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The home of Blerns & Sob
Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Secret of Greendale (Essay)
Who here doesn't know Postman Pat? The pleasant postman, in case you somehow survived this long without knowing who he is, is a postman.
"I don't care what any adult says, there is not one person among you who doesn't wish (s)he were Postman Pat. Every child's greatest fantasy is to grow up to live and work in Greendale and mysteriously absorb Pat's very identity from right under his (gastronomically long) nose. He lives the most idyllic life of anyone in existence."
Notice the speechmarks - they denote that the statement exists in a parallel dimension, where it's actually true, because obviously it's not (entirely).
But isn't that really ashame? Many people (adults, and modern children) run away from Pat, Alf, Peter, Granny Dryden, Miss Hubbard, Reverend Timms, the children (including the forever-mind-boggling Charlie Pringle), and all those other characters who appear in the show:
Harry Enfield, some British comedian who - most likely - nobody knows these days, managed to mangle Pat with his Comedy Context-Exterminator, treating his comedy subject with such levity as to refuse acknowledgement to the facts that Pat was married to a woman named Sarah and had no connections whatsoever with the Mafia.
Meanwhile, academics, psychologists, and Ayn Rand all over the world scorn Pat for embracing a simple life, pasting aside intellectual longing, fame, or stardom, and living his life with the sole desire to deliver everyone's mail as efficiently as possible; help all his local friends through their everyday lives; and not get seriously injured (something he seems to forever be dodging by one of Jess' whiskers. Watch the show if you don't believe me). Our aforementioned objectors to Pat ridicule him as a pathetic man. Indeed, as a shameful being, who should have no right on this Earth to exist. Going beyond that, he's a man who deserves to be lost along with the entire populace of Greendale (excluding Miss Hubbard) in a train crash. Well, at least Ayn thinks so.
And it doesn't end here, though. Nowadays, all those young ruffians who were once slavering over their VCRs in a bid to get the briddin' thing to record Pat, are now... well... to be honest with you, I'm not sure what they're doing. But I'll bet it involves Skeleton Fred.
The point is, as Rob himself mentioned just recently on his website, young people these days have lost respect for everyone. Or at least us. Rob says it's partly because there is now no intermediary TV for children between toddlerhood and adult/teenagehood. I'll be smoked salmon if the destruction of Pat's not got something to do with it. Even they see Pat as a clueless 'anti-cool', mostly because he's English and doesn't carry a rocket-launcher most of the time.
Pat could be said to get a severe lack of respect in the real world, from every source imaginable, where 'imaginable' means 'I mentioned'. In our age where survival is a floor rather than a tightrope, society has determined the new survival to be success - it's not good enough to be alive, you've gotta have the brains; the looks; the rocket-launcher I mentioned earlier; or, at least, a 'social life'. Of course, (individual preference pending to the second in the list) Pat fits none of these criteria. Henceforth, he scores 0% in the test and gets booted out of World School, right behind the Care Bears.
But I think that we're all missing out on what Pat has to say on the issue. In our quest for material gain, we admonish Pat for trying to discover something which doesn't exist. Of course, it does exist, as the postman himself stands as a testimony to.
When you think about it, we don't know anything about the Postman, or indeed anyone else in Greendale, other than their families, occupations, and personalities (with the exception of Charlie Pringle, who I think we can tell a bit more about). Pat is a postman; we don't know his age, his grades, his place on the property ladder; WE DON'T KNOW SQUAT!!
There's a doctor whose name eludes me, as well; where did she train? Is she a quack?
Peter Fogg - well, I don't have a clue what he does. He has a small tractor thing, though.
Mrs. Goggins - she's the one most people know in this show aside from Pat (she's the one whose reputation Harry Enfield managed to tarnish beyond cleansing); she works in the local Post Office and gives Pat his letters for delivery. No more is known.
Mr. Pringle - presumably Charlie Pringle's father. He seems to only appear in a later (old) series, and while his accent is the only hallmark feature I can see in him from the one episode I own on video where he appears, I can also declare that he's evil.
There are many more residents of Greendale than this, but from that list we can see the range of folks who live there without achievement. Yet, no-one cares. Pat and friends are always there for one another, they're great friends with no concern for one-another's social status, salary, or school marks; their unity in love and friendship is totally unconditional. Nonetheless, I have yet to meet anyone in real life who's as happy as any one of the characters from Greendale.
People disdain Pat and friends because they have something which too many of us don't have - the ability to cast aside social whatever, economical blabberjots, and academic flair, and just be friends. There are no walls in Greendale, with the notable exception of those that line their one-way streets.
I don't have a rocket-launcher, and I'm off to University this year. However, there's one thing I stand to say:
Regardless what everyone says, we all have something to learn from Postman Pat. In fact, he is one the few remaining testaments to how life should actually be. Greendale is a place which has probably never come close to existing in real life... but it can. And it should, shouldn't it?
So, what exactly is the Secret of Greendale? Surely it's that, behind the mists of social status, beyond the crusts of personality, and beneath the ventricles of whatever-else we shove in the way of each-other, we're all friends at heart.
Who here doesn't know Postman Pat? The pleasant postman, in case you somehow survived this long without knowing who he is, is a postman.
"I don't care what any adult says, there is not one person among you who doesn't wish (s)he were Postman Pat. Every child's greatest fantasy is to grow up to live and work in Greendale and mysteriously absorb Pat's very identity from right under his (gastronomically long) nose. He lives the most idyllic life of anyone in existence."
Notice the speechmarks - they denote that the statement exists in a parallel dimension, where it's actually true, because obviously it's not (entirely).
But isn't that really ashame? Many people (adults, and modern children) run away from Pat, Alf, Peter, Granny Dryden, Miss Hubbard, Reverend Timms, the children (including the forever-mind-boggling Charlie Pringle), and all those other characters who appear in the show:
Harry Enfield, some British comedian who - most likely - nobody knows these days, managed to mangle Pat with his Comedy Context-Exterminator, treating his comedy subject with such levity as to refuse acknowledgement to the facts that Pat was married to a woman named Sarah and had no connections whatsoever with the Mafia.
Meanwhile, academics, psychologists, and Ayn Rand all over the world scorn Pat for embracing a simple life, pasting aside intellectual longing, fame, or stardom, and living his life with the sole desire to deliver everyone's mail as efficiently as possible; help all his local friends through their everyday lives; and not get seriously injured (something he seems to forever be dodging by one of Jess' whiskers. Watch the show if you don't believe me). Our aforementioned objectors to Pat ridicule him as a pathetic man. Indeed, as a shameful being, who should have no right on this Earth to exist. Going beyond that, he's a man who deserves to be lost along with the entire populace of Greendale (excluding Miss Hubbard) in a train crash. Well, at least Ayn thinks so.
And it doesn't end here, though. Nowadays, all those young ruffians who were once slavering over their VCRs in a bid to get the briddin' thing to record Pat, are now... well... to be honest with you, I'm not sure what they're doing. But I'll bet it involves Skeleton Fred.
The point is, as Rob himself mentioned just recently on his website, young people these days have lost respect for everyone. Or at least us. Rob says it's partly because there is now no intermediary TV for children between toddlerhood and adult/teenagehood. I'll be smoked salmon if the destruction of Pat's not got something to do with it. Even they see Pat as a clueless 'anti-cool', mostly because he's English and doesn't carry a rocket-launcher most of the time.
Pat could be said to get a severe lack of respect in the real world, from every source imaginable, where 'imaginable' means 'I mentioned'. In our age where survival is a floor rather than a tightrope, society has determined the new survival to be success - it's not good enough to be alive, you've gotta have the brains; the looks; the rocket-launcher I mentioned earlier; or, at least, a 'social life'. Of course, (individual preference pending to the second in the list) Pat fits none of these criteria. Henceforth, he scores 0% in the test and gets booted out of World School, right behind the Care Bears.
But I think that we're all missing out on what Pat has to say on the issue. In our quest for material gain, we admonish Pat for trying to discover something which doesn't exist. Of course, it does exist, as the postman himself stands as a testimony to.
When you think about it, we don't know anything about the Postman, or indeed anyone else in Greendale, other than their families, occupations, and personalities (with the exception of Charlie Pringle, who I think we can tell a bit more about). Pat is a postman; we don't know his age, his grades, his place on the property ladder; WE DON'T KNOW SQUAT!!
There's a doctor whose name eludes me, as well; where did she train? Is she a quack?
Peter Fogg - well, I don't have a clue what he does. He has a small tractor thing, though.
Mrs. Goggins - she's the one most people know in this show aside from Pat (she's the one whose reputation Harry Enfield managed to tarnish beyond cleansing); she works in the local Post Office and gives Pat his letters for delivery. No more is known.
Mr. Pringle - presumably Charlie Pringle's father. He seems to only appear in a later (old) series, and while his accent is the only hallmark feature I can see in him from the one episode I own on video where he appears, I can also declare that he's evil.
There are many more residents of Greendale than this, but from that list we can see the range of folks who live there without achievement. Yet, no-one cares. Pat and friends are always there for one another, they're great friends with no concern for one-another's social status, salary, or school marks; their unity in love and friendship is totally unconditional. Nonetheless, I have yet to meet anyone in real life who's as happy as any one of the characters from Greendale.
People disdain Pat and friends because they have something which too many of us don't have - the ability to cast aside social whatever, economical blabberjots, and academic flair, and just be friends. There are no walls in Greendale, with the notable exception of those that line their one-way streets.
I don't have a rocket-launcher, and I'm off to University this year. However, there's one thing I stand to say:
Regardless what everyone says, we all have something to learn from Postman Pat. In fact, he is one the few remaining testaments to how life should actually be. Greendale is a place which has probably never come close to existing in real life... but it can. And it should, shouldn't it?
So, what exactly is the Secret of Greendale? Surely it's that, behind the mists of social status, beyond the crusts of personality, and beneath the ventricles of whatever-else we shove in the way of each-other, we're all friends at heart.
Cheerio, and mind how you go!
* Of note is the fact that, in reality, I don't know what kind of press Pat gets these days. He probably doesn't get any at all. Mind you, I would assume that he could get a lot of scorn like what I mentioned if anyone cared about him anymore.
Many of you may be offended at the uplifting-ness of this article - sorry about that. But really, you should learn from Postman Pat, and I actually do mean that sincerely.
Brins would appreciate it if you didn't swear in your comments
Monday, June 27, 2005
So, Brins Has Finally Left School (About Brins/Essay)
Well, that took a while. Those of you who have been around since I started this site will know that I've been writing here from the late-second-last, to final, year at school. Those essays I wrote for school pupils, which you can get to on the right, were meant to spare some people some seriously unnecessary fears and worries at the hands of those exaggerating, panic-striking teachers.
Because if there's one thing I ever learned from school, especially secondary, it's that the teachers will stop at nothing to scare you into thinking things which aren't true. That, and make your every school year the 'most important one in your life'. And don't laugh, they really do that. Read the essays, please, for your own sake.
Despite that, the point is that I've left. I'd really love to write more essays to help others out there, and I hopefully will at some stage. Unfortunately, my desire to write about school-related things will no doubt deteriorate very soon. Nonetheless, I'll fight the urge to stop for all of your sakes.
It seems that Rob has gone around taunting his fellow younger people about them being at school and him not. Outrageous, Rob! 10,000 lines! Oh wait, you're not at school.
*sigh*You know, leaving school has felt resoundingly normal for me. That's actually what I wanted it to be, but it's a bad sad. I cannot even conceive how many hours I must have spent in younger years, dreaming of leaving one day. Well, that day has passed, and there was no dancing. It's better this way, though, since a big deal would make a big sad! Cheer up, gang!
Anyway, I was going to tell you about the prom in as un-longwinded and un-pretentious a way as possible. So: it was really quite unspectacular.
You see, it's hard to explain, or even appreciate, the fact that you're leaving behind people who you have essentially been stuck in a building with for 13 years of your life (strange way of putting it, but... well, it's true!). Most of whom you will never see again. To be honest, the prom didn't do a good job of being a 'last congregation', or indeed anything special. Anyone there could easily have thought that we would all be back at school the next day. It's sad, because it didn't seem right. No special songs, farewells, speeches, whatever. Just the obligatory shaking of hands at the end (bah! I hate that!).
I'll sum up the evening: we got there, we went to some tables and ate some posh food (which tasted average, of course), then proceeded to either:
1) wander around aimlessly for 5 hours
2) dance for a while before switching to 1)
I think that sums it up. It baffles me as to who's idea this set-up was, but what baffles (and frightens) me even more is what on earth that Prom Commitee spent all the money on. I have a feeling alcohol was involved...
It sounds bad from what I've said, but, unless you really hate everyone from your entire year, you'll probably actually enjoy yourself. Wandering aimlessly (what Rob and I chose to do the entire evening) was kind of fun, since we met teachers and talked to people. Plus, we weren't wedged in that atrocious music-hall of insanely loud Scottish country music. Yeah!
You know, the final, 'big finale' song (though it really wasn't) was just a verse or two of 'Auld Lang Syne'. I remember telling Rob that I was sad to see them playing and dancing to that as a great celebration - a song that has nothing to do with any of them, they should really admit it - rather than something like the 'Juniper Green' anthem, 'Children of Today' (not a pop song, a primary school song), or the dreaded 'Leaver's Song' *shudder*. Ah, well. It wasn't so bad.
What's yet to come is that chunk of young people, the 'Year Book'. As if we couldn't get any more American. Actually, that book is the last remnant I am ever going to receive of my year, presumably, which is why I treasure its arrival. Although a lot of people I knew went weird and 'pseudo-mature' last year, I still want to see what each of them has to say (at least since I never talked to them at any other time). I really hope they've taken a serious approach to it, making it something which we'll look back on with fondness and nostalgia, but who am I kidding? They're Scottish.
If ONLY I could have designed the cover. That way, they'd certainly never lose the thing in future. In fact, they'd probably collapse in laughter every time they tried to open it.
Ah! I almost forgot to say! There's a certain teacher who has promised to get me a certain video for the last 6 months. Before leaving school, he took my phone number and said he'd 'phone when it was available'... no, of course I won't get it. But, if you are him, or if you somehow know him from my nonexistent description, please get me my video. I'd appreciate that.
Quick comment check: does anyone want me to comment on that book when I get it?
Well, that took a while. Those of you who have been around since I started this site will know that I've been writing here from the late-second-last, to final, year at school. Those essays I wrote for school pupils, which you can get to on the right, were meant to spare some people some seriously unnecessary fears and worries at the hands of those exaggerating, panic-striking teachers.
Because if there's one thing I ever learned from school, especially secondary, it's that the teachers will stop at nothing to scare you into thinking things which aren't true. That, and make your every school year the 'most important one in your life'. And don't laugh, they really do that. Read the essays, please, for your own sake.
Despite that, the point is that I've left. I'd really love to write more essays to help others out there, and I hopefully will at some stage. Unfortunately, my desire to write about school-related things will no doubt deteriorate very soon. Nonetheless, I'll fight the urge to stop for all of your sakes.
It seems that Rob has gone around taunting his fellow younger people about them being at school and him not. Outrageous, Rob! 10,000 lines! Oh wait, you're not at school.
*sigh*You know, leaving school has felt resoundingly normal for me. That's actually what I wanted it to be, but it's a bad sad. I cannot even conceive how many hours I must have spent in younger years, dreaming of leaving one day. Well, that day has passed, and there was no dancing. It's better this way, though, since a big deal would make a big sad! Cheer up, gang!
Anyway, I was going to tell you about the prom in as un-longwinded and un-pretentious a way as possible. So: it was really quite unspectacular.
You see, it's hard to explain, or even appreciate, the fact that you're leaving behind people who you have essentially been stuck in a building with for 13 years of your life (strange way of putting it, but... well, it's true!). Most of whom you will never see again. To be honest, the prom didn't do a good job of being a 'last congregation', or indeed anything special. Anyone there could easily have thought that we would all be back at school the next day. It's sad, because it didn't seem right. No special songs, farewells, speeches, whatever. Just the obligatory shaking of hands at the end (bah! I hate that!).
I'll sum up the evening: we got there, we went to some tables and ate some posh food (which tasted average, of course), then proceeded to either:
1) wander around aimlessly for 5 hours
2) dance for a while before switching to 1)
I think that sums it up. It baffles me as to who's idea this set-up was, but what baffles (and frightens) me even more is what on earth that Prom Commitee spent all the money on. I have a feeling alcohol was involved...
It sounds bad from what I've said, but, unless you really hate everyone from your entire year, you'll probably actually enjoy yourself. Wandering aimlessly (what Rob and I chose to do the entire evening) was kind of fun, since we met teachers and talked to people. Plus, we weren't wedged in that atrocious music-hall of insanely loud Scottish country music. Yeah!
You know, the final, 'big finale' song (though it really wasn't) was just a verse or two of 'Auld Lang Syne'. I remember telling Rob that I was sad to see them playing and dancing to that as a great celebration - a song that has nothing to do with any of them, they should really admit it - rather than something like the 'Juniper Green' anthem, 'Children of Today' (not a pop song, a primary school song), or the dreaded 'Leaver's Song' *shudder*. Ah, well. It wasn't so bad.
What's yet to come is that chunk of young people, the 'Year Book'. As if we couldn't get any more American. Actually, that book is the last remnant I am ever going to receive of my year, presumably, which is why I treasure its arrival. Although a lot of people I knew went weird and 'pseudo-mature' last year, I still want to see what each of them has to say (at least since I never talked to them at any other time). I really hope they've taken a serious approach to it, making it something which we'll look back on with fondness and nostalgia, but who am I kidding? They're Scottish.
If ONLY I could have designed the cover. That way, they'd certainly never lose the thing in future. In fact, they'd probably collapse in laughter every time they tried to open it.
Ah! I almost forgot to say! There's a certain teacher who has promised to get me a certain video for the last 6 months. Before leaving school, he took my phone number and said he'd 'phone when it was available'... no, of course I won't get it. But, if you are him, or if you somehow know him from my nonexistent description, please get me my video. I'd appreciate that.
Quick comment check: does anyone want me to comment on that book when I get it?
Brins would appreciate it if you didn't swear in your comments
Sunday, June 26, 2005
Some More Thoughts On Mario Kart: Double Dash
I just had a sudden second consideration of Mario Kart: Double Dash, the GameCube racing game which you may recall me writing about some time ago.
Summary of previous review
After playing it extensively (well, somewhat) for several-days-to-a-week prior, I reported that I felt the game could be enjoyable, and it was quite addictive in the single player mode, for a while, due to its difficulty and unlockable extra tracks.
Nonetheless, this seemed to cover what was a slightly poorly designed, or, rather, un-funly designed game; the tracks felt highly forced and one-way most of the time - hardly any of the proclaimed 'shortcuts' were actually short-cuts, but rather slight route-deviations to get an item.
There was no room for unique, innovative cuts for shaving time off the course (using the feather to breach an otherwise impossible jump on the SNES version rendered all kinds of tricks possible). All in all, for the temporary fun, there is no sense of exploration - something which pervaded previous titles in the series. You're really on rail, technically, from start to finish.
Anyway, these are my past critiques of the game. But, having just seen some pictures of the upcoming Nintendo DS version (which is on its way), my mind switched to another glaring problem with Double Dash:
Addition to previous review
This wasn't necessarily apparent with earlier courses, but later on it came across strongly that the tracks weren't made for the sake of the racing; they all felt like gimmicks, each one was just the railed drive I mentioned, but with different visual features/appearances. The issue I have is that you feel more like you're going through an art-gallery rollercoaster, designed to impress and amuse you, rather than an actual test of your skill to get through. True, the game is difficult, but not because you can't get through the courses, but because someone attacked you and messed everything up.
It's far more apparent with the last few courses that you're riding through a waltzing waters demonstration, occasionally dodging the odd simple obstacle or bend. Each track relies on its individual visual features to define itself, not difficulty or hazard-style.
The ol' SNES original featured a set of track templates (the basic tiles, backgrounds etc. which made up the track), and wasn't afraid to re-use them for new tracks, only this time adding tougher hazards, tighter bends, and thinner paths. Double Dash wouldn't dare to attempt this feat, since its tracks rely far too much on presentation, not design.
Not to mention, the tracks feel too short somehow.
The verdict of Brins
Recapping this time, you may have great fun with this game, both in single and multi-player. The issue stands, however, that you are having said fun in disappointingly designed, unchallenging courses - very rarely will you have any problems navigating your surroundings... just those homing shells.
That pretty much sums up everything I have to say on this game.
I just had a sudden second consideration of Mario Kart: Double Dash, the GameCube racing game which you may recall me writing about some time ago.
Summary of previous review
After playing it extensively (well, somewhat) for several-days-to-a-week prior, I reported that I felt the game could be enjoyable, and it was quite addictive in the single player mode, for a while, due to its difficulty and unlockable extra tracks.
Nonetheless, this seemed to cover what was a slightly poorly designed, or, rather, un-funly designed game; the tracks felt highly forced and one-way most of the time - hardly any of the proclaimed 'shortcuts' were actually short-cuts, but rather slight route-deviations to get an item.
There was no room for unique, innovative cuts for shaving time off the course (using the feather to breach an otherwise impossible jump on the SNES version rendered all kinds of tricks possible). All in all, for the temporary fun, there is no sense of exploration - something which pervaded previous titles in the series. You're really on rail, technically, from start to finish.
Anyway, these are my past critiques of the game. But, having just seen some pictures of the upcoming Nintendo DS version (which is on its way), my mind switched to another glaring problem with Double Dash:
Addition to previous review
This wasn't necessarily apparent with earlier courses, but later on it came across strongly that the tracks weren't made for the sake of the racing; they all felt like gimmicks, each one was just the railed drive I mentioned, but with different visual features/appearances. The issue I have is that you feel more like you're going through an art-gallery rollercoaster, designed to impress and amuse you, rather than an actual test of your skill to get through. True, the game is difficult, but not because you can't get through the courses, but because someone attacked you and messed everything up.
It's far more apparent with the last few courses that you're riding through a waltzing waters demonstration, occasionally dodging the odd simple obstacle or bend. Each track relies on its individual visual features to define itself, not difficulty or hazard-style.
The ol' SNES original featured a set of track templates (the basic tiles, backgrounds etc. which made up the track), and wasn't afraid to re-use them for new tracks, only this time adding tougher hazards, tighter bends, and thinner paths. Double Dash wouldn't dare to attempt this feat, since its tracks rely far too much on presentation, not design.
Not to mention, the tracks feel too short somehow.
The verdict of Brins
Recapping this time, you may have great fun with this game, both in single and multi-player. The issue stands, however, that you are having said fun in disappointingly designed, unchallenging courses - very rarely will you have any problems navigating your surroundings... just those homing shells.
That pretty much sums up everything I have to say on this game.
Brins would appreciate it if you didn't swear in your comments
Blerns & Sob Return (Something Else)
I forgot to tell Rob, but maybe he's reading this anyway - I've decided to make a second Blerns & Sob Summer Special. Last year's one involved the dynamic duo being attacked by pirates while in their holiday home in the middle of the ocean, and ended in them stopping President Bush from blowing up the world with his World Bomb.
You'd be surprised at how swiftly the story progressed in it, too.
This year, following from Rob's epic movie, 'The Search For Sanity', another twisting plot unfolds in the form of my first platform game! It took a while to program, and it still is, but it will be done. I'm not going to give anything away at the moment, but I will paraphrase what is mentioned in the introduction: although Blerns & Sob concluded from their search for sanity that there was no sanity, Dr. Sandwich later discovered some accidentally while trying to find a way to make anchovy sandwiches without the need for duct tape. The result is that this game actually makes some degree of sense plotwise! I bet you're all on the edge of your seats now!
Anyway, there you go. Tell you what, I'll give you a link to the first level theme (not the version I'm using, this one doesn't sound the same, but it was hard enough to find the tune on the internet at all as it is!)
I forgot to tell Rob, but maybe he's reading this anyway - I've decided to make a second Blerns & Sob Summer Special. Last year's one involved the dynamic duo being attacked by pirates while in their holiday home in the middle of the ocean, and ended in them stopping President Bush from blowing up the world with his World Bomb.
You'd be surprised at how swiftly the story progressed in it, too.
This year, following from Rob's epic movie, 'The Search For Sanity', another twisting plot unfolds in the form of my first platform game! It took a while to program, and it still is, but it will be done. I'm not going to give anything away at the moment, but I will paraphrase what is mentioned in the introduction: although Blerns & Sob concluded from their search for sanity that there was no sanity, Dr. Sandwich later discovered some accidentally while trying to find a way to make anchovy sandwiches without the need for duct tape. The result is that this game actually makes some degree of sense plotwise! I bet you're all on the edge of your seats now!
Anyway, there you go. Tell you what, I'll give you a link to the first level theme (not the version I'm using, this one doesn't sound the same, but it was hard enough to find the tune on the internet at all as it is!)
Brins would appreciate it if you didn't swear in your comments
Angst (Essay, followed by pointless statements)
Well, after all these years, I finally decided to look up the word 'angst' in the dictionary.
...what? Huh? A - you thought this post would be about angst? Mine?! Haven't you read Philosophy Brins?! Besides, I don't have any! When will you meddling kids learn?
Well, no! What I was going to say was, isn't that word scatt all over the internet these days? Every website out there is going 'angst' this, 'angst' that, 'angst' those, 'angst' Solar System, 'angst' Bernard, etc.
A quick question: does anyone out there know the exact meaning of the word? Well, here it is, according to dictionary.com (includes Indo-European roots!):
A feeling of anxiety or apprehension often accompanied by depression.
Wasn't that interesting? Huh?... I see...
In that case, cheer up, because I have something even more awesome to say - something!
Ho ho ho! Now then, it turns out that a collection of important people is going to talk to itself (actually, it's 'are going to talk to each-other', but how does 'a collection' talk to another itself? Hm...).
I am, of course, talking about that event involving important people. What's it called? It doesn't matter.
The reason why this affects me is because Captain Fate has plotted a course for my very home town - Edinburgh - to hold this prestigious thing. Word on the street... well, a series of words in the paper (which, in themselves, were carefully sorted into sentences and paragraphs)... suggests that there's a BIG PROTEST against the aforementioned 'collection of important people' talking to each-other, which I find a bit mean. Conversation is generally healthy, I think, but apparently 1 million people disagree, so what do I know?...
...well, I know that anyone living in Edinburgh should really stay indoors or something, since protests usually involve pain, and no-one likes pain, so just hide until it's over.
What I wonder is why the important people felt it was a good idea to stage the event (I remember now, it's the 'G8 Summit') in Edinburgh, as opposed to some insignificant treasure island in the ocean where they might have less likelihood of being protested against/assaulted/insulted/marched around/attacked with bottles/put in a position where the police must be called/forced to escape the building/made to watch from afar as 1 million people decide that they might as well destroy everything in the immediate area...
...than in a bustling, heavily-populated, and shop-filled capital city.
Actually, there's probably a very good reason. If there is, then that's a real shame, because otherwise, our collection of important people might have had a chance to talk to each-other.
Side note: I've got a feeling that everyone outside of Edinburgh is completely oblivious to this big meeting, partly since I have been as well until it's come here. If you're one of the confused, don't worry about it.
Very serious note: If you do live in Edinburgh, then I have to implore you that you seriously should not go to where-ever this meeting is being held, under any circumstances. There will be protests, there will be riots, and there will be casualties - don't be one of them.
You see, it's all very well standing up for your protesting cause (or whatever it is), but it's simply not worth it when the windows start breaking. And the windows will break. Will. WILL!
This meeting has been jabbered on about for weeks now on the news, so I'm looking forward to when it finally completes. It will be nice to see what wonders will be done by our important people when they come to an agreement.
And now, a word from our wonderful sponsor:
James: And now, a word from our wonderful sponsor:
Peter: And now, a word from our wonderful sponsor:
Captain Fate: Argh! And now, a word from our *avast* wonderful spons-*walk the plank*-or:
Jeffrey Pulickan(no, he doesn't exist): And now, a word from our wonderful sponsor:
Person 75: When everyone in the world was numbered from 1 to 6 billion, I was excited. However, just my luck, I was beaten to top spot by a riddin' 74 people. To cope with this emotional trauma, buy my cereal!
In the words of the happy ice-cream man: 'It's Sugar Free!'
There's a lot of famous people out there who think they're better than you, isn't there? To deal with them, don't turn on your television; switch off your computer; bar all doors and windows, lock yourself in a dark cupboard; closed your eyes, put your hands over your eyes; place two large blocks of cement over your ears; block your nose (somehow); de-activate your taste buds (Super Man can do it! Are you going to be beaten by Super Man?!); and stand there for a while. As long as you're there doing this, they probably won't get to you (though that's a big probably).
It's Sunday, so let's be happy. Now then, to the bridge!
As long as everyone's happy, if you have any comments to make, you might as well make them on this post (record).
Meanwhile, I am officially billing this as the most random record I've ever made for the CICC.
You would actually be surprised at how hard it is to think of a good, all-encompassing way of ending all this. I'm sure I would too.
Well, after all these years, I finally decided to look up the word 'angst' in the dictionary.
...what? Huh? A - you thought this post would be about angst? Mine?! Haven't you read Philosophy Brins?! Besides, I don't have any! When will you meddling kids learn?
Well, no! What I was going to say was, isn't that word scatt all over the internet these days? Every website out there is going 'angst' this, 'angst' that, 'angst' those, 'angst' Solar System, 'angst' Bernard, etc.
A quick question: does anyone out there know the exact meaning of the word? Well, here it is, according to dictionary.com (includes Indo-European roots!):
A feeling of anxiety or apprehension often accompanied by depression.
Wasn't that interesting? Huh?... I see...
In that case, cheer up, because I have something even more awesome to say - something!
Ho ho ho! Now then, it turns out that a collection of important people is going to talk to itself (actually, it's 'are going to talk to each-other', but how does 'a collection' talk to another itself? Hm...).
I am, of course, talking about that event involving important people. What's it called? It doesn't matter.
The reason why this affects me is because Captain Fate has plotted a course for my very home town - Edinburgh - to hold this prestigious thing. Word on the street... well, a series of words in the paper (which, in themselves, were carefully sorted into sentences and paragraphs)... suggests that there's a BIG PROTEST against the aforementioned 'collection of important people' talking to each-other, which I find a bit mean. Conversation is generally healthy, I think, but apparently 1 million people disagree, so what do I know?...
...well, I know that anyone living in Edinburgh should really stay indoors or something, since protests usually involve pain, and no-one likes pain, so just hide until it's over.
What I wonder is why the important people felt it was a good idea to stage the event (I remember now, it's the 'G8 Summit') in Edinburgh, as opposed to some insignificant treasure island in the ocean where they might have less likelihood of being protested against/assaulted/insulted/marched around/attacked with bottles/put in a position where the police must be called/forced to escape the building/made to watch from afar as 1 million people decide that they might as well destroy everything in the immediate area...
...than in a bustling, heavily-populated, and shop-filled capital city.
Actually, there's probably a very good reason. If there is, then that's a real shame, because otherwise, our collection of important people might have had a chance to talk to each-other.
Side note: I've got a feeling that everyone outside of Edinburgh is completely oblivious to this big meeting, partly since I have been as well until it's come here. If you're one of the confused, don't worry about it.
Very serious note: If you do live in Edinburgh, then I have to implore you that you seriously should not go to where-ever this meeting is being held, under any circumstances. There will be protests, there will be riots, and there will be casualties - don't be one of them.
You see, it's all very well standing up for your protesting cause (or whatever it is), but it's simply not worth it when the windows start breaking. And the windows will break. Will. WILL!
This meeting has been jabbered on about for weeks now on the news, so I'm looking forward to when it finally completes. It will be nice to see what wonders will be done by our important people when they come to an agreement.
And now, a word from our wonderful sponsor:
James: And now, a word from our wonderful sponsor:
Peter: And now, a word from our wonderful sponsor:
Captain Fate: Argh! And now, a word from our *avast* wonderful spons-*walk the plank*-or:
Jeffrey Pulickan(no, he doesn't exist): And now, a word from our wonderful sponsor:
Person 75: When everyone in the world was numbered from 1 to 6 billion, I was excited. However, just my luck, I was beaten to top spot by a riddin' 74 people. To cope with this emotional trauma, buy my cereal!
In the words of the happy ice-cream man: 'It's Sugar Free!'
There's a lot of famous people out there who think they're better than you, isn't there? To deal with them, don't turn on your television; switch off your computer; bar all doors and windows, lock yourself in a dark cupboard; closed your eyes, put your hands over your eyes; place two large blocks of cement over your ears; block your nose (somehow); de-activate your taste buds (Super Man can do it! Are you going to be beaten by Super Man?!); and stand there for a while. As long as you're there doing this, they probably won't get to you (though that's a big probably).
It's Sunday, so let's be happy. Now then, to the bridge!
As long as everyone's happy, if you have any comments to make, you might as well make them on this post (record).
Meanwhile, I am officially billing this as the most random record I've ever made for the CICC.
You would actually be surprised at how hard it is to think of a good, all-encompassing way of ending all this. I'm sure I would too.
Brins would appreciate it if you didn't swear in your comments
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
English Goes Berserk (Something Else)
I only just noticed that something's up with the font sizes down in the English post. I can't fix it! It won't let me! Oh, well. I promise to finish that essay soon, don't worry.
You know, I used to own Porky Pig's Haunted Holiday, many years ago. I just stopped to realise that some minutes ago.
It's a sad thing to lose imagination, but it's evidently something which affects all of us as we grow older. I can imagine that the game would be cast aside as some mindless, simple, lacklustre title (I'd undoubtedly share similar views if I still could play it). Nonetheless - and this isn't nostalgia talking (a consignment which I'd say gets used a bit too much to describe this kind of thing) - I vividly recall being genuinely enchanted by it when I was younger by the complete etherealness of it. Laughable, since it's nothing more than a licensing title churned out to make some money (presumably).
Yet, regardless, it captivated me somehow. At least the first level, seemed to transcend description in the sheer, pleasant mystery and mellow ghostliness. Another feature was the random weather - sometimes snow, sometimes something else. I never questioned what Porky Pig was actually in this forest for, or how, or why.
Light flickered down through the tall trees on the eerie glades, and all was mystery and intrigue.
The greatest touch was the fact that I can't remember actually encountering any ghosts or spiritful enemies - something which just emboldened the mystery of the game.
The music was subtle and equally thought-provoking.
It wasn't 'weird', 'disturbing', 'frightening', or even 'spooky'. It was something beyond that.
It's actually something I can't make anyone understand, since the earlier descriptions of this game are wholly correct: anyone would play it, point out its flaws and walk away again.
Nonetheless, in my mind, regardless of the real truths of the game's development, plot, purpose, or indeed anything else, the fact remains that Porky's mysterious forest will always be there. On some plane, it is an inexplicable mystery.
Imagination turns real-life truths into ventures and musings which are impossible in reality; worlds and thoughts exist which simply can't be echoed in anything else. It's a kind of lack of care or understanding for reality, and an acceptance of whatever you label something to be to be what it is. With imagination, there's a whole world in that forest.
A childhood quality (which I had, at least. Maybe it isn't everyone) is that strange habit of devising your entire world and background for things. As far as your concerned, there is no official word or explanation for anything. For a video game, there is no plot. It's just what you think it is, so there. And when you think something, the thing feels so much larger, and greater
, and complex than it could ever actually be in reality. (I've got many memories of this, anyway.)
That stupid forest is nothing more than a bunch of colours. But... well... strange, really.
I remember being fascinated by innocent ghostliness (something which early Disney cartoons got right down to a tee in my mind) in that it was permeated by a mist of obscurity, pleasantness, curiously heart-felt sadness, and inexplicable...ness. Which is why I've had enough of trying to describe it.
The reason all this sounds so odd (and nostalgic, though really, it isn't) is that, as I said before, I honestly can't convey my thoughts on this game (or at least the forest) in any logical way. I can even now perceive what I once thought it to be - indescribable. And that's how it will stay.
.... FOREVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Seriously, that forest... ah, forget it. I wish you could understand.
By the by, Rob's got an idea for a 'by the people, for the people' blog. Go ask him about it.
I only just noticed that something's up with the font sizes down in the English post. I can't fix it! It won't let me! Oh, well. I promise to finish that essay soon, don't worry.
You know, I used to own Porky Pig's Haunted Holiday, many years ago. I just stopped to realise that some minutes ago.
It's a sad thing to lose imagination, but it's evidently something which affects all of us as we grow older. I can imagine that the game would be cast aside as some mindless, simple, lacklustre title (I'd undoubtedly share similar views if I still could play it). Nonetheless - and this isn't nostalgia talking (a consignment which I'd say gets used a bit too much to describe this kind of thing) - I vividly recall being genuinely enchanted by it when I was younger by the complete etherealness of it. Laughable, since it's nothing more than a licensing title churned out to make some money (presumably).
Yet, regardless, it captivated me somehow. At least the first level, seemed to transcend description in the sheer, pleasant mystery and mellow ghostliness. Another feature was the random weather - sometimes snow, sometimes something else. I never questioned what Porky Pig was actually in this forest for, or how, or why.
Light flickered down through the tall trees on the eerie glades, and all was mystery and intrigue.
The greatest touch was the fact that I can't remember actually encountering any ghosts or spiritful enemies - something which just emboldened the mystery of the game.
The music was subtle and equally thought-provoking.
It wasn't 'weird', 'disturbing', 'frightening', or even 'spooky'. It was something beyond that.
It's actually something I can't make anyone understand, since the earlier descriptions of this game are wholly correct: anyone would play it, point out its flaws and walk away again.
Nonetheless, in my mind, regardless of the real truths of the game's development, plot, purpose, or indeed anything else, the fact remains that Porky's mysterious forest will always be there. On some plane, it is an inexplicable mystery.
Imagination turns real-life truths into ventures and musings which are impossible in reality; worlds and thoughts exist which simply can't be echoed in anything else. It's a kind of lack of care or understanding for reality, and an acceptance of whatever you label something to be to be what it is. With imagination, there's a whole world in that forest.
A childhood quality (which I had, at least. Maybe it isn't everyone) is that strange habit of devising your entire world and background for things. As far as your concerned, there is no official word or explanation for anything. For a video game, there is no plot. It's just what you think it is, so there. And when you think something, the thing feels so much larger, and greater
, and complex than it could ever actually be in reality. (I've got many memories of this, anyway.)
That stupid forest is nothing more than a bunch of colours. But... well... strange, really.
I remember being fascinated by innocent ghostliness (something which early Disney cartoons got right down to a tee in my mind) in that it was permeated by a mist of obscurity, pleasantness, curiously heart-felt sadness, and inexplicable...ness. Which is why I've had enough of trying to describe it.
The reason all this sounds so odd (and nostalgic, though really, it isn't) is that, as I said before, I honestly can't convey my thoughts on this game (or at least the forest) in any logical way. I can even now perceive what I once thought it to be - indescribable. And that's how it will stay.
.... FOREVER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Seriously, that forest... ah, forget it. I wish you could understand.
By the by, Rob's got an idea for a 'by the people, for the people' blog. Go ask him about it.
Brins would appreciate it if you didn't swear in your comments
Thursday, June 09, 2005
Brins' Guide To Higher English (Essay)
In the Scottish Examination System, Higher-level English is a subject which brings about much dread at the moment. I don't know why this is, but the SQA (Scottish Qualifications Authority) seems to have decided to make it harder in recent years due to too many people passing.
The result, as Rob has found out two years in a row, is a flawed exam, brought about by a flawed course.
In the (revised) Higher English exam, there are two parts:
1) Interpretation/Close Reading (they actually can't seem to decide which one to call it) - reading two, separate essays, and then answering questions on them.
2) Critical Essay - writing two essays on two separate texts you've read and studied in class over the year.
The interpretation is fair enough. It's the second part which hacks at the English course down the centre, and in a very untidy fashion.
Why is it so hard to write two essays on texts you've had a whole year to study? Good question.
A) You've got 1 hour 30 minutes to do it - that's 45 minutes per essay. Not a lot of time at all. If, like Rob, you have trouble writing quickly - let alone keeping a constant flow of writing to thinking and planning - you'll have no choice but to either rush the essays or leave one unfinished.
B) The actual year of learning consists of a lot less learning than you'd expect. Let me delve into this.
You spend a year, in class, reading your three texts - a poetry, a prose (novel), and a play. Reading with the teacher, you analyse such things as characters, themes, symbolism, issues, relationships, hidden messages, and so on. During this, you'll do essays on the texts in class, so you can prepare for the exam. The teacher will mark them, you'll get them back, and you'll continue. That sums up the foundations of the year's learning, although you may branch off onto other things like worksheets, lessons on famous writers, whatever, but this is the grand plan.
What you don't do, is learn how to write your essays. Although, this probably depends on the teacher. That's the real problem, and one which I feel the subject of Drama faces too - there is not a tight enough reign on the subjects - not enough official, mandatory SQA materials, and too much freedom for teachers to do what they want, at the expense of proper teaching.
Rob complained about how the one thing he wanted to see - nothing else - was a model essay. Not a few 'handy pointers' on how to write an essay. They do teach you that - make a point, back up with evidence from the text/quote, then comment on it - but you never find out what the benchmark is for the essay; what you should be aiming for, exactly what you need to do to get the marks.
If you can write an essay and get good marks, good for you; you're okay. But what if you can't...?
Again, depending on the teacher, you either get your essay back swamped with corrections, problems, and solutions/writing tips (which will annoy you, but will prepare you well for your exam), or you'll get a few ticks here and there, and a sentence at the end: 'good points made, but needs more depth'.
If you get the latter, then you have every reason to wonder: that's fine, I've not got enough depth. I need to improve my essay-writing. Now, how do I do that?
Too late, you're off onto studying your text again, and doing your next essay - which you will do equally badly in.
If you don't have a good teacher, and you can't write successful essays, and you can't find out what you're doing wrong, I'm afraid that you will have a very hard time in Higher English.
I can't offer to solve the English system; I sincerely hope that the number of good, dedicated English teachers outweigh the bad ones; but what I can do, having fluked the subject with top marks last year, is give you my advice on essay writing. If I can find one of my old English class essays, I'll be sure to post it up here. Now, let's get onto the guide.
Brins' Introduction To
Higher English
In the Scottish Examination System, Higher-level English is a subject which brings about much dread at the moment. I don't know why this is, but the SQA (Scottish Qualifications Authority) seems to have decided to make it harder in recent years due to too many people passing.
The result, as Rob has found out two years in a row, is a flawed exam, brought about by a flawed course.
In the (revised) Higher English exam, there are two parts:
1) Interpretation/Close Reading (they actually can't seem to decide which one to call it) - reading two, separate essays, and then answering questions on them.
2) Critical Essay - writing two essays on two separate texts you've read and studied in class over the year.
The interpretation is fair enough. It's the second part which hacks at the English course down the centre, and in a very untidy fashion.
Why is it so hard to write two essays on texts you've had a whole year to study? Good question.
A) You've got 1 hour 30 minutes to do it - that's 45 minutes per essay. Not a lot of time at all. If, like Rob, you have trouble writing quickly - let alone keeping a constant flow of writing to thinking and planning - you'll have no choice but to either rush the essays or leave one unfinished.
B) The actual year of learning consists of a lot less learning than you'd expect. Let me delve into this.
You spend a year, in class, reading your three texts - a poetry, a prose (novel), and a play. Reading with the teacher, you analyse such things as characters, themes, symbolism, issues, relationships, hidden messages, and so on. During this, you'll do essays on the texts in class, so you can prepare for the exam. The teacher will mark them, you'll get them back, and you'll continue. That sums up the foundations of the year's learning, although you may branch off onto other things like worksheets, lessons on famous writers, whatever, but this is the grand plan.
What you don't do, is learn how to write your essays. Although, this probably depends on the teacher. That's the real problem, and one which I feel the subject of Drama faces too - there is not a tight enough reign on the subjects - not enough official, mandatory SQA materials, and too much freedom for teachers to do what they want, at the expense of proper teaching.
Rob complained about how the one thing he wanted to see - nothing else - was a model essay. Not a few 'handy pointers' on how to write an essay. They do teach you that - make a point, back up with evidence from the text/quote, then comment on it - but you never find out what the benchmark is for the essay; what you should be aiming for, exactly what you need to do to get the marks.
If you can write an essay and get good marks, good for you; you're okay. But what if you can't...?
Again, depending on the teacher, you either get your essay back swamped with corrections, problems, and solutions/writing tips (which will annoy you, but will prepare you well for your exam), or you'll get a few ticks here and there, and a sentence at the end: 'good points made, but needs more depth'.
If you get the latter, then you have every reason to wonder: that's fine, I've not got enough depth. I need to improve my essay-writing. Now, how do I do that?
Too late, you're off onto studying your text again, and doing your next essay - which you will do equally badly in.
If you don't have a good teacher, and you can't write successful essays, and you can't find out what you're doing wrong, I'm afraid that you will have a very hard time in Higher English.
I can't offer to solve the English system; I sincerely hope that the number of good, dedicated English teachers outweigh the bad ones; but what I can do, having fluked the subject with top marks last year, is give you my advice on essay writing. If I can find one of my old English class essays, I'll be sure to post it up here. Now, let's get onto the guide.
Brins' Guide To Higher English
There are two ways to write an essay: either you plunge straight into writing it, haphazarding your way through with whatever points come into your head to raise; or, you calmly consider an overall plan to the thing, which may take time to write, but you can follow it confidently through your writing without getting stuck with writer's block (beware: this can happen very easily, try to keep a constant flow of writing throughout).
Now, my plan when it comes to making English essay plans is to be as succinct as possible. Remember, you need to score out the plan for handing in, plus you're the only one who will ever read it. However, withdrawing from the plan now, you need to understand the next part of my winning Higher English formula:
The 'Self-Contained Essay Unit', as I just named it right now. I'm sorry, but there's little way around doing good, solid revision if you aim to use my method for passing. But STOP RIGHT THERE!! This revision does not involve rereading any of your texts at all, and it is nothing more than simple thinking and memorisation. How easily you can do this may depend on your teacher, who may or may not facilitate learning with work/help-sheets.
This 'essay unit' is what makes the essay go from impregnable to very soft. To begin making them, you need the following:
1) English Past-Papers (Get at least 3; you can buy special books of them from 'Leckie & Leckie'. Check your local bookstore for them, or search online and you may be able to order them)
2) One or more of the texts you'll be using to answer them
3) Ideally, in the case of the Prose/Play, have as many sheets from the teacher which contain quotes as possible.
If you know you've got all them, let's move on: what to do is read the past paper's Essay section. Check all the questions that come under whatever your book is (e.g. Prose, Poetry, etc.). [Under construction]
My style is to just sit and contemplate the question as such - understand what it's asking, but more importantly what self-contained essay units you can use for it. Also consider how you must convey said units to work for the question. You can sum this up in the plan in extremely broken English, and use parts of quotes you will use in the essay too! That way you won't forget them.
This system of planning results in a plan that takes up 3-5 lines (in my fairly large handwriting), and about 1 minute to do (no exaggeration).
This article will be continued again later, and its length will depend on the demand for my guide. I'd love this to get spread across the internet for Scottish students; trust me, they need it.
Brins would appreciate it if you didn't swear in your comments
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
A Question Of Brins (Question)
A quick question: should I set up a new blog exclusively for me to review things (like films, products, etc.)? Let's have a show of hands.
Just so you know, there's no way I'm doing this unless I get at least 5 people giving me the go ahead. Please comment your response on this post.
Thanks, everyone.
A quick question: should I set up a new blog exclusively for me to review things (like films, products, etc.)? Let's have a show of hands.
Just so you know, there's no way I'm doing this unless I get at least 5 people giving me the go ahead. Please comment your response on this post.
Thanks, everyone.
Brins would appreciate it if you didn't swear in your comments
Sunday, June 05, 2005
Time To Get Those Tapes Under Control! (Small)
I'm not letting up on my old Drama teacher, having been pestering him for over half the school year about getting a certain video tape of our rehearsal, and now giving him my phone number to call me when he gets it organised. It's a minor thing, but something which myself and Rob really want to see.
I'd love to tell you, right here and now, how we both managed to somehow transform Arthur Miller's 'The Crucible' into the funniest play in history, but I don't want to right now.
I nailed the roof upon the church. NAILED.
I'm not letting up on my old Drama teacher, having been pestering him for over half the school year about getting a certain video tape of our rehearsal, and now giving him my phone number to call me when he gets it organised. It's a minor thing, but something which myself and Rob really want to see.
I'd love to tell you, right here and now, how we both managed to somehow transform Arthur Miller's 'The Crucible' into the funniest play in history, but I don't want to right now.
I nailed the roof upon the church. NAILED.
Brins would appreciate it if you didn't swear in your comments
Down To A Suit (Something Else)
On the note of the Prom, it's going to be my first contact with a suit (this is the price you pay for not wearing a kilt). Suits are equally strange to posters.
A suit generally contains three buttons. Two of those buttons - the top and bottom ones - MUST NOT BE BUTTONED UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES.
A suit only fits you properly if you have to raise your second arm completely vertical to get it in the sleeve.
A suit should be worn with the appropriate trousers. That's just odd, isn't it?
Finally, a suit MUST be worn with a tie - the MOST USELESS invention since sliced bread.
Ties have no reason to exist. Ties take up one syllable too many. In establishing Rob's World Order, I decree that ties must be eradicated for the protection of the collar.
The tie was invented in the early 20th Century, I believe. Do you know what that means?
It means that civilisations have been living perfectly well, for thousands of years, without ties. Why now? Why strike us?!
I also really wish that the 'bow tie' could just be called the 'bow'. There is far too much potential for mis-understandings to occur with the word 'tie' in its name.
Having said all this, a suit is important - it makes one look socially acceptable, a quality which is severely demanded by modern society. At formal occasions, there really isn't anything else you could wear that would make logical sense. A tie also adds to the formality (somehow).
I've been told that the kilt is considered an alternate socially acceptable formal dress for men in Scotland...
...isn't formality just completely messed up?
On the note of the Prom, it's going to be my first contact with a suit (this is the price you pay for not wearing a kilt). Suits are equally strange to posters.
A suit generally contains three buttons. Two of those buttons - the top and bottom ones - MUST NOT BE BUTTONED UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES.
A suit only fits you properly if you have to raise your second arm completely vertical to get it in the sleeve.
A suit should be worn with the appropriate trousers. That's just odd, isn't it?
Finally, a suit MUST be worn with a tie - the MOST USELESS invention since sliced bread.
Ties have no reason to exist. Ties take up one syllable too many. In establishing Rob's World Order, I decree that ties must be eradicated for the protection of the collar.
The tie was invented in the early 20th Century, I believe. Do you know what that means?
It means that civilisations have been living perfectly well, for thousands of years, without ties. Why now? Why strike us?!
I also really wish that the 'bow tie' could just be called the 'bow'. There is far too much potential for mis-understandings to occur with the word 'tie' in its name.
Having said all this, a suit is important - it makes one look socially acceptable, a quality which is severely demanded by modern society. At formal occasions, there really isn't anything else you could wear that would make logical sense. A tie also adds to the formality (somehow).
I've been told that the kilt is considered an alternate socially acceptable formal dress for men in Scotland...
...isn't formality just completely messed up?
Brins would appreciate it if you didn't swear in your comments
Promiscuous (About Brins)
Speaking of the title, I really must look up 'Promiscuous' in the dictionary.
Brins and Rob's School Prom is preparing for launch, but I'm sure we'll both be happy to watch it do so from the sidelines. In fact, if we can find a wooden bench to sit on during the dancing, we can just sit through the whole thing (hm... 'Qualie' flashbacks...)
Well, as tradition demands, Britain has now grabbed America's High-School Prom system from under their very nose - it's been transformed into a spectacle of kids (I keep getting told not to, but I still call 'em kids!! Eeyahaha!!) masquerading as grown men and women in an 'adult for the day' scenario, dining on fine delicacies (for crying out loud, I WANTED THE CORN FLAKES!!), and flawlessly executing the Dashing White Sergeant, the Gay Gordons, and whatever else comes under the scope of social dancing (Rob and I spent four years of High-School looking inconspicious and eluding the grasp of P.E. social dances, so we don't know any of them, and don't plan to). Don't say this doesn't happen! I've got photos from last year's Year Book (America again...), which I asked for and received for free, to prove it!
Having seen the photos of last year's Prom, some inhibitions are destroyed. Both myself and Rob had images of a quick slap up meal, followed by some bar-person shoving on a myriad of violent strobe lights, slamming on an insanely loud CD, and us spending the rest of the evening screaming conversation at each-other over the madness or noise and light. And people dancing. Everyone else is probably disappointed at the absence of these things.
I don't drink, thus ends the story.
I might tell you about it once it's over, but maybe not. It's ironic that after saying I didn't talk about myself anymore, here's an 'About Brins' post. Expect some to follow eventually. I'm working on updating my archives with the code-title system, for you archive-browsers. Please, be patient! I'll see you later.
But, as regards the Prom, I have one last note: I am not wearing a kilt. Nevermind.
Update: Definition of 'promiscuous': Casual; random
Does 'promiscuous' sound 'casual' to you?! It doesn't to me. Definitions are very odd.
Speaking of the title, I really must look up 'Promiscuous' in the dictionary.
Brins and Rob's School Prom is preparing for launch, but I'm sure we'll both be happy to watch it do so from the sidelines. In fact, if we can find a wooden bench to sit on during the dancing, we can just sit through the whole thing (hm... 'Qualie' flashbacks...)
Well, as tradition demands, Britain has now grabbed America's High-School Prom system from under their very nose - it's been transformed into a spectacle of kids (I keep getting told not to, but I still call 'em kids!! Eeyahaha!!) masquerading as grown men and women in an 'adult for the day' scenario, dining on fine delicacies (for crying out loud, I WANTED THE CORN FLAKES!!), and flawlessly executing the Dashing White Sergeant, the Gay Gordons, and whatever else comes under the scope of social dancing (Rob and I spent four years of High-School looking inconspicious and eluding the grasp of P.E. social dances, so we don't know any of them, and don't plan to). Don't say this doesn't happen! I've got photos from last year's Year Book (America again...), which I asked for and received for free, to prove it!
Having seen the photos of last year's Prom, some inhibitions are destroyed. Both myself and Rob had images of a quick slap up meal, followed by some bar-person shoving on a myriad of violent strobe lights, slamming on an insanely loud CD, and us spending the rest of the evening screaming conversation at each-other over the madness or noise and light. And people dancing. Everyone else is probably disappointed at the absence of these things.
I don't drink, thus ends the story.
I might tell you about it once it's over, but maybe not. It's ironic that after saying I didn't talk about myself anymore, here's an 'About Brins' post. Expect some to follow eventually. I'm working on updating my archives with the code-title system, for you archive-browsers. Please, be patient! I'll see you later.
But, as regards the Prom, I have one last note: I am not wearing a kilt. Nevermind.
Update: Definition of 'promiscuous': Casual; random
Does 'promiscuous' sound 'casual' to you?! It doesn't to me. Definitions are very odd.
Brins would appreciate it if you didn't swear in your comments
