No, it’s not a review… I haven’t actually seen the film — I probably should… — but I know enough about it to make my OWN!

The premise: a list of things that you’d like to do before you ‘kick the bucket’ (die, for you non-idiomatic types).

I know it’s a flogged-to-death idea, but the thing is… I want to do a lot. If I don’t write down what I want to do, I’m going to forget something. I’m like a kid that sees a butterfly outside, opens the door, stumbles and shambles across towards the butterfly… and then spots a football on the ground, so I run towards that, pace quickening, but before I get there, I trip and fall, face-planting into the soft grass — but that’s OK, I’m now up-close and personal with an ant hill, I’m watching the ants scurry around, living a completely different life to mine. I crawl around for a while and there are worms, rabbit holes, acorns and dead leaves, each one interesting and magical in its own way.

I smile and pick myself up, still marvelling at the other world I’d just discovered.  The butterfly’s flown off and I’ve completely forgotten about the ball, but the journey wasn’t in vain.

I’m an impulsive guy. I think of something I want to do, and do it. I see something or someone that I want, and go and get it. Incidentally, in the words of my mother: ‘Sebastian, you are the single worst person in the world to buy a birthday present for because you’ve already got everything.‘ (It’s my birthday next week, by the way, and I’ve been kind enough this year to leave a couple of things unobtained, just so my mother has an easier time of it…)

The problem with being impulsive is those butterflies get away. Those footballs remain unkicked. I might have an incredibly diverse body of knowledge tucked away in my head, and a lot of worldwide, well-tested wisdom — but sometimes I let the simple things pass me by. When I die, I don’t want to be the authority on ‘Invertebrates In The Sub-Amazonian Delta’ (actually, that’s a lie, I’d love to be the authority on anything, but hang on). When I die, I want to have experienced everything. No matter how big or how small, how expensive or cheap, how important or frivolous — the world has so much to offer, and I don’t want to pass any of it by.

And that’s what my bucket list is for.

Sebastian’s Bucket List

N.B. I reserve the right to re-shuffle this list at any time. I also don’t have to justify any of my choices, though I might be convinced to do so at a later date. This list is also not exhaustive… I’m sure I’ll come across more ‘Oooh shiny!’ butterflies as life goes on. Lots more.

1. Get married in a large cathedral –  we’re talking St Paul’s Cathedral, or St Peter’s Basilica. May entertain the idea of moving to a state like Utah where multiple marriages are acceptable, if potential secondary wife has contacts that enable use of aforementioned cathedrals… (do I have to marry a Princess/Queen?)
2. Live in a castle, one with turrets and multiple wings – a wing for my parents… and an even more distant wing for the in-laws. A turret that I can stand atop and survey my kingdom, like in The Lion King.
3. Lunch with a comedian — don’t mind which, I just want to see who’s funnier in person: me or them. For the longest time, I wanted to have a date with Eddie Izzard, but his recent Twitterings suggest he might be a bit… dull when he’s not being a comic genius on stage.
4. Hold a tiger/lion cub – don’t judge me. Boys want to do this too! Admittedly, an emasculated boy, but…
5. Go back to Italy and eat more pizza — this will make more sense after I write about my trip to Italy, and my 10-day epic journey full of trials and tribulations in an effort to find the BEST PIZZA IN THE WORLD.
6. Obtain some kind of super power – a little out there, but I firmly believe I’m of the generation that will live for ever. We can’t, therefore, be that far away from ’super powers’, even if it’s something ’simple’ like heightened empathy. Flight would be neat (personal jetpack might be an easy solution to this one?) but I guess Magneto-like powers are out of the question, right?
7. Get a piano lesson from Ben Folds — favourite musician, favourite instrument. If he then played ‘Emaline’ to me I’d probably swoon and he would catch me. Later, upon waking up in his arms, I would ask him to marry me.
8. Try to make a cola variant that’s better than Coca-Cola – I’m a Coke addict, and proud. But after 24 years of chain-slurping Coke down (yes, my mother was a druggy at the time, so I was even breastfed coke), I’ve begun to wonder if, possibly, there’s something better out there. Maybe… I could make Coca-Cola even better? Unlikely, but I’d like to try.
9. Drive a rally car at high-speed around a mountain track – similar to the previous item, I also love speed. Hah, just kidding. I mean ACCELERATION! G-force! Wild-eyed, edge-of-the-seat, fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants break-neck SPEED! If you’ve ever seen the ‘World Rally Championships’ and the kinds of conditions that they do 100MPH in… well, I want to do that.
10. Kiss The American one more time — self explanatory.
11. Dress up in a realistic dog costume, and actually convince someone that I’m a really large dog – don’t ask.

That’ll do for now, I’ll add more as I think of them. I’ll cross them off as and when I do them — and trust me, I’ll do all of them. I told you I was impulsive.

Did I miss anything obvious? (Hah, you all thought I’d miss out the dog-suit one… HAH! I bet you’re all out of suggestions now…)

(Another entry, another podcast! Recorded all in one take without any kind of planning, so the voices you hear are ‘off the cuff’ — I’m particularly proud of my attempt at a crazed feminist. Hopefully there are no repeat or missing paragraphs. It sounds a little bit nasal and wet in places, but hey, I can’t and don’t want to fix that: excess saliva has always served me well in the past.)

Once upon a time there were was a seedy, fleet-footed fellow that only moved under the cover of darkness. Only after the sun had descended and the campus took on the dusky, dark-blue hues of night would he emerge in his long coat and broad-rimmed hat. His black leather boots moved with surprising grace, the slight squeak of foot against foot the only noise betraying his location.

He skirts the meeting point, watching his target nervously hop from foot to foot and light a third cigarette, its burning tip faintly outlining his hooded face. Eventually he approaches, sidling up next to the smoker. He grunts a quiet greeting.

‘Got the money?’

‘You got all the stuff I want?’

‘Of course.’

‘Even the ebony-and-ivory one?’

‘Does the Porn King ever fail to deliver?’

…

At university I ruled the roost. I was invited to all the parties and chicks clung to every limb. I was that guy on the white leather sofa, splayed out languidly like a snow angel, girls curled up in the spaces left between my arms and legs. Merely opening my mouth would cause those nearby to quickly hush and watch me; watch my lips, my teeth, the expansion of my ribs as I breathe in, preparing to speak.

‘The Porn King requires a blow job.’ A flurry of activity followed as the girls quickly clambered off the sofa onto the ground and two others standing nearby rushed to help.

I once lived a life of regal opulence. Hedonistic extravagance. Girls and boys available to me at any time for any need and every want: food, sex or even… conversation. I’d be given free tickets to the local cinema and I’d be rushed through the other entrance at nightclubs, the one without a queue. At restaurants I’d always get the best table, the freshest bread and it wasn’t uncommon for the chef to prepare a special dessert, just for me.

I felt just a bit like The Godfather.

Unlike the Godfather though, I hadn’t built an empire based on coercion, fear and racketeering; this was an empire built upon something far healthier: sex and satisfaction. Not the human-trafficking kind either: sex, gooey and juicy, safely condensed into an easily-transportable disc.

The word ‘pornography’, perhaps aptly if you’re a ‘moralist’, comes from ancient Greek literally meaning ‘the writing/recording of prostitutes/prostitution’. That’s not a good start for an argument in favour of pornography, but wait!

Historically porn has been outlawed for religious reasons — monotheistic of course: the Greeks and Romans loved sex and all the sticky extras it entailed — but more recently the anti-porn brigade has been led by the feminists: ‘Porn is degrading to the female form!’ they decry. At the same time they claim that we’re now grown up enough, as a culture, to grant women the rights they’ve for millennia done without: to vote, to display and do with themselves as they see fit, to sleep with whoever they damn well please — to be a separate race or species: women. For the longest time women have merely been an extension of man, their subordinate helpers, humans without penises. Feminists — and most sane people — argue that it’s time women were allowed to plant their feet on the ground, look around, and strike out in any direction

The argument is, of course, that the actresses in porn aren’t ‘being women’; no, they’re prostituted lumps of meat, their bodies sold for money to the highest bidder for the satisfaction of a paying audience that’s sitting in front of their TV or computer screen, fapping, flapping furiously. But… is there something wrong with that?

It’s the classic problem: how restrictive do you make laws? You can’t re-outlaw porn — it just wouldn’t wash without the stranglehold that religion once held over law-making. You can’t point your finger at the mischievous boys and girls and say: ‘You behave and keep your clothes on now, y’hear?’ The cat — the pussy — is out of the bag.

Perhaps a better question to ask is: why is porn considered to degrade women, but not men? Is it because the woman always ‘receives’? Is it purely because women have been on the receiving end of male leadership and ownership since the dawn of time? What about gay male porn? Are there masculists out there campaigning for the rights of men that always ‘play the bottom’ in porn? Another case in point: I had to look up ‘masculist’ to see if such a word even existed. That’s how foreign the concept of ‘male rights’ are in today’s society.

It’s a shame that women and men must resort to starring in pornography, and no doubt it’s hard and unsatisfying work wrought with risk. In all but a few unfortunate cases however, it was their choice to take part — perhaps they like sex so why not be paid for it? It’s a lot safer to have sex on a porno shoot than with some random guy or girl that you meet at a club — for a start, you have a camera crew and director watching to make sure they don’t stick something in the wrong hole. That’s probably a better problem to address: the current urge for ‘modern women’ to screw anything with a pulse just because they can, but that deserves a separate topic of discussion.

It boils down to this, feminists, priests and conservative law-makers: is it possible to have too many human rights? Do you somehow pretend to understand more about ourselves than us? Ethics — the ability to decide what is right and wrong — is fundamentally personal. You can’t tell someone the right answer for any given situation: to retain the human right of free thought and self-determinism they have to decide for themselves. Instead of trying to govern our actions, educate us fully and hope that we come out the other end wiser and relatively unscathed.

As a race we’re great at getting through things if we know what we’re getting into. When we are blinkered by lies and propoganda, when we walk into a situation without unbiased information, when we are unable to see both sides of an argument due to outside influence — when we lose our ability to make rational and fair decisions, then we’re in trouble.

I don’t intend to make a habit of commenting on current affairs but it just so happens that the current government election fracas in Iran fits into my train of thought on ignorance and irrationality.

The complete lack of human rights in Iran is not a new thing. People, usually those from the fortunate West, forget that the fabled Universal Declaration of Human Rights is not a treaty; it’s not something that countries sign at a summit and abide by. It’s a declaration, like the USA’s declaration of independence. It is a statement of the rights that should be granted to every human on this planet. These rights are not privileges to be earnt or bartered from an oppressive institution, league or government; they are to be given unconditionally upon birth.

And for many Westerners, like you and I, they are. In Iran, as with most of the developing world, these rights are merely a mythical concept afforded to only a handful of lucky, aristocratic or autocratic individuals. We don’t know how lucky we are, nor do we appreciate just how recent the concept of human rights actually are. Speaking out of turn 100 years ago would result in being caned as a child, or beaten into a bloody pulp as an adult. Falling pregnant out of wedlock would throw you into social exile. Believing or acting upon religious beliefs outside the norm would get you stoned, drowned or burnt to death.

For the longest time we didn’t even own our bodies: nominally under our control, but only during peacetime, or when not under duress and whipped into chain gangs. Historically, we were under the singular jurisdiction of the local Lord, or owned by whoever employed us. This only changed with the form of trade unions and the downfall of antiquated European feudal systems, but for centuries this was sadly the case across what we now consider ‘the Western world’.

Just one thing has remained entirely ours: our mind and our thoughts. As long as we didn’t vocalise those thoughts, our minds have long been the last remaining stronghold of freedom. Of course, religious dogma and torture are usually employed to wean out any remaining free-thinkers — usually those that made the mistake of opening their mouths. But some people kept on dreaming, kept on fighting. Enough of us fought back against the Dark Age’s oppression so that we might one day experience our Renaissance and Enlightenment. Without either golden age we wouldn’t be living in this world today.  Those brave souls that kept thinking outside the box, even after being brutally tortured or their families were killed — when all seemed truly lost, they kept on sticking it to the man, hoping for change. To those men and women we have a debt of immeasurable gratitude.

I have a theory (and it deserves its own blog entry): the Middle East is simply behind the times — from a Western point of view. To us Europeans and Americans the atrocities and injustices occurring in Iran are backward. We decry and condemn the unfairness of it all. We break down in tears at the thought of free people being brutally beaten and unfairly subdued by an oppressive force. And to us, it is inhumane and immoral: to deny their rights of thought and expression, refusing  their right take part in the government and arbitrarily arresting those that try — these are breaches of important, fundamental human rights that we Westerners take for granted.

But to them it is the norm. This is the bit we don’t agree with, but we must get our heads around: the Middle East is, to us, akin to antiquity — that’s how we used to do things, centuries ago. We used to have slaves, and deny the vote to certain classes and castes. Not so long ago, making a public stand would get you shot. Once upon a time we had as few rights as our persecuted brothers and sisters in Iran. That’s why it hurts so much. That’s why it feels so incredibly unfair, so unjust. We turn on our TVs to see centuries of hard work spent on gaining our human rights pissed on by the government of Iran.

I hope those in the Middle East keep on fighting. Those that oppress you are afraid of losing control, and believe it or not, that’s progress. That’s the beginning of a revolution and history has shown that freedom will be yours. Eventually.

Imagine for a moment a world where clueless people remain silent; where those without working knowledge shut up and listen. A society whose people, instead of making wild, uneducated stabs, feels compelled to investigate, question and probe. Consider a culture that actually cares about the damage caused by ignorance and prejudice, to friends and strangers alike.

* * *

Once upon a time there was authority. I don’t mean in the policing or juridical sense — Rome didn’t have police, you know? — I’m talking of intellectual authority. If you had a question about childbirth you went to see the wizened midwife that delivered both you and your mother into the world. If you were ill, your only hope was if the sawbones had seen a similar case, or had a beaten, weather-worn hand-me-down almanac that described how to use leeches effectively. Slowly though, over thousands of years, authority shifted to the written and printed word; the professionals remained masters, but they could not travel the world as quickly or as effusively as books. Information became available, accessible, free — and both culture and science surged forward as a result.

Society began to revere the written word. For some reason, ink impressed on paper in the shape of words and sentences have immense weight and meaning. What you read about giving birth is suddenly more true than the wizened midwife’s decades of experience. A book says the world is flat and, in your mind, in an instant, the world becomes flat. It’s magical just how much credence the written word is given — people will believe the craziest things if they’re written down.

Whoompf! Religion.

Blam! Newspapers.

Poof! The Internet!

Authority still exists — somewhere — but its voice is muffled, drowned out by a sea of disinformation; information that gets propagated as wisdom because we simply don’t know any better. That’s what old wives’ tales are incidentally: something your great, great grandmother once read, assimilated as truth and then forwarded it along through the generations. Does masturbation really give you hairy palms? Is thirteen actually unlucky? No.

And therein lies the problem: knowledge is power whether it is proven true or not. Fallacy, slander and gossip — it is all, from the (unfortunate) recipient’s point of view, working knowledge. You read some juicy little factoid about a famous celebrity and… it makes you feel good. Chances are it’s not true, or only partially so, but knowing that little nugget of knowledge somehow makes you feel enlightened, powerful. “A lie gets halfway around the world before the truth has a chance to get its pants on” Winston Churchill famously said. There is a reason people peddle in lies and half-truths. There is a reason why newspaper editors ‘add one’ to death tallies or run with unnamed sources. And that’s the other, far more tricky problem: lies, if repeated enough by any kind of authority — a priest, a mother, a teacher — become truth. Cold hard truth that, within a generation, becomes wisdom.

We’re all walking around with a lot of data that we think is true. It’s a survival trait: our nurture is like gospel. And that’s bad when it overrides our nature, our experiences. We feel qualified to dispense these false truths to others.

‘You must have something wrong with your head’ we tell our friends and loved ones.

‘You shouldn’t do that, it’s wrong, it’s bad’ we say to our girlfriends and boyfriends.

‘How can you believe in that?’ we say to our friends with a differing faiths.

Anyone that’s mastered a field or subject will know that it feels a lot like peeling back layers of untruth — Oh, so that’s how it works! — that’s all real education is. It fills in gaps and rewrites what we’ve known and worked with for years. But it’s not easy. It’s no simple task to alter your entire vision of the world just because an encyclopaedia or wise man tells you to. How long did people hold onto the fact that the world was flat? That’s why false knowledge and data will continue to propagate through generations. We’re stubborn bastards.

Next time, before you pass along a piece of information, think about whether it’s actually true or not. If you’re not sure, go to the library and find out what the truth really is. At the very least you’ll be doing the next generation and tomorrow’s civilisation a huge favour.

* * *

Please excuse my use of the African American vernacular — dis, to disrespect –  but it was necessary. It’s altogether more punchy than ‘Don’t go insulting what you don’t know nothing about.’

This isn’t finished. Next I want to tie this into religion, prejudice and ignorance.

Ah, now this is a meaty one. I’m not going to name any names, and I ask you kindly to do the same. I’m going to speak in general terms and hope I don’t offend too many people. But if you’re a believer of some kind and I make you question your faith… don’t hurt me! It’s a good thing to re-evaluate your environment occasionally. Things change, don’t forget. Something that made sense a while ago might not make sense now. With that said, on with the show.

* * *

Religion is technology. Something — something new, some kind of data — is discovered. It’s then honed and refined. And then it becomes a religion. Religion is simply ‘high-tech’.

Along the way there are fads and cults but ultimately, if it passes through its trial by fire, it becomes a religion.

Big pill to swallow, and I need to provide an example. Let’s take Jesus (sorry Christians), as he’s as close to omnipresence as things get. Look at your surroundings right now: your computer, iPhone, TV, keyboard. Pretty awesome eh? Do you know how any of them work? Maybe. Mostly they just work, you don’t question it. You sure as hell don’t call your computer a ‘box of miracles’ — well you might, but most of you probably don’t.

But that’s what it is. The fact that we can send data from one side of the planet to the other in a fraction of a second is a frackin’ miracle. We have the knowledge and power to surgically replace faulty hearts and perform crazy experiments at a sub-atomic level — that’s a damned miracle.

Only it’s not. It’s just technology.

Do you really think Jesus was a miracle worker? The son of God?

Just because I control the flow of electrons and fly through space at the speed of sound… does that deify me? Do you prostrate yourself before me; am I the Messiah? No — at least I doubt it. I’m merely harnessing technology.

You see, all these fields, spheres of thought and belief are really, really closely entwined. I’m close to a resolution, an epiphany: I can just about put my finger on it but it’s… slippery. Magic is the key to belief — mystery, that is. You don’t believe in something tangible, something real — you don’t believe in your car. You believe in true love, God, UFOs.

But there’s no such thing as magic, beyond impressive use of technology or new inventions. It’s magic until you learn how it’s done… and then it becomes mundane.

Is religion the same thing? Was talking to God, receiving divine prophecy and turning water into wine what passed for ‘high-tech’ 2,000 years ago? Did Jesus have some sterilised bandages or knowledge of Eastern medicine that cured large swathes of sick people? Does that make him a work of wonder, or merely a nice guy with some great tools? Why don’t we drop to our knees and deify Sagan or Einstein, our modern-day masters of the universe?

Our understanding of the universe is so great and our critical analysis now so exacting that magic and mystery are finding it impossible to gain a foothold in today’s society. Fads will form, and cults will climb to power and become religions, but as technology improves and shines a light on their inherent fallacies, they will fall — as soon as the curtain is whisked back and the truth revealed, the mystery will melt away. The magic castle will crumble and the religion, cult or fad will perish.

Without magic, there is no no faith, no prayer, no belief. Without mystery — the single most powerful force in human nature – there is no no religion.

In 50 years our understanding of the universe and humanity will be so great that I’ll be able to zap your body and fix it of all maladies. No side-effects. No caveats. What will existing religions do then?

Merry Christmas! Or Winter Solstice! Whatever!

As the last few days of 2009 and the decade dribble lazily through the hourglass’s pinch of incessant, unstoppable time, my focus turns inward. I’m not prone to introversion — really, it’s sometimes a little worrying how little I stop to care; least of all care about myself. Obviously, the delicious irony is that the moment I try to think about why I don’t care, I stop caring and think about something else. I guess it’s something deep-seated; or perhaps it’s just not good to care about all the small things?

God knows I’ve done OK so far, without the over-analysis, without the stopping-to-think. Water off a duck’s back. Don’t stop in a storm or you’re liable to get drenched. Maybe nothing bad has happened to me because I’m not waiting for it to happen? We make our own luck, right?

2009 has been a fantastic year; the best of my exciting quarter decade [oops -S] of living. I feel incredibly grateful to have shared it with all of you. I have this blog to thank — or blame — for almost everything that happened to me this year. I have this blog to thank for good, for bad, and for the ugly.

I have a lot to write, and not a lot of time to do it in (damn Christmas), so I’m afraid this will spill into tomorrow’s entry, and maybe even Thursday.

From the top then:

The Good of 2009 (#1): The Blog

Let me gush for a moment; don’t try to stop me [it's late as I write this, so I might ramble]. I’ve been writing for years — but probably not as long as you think. I stopped writing creatively back when I was 16. No real reason: my interest just moved on to other things. I kept a LiveJournal through university, mostly for my family, but it wasn’t particularly deep nor was it well-written. This year… I have begun writing properly, for the first time.

Seriously, before this year, the last thing I wrote was an exam for GCSE English, aged 14. If you look back to the beginning of this blog — way back in January 2009 — you’ll notice that my, er, control of the English language has improved! I can’t read back without wincing; it’s a bit like looking at old photos with bad haircuts, I guess.

Anyway, at the start of the year I gave up my previous job, website design and programming, with the intention of writing. I didn’t really have any other ideas at the time. I just wanted to write.

Basically, I feel like I have something I should share with the world. Writing is a very good way to do that. Speaking is even better, but people that know me in real life will tell you that I’m already good at the speaking thing. I’m rambling. My hope is, by reading, that you feel slightly better off than if you didn’t read.

The Bad of 2009 (#1): No Girlfriend

Yes yes… cry me a river…

It’s now been, shit… three years since I had a girlfriend? No, it must be two… surely…

Anyway, it’s been a long time. If fault must be ascribed, I suppose it’s only fair that it should sit squarely on my shoulders. I mean… I could’ve been more proactive in the whole girlfriend-seeking thing. My mother usually chimes in around now to say ‘Seb, you won’t get a girlfriend if you never leave your room’ and she’s not wrong. If this was a New Year’s resolution thing, I’d probably be saying, at this juncture, that I need to get out more. Fortunately, it’s not yet New Year, and these aren’t my resolutions… so I won’t be getting out more.

I simply like my own company a lot more than that of other people. Sad, I agree. Perhaps I haven’t met the right person yet? (This is to do with friends too: I have no friends, thus no girlfriend.) Obviously I have to go out to have a chance at meeting the right people. Catch-22 (which is a good book by the way, if a little crazy; reading it at the moment).

Perhaps I should just travel more. I didn’t travel enough this year. Or maybe I shouldn’t work so hard so that I can get out a little more and recover the friends I once had. I do hate general ‘out’ places though: pubs and clubs are so banal, so pointless. Cinemas are a little better. Restaurants are great — but you have to get to the restaurant stage. It’s hard for me to describe, without you being inside my head, the actual issue. I won’t bother right now — let’s just leave it at ‘I like my own company’.

But I’d like someone to snuggle. Definitely. And maybe some sex. But more the snuggling. Actually, it’s more so that I have someone to bounce my crazy plans for world domination off, but let’s keep that one quiet for now.

The Ugly of 2009 (#1): Working Too Hard

Ah the double-edged blade of effort. What is too much effort? And what is not enough?

Can a man of such young years, still without a solid career, even consider the idea of working too much? Surely these are the years when I should be working my (sadly) flat ass off to make a name and a position in the world for myself.

But at the same time, I am an artist, I am creative. All work and no play. So far I’ve got by with making sure work is creativity. With my new writing job (I’m now a lead/editor!), and an urge to actually get the cogs turning on a few grandiose machinations, playtime has taken a back seat.

I can’t help but think that kicking back and enjoying well-earnt and delectable pleasures is something I ought to do. I just don’t know if I should take a break now, or in another year. I’ve done so much this year that I probably shouldn’t stop now, but I don’t want to burn out.

* * *

More tomorrow!

[In the olden days I used to always have punchy, interesting titles on my blog entries. Funny how that's kind of died down. I wonder if more people would read if I try to be sensational...]

Yesterday I began an epic journey of introspection self-actualisation. I’m trying to digest 2009 by labelling the major milestones or stand-out points as good, bad or ugly. I actually made a list on paper (I was in the car), and I couldn’t actually come up with much bad stuff. Is it really too crazy to suggest that not a single bad thing happened to me in the span of a year? Hm…

Anyway, first, a couple of photos from the archives that never made it to Flickr or this blog.

(This is about 10 minutes before the ‘pond sunset’ photos that I showed you last week. I can’t begin to describe how much I love low-angled winter sun. Look at the shadow cast by the little mounds of snow on the ground! And gawd… the colour. THE COLOUR.)

(This is an odd one, taken at around 1am, just as the snow had finished falling last week. Broken bird table in the foreground, dining room window in the background. I like it; it makes it look like we live in a castle — but it’s a bit odd.)

The Good of 2009 (#2): The Arts & Critical Analysis

This is a good, meaty one. With my daily grind shifted away from website design, my mind seems to have opened up. Perhaps it’s the equivalent of travelling to another country, but mentally. I find myself contemplating the intricacies of concepts and ideas that simply didn’t occur to me last year. It’s not like these are new thoughts either: almost all of what I write here is old ideas, with a new spin.

I’m just infinitely more capable of turning an idea over in my head to analyse all of its facets.

I want to believe that my elevated ability of critical analysis comes from reading and writing, but it might simply be the culmination of travel and life experience. Writing here certainly helps — it’s no good having revolutionary, world-agitating ideas if you can’t put them into words.

It’s definitely led me into some dark and oppressive trains of thought too. I’d never really got the whole ‘epiphany’ thing until recently, when I was sitting outside, looking up into the cosmos and trying to catch shooting stars. Woah. This thing is… big.

The Bad of 2009 (#2): Intentionally Left Blank

I told you I was really struggling to find bad things in 2009. I guess we’ll have to leave it as simply ‘no girlfriend’ then. Let’s hope this no-bad thing is a trend I can continue into 2010!

The Ugly of 2009 (#3): Photography

Now this might be a little contentious, and I might simply be worrying about nothing much at all but… the photography isn’t doing as well as I’d like. I mean, technically, I am getting better with every frame I shoot. My digital darkroom process is, in my opinion, one of the best out there. It sounds big-headed, but it’s rare that I see a photo that impresses me more than my own. It does happen of course — but… I am not as amazed by commercial, successful photographers as I ought to be.

I look at magazine covers and shrug. Editorial photos… hit and miss. Even the old standard, the music magazine front covers… mediocre. There are still some stand-out photos of course, but they are rare. Why don’t I have their job instead?

But then I consider how lucky I was to get my writing job. Many people struggle for years or decades before they get a big break. I think photography (as fine art) is the same. It’s not like I am taking commercial/paparazzi photos. It’s not like I am taking portraits of figureheads or celebrities.

And then I look at a frickin’ copy of the National Geographic. I think, in total, over 10 years of reading NG, I’ve seen about five bad photos.

I’m lumping this one under ‘ugly’ because I’m simply not sure if I’m doing well or not. I have an optimistic feeling that my photographic efforts will pay off in 2010, but there’s a chance it won’t happen for years and years… and that’s something I should be prepared for!

I didn’t pick up a camera to be famous or successful though. I picked up a camera eight years ago because I wanted an excuse to push me outside, away from my computers. If I was still only measuring myself by that meter, it’s been a resounding success. Unfortunately, I’ve now had a taste of just how good I could be as a photographer… and now I want to be BIG.

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I think I’m done here. But something might pop up on Thursday, we’ll see!

I do hope that suffixing things with ‘gasm’ doesn’t become my catchphrase. I can just see it now… thirty years in the future, sitting on a couch, doing an interview for some crappy daytime TV show… ‘Go on, say it.’ — ‘But I’m here to drum up interest for-’ – ‘Say it! We’re not here to hear about your new book!’ — ‘OK OK… gasm. Gasm, gasm, gasm. There, I said it.’

Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.

I wonder what kind of phrases/quotes will be remembered when I die. I wonder if I’ve already said my greatest words of wisdom (what a sad thought…) The phrases you find online, one spoken or written by influential and important people, were they great at the time? Will something I’ve written in the past year come back in 50 years, without context, and sound far more pertinent or awesome than I ever intended?

I’m ranting, sorry. My eyes hurt because I’ve been either under or oversleeping — why do my eyes hurt when I oversleep? God knows. Also, my eyesight is failing again which means I need to get new lenses. I wish I knew for sure if this was just genetic (both my parents have poor eyesight) or if it’s the continued, excessive computer-use. Or maybe it’s both. How bad can it get…? I’m only -4 at the moment, and apparently I shouldn’t worry until I’m at -8 or so… but still…

This week’s photos come from New Year’s Eve. Just a few minutes before New Year’s Day actually. It’s been incredibly cold for the last couple of weeks and conditions haven’t been great for photography (and I’ve been sleeping at odd hours, which doesn’t help).  I think I alluded to a previous love of low-light photography — it was basically all I did at college, when I first started taking photos.

I’ve been out the last few nights trying to take some more photos, but so far nothing else has worked. It’s pretty hit and miss, pointing your camera at puddles (like yesterday’s 52), or into misty windows. If there’s any kind of photography that actually lies, it’s photos of night-time or low-light scenes. Photography is all about drawing with light (literally), so when there is no light it’s no surprise that the results are a little weird.

As always, you can hover over photos for my notes. Not much this week, but with Christmas and New Year celebrations, I think you can forgive me. I’m going to try and do some more night-time photography in the next few days, while the moon is still quite full.

(This actually looks really cool when cropped to just the end of the road… there’s some fogginess and some nice light… but I’m showing you the whole thing because of the MOON! There’s a couple of stars in there too, if you look closely…)

(This week’s 52 wasn’t a crop of this — they are different photos, from different angles. I love the light in the puddle in this version though!)

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And we’re done for another week! The last photo was actually going to be this week’s ‘19 of 52′, but I went with the ‘puddle of ink’ at the last moment. I still haven’t got my driving license… did you know that? I really should get it this year…