You Don't Say!

I've decided to go back to my roots with this post and just make it a good old-fashioned rant. I don't really have much to say, but I'm trying to at least keep a monthly post going so here it goes.

Is there anything more annoying than someone blatantly stating the obvious? Being in the Hons Philosophy course at University and living with a semi-senile father and a mother whose thoughts tend to drift haphazardly with no real logical bearing, Christ knows I've experienced this phenomenon countless times.

Just a couple weeks ago it was stated after some deliberation during a Philosophy of Social Science lecture that during World War II, suicide rates were very high. Who would've thought it, right? It gets worse. Not only did the lecturer conclude this, but it was then further simplified by a brilliant student sitting in front. "During war, suicide rates are high." The mere thought that this 'cognitive process' could still be referred to as such is daunting, to say the least.

The main fuel for this post comes in the shape of my ageing father, however. He is internet meme gold. At least twice a day there has to be a moment of, "Fuck me, really?". Last night was a rough night which I spent coughing quite profusely. I slept half an hour all night, if that. What was the first thing my father said as he came to rouse me from my pillowed coffin? "You've been coughing all night." Oh, thank you father. I was wondering what the hell my body was doing.

This was only one isolated incident. I've heard such strokes of genius as, "If you don't heat your food, it will be cold" and "It's 2pm now, so in an hour it will be 3pm". There comes a point when it should occur to a few that thinking aloud is a chore to everyone in the vicinity. When confronted, my father just answers by saying that he's usually home all day (he's retired) so he gets lonely and he just likes to talk when he has the chance. It's cute in a way and you have to empathise to a certain degree.

Sometimes it feels like my whole life is the world's longest viral video and I'm the unsuspecting victim of an elaborate ruse to turn my brain into mulch.

On that final observation, good morning the interwebz.

Modern man.

The title of this post and indeed the post itself is as drenched with irony as the floor tiles underneath your grandmother's old, rusty, refrigerator is with melted ice-water. It's ironic in the way that there's no mention of a real example of irony in the song 'Isn't It Ironic' by Alanis Morissette, as Ed Bryne pointed out in his legendary slating of the "moaning cow". It's ironic, basically.

If it wasn't for my beautifully talented partner and her immense skill in basic Microsoft Office manipulation, none of my University assignments would have ever been presented on time. When I say "basic", I genuinely mean "basic". You wouldn't believe how confused I get with the simplest of tasks. Sure I can type quite efficiently, copy, paste, highlight, underline and change font size and style; but that's pretty much it. When it comes to the nitty gritty pretty titty stuff, there's no bleeding chance I'll figure that out.

Whatever happened to good old pen and paper? If it were up to me, everything would be hand-written. Sure the people who find electronic methods easier should by all means be allowed to present their work electronically, but the option of penmanship should also be available. The first question I asked when I was given my first assignment at University was, in fact, "Can I write it myself on a piece of paper? ... With a pen?"

I also can't stand how the older generations all say it's a shame that the young 'uns don't know how to write any more and that it's all about typing nowadays. Who the fuck do you think gives us the order to type and email and print and present everything that way? We don't all do it on our own accord. I know I bloody well don't.

The reason why I'm typing this -ironically- is because I genuinely wanted to write out my frustrations on a piece of paper with a piece of pen, but then I realised I haven't posted here in a while so I felt like I should. Aren't you glad?

Good night, the interwebz.

Melancholy.

Have you ever experienced that feeling which so surpasses regular boredom? It goes through your whole body as you feel like doing nothing but staying in bed or just sitting outside smoking a solitary cigarette and brooding about why it is you feel this way.

You know you are essentially a busy person with a semi-active social life and quite a few things going for you in general, not to mention all those pleasant people we refer to as friends; yet you can't quite knock the feeling that you just don't want any of it. It is quite annoying, isn't it?

Though it isn't depression, you know you are intrinsically a happy person and this is just an odd mood, right? It will pass as you get along with your life, leave the house and meet life head-on. But does it really pass? Or is all that just a distraction from the dreaded feeling itself?

Of course the next step to this feeling is probably depression, perhaps not clinical, but still real. One of the main feelings linked to clinical depression is, in fact, this very same one. However not all dogs are white just because I own a white dog, get it?

It annoys me when people self-diagnose, and I should know how that goes because I've done it myself. It's a completely different story to wake up one day in a bad mood characterised by lethargy and actually living and relishing in the lethargy itself. Think of it this way, that mood you get once in a while where you just can't be fucked to do anything? That's what people who are clinically depressed carry around constantly.

Annoying isn't it? This melancholic feeling. It's as if I lust for it though.

Good afternoon, the interwebz.

Social injustice and career choices.

I'll preface this by saying that I'm suddenly inspired by my new obsession with Boston Legal, just as I was inspired by Californication a year ago. It seems good writing tends to inspire aspiring writers quite a bit.

Social injustice has always been a spark for wannabe humanists to spring forth and speak for the disenfranchised minorities, and rightly so, however why is it that an issue tends to be brought forward with particular cases while the vast majority tend to be silenced? The particular case which is currently getting viral focus at the moment is one of a seemingly pleasant man named Roger from Cameroon.

He has been in prison for a year and is being sentenced to another couple of those pesky things simply because he sent a text message to another man saying "I'm very much in love w/u." Now I've already gone into my views on sexual orientation and gay rights in a previous blog (scroll down if you want to read it) and this isn't the point of this post. My point is, why is it that one off cases like this get our attention occasionally, while thousands upon thousands of discriminatory cases happen daily and go unnoticed?

My initial conclusion is that it is because most of them are quickly silenced so that the masses who don't bother to look for instances of injustice don't realise that they are so widespread. Where does Boston Legal come into this? The writers seem to be doing their best to bring out these weird one off cases that are obviously there to make the show interesting, fair enough, however I think there's more to it than that. I think that they are trying to point out that there are a lot of things which just don't get the attention they deserve.

What about all the silent genocide going on? The constant war in the centre of Dagestan and other little-known nations? The revolts related to the Curds and Turks and other cultural groups? The daily murder rate in large cities, such as Manhattan? The systematic rape and torture going on in Islamic states by invading forces? ... All atrocities which the well-read few have heard of and which the scarce handful are actually even bothering to do something about.

Where does career choice come into this? Sometimes I wish I was studying to be a lawyer just to be able to try to exploit the law in such a way as to make life easier for the downtrodden majority of society which are irrevocably and ironically referred to as minorities. Instead I chose philosophy, perhaps one day I may be able to write and discuss in a way with which I can change the perception of a few people.

One mind opened to the harsh reality of the lack of morality of the world is one huge success, as far as I'm concerned. I am not a self-professed messiah, I know that I am far from a good person at points; however I wish that people who can make a difference actually got up and started to make one.

Good evening, the interwebz.

Confessions of an EFL teacher.

Something about listening to Jimmy Paige and David Coverdale's album made me feel like writing again. Well that and the guilt I feel every time a student asks me how I can use English so fluently and I calmly tell them it's because I read and write knowing that the real answer should be because I try to read and I used to write.

It's funny how summer used to be a time of white noise and a standby button just spent relaxing and doing nothing after the months of school. Nowadays summer is full of commitments and work so it tends to be even more stressful than the scholastic year. By the end of the dreadful month I'm almost begging to go back to University simply to get away from all the stress that summer itself has come to represent. I whinge about the heat constantly while trying to teach teenagers English knowing that 70% of them don't give half a rat's arse about anything I'm saying other than, "Time for break!" or "We're done for today, see you tomorrow!" I use the exclamation marks because I'll be as excited for the end of their lessons as they are most of the time.

Don't get me wrong, I do like the vast majority of all my students but a small number of them are just horribly spoilt little arseholes who have been sent here so their parents can have a break from them and possibly try to conceive better offspring in the mean time. Usually, I also genuinely enjoy my job, except when I have to bow down to authority and do things which I know I will hate and so do the students. And what's up with all the goddamn paperwork? Jesus Christ every day it's a new paper to fill in myself or to get the students to fill in while wasting 15 minutes of lesson time. Granted for most of them it's a welcome break but for the few who genuinely go the extra mile to learn something, it's a nuisance.

Final note, I think it's hilarious that teachers who tend to be pretty much in the same age group as our students, are actually forbidden from being friends with our students. It is outlined in my teachers' guidelines specifically something along the lines of "Remember that the student is not your friend!" So you mean to tell me that if I have a student who is my age, who I see every day for four weeks or more, have shared laughs and serious discussions with and have actually enjoyed my time with invites me to go meet him/her on his/her last day in Malta as friends, not as student and teacher, I need to decline because I was ordered not to be his/her friend? Fuck that.

Anyway, just a little look into what's been taking over my life during the last couple of summers. I still have suggestions left over from my reader suggestion series. I'll get to them eventually. Maybe.

Good afternoon, the interwebz

Homophobia

When I was a child I acknowledge that homosexuality was a thing and I knew homosexual friends of my parents and I completely acccepted the whole thing. It never even crossed my mind that it was wrong in any way. Nowadays I still don't understand why the hell it's such a bad thing.

I'm ashamed to know that Malta, my home country, can be so ignorant and far behind as to view homosexuality as anything other than just another person who happens to like the same sex. What's the big deal? Drawing on a few clichéd phrases, some say it's a choice but remind me again when you chose to be straight?

I could never understand people's preoccupation with criticising everything and everyone with malicious intent. It's the same thing with tattoos, piercings, different religions, clothes, hair colour, dietary choices, etc ... At which point does someone's life become so boring and empty that the only enjoyment they can get from it is by drowning other people's happiness and calling it wrong?

One of the stupidest things I've ever heard in terms of homophobia and whatnot is that it can be "cured". Like it's some sort of disease. Worst of all however is that it can be cured with prayer. What the fuck? Now I am in no way a religious person but even when I used to try praying to what I thought was a real entity, I still hated the idea that bigotry was a leading protagonist of belief.

As a final note I'd like to add that I'm not homosexual myself but I do have homosexual friends and, to be honest, I couldn't give a crap if they were homosexual, heterosexual, bisexual, transsexual or whatever. They're people. If anything I respect homosexual people more because they had the courage to come out and look for happiness in a world that is sadly not as ready to accept them as it should be.

It's just sickening that homophobia is a thing. It reminds me that the world has a long fucking way to go. Live and let live.

Good morning, the interwebz.

Writing

As I read novels by the likes of Jeffery Deaver and Dean Koontz I always find myself wondering how the hell they do it and why the hell can’t I? It could be down to some inherent capability which I lack entirely. It’s a pity that I will never accept that they are better than me because I am arrogant and unwilling to admit lack of excellence on my part and so, my futile attempts at novel-writing will continue endlessly.

The last time I tried to write a ground-breaking, mind-numbingly amazing novel, I found myself incapable of remembering very minor details like the streets or the main character’s name. What happens to all of my attempts in general is that, after the initial click on the floppy disk icon – Microsoft really must update its iconography – I tend to forget all about the story, let alone have any remaining drive to continue it. After a few months of sporadic feelings of guilt at never finishing, I end up either deleting it entirely or else writing a brief ending and then insist on calling my budding genius novel a ‘short story’.

My only real semi-successful venture into writing is this blog – which is really my attempt at pretending to be even mildly technologically competent – though I haven’t published anything in months. The way this blog is  going though, I tend to have a burst of literary energy comparable only to Dickens’ and then I fall into utter lethargy equally comparable to that of a centipede trying to climb out of a bath tub after it’s fallen in before finally admitting to itself, after much wailing and gnashing of teeth, that it’s better off giving up and dying.

I had this idea for an avant garde novel written about myself and my musings but under the guise of a biography of an invisible man. After a few minutes of relishing in how brilliant the idea was, I realised that I actually am invisible – not literally of course, that would be silly – meaning that the possibility of people seeing a book with my name on it and picking it up is slim, at best. I mean there are a couple of pictures of me on the internet but nobody really knows who I am. Kind of like Joseph Kony. Remember him? The buzz sort of died down now that people have realised that 70% of all the money donated to the Invisible Children group were actually spent on the organisation itself whereas only the remaining 30% were given to the actual cause. Also the founder getting arrested for masturbating naked on the side of the road and then proceeding to beat the floor while screaming expletives didn’t help.

I like to think that my lacklustre thoughts and Alzheimer’s patient memory are a sign of some hidden genius or superpower, even. If that is the case, however, why is it that the hidden attributes never transcend the initial stage of bad memory? I’ve thought about the possibility of having ADD, but I’m sure my therapist would have picked up on that by now. All he does is tell me that I’m making everything up. Some therapist.