2009

The year ad 2009 is waiting just around the corner. It has been deceptive, it has fooled me into thinking it was a long way away, and, slowly at first, has been creeping up on me. The days have been so long and yet the weeks so short. Time is sneaky, going too slow at one moment, and too fast another; and doing precisely that you would rather it not do. But there it is, with a sudden bang of fireworks and a fragmented rendition of Auld Lang Sine, the promise of a New Year comes and has left an old one in its wake. We should saviour the last moments of 2008, close our eyes and listen, breathe, pause; because these moments will never come again. Do not count down with bated-breath in that sordid fashion. 2008 will soon be no more.

2008 was a funny year. It was a disastrous year for some, but it has been a time of change. Economies have collapsed leaving people uncertain of the future. It is perhaps on this day, more than any other, that you realise that, by its nature, is uncertain. Time is sneaky, remember that. Did anyone think on 1^st January 2008 that the year would turn out like this? No, of course not. Perhaps we leave this year with regrets. Fortunately, I don’t, but I will begin with resolutions: hopes that I can make 2009 into the best year, where I fulfil my potential and reach new heights. But will it ever happen? Probably not, but it is nice to dream; therefore I won’t be too disappointed when they don’t work out.

So, 2009 will come with its hopes, and possibilities and the smell of burnt gunpowder and Lambrini, but only for a year.

Identity Issues

For my dissertation I have been reading essays on how certain characters have fictionalised others (usually the male fictionalising the female, as this line of argument is often found in feminist discourse), and this got me to thinking. To what extent am I just a figment of society’s imagination? How is my identity as an individual determined? Fortunately, I came to a reassuring conclusion, but you’re going to have to wait for that.

The question of identity is one that is an issue that is existent in our lives since about the age of two. In fact, it is the arrival of the question of identity that makes the twos so terrible. For the first years of a baby’s life they are under the impression that they are merely an extension of the primary care-giver (as it usually the mother, that is what I shall continue to call it). Their existence is bound by their mothers; the child is alive only because their mother is. Come two, however, and the baby realises that when the mother is not there they still are, and it suddenly hits them, they are an autonomous being (Not quite like that. I doubt any two-year-olds have thought ‘Hang on a second, I’m an autonomous being. I have an identity to formulate’). Then boundaries must be established and the terrible twos have begun.

But what exactly is our identity? If I were to write down who I was we would hit problems. I would have to make use of flawed and problematic labels in order to define me. I would write something along the lines of ‘I am a: twin, brother, son, grandson, boyfriend, cousin, nephew, student, blogger, citizen of the United Kingdom, inhabitant of both the New Forest and Aberystwyth’, you get the picture. These are the slightly less transient ones. However, identity is always fluid. When I enter a shop I am a customer; when I visit another country I am a tourist; when I take the bus I become a passenger. So we can already see that identity is a very complex notion.

Also, there is a question of who’s me am I? Everyone who knows me has a slightly—or sometimes drastically—different opinion of who I am exactly. My friend Kaylee, who I know from my secondary school will think I am ‘a friend, from secondary school, who is not that organised’. However, some of my friends at University (where I have had to take responsibility for myself) will say that I am one of the most organised people they know. To be honest I think that I am quite organised, but have my silly moments. But which am I: am I Kaylee’s disorganised Thomas; my university friends’ organised Thomas; or my middle-ground Thomas? You would probably tend to say that my opinion of myself is far more accurate than those around us. Kaylee hasn’t seen my new-found skills in time-management, and my friends in Aberystwyth do not know what poor Kaylee had to put up with whilst in secondary school—however I have seen it all.

Yet, it is unlikely that we have the best knowledge of who we are. Freudian psychoanalysis has dismantled that idea well enough, but I shall discuss it anyway. Mental illnesses are the most extreme instance: the delusions of grandiose that schizophrenics suffer and the distorted body-image of those with eating-disorders are two examples of how an individual’s view of themselves can be mistaken. However, there are less extreme ways this occurs. Words such as ‘arrogant’, ‘selfish’, ‘egocentric’ are there for those who believe themselves to be better, more worthy or more important than they actually are (as denoted by social standards). To use myself as a case-study, yet again, there have been numerous times that I have realised my view of myself was wrong. I believed for a good part of my life that I was born in the year of the dragon, according to Chinese zodiac. I was quite proud of that, despite not believing in its implications. However this was dispelled when I realised that Chinese New-Year was quite late in 1988, and I was born before it. This made me a rabbit. Yes, a rabbit—quite a jump (or should I say hop. Sorry, that was terrible). This is just a small incidence compared to those you hear about in trashy magazines (‘My mother was actually my father’ type headlines). So it appears that I can’t rely on myself to form my identity. This is especially difficult with the Freudian idea of denial. You could say I was just about anything, and if I tried to refute it the most effective retort is that I am in denial.

So it appears as if we have come to a brick wall. I can't form my identity, or really know what it is. Nor can anybody else I know. So it appears that I will never know who I really am. That is quite scary. I am now an undefinable entity, and impossibility, so to speak. However, we have come to my positive conclusion. I must warn you, I have been leading you all so far to a testimony of my faith, a reason why I feel I must believe in Christ. Hopefully that will not deter you from reading on.

I have an assurance identity in my faith. I have a God that knows everything that can be known about me. He knows how many hairs there are on my head (Matthew 10:30). God created me and knows all about me. In Psalm 139 it says

For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother's womb.
...
your eyes saw my unformed body.
All the days ordained for me
were written in your book
before one of them came to be.

God created me and knows all about me, even before I was actually born. So my identity is formed through my belief in God, and through Christ. Colossians 1 tells me that Jesus is what holds the universe together, so it is him that holds my identity together. It is not my view of myself, it is not my friends' opinions of me, or who I think I am, but it is through Christ that I am made. This means that I must live in Christ, to have any complete identity:

So then, just as you received Christ Jesus as Lord, continue to live in him,
rooted and built up in him, strengthened in the faith as you were taught, and overflowing with thankfulness.

See to it that no one takes you captive through hollow and deceptive philosophy, which depends on human tradition and the basic principles of the world rather than on Christ.

For in Christ all the fullness of the Deity lives in bodily form, and you have been given fullness in Christ.

Colossians 2:6-10

So there it is. The fullness of my identity is found in Christ. I am free from the despair of existential philosophy (which indeeds leaves me hollow), or the denial of Freudian psychology, as long as I continue to be rooted in Christ. It as my sense of identity depends on it, I think I will.

The tale of the rather bizarre larder

Gather round, and I shall tell you a story. Okay, not really, and in honesty the title doesn't accurately describe what the post is about. But as an English student, I know full well that most titles are misleading and inherently problematic.

I am going home tomorrow and had a bizarre assortment of left-over food I needed to get rid of. Sort of the opposite of Mother Hubbard Syndrome. So I just cooked a meal that contained:

• 1 tin of tomatoes
• 1 courgette, cut into chunks
• 1 carrot, cut into tiny pieces
• 1/2 yellow pepper, diced
• 1 tin of tuna
• assorted pasta shapes
• a lot of spinach
• a lot of cheese
• a dollop of pesto

A rather strange mix. The tuna and pesto weren't added to get rid of them, they were because I merely thought 'eh, what the heck!' and threw them in. This recipes are nothing on the par of my friend Rachel's (note: not Rachael), who has a blog here. However, I sort of made up for it in my dessert. It was some apples (1 bramley and some Braeburns I think) with mixed dried fruit, cinnamon, brown sugar and a bit of brandy heated in the microwave for 5 minutes. But it didn't quite make up for the amateur style of the first meal- at least I used up the food. Well, I still have loads of the meal left over but I can freeze that, with a warning 'Consume at your own peril', with a scull and cross-bones stuck on it.

I think I will just take this time to inform you that the picture (right) was a blimen' nuisance. It just doesn't want to go where I wanted it, and as soon as it was added about fourty line breaks were added where there should have only been one. The bulleted list above was a nightmare to rectify. So in other words, you better well appreciate it.

So, now I have to finish packing for tomorrow and tidying- which is a bit annoying as no-one else in the house thought it appropriate to even throw away food during the holidays. So, as usual I have to make sure this house doesn't go to rack and ruin. I owe some of them money, and I feel like saying that as they treat me like an in-house cleaner, I will start charging for my services.

Rant over. Goodbye.

The Meaning of Christmas

This is perhaps a better follow up to the poorly edited 'Christmas' post with the HUGE gaps between the paragraphs.

That's Christmas! from andy pearce on Vimeo.

So is this the real meaning of Christmas? I believe it is.

Anyway, I have a huge amount of jobs to do, like tidy my room.

Interactivodular*

I started this post at 23:27, according to my computer’s clock, but waited the 33 minutes or so to post it. That is because I didn’t want to look like a loser and post three blog posts on one day.

However, the world now knows I am a triple-loser: I ‘wrote’ three posts in one day; waited half an hour to cover my tracks; and then admitted all, defying the point of the wasted half and hour. But I think that I shall use those precious moments to research my post a bit better, as Stephen’s blog seems thoroughly thought out and researched (which leads me to the conclusion that he has too much time on his hands).

Now I shall tell you news of my shoes. The shoes that I mended with double-sided sticky-tape, unsurprisingly, did not hold. The fell apart by the time I had walked to University so was once left wandering around campus with a gaping whole on the inside of my arch. However, these are not the only shoes that have hit the news.

Ten minutes to go until I can post this. I think it’s my turn to point you towards something addictive, and it is not a game, or a site (but on one), but a person. Her name is Abby Simons and I love her music, so here is a video to fuel that addiction. See, my temptations are far more accessible to readers- you don’t even have to navigate off the page.

Seven minutes. Yes, it took me three minutes to write that. But naturally I was distracted. That is one of her best songs, and do go on her myspace page. On abandoned dogs, here are some excuses that people have given to why there little pups go unwanted. Remember, lives not Christmas. I really wanted to link to that article, and couldn’t think of how, but serendipity is a lovely thing. Three minutes.

My friend bought me a ‘The Musicals: The Ultimate Collection’, but due to royalties they aren’t the best known versions. I have good memories and a strong affection for one of the songs as one of my friends sang it and I played the piano accompaniment. However, on the CD it sound like it was sung by a drunken Liverpool United supporter**.

So here is perhaps my first completely interactive post complete with footnotes. How cool is that? And I can now post it, and what's more- I have more posts than Stephen.

*Interactivodular comes from 'Banana Phone' by Raffi. See here.
** The song was You'll Never Walk Alone, the anthem of Liverpool United, so this was not a derogatory comment aimed at Kopites.

Candles, Christmas Pudding and Carols.

Just a note on the last entry. I didn't finish it when I started writing it (obviously, but there was a two day gap) and when I got round to publish it I couldn't be bothered to proof read it. Sorry.

Yesterday was a good day. I went to the morning service, then to lunch at Miss Nelson's to consume chilli con carne. I then spent about an hour and a half cleaning Rachael's house, as she was to leave the next day and feeling too under the weather to do it herself. So I did it (I don't know why her other housemates couldn't do it). Then we went to the Candle-light Carol service, and that was good. Then we went to the pub, then consumed a homemade Christmas pudding. But I will let you into a secret. Come on, closer, we don't want anyone else to know. Its just that...promise you wont tell...well, I don't think I can tell you. Okay. The pudding was mouldy. To be honest, it was the tiniest bits of mold, they were about the size of the capital O on you screen, and there were about three of them. I was not going to waste hours of cooking and preperation just because of some mould smaller than my thumbnail. So I cut it off, and fed it to people. They enjoyed it. Unfortunately, Rachael is allergic to penicillin, so I have to wait and see what happens on that front.

Today I had some people round for dinner and played Kerplunk. If anyone knew that Kerplunk could descend into such mayhem, such madness, such trauma, then WHY THE HECK DID THEY NOT WARN ME? Seriously, there should be notices on the boxes: 'Do not allow immature students to play unsupervised'. Sticks, silver balls and phallic components were flying everywhere. It was scary. Then we played consequences. Of course that fell into the sordid and bizarre category and somehow in one of them we managed to reach the conclusion that 9/11 was an act of divine judgment, or something of the like.

So, Stephen: Aha! now we're even.

Christmas

Yes, the festive time is here. The nights are getting darker, the weather colder; but there is still something special that is in the air.



So here are some things that I like about Christmas:

1. Realising you forgot to eat yesterday's advent chocolate, so you have an extra one to eat.


2. Making someone happy by buying a really nice present.


3. Feeling the love when you receive your presents.


4. Being around family and friends.


5. Remember the true meaning of Christmas: that Jesus was born 2000 years ago and 33 years later died to save the world.

However there are three things I do not like about Christmas:

1. Commercialism: the major companies have hijacked this festival for their own ends.


2. Christmas Shopping: it is far too stressful.


3. People getting annoyed at Christians. This one may sound bizarre, but it is my pet peeve. When I was in Australia (not during Christmas time, I might add) a lady on the radio said 'I hate it when I'm Christmas shopping there are people singing Christmas Carols, ramming their religion down my throat.' This is why this statement annoyed me. Actually there are three reasons. First, not all Christmas Carol singers are Christians, and that was a sweeping generalisation. Second, this lady is allowed to celebrate a Christian festival anyway she wishes, but Christians aren't. Third, as she is celebrating a Christian festival I don't think that it would be a wrong to assume that she has some religious beliefs, or at least invests in the traditions of a religious festival. So she is a stinking hypocrite.

That rant over adieu.

To chear you up.

I am a youtube geek. I thought I'd put it out there. So here is a warm, fuzzy and mildly humourous video from the one and only, he need no introduction (unless you don't spend 49 hours a week on Youtube), Hank Green.

I hope your heart was warmed by this, especially you Stephen, as you are currently ill.

And before you ask, yes this is a part of my shameless attempt to get more post entries than Stephen for the year 2008.

Mend and make-do

Here is the punch line: I have very little money. This is how this is reached through logic. A: Students have no money. B: I am a student. C: I am a student therefore I have no money. Okay, non sequitur I know. But it is true, so to deny it would be an argument from fallacy. So there.

After that written raspberry, so to speak, I explain one noticable side effect. My footwear's condition has somewhat decayed. The sole of one pair of shoes has lost its integrity, and therefore draws water up more effectively than an Archimedes screw, whereas the other is in tatters. So just now I have just fixed the latter pair using the traditional cobbling method of double-sided sticky tape. Yes, that is what is seperating the ground from my feet. Sticky-tape.

So I thought I would share my finance and footwear problems.

I've noticed also that I tend to moan a lot in my blogs, and can be a bit stroppy. So I apologise, and will try to be more possitive. And if I can't manage it?

Deal with it.

Farewells, fun and food

Ah such a busy week. I will go back to just a bit before I wrote 'Frostbite and Friends', so in other words to last Thursday.

So after the Harry Potter party I slept in to about midday, and then went to Banana Club. Banana Club is something that my church runs for children aged 5-11. It was quite enjoyable, but some of the children are, naturally, difficult to handle. However, Sam, my friend, and I are always looking after the youngest group, the 5-7s. They are quite adorable. One of them asked me whether I would be his dad, and if it wasn't for the abduction charges I would have easily consented.

Friday, I think I got up late again. But it was a baking day, as the Christian Union was putting on a pudding party. However, I don't think my puddings were actually that good, but I was distracted. About 9 I went to Rachael's, my girlfriend, house (although she was already at mine) to attend a farewell party of a friend called Rishel, who was returning to India. It was really fun, and we ended up dancing in Pier (a nightclub) until about 2am.

Saturday was the annual Stable Trail at St Mikes, which is where children are lead to different scenes of the nativity. I was a Wise Man (number 1, I'd like to add). So that meant I spent 4 hours telling children the meaning of the gifts, cleaning up shredded paper that had been thrown across the side-chapel and smiling. By the end I was grumpy. As in really grumpy. Kids I'm okay with, you have to expect kids to make things that little bit more difficult for you. It's the parents that begin getting on my nerves. They're just so annoying. For one part the kids had to root through a trough of shredded paper to find parts of a star jigsaw thing. Towards the end, because the groups were so large we got about 3 of the children to do this, but naturally others would join in. What irritated me the most was that the parents encouraged their children to do this, rather than trying to keep things slightly less chaotic. Also, whilst their child decided that they would wreak havoc by littering the whole room with shredded paper, they'd just stand back. Also the parents would be quite demanding, insisting we'd attend to their child's needs whilst trying to help about 10 other children. Then one parent stood/sat/walk across/ruined the star jigsaw thing. Fools! But still, I enjoyed it, and it just goes to show that you shouldn't go dancing (or convulsing in my case) until the early house if you have to help with children and their idiots of parents the day after.

After the stable trail I went to the pudding party for about twenty minutes and then went home and slept for a full 17 hours. Yes, from 9pm until 2pm. After getting up at 2 on Sunday I went to Rachael's and then to church, where I attend two services, the main normal one and the Student Carol Service. It somehow became my role to serve the mince pies and teas etc., then order the clean up effort despite being in no way involved in what was going on. C'est la vie.

Monday, for a change I got up at 6. Monday was to be the day of the St. Mike's Christmas Ball. Yey! It was so much fun, despite the food not being fantastic. However, it was somewhat bittersweet at the end, I was really tired so wanted to go home, but also wanted to continue as this is probably the last Ball I'll attend (although there may be plans to return next year for it).

Yesterday, being Tuesday, was quite a good day. I went to a dissertation meeting with my tutor, who also happens to be the Head of Department. It was quite encouraging as she said I seemed well prepared, which was news to me. We also spoke Masters, but I shall probably discuss that in another post. However, she did say it was worth pursuing as I'm 'obviously academically gifted'. That was nice. Then I went to a Research Seminar on the reading experiences of those in the Middle ages, which was actually really interesting and dispelled a lot of myths about that period that I've adopted.

After that I went to the Links (the university's St John's Ambulance division) Christmas Meal, which was tasty and fun. After that I returned to Rachael's and we chatted.

Today, I woke up a 3am, went to the loo twice, tried to sleep some more, then tried to work and then got distracted by facebook, Stephen's post, and then writing my own. It is now 7am, and I think I need more sleep.

So, to use a salutation as a valediction,

Good morning.

Aims

I was disheartened to find that Stephen has way many more blog entries than I do, so I have decided to put a few aims in place for the year of 2009. So here are my internet related new-years resolutions so to speak.

1. Create a personal website.
2. Engage in the internet community (e.g. YouTube, blogger, podcasts. BlogTV)
3. Prostitute myself online. Not literally, of course.
4. Write a blog entry every week throughout the year. Or at least have 52 blogs for this year.
5. Write some short stories.

Sorry that was boring, and didn't really tell you much. But I'm hoping that as they are in writing that they will be inforced better.

Now I must sleep.

Frostbite and Friends

Why hello,

I'm rather impressed that I have managed to write a post at least once a week so far. So what have I been up to? A lot, and yet not a lot. It has seemed to go in blur and I can't really remember it. Also, Stephen decided he would facebook chat to me and crash Blogger, so this is the second time of writing it.

This week has been a week of firsts. I got an essay back, and I had got a first (get it?), so I'm chuffed about that. Also I had to talk to the emergency operators for the first time ever at a first-aid duty at Uni. It was quite tricky especially as a rugby guy ran into me whilst I was taking the call. Also at that duty, I had to treat someone on my own and nearly froze to death as I had to give up my padded hi-vis jacket to keep a patient warm.

Yesterday I also had a Harry Potter party, after the eventful first-aid duty. It was quite cool, with two Ginny Weasleys, Luna Lovegood, Professor Trelawny, Snape and Lupin (that was me). The guests were allocated houses and had to take OWLs, including a potions practical.

I'm now about to watch the Wild Thornberrys Movies.

Essays and Amoxicillin

Today I have had a sort of bum day. I've tired myself out with doing too much and having a really rubbishy cough. So I missed all my seminars today and went to the doctors, and they gave me amoxicillin (500mg- one capsule to be taken 3 times a day for a week). So hopefully I will get better. I went to the St John's Ambulance weekly training session at the University and handed in my 4000 word essay, which were the only productive things to come out of today. Oh, except washing my underwear- I was down to my last pair.

So hopefully the red and orange capsules of magic will make me all better. I'm now just going to watch youtube videos and laze around.

Hopefully I'll post an interesting, thought provoking, insightful entry soon. My brother is way up on that score at the moment.

Breathe

Phew! With only 26 hours until this week's end I nearly failed my target before I had begun. I'd also like to point out that I almost wrote I will write a blog every week until 2010, but realised my typo and decided it too ambitious given my track record.

I have just returned from a Creative Writing and Art exhibition, of which I helped organise, set up and host. I also submitted three pieces of poetry. My favourite one, which I wrote today is here.

Bibliotheca

Between the lines of words on pages
Captured between the leaves
That brown with age yet do not drop
Except into obscurity,
Are lives and faces Giuseppe Arcimboldo
And Melvil Dewey caught,
Made of paper and ribbons.

All are equal there, pressed and penned-
Bataille, Caroll, and Proust-
By bibliothecal desires, until a hand
Reaches up and is pulled in,
And in a sudden plume of dust
The Word becomes flesh.

So it has been a very busy week, I wrote a 4000 word essay, organised this exhibition, wrote three poems and I still have a lot of work to do.

I nearly had a disaster earlier. I was ironing my synthetic pin-striped trousers, and went to turn the iron down, but I turned it up instead. Yes, they got ruined. But I had a spare pair.

But I am tired, which leads to the logical response of sleep. (S-->R and all that)

Thomas

Trains and Tribulations

Once again I have not been good at updating this confounded blog. I have resolved to do at least one a week until 2009. So here, I hope, is to the first of many.

On Tuesday I had to survive the six-hour journey to Aberystwyth from Southampton. It may not seem tough, but it was. Every four stops or so, until Birmingham Newstreet, I had to listen to the less than enthusiastic announcement of ‘Ladies and Gentlemen, the shop is open. We serve a range of hot drinks: tea, coffee, cappuccino coffee, Americano coffee, mocha coffee, late coffee, decaf coffee, and hot chocolate; as well as soft drinks and alcoholic drinks; hot bacon rolls; and snacks and sandwiches. I look forward to serving you.’ By some child-catcher after twenty years on cigarettes and Bourbon, the adults are lulled by—not cherry pie and lollipops—the promise of caffeine to keep us going through the many hardships endured while sitting on a train. If the coffee (crap coffee, crap and froth coffee, crap and froth and chocolate sprinkles coffee) wasn’t enough, then the booze will take the edge off. Heaven knows, then, as to why they sell decaf coffee.

Before anyone wishes to commence a train journey they should go through a stringent health check to see whether they’re up to it. First you have the frotteur, who is inevitably a man wearing a suit, blue shirt and glasses and is standing next to where you are sitting. He lets others pass him by leaning against you and rubbing his groin against your shoulder. Then there is the excessive-elbow-man, again wearing a suit, blue shirt and glasses, but this time of a rather larger build. You have been quite comfortably sitting in the window seat until this man throws his large bulk against you and appropriates the armrest from you. He then proceeds to read a newspaper (usually a Daily Mail, anyone who reads a Daily Mail on the train is a likely offender), ruffling it in your face and digging his elbows into your side. There are a multitude of train related sins and trials the everyday traveller has to put up with. From the loud chatty women, the annoying ring-tone that just keeps ringing, and the pretentious reader (someone was reading Foucault on my train. Mind you, I was reading Virginia Woolf), to name a few more. And, of course, there are a lot of men wearing suits, blue shirts and glasses.

Whistle-stop tour

Woah! A blog entry has been long, long over due. It has been over a year since I last wrote an entry. Between then I have turned twenty, completed the whole of my second year of university and ridden on a tandem. Yes, I rode on a tandem. So, a brief overview of the heights and lows that was my second year of university is needed; I shall try and do them in chronological order.

My brother and parents went to Paris with my grandparents. It was apparently a logistical nightmare, but they seemed to enjoy it. I, however, was still in Aberystwyth (something that seemed to be a theme for the following year). This is a high for me, however; as it was a miracle that it actually went to plan, especially in light of what was to happen. My grandmother broke her hip just before Christmas, and made a rather good recovery. However, less than a week after being sent home from hospital she fell over again. This recovery was not quite as good as the last, and it took months for her to get back to her old self. Also around Christmas I went to Paris to visit Stephen (again), with my friend Kaylee. It was good, however, it must be said, I was a grumpy git. In February a celebrated my 20th birthday, and I cooked a four course meal, with six dishes: each of which containing chocolate. In the Easter holiday I went to Nottingham on a community mission type thing with my church, and then went to Amsterdam with my parents. I moved house, went back to Southampton, and then broke my elbow. Went camping where it was very muddy, then returned to university.

Phew! Sorry for a whistle-stop tour of my second year of university, and hopefully I will post more.

Until 2027, no doubt,

Bye!