Day 40: Music

I've been meaning to kick off some music recommendation posts on this for a while - but before I did, I wanted to make my stance on music very clear. So, here we are.

We love music, don't we? Everyone loves music. It's on your Facebook profile, it's on your CV. You've got an iPod, you go out dancing. You love music. Except, the thing is... i'm not sure you do.

It's not about listening to the radio, or keeping up with the charts. It's not even about filling your ears with it for every waking moment of the day.

It's not about knowing the names of the people in the band, or being able to reel off a string of trivia about their history. It's not about watching music videos.

It's not about owning the T-shirt, or the fact that you saw them live six years ago at T4-on-the-fucking beach.

Conversely, it's not about owning the rare 1993 EP, or being able to nail that awesome solo on guitar, or knowing all the lyrics to their critically acclaimed seminal album.

Loving music isn't about status, knowledge, or a good tune. Music can remind us of moments of our past, evoking forgotten emotions through this alone.

But there's more than that.

It's about being filled to the brim with an uncontrollable passion. It's about dancing down the elevators, and singing on the tube.

It's about the fire running through your veins. It's about needing to move - be this dancing, convulsing like a maniac, or just fucking sprinting down the road.

It's about letting the music take you. It's about being dragged away to another world, or dancing and singing on the London underground.

It's about looking around the room at a party to find the other grinning people who just clocked THAT bit of the song, because that bit, was fucking amazing.

It's about ascension. It's about becoming and invincible Deity, stomping, skulking, and strutting through your domain without a care in the world.

It can make you want to laugh, and it can make you want to cry. It can make you unimaginably happy. It can make you want to throw your body against a wall in the most brilliant way imaginable.

You'll either get this, or you won't. By this point you'll either be grinning, or you'll think I'm fucking insane. But I just wanted to get this out of the way so we're nice and clear, going forward.

I love music.

Lots.

Day 38: THINGS I CANNOT DO #2

Add value to any conversation about Football, or accept the concept that it is in any way some kind of valuable or important pastime

Well known for my ability to inject impressive insights such as "DO A GOAL!" and "KICK ON THE BALL!"- It's true to say that the only thing that can ever get in the way of the enthusiasm I have for football is my complete and utter lack of enthusiasm for football.

If I wanted to see a bunch of men aggressively kicking something around a field, I'd go and live in Wales. Whilst I've never actually seen this happen in Wales, it's a stereotype that somehow makes a vast amount of sense in my head but thinking about it now, this is probably more related to the hugely unfair level of disdain I have for the country in general.

My favourite teams are the red ones, although failing that I will happily support the blue ones too. Luckily these days I don't often find myself trapped in a pub surrounded by men fixated by green static lamps, but whenever I do I make a point of repeatedly asking them to explain the rules whilst purposefully struggling with comprehension and attention. Whenever it seems like they're getting irritated by this, I ramp up the feigned enthusiasm to truly intolerable levels. Depending on how gullible the target is, I can sometimes entertain myself with this for the entire ninety minutes - usually I dip my toe in at the start by enquiring if the game is Arsenal against England.

Possibly because of the above, people don't tend to invite me to watch football down the pub all that often these days, which is brilliant. I can kind of understand the appeal - to an extent - but essentially it seems like a pretty brain-dead and worthless outlet for human passion. I mean, it's easy to argue that most things people get passionate about are often well known for being repetitive or unoriginal; but there's only so much variety to be had when it comes to the medium of twenty-two pricks running round a field.

BALL BALL BALL, FOOTY FOOTY FOOTY!

Day 37: THINGS I CANNOT DO #1

Listen to anything you say whilst there are bright lights in my peripheral vision.

Televisions/ iphone stuff/ videogames: I am a moth, and I cannot hear you. Ask me a question whilst i'm playing a videogame and you're unlikely to get a response before the 3 minute mark. In the past I've been known to literally take 10 minutes to respond, before quietly slipping back into my fixated coma of silence. By this stage, most people have forgotten their initial question, considerably adding to the awkward confusion. Basically if I have bright lights in my line of vision, you simply cannot hope to maintain my full attention, because the flashing fruit machine will always win.

Sorry, it's not my fault. Every time I visit Piccadilly Circus at night there's about a 60% chance i'll get hit by a bus whilst gawping skywards at the wall of rainbow above. I'm worried that if I ever visit Time Square my brain will give up the ghost before I can even turn around a full 360 - leaving me a burnt out husk of a man wandering the streets of NYC - begging for spare change so I can buy a torch and a selection of coloured acetate sheets. Keep me away from naked flames, please.

Day 36: Bad Day

Some days I just get out of bed the wrong way, and the world seems somehow perfectly shaped into awkward pointy bits that seem intent on repeatedly poking me in the eyes. That was a metaphor, by the way - people haven't actually been poking me in the eyes mum, don't worry. It's at this point though that I do all I can to remind myself that things really could be worse. And of course, it could be so much worse - because I could be that guy. I could be trapped in an inexplicable rage, wanting nothing more than an endless corridor of swinging doors to blast through, with backing music by Nick Cave. But i'm not that guy.

One day though, it really could all go to shit. It could all go totally wrong - big time. One day I might just give up, and retire to a simple life of hiding under duvets and growling at passers by, cautiously venturing out of my quilted fortress to hunt for videogames and biscuits; crying myself to sleep amidst a sea of crumbs. This could happen. But I will never be that guy. That guy has to be that guy for the rest of his life. I couldn't live with that. Could you?

I'm thinking of getting it framed and keeping a copy on my desk, just to help stop me from slipping into a black hole of self indulgent misery. In the meantime, I've just bought myself eight luxury chocolate croissants, which should hopefully make a dent in this wall of Tuesday meh.

Wish me luck.

Day 33: Bedroom Desk

An upside down carton of Ben & Jerry's; Chocolate Fudge Brownie variety - empty. A Kit Kat Chunky wrapper. A cereal bowl sandwiched between two dirty plates, garnished with forks and spoons. Poking out of bowl is the stringed paper tag of a Peppermint teabag. Beneath all of this is a copy of Bayonetta, and a frayed red pack of Colorama printed photos. The photos are around 10 years old, and depict me and my childhood friends walking around a forest, taking it in turns to dress up as a big pink gay robot called J.I.M.M.Y-12.

Three empty bottled of Carlsberg create a perfect diagonal line towards my small silver PC speakers, which are pumping out Midlake at a considerable volume. Atop the left speaker sits the unboxed disc for Modern Warfare 2, and beside it there is a Tanglewood electronic guitar tuner, and a tall tin of Oust spray. A 22" black LG monitor dominates the glass desk, trapped beneath the corner of its stand is a small felt bag that came with my Flip camera - it's covered in dust, and looks filthy. Three receipts; two from Salisbury's, one from Gamestation. Three pound coins poke out from beneath these, bunched together to create a very rounded tri-force. The torn off corner of the packet of a Nutri-grain elevenses bar. Raisin, obviously.

Two mugs of half finished tea sit to my right - both went cold whilst I was playing Mass Effect 2 or furiously blogging. Drinking tea is great, but sometimes just the process of going to make one is all you need to fire the brain up. My black standard issue Microsoft optical mouse sits atop a 2008 diary; used more effectively now than it was in 2008. This mouse lacks the handy side buttons that the one in the office does - I always forget this and end up instinctively pressing non-existent buttons with my thumb. The cream Microsoft keyboard is six years old, and filthy. I'd like a new one, but it invokes so many memories that I don't have the heart to throw it out.

Behind the keyboard are a pair of 90's styled sunglasses with awful off-white zebra print sides. I bought them for $5 when shopping in the rougher side of downtown LA with a great guy called Paul from OPM Australia. They make me look like a total prick, and I love them to bits. Beneath my keyboard is a black felt tip pen, a bright yellow cigarette lighter, and the wrapper for a Boots nicotine patch. A PSP; no battery. Mass Effect 2, Fallout 3, The Force Unleashed - stacked. A pair of silver nail clippers. A mug of tea - fresh. Hurrah.

Day 31: Office Desk

A mishmash of important documents and notes - some pristeen and stapled, some older and crumpled. Half a box of Quality Street Matchmakers - 4 months out of date. An Amazon package, unopened. Seasons 1-4 of the X-men cartoon on DVD; eight cases in total, stacked akwardly like a precarious game of Jenga. A single red Bakugan. A pen holder, with various sections; mostly empty - aside from a handful of coppers in the back section. I don't know who put them there - it wasn't me. A tiny piece of purple chalk sits just beside this - too worn down to be of use. A box of dorset cereal - the 'simply delicious muesli' variant. 7/10. A paracetemol box - empty, aside from the instruction leaflet that came in the box (I'll put that in the bin now, actually).

A Dell monitor, sat atop two packs of A4 paper - partly to improve my viewing angle, partly so I can dip my head and avoid becoming distracted by stuff going on behind it. Attached to the monitor is a sheet of paper, folded in half, listing the names, countries, and responsibilities of the main people I deal with on a daily basis, as well as a post it note that simply says OZ in big red letters, to remind me not to forget about Australia. Stuck to the top of my monitor is a tiny die-cast model of princess leia - a secret santa gift recieved last year. It came with a pack of superhero Top Trumps, but i've no idea what happened to them. The top of my monitor also has a cutting from a magazine that simply says : "HEY SON! THAT'S RAD!". Six budget Wii games.

A stylophone; still boxed, no batteries. A fistful of payslips. Four official Nintendo GBA connector cables. A selection of booklets that came in the box with my iPhone. A Natwest card reader. Three packs of Trebor extra strong mints - one half finished. Two partially depleted blister packs of paracetemol (now without a box). A 2010 Argos catalogue; one page ripped out, and kept in wallet. A 'No Fear' branded full face balaclava. An empty bag of swedish sweets called 'Polly'. A tub of Bryllcreem wax. A radiator key. A Panasonic KX-T7665 phone - the handset has a sticker on it depicting the evil train from Zelda: Spirit Tracks. About 15 copies of MCV - many unopened.

A box of value brand ibuprofen. Two cigarette filters in their plastic tube - one end twisted off. A wrapper for an Australian sweet called 'Fantales'. A Street Fighter music collection that came free with PSM3. A Black and Red notebook. A Dell keyboard with multimedia buttons i'll never use. A Dell mouse with the handy side buttons that let you go back and forward through pages. A bowl of chicken noodle laksa soup: Lunch in progress.Two white mugs, branded with the FrankPR logo - one filled with chilled water from the cooler, the other contains a sludge sediment from this morning's coffee.

Day 5: The post where I start adding titles

Today my inspiration is derived from the first #oneaday post by Andy Johnson - whose musings on the whole insane affair brought a little clarity to a train of thought my mind's been fixated with for the past few days. I'm only on day 4, but already being able to write about anything, and yet having to write something once every day has been interesting in ways I'd not foreseen.

Initially, my fear was simple: How the hell am I going to find the time to write something every day for a year? I won't lie, it's still on my mind. But above this there's a more prominent concern that keeps rushing through my head: How long before I run out of things to say?

No matter how exciting and varied a life you like to think you lead, routine still remains a fairly staple chunk of our lives; relying on the events of each day to provide content might work for a little while, but to rely on every day providing you with something interesting to say would be risky. Andy J reckons we're likely to all start saying 'yes' more; maintaining interesting content by maintaining an interesting life. I can see myself embracing this attitude already, so he's bang on the money. In addition to this, I've found that #oneaday has sparked off another new habit - one that's sent my brain into a dizzying overdrive.

Everything I see - and every thought I have - is being examined. Tested. Pushed to an absolute limit. What can I do with this fleeting thought? Could I write a whole paragraph on that? Do I have the skill to create a whole page?

Scanning through some of the other excellent #oneaday blogs, I get the impression this may be a common theme. Perhaps it's just my imagination, but as I skim between the other blogs I get the sensation of subtle tones bleeding between writers day by day. It gives the entire project a wonderfully evolving nature that I hadn't foreseen - we're all undoubtedly slightly worried of running out of ideas, and as such are open to embracing the ideas that float into our minds more readily than we would otherwise. Few of the pieces are directly connected at first glance, but spend a bit of time soaking up the work of some of the various writers each day and you definitely get a sense of there being a subtle stream of consciousness going on. I'm aware that last sentence may sound genuinely insane, but after twenty minutes of trying to work out how to explain it in better way, I've given up. Please don't have me sectioned. x

When signing up, I assumed I'd just write about games I've been playing, or films I'd seen recently. It's what I've always done - it's safe. But as it's safe, I can bank these ideas indefinitely - I'll save them for a day when I've run out of ideas. I might as well use whatever pops into my mind in the here and now, as there's no guarantee that I'll be able to think of anything tomorrow. Fuck.

Without such strict deadlines, I can guarantee that most of the pieces you'll read on #oneday would have been scrapped. And sure, some of it will sound like self-indulgent shit - but because of the very nature of #oneaday, it kind of can't be - as there's very little intention involved in any of it. I didn't wake up this morning planning to write this, I woke up this morning knowing I had to write something - it just turns out, this is what it is.

Click the link on the right hand side of the blog, and check out what other people have written today. And if you're interested in getting involved, it's not too late - drop @ultrabrilliant a line and join in.

Day 2

Last night I spent the evening trying to fix the somewhat lacklustre Internet Virgin Media kindly spunked through my letterbox last month. In the past I've been somewhat of a technical genius when it comes to plugging cables into things, but it seems I've met my match. Hunched sideways on the floor of the drafty hallway where our router resides left me feeling like a bonsai kitten, shaken, on the rocks. With a healthy splash of despair. Garnished with a weak metaphor.

Turns out the router I bought to replace the junk Virgin provided only has an RJ-11 ADSL WAN output, where I of course need an RJ-45 LAN output to connect to the Virgin modem box thing for full-on virgin cable MEGA-WAN. It's quite likely that you'll find the above to be insurmountable blabber, and that's entirely reasonable. In the same way a man like me will genuinely ask whether or not it's important to have those funny little bubble bits in the heels of running shoes, I can't reasonably expect other people to have any knowledge on tech junk. My standard pub quiz answer to anything sports related for example, is consistently "FOOTBALL" with a varying quantity of exclamation marks on the end.

But this is supposed to be my specialist subject, and despite that I've managed to buy a router which is entirely useless, before spending a good part of an hour fumbling around in a haze of wild profanity and misplaced optimism before unavoidably admitting that I don't really have a clue what I'm doing. Failure's one thing, but it's the painfully stereotypical nature of it that hurts most, as to me it seems worryingly like textbook 'DAD' behaviour.

I'll no doubt be revisiting the topic again in 2020, where I'll most likely be Cyber-Blog-Chastising youths for their neuro-implants and hoverboard antics, and stoically maintaining that I'm perfectly capable of fixing my own Skynet. Don't touch it son - you'll break it.