Tattoos.

I've always wanted a tattoo of some sort. I envy people that have the balls to just get one if they want one. Some people are just cool enough to not worry that their portrait of a loved one will turn into Droopy Dog when time finally catches up with their toned youthful body, or that that meaningful message written in an exotic language that probably just reads 'stupid foreign cock' will someday be lost within the contours of their plump stomach one day. They are permanent. How scary is that?!

Not so scary to a lot of people, apparently. My favourite gay crush Brody Dalle just didn't care that one day when she's a sweet old pensioner, her wrinkly, frail arm will be screaming 'FUCK OFF' at the nice young man helping her across the road with her Bag for Life stuffed full with semolina.


Then again, that's the whole point of a tattoo. Isn't half the reason of getting one to mark yourself away from the mainstream population and rebel, to be non-conformist, through your looks? That's all well and good, but according to the rock-solid, infallible source that is Wikipedia, 36% of Americans ages 18–25, 40% of those 26-40 and 10% of those 41-64 have a tattoo. That's a lot of people. Surely I have a good excuse to not rebel, because rebelling seems to not be rebelling anymore. Being different is actually being the same, therefore to get a tattoo that doesn't mean anything just for the sake of getting a tattoo is pointless.

I still want one.

I'd go for it big time. Even if it makes me look like a dyke. Proper women's prison tattoos so that people either think I'm a Suicide Girl wannabe or someone that is teetering on the brink on sanity. Someone you wouldn't jump in front of in a queue at Tescos in case she shoves the bottle of whatever insane bottle of alcohol she is carrying right up your bum-bum.

You either do it or you don't, no faffing about with a small picture of a grain of sand in between my toes, not even a tramp stamp that's hidden all the time, I'd go full whack. Which is why I haven't got them.

I'm quite glad I'm a wimp really.

This one's for you Kara. You recently said that people with face tattoos are the ones that clean our streets, but I think you might want to rethink that. I'm not sure if the girl below is capable of cleaning her ears.

A Belgian teenager is attempting to sue a tattoo artist, because she now has 56 stars tattooed on her face after only asking for three.

I went to Belgium once. This story doesn't surprise me, I stayed in a youth hostel where there were wasps nesting next to what they called a bed, which was actually a ancient tiny bunkbed where instead of slats lay broken wire mesh so everytime my mate sat her bottom down on the top, she would sink all the way through and leave me with sharp shiny metal stuff near my face. Friendly. Even the girl next door's complementary coach chocolate had maggots in. Every day we went out and wandered around in the rain in the muddy trenches where all the dysentery happened and went to see how many gravestones there were for people that had died for us. Lovely place.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/europe/belgium/5551636/Girl-has-56-stars-tattooed-on-face-after-falling-asleep.html

To cut a long and hilarious story short, she said her dad urged her to get a tattoo, as everyone in her family had one and it was part of tradition. So she logically decided to get stars on her face while her dad waited outside eating an icecream. She asked for three, fell asleep in the chair, woke up looking like the Australian flag after a breakout of acne. All apparently because the tattoo artist couldn't speak French fluently and got muddled up between 3 and 56.

There are a few fundamental flaws here.

1. Trying to look like Kat Von D is all well and good, but only Kat Von D can pull it off. It's no use realising this after a permanent tattoo and blaming the tattooist, who considering the tattoo, actually did a half-decent job. Kat Von D, Maori people, and the Zabrak race from Star Wars are the only beings that are allowed to have facial tats.

2. Why would someone fall asleep while having three tiny stars drawn on their face, surely you'd only get half an hour's worth of sleep at most. I'd rather sacrifice that half an hour to stay awake while someone was shoving needles in my face.

3. How can you sleep when someone is shoving needles in your face. Is she one of those types that can fall asleep standing in the shower?

4. How can you get 3 and 56 confused. I'd understand 3 and 53... Surely noone is that stupid.

5. That must have been a big fucking icecream.

6. Why would a successful tattooist want to bring career suicide upon himself and waste ink, resources and time by tattooing 53 extra stars on someone's face just for shits and giggles? I feel sorry for the bloke.

7. Surely there's disclaimers on some kind of form you sign for this kind of thing?!


All in all, it's probably more likely that her parents freaked out when they actually saw what tattoo she had chosen, and she tried to pass the buck onto the tattooist, or she realised she had been a stupid twat, and her self-preservation defence mechanisms kicked into gear.

Idiot.

However, the prize for the funniest segment of the story goes to the psychologist the media talked to about what kind of mental instability the girl will have in future, you know, the life-wrecking stuff that papers love. Get ready for this, I actually lol'd.

"Jules Clocher, a Belgian psychologist, said: 'The trauma this girl must be feeling is indescribable. She feels like a circus freak - and no wonder, because she looks like one.' "

I think that deserves a golf clap.
*Cue golf clap*

Good game, Mr Psychologist. You're really doing your job well mate, keep up the good work.





On a side note :

You know how I missed a big chunk of Star Trek because I really badly needed to pee? I will fear missing the destruction of Vulcan no longer!

Runpee.com is a site which tells you the optimal time within the film to go release that bucket of Fanta you shouldn't have had without missing too much. It even gives you a cue of a line someone says, just so you don't miss the minute when you're supposed to go.

I presume it says that all of The Matrix Revolutions is optimal peeing quality time, apart from that one bit when Neo looks particularly cool, but I'm too scared to look in case I burst into floods of salty tears because of what might have been.

Text messages and taxidermy.

Happy families.

It's Wednesday, in case you hadn't noticed.

For me, this usually means a day off, copious amounts of tea, oodles of procrastination, and until this week, The Apprentice. I have a bit more respect for Sir Alan Sugar now. I know you guys don't like him, I have people land on my page through searching keywords such as 'alan sugar is a fucking gimp', and you know he grates on me. There was just a beautiful moment in the semi-final where he actually shed a tear when firing the hilarious and lovely James 'I'm really hurt you said that, it's like my cat died' McQuillan. Wait, James 'The spine's open so the baby can jump out' McQuillan. No, we can do better than that. James 'don't suggestively lick the ice-cream lads, we're not making a porno' McQuillan. There was a true bromance going on there, but at the end of the day, who wants someone working for them who believes that 'I can bring ignorance to the table' is a good thing to say in a job interview.

More respect to Siralan for picking Yasmina to win in the end, even if she does look a little bit like a potential member of that GOD AWFUL double denim wearing, poop eating, back in the day, Irish pop band B*witched. They even have a bleeding star in their name to make them seem even more Irish and twinkly. I've got news for you loves, anyone that rapes my eardrums is no friend of mine, even if you are Irish. Despite that horrific handicap, Yasmina was an awesome, gorgeous girl, and clearly the person with the coolest scar there with her Omar from the Wire-style forehead cut. All cool people have scars. Kudos, Sugarman.

I'm sad to see it go, but not sad to see the way they used their phones go. What. The. Fuck. Could you hold a phone in a more pretentious way if you tried? They all did it too. Weirdos.



I just bought this exact same phone completely by accident, and yet I don't feel the urge to lay it down and eat it out at every opportunity. Gah, don't hide your erection with a telephone book, Howard. It's good, but it's not that good. It was cheap. Buy buy buy. Nice to see the BBC don't put their hands in our pockets too much when it comes to mobile technology.

It might have been cheap, but it's got enough shit to be confusing. I love technology, but I was skint for so long that I hadn't changed my phone in years. My previous phone could basically text and phone people. If you were lucky. It couldn't even send a picture message, even though it could take photos.

Now all of a sudden I have picture messages, internet, mp3 player, a camera nearly as good as my actual camera, games that aren't Tetris (not that there's anything wrong with Tetris), and wireless connectivity. It even makes a good torch because the screen is so fucking huge. How's that for versatility. There's no doubt that putting it in your pocket means this probably comes with a fried pancreas too, but hey, it's worth it for MyTwitFace on the move. It's not like it would fry your heart or anything important like that.

It even had the foresight to bring me this to cheer me up whilst unclogging my washing machine:

http://thesquirrelshole.com/custom_squirrels.html

I'm sorry if this image is disturbing to you Red Squirrel, but I'd of course pick a grey one, and surely the more grey squirrels I have on my walls, the better?

Don't judge me for wanting an item of taxidermy, I'm not some weird necrophiliac uber goth that likes to have sex on gravestones and that would probably lick this ornament before going to bed. Your bum would get cold, and your tongue would get fluffy.

It is bloody awesome though, right?

...Right?

Are friends electric?

'Sup noobs.

I would like to say, "hello my lovely guys and guyesses" instead, and ask you how you all are, but I've been suffering with a nasty case of man flu and anything disyllabic and above with any plosive apart from /b/ is automatically transformed into a monosyllabic grunt with extra /b/s. You know, man flu. Worse than normal flu, average woman flu, or even swine flu. Simple Strepsils and a cup of Earl Grey can't cure this one. The type of flu that suddenly takes you over, seizes your body, and suddenly turns someone who's usually quite independent and loathing of whiners into a snivelling sympathy hoover. A week later, and I still have more unshiftable bodily fluids than can be found during the duration of a european porno containing moustaches clogging my nose and throat. It doesn't help that I had to take massive pills as well, so they got lodged in the tubes somewhere, I probably sneezed them out, I don't know.

All I do know is that I sound like that weird little redheaded kid with the purple glasses from Rugrats.


Isn't it truly awesome when illnesses wait to strike until your first two-day weekend in ages, and one that actually seems to have a beautiful weather forecast. They just wait for when you let out that relieved TGIF sigh, then BAM, a 'muhahaha', and instantly you're in bed all weekend in your nightie on the Xbox all weekend listening to angry music.

It was quite nice to support Mr Gates indirectly by playing on his beautiful machines. I've really not been as into the 360 as I was before I had to return it to Microsoft and/or Game on six separate occasions (it's okay Billy, I forgive you). It was a bit like having a brilliant lover that slapped you after every peck on the cheek. Gave you a little glimpse of fun, but then snatched it away each time and left you dumbfounded and not wanting to bother anymore. Bitch. I just could not be arsed with it.

For a while now, I've only been bothered with sequels I trust, such as Halo, Star Wars (shut up), Street Fighter. The game I have been most excited about recently is the Sega Mega Drive Ultimate Collection. A collection of games from the early 90's, when the word 'mega' was still acceptable. The time when you could probably make your own consoles from bottle caps, pipe cleaners and a Weetos box, imported to now. How boring.

Come on though. Sonic the Hedgehog. Alex the Kidd. Streets of Rage. Ecco the Dolphin. Other titles with far too many adjectives and determiners. I fear I peaked too early.


E3 is here though, and I am insanely jealous of all who managed to get to be there at the moment. I have been keeping my eyes open for once this year, and actually feel like I might be semi up to date on a platform other than the PC for the first time in years (this is partially because of Chopemon's relentless enthusiasm for 360 games that has rubbed off on me a bit, and the fact that the new Star Wars game will possibly be on 360). I might actually buy a game when it's released for once, rather than waiting until about ten different people have bollocked me for being so slow and not having the new best game in the world. For those non-geeks amongst you (why do you visit this page again you insane people? *heart*), E3 basically stands for Electronic Entertainment Expo, a place where all the newest technology, games in particular, get shown off. The massive companies such as Microsoft all give sneak previews of what's going on, the geeks have geekasms. It's still all going on, but I'm sure I'll pick out what I liked when I've completely caught up, and share what's worth sharing.

For now, I leave you with this creepy video of an interactive game using a Wii-style face recognition and motion sensor controller for my beloved Xbox360.

Link to BBC article and creepy video.

"Lionhead Studios' Peter Molyneux has shown off a game character that recognises and responds to a player's mood. The human interaction system is possible with Natal, a system being developed for the Xbox 360. It monitors and reacts precisely to the player's movements and the way they talk.

Microsoft demonstrated Natal at the start of the E3 gaming conference in Los Angeles. "

Yep, a virtual friend. Mildly disturbing that the prototype is a little boy called Milo, and that the only user for this I can think of is one of those stereotypical older men in their mother's basements that only have human interaction with the local pizza boy. There is apparently a dog version though, which is slightly less worrying. And one where you punch dinosaurs or something which appeals to me. It's no surprise that Spielberg's been involved in this project really, is it.

Eurogamer article:
http://www.eurogamer.net/articles/e3-project-natal-hands-on?page=1

It is very interesting to see how people actually try and communicate with Project Natal's Milo rather than simply react to him, but it all feels a bit weird. Gah. I called it a 'him'. It knows if you're in a good mood, it knows if you're completely pissed off with the world. It seems to delve into the emotional side of things, and maybe this is because I'm about as emotional as a robotic cheese sandwich (the only emotion I experience being fear that something might actually prise an emotion from me someday), it just seems a bit wrong. Like those realistic robots with boobs.

All in all, I just wanted to pop by and let you all know that I'm not dead yet, although donations of chicken soup and friendly hugs are warmly welcomed with a 'thang yuuu' and a big, sloppy, infectious, killer kiss.

Gah, don't back off, you're such a crap friend. Milo would appreciate it, wouldn't you Milo.

Star Trek - BIG FAT spoilers within.

Greetings, Earthlings.

I finally saw the Star Trek film on Sunday, cue the Hallelujah Chorus. I think I was the second from last person to see it, the last man standing probably being William Shatner.
I'm not even exaggerating, the cinema was full, despite the fact it's been out a while. And it wasn't even wholly full with TrekkERS (not Trekkies, damnit). There were ladies, kiddies, all kinds of normal people.

Without trying to spoil it completely, but let's be honest, I did warn you about spoilers so if you read on it's all your fault anyway, It all opens with a scene in the past where the Romulans kill off the captain of the Enterprise, and daddy Kirk is promoted to Captain while the ship is being blasted to bits. He orders the whole ship to be evacuated, including his wife, who is in labour with their child. The autopilot breaks, and Kirk senior chooses to go down with his ship despite only being captain for about five minutes, to fight the enemy and make sure everyone else gets out alive. The noble hero sends his wife away in a shuttle, we get a vagina shot, and the Kirk we know and love pops out and is all like, I'M HERE, BITCH.

I meanwhile, am blubbing like a baby, but pretending I have something in my eye. This is just the opener. Hell yes. Epic.

The film carries on as it started, at break-neck speed. Unfortunately, ol' muggins here was the one that was left to get the popcorn and ridiculously watered down Coke whilst everyone else ran to the toilets before the film started, so inevitably a piss break was needed. This is the first crap bit of the film, there is literally no moment where you can go and have a wee. I waited until I actually thought I was going to explode, sprinted down the stairs to much tutting like a damned fool, peed like I've never peed before, did one of those fake hand washes where you just pass your hands through the water that you do when you're in a hurry but have to do out of courtesy in case there's hidden cameras in the loos, galloped back, and still managed to miss Spock's mother and the whole of the planet Vulcan being destroyed. Shit.

Actually, I didn't really notice that Spock's mummy was gone to be honest, she didn't make much of an impact. What the hell was Winona Ryder doing? I was excited to see her play Spock's mother, but I think I would have noticed her more if she'd been wearing a dull beige, reading the local news aloud in a monotone voice while nibbling tentatively at a spoonful of wallpaper paste fashioned into gruel.

Apart from that exception, the main spark of brilliance about the film was the strength of the characters, the jaded Bones and conflicted Spock especially, in my humble opinion. All extremely intelligent people with their own special shortcomings, but they all push themselves to be the best that they can be and end up the better for it, just as they should. I haven't seen that done well in a film in a while. Fuck the plot, I mean, there wasn't really one, was there? Some Romulan dude can travel in time, he wants to stop his planet from being blown up by some supernova, but instead of going back in time to save his home, he goes back to blame it all on Spock and blows up Vulcan so Spock can watch. HMM. Still, what can you expect from JJ Abrams - the creator of Lost and Cloverfield - he creates things that are awesome and gorgeous eye candy out of components that make as much sense as a polar bear with tampons up his nose.

The characters were simply delightful and were really brought to life. The cocky, but not irritatingly so, Kirk. The emotionally constipated Spock. The quiet but instantly commanding Romulan, Nero. The adorable token Russian, Chekov, whom even the ship's computer can't translate. The sassy and intelligent Uhura. Bones, the hypochondriac, alcohol-abusing doctor. Scotty, the Scottish comic relief played by our very own Simon Pegg.That green nymphomaniac chick that looked kinda like Poison Ivy. Sulu... I'm not sure why Sulu didn't have more to do, but he did fence like a bad motherfucker, so all was forgiven.

Since 2008 I've been doubtful I'd be able to shed all traces of Zachary Quinto's Sylar in Spock. That sexy neanderthal brow and 'I am going to scare the shit out of you and you are going to like it' stare would surely be carried over to any character he portrays. I'm not ashamed to say I have been cracking Sypock and Spocklar jokes, but the only time it was mentioned by anyone during the film was when Spock pinned down Kirk, and my brother raised his finger and mimed the Sylar head slicing, to much guffawing. However, that was just more due to us behaving like dicks, not because of any monotone performance, I was very impressed.


The relationship between Kirk and Spock was full of sexual tension and homosexyness, needless to say when I googled 'nerve pinch' a piece of fan fiction turned up where Spock wasn't exactly using the pinch on Kirk's neck. There were no great written lines between them that are truly memorable and spring to mind like the one in the original series, such as when Kirk last tried to get Spock angry with a 'yo mama' joke and ended up calling him a devil eared weirdo whose mother was an encyclopedia and father a computer, but the relationship seems to work really well, and I'm not sure how. Any film that uses the chat-up line 'I'll be monitoring your frequency' is either really lacking in dialogue, or quietly genius.



The beauty of this film is that you don't need to be a Star Trek nut to appreciate it, it just makes it that little bit richer if you are. The fact that Sulu was once again fencing gave me a nerdgasm. The Leonard Nimoy extended cameo. Absolutely gorgeous arty shots of the Enterprise, and if that doesn't fry your sausage, of space. The bit where Kirk sat in the captain's chair before he was made captain, and gave it a bit of a Shatner pose, enough to make the whole cinema laugh. The mention of Captain Archer (of the Enterprise series) hating Scotty's guts, due to him having an unfortunate incident with his beloved pet dog. We saw the silhouettes of distinctive characters from the old series in the background. There were references to the fictional drink, Slusho, which put me into tin foil hat mode once again (granted, it only takes the fact that my toothbrush has been moved to get into that mode). Someone that is far too clever and attentive let me know that the first person to die was someone in a red shirt. Some things never change.




I'm sorry, this blog has strayed from the usual rant, hasn't it. It's hard to slate a film that delivers eye candy and strong characters to the masses and the cliques. Okay, here goes. The only thing I really hated about the experience was the extortion that happened at the popcorn stand, and the trailers. The brilliant Christopher Eccleston reduced to wobbling his cheeks in order to sound like Arnold Schwarzenegger as Destro in the G.I Joe trailer?! Felt like I had just caught him, pants down, savouring Furby porn. Ohh, disappointment.

That's about as good as I can do.

No wonder we're all fat.

I wish I was this baby. Damn myself for only being one month premature.
(http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/newstopics/howaboutthat/5275424/Baby-eats-20000-calorie-mountain-of-food-every-week.html)

No wonder we're all fat.

I lost quite a nice amount of weight over this past fortnight, solely due to exercising religiously and vigorously for a couple of hours a day. I'm not sure where this sudden willpower has come from, but it's arrived, and I'm making the most of it. I don't think I've ever done this well before, so don't think I'm boasting, I'm just genuinely amazed. I have a little bit of extra baggage that has arisen from what is commonly known as spinsteritus, and the comfort that comes with not having someone that touches your belly on a regular basis. I'm not the smallest girl in the world, not the biggest either, I have my hump, my lovely lady lumps, check'em ouuuuut. Sorry, that was the boxing overdose coming out there. There's been some weird side-effects, such as not having wobbly arms, not getting out of breath from multiple staircases, and being able to crush Coke cans with my sinewy crotch, Madonna-style.
I've still been eating crap though. Why not go the whole hog and try eating better too, I thought. Why not kick the pizza and icecream out of the way, I'll be at my goal within half the time. Well, that’s what I thought.

Usually my breakfast and lunch are perfectly healthy, there’s not much I could change there, it’s the dinner that probably gets me. I usually have some frozen vegetables accompanied with mystery meat, hidden in a pie, breadcrumbs, sauce, or minced until it doesn't resemble anything like eyelids or trotters anymore.

Usually Asian-style meals magically appear through a telephone, accompanied with a nice, smiley chap who embarrassingly, knows all of us on a first-name basis. Said smiley blokes even gave my brother a lift back home after ordering while out on a bike ride and joking about how he was going to balance it on his handlebars. Who wants to cook when you have a brilliant group of Asian dudes who even cook a cracking pizza if you want one? Not me certainly, but I gave it a go.

First off, I underestimated the water chestnuts. I swear a Holy Grail that's been swallowed by a unicorn named Flo would be easier to find in a supermarket. I thought they came in a tin, but couldn't find it there in the supermarket. Fresh? Surely not. I dunno. I didn't find them, but did manage to find a tin of bamboo shoots. Same difference. I thought the fresh ginger and raw prawns were going to be a problem, considering last week the supermarket didn't have any normal bread so I had to live off bagels, but to my amazement I found both. No milk left though. We even found sesame seeds in the end for the toast, even though I nearly died of exhaustion. The place had recalled it's own brand sesame seeds for some unknown reason. "What abaht linseeds?" No mum. "What abaaht, pumpkin seeds!" No mum. "What abaaaaaaaaht, sunflower seeds?" NO MUM. Jesus. Luckily I found some extortionately priced gold plated, diamond encrusted, organic sesame seeds in the end before I freaked out and threw myself to writhe amongst the pastries.

Grating ginger is a bitch, especially when you have eczema, the juice stings like a motherfucker. After a while all feeling in my fingers gave way to an encompassing stinging tingle, so much so, that I hadn't realised I'd grated off a chunk of my knuckle until I looked down and saw blood. I don't THINK any of it went into the food, but you never know. Bon appetit, cannibals. Making a sweet and sour sauce was surprisingly easy, all it is is sugar, salt, vinegar and tomato puree. Sorted. That is, until I lose count of how many spoons of sugar I've put into the bowl and tip it all back into the sugar packet, forgetting that I'd already done the salt. What a tool. If you're coming round for tea at mine, I suggest you don't ask for sugar. In the end I just fumbled my way through, adding loads of each until it tasted about right, but ending up with triple the amount of sauce I'm supposed to. It seems that as soon as I hit the kitchen, my brain melts and I lose all control of my fingers to the point where I just fumble about a lot, spasm with fear, and look mildly retarded, always ending up with flour on my jumper even if I hadn't used the stuff.

After initial wonderment and discussion over Facebook on whether or not the prawns for the prawn toast would get stuck in the toaster, I took the plunge. Mashed up raw prawns look like brains, but when you spread them on toast with some egg and cover them with sesame seeds before putting them in a frying pan, they are delicious! All in all, despite the knuckle drama, it was successful, and I decided to make a lasagna the next day.

I turned to Jamie Oliver for this one. A nice local boy, I thought, he'll realise that in the depths of Essex we don't have fois gras, dauphinoise, or hundred year old eggs. None of that Nigella shit. Why does she always go down to the fridge in the middle of the night after every episode to eat whatever she's just cooked? Is she sleepwalking, or does she really just get a perverse sexual pleasure out of food? From all the finger licking, 'mm' sounds, and smearing creme fraiche all over her naked breasts every episode, I'm guessing it's the latter. Gordon Ramsay? Never trust a man that has a face that looks like it's been shrunk in the wash. Hugh Double-Barrel-Whittingsomething? I can't understand his name, let alone his recipes. I love Heston Blumenthal and his raw insanity, but I couldn't find water chestnuts, I don't think I'll be about to find liquid nitrogen or solidified hope in the average supermarket.

The most complicated thing on his recipe was "1 butternut squash, halved, deseeded, and roughly chopped." I realised I'd never eaten or even seen a butternut squash before. It turned out to look like Thing's manhood, but that was okay as I always preferred Hulk anyway. Do you peel them or what? I opted for the approach of, if in doubt, do nothing, and left the skin on. I'm still not sure if that was the right option, but I do know that the inside of a butternut squash looks like it could have been used as a prop in the Alien films, so I was more worried about some of that slipping in there.

Rub your butternut squash slices with olive oil, and roast. What the fuck, Mr Jamie Oliver, what the fuck. You told me to 'roughly chop' them, so I have massive cubes rather than slices. If you're going to bloody boss me around at least make it clear what you want me to do, don't complain if you haven't, and then I get it wrong. Wanker.

I then realise that I don't have enough shelves in the oven to put everything in. Cue me, standing there with my oven gloves with little ducks on, holding a very hot tray, screaming for help on moving shit about in the oven, as there was nowhere to put the tray in the bombsite I'd created. My brother ended up playing musical chairs with oven trays, and I ended up burning myself. What a surprise.

Everyone did say it was a really good meal, but the fact that I nearly lost both my hands and that I ate out for the next two nights might be saying something. Cooking is hard work when you don't take any shortcuts, and according to the Nazi-foodies, shortcuts are fattening, unhealthy, and eating them, especially if they aren't organic, is worse than flashing in a church. I'll go get my trenchcoat.

On the plus side, 'noob' is apparently in the running to become the millionth word in the English dictionary, which I think is great. Although it does open up a problem. Newbie is already in the dictionary, and noob is derived from it. Does this mean that all the words derived from 'noob' will have to be in there too?

noob - idiot; see nublar, n00b, nub, newb, nooblet, nooblar, noobsauce, nib, nubling, n3w8, noobtastic, cry more noob, nubbercakes, th3 n00binator, nubnub, noobzilla, sir nubbington.

Hm.

An extra mini-blog on 'alter ego'.

I realise I posted a blog just one sleep ago, but I just had to share this here as I thought it was really interesting and actually quite beautiful in a melancholy way. Think of this as a special Bank Holiday edition. Sorry for spamming your feeds.

The very talented comic artist Jamie McKelvie posted up this on his Twitter, and I'm glad he shared.

"Gamers & their avatars http://www.robbiecooper.org/ Click simulations then alter ego. Interesting, and with #4, sort of magical."

I was familiar with Robbie Cooper's 'Immersion' set, which captured children's facial expressions when playing games (to see those, simply clock on 'immersion' rather than alter ego when browsing his site), but 'Alter ego' struck a chord with me as I've been playing MMOs for years.

Here's my input. This picture was taken a while ago when I was sadly fully immersed in the same game as Mr #4 in 'Alter Ego', hence the monitor tan, and the not yet pink hair. I think you can tell. Excuse the face.




It's a little bit weird noticing how I projected my personality onto my evil alter ego's avatar and into her completely customisable player houses (libraries, museums, torture chambers) without realising it. Even when we all used to do storytelling and roleplaying, a creative writing habit I've always enjoyed, she was always the character I logged onto first. I've played many characters over the years, but she was the only one that really 'stuck'. Stuck for 5 years almost religiously. I think I know why now. She always said what I wanted to say, always cracked the joke I wanted to crack, and did whatever she wanted without any consequences to worry about.

Here's more slightly scary self-analysis with my main avatar, for nostalgia's sake. You non-gamers don't know what you're missing.







I'd love to see other people's real life to avatar comparisons, don't be shy, email me, link me, or post here.

(Thanks, have some mails already, really cool stuff.)

You give me fever...

Benny Hill + Mario = Berlusconi?!

This week has been such a slow week for news. I know that I got my wish from last week's blog when I said I was so sick of bad news, but I didn't exactly want a lack of news altogether, just some nice story about peace somewhere would be good, or something about ducklings. Noooooo. Swine flu, swine flu, swine flu. Everywhere. With every pollen-induced sneeze from my nose, "HURR HURR, SWINE FLU". Shut up, or I'll rub raw bacon in your face until you start worrying about salmonella instead. There's nothing we can do but stop inhaling people's spittle. I was going to blog on Wednesday, but there was nothing but bloody flu to talk about, so I took a rebellious stand and went and sunned myself with a book in hand instead. I'm going to make that stand void by talking about swine flu. Swine flu. There is still nothing else but swine flu.
Look, I know it's terrible and everything, but how many people has malaria killed this week? Shit, what about good ol' reliable average flu. The one that culls masses of the elderly and asthmatics in this country every winter.
Oh no, that's right, this is a new spangly, shiny new flu that happened to come along on a slow news week. Bravo. Such a slow news week that I have barely anything to write about except this:

"An oddly shaped space boulder appears to show eye sockets and a nose leading to speculation it might be a Martian skull.



Internet forums are full of chatter about the picture, taken by a panoramic NASA camera known as Spirit.

One alien-spotter speculated: "The skull is 15 cm with binocular eyes 5 cm apart. The cranial capacity is approximately 1400 cc.

"There appears to be a narrow pointed small mouth, so this creature most likely is a carnivore."

Another joked: "The coronal ridge shows ample structure to support the musculature of antennae, although none are visible in this view."

It's a fucking rock.

Even the bowel cancer awareness advert on the side is more interesting than the news. A worthy cause to be shouting about, but an arse clock? That's not bowel cancer, that's a freak accident in an Early Learning Centre.



Since pig fever has overtaken the news, I've had nothing to do but be beaten to a pulp on MyBrute. MyBrute is a fun little game that you don't even play. You simply create an avatar which always ends up looking like an anime version of Captain Caveman or Betty Rubble on steroids, then go watch them beat the shit out of another 'brute'.

Want a fair way to sort out who's doing the washing up tonight without giving your housemate a chinese burn? Want to watch something on telly but someone else has other ideas? Just want to see what happens when you set a bear onto someone you hate but don't have the knackers to do it in real life? As Harry Hill puts it, there's only one way to find out... FIGHT!
One tip though, don't fight Joyless Prole, his brute uses a rusty cheeseknife that gives you a mutant form of tetanus which kills you with one stab.

MyBrute and Carry On films. That's all I've been doing today apart from the odd stint of drawing that is a given nowadays. By all rights I should hate the Carry On films, being mildly racist with all it's talk of 'duskies', misogynistic and anti-fat-chicks, but really they're just a bit of good fun. The women don't seduce the men just by getting their baps out, there's cheeky, witty banter and an air that the women give as good as they get. Even the 'fat chicks' get the upper hand. It's all meant in good fun, and that's what makes them likeable. That and Barbara Windsor's hilariously evil cackle.

You hear that Berlusconi? It's only funny when it's not real, and all meant in good humour. Not when a world leader that is the bastard love child of Mario and Benny Hill takes advantage of his wife and country's good nature over and over again. Even the Queen got visibly pissed off with him at the G20 summit when he wouldn't stop talking, which was one of the funniest things I've ever seen on the news apart from the time a weather reporter got hit in the face by a massive wave on the local live news.

Let's recap shall we? Shamelessly stolen from a brilliant section in The Guardian this week, Berlusconi's blunders.

"We would need as many soldiers as there are beautiful girls in Italy - which we will never manage." - On a series of rapes in his country.

"He's young, handsome, and even has a good tan." - On Obama. "He said that those who were offended by his comment were "imbeciles", that the Italian left "lacked a sense of humour" and that his comment was meant to be a "compliment"."

"I'd go with you anywhere." - To a dancer at an awards dinner.

"Take a look at her! I'd marry her if I weren't married already." - To a topless model at the same dinner.

"We have a rule inside Forza Italia, the rule of ius primae noctis" - (the Latin term for the old right of a feudal lord to take the virginity of the young women on his estate on her first night of marriage).

"The left has no taste, even when it comes to women." - After making a stunning woman minister for equal opportunities. Equal as long as you have a pert bum, nice boobs, and a pretty face.

"I am the Jesus Christ of politics. I am a patient victim, I put up with everyone, I sacrifice myself for everyone." He also said that any Italian who didn't vote for him would be "a dickhead". He lost.

Good on his long-suffering wife and mother of his children for getting a divorce.

( http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/europe/italy/5268433/Berlusconi-faces-divorce-battle-over-4.5bn-fortune.html )

"She has betrayed a somewhat bleak sense of humour about it. "Your husband is a busy man, do you get to see him or speak to him often?" asked a journalist who accosted her at the theatre one day (she is a frequent theatregoer, often attending plays that satirise Berlusconi's government). "Yes," she replied, 'I not only speak to him on the telephone, sometimes I even see him on television.'"

I'm almost glad that Gordon Brown is our leader, even with that smile that makes small children pee themselves. And as for Boris Johnson, well, I'd take his wrongly-buttoned shirts and foppish blonde hair over Silvio "I wouldn't mind being resuscitated by you" Berlusconi anyday.


P.S. I'm not sorry about the sudden obsession with bums on my blog. It's my blog, I can have as many arse epidemics as I want.