I'm Bored With You Being Bored

I've noticed how little I use the word 'bored' now. It's not something I actively phased out of my vocabulary but I can no longer understand the use of it at the frequency I now hear it among my peers.

Summed up quite nicely in this quote from comedian Louis C K;

“’I’m bored’ is a useless thing to say. You live in a great, big, vast world that you've seen none percent of. And even the inside of your own mind is endless. It goes on forever inwardly. Do you understand? Being the fact that you’re alive is amazing, so you don’t get to be bored.”

There's worse though. If you're in a room waiting for something or you're being dragged around somewhere then it's almost okay to say it. But people saying it while on the internet? This invisible mist of cat pictures and boobs and games where you can shoot water balloons at cats with boobs that surrounds us 24/7? That's unimaginative. There's books; drawing; music; exercise (for those inclined). But no. TOWIE isn't on right now and they've already flicked through that now dog-eared copy of OK magazine.

So I don't get to say "I'm bored" any more. I can say I'm unprepared. Start riding the rails somewhere or be stuck on some other piece of public transport and I'll be inclined to take my Kindle with me. No Kindle? Then I more than likely have my phone, which is basically a full working desktop computer in my pocket (although I might be pleased to see you as well) and that can be used as a fucking Kindle! Got some paper and a pen? Doodle. It sure as hell won't be the Sistine Chapel but that elephant ass you put in the corner sure is funny.

Hell, for years I've wanted to need less sleep so I can do the things I want. There isn't time in the day.

If you ever find yourself without a phone, access to writing tools, or any kind of technology both new and old, then chances are you're in a pretty screwed up situation to begin with and even then you shouldn't be bored with that. If you are then you have serious issues. Big issues. Yes that was a homeless joke.

Stop saying you're bored. You can find something boring but don't be bored. Get bored reading this? Then tough because I just stole those minutes of your life and now I'll live slightly longer. A few minutes more of not being bored.

Goodbye to a Dear Friend

I have sat staring at a blinking cursor for what could be 15 seconds or 15 minutes. I have mulled over opening lines and deleted words and no matter what I write, in an attempt to sound deep or wise, nothing works. So I will do my best to speak plain.

At 4pm today, as I sat in a room of strangers, in a business I don't care for, earning money for men I don't even know, my best friend of 17 years took his last breath. My dog, the best thing in my life, finally succumbed to the passage of time. The puppy that wandered into my house with a ribbon and tag around his neck on Christmas day all those years ago wouldn't be there when I came home ever again.

I have been lucky to rarely experience the death of those dear to me with the maturity of a grown man. But I do not handle death well. I shutdown. Bury everything and become a shadow of my usual self until my mind wanders enough to forget how to feel about it. I can't bring myself to talk about it, so much so that even saying the words is a struggle. So if you'll allow me, I'd like to say what I can now without moving my lips.

That Christmas morning is mostly a haze now; addled by time and a childish attention span. I can't remember what I wore or what time it was or if there was even a doorbell or just a knock. All I remember is being told to get the door and doing so willingly since we always had a big family Christmas. I walked down the hallway, opened the door, and in trots a tiny black and tan Jack Russell terrier with a square present tag tied loosely around his neck in gold ribbon. The first thought to pass through my mind and almost reach my mouth was "When did you get a new dog?". Then there, in gold ink written it the tag it read:

Dear Liam
My name is Josh. Debbie and Richard have taken me away from my mummy and I need somewhere to live. Will you look after me.

He was mine. I became a boy and his dog.

Later that day my father returned from a fake pub outing with another Jack Russell terrier in his arms called Holly. And I loved them more than anything. We spent hours in each others company both at home and at some stables my mother worked at. I learned their mannerisms, their quirks, their individual barks. The way Holly's ears always laid flat to her head making her look forever timid (even though she had the temperament and quickness of a hunter). The way Josh would half howl, half woof at anything that drew his attention then simply make an oof sound when he couldn't be bothered. Holly would bark at any stray leaf or person that passed by the window but Josh would only bark when someone was at the door. More often than not when I was in my room I would rely on their barks and howls to signal either someone at the door or the phone ringing.

Years later we took in another dog, a Border Collie named Sally who had been abused most of her life. Finally amongst a caring family, Sally began to act more like the small dogs that shared her home, often attempting what we affectionately called 'the slow climb' wherein she would inch her way up on to the sofa with her forelegs then in one final push, throw the rest of her weight on to your lap.

They were never trained properly, not in any traditional sense, but I could whistle for their attention and call them to me when needed. For anyone else out there who knows the feeling it's very connecting. Feeling that they can understand you and you them.

Years passed and eventually Sally, the eldest of the three, began to succumb to her age. She had become gradually weaker until eventually one morning she couldn't support herself and we realised it was finally that time. The harshest blow came three weeks later when Holly suddenly took an odd turn and while overnight at the vets, passed away in her sleep. It was unexpected and shook me to my core. I went to the vets with my mother to see her one last time and immediately regretted it; so unprepared for seeing her body that I had to leave the room and resigned myself to sit quietly in the car.

My closest friends know that I feel more for animals than people. Whether that makes me a bad person I don't know and I'll let you be the judge of that. Yet even after losing two of my little pack I still had my dog. My Wa we had taken to calling him after saying Josh-u-wah. My best friend who for a large portion of his life had been on steroids due to an illness that struck while I was at university. The illness gave him constant stomach issues but more often than not the pills gave him renewed energy and life. With an appetite to match. My greedy pig somehow gained a bottomless stomach and always one to sniff out the tiniest crumb he never relented in his quest for another bite.

In the last year time began to catch up with him as he slowly lost most of his sight and some of his hearing. His sense of smell though never wavered and still he found a stray biscuit. He had gotten weaker and now seemed like the old man his coat made him out to be; the tan giving way to white as he went grey with age. I had begun to dread any unexpected phone call from a family member once I moved out. I would hesitantly answer each call expecting a tearful voice on the other side only to be greeted by the cheerful voices of my parents or sisters. I took to making sure I spent time with him whenever I went home with the first thing I did upon walking into the house being to walk right up to his bed, letting him sniff my hand so as not to spook him, then just sit stroking him for a little while. We couldn't play any more but I was content just knowing he was there. Any time I had gone to stay with family he had come with me and after the loss of Holly and Sally he had taken to sleeping on my bed, eventually having his own bed in the room once he was too old to jump up. He was my constant. With his own schedule of of when to eat, when it was bed time and when to wake up. He still slept in my room after I had left.

This past week I was told that he had struggled somewhat, having what appeared to be two fainting attacks. At this point, even after preparing for the worst and knowing that it would soon be time to say goodbye, I froze up. I was torn between seeing him one last time and not wanting to see him struggle to catch his breath. Thankfully after much goading from my family I travelled home to see him one final time. There was no plan to speak of, I simply did what I usually did, let him sniff my hand and stroked him, only this time I sat next to him for seven hours reading. Content that he was there next to me. A good book and the dearest thing in the world to me. Now as I sit here, having finally given in to the tears that have threatened all evening I realise it was perhaps the best seven hours I could hope for.

Goodbye Josh. You were the best thing in my life and I will always miss you.

Finding Ni No (Kuni)

There was once a review here. A game review as it were. A review of the game Ni No Kuni. But times change. Still want to read it? Head over to Bring The Noise for my verdict.

The Gloves Are Off

Know my problem? No not that stockings thing. Or that shoe sniffing bit. My problem is I tend to find most movies entertaining to the point where I generally won't have a bad word to say about them. If I don't enjoy it then I simply think it is okay rather than actually bad. With the exceptions of The Golden Compass and The Last Airbender (geez what train-wrecks they were). The latter of which I still can't bring myself to finish even after 5 separate attempts. The past year though has seen a change in this attitude and it all starts with a crazy billionaire in a cowl.

The Dark Knight is without doubt a rather spectacular piece of cinema, one some friends and I had the pleasure of seeing in IMAX scale of awesome. Heath Ledger (rest well) easily made cinema history with his portrayal of the Clown Prince of Crime, evident by the unimaginative many who tried to imitate him for Halloween. Throw in the new dark and troubled Two-Face and the moving picture was a spectacle of the comic book industry on the silver screen, one that made me walk from the screen room post credits with a look of awe, wonder, and braindead-ness; IMAX TDK having left my brains scattered on the back wall.

That disappearing pencil scene. THAT SCENE!

Time went by. We lost a wonderful actor. The new Joker was no more. Suddenly Christopher Nolan's vision for the ultimate Batman movie trilogy was thrown into turmoil with no real life Caped Crusader to right things. Until Bane.

Bane is a wonderful villain notorious on the page for "breaking the bat" yet a laughing stock on screen thanks to that nipple-suited Batman flick. But maybe this time it would be different. So time went by once more until finally it was released; The Dark Knight Rises. Crowds were wowed. Bane retook his place as a true enemy of the Bat. Hidden energy projects. Betrayals. Secrets revealed. Hostages. A bright flash. A nod to a little bird. Credits roll. The same friends I witnessed the splendour of TDK with emerged from the screen room.

"That was fucking awesome."

"Brilliant. What did you think, Liam?"

Hesitantly, "...I got kinda bored. Almost fell asleep at one point."

Don't get me wrong on this, it is not a bad movie, not by a long shot. It's a good movie. But it just didn't wow me. It didn't draw me in. Had it been on TV it may have a warranted a channel surf and a casual "What else is on?"

How could a film based on a comic book (a favourite medium), on a superhero (a favourite character type), done to a blockbuster standard not have impressed me? A question I still cannot answer. Perhaps I just wasn't in the mood. But it happened again. Only this time the hero wasn't wearing tights and a cape, instead he wore a suit and a licence to kill.

James' ADD was acting up again.

James Bond, in his many movie incarnations, has been watched since I was a kid. The back of my skull has a white scar beneath the curls after a shoving incident by a sister; refusing to give up the remote to a bigger and shark-scared sister during an underwater scene is a bad idea in case you wondered. No one could doubt that 007 has been slowly declining in quality over the past few years. Tomorrow Never Dies was the last great Bond flick in my opinion, with Casino Royale having some great scenes but not wowing me overall. Quantum of Solace (I actually couldn't remember the name of it for a moment) was forgettable at best. Actually forgettable. I have no idea what happens in that movie and I know I've seen it. So Skyfall seemed like it could fix things for me, after all, Q was in it. Fucking Q! Spy nerd and gadget-maker extraordinaire!

People saw it and everyone got all excited and said how amazing it was and how you just had to see it. I saw it. It sucked. Most of the first act was nigh on useless and didn't even register with the shiny-thing part of my brain let alone the part that actually thinks. It wasn't until Javier Bardem sauntered in, being a real Bond villain with intelligence, willpower, and a deformity to rival how we feel the morning after a night on the sauce, that things really got interesting. But even then it was like sitting in traffic; fluctuating between "YAY, were moving!" and "I am gonna cut some fool!" at uneven intervals. The epilogue hits and suddenly, for all of 30 seconds, you're watching a James Bond movie. Credits roll. I annoyed more than one person that night with my pseudo-narration of how sorry I was to have watched it.

There it was, two of the biggest blockbusters within 12 months and I probably had more fun scratching myself in the shower that one time than in the collective hours of watching them. Please understand that the shower in question was incredible and I really had to itch. Plus I like putting that thought into your heads...perverts.

Suddenly there were bad things to be said about movies. Movies that had entertained me yet somehow deserved my verbal thrashing. Why, most of this post is just that. So what had changed? Do I feel the films hadn't done justice to the source material? Had they been over-hyped in the media and my mind? Yet it didn't stop at movies, for books and TV shows were now open to my judgement. A switch in me has flipped and with it the critic, scourge of the creative types, has awoken from his 25 year slumber.

It is a rather freeing thing. For much how a brighter light makes a darker shadow, those things that give me joy are now so much more wonderful with my ire and judgement here to balance the equation.

It is a brave new world, my reading friends.

And I am going love and hate it more than ever.

If These Pages Could Talk

The children's books would be running around outside, watched over by the firm guidance of the How-To section.

Meanwhile the Encyclopaedias would sit on the porch in their rocking chairs, mumbling about the war and 'in their day'.

Hunger Games would be in it's room listening to the Music Biographies with the other young adult novels.

Then once it got dark, the Cooking books would call them all inside for dinner before the Romance novels would do their duties of guiding the children's books to bed, and the Adventure novels would regale them with tales of daring-do before they'd fall fast asleep.

Of course single Aunt Mills & Aunt Boon would be downstairs making sure the YA novels weren't checking out the Softcore section.

Then we'd open the bookshop the next morning and it would all start again.

If all the world's a stage then I think our best storytellers should get to act out their lives too.