Superfluity

I have tried not to let technology swamp me but I've still been swept away by the surge of social media…

It was FriendsReunited that started it! Or rather they didn't because unless you coughed up you couldn't be "reunited" with anything more than a 'South-Park-Lite' avatar holding a pint or wine glass. So when someone invited me instead to join something called Facebook I was blown away. It was like taking a Jeff Bridges’ style TRON-Trip into a whole new world!

Through the power of Social Media I was able to communicate with those people I’d been slowly losing track of. Together we could see how we looked now and compare it to how we were then. We could tell everyone just what we were doing and why. We could 'like' things and see what others 'liked'. And the extras were just that - merely a bonus. I’d indulge in the odd Poke now and then or a bit of late night Scrabble or maybe some casual Ninja on Pirate action. All was well… but that was just the start...

Next people were Tweeting as well as Booking-The-Face. So I opened an account to see what they were saying. But when I tried to Tweet a quip I found the word count restrictive. So I Bloggered a blog instead (dear reader you is reading it). But then words weren't enough so I joined Instagram as well to show off my 'filtering' skills. Little did I know I'd unwittingly put myself in the path of the Social-Tsunami… 

Suddenly everything became Uber-Social. YouTube stopped being the place to just to watches cats and catastrophes, instead you needed to subscribe to popular posters. A Google search become a Google+, but you didn't just Google you Binged as well. Linkedin wanted to know all my ex-jobs and helped make them sound really important. Tumblr came begging for any unwanted photos or posts. Everywhere became 'like' this or 'favourite' that - even the BBC! But still I didn't realise the danger. 

Elated with my new found blogging powers I started a second blog and then another and then another! I could handle it. And then the MOOC's arrived whispering "Join us! Join us! We're free! Join us!".  And still the requests came in from more and more media sites. I was picked up by the pictorial-pasting of Pinterest; collecting and parading my lifestyle for all to see while demanding adoration for my choice of ‘pins’!

Finally, too late, it dawned on me. There were too many sites to read and comment on and too many others to update and boast from. I wasn't writing a single Blog and worst still by not adding to the media I was unintentionally becoming a social-stalker! The awful truth hit me like a bucket full of ice! I was “posting” nowhere fast!  

With a mighty effort I fought the current, dragged myself to higher ground and let the wave pass on by... 

And have I learnt my lesson? Oh yes! No more swimming in social media for me, just a paddle on the shore. I will still show my Facebook in public and I shall keep the one Blog above all others (dear reading I hope you is still reading it) but that is my lot. I've learnt what my limits are. And if I lose touch with people, or even the World, as they sweep past me then so be it. I shall be content... 

(Of course I am also staying on Pinterest because I’ve found I can push these posts onto it, and I find some great up-cycling ideas there, and I’ve picked up a few followers recently and because… say… can anyone else hear a rumbling sound…?)

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Hiatus

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hang on a minute ............................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................. 
wont keep you much longer ..............................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................
if you could just ... ...................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................................

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Rosebud

What's worst than being told the twist from a film? 

Being told a film HAS a twist!

I've lost track of the number of twisty-movies I've sat through and guessed the ending within the first ten minutes due to the publicity for the film being something along the lines of... 

"This film has a twist. But not just any old twist. The twistiest twist ever, ever! The twist to this movie is so incredibly twisty that you must never UNDER PAIN OF DEATH tell anyone about it OR WE WILL KILL YOU!" 

Okay, so they don't usually go so far as the death bit but you get the point. And because of that I then spend every second of the film thinking to myself "Is that the Twist?.. Is that the Twist?...Is that the Twist?..."

I was gong to give you examples of films I've seen where I've guessed the end but then I'd be setting you up for the same disappointment. So instead let me tell you my own idea for a film...

So there's a hero, who's a ghost, who's with his friend, but who is really the hero himself, but who is actually his own father (but is in fact a robot), in a place which is really in the future, but in reality is in the present (but mainly all in the hero's mind) but is in fact on a spaceship. There he meets the love of his life, who is in fact the twin of the love of his life, but who is really the lover of the wife who had plastic surgery to look like the person he thought she was having killed the other one first. 

She/he/they/it then tells him/them/they/it that what he needs is the key which isn't a key at all but which is in fact the hero's childhood toy except it's a fake, until you hold it up to the light (where it's still a fake but at least it keeps the sun out of your eyes) but that he shouldn't worry because the hero actually had the real one all along (except for when he was dreaming when it was just a metaphor). 

Just then the villain, who had been there all the time, but who never really existed but who is in fact probably everyone still in the room (including the robot) pulls a gun. He shoots the hero killing him dead except that he doesn't because the gun was full of blanks but also because he misses on purpose just to fool everyone because the villain is in fact a cop and not a butler and who actually isn't a crack shot anyway (but then it didn't matter because the hero is a ghost (keep up)). 

So finally the hero marries the villain who is in fact the mother of the robot and who it turns out was the genuine key all along but who was really just looking to find a friend and who really, really just wanted someone to help fly the bloody spaceship! 

But as the camera pulls back it turns out the whole thing is a play being acted on a stage which is being filmed as an adaptation of a story which is being read at a child's bedside from a book which the hero has written of his life but which in the end turns out was simply something he made up while looking at the wall behind you.

Or did he?

Yes, he did!

The End 

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Pyrexia

While in France in the 1970’s composer Simon Jeffes fell prey to a bout of food poisoning which left him with a fever. During his illness he experienced an initially disturbing fever-dream of a dystopian future inhabited by de-humanised, soulless people.  In this land of the lost there was only one salvation, an odd bar called ‘The Penguin Café’ which had its own band playing comforting, familiar music. 

After his recovery he first wrote a poem which, aptly for this blog, began - 

“I am the proprietor of the Penguin Café
And I will tell you things at random”

He then went on to write music copying the style he heard in his dream. Thus was born the ‘Penguin Café Orchestra’ with its minimalist, dreamlike and often quirky melodies. The music is now shamelessly used in TV advertising and in film but I still love to hear the albums.




Many others have also claimed inspiration following dreams - from Mary Shelly’s story of Frankenstein to the unusual invention of the sewing machine. Film maker James Cameron in a fever dream saw a gleaming, skeletal robot dragging itself toward him with knives for hands. And thus was born the Terminator! My own experiences with fever induced visions have been far less financially rewarding, but I do vividly remember one odd experience.

After what must have been a dodgy pizza in York (and following the customary bodily cleansing from the inside out!) I retired to my bed and stayed there for the better part of 24 hours. As I lay there I began to imagine that my body was a star-ship flying through space. The ship was being attacked by a horde of aliens, who like a virus were spreading through me. Defending my body/ship was an army of space-marine / numskulls! The two sides fought with each other across the many decks and section of my body.  

This seemed to go on for hours with different skirmishes taking place simultaneously. While Squad A was successfully holding back an attack in my right leg, Squad B were in retreat beneath my rib-cage. This second attack was doubly worrying as the alien’s ultimate goal was to reach my heart. I, meanwhile, was nothing more than a spectator. I was essentially a sentient computer which inhabited the ship but was housed in the brain and unable to directly engage the enemy. After what seemed like an eternity and after many casualties, the invaders were quashed and with the breaking of the fever the mighty ‘SS BO’ was free to boldly sail off across the stars and have a meteor shower…

But for the very best tale centered round a period of perplexing-pyrexia I recommend you read the short-story ‘Fever Dream’ by Ray Bradbury. Never has a fever been more chilling… 

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Stalling

What the Hell is going on with the world? I just looked at the weather forecast for this weekend - a Bank Holiday weekend I might add - and everything looks to be fine and sunny! For goodness sake, you can't rely on anything anymore! Bank Holidays are by tradition wet and cold with nary a beam of sunlight in sight! And why am I so irate?  Because I agreed to do a car boot and bad weather would have been my 'get out of jail free' card...

Now I enjoy a root around a car boot, particularly on the hunt for the odd paperback to add to my already groaning shelves back home. But I've never been good at the hosting aspect. Over the years my wife and I have opened our boot to the world once or twice and even the kids have joined us on occasions - although their contribution would usually entail furtively moving prized treasures off the table and back into the car. But this weekend it will be just me, my stall and I.


Not that this will be my first time going solo. Nor is it that the prospect of sitting on a camping chair in the sunshine doesn't hold appeal - especially if I can take a book or two with me, along with some refreshments. But a car boot  has one big drawback – punters. People poking round the stuff with no change and expecting me to have a plastic bag! Occasionally they'll ask how much something costs only to then walk away and come back later when they ask you again for the price - like a goldfish doing his second forgetful circuit of the bowl. I’d put up a sign like they do in the swanky parts of London saying “No Browsing!” but then I’d never get back my stake money.

Ideally I need one of those self-service tills you now find in supermarkets that I could set up at the end of my pitch. That way I’d only need to get involved when someone needs to choose something from the on-screen options - 

“Excuse me. Is this ‘get-it-home-and-never-use-it’ crap or ‘hold-onto-until-I-do-a-car-boot-myself-then-try-and-palm-it-off-on-someone-else’ crap?”

“I think you’ll find that’s ‘get-it-home-only-to-find-you-already-had-one’ crap”

Of course it would also need a ‘haggle-toggle’ for trying to get the most out of people at the start of the day and then practically giving things away by lunchtime. It would also need an alarm fitting to ensure that someone doesn't discover a hidden treasure you were previously unaware of -

“Unexpected antique in the bagging area!”

A wonderful idea but never going to happen before Sunday. So if you’ll excuse me I’m just popping off to see if I can’t find the steps for a rain dance and do a quick soft-shower-shuffle…

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Gold

Okay, I admit it – I’m hooked on the Olympics! I shouldn’t be as I don’t watch sport of any kind as a rule, ever! But the run of medal wins for Team GB has been dangled before me like a precocious metal carrot!

To be fair I’m still not watching the sport all that much. I’ve caught a few races or the final moments of the odd event but I’m not glued to a TV and its 20 or so Olympic channels. What first grabbed my attention was the medal statistics (yes I am that sad!). I now have the medals table permanently up on my iPhone and check it at least three times an hour to see how we’re doing compared to the rest of the world (pretty darn good as it turns out) or comparedit to Beijing or even 1908!

Another additional addiction is the BBC - those Bloody Brilliant Chaps (and Chapettes). Their coverage of the games is superb. Every sport is catered for and filmed in full and available at any time via the internet. The footage and photography is simply sublime with High Definition being used to its best effect. And they have cameras everywhere supplying beautiful slow motion replays within seconds of these demi-gods (they are surely not human) as they perform their feats of wonder.

And lastly there is Britain and in particular London itself! It just seems the most perfect setting for these games. Although I no longer live in the Big City I get a real jolt of pleasure each time I see something taking place somewhere that I once strolled. My particular favourite so far has been the Triathlon in and around Hyde Park – it was as if the place had been designed for just that moment!

There will be a big gap in my life after the closing ceremony this weekend so if you’ll excuse me I’ll just get back to Olympian Obsession and leave you with a song…

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Reverie

During my time on this rotating-rock I have discovered some things that I am 'quite' good at. One is my ability to always find a spot of water on the floor when only wearing socks. My most recent is the discovery and love of baking. But the longest standing is my capacity to dream weird yet wonderful dreams and then to remember them...

Lot's of people say they either don't dream at all or know they do but can't remember them. But there's no fading or vanishing of my dreams with the arrival of the morning sun. I once heard a theory that we shouldn't try to remember or analyse dreams as they're the brain trying to rid itself of useless information in order to to free up space for the important stuff. Like what?! Given the choice between remembering my latest dream-escape and my own mobile number I take the dream any time! But then I can't forget them even if I wanted to.

The same visual memory curse I have which recalls actors and movies they have stared in can also place dreams I had from years ago as a clear photograph. So I can see the paper dragon attacking the castle from the dream when I was four or the sand filled London from when I was nineteen as easily as the dream I had last night. I can also remember the dreamscapes that I would return to; the derelict, roofless museum with all the ivy; and the castle with the cinema and shopping centre; the small cafe by the bridge next to the waterfall that was full of cyclists; the Cornish fishing village beyond the forest with its trams, stuck in perpetual twilight!

As to why we dream one thought is that the mind uses the body's down-time as a data-processing-period. The brains churns through what has happened in the last few days, what's expected in the time to come and anything else that has currently settled in the subconscious. I can buy into that as I can often see threads leading back from my dreams to things which happened the day before. For example a spot of gardening being done while you know the rest of the country is probably watching England play football leads to a dream of a stadium full of  tropical plants (although where the zombies come into it I've no idea - the English team weren't that bad surely!)

But I tend to sneer at other dream theories as I do dream in colour, I can read words I see written down, I've died in my dreams but survived in the real world and I can sometimes control my dreams. I backed into someone's car in dreamland the other week, felt bad about it so rewound the experience and parked a second time. It also helps when I see a dream turning sour that I can try to turn the dream around or change it all together. It doesn't always work - the stadium zombies got me no matter what I tried! (I really hate football!)

But the best part of my dream-escapes comes from one simple equation:

A vivid dreamer  +  A flying dream  =  Greatest experience ever!

Forget virtual reality! Forget flight simulators! This is the closest thing you'll get to being Superman! It's only happened once or twice but it was enough. As I settle on my pillow and let reality wash away I wish that "Tonight I'll fly once more..."

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