I officially suck at this blogging thing…

You may find that surprising, as I’m not one for keeping my mouth shut. Certainly something my colleagues at work will agree with, especially my team lead who feels the need to place her hand over my mouth as she walks past my desk…

Truthfully though, I’ve been trying to come up with something as dry and witty as my (well, I don’t really know what to call my last piece – epitaph maybe? Emotional account of the effect of a technological visionary on a spotty teenager perhaps?) post about Steve Jobs. The response that received was way beyond anything I’d have expected, and I really mean that. In all honesty, I had no idea that many people read this thing.

I actually started writing it after being inspired by Russell Brand (of all people, I imagine he’s the last person you’d see as inspiring…unless you advocate sex addiction and drug abuse), who wrote something I found quite profound on the London Riots. I, at the time, was fighting a battle with some random on Twitter, who had decided that I was a ‘product of privilege’ going by my ‘pretty face’ and the 160 characters I have to describe myself on my profile… I realised that perhaps sitting down and writing something like this once every so often, I could blab a load of shite on here, empty my head a little and actually be able to focus on something a more important, like my honours project or impending final placement term paper!

I actually find writing this quite therapeutic. It’s also nice to do something semi-productive with my laptop for a change, instead of sitting on Facebook or the Apple website; drooling over things I can neither afford or need any time in the near future. When I think about it, my Macbook Pro is totally wasted on me. I don’t think I will ever use it to it’s full capacity…but I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: “It’s SO pretty!”

I have been working on a follow up, but being the horrifically obsessive perfectionist/paranoid fool that I am, I’ve never been happy with it. I’ve deleted it and started it again on many occasions, before finally giving up and deciding that instead of trying to associate a story where I awoke to find myself trapped in my bedroom (home alone) with a broken door handle, blew up a domestic appliance and annihilated my iPhone, with how I deserve a £1 million recording contract, I’m going to sit and speak shite for an hour and see what happens…here goes…

Now, please allow me to digress for a second, because I happen to feel rather strongly about this: that really is all it takes for people to make it to the finals of that show. I’ll put my hands up and admit that not everyone is a complete and utter waste of space, like Leona Lewis or Olly Murs. Both have managed to forge some form of career for themselves. Stacey Solomon should have won as well, and I think perhaps the most frustrating thing about this abomination we’re subjected to every year in the run up to Christmas is the fact that the act who wins is usually NEVER SEEN AGAIN! Steve Brookstein is now able to wander into the Espresso Bar at John Lewis Aberdeen, and order a cappuccino with his wife without anyone else batting an eyelid.

In fact, when I think about it, it’s pretty difficult to decide who that would have been a more memorable experience for. I was the only one to recognise him, however I was bouncing off the walls having just had copious amounts of wine with my Christmas lunch and subsequently enjoying an alcohol induced high. Something my colleagues were getting a good laugh out of…

Also making that list, are the likes of Leon Jackson, Shane Ward and some other person who’s name fails me at this point… But year after year, we are subjected to this shite on both a Saturday and Sunday night. And for what? Ok, it gives you something to do when plans to throw on your lashminas have failed to come to fruition; and something to do before hand when they haven’t. But since the arrival of this ‘talent’ hunt, we can now predict how life will pan out from September to December, culminating in the inevitable crowning of the latest X Factor drop out ‘Christmas number 1.’

Now I dunno about you lot, but I’m sick of it… It starts off the same way, with the same old mix of crazy folk who, unfortunately for them, have been convinced they have amazing talent by their friends and family, the occasional one who got themselves up the duff at age 12 and haven’t seen the light of day properly since, and nae doot there will be a diva or 10 in there as well. For each and every single one of these people, we’re forced to watch a mini-documentary about how this person, in fact, deserves to go all the way.

Ok…sure…now what about the 10 folk that you’ve done the same thing for prior?

I’m sorry, but when did this show stop being about singing abilities and become a soap opera? If I want drama, I’ll watch One Tree Hill. If I want comedy, I’ll stick on a Friends video (sack this DVD banter, it’s from the 90’s so I’m doing it properly!). Unfortunately Simon, I think it’s time to put this particular work horse out to pasture… However, if you can come up with another way of keeping Kelly Rowland on my TV every week,  I’d be more than happy to stay in every Saturday.

Boy, do I feel better now I’ve got that off my chest… There is one thing that has to be said however, and that is for my new appreciation for Kelly Rowland; whom I sympathise with greatly, having spent the greater portion of her career in the shadow of Beyoncé Knowles. I will miss seeing her every Saturday, hearing tell Louis Walsh ”that’s cute’ to shoot him down. Let’s be honest, she’s much more pleasing to the eyes than that Cheryl Cole toothbrush anyway.

Yes. I’m aware the claws are out tonight. Some things just have to be said however.

Some of you commented on the care cup from my previous entry. Well, you may (or may not) be pleased to hear that I’ve found another implementation of said utensil, as can be seen below:

...it's empty

Casually tried to hide the company branding with the post-it, but there you are…that’s for the next user that shouts at myself or another member of my team for failing to make appropriate provisions for their Video Conference with a client in London. Something my guidance teacher drummed into my Form class before every set of exams we did: Fail to prepare, prepare to fail. Guess he was right after all, and next time I’ll be handing my empty cup to the lucky user and sending them on their merry way – certainly hoping it reduces the number of outbursts I have in there by at least 1…

Anyway, before the puppy punctures a hole in the top corner of the screen on this thing, I’m going to bugger off. I’ve avoided the uni work for long enough this evening, and if she succeeds in destroying one of my Apple toys I will return her whence she came personally.