Back to the Empirical Logic, part II


So the first performance went well. I’m doing my best to not be affected by the fact that when I appeared in my boxers, the audience burst into laughter. Hopefully that means I was fulfilling the fleshy duties of my role.

With some early practise for my new role at Surrey as Marketing and Outreach Officer, marketing of the production is going well, with 3x the amount of interest in the past couple of days alone. This comes in perfectly for the sudden requirement to begin on a brand new set of hausarbeiten, ripe and ready for the new holiday. Now would be a good time to have some actual idea what the fuck to write about. Received a letter from Surrey this week, asking us to detail our final deadlines and end of placements as we’re now reaching the end. A feeling beyond the words of even my pretentious vocabulary. September, Heidelberg felt like an indefinite lifetime, this was my home for a year. Now, Heidelberg feels temporary, short term, with the end of it rushing up to meet me. Neither of which feelings did I have a bloody clue how to handle.

Anyhow, proving once again that people have a habit of literally accepting anything they’re told and are even capable of forming an opinion based on no evidence whatsoever, Facebook today was blasted with a series of photos detailing how it was the day of the future that Marty McFly arrived at, in Back to the Future 2, a world filled with hover boards, flying cars, alternate fuel and motion controlled video games. The photos showed self-congratulatory chastising of the ignorant futuristic predictions, idly sidestepping their own incorrect information with beautifully elegant irony. Forgetting this folly, and moving past a slight loss in humanity that even on facebook with all the net at your disposal, people are still so willing to jump on an unsupported bandwagon, given the fact that Back to the Future predicted video phone calls over inter-connected computer systems, people uploading all their profiles with likes and dislikes onto this system for ease of access, money being transferred from account to account at the push of a button, recycled produce as energy fuel, holographic walls and video screens capable of containing many windows at once all displaying video systems, not to mention ID chips and retina recognition, I’m half expecting hover boards to be on the market soon. Especially given hover flight has been achieved just without ease of motion. I wonder if had these predictions not been made under Zemeckis, would some of them have happened in real life? Much like how Spiderman invented the concept of the GPS tracking device, go Spidey! We still love you, even if the Avenges don’t.

Mind you, criticising those not looking for empirical evidence does leave a funny taste in my mouth, given I’m supposedly a Christian.


BeeroVision Goggles


Saturday saw an event that our glorious Terry Wogan once critiqued as being about “Doctor Death and the Tooth Fairy”, that’s right! The cornucopia of culture, the blaze of brilliance that is the incestuously insidious Eurovision hit our international screens once again to remind us that music is not about rhythms and vocal tones, but of course, costumes and hairspray. And wind. Lots and lots of wind. The gust of farty breeze that accompanied every power ballad, blowing the hair and preposterous dresses of the so-called artists was enough to change the tidal currents for the next twelve years, by which time, the UK would still not have won Eurovision.

The first time in years actually watching the event, Eurovision this year was a vastly more enjoyable experience when surrounded by fellow alcoholic consumers in a giant cafe watching it on a giant screen. Seeing the show from the perspectives of many europeans made the competition all the more entertaining, almost as much as those new to the concept, such as Americans and Canadians’ responses when they realised that Eurovision’s basis is of course one of politics and brown-nosing. Mind you, given that the UK audience still seem to fail to understand this concept makes me impressed anyone else did. After all these years still, the BBC were flooded with complaints from viewers, disgusted that once again, we had failed to win due to the continental clique.

Ignoring the fact that our act was genuinely abysmally dull, UK viewers wishing the BBC to drop the event holds all the same logistical maturity as the kid who throws paint at his classmates because no one likes him. They’re answering their own question as to why they lost by wanting to drop out. Statistically, these complaints are from the same areas with the highest number of people from the UK who go to Malaga to get wasted in the sun, take Benidorm holidays or move out to Europe without integrating language or culture. And they wonder why the UK is unpopular? The only reason to drop the Eurovision would be financial, but with product placement and advertising, we make a profit each year. International ignorance of course isn’t the only reason we don’t win, having no bordering nations does influence decision, as does our political stance and history. Then there is of course the fact our acts are generally just shit. Eurovision is a world where dancing grannies and death metal gods are glorified, to approach it with any sense of pride over fun or sincerity above hilarity is counterproductive to the entire point of international relations. A grand night had by all, and heck, even if we didn’t win, at least we can be proud we beat America.

Toodle Pip

Like having sex in the snow, it’s important to keep going or else you’re going to feel the omnomnom of the cold biting into your bum. Perpetual movement creates warmth and with that mindset, Heidelberg is in sight, as I rest on my final English evening. Come 6am tomorrow, I shall be loading my car, throwing the cats aside and preparing for the long drive to the world of Heidelberg. Well, I say that’s what I’ll be doing. Most likely, I’ll be curled up under the duvet, dreaming of sexy escapades, fantasy adventures and opera singing dogs, telling my alarm to snooze for just another minute.

It has been, in short, absolutely amazing. I owe Rob, Rosie, Will and Jenny so much. Had my money not deteriorated so far, I wish I could have splashed out on them, or just done more about the house, done something to even further demonstrate my gratitude, but this be a debt I vow shall be repaid, with interest, over the next year. I’m so scared of doing something wrong, that I tend to do nothing at all. I keep myself away from people so as not to step on toes .Such is not the right mentality when friends are involved.

Thank you also, to the groups and societies that welcomed me back as if I hadn’t even been away. I still remember sitting with Rosie, ready to go to the first MADSoc workshop, way back on the 7th February, shivering with nerves that the new members would look at me as a dusty shell of the past. However, whatever dust might’ve been present was brushed off and has contributed to making an absolutely bizarre 8 weeks. Work has been hard, essays have been long, but they’ve all come to a rather climactic end.

Should there be no alteration in my plans, the next time I touch British soil, the Olympics will be finished, Avengers will have hit the cinemas and gone, and many of my friends will have graduated or moved on to bigger things. I have a lot to be thankful for, and even more to look forward to. To all those I’ve seen this passing term, have a fantastic 6 months, I look forward to hearing about them when I come back. Ich liebe euch alle, vielen dank, bis bald!

The Caterpillar riding the Butterfly

So lazy am I at this age that I wouldn’t even wake up for the end of the world unless it had very special effects. It is because of this very laziness that I sit at the end of a week of goodbyes, wondering where it’s gone. Last night saw two bright flames in the back of Markenfield, as a joint birthday and departure BBQ under the stars took light in honour of ye old Robert turning the final useful milestone of 21, and a last dinner together before Germany becomes home once again. Effort has been made to grab as many drinks with people as possible, such as a delightful fresh air gust from the ever enigmatic Stu Saville, who if he’s reading this, enjoy your shout out, you Judo-throwing, potentially dreadlock-growing madman.

From seeing people off at train stations, to enjoying a wonderful afternoon in the Slug and Lettuce, each passing departure has been met with a lack of certainty as to when that next time will be. The perishability of time is all the more reason to enjoy yourself, and this has been amzing. I have one last Hausarbeit to truly focus on, with a deadline of just 24 hours left and about 4 pages to write, it should be more than possible. Maybe.  Odd to think that my final night in Guildford is to be spent in the library, it’s surprisingly fitting. Chicks dig bookworms. If only I digged chicks.

Or dug them. Whatever.

General Isation Reporting For Duty

Imaginary friends are great and all, though when even they don’t want to hang out, you’ve got an issue. I do however worry about people who argue on the side of fictional characters as if they’re any representation for a real world argument. If you have to resort to a fictional character to back up a real life argument, giving up would probably be the best choice.

Speaking of imaginary friends, Religion. I find a scary amount of people decide that when looking at an evil person, they’re just evil. But when looking at an evil religious person, they’re evil because they’re religious. These people bore me. Hm.

Having confidence in one’s own convictions should never demean the beliefs of others. Whatever the belief. Anything outside of that is not worth listening to.

Dastardly Disney

One day, I would like to earn money. And given flaunting myself on street corners got funny looks from a passing nunnery, I am hoping that I could get food in exchange for written words. One thing I am terrified writing are children’s films, because I cannot think of a more difficult writing job. Not only do you have an incredibly discerning audience, harshest of censors, the most critical of producers, but also the most explosively responsive parental grading. For this reason I find someone my age or older say that a kid’s film is; “ok because there was still stuff for adults to enjoy”, referencing the occassional adult joke or overhead homage, to be one of the most depressing attitudes to take.

There’s no need to pander to the audience with jokes as an apology for the rest of what they’re being subjected to, if you doubt the enjoyability if your writing, don’t write it. It can feel that if it’s a kid’s film, it is somehow less of a film. If something’s genuinely good, then anyone can draw from it, this is why Pixar, Ghibli, early Disney and multigenerational medias such as Doctor Who, Sherlock, Simpsons and Sitcoms have audiences of all ages, because the multiverse quality of the writing, performance and overall production can appeal to all. I never stopped watching kid’s films, I just started watching more adult mediums as I grew up. We have age restrictions to stop audiences looking forward, avoiding potentially traumatising porn scenes, not to prevent looking back. A “U” should never be a deterrent, if a film is bad, it’s because it’s bad, the target demographic is irrelevant.

Fizz, Buzz, Boing.

Speaking of being poked and prodded (as in, my previous, very long, blog all you non-committers) the only time I will allows this will be when you are wearing a long coat and rubber gloves…

Let me rephrase that.

Went into the Doctor’s surgery yesterday, which was fun. This Doctor did not invite me to venture through all of space and time, nor did he walk with a cane and fake American accent giving sarcastic quips. An old scar I’ve had for years decided to remind me that it was still around, becoming ruptured at the end into a blood blister something-or-other. Not sure what it was, and not enjoying that my anatomy was altering through no fault of my own, I popped in for a checkup. When asked to lie down on the bed, perhaps it would’ve been better to avoid accidentally lying in a seductive pose. All is well thankfully, though the Doctor could not provide me with a reason as to how this happened, nor any remedy. I’m good friends with the scar, what with its tendency to split open in the past, so this is just another attempt at seeking my attention, just in case I risked spending too much time on my hair.

Today is going to be an interesting day. An exceedingly awesome, secret-keeping day of wicked magnitude. To the people of that place which isn’t here nor there, keep your eyes peeled. 😉

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