Wednesday, 27 July 2011

Express Yourself

When you are on your back like an over-ambitious tortoise, you really find out who your friends are. I could have been up to my eyes in shit at the moment. But thanks to a few who have stuck their neck out for me, I have a place to stay at the moment and all the support I could ever need after what can be described as 'trouble with the folks'. So over the past few days I've mostly been harassing potential employers, smoking weed (you would not believe how plentiful this stuff is among students), and discovering how little you can really pay for something to eat. For example, for the price of a Big Mac, I can buy a whole week's worth of noodles. But I suppose the best things in life are free, eh? *winkwink nudgenudge*

And if you have no friends, then at least you'll give some
scavenging animal a lovely meal.
As well as trying to secure actual paid work, I am also scrabbling to get some voluntary work experience at a local newspaper, which doesn't seem to be happening. They have ignored all my
e-mails, and their offices are about as welcoming as Alcatraz. Dear staff at the Evening Express. If you are reading this blog entry, please respond to my fucking e-mail. Yes, there is a mild possibility that someone from the paper is reading this, because I included a link to this blog in my CV. Which makes me wonder. Was that a bad move? I've had praise for the writing style I use in this blog. But then again I use some wonderful imagery and similes about paedophile semen and children dying in third world countries which probably wouldn't be ideal  in an article about a 7 year old and his battle against cancer*. When employers and other people in a position of power say they want to get to know you, how much do they mean it? It's fairly common practice for employers to be discouraged from hiring you based on how drunk you look in your facebook picture. I can understand this a little. But it's also pretty fucking stupid. Despite the fact that I swear, rant, and drink excessively while blogging, it doesn't mean I'll do that in the workplace. Employers everywhere - go outside and get a little air. I'm pretty sure the majority of your employees don't spend their spare time counting down the seconds until their next shift whilst reading the company rulebook. If anything, those doing that sort of thing should be avoided. They always end up killing everybody and nibbling the genitalia off the bodies.

My flatmate is coming back soon, and she makes the most wonderful lasagne.

What I'm currently listening to  > \Battles - Gloss Drop/**

Thanks for reading!

*I wouldn't be that stupid, I'm just saying that the Evening Express might think I am
**Yes, this is new. I listen to a lot of music, been meaning to do something like this for a while. Deal with it.

Wednesday, 20 July 2011

Melt Banana

60 followers now! Isn't that fantastic*? I've only really started paying attention to the number since I temporarily abandoned blogging, and my adverts mysteriously disappeared. So I'm really only doing this because. Uhm. I enjoy it? Other people enjoy reading my posts? I'm not sure. I'm sort of glad I'm not distracted by comments saying 'nice post' just so that I can comment something equally as generic and mindless just so that earn an amount of money equivalent to a single grain of rice. Admittedly, I'm assuming a lot of my followers are part of that penny grabbing clique. But if you genuinely read this filth, following or not, thanks! And if all my followers stop commenting because they realise I'm not a dedicated ad-clicker**, then I suppose it's better than living a lie. Or something like that.

The band going by the name of this post. How dare they.
Over the past few months I've completely abandoned my morning ritual of eating cereal. It's not something I've been doing consciously. I didn't eat it for a couple of days because of  the sugar levels, and I've ended up not touching the stuff for months. The whole concept of cereal is a little disgusting. Cornflakes that have been soaked in cow's milk for half an hour look and taste as appetising as dog vomit seasoned with cockroach brains. In place of this I now have a banana and eggs (which I will discuss in a later post, maybe) near enough every morning. For some reason I barely touched bananas during my childhood. But now I can't get enough of them. Contrary to popular belief, bananas grow on rhizomes, not trees, which are essentially large stems. This may seem picky, but you don't call daffodil stems trees, unless you are an idiot or if you have had a little flirtation with Lucy and her diamonds. I love bananas because they are little bursts of energy without the massive lists of bullshit you get in most energy drinks. They also contain a whole load of vitamins B6 and C, as well as potassium and fibre. They have soothing effects on ulcers, and they help your body absorb calcium more efficiently. And the benefits don't stop with the edible fruit. The inside of the skin works as well as shoe polish because of the potassium levels. And when I had unbearable itching in a particular part of my body, I rubbed the offending area with the inside of a banana skin after reading something about it soothing itches. Placebo effect? Possibly. Just putting it out there. Also, I don't recommend making people slip up on banana skins. It may be hilarious at the time, but on things like concrete that shit fucking hurts.

Away from home at the moment, attempting to find a job and work experience as per, but now also a permanent place to live on top of that. This isn't slowing my consumption of alcohol though, which is probably worrying for people who care about such things. Pretty happy with life though. Thanks for reading.

*I know, it isn't that great when there are people with thousands of followers. I'm happy nevertheless!

**Don't get me wrong, if I genuinely like your blog I'll comment and sometimes ad click, because that's the least I can do to pay you for entertaining me for a while.

Thursday, 14 July 2011

Fester-val part TOO

The first thing that usually hits you about a music festival is the scale of the operation. 85,000 people attended T in the Park, and a large number of them were queuing up at the arena gates when I arrived on Thursday. It's a lot to take in. People talk about huge numbers every day, and can say in a casual manner that 10,000 records being sold isn't much. In my opinion, accountants should go to a large music festival. A greater appreciation and understanding of numbers is instantly achieved (and everything is 10 times the normal price so budgeting can keep them on their toes). And what a large variety of folk. Aggressive people, happy people, teenagers, dance-music lovers, metal-heads, junkies, hippies, families, couples and of course, me. By myself. I wonder now, looking back on the thing if I was the only person there by myself. It seems possible saying as how I never really met anyone camping on their own (and good god, I met just about everyone else, I even saw at least two guys also wearing yellow wellies).

It's pronounced DEADMOUSE. You'll get a slap
for saying DEAD-MAO 5
Which is not to say I didn't enjoy the experience. I do prefer social situations, but I can cope on my own. There was no-one to drag me along to see a band I didn't particularly want to see, and I could leave my tent as god damn messy as I wanted it to be. On the Thursday, I befriended two sound English guys by the names of Matt and Andy that I queued with, and ended up camping beside them. After setting up the tents, they relaxed in their camping chairs. I got progressively drunker and ran all around the massive campsite talking to everyone and dancing like an epileptic at the 'boom bus'. Every now and then I'd come back to the tent drunker, throwing  handfuls of stolen cigarette papers like confetti, wearing a husky hat that looked like I'd decapitated a dog and stuck it to my scalp. God knows what they thought of me. But I had many fantastic experiences. I lifted a stranger up on my shoulders and we sung a word perfect but very out-of tune 'Underwear' along with Jarvis Cocker during Pulp's set. I got very baked during Crystal Castle's set from the surprisingly large amount of people smoking marijuana around me, and I just let myself get pushed about the place with nothing more than a stupid grin on my face. And I'm not usually one for fireworks, but they seemed almost magical as Deadmau5's set drew to a close with a triumphant, yet ambient and subdued set closer. What can I say? I'll tell you what. I'm not going by my bloody self next year.

In other news, finding work experience is going badly, and finding another job is worse. And unfortunately for all you horny bloggers out there, thehesitantcalamari is no longer single. No more wrapping my tentacles around a ship for company any more. Thanks for reading!

p.s Having problems with life at the moment (e.g family, where I'm going to live etc) and things, but I'm going to try and not let it get in the way of the blog

Thursday, 7 July 2011


Today I'm going to a 4 day music festival. I got my ticket at the very last minute. I am not travelling with anyone, and I am not meeting anyone there. I am effectively going on my own, purely for the fantastic line-up. Surely this wouldn't be something I'd ever want to repeat? Well, the thing is, I'm getting a heavy dose of deja-vu. Because I did the exact same thing for a music festival last year. And out of a field of thousands of people, I  coincidentally met someone I knew. And I got on pretty well with a bunch of strangers too. I'm a little doubtful I'll have the same luck this year, but I'm just going to put my optimistic face (which very rarely comes out) and wear my newly purchased Wellington boots, which looked a lot less gay in the shop.

This is quickly going to be a familiar sight with all that
poorly cooked, over priced festival cuisine
If you've never been to a music festival, it's hard to sum up with one word. If you pick the right one, it can mean seeing a fuck load of bands you really like, live (which I'm not going to go on about, I made a post about it before). And part of the excitement is seeing a band you've never really listened to and being really impressed (probably my favourite way of discovering new music). However, 50% of the goings on has nothing to do with the music. The campsite itself cannot really be described as such. The word campsite reminds me middle aged couples enjoying salmon sandwiches and flushing toilets as they gaze onto a lake in their £500 waterproof jackets. It would more accurate to say it is a world outside reality. With little in the way of police, there's a lot of drug taking and peeing everywhere. The madness is hardly a utopia, but it's an amazing social experience nonetheless, if you can avoid certain groups of people. The forecast is set to be rain all weekend, so hygiene levels are going to be particularly low (the only time I showered last year was to get piss out of my hair that had been thrown in a bottle during Rage Against the Machine's set). And just before I leave, I can see that it's beginning to rain already, which can only be a good omen.

Sorry if this was a lazy post, I'm rushing to type this just as I head out the door. The festival is T in the Park by the way, it's got less hard rock acts than I'd like, but I'm pretty excited about seeing a lot of the bands. Have a nice weekend, and thanks for reading!