitchen. He will take the little bag of little bread out of a little cupboard and put it on the little work top. Then he will take a little slice of little bread out of the little bag of little bread and put it on the little cutting board. Then he will take the little butter out of the little fridge and take a little knife from a little drawer. He’ll unwrap the little wrapper on the little butter and scrape some on to the little knife. Then he will spread the little butter on to the a little slice of bread with the little knife. He will then wrap the little wrapper around the little butter and put the little butter back in the little fridge and get the little packet of little ham. He will turn on the little tap and rub the little knife with a little cloth to get the little remains of the little butter off. Then he will turn the little tap off and put the little knife on the little draining board. He will take three little slices of little ham from the little packet and place them on the little slice of bread. He will put the little packet of little ham back in the little fridge and take another slice of little bread from the little bread bag and place it on top of the other little slice of little bread. Then he will put the little bread back in the little cupboard. He will get a little plate out of another little cupboard and take a little napkin from the little napkin dispenser on the little wall. He will fold the little napkin into a little triangle and put it on the little plate. He will put my little sandwich on the little plate next to the little napkin folded into a little triangle and bring it to me in his little hands. I will sit on a little chair at a little table in a little room and take little bites of my little sandwich and then thank the little man for his kindness.

I saw a Little Chef when I was waiting for a lift with Tallis.

I don’t really have anything to say, I’m just typing for the sake of moving my fingers so that I don’t drift into a coma of emotionless detachment. Is it ‘into’ or ‘in to’? I guess ‘into’ would be ‘I turned him into a frog’, and ‘in to’ would be ‘I walked in to the shop’. Anyway.

I used to date a blind girl. Her name was ::… ..:.: .:::. .::.. ….: .:.::

No. Not really.

I didn’t sleep very well at all last night, and for some reason it feels like I’ve been performing fellatio on a sex toy made of sand and barbed wire. In fact, I am quite certain there are two shredded grapes lodged in my throat. This makes swallowing quite uncomfortable.

Because of these things I’m in a rather cynical ranty mood. When my Mum got home earlier I could smell her. Not because she has a foul body odour, but because she lit a cigarette. This caused me to start to rant through the medium of televisual advertising. I actually wrote a short script for a commercial that you might see between programs.

“Dad, what’s that smell?”
“That smell, Son, is called cancer.”
“Cancer?”
“Yes. It means your Mother is home.”
“Passive smoking during childhood can increase the risk of nasal cancer. Don’t kill your children. Stand outside.”

Yes, I was talking to my imaginary Father. Problem?

I’ve come up with a revolutionary form of transport. Actually, I haven’t come up with it at all, I’m just claiming I have because I feel like it. I’m sure lots of people have said the same thing. Anyway, I call it Toastcat. We all know that cats land on their feet, and toast lands butter-side down. Therefore, if I tie a piece of buttered toast facing upwards to a cat’s back, and then drop the cat, the result should be something along the lines of anti-gravity. All I need to do from there is find a way of building some sort of feline raft, and thus I will have a completely organic hoverboard.

You know, they should really sell little escalator with slinkies. A slinky + an escalator would equal endless fun.

What’s the ultimate doom for a leper? An epileptic fit. Yes, I’m terrible.

I’ve given up on the whole avoiding stereotype thing. I’m too lazy to mentally prevent myself from categorising people now. Besides, nobody would listen to me if I went other ways about describing a chav. So, so be it.

I wish my lawn was emo… so it could cut itself.

Resisting saying what is on my mind is becoming increasingly difficult as my hatred for idiots that I meet day-to-day develops. I was on the bus the other day when a chav got on after his two chavette friends. They both, as all annoying teenagers do, sat in seperate seats. He sat next to one of them and said to the other

“I was going to sit next to you, but then I thought ‘nah’”

The temptation raise my voice and say

“Oh! Here we go! An insight to the vastly complex thoughts inside your mind. How exciting!”

But I didn’t. I should have.

There is a zebra crossing on the way to Tallis’ house that I keep meaning to take a picture of. It has 5 white stripes, and someone geniously wrote ‘E = mc²’ across them. Fantastic.

I love Captcha boxes on websites. You know, the things that display the characters in barely readable text that you have to copy to prove that you’re human - or as close as you possibly can be. They amuse me because underneath them you often have the accessibility options. The one I saw earlier simply said ‘can’t read?’ under it, which I thought was perfect. I mean, come on. What!?

I love the way people are so judgemental when they see someone wearing something. When I was walking home this morning I was wearing my particularly colourful Boho trousers, underneath a pair of rather ripped jeans. Passers by could see the odd patch of colour and pattern near my shoes, and some of the looks I got were amazing. You’d think people suddenly realised that their optics displayed colours other than grey.

Anyway, I think I have run out of pointless things to say. So there.

Right now I’m feeling kind of weird. Weird aside from the odd feeling I get whenever I use my laptop, which I really don’t understand. Tallis told me yesterday that tomorrow (today) will be the first day since the day we met that we won’t see each other. She is going to visit some family out of town. For some reason hearing that has shocked me more than I ever would have imagined it doing. I didn’t even realise I had seen her every day since we met, which was around the beginning of September. We didn’t plan on seeing each other every day, it just sort of happened.

Now that I’ve had to put this into some sort of perspective, I’m not really looking forwards to tomorrow. I’m not scared or anything, it’s just that in such a short space of time, Tallis has made a huge impact on where I’m at with my life, and it’s quite weird, when I think about it, that we’ve managed to see each other every day for the past two months - almost.

I feel quite numb at the moment. I constantly find myself looking at my life and comparing it to other people I know. I often see myself in the middle of all of the people I know, and each of the people around me can all do something I wish I could do. Sometimes I just wish I could take the talents other people have, because I am constantly looking up to everybody who can do something that I can’t, or somebody who can do something better than me.

It’s annoying really because I know that I’m like a human spongue in that I am perfectly capable of walking into practically anything and picking it up very quickly, and then becoming relatively good at it, but I often think that people, when they recognise my ability, give me more credit than I deserve. I’ve been given so much credit about my computing ability through my whole life, but when I look at myself, I’m nothing fantastic compared to the people I associate myself with who share a technological interest, it’s just that the people that I hang out with who don’t share that interest see it in me and define me as the talented one.

I have spent so much time during the last two years of my life just wishing I could do things that I can’t do, or do things better than I can do them already, but for some odd reason I have no motivation or dedication. I want to be a better programmer, a better musician, a better person. I want to be able to do things that my friends can do, and like I said before, I know I’m perfectly capable of doing them, but for some reason I really can’t find the motivation, and that’s coming from someone who has often helped other people take steps towards sorting things out.

I know that really, to make any progress with anything I want to do I just have to take one step, and that’s the beginning right there, but for some reason I can’t do that. I wish I understood why. I’m really blind to where I want to go right now, and not so long ago I thought I had it all figured out. I still really want to be a writer, but after having an insight to what writing for a professional company is like, I’ve been put off quite a lot. Recently I got accepted to the preparation program to be a writer for About.com, which I was really pleased about, as I was one of five candidates that got accepted. However, after starting the preparation program I realised how horrible it actually was. It’s not that I had a problem with creating the content that I created, it was the administrative side of things that put me off. The content management system they were running for their website was so horribly difficult to work around, and so stupidly complex that I just didn’t want to think about it any more. I want to be a writer, not someone who has to do all of this pointless administrative work.

There are so many things swimming through my mind now. Things I want to accomplish, achieve or learn and I just wish I had the motivation to set about them. I just know that if I, for example, sat down and finished learning PHP so that I felt confident enough to call myself a PHP developer, rather than someone who has experience and knowledge of the language, and then expanded my knowledge so that I knew some Javascript, XML, AJAX, and so on, that I would quite easily be able to secure a web developer job, but honestly I’m not sure if that’s where I want to be.

Unfortunately I realy can’t see me getting a writing job here, and whilst there are alternatives like writing for online companies, my experiences with them so far have been quite off-putting.

I’ve registered with lots of agencies and I am constantly looking for a job, but sooner or later I think I’m just going to have to accept the fact that I’m not going to find anything I want to do any time soon and do something I don’t want to, even though that working in retail is going to make me ill. That’s inevitable.  Hell, I need the money. I’ve got debt to pay and rent to pay. I’ve got a new girlfriend and I want to be able to take her places and do nice things, but all of that doesn’t come for free. I have got excellent ideas for christmas presents, but really, the end of this year is approaching really fast.

I have been so tempted to sign for a credit card lately. Everyone I have told that to has said that it’s a bad idea and I shouldn’t go down that road, but it’s coming to the point where, financially, I need some money so that I can work my way out of the hole I’m in just to get some more money. I’m still really annoyed that the writing position for About.com was such a chore, because I felt really confident when I heard that I got accepted to the preparation program.

I’m trying to stay level-headed about everything that is going on right now, even though I want nothing more than to get a job, move out and sort my life out so that I’m not stressed, anxious and envious anymore, but really, I can’t see the light telling me that good things are coming soon.

I hope that soon I will find the motivation to do the things I want to do. Not to be a pessimist, but I doubt I will.