Twenty Thousand Words Under The Sea

Happy Birthday to me!

By the time you read this I will have officially commenced my late twenties. I am now the wrong side of twenty five and in between my Mum's playful reminders that I'm getting older (read: get me some fucking grandchildren already) and my colleagues being genuinely surprised that I am older than them (Quote of the day goes to some fetal teenager thing whispering in shocked tones "Wow, shouldn't you be doing a better job than this by now?" Yes, yes I should). It feels less of a day of celebration an more of a desperate scrabble to become a millionaire before I hit thirty.

...But I've dragged my heels in writing this post for so long that this opening spiel is now hopelessly out of date. Except the part where I am older, that hasn't changed. It just happened back in January when the world outside my window is one giant frozen pit where the only means of staying warm is throwing money at the gas companies.

So lets have an update, if your new the this blog then Enforced Whimsy exists as a practice range come narcissism intensity ray for me to take over the world with my glittering smile and witty repartee.

And if that doesn't work my Ninja sloths certainly will.

When we last parted ways Nanowrimo or National Novel Writing Month for those of you who don't speak fluent acronym, was just about to commence. The month of November is given over to furiously masturbating ones creativity to churn out ten thousand words of a novel. I was confident, I was planning to pen my first master piece in a month. I set off in high spirits ready to tell a tale of disillusioned teens who get super powers that are kinda shitty. So far so Marvel/DC (delete whichever you prefer to hate).

Three weeks in and 20,000 words later and I gave up. I didn't merely stop writing though, I fully rage quit (which isn't nearly as impressive without someone around to see it.) Looking back at the proto novel I found a whole steaming pile of badger anus and the remains of my desire to write dead in a ditch. I had no desire to ever put pen to paper ever again.

Unless Paper brought it's good friends Dice along for the ride - then everything was pure natural 20.

If you want to experience Nanowrimo for yourself then imagine being a student who has an essay to hand in every single night, complete with frantic scrabbling to hit the word count, bitter tears rolling down your cheeks and smug little bastards braying about how they've already finished the challenge and how ludicrously easy the whole thing was. Did I already mention they were bastards? Because they are.

Similarly to the student way of life the majority of people who do Nanowrimo forget the rest of the known world and only ever want to talk about their literary baby at any social encounter, even in event of a mugging or chance sexual encounter; quickly singling themselves out of any conversation within in the first five minutes and being quarantined like they've caught a particularly pretentious illness.

Though before I make myself out to be a bitter and twisted person (what do you mean it's too late?) I'll point out that Nanowrimo is a noble endeavor. Some people write good work, a selection of which get's published, and the community that springs up during the month of November is fantastic to see, though I rarely hear of these communities staying in touch when they're not all meeting up to write together like literary peacocks trying to attract nerdy mates. Almost as if they went to a temp agency to get a better class of friend to hang out with while they preen their dictionaries.

"Keep it up, they might ask us about what we're writing soon."

The month of Amateur Novelist Angst is not for everyone and if you tried it and failed (or saved time and said fuck that) you shouldn't beat yourself up. Creativity is a strange and varied bag of badger anus and what works for one person doesn't work for everyone. After talking with a fair few people who have also undergone National Lobotomy Month there's a good chance you might find the following.

The core lesson Nanowrimo is to hammer home is that you should write every day, and that is a very good  lesson. One I sorely need to learn myself. But, the absolute drivel that it inspires from this creative forced march is normally of such a low quality that you might as well sling the entire thing and start again from scratch.On a particularly bad day when real life has invaded your self constructed author fantasy it doesn't matter what you write, only that you write and hit the word limit so you don't create more work for yourself tomorrow playing catch up. Now there is something to be said for writing through the writers block but it is on the understanding that once you hit a good pace that you can go back delete the dross you left behind. Not so as far as Nanowrimo is concerned, it sits their, staring at you for the rest of the month - your past brain farts dancing around the room taunting you with their stench.

In no other profession is this advisable, surgeons don't just start slicing up patients just because they can't think of anything to operate on. Builders don't have a minimum brick quota they're desperately trying to hit regardless of what their suppose to be building. So why should you, an aspiring author, feel the need to crush their self esteem in trying to write through the pain? The point of a first draft is to be a giant swimming pool of suck but a swimming pool of suck you can do something with.

Instead you end up with a nervous breakdown told through the perspective of a tepid over grown bath.

Nanowrimo fails to build on the one good habit it's trying to create. Writing every day. After your giant, straining push through November you are likely to want a break (ask anyone whose over dossed on laxatives), and then go at your own pace continuing to improve on what you've written. People being people however they will stop writing regularly and only do so when they're guilty conscious starts hitting them with a 2 by 4. Which is understandable because bills need to paid, games need to played and laxatives need to be worked out of you system.

Also before anyone points it out I am well aware that I haven't posted on here for months! I point back at the start of the last paragraph to highlight why I didn't. I also had stuff to do! Stuff! It was important, honest...

Oh OK! I've just spent this entire time reading Homestuck. Expect a post on this soon because I have been converted into a full raging fanboy.

Now this might just be my experience of Nanowrimo (in fact if memory serves the motto of this blog is 'biased and opinionated') but I don't get along with deadlines. Which is a shame because keeping to a deadline is the corner stone of Nanowrimo. Keeping to the promise you made to yourself to see this challenge finished come hell or high water. Which is fine if the person you make the promise to (yourself for those of you not following) is a fine upstanding member of society.

Sadly I am not.

My life in general is controlled by two factors which are normally the only forces to get me to anything; Shame (that I have done so little recently, thus this blog post) and Ego (which occasionally needs feeding by me doing something, thus this blog post). Neither of which are beholden to deadlines. You might be mistaken in thinking shame might make me shift my arse a bit more often but shame is a very stupid creature that is easily fooled. Half a job application filled out or ten press ups is all it takes to distract it while I start my fourteenth play through of the original Deus Ex while eating a pack of chocolate digestives.

Thirty seconds starting at a picture of Wonder Dog also calms the savage beast within.

To look at this horribly malformed idea more closely we can see that deadlines are really the spawn and end step of planning. Planning is a horrible monster that sits under your bed and late at night. When your just about to fall asleep, it starts to whisper it's filthy reminders that you haven't paid council tax or washed the dog and you really aught to start scheduling better and what would your parents think and when are you going to stop being such a horrible failure and ARGH! OK! I'LL DO EVERYTHING JUST SHUT UP AND GO AWAY!

Turns out the only thing under that trap door was a five year plan involving paying off your student loans and negotiating a mortgage.

Even fun things are brought low by the terrors of planning and a clear indicator of shattered dreams and melodrama. Weddings, birthdays, weddings, children's parties (like regular parties but the jelly doesn't have vodka in it and the clown was invited to scare everyone rather than staring through the window), weddings, Saturday nights that started being planned on a Monday (because some people despise spontaneity and therefore fun) and weddings.

All of which will be improved if they just happened and this isn't just blind hatred for a perfectly reasonable life skill being hammered out onto a keyboard at three in the morning. It's cold hard fury being spat at the world wide web via a tea tray with an alphabet stamped on it at four in the morning (I had to spend the last hour organising the hate into reasonable sentences.)

A quick Google search later and it turns out that keyboard tea trays are in fact a thing. Well shut my mouth.

There is a happy ending to the last ten minutes of idle key-smashing, I've taken the first draft and have started writing a web comic with the help of a very talented friend of mine Aaron (http://necronomicwan.tumblr.com/). When we have some pages to show you all they will be posted here (and there, and everywhere). Also now winter has passed and I don't want to spend my entire time curled up in bed doing indecent things to a hot water bottle expect a lot more posts in the near future.

Right, that's enough rambling from me. Pretty sure today's post contained 20% more narcissism than usual which is getting dangerously close to your daily allowance. If we carry on this post might change topic again and I don't want to put you through that. This is just a quick one to get me writing again in a more reasonable manner without word count websites tittering at me behind me back for not being able to satisfy them in the way they want.

There and Back Again: A Sight Seeing Tour of Procrastination Island

Hey internet. Miss me?

...Well you did need to say it like that.

Oh fine then! I hate you too!

Maybe I should just go?!

...

Oh...

No, no. I'm staying...

I mean it's my blog after all.

There and Back Again: A Sight Seeing Tour of Procrastination Island

 

I return from the depths of Mount Hiatus to force hot tasty opinion down your face holes! Is what I would be saying if all of my opinons hadn't been seized by customs along with the two bottles of Rum that had magically emptied themselves on the journey between a fictional island and my real life bedroom. Instead I bring the greatest gift of all, rambling musings!

It's been a nice month off (though by the time I finish writing this it's been more than that). Between the mandatory games of Kerplunk and regimental (though optional) games of Pass The Parcel I've been keeping busy. And by busy I mean hiding under my bed covers avoiding doing anything that slightly resembles work (except for my real life job which gives me physical real life money but that doesn't count because it's boring). When I had time to myself I screamed at the walls and cried for my first gameboy to sweep in and save me.

Spoiler: Turns out it was my Gameboy was the tyrannical ruler of Procrastination Island this whole time.

So the burning question on the mind of the five people who read this blog regularly and the dozen bots who are devoted to linking it to get slim quick websites (for some reason) is 'has our intrepid writer/poet/voice of the people/delusional everyman recovered sufficently to keep having mild rants on things he remembers?'

Yes. Yes he has.

I left for this Hiatus in the sun with vague nothings about personal problems. The Internet equivalent of a sabbatical to indulge in Russian Roulette. Said personal problems have been laid to rest (in one case literally, rest easy Nan) and I am feeling much better. On my sightseeing tour of anywhere-but-here I've also been looking for another job. This has been such a roaring success that, rather than take a new job I am going to keep job hunting just so I can carry on enjoy the exhilarating sensation of crushing disappointment (being measured in curse words and pints of tears).

SO. MUCH. FUN.

The question is however what the hell should I write about? Sure these long winded, poorly editted introductions are something of a trademark but normally there's something to them. I would love to think on it some more but I've recently started up my addiction to nerd crack again; also known as World of Warcraft.

But wait!

In a shocking twist! Our handsome hero/egotistical shop worker took so long in actually writing this post, he got over WoW and has since canceled his account. He also seems to have lost the ability to write in the first person...he finds this slightly worrying and wondering if it's putting people off...

Doing my best impression of dial up internet, by the time you get to read this I have started WoW, remembered why I quit and dropped it like a bad habit all over again. Just like I do every two years, except this time it had Pandas and Monks (gotta love those stereotypes! Why couldn't the cockney werewolves be the kung fu monks?)

How to make friends and influence pandas. (Warning: Pandas might not be as portrayed in photo)

Well, that's the article over. If I was a fan of brevity I would hit the big orange publish button in the corner and glory in a job well done.

Quite frankly, however, brevity can go play in a septic tank full of broken promises and unwashed glass.

What follows is a brief run down of the thoughts I enjoyed while I was busy not writing this article. 

For those of you who have never enjoyed slaving away hours of the day just to make a gnome with a grudge happy then let me explain (stop making that face, I'm sure someone out there hasn't). World of Warcraft is a massively multiplayer fantasy come steampunk RPG in which all the players are the greatest heroes of the land...all of you. As in every single player of the 7 million players. With so many people saving the world it's a wonder it's ever in danger.

Is it a party? A sale? An orgy?

You mainly do this via the medium of murder. Now many great games involve at least a little murder (often a lot) but WoW is special. It doesn't want one or two quality deaths we can all weep to afterwards; it demands quantity, scarily exact numbers. Don't just thin the herd of evil sheep, kill exactly 15 and bring me the tattered shreds of wool to prove it! If you only kill 14 then get the hell out of here, we don't need your lily-livered types around here!

And just like a rollacoaster you will traverse the different continents in a designated order, if you go anywhere else your either going to be eaten or bored. But if you follow the quite frankly tedious array of missions which revolve around ethnic cleansing of one species or another and stealing their stuff then congratulations! The world is saved - no thinking required. Just stay on the magic murder-a-bout!

Kill them all and let god sort them out.

Now there's a reason for the classic fantasy set up of us Vs them and it's one of the games original selling points. You have the pretty pretty Alliance and the monstrous Horde (until they added Blood Elves and suddenly the biggest diva's in game suddenly hung out with the ugly kids so they could all feel better.) For the uninitiated it might come as a surprise that people actually fall out in real life over what side they choose. I've had normally quite lovely people scream in the face because I chose Alliance over Horde. It's all for nothing however, the great war is in a constant stalemate. Other than a few maps that reset every half hour there's no chance of one side actually finishing the war. It's Purgatory as experienced by world war one veterans.

It's less of a magical fantasy world and more of a cheap electronic fun fair that takes regularly payments out of your account; complete with all the drunk arses and piss stained food stalls that you get with any real fun fair. The quests and story arcs are just the rides at that cretin filled fair. You will be told how important your quest is, the region depends on it! Nay! TEH WORLD!!1! Quick, use the power of cool down bars to beat anyone who isn't us!

Murder everyone with the power of waiting and counting!

However when the monsters are all slaughtered (don't worry though, they'll get better) or collect the ancient relics (which there are always more of) you'll be told well done. They'll write a nice big number on the score card your character is carrying around to prove what a great hero they are. Then politely asked to move on so the next hero in line can save the day.

Nothing changes in games like WoW. You can murder as many of the enemy, make as much money as possible but you can never settle back and enjoy a world thoroughly saved. You can never lay down your Epic Sword Of Blamo and live out the rest of your day's furthering Orcish poetry. No, if you go back to those battlefields & dungeons you'll see the same battles and the big bads you brought crashing down. Difference is it's someone else being the hero. Want to save the world again? get back in line.

Become the greatest hero of all time! - Waiting time 20 minutes.

This is nitpicking but it breaks any immersion the game could have (especially if your playing in the roleplay servers). The world is stuck on pause and your just playing a game. You are Sisyphus and the next level is your bolder. There is no satisfying conclusion, just more grinding for better gear.

But that complaint is as old as dirt (see Everquest and Ultima Online).The thing that made WoW special was the people, with a great community the illusion is suddenly complete. You were in a digital fun fair but now it's a digital fun fair with your mates and like minded strangers, you ARE the drunk arses and it's your piss staining the food stalls!

People would happily chat while committing genocide on the lesser races (because the automaton with the big numbers told you so). Hell, people have met and eventually married over this game and funerals held when a player has died (in real life that is, not in the game. That would slow proceedings right down). For a while the game was a buzzing hive of activity.

Good luck to find anyone to talk to now though. They only utter enough sylabols to demand that they get the best loot (traditionally "Fuck off, Mine.") This last time I played on a myriad of servers and tried to chat to most of the players I met only to be greeted with silence. It's like the Hush Gentlemen are visiting Azeroth.

Excuse me while I run screaming from the room...

Though in this three month marathon I did have one memorable encounter. It was myself, a cunning mage with power over the arcane and a full beard the likes of which I could never hope to grow in real life (mine grows so ginger it causes retina). Three Swedes who had not met before on the British server and were very happy to make each others acquaintance (judging by the borderline cyber sex it turns out they were having as we fought a ten foot goblin in a mech suit.) and finally we had a junior member of the BNP. I assume that's what they were, the racial slurs and spelling made it hard to work out, they might have just been getting over excited and not realising what they were typing.

As we went through Gnomeregan (think Arkham Asylum if they had access to giant robots), the Swedes were happily gabbing away in Swedish (I assume, I don't speak Swedish, it could have been a completely different langauge they were using just for kicks as far as I know) while this Nick Griffin wannabe screamed blue bloody murder over the chat box demanding they speak English. Such was this man of letters that his persuasion culminated in a detailed account of how he was going to kill them all...in the game (that most horrifying of fates). Seeming to forget that they could just come back in five minutes and continue their virtual orgy. You see in this poor deluded simpletons mind the idea that someone wasn't speaking English in his presences was tantamount to terrorism (rude terrorism at that, which he pointed out several times).

A radical preacher known for spreading his hate speech across Dillydale.

The Swedes tried to be pleasant about it, apologizing for making him feel left out and saying how they would gladly worship his body if given half the chance (they were very...affectionate bunch of guys to say the least.). Going for a love all the people gambit I tried to broker peace;

"It's only a game.
It's cool they're having a good time
Stop being such a prick".

He screams back (when I say scream, by the way, I mean he typed /shout which turns your font red and then proceeded to write in all caps.) "THEY'VE BEEN TALKING F**K*NG NONESENSE ALL EVENING!"

"But how do you know they've been speaking nonsense if you can't read sweedish?"

For the crime of logic he tried to report me to the moderators (on the grounds that I was being unpatriotic and obviously an evil do'oer). The Swedes however loved me. Telling me in no uncertain terms how much they loved my wit and what they would do to my body if given half a chance. (Very sweet of them but this is a family blog and their promises cannot be repeated here).

Pretty much this.

We complete the dungeon and all say our farewells. While wishing them fair well my new Swedish friends (and probably lovers by some laws judging by the amount of detailed affection they showered me with). The final message I get from the BNP youth is a sweet little memo.

"The Queen will rejoice at the news of your death."

I had no idea her majesties secret service played MMORPG's. James Bond would have been a lot more dull if it ended with him hitting level 90 while ignoring the beautfiul women in his bed.

"My Paladin can heal for 100K with buffs!" Oh Bond, you dream boat!

This is just one story I have after three months of solid play though. One trio of people I had the pleasure of spending some time with virtually (and even then we had to put up with the Neo Nazi Night Elf as well). This use to be the norm years ago when it was a relatively new game, half the fun was joining a huge raid to go stomp on an unsuspecting towns face (my earlier gripes about the world being stagnant being lost in the amount of fun I was having). Now, with the community all on their solitary missions, it might as well be a single player game. No one wants to share the loot so no one will even join up to kick an evil sheep in the nads.

It's hard to find players who don't demand perfection from the other players, I watched as a mob ripped a player apart because he admitted he have never played one specific dungeon in the game before. When this happens in real life it's called abuse. No wonder people still dislike us gamers as a demographic. On a similar note: no wonder we're still referred to as a demographic rather than gaming just being an accepted hobby. This happens a lot of online games, people mistake skill and dedication at games as social superiority. Often proven via the medium of screaming hissy fits.

Behold our king!...Apparently.

I admit hands up that I'm writing this just as World of Warcraft has lost it's appeal for me again. Do I hate the game? Certainly not. It just struck me the horrendous level of elitism and the crushing sense of loneliness that accompanied it compared to when I played it before. It was like being a school all over again; just this time I'm paying £9 a month on top of picking up all the expansions for the pleasure.

I could continue, but this happens where ever people can compare achievements. I'm amazed we don't have league tables for the best arse wipers. Just a shame we have it in our hobbies as well.

Ah well, the world is full of arse holes; if it wasn't then how would people be able to compete in the most most exhilarating league table of all.

FOR THE FOLD!

This is only a quick post. I meant it to be short one as well but I got a bit carried away. Probably not a polished as I would normally do though. It was pretty much to get me writing again. That and I wanted to break the silence on here. I'm going to be taking a part of National Novel Writing Month next month. 50 000 words in 30 days. Easy right? 

... 

Excuse me, I'll be the guy putting on war paint and declaring war on word counts. See you on the other side, also known as December.

A Short Break

Hi Folks,

Just a quick update. My personal life has been shook up a bit over the last few weeks so I'm going to take a wee break from everything and get my head straight. I've been working on my next article/column/piece/thing for an age but after four weeks of rewrites it's still a mess as my mind isn't on writing.

This update is really just to put it on the record as this blog doesn't get a massive amount of traffic at the moment. Consider this getting into good habits when there are more people reading this.

The question is though, who am I talking too now? Is this the virtual equivalent of talking to the walls...

Video Update - The Great Gatsby for NES

After a gut-wrenchingly long time in the making, I have my first video on Youtube!

It's my first one so any feedback would be great.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OIA7E8znE3w

Scott Pilgrim and Infinite Scrutiny: Part One

Hi internet! Missed you! The last two weeks without you in my life have been hard. I developed bad habits: A regular sleep pattern, catching up on my reading and generally being bright and cheery. Thank fuck that's all over.

I have a good reason for neglecting you however; I moved house (it went well, thanks for asking) and had to fix my PC after it had a tantrum; The hard drive had thrown it's juice carton at the processor and wasn't playing with the other components.

Now it's permanently in the naughty corner.

So I'm still wiped out mentally (at least I was when I started writing this). So lets try something new. A review!

Oh don't look at me like that. All I've been doing is packing and reading Scott Pilgrim for the twentieth time. This blog is all about me trying new stuff (aside from being a personal rant space and giving me the illusion of being productive). Expect faux sociological theories, a guide to tabletop RPG's and a painfully detailed description of my perfect pet (A Giant Schnauzer called Quincy after Quincy M.E.) at some point in the future. Hell, when I start getting some actual comments it's likely that I'll take a stab at being an agony uncle. Who better than a white male nerd in his mid-twenties to give advice?

Breaking up always hurts; have you tried telling the internet?

So it's either a review of Scott Pilgrim or this article becomes about the joy of putting shit in boxes.

What's that?

You want it to be about putting shit in boxes?

Well OK then! 

 

The Art of Packing 

The love child of disappointing sex and futile war.  

 

This long and exciting journey starts with choosing a box which is right for you. Don't be intimidated by all the choice, it takes years to become a box connoisseur and will come with practice. Take some time to watch the experts in the field. You'll notice they all have this frantic, agitated look about them; a hatred of life that is so endearing and soul destroying - try and emulate that.  I advise moving house a lot or working in a dead end job to really hone that thousand yard stare; if you start hating your life in the process, consider it a bonus! 

The box in it's natural environment, fighting over a mate.

Now for the box itself. Until you fourth year of packing you will only have to worry about the theory, but all that research will pay off the day you actually handle a box safely without cardboard cuts. If your under thirty have a grown up on hand to help you when things get confusing. There are many things to consider with a standard packing box; You have to take into account width, what you intend to transport in it (cutlery, Nazi gold, children), the material of the box (pro tip: cardboard is less likely to spontaneously combust compared to napalm.)

Remember a box is not just for Christmas, it's for moving house as well. But that's it. After you've moved you can chuck it out. Go on, I won't tell. I'm not even going to demand that you recycle it; though you should, else your just a bit of a tosser.

Now to decide what tape you want to use, the tape you use says a lot about one's personality...

...Want me to continue?

I'm not, because I'm pretty sure someone out there just screamed YES!!! while touching themselves inappropriately and this blog is not here to indulge any ones cardboard fetish but mine. So lets wipe away the metaphorical remains of a ravaged cardboard box from our collective guilty conscious and talk about something else.

Lets talk about Scott Pilgrim and why I'm a massive fan boy for it. As it is likely I will have another week long brain fart in the future, consider this is part one of an ongoing Scott Pilgrim analysis. Sure, this series has been covered by so many people that it seems kinda pointless to cover it some more... but that doesn't seem to stop anyone else on the net so why should I break from tradition?

 

Scott Pilgrim and Infinite Scrutiny.

Part one: The Review 

 

The original covers. The British covers are much less fancy.  Maybe they thought we'd spit out our tea in disgust at such flagrant flamboyance.

First, a primer for the uninitiated. Scott Pilgrim is a much loved series of six graphic novels released from 2004 to 2010 by Bryan Lee O'Malley, a man so talented at telling stories about twenty somethings going about their day it makes you wonder if he's some sort of artistic Jedi. These books picked up a huge cult following and became the popular face of the indie comic scene. Of course such a successful series spawned into other media like a multimedia Shub-Niggurath: A film in 2010 by the legendary Edgar Wright (We'll get to that minefield at a later date.) and an awesome video game on Xbox Live and Playstation Network also in 2010 (also to be covered later, but in a happier font).
 

The stage is Toronto. Slacker boy (Scott) meets mysterious girl (Ramona), is forced to fight her exes to win the right to date her (which she seems strangely OK with). He also has to deal with his own past with his own exes, currents and what-could-have-beens all at the same time. All this to a backdrop of a world that seems to casually accept the bleeding of videogames and anime into the world leading to a place where most nerds would give their hind teeth to live in.

This has led to me having a very unrealistic view of Canada and a burning desire to go there.

Scott Pilgrim is, for the most part, is a musical; if by musical you mean fighting bonanza (which I do) with slice of life drama/comedy thrown in for good measure. Though how the fights are set up you could be forgiven for believing everyone was about to start singing rather than throwing chairs. Where as most people just have to contended with being passive aggressive towards their current partner's exes, Scott is literally encouraged to whail on Ramona's exes and destroy them. The shout outs to many different games past and present without making it painfully obvious gives Scott Pilgrim so much nerd cool and is the main reason why it took off. 

"Oh Marrrrio! To display my irritation at this lactation I shall punch your scrunch!"

Aside from violence towards former lovers there's the story of Scott's band Sex Bob-omb, their friends and just the general trials and tribulations of life with little money and no prospects of advancing in life. This is something that O'Malley doesn't get near enough kudos for; he has captured what it is to be young and in either a dead end job or no job so well that I actually find it quite inspirational. It's an uplifting message that you don't need to be traditionally advancing in life to find happiness (at this point I'm probably reading far too much into this but judge for yourselves.)

This is where the my view probably differs from most others. The fight scenes are fun and bombastic, sure, but it's the more subtle turns the story takes that bring me back time and again. The time spent just hanging out with friends or those awkward conversations that you have with the love of your life while your half drunk. It's a great love story because it isn't simple. The relationship map is a glorious mess and that's exactly what real life is like. The relationships are fraught and no one is perfect which is the underling message I saw throughout the entire series.

And this is only half way through the series.

What makes Scott Pilgrim stand out for me as a series is the cast and their stories. You find yourself caring (and if that's not possible because you posses a heart of flint, then at least interested) in all of them, even side characters you only see once or twice are interesting. They oozes character from every panel - thanks to the double whammy of a really engaging script and memorable character design. Most of these stories are not conveniently wrapped up in front of the reader and are only discovered later as the main characters find out giving a natural flow to many of the stories.

We also get to see the characters just spend time together and hang out. Far too often the script just blitz through such scenes trying to get to the next big set piece or chasing the eternal goal of fulfilling a character arc, terrified we might loose attention and wonder off at the first sign of something shiny. For the low key moments it's the slower pace that is needed. If you have characters who are so entertaining just to watch then you could put them in a room watching paint dry and you'll have a captive audience.

Something I hope to prove in my new Podcast series: Huffing Paint Fumes with S. Wilder.

The art is great. A stylish cartoon aesthetic which refines as the books go on, finishing at an apex  in the sixth book looking so good you will want to ask it out. Part of what makes the art stand out is the attention to fashion (and this is coming from me, fashion is a Megadeth tshirt and jeans as far as I'm concerned). The only other artist who springs to mind in this sense is Adrian Alphonsa with his stint on Runaways (a great topic for another day).

The style is the workhorse that pulls off the comedic moments as well as the more mellow turns, with a style this malleable from detailed to cartoony there is always a possibility of such aesthetics only working in a handful of dramatic mood and it is testament to O'Malley's talent that it holds together from beginning to end. Whether you prefer the more proportioned art at the start of the series or at the nicely stylized end result is something of a personal preference (personally go for the less polished, more subtle look of the earlier books).

It's been five years man, what the hell are you pointing at?!

Change is a part of life and it is no different in Scott Pilgrim. There is no reset button and it pays off,  Compare it to the drawn out scenarios such as the Simpsons not being allowed to change in any meaningful way (One supporting character death per decade doesn't count in a series with over 500 episodes and counting). For a more relative but less popular example - look at many Shōnen Anime. A genre that shares the over the top fights and melodramatic moments, but looses any lasting effect by gleefully making entire series time wasters and actively looking to keep the statis quo (I'm looking at you Bleach).

This all comes together wonderfully and gives the series an impact that is hard to pull of. It's Scott Pilgrim's punchy-ness that gives the story such impact. It constructs the illusion to a real account of events rather than a three act story arc. You know, if everyone was capable of epic martial arts fights and inter-dimensional travel.

In Short: O'Malley could write John Major's biography and it would be AMAZING.

So far so good, but if the books were to get nothing but praise this review would be taken as seriously as a donkey on a unicycle. And being a sufferer of fanboy-itis allows one not only to clap like a trained seal but to endlessly nitpick as well.

The characters aren't for everyone and come off as being painfully hipster at points. In a defense for the books, they were being released before the advent of the modern hipster when we were all decrying Emo's (the fetal stage for many of today's hipsters). Most the characters have at least one scene of just being twat monkeys to each other (often many many more) and this doubly true for the two lead characters; often it seems that Scott and Ramona deserve each other for the shit they put the other through. This will turn the more idealistic of you away but for the rest of us it's a much more truthful telling of how relationships are.

A love story for the modern era: now with bickering scenes.

The characters all have some level of Buffy speak and though it isn't layered on too thickly, which I think actually adds to the setting (have you spoken to someone young in the past decade?). Though fair warning, if you have no time what so ever for like, that kinda thing, it will totally make you want to eat your own face in disgust. However, if that's your reaction to someone casually ruining the English language how are you still reading this blog while masticating your own eyes?

As mentioned above the books take time out to smell the flowers and make sure their getting plenty of vitamin C. However towards volumes 5 and 6 there seems to be less of what makes this fun and more plot points. As so often happens in many pieces that reveal in irrelevance the urge to tie up loose ends and get to the end of a project gets too much and there's nothing but housework before the end of the series. Which is fine in most shows but it doesn't work in series where a lot of the fun is watching even the unimportant events take place.

Vol. 2 takes time out to give a recipe while the characters chat amongst themselves. Seriously, I miss shit like this.

Now this all said I'm not one of those people who still decries that Tom Bomberdil was cut from the theatrical version of Lord of the Rings (well, not that much at any rate). It's understandable that projects need to get more focused and it isn't bad for it. It just turns Scott Pilgrim into a different beast from what it started as which is a shame. The same thing happened in the film Kamikaze Girls most of the film is a fun, bizarre train ride through the two leads lives but in the last half an hour it looses all sense of whimsy and just wraps up the plot. For many people this isn't a problem however (remember the disclaimer earlier: biased and subjective) However this leads into a problem with the last book in general.

It feels like there was too much to wrap up and conclude in just one book. Volume six, though beautifully drawn and entertaining, feels like it could have been so much more. It not bad mind you, far from it. Whats there is well done. It's just that it could have benefited by more time to finish up. Plot threads that could have easily had chapters to themselves end up getting a page or two. In a world so rich with detail and prior character development it's a real detraction on such a great series.

I've been needing to get this rant off my chest for years. Don't worry, it's nearly over.

However this probably wouldn't have been such a big deal if it wasn't for how Flanderized Scott himself feels as the series goes on reaching a horrifying peak in volume six. He goes from kinda dim to start with to so stupid he is one IQ point away from needing a sodding care assistant. There are plot reasons as to why (forgive my vagueness but I hate giving spoilers) but your mileage may vary on how much the plot point actually works for you. Of course no one actually notices their friend has become a drooling idiot over the course of a year until it is revealed why.

It's a far cry from the guy who has stupid moments but was actually charming enough to see why people like him, in a strange way he was quite relatable early in the series; even if you yourself don't have to fight off a legion of jealous exes and attract the majority of your preferred sex over the course of a year. A far cry from later volumes when he is the annoying friend people want to run over with a Robin Reliant.

I call her The Annihilation Bucket.

It's a shame, because if it wasn't for the Flanderization, plot relative or not, there would have been more pages in the final two books to give over to the other plot twists. The start of the final book is a montage of supporting characters with Scott being incredibly stupid to each one in turn because Wallace (his room mate) suggests that he should.

The message you may be getting is that O'Malley stopped making Scott Pilgrim and I'm not happy with this, which might possibly be my conclusion (I like to think I could have thought up something better though). O'Malley has been releasing colour editions of the books with tons of added extras and the art looks even more pretty. So pretty in fact I am seriously considering buying these reprints even though I own the originals to begin with like a nerdy magpie.

Even after that big whinge, every time I read through this series I get a little slower reading it. Because I don't want it to end and have to wait to be able to read it fresh again. A great read with one or two problematic questions raised which we'll get to in later installments of this Retrospective when I'm brave enough to start facing some of the more in depth discussions.

There's a good chance all that I've just said was to justify how in love I am with Kim Pine. Who, much to my disappointment, remains to be fictional.

For a story set in a country an ocean away, that I have no knowledge of, based around an often whiny and irritating protagonist (who I'm not sure why I like most of the time) I love these books; The Scott Pilgrim series, strangely, is the closest book to emulating what my life has been like with all it's complications and little set backs and minor victories. Except I can't punch someone in the face and get showered with praise and coins like Scott does. Instead I get punched in the face and ostracized for being a maniac. Which isn't nearly as valuable. Though, is probably just as entertaining for someone to watch.

That's the first part done! I'll add to this retrospect when I'm stumped for ideas again. Next time back to my opinion column.

No Reading, No Writing, No Service

Dys·lex·i·a

noun /disˈleksēə/ 

A general term for disorders that involve difficulty in learning to read or interpret words, letters, and other symbols, but that do not affect general intelligence

That's sounds like a crappy thing to have. I certainly hope I don't have tha - OH WAIT!

I get the feeling my Dyslexia is going to become a much bigger issue as I carry on with these adventures into literacy, if only for myself. So here are some thoughts on the subject, biased and personal thoughts, but I prefer it to the alternative. I could do a structured, well researched article about having the big D; But I find that such pieces come off as either a string quartet of sorrow for the less well read or a cold, factual deceleration with all the passion of a report on peeling wallpaper.

Writing this article has been painful; Like having a scorpion for a dentist, except it's using a drill on your soul instead of your teeth (your soul obviously has a lot of cavities), and it won't shut up about it's long weekend in the Lake District and no I do not care how much it drizzled!

What I'm trying to say is it's been awkward putting my feelings about Dyslexia together coherently.

That or I hate Scorpion Dentists. I'm not sure which...

Being dyslexic is like being trapped in a glass box. How you got in the glass box is just bad luck. Someone ticked the wrong part of the genetic multiple choice quiz as you were being made and you got plopped into a transparent frustration cube. At first you don't realise your stuck in a box but you get clues as you begin to grow. For some reason you find it hard to interact with people, be it verbally, memo pad, instant messenger or in some other such way (such as semaphore). Some people think your stupid but refuse to accept that your stuck in a glass box while they're running around and generally being a snot nosed kid/employer. "Why don't you just get out the box, if your in the box it's obviously because your not working hard enough at not being in a box." They say, in a voice you find irritating.

The voice I hear is David Blaine's. It's twice as annoying when he's also in a box.

You can look out and others can look in but getting anything across is difficult. You can try your hardest with interpretive dance, try and learn Morse code (but when it's difficult to read how are you going to do that?) or, when your desperate, you can smear a message with your own faeces for others to see. Though the audience (and it would be an audience) watching you are going to be sneering at your bad spelling, poor cursive and lack of grammar before actually take in the message (which is probably a request for toilet paper).

But, what are my credentials? This is the point in the conversation where two Dyslexics would have an illiteracy-off. Trying to prove to the other than they had it harder and need to do more work to work out where the Jammy Dodgers are kept in the supermarket. While just saying that I am more dyslexic than most will not cut it for some people here is a brief run down of embarrassing statistics:

I couldn't read until the age of 13 (reaching a decent reading speed at 18) 

I still struggle to spell many words (though thankfully I am improving on this year on year)

I couldn't write in any meaningful form until the age of 14 (people still can't read my handwriting) 

I'm am still learning the rules of grammar and punctuation (you may have noticed). 

In short even a text message takes me five minutes to write while I check the spelling.

Other statistics: Aged 7: Pointing at pictures of Brian Blessed.
Aged :12: Toilet Training.
Next milestone: Pointing at things that aren't Brian Blessed.

Yeah yeah, woe is me. This isn't is a cry for sympathy, the last thing many Dyslexics need is unconditional sympathy. Support and understanding is a must; But letting us off because 'We h@s tHe dyslex1cs' can become justification for avoid any work that we find hard. At least that's what a ten year old me did.

During my first year of high school I would piss about, do no work and generally procrastinate like someone putting off scrubbing a toilet (Coincidently this is something I've been avoiding while writing this). The teacher, not realising that they were about to open a Pandora's box of whining and self pity, would reasonably ask for that days work. So I would remind the teacher, in the manner of a lawyer trying to talk their way out of being mugged, that I suffered with life threatening Dyslexia and that's why I spent the entire class throwing my pen at the wall. Most accepted this and quietly wrote me off as a lost cause; giving me the pitying look an owner would give a cat who simply cannot work out how to use a litter box.

That was until I tried this routine (and by this point it had become a routine) with the new maths teacher, Mrs. Elsworthy, who was also dyslexic. She gave me detention every day she heard that I used an excuse for not dong any work, a weeks worth of them if she heard I had done this more than twice. I spent a month staring at the same four walls instead of going outside for lunch (which was OK, looking back as it was winter). I hated her at the time, but I am grateful now; This might be due to my memories of year seven consist mainly of Pokemon and not the detentions themselves though.

I still have recurring nightmares of Jigglypuff trying to teach me maths.

This story (and the many more I could tell you) don't quite add up to the fact that I'm a colossal nerd whose hobbies are pretty much English and Maths homework, or that I went on to study at University like many other Dyslexics (I am by no means unique, simply more vocal). The first draft of this piece mentioned proudly that it was hard work and graft that got me there, which is true, if self aggrandising (the part about me being the centre of the universe and deserving of your money and praise also got written out).

But, it misses out the fact that for the first half of High School I was miserable in class. Nearly as miserable as someone who composes Muzak for a living. Doing the work was just a way to distract myself from my surroundings.

I hated being in the bottom classes for everything. I had no one to talk to because I was a young Geek surrounded by people who I had nothing in common with (if I was lucky I had one friend with me). Yeah, it sounds petty to now; Being the social butterfly I have grown up to be I thrive in similar situations today. I could even whip the other into a militia if given a modest budget...and a whip. Back then though I became a swot/boffin/nerd because it meant I could make the time go faster.

Facial hair and a flouncy hat is all you need to be in Samuel's Irregulars.

All my friends were in the better classes doing something much more interesting than going over such concepts as cold things get warm when exposed to heat. I'm not sure what I thought happened in these classes, the news of the day being discussed with blazing wit and impromptu mountain boarding/water skiing lessons maybe. Not that I thought I could ever get into these classes. I had Dyslexia. It felt like a sentence that had been passed by a cruel judge who didn't like the way I coughed when they passed me in the street. I had to bare this burden as a punishment, rather than something I could do anything about.

Whatever happened in these classes where golden sunlight slid through the windows and onto the eager assembly within it was it was not being surrounded by people who tried to play compass legs with you; A popular game in which you tried to stab the person next to you as hard as you could in the leg. The winner was the one who hobbled their way to the headmistress's office while the rest hobbled to the nurse. I wish I was making that up (it fucking hurt).

I went to a school where they had to ban table tennis bats...

I was also very fortunate that my Mum, the local librarian for the village, seemed to know a legion of former headteachers who would happily give me after school classes in exchange for being let off late fees. These classes equated to extra English classes and etiquette classes. Though I was as worldly wise as a boy from a farming village (because that's what I was) even then I realised that I was getting the sort of help that most kids in my position need to pay through the nose for.

No joke here (sorry), just a thank you for those who helped me (I don't believe any of them actually own a computer with which to see this thank you note however...).

To make it up to you here's Wonderdog again.

Wonderdog can save me any day of the week.

A few years later I got out of the Stabbing Olympics and into better classes (just in time too, the competitors had just discovered staple guns). It was a pleasant surprise coming back after Easter to find that I had been moved into a new class, I had finally reached this promised land that I didn't even realise I had been working towards until I got there and low and behold, it's pretty much the same as before. Except the arseholes weren't using mathematical equipment but rather cutting jibes at my expense to cut me. And not a jet ski in sight. The grass is always greener on the other side, life lesson learnt.

I should have known there was no Jet Skiing. Castle street isn't really big enough.

The positive side effect of the move was that, as I was getting over my learning disability I was also learning to express myself better and got to know more people. Turns out you can't just mumble and tell people you have Dyslexia if you want them to like you. This cheered me up and encouraged me to make more of an effort as I saw results. This created a positive feedback loop. So a happy ending all round! I still needed a scribe for my exams and a psycho threatening to kill me to stop procrastinating and do my damn coursework but other than that things seemed to click over night.

Fear inspires great geography reports.

It was not school and tutors alone that helped me learn to stop hating books and learn to love the written word. Being such an avid fan of gaming I had honed my skills to a creepy degree. This led me to look for longer and longer games that I wouldn't complete in a day, until I discovered the JRPG. Big, wordy adventures with an actual story and gameplay that would last me months. I fell in love with the genre. When your poor and live in the country side you either take part in tractor pulls, cow tipping or escapism. Not owning a tractor puts an end to those dreams and cows are terrifying when they get mad; normally around the time some weedy kid is trying to push them over. So that left me with trying to escape.

There was just one problem, I could barely read. But now I had motivation! Yeah, yeah, being able to read boring old books would be good but games were better! They are on a screen! And Shiny! And it had swords and fighting and dragons and magic and...Yeah, so did books but it was all written down and shut up I'm trying to throw a fireball at this monster!

I made an effort to learn so I could play these games better. I can honestly say that gaming helped me get over my Dyslexia in my teens. A lot of the finer plot details went over my head and the bad writing/translations didn't phase me but that didn't matter. It's been eye opening to go back to games I played at this time to actually discover what the plot was (or lack of, in many cases).

A great game! If you can't read and end up making up your own story.

I'm also writing this as a fuck you to every smug Grammar Nazi I have ever met. Not those who helpfully point out mistakes quietly as to not cause outcry. The sort of people who have such a low self esteem they have to go through life making everyone else depressed for a cheap thrill. Some people who have to be seen  being smarter because they know the more obscure rules in this weird language we're sharing right now. Those who firmly believe that we will reach some form of collective utopia by the improvement of Grammar and they might actually be right to a degree. Improving literacy is a great thing, people need to know where they're going wrong and a greater appreciation for our written language is a wonderful thing.  

However, doing so in a humiliating manner and demeaning those who are struggling is not going to help anyone and only puts you on the same karmic footing as The Child Catcher.

Pictured: what all Grammar Nazi's look like on the inside.

When we see this in other parts of society people have the correct reaction, disgust and immediate ostracising. When a Fashion snobs goes around pointing out that people are ugly and wear bad clothes we segregate them to fashion magazines where they can be useless collectively and out of the way. When Metallers go around claiming their music is better on pain of death we are rounded up and put into sweaty basements, playfully try and kill each other and claiming superiority on every little detail imaginable (Last time I was in my local metal bar I ended up in a group of people trying to one up diarrhoea stories.)

You don't get militant house guests watching you cook a meal to have them demand that you cook it the one correct way and telling you what to do with the drapes...well you do but they don't get invited back any time soon.

You don't get parents demanding that their children learn three instruments, four languages and no you can't change your name, Tiberius is a perfectly acceptable name!

...You get them too actually but they're kids grow up to be equally as damaged so no one wins in the long run, except those of us who love to gloat. Then we loose for being such horrible people (and a hypocrite in my case, defending my own while scorning others)...and where does that leave us?

It leaves us being Grammar Nazi's just to make ourselves feel better.

Bugger.



This is getting kinda long. I haven't even gotten into my stint I spent in a special needs school (yes I am indeed that special). I will come back to this topic at some point. Next time, something a bit more fun. Promise!

Creationism: And the fear of Libel

I wonder how many blogs start with a small introduction and then have nothing afterwards?

Well, good news (for those who care)! I have been busy with a post for the blog. It turned into a 2000 word essay about a creationist talk I attended. It was a glorious piece on the foolishness of the individual who was giving the talk after they reviled them self to be a truly horrible individual.

Bad news, there is the tiniest possibility that it counts a defamation under UK law. So I'm going to be sitting on it until I have had the chance to look a little more into that. Might seem silly but after doing a Google check on this bundle of fun I'm pretty sure the post would attract attention. Pity really; it was the best work I had done in years.

That leaves me with a particularly empty blog.

So here is the article I wrote, changed to be, if not family friendly, at least lawyer friendly.

Top Ten Lies for Toddlers

I wrote this piece last week; but after reading it through I remembered libel was a thing and here in the UK we have really shitty libel laws. But rather than tone down the article I decided just to change a few names. Anything in red is a replacement.

Creationism or Evolution. Many a potential friendship have been shattered by these two theories being brought together, and yesterday, when I was being glared at by about fifty people for speaking up at a lecture; I could feel myself loosing possibly dozens of Christmas cards as I spoke. That thought alone made it all worth while.

I attended a talk at The Moon entitled Captain Birdseye's Top Ten Lies for Toddlers. Because my life is that exciting, and I apparently like to court a flame war on my fledgling blog.

A rather roomy venue for a talk, good acoustics though.

Me and my friend Leigh decided to go; partly to have a giggle at views that aren't our own but also to hear the other side of the Evolution Vs Creationism debate that you don't normally get to hear. Unless it's shouted at you from a crazy woman with home made placards strapped to her, screaming at children that they're going to hell for reading Harry Potter. (True story. She camped out side my High school for years trying to preach to anyone that would listen).

The talk was being given by the aforementioned Captain Birdseye, a Fisherman author & speaker on creationism. He is on a world tour lecturing from town to town. This isn't strictly true however; what he's actually doing is running a one man dog and pony show on behalf of Cheese Fetishist Monthly, a creationist website that he is a Fishman for. To quote from his profile page:

   "I FOOKING LOVE FISH!!!!"

There were many books on sale too, most from Cheese Fetishist Monthly. In fact the majority of his answers from his Q&A boiled down to "Read this book, available in the foyer." As if he doesn't want to give away any spoilers.

It's sequel: 'Cain & Abel - The Smallville Years' is also a good read.

When I asked him how he was paying for his world tour he claimed it was donations from the church group who invited him. However, from the amount Cheese Fetishist Monthly were advertised you'd be forgiven for assuming he was getting paid commission on each sale and special points which he can spend when he goes to heaven.

We were encouraged to subscribe to their magazine twice, with anecdotes about how buying a multi-pack will convert the rest of your family. While selling the book he said: "Though they [the writers] are laymen they make sure they can't be shot down by people who know what they're talking about." At least he's honest.

There were about a hundred people dotted around the large hall but a distinct split was obvious. The front half of the audience looked as if they're about to cry with glee, openly praying that our man Birdseye can continue speaking his slow, half formed sentences one after another (it must have worked, he didn't stop once). The back half of the audience looked furious and were busily scribbling notes, occasionally tutting but generally being more polite than the front half that would come over all aggressive if you did so much as mutter something.

Right now you would be quite right in wondering why the hell I am being such a dick to this man. I went to a free talk that no one dragged me along to (unless you count Leigh). Why am I being so horrible to a man who just wanted to share his opinion when he had been invited to speak by people who wanted to hear what he had to say?

I am not an atheist (agnostic for those of you who care) and am more than open to a spiritual element into a discussion on this subject. I do not have a grudge against any Christians nor any other religions. What I have a problem with are people who use their religion as an excuse for bigotry.  When dogma restricts basic human rights, it's a problem.

"God wants us to do this!" Yeah, sure he/she/it does...

 For the first hour of his talk I was gearing up to give a rather kindly depiction of Captain Birdseye. He was on stage happily giving his presentation.

Yeah, I didn't agree with anything he said, but, I expected that.

Yeah, his jokes were bland attacks on the straw-man atheist; but that too, I expected (and seriously they were piss weak).

Captain Birdseye seemed genial, pleasant and with his soft accent seemed quite charismatic. Genuinely enthused about his subject he appeared to have a love of teaching.

That is, until, the last ten minutes of his presentation and the Q&A afterwards. When he insinuated that homosexual marriage is wrong, a sign of a godless society and was equally as bad as suicide and the break down of society.

He does this with a slide, in which he has two groups, one depicting a society with God (Obviously it's a Christian god), and the other a society without god run by Humanist .

Life With God -or- Life Without God

Meaning of Life -or- Suicide / Abortion

Standards -or- Pornography

Marriage -or- Homosexual Marriage

Laws -or- Lawlessness

Creation -or- Evolution

God's Word -or- Mass Opinion

He was picked up on this during the Q&A in which he clarified he was against gay marriage, saw it just as bad a any form of pornography and suicide and concluded by saying:

"I believe marriage is between Adam and Eve not Adam and Steve." 

The worst part about this? The front half of the audience give him a fucking round of applause. Before then there had been just one lone clapper who would give long standing ovations to any sentence containing the word God. The moment he supports the denial of one groups right to have a ceremony to recognise their love just because they share the same genitals this cross section of The Moon just love him for it. Ironically most of those supporting this bilious claim appeared to be devoid of any love themselves.

The average expression of the audience. And that's when they were happy.

Should we be surprised? No. This is the same man who illustrated that evolution doesn't work because a vase of flowers don't magically appear in front of you. Proving that he stubbornly refuses to even open a book on evolution (that wasn't written by someone who he already agreed with).

I'm not going to get into the nuts and bolts of his 'scientific' arguments. They're frankly too dumb to repeat and he didn't seem to understand them himself. The amount of times he repeated "I'm just the messenger, smarter people than me wrote this" or "I don't really know anything" makes me wonder if this isn't some plea for help or an elaborate prank. He also tells the story of how he heard a voice in his head one day while reading the bible telling him its all literal. Well, he says it was God, for all we know it could have been Wonder Dog.

To be fair, I'd take orders from Wonder Dog.

The arguments were not arguments at all though but passages from the bible laboriously read out, backed up with anecdotes about how a couple of scientists don't like evolution as a theory. Looking back at the evening, Birdseye's arguments are exactly like the Chewbacca defence from South Park. Repeat this video for an hour and you will get an understanding of what we went through.

If your interested you can find his lectures and articles quite easily. Go have a chuckle. His conclusion boils down to the biblical flood caused the dinosaurs to become extinct. And that before the flood dinosaurs were remembered as Dragons and other mythical beasties. A gross simplification? Yes, but Birdseye got to deal them out for two hours, why can't I? I'm not here to address the debate at large, just point out how stupid Birdseye's talk was.

I am happy to announce however that he also said some hilarious stuff during the Q&A and confirmed to those of us using logic rather than belief that he was an unpleasant nutter. By this point the room and turned into a reality TV show that could be broadcast on BBC4. One half of the room arguing with the other half. All while Birdseye gave snide remarks and played the audience against one another rather than giving anything approaching an answer. Whenever he was asked a question directly he spent a few minutes going through his various slide shows (often of a book the person could buy) like he was loading his answers from God.

I'm pretty sure I heard a floppy disc drive loading from Birdseye between every question.

All of which culminated in the revelation that before all of creation were collectively kicked out of Eden every living thing was a vegetarian. Even wolves, cats, bats - not ants though, because they're not sentient and that means they don't have souls... or something. To be honest it was hard to pay attention, what with the localised arguments being waged by the members of the audience who had taken it upon themselves to go to each voice of dissident that had spoken up against Birdseye and tried to talk them out of such silly notions such as wanting proof or a reasoned debate..

Anyone who disagreed with Birdseye (myself and Leigh included) were often fobbed off with something completely unrelated to what we asked about and then swiftly ignored in favour of someone who would support him. This man missed his calling to be a politician. When his supporters distracted opposing voice in the room he would make out they weren't interested any more and move on. A classic debating technique known as being a arsehole.

 Two members of the crowd stand out in my mind from the night.

One was a French woman, suited like many others attending. She stood up and explained happily how she agreed with what he was doing and how she had been an fan for years. When she questioned his view that it was the flood wiped out the dinosaurs (she believed it happened earlier) Birdseye proceeded to ridicule and demean her. Not letting her getting a say and going so far as to question the woman's own faith. This went on for well over five minuets, compared to the average response of about a minute whether the person speaking was for or against his views. I could understand one of us gatecrashers getting a dressing down but someone who was an ardent supporter being given such harsh treatment in front of her peers; the worst he dealt out that evening by far, is heartbreaking.

The other person was a younger woman with dreads and understated hippy clothing, she stood out from the uniform suits and sour expressions beautifully. Whenever it was someone's turn to stand up and fight the loosing battle against the unmovable Birdseye she would turn around and give the brave opponent the biggest, most cheerful smile. Trying to will us to keep going on and remind us that we were not alone in this argument. That it was the minority who thought gay marriage, suicide and the collapse of society were linked and you had her full support. I would dearly love to meet her again and thank her. In a sea of bitter scowls and frantic infighting this women was a beacon of Bunnies and Kittens.

No one can get angry when your playing with Kittens or Bunnies. There should be mandatory Kitten playtime for the houses of parliament.

It was an exciting evening even with all it's negativity, once the adrenalin wore off all we could do was laugh. Captain Birdseye is nothing more than a sophist; Not actually invested in intellectual debate or any logical process but only there to convert others to his way of thinking and show up those who disagree with him. For someone who proudly plastered letters and titles before and after his name there was a strong air of anti-intellectualism. He referred to Schools and Universities as an enemy that much be combated. Talking about his love of 'actual science' without specifying what actual science was and constantly attributing human emotions and motives (mostly sinister) to natural processes such as mutations and evolution.

String theory: Famous for its bouts of melancholy and love of Wotsits.

It speaks of a genuine fear of being proven wrong. A fear of loosing a crutch in life. He has put so much into his faith that if you were to take that away he would have nothing. I don't hate him. My problem is when he uses his beliefs to belittle others. My problem is that he's more interested in point's scoring and making money than the intellectual debate. Yes, we went to the talk because we thought it would be on some level, entertaining, but we genuinely wanted to hear the other side and hoped he would put across some interesting points. Not just a show for the true believers to nod along to.

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On a side note, this sort of topic is not going to be the norm (though that's not to say I won't write more serious posts in the future). Just so happens that this is the first thing I've decided to write about.