28 March 2011 - 'Oh, a blog' - Job satisfaction

I briefly touched on Lent in my previous blog. But this time, I’m going to un-Lent (a.k.a. a resolution). I will now start responding to comments. My ignorance in previous posts (particularly my debut blog on bus fares) was somewhat stupid and showed how I can easily slip into the realm of solipsism. And for that, I apologise.

So I pondered over another topic where I can get your valuable opinions. See, the different cultural backgrounds and varying viewpoints of each individual is perhaps what I am subtly expressing in these blogs, that within ourselves, we hold different answers to questions shared by most of us. When addressing these, some of us are parochial, some are broad and others are in between in terms of our outlook on life. I think I bounce from one category to the next, never really settling in one particular place. This nomadic sluttyness is perhaps why my perspective on the existential questions to the minutiae of life is occasionally intriguing to all my beloved readers.

My good friend Raees Khan and I began to record a podcast some time ago, dealing with the questions that perhaps many of us mull over whilst out and about, during a deep state of meditation or even when on the toilet having a number two (or one, depending on your state of relaxation and of your bowel). Our aim was to discuss conflicting ideas in the form of audio, such as ‘Fame vs. Fortune’, ‘Communism vs. Capitalism’ and ‘Tits vs. Arse’ (cheap pun #2: I ‘tittered’ when that came up in our chinwag). We couldn’t be ‘arsed’ with the third one (and there’s cheap pun #3), and the second one was a special one that we would save until later, when we had experienced what it was like to discuss other topics. The first one had been recorded at one point, and we talked about it for a long time. So long in fact, that the computer couldn’t handle the size of the file we recorded and so we had to discard it altogether. You could say it went ‘tits’ up (and there’s cheap pun #4). But it’s a project I still aspire to complete with him. We shall impose a time limit next time. Lesson learned.

Confucius said ‘Choose a job you love, and you will never have to work a day in your life’. Concerning my current situation of casual employment, ‘a few days here and there’ is perhaps the most efficient way of describing my ‘dealio’. The goals regarding my career aspirations echo Confucius’ wise words, but how long can a person stay in a state of casual employment, or just plain old unemployment, until he/she is face-to-face with the harsh realities of life? By harsh realities of life, I mean when it comes to the point where you are kipping in your parents house until you begin to enter old age, still wearing apparel that is so old that it can no longer be attributed with the term ‘retro’, donning stone-washed jeans pressed so strongly with an iron that it’s begun to form a layer of dull shiny crustiness, trainers pumped so much that they would burst at a stomp, and a t-shirt of a band you saw when you still had all those dreams of the future, with all their tour dates that happened 20 years ago on the back of this worn out top, only acting as an aged beacon that broadcasts how desperately you clutch onto a time much simpler. A specific reference, sure. Of course, I am referring here to people that I have seen walking around, and formulate these stories with the grey matter encased in my skull. I imagine these sorts of people still living with parents/guardians as they snigger about what they saw on the internet, or fantasise about Hayden Panattiere, wishing they could save the cheerleader and thus save the world, but if only I could tell them that those dreams won’t be achieved by sitting in your bedroom playing online shoot-em-ups or conversing with others in binary. It’s just not a good way to go about life.

It’s those things that get me a little bit worried. A while back, I was a dole earner, in that I signed on at the Job Centre and from experience, I can think of much more fun and less embarrassing things to do. You see people taking quick drags before entering, most of whom seem to go in with bored expressions, as if it has become a tiresome endeavour; an arduous effort to get forty quid. Luckily, I’m out of there now, and I wondered whether it’s just better to do a job for the monetary gain just so you can rub in it in their faces. ‘Ha! I got a job! You didn’t think it possible, but someone hired me! And when I get up the career ladder, I’m gonna be a manager here, that’s right, at this Job Centre, just you watch, and then I’ll laud it over you, constantly shining my ‘manager’ badge with the best polish money can buy, just to emphasise my superiority and manager-ness’. Of course, this is complete fabrication, but my desire to see such an event take place is still as strong as it was. I suppose I’m a sucker for the happy ending (funnily enough, there’s talk of massage parlours in the city that can give you that, though I suppose that’s a different type of job altogether). But I wanted your viewpoints on this as it’s a topic that is becoming more and more pertinent in society. Should one take the plunge for their ‘dream job’ or just settle for money in a craft that one is indifferent to, or even hates? The gains are obvious in the second one, but its side effects are too much for me, that we should be drones, merely existing to sustain the equilibrium in a society slapped by economic recession. When we all know what we want to do in life, should it not be our primary goal? Is there a limit until we say, ‘That’s it, I’ve tried with no success. Let’s just find something to keep me going’? Luckily, I have not yet reached that point and I suppose I will have to cross that proverbial bridge when I come to it, should it interrupt my journey to the ‘getting paid for what I enjoy’ vocation. But for now, I remain a firm believer that both our careers and lives should only be governed by what makes us happy. After all, is that not what we require?

22 March 2011: 'Another blog' - Well, that’s just festive isn’t it?

I’ve always wanted to create a job role for myself. But as soon as reality caught wind of this, it put me in a chokehold and told me that I can never call myself a ‘nothingatician’ because apparently, it ain’t a real line of work. I told reality and told it good, that all the vocation asks is that I simply sleep a lot, wear pyjamas until the clock strikes 3pm, and scratch myself wherever it seems appropriate. The confines of the majestic prison we call ‘home’ is great for that, 'cos it offers us a chance to plunge into a sea of ‘laziness and mucking about’. Nothingatician’s are always talked about in a pejorative context and we are constantly undermined for the lack of work we do, but that in essence, is what the role requires. If we were to constantly work, or do the ‘9 ‘til 5’ lark, it would merely contradict the beauty that manifests itself in ‘nothingancy’. But reality had a point. ‘Cos since taking this job, I’ve realised it don’t pay well.

However, I’ll continue with it as it’s served me well in writing my previous blogs. As many days of my week are treated as holidays, I often thought about the national holidays for banks, who seem to like Mondays (Bob Geldof should’ve got into the banking business, if you ask me) and are quite partial to the first day of certain months. Then you’ve got St. Patrick's Day. According to the well-renowned and sometimes fact-checked Wikipedia site, it’s ‘the lifting of Lenten restrictions on eating or drinking alcohol’, which basically means ‘put all your morals in a bin bag and sling it out of the window’. You’ve got religious holidays like Easter and Christmas (totalling three to four weeks, depending on whether your school is a nob or generous with time off). If World Chiropractor Day existed, it’d probably have people bent and broken into the shape of the letters to spell out ‘Google’ so the whole world can celebrate bone-twisting and cracking. In fact, I do a lot of that on my knuckles and I hear it pays well. So I’m looking into it. For me though, it’s hard to celebrate a holiday. I spend all my time and thought looking forward to the excitement brought by holidays and glorious festivities that when these days actually commence, I’m left with confusion and disappointment. I wake up late (see job role above), see the sun and scowl in the Dracula vernacular, because I haven’t planned anything to enjoy it. Other than my two trips to Pakistan and one in Turkey with some good mates, I have never travelled out of the somewhat safe haven of England.

On my first visit outside Blighty, we landed in Pakistan and I could already feel that things were different. It’s been 15 years since this trip, so I was at the beautiful age of 8, my mind still buzzing and excited at every bit of existence. This fascination with the minutiae of life would soon become a burden to my family whilst I was here. As we picked up our bags and carted off to look for our relatives, I couldn’t help but try to look in every direction and angle that God had made possible for me to see. There were people in traditional garb, greeting family with outstreched arms, and carrying their bags regardless of the weight. Airport security were traipsing around lost luggage, on the lookout for anyone suspicious. When one of them looked at me, I thought him to be some sort of maharaja, his long moustache and stern eyes looking at me, his very being wrapped in professional apparel. I grasped my mum’s hand and walked into the familiar hugs of old relatives, awkward and loving.

We took the rickety old van home as this was, for some reason, the best mode of transport. I didn’t know why at the time, but I kept thinking ‘how come we haven't just gone in Dad’s Nissan, it’s clearly much more reliable and it doesn’t stink of cow shit’. Puzzling over this, I looked over at my two brothers, both of young age, none of us had even started growing facial ‘bum-fluff’ and all of us possessing pre-broken vocals, squeaked at each other in English. My time here was filled with many positives though. We occasionally went to the market, which was bursting with haggling voices, all wanting to increase or drop prices of things I couldn’t care less about. I was busy staring at the gap-toothed merchants (I could fit a tennis ball between those canines), the cartful’s of colourful fruit (maybe they’re plastic like the ones you see in shop windows), the cows walking the street (I wonder if someone cleans up after them, and if so, do they carry spades with them?), who seemed to be scoffing at the prices and scoffing the food for free instead. People were crowding around us, ‘cos we had come from a land far, far away and that meant that we must be millionaires. Oh, their naivety made me laugh. I specifically remember a local shop selling a pack of three biscuits for the equivalent of one pence. I kept saying to my brothers, ‘that’s like a third of a pence for one of these’, impressing all with my maths skills. But taking me out and letting me into all this astonishing culture was a big mistake on my family's part. They should have known by now that I like new stuff. We returned home and I couldn’t wait to go out and be a nuisance.

The first moment of alarm for my family was probably after a week of being there, when I just walked out of the house and out of the garden without anyone knowing. I now imagine them going 'right, let's do a head count. Ok, you're in, he's in the garden, and Adnan is... oh, he's gone to see anything that exists again'. I walked down all the muddy corridors, relishing the squelch and the onomatopoeic resonance of sandal on mud, plodding past door after door of people’s houses. I made instinctual judgements at all possible intervals. I would look ahead and decide. The path ahead splits into a T-Junction. More houses either way. I take my chances with the right turn, and I enter a small patch of land. Again, I go ahead and more houses. I randomly used to choose which door I would go through. ‘This one has a goat in it! Quick, get in!’ was what determined my selection process, and upon entering, these families either welcomed me or thought nothing of my trespassing. When I chose the abode I would stay in until I had to go home, I mainly played one game in particular. I would see how close I could put my hand near a goat’s mouth before it thought I was food (cheap pun #1: ‘finger’ food). I think throughout my time in this wonderful place, I ventured out around 10 different times, and each time, my mum sent my elder brother to look for me. I don’t know how he ever managed it, but he’d find me by hook or by crook. He’d usually burst through a door and see me watching in disgust as people would pat cow excrement in the shape of a chapatti and smack it on a wall. 'Ew, is that real poo? No, it can't be. Why would you touch that? Do they each have a bar of soap they get through after work?'. But it had a horrible charm about it. I was like a grounded Mowgli in my time here, but instead, I lived with the calm wildlife, as I didn’t fancy kipping with wolves.

Nowadays, the thought of forested environments is something I would rather keep away from. I loathe that I think like that, but it seems that with age, we also develop unrelenting cynicism. These early experiences of life are great, where I constantly wanted to know more. And now, I want a follow the career path into the competitive field of ‘nothing’. But I’m starting to combat that desire. With Easter fast approaching, I suppose my thought for the day is do something. Plan something. My brothers and I are hoping to be in Rome soon. I’ll be sure to tell you about it, should anything of note happen. Misfortune and disaster is a great read, and with my track record, expect it in writing soon. So go out and enjoy what you can is what I recommend. Even if it stinks of animal effluent, at least you’ll know what it smells like.

10 March 2011: 'Third Blog Day' - Rebellion can be found in a chair

Right then. If my maths is correct, that’s two blogs done and this is the third. In the first two musings, I told you about how to save money by using your thin underwear as a toilet at the train station as well as notifying you of the tricks Apple are missing out on, so I think I should tell you more about me. I’d let you talk as I am very good at that thing people call ‘listening’, but it wouldn’t be the most invigorating blog if I just left a chunk of blank space and let you talk whilst staring into the abyss inside your computer screen; a vacant page where my ramblings could have been sprawled across the page. So just to enlighten you with some details; I am a human, just to dispel any notion that it is in fact any old creature typing on this keyboard (most of them haven’t got the dexterity. And quite frankly, they’re a bit stupid).

I am from Oldham and I am indeed a man. Again, I’ve narrowed it down even further from the ‘human’ stage and if I have ever displayed a hint of femininity, it should not be confusing to the point where my gender is questioned. I assure you, I naturally have the tools necessary to shoot forth my progeny. I’ve also given you a couple of stories on this page involving a bus journey and computer blocking pornographic content, so you might know the sorts of dull events that seem to plague my existence as I search for something more fulfilling. Those moments of incredible gravitas, tender and fragile, yet euphoric and beautiful all at the same time, as if all other life has come to a complete halt; our entire beings engaged with the events that begin to unfold into a rare and intense life-changing occurrence.

But seeing as those moments don’t come, fuck ‘em.

Don't wait for the moment, create it. This is why 'rebellion' is the topic today. I grew up with very high expectations of life. One of the main reasons for that twisted logic was good nosh. I was surrounded by some of the greatest cuisine known to man and beast. For example, if a random dog had tasted the glorious food I had sampled as a little 'un, it would have developed a ridiculously complex palette after devouring mum's food, thus becoming a 'spoilt mutt'. Good thing I ate a lot as a child and made sure there was no food left for anyone or anything else. I'm sure there's a picture of me when I was around four years old, in a knitted jumper with crazy patterns, eating a samosa. And if more photos had been taken of me eating that veggie-filled delight, you would have probably seen the triangular treat in my throat, very much like Scooby Doo's gullet when he eats a massive sandwich, as I had developed the nasty habit of wolfing my food down as a youth without using the dentition attached to my gums. Life really doesn't get better than that, and I learned the hard way (by growing up). After becoming fixated with pakoras and curry for a few years, I was the chubby kid at school, but back then, chubby meant 'hard'. I was quite a tough kid, accompanied with an 'I'm gonna fuck you up' attitude, and as much of the kids didn't go to the gym or do bodybuilding, my physique reigned supreme over their skinny arms; the rolls of lard acting as armour fit for a Roman warrior. I practiced moves from video games on other pupils for fun. I remember vividly doing a 'power punch' (inspired by Paul Phoenix from 'Tekken') on this kid, which is a normal punch accompanied by a loud grunt. Naturally, he did the right thing and ran to tell the teacher, all teary-eyed. And I think I may have hit him for tattling too. In layman's terms, I was a little bastard. One of my teachers caught wind of my reputation and decided to confront me. Don't worry, he didn't invite to a bare-knucle brawl (the first rule here would definitely be: 'Do not talk about Fight Club... because I'll get done for child abuse'). He instead made a fool out of me in front of the whole class via the medium of name-calling, and he followed on by pushing me into a table. Now, had I known it was against the law for him to do that, I'd have called the cops and got a subpoena to him before class had ended, but sadly, the legal system and all its intricacies had passed me by at the age of six. So what did I do? I did what Superman would have done. I grabbed the nearest chair and launched it with all my might. I remember thinking 'I'll teach him' and giggling coyly in my head, because I had made a joke about teaching a teacher. Clenched teeth and all, the chair flew out of my sweaty grip and I seem to remember it making contact with his leg. He decided to calm down after this (I probably would have done a 'Hadouken' if he provoked me any further).

Soon, I had become popular (it's amazing what throwing stuff at teachers can do) and developed the attributes needed for social interaction. I became the joker and also maintained good ties with the other hard kids, but my relationship with them is how I imagine it to be with the old mafia gangs in that we got along, but we really wanted to kick each other's arses. I think rebellion can be positive if it is to overthrow a controlling force, and to establish ties with other like-minded individuals to do things that are efficacious in stopping the tyrannies that exist in the world. The struggle for the illustrious prize of liberty occurs in all walks of life. So I wondered: have you ever performed any act of disobedience in your life that has resulted in something good? If you haven't, it's worth thinking about. Maybe you could do a standard protest, or do something symbolic, like an Aztec ritual of perching an eagle on a cactus with a snake in it's beak outside of 10 Downing Street, to signal that a new civilisation needs to be built immediately outside Cameron's fort. Please make sure it's symbolic, and that it doesn't go against any human or animal rights (it's best not to do the Aztec ritual actually, it's somewhat dated and bad for the animals involved. Eagles with acupunctured feet? A definite no-no). But just something cool like that.

02 March 2011: 'Second Blog Day' - The sugar appears underneath the technology

It's been around five months since I wrote my previous blog about money saving. I hope you all soiled yourself. Others might be laughing at you (and perhaps vomiting if they're close enough), but remember, you'll have the last laugh. Think of all those shiny pennies that you saved at the train station, not to mention the tips posted in the comments section below in that illustrious blog. But wait... what's that sound? Well, I'll tell you. It is the sound of the country coming out of the economic recession. Yep, all because of me.  

But still, we all have our moments of idiocy. Mine has been going on for nearly five months, thinking about what to write next on this bloggy thing. I started one on reality television, and I was giving some of those shows a great verbal beating, talking about Britain's Got Talent and X-Factor, focusing mainly on the success of SuBo by saying 'She's only made one hit and released an album of work. She could only sing one song. What else did she put on there? A Tiesto remix?!' It was all going so well until The Apprentice came on and ruined everything by being a decent show. So while I was browsing my phone messages, watching YouTube on my computer, grasping an Xbox controller in the other hand, with the television sound clashing against the noise of automobiles outside, a 'Eureka!' moment occured; the onslaught of all this modern stuff provided me with this long-awaited epiphany. If you haven't guessed it by now, your moment of idiocy has not passed.

A discussion on ‘technology’. Viruses have sometimes frequented my PC and I think that's all part and parcel of the computer experience. However, the weirdest moment was when I tried to access msn.com when working for the council, only for the message 'Blocked: Pornographic content' to appear in big, bold letters. I wouldn't have minded much, but it was my second day of work and my colleague next to me just happened to turn her head towards my screen. Who knows, maybe it aided my reputation. But they didn't renew my contract, so I'll let you be the judge of that.

Anyway, I really wanted to discuss the ‘new phone’. There’s the one that sits at the top of the phone chain, also known as the iPhone. Then there’s the HTC, and that other one that’s name after a non-existent fruit (Blackberry, if you haven't already guessed). I mean, I have an iPhone and I’m sure that the person who invented the wheel wanted to make this next but just didn’t have correct tools (e.g. electricity). The App Store has been phenomenal and provided me with great apps, like the Angry Birds game, where you catapult birds into pigs (believe me, it’s a lot better than it sounds), Fruit Ninja, where you use your ninja-like capabilities to cut fruit up. My issue with Fruit Ninja was that whoever was making the fruit salad put bombs in there by mistake. But I suppose without the bombs, it’d just be a cookery app. And of course, there are your social network apps, the perfect way to regularly check how much no-one writes on your wall. So I’ll cut to the chase and present to you, the applications that should be made for the modern phone:

Punch Gok Wan repeatedly until he stops saying ‘girlfriend’

The game involves a fist, and the face of Gok Wan. By repeatedly tapping the screen, Gok will be tucking into a knuckle sandwich. You basically force feed him this delightful punch fest until it says ‘Level Complete’. The levels get more difficult as he puts on masks, until he gets to knight’s helmet.

After much consideration, I think you’d only be allowed to do the level as a female character. Otherwise, as a bloke, he’d just wear a gimp mask and you’d be forever tapping the screen. Deviant.

(I don't know if he actually says 'girlfriend' a lot. I watched the Impressions Show and made that judgement)

Food Tester 2.0

Are you worried that your milk expiry date was two days ago? What about that cucumber that has grown a Mohican? Well, look no further! Simply dip or rub the phone on the expired foodstuff and see if it’s edible enough so that it won’t leave you doubled over for a whole week (‘Food Tester 1.0’ didn’t work properly, you just looked weird when you rubbed your phone on rotten food. And it made your phone smell terrible).

Ice Pack

When you’re getting all hot (and perhaps bothered), just stick this application on and put it on your forehead. It turns into an ice block and cools you down. So if you have an injury, it can be used in the short-term for healing purposes. Sounds great. But when it melts, your phone becomes wet and unusable. And it’s not covered by insurance. I’m still working on it.

Where my dogs at? Bark with me now!

Endorsed by Lil’ Bow Wow (it’s not), it helps you find your dogs via GPS signal. It works by detecting a small chip you place on the dog. As the tagline for the app goes, ‘Pop a fully functional microchip in that ass!’

So there are the apps that I could think of, which I hope, someone will make one day. And again, the comments section is open for any app ideas you have. Something with longevity. Like the Gok app. I could play that whilst asleep. Or even a Lil' Bow Wow franchise. Like online banking on your phone with the young rapper. Tagline: 'Where my dough at? Bank with me now!'. Something cool like that.