'Sup?

I've not done one of these for a while, for a multitude of reasons – I mainly wrote during lazy moments at work, but I've since found mirthcanal.com, and spend my lazy moments stifling giggles and posting stupid links by email. I also told myself to devote my interweb time at home to drawing instead of writing, which worked for a while...

...course now I can't get into the mood to draw. I think it comes from my birthday mission – in my mind drawing has become something I have to do, not something I want to do, so naturally I'm finding ways of not doing it (sitting on my arse watching reruns of the Fall Guy, for one). I need to start drawing for the fun of it, and hopefully some of the pieces I see fully-formed in my mind will make their way on-screen.

I may have a change of scenery in a couple of months – yet another house sale falling through has pushed my financial craptitude to it's limits, and I think it's best that I move back with my folks over the colder months in order to pay some credit cards off. I'm still in two minds about it, all the signs point to moving home being the best choice, but I'm still trying to find excuses not to. It's not that I don't get on with my folks – far from it – but I think the dent in independence has something to do with it. I'll be able to come and go as I please, and I know having your meals cooked for you is no bad thing, but I'll feel like I'm encroaching on their property, same as I do when I'm back at my house these days. But I'll be saving a shed-load on taxi fees and hour-long walks into Sedgley, and I'll be able to fund a more hedonistic lifestyle than I have at the moment.

I'm nearly thirty and I've failed at standing on my own.

That must be what's making me want to stay out in the world. If I can make it through this rough spot, I can come out the other side knowing I did it without the safety net. But I won't be able to go anywhere or do anything till then, so home is where the logic lies. At least they have Sky.

I've applied for a new job as a not-quite-sparky. A bit of a shift for me, I'll be dangerously under-qualified and piddling about with your power supplies. Expect county-wide power outages. It's all for the good of the planet, 7 pledges and all that. It'll be a fair amount more money and a side-step on the career ladder which'll allow me to carry on up, but that's not the main reason for the change in career.

I've completely lost the spark for graphic design. I've spent the last 4 and a half years where my design process is essentially guessing what the boss is thinking of, and any love for it has been burned out. I also have very little in common with the rest of the office (I'm the youngest by at least 10 years, and don't have breasts) so while I'm a whirlwind of idiocy out in the world, at work I'm introverted and almost silent, prefering my walkman and net connection to conversations about how cute everyone's grandkids are, and how well the garden is doing this year. We had 2 new starters this week, both about my age, and one asked me the other day if I ever actually made any noise apart from cursing the existence of Xerox and it's products. It threw me. I knew I wasn't so happy at work, but I hadn't realised how much I was affected. I've worked in jobs I've not enjoyed before, but I've always had someone to bat the stupid off of, so I could at least enjoy myself at work, if not doing work. So here's hoping I get this new job, out of an office and tip my work-life balance back into the life half.

Also, more money for comics. Yay!

Anyone watch Live Earth yesterday? I saw it in it's entirety, getting more angry as I went. A serious deficit of alcohol means I watched it sober (at one point considering neat tequila, but then remembering the bile I coughed up last time I went near the bottle), and honestly thought BBC1 was out to angry up my blood. The first few hours were spent touting the big acts: the 'Tallica, Beastie Boys, Spinal Tap (holy shit!) and the Foos. Hours pass, I read Earth X and follow Captain America's quest to save a mutated planet Earth while Corrine Bailey Rae, a very happy Nunattak and an utterly-failing-to-get-the-crowd-going Duran Duran try to tempt my eyes back to the screen. More hours pass. Keane's also-doomed attempt to get the crowd singing drag my amused eyes away from reading Roger's sweary dictionary in the Viz. Then: Metallica take the stage. Wossy give them a big intro, long enough to cut the band's entrance off. My ears are enjoying the act, then just as they kick off Enter Sandman, we cut cut back to Wossy, who cuts us across to Germany where Enrique is murdering his own song. The torture ends and we go back to Wossy and the last strains of Sandman echoing through the stadium. Wossy is not doing anything to camera: he's watching the show he just stopped me watching. Cunt. More time passes, I read some more of Earth X – Mr. Fantastic has just found out that Earth is about to hatch a giant alien when the Beastie Boys jump their green-suited selves through through their set, and again, before they can reach the peak, we jump to another country to watch Shakira fail completely to play guitar. Or hit notes live. Again, we get back to London and the Beasties are off stage.

Spinal Tap finally make it on. Everyone interviewed during the day has been waiting for this. The Stonehenge show is just as funny as in the film. I can just make out the lyrics of a new song about Satan being too hot in Stevenage, and I'm gearing up for a good old giggle at Big Bottom, and we jump to Rio de Janeiro and some joke act called Xuxe. Even Wossy looks bewildered as he makes the link, and forces a cut back to stage where every bass player on the bill for the day has joined the Tap on-stage for the end of Big Bottom. I watch through a haze of red – my angry has descended and I'm carving crescents in my palms with my nails.

As if sensing a coming Bear-related apocalypse, The Beeb wisely leaves the Foos alone for their whole set, and I calm down and smile as the crowd wakes up. All day acts have been trying get the peasants to raise the roof, and they may well have done, but it wasn't coming through the telly. It takes a Jesus-like Dave Grohl to get a sing-a-long going. I join in, and can still hear the crowd over my own voice. All these popular acts, trying to be all things to all men, and the Foos blow the place up with My Hero and Everlong. I feel like the wait is finally worth it. Maybe I should have gone to the actual show...

Oh, yeah, Madonna was on too, preceded by Terence Stamp with the SERIOUS MESSAGE. The stadium drops all non-essential lights to show how it's done, and in the quiet some idiot starts a 'We want Madge' chant. I want to destroy his existence and so does a visibly-trembling-with-rage Terence. Madge was ok, I guess, but again with the guitar. Put it down, love, you're not fooling anyone.

Thandie Newton won the day. Imagine being asked to go on stage in front of millions of people without any stage act, thinking you're just going to introduce Al Gore, then having to entertain the crown for a good few minutes? Christ, you may as well ask me to fly back in time and I've have been more successful. But she cracked a couple of jokes and had the crowd going. Good on you, Thandie.

Everyone cracked on about the threat to Earth and how we must all change. Personally, I agree with the concept, not because I think we're solely responsible for destroying Mother Nature, but this whole greener thinking thing can't do any harm, can it? It's not like recycling your beer bottles means that Transformers will get banned. It can't hurt, so I tried to make my pledge via text. Virgin Mobile obviously feels differently though, as my texts were returned unsent.

So recycle your stuff. We have a nice enough place to live, but who says it can't be nicer?

Cap and Mr Fantastic save the day, by the way. Who'da thunk that Reed Richards' son would end up as galactus?

1: International Wrestling Champion.

'Hello, my name is Ryu. I can punch you several feet in the air, and centre my chi to the extent that I can hurl fiery balls of energy at you with enough force to knock you to the floor'

'Hi, I'm Guile. I'm such a badass that I'm competing in this tournament to find the hardest person in the world, and I'm a fighter pilot. On top of that, I can punch and kick so fast that I can rend your flesh with the very air itself.'


'RAARRGH. Me Blanka. Me am raised by electric eels or something, so me can electrocute you so bad me can see you skeleton.'

'Hello, I'm Dhalsim. I can stretch my limbs so I can hit you from many feet away. If you get closer, I can breathe fire. If you get closer than that, I can teleport away.'

'Beware, I am M. Bison. I can fucking fly. If that wasn't awesome enough, I have an entire army at my beck and call to destroy any who stand in my way.'

'Um, I'm Zangief...

...

...I'm going to die.'

Watched Anaconda on ITV2 last night. I had some beers, all set for 2 hours of Ice Cube trying not to call anyone a motherfucker. This alone was going to place Anaconda in my favourite films list. But then Jon Voight popped up as a crazy Spaniard, and Cube killed the emormous rubber snake with an axe to the head.

Which he then called a bitch.

Which propelled Anaconda into my top ten...

Nobody can call you a bitch like Ice Cube.

I'd forgotten how much I love driving. I despise traffic, but love driving. I love the way if I keep the revs fairly high while I change gear, I get sucked into my seat when it engages. I love holding turns going just a little too fast, and laughing as I realise I just cheated death. Which is why, when I'm feeling down or things are getting on top of me, I like to take a late-night trip down country lanes. At really quite stupid speeds.

Some people prefer tai-chi, meditation, or getting drunk, but I find that once I leave the street lights behind, and there's nothing but me, the road and pitch-black darkness, my head will clear of everything but focussing on the road. Usually because the road is throwing dangerous bends at me without warning, but I certainly don't have time to worry about anything else while I'm hurtling around a hairpin bend at 60.

I don't know why this should calm me down. Maybe it's that when I hit a straight, and I've just passed some guy at an accumulated speed of something like 140mph, but the countryside - even in the dead of night – is really quite beautiful. All the trees are silhouetted against the night sky, with bushes picked out in highlight from the high beams. Even better on a clear night with the stars out.

But then it's probably more likely that in the dark my dashboard looks like a HUD, and I can pretend I'm in a fighter plane.

The only problems I do have are that when I finally emerge from the woods back into civilisation, I generally have no idea where I am. Last night I ended up trying to get back to Gornal by way of Telford and Stafford, the only 2 place names I recognised, a round trip of some 60 miles. The other problem being that I get home in the wee hours riding high on a cocktail of adrenaline and endorphins, with a ringing in my ears from my stereo reminiscent of a night out clubbing, but without the sleep-aid of being drunk, so invariably I don't get to sleep for a few hours.

But that's a small price to pay to clear my brain and get me back up in the clouds.

One of these days I'm finally going to get to paint a fox-shaped silhouette on my car too...

So today at work we get a call from one of our customers in Scotland. Turns out we made a spelling mistake on the address of all their back labels. It was the tourist office in Balloch.

Guess which letter got changed? Guess how long it took me to stop laughing down the phone before I could tell them we'd fix it?

Good grief, it was funnier than when I spoke to a bloke called Donald McDonald. He didn't find me laughing at him funny either...

So Danni is being quizzed by the police about the whole CBB shebang, the first of seven of the celebrities. Quizzed, by the police. About some comments that may or may not be construed as racist. Comments made weeks ago now...

SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT IT!

God-damnit, it's over. Even Shilpa looks bewildered when she gets asked about it, you can see it in her eyes and hear it in her quotes. 'What, this crap, again?' She won, most likely through many, many people who don't even watch the show doing their best to scream at the world that the millions of different people in this country are not all swastika-waving skinheads. The 3 girls who did the bullying – and make no mistake, I don't condone what they did – are all dead career-wise, and 2 of them are on suicide watch.

Is it just me, or does that look like the bullies are now being bullied? Even their victim has washed her hands of the incident, but they are having to be protected by police, because the Great British Public, who texted their little hearts out to show they are against bullying, are now forcing Jade's mum out of her house, and sending death-threats to Jo.

Well done, Great British Public. Way to hold the higher ground.

I know this is a bit more joke-lite than my usual blog fare, so, erm, boobs. How's that?

A note before my main topic – It's very difficult to find subjects to write about when your life's going well. It's been just over a week since I wrote anything, and that's because nothing disastrous has happened to me. Not a broken limb, not a deluge of fish for no reason, not an amusing rash, nothing. Not to tempt fate or anything, but how am I supposed to write anything of interest when the worst thing to happen to me in the past week is that my soup blew up in the microwave?

I mean, I can hold out 'til my kneecap explodes in a firework-like hail of tiny bone-white shards (yes, I'm still running. Yes, my knee hurts).  I'm fairly certain my car is going to do something amusing soon, probably to do with various parts of the engine saying 'wrenk', but Christ, necessity is the mother of invention, and it's necessary for tragically bad things to happen to me in order for other people to read - and therefore laugh - about it…

…Speaking about invention - by way of inspiration and left at the lights to imagination – I've been drawing a lot more than usual recently (by which I mean I've drawn at all). A little while ago I was bemoaning the lack of any imagination on my part, but it seems Nedroid (http://nedroidcomics.livejournal.com/) and Tonci Zonjic (http://lungbug.blogspot.com/) were right in saying draw anything, just do it at least once a day. Now I've started to follow that credo my imagination has kick-started like a Model T Ford, and I'm getting more and more ideas floating around my brain than I know what to do with.

Problem is, they float around a lot more when I'm trying to get to sleep, and instead of winding down to comatose levels, my brain is refining ideas and working out different ways to compose things. Which means I've got the insomnia back.

Shit.

I had insomnia back in college, and quickly fell into a see-saw ride of not getting any sleep, which made me too knackered to do any work, and then not doing any work made my brain slow down enough to sleep, which meant I could start some more work again, which meant I'd stop sleeping again…

It's a vicious cycle. And while I was in college I could lie in or take days off, now I have to get up at 730 every morning. Net result? I'm typing this with one eye closed, trying to see if I can get it to go to sleep for a bit.

But hey, I have at least come up with range of anti-valentine's day cards involving a suicidal Cupid.

I hate Valentine's Day with a passion. I hate it because if your in a relationship you should be showing the other half how much you love them all the time (and yes, my failing in this probably led to my break-up recently), not for one day a year. If you're without a sex-bag (or 'Girlfriend'), Valentine's Day is basically the rest of the world pointing and laughing at how lonely you are. So fuck you Cupid, you missed, and now you pay the piper…

So I notice I've had 24 views today, but only 9 subscribers...

Hoy, blog-lurkers! Subscribe already! Tell your friends! Accost people in the street! I needs recognition!

…Is the tangential route this blog will take. I don't have a clear subject, but lots of things flitting around my brain like a cloud of wasps, stinging, buzzing, stinging again just because they can. Fucking wasps...

So anyway, notes from the brain of the Right Honourable Bear E. Grizzle Esq…

Having no money sucks. I haven't had a drink in so long, I'm starting to return to reality. I much prefer to stay perpetually pie-eyed, cos everything's so much funnier. No, really, when I'm toasted I can find my shoes funny. It's a good feeling. Which leads me to:

When I was growing up, my dad instilled in me a sense of humour above all else. By all means treat people right, look out for your friends and do the right thing, but By God, have a laugh whilst you're doing it. Whenever I fell over or hurt myself (in any number of amusing ways), the first – and sometimes only – thing my dad would do is make me laugh, cos if you're laughing you can't be sad, apparently. Top stuff, dad, except now I can't not make jokes. During the worst possible crisis, my brain will still be butting in with jokes that only I could find funny. You know thay guy Johnny from Airplane? The one pissing about in the control tower? Yeah, if my brain was that control tower, johnny'd be my sense of humour.

Case in point, I was getting ready for my nan's funeral (dad's mom) and was having car trouble at the time. My dad asks 'how's the car' and without thinking I reply 'it's not so bad, but all of sudden it'll die on me for no reason.' Cue awkward silence. At my grandad's cremation (dad's dad) I dropped the hymn book just as they lowered the casket, and everyone heard a loud boom followed by a echoing 'shit' by me.Is it wrong that I find these 2 anecdotes funny? Cos my brain makes horrific jokes all the time. When I realised me and Cherry were finished, whilst I busy being crushed, my mouth went ahead and made a joke. I mean Christ, talk about picking your moment.

I drew something. Yay! I made a new year's resolution to buy bday presents for my chums. Due to lack of funds I thought I'd draw them something instead, and Havers was the proud recipient of Number 1. Now I've started sketching out a couple more, and ideas for more after that are forming, wraith-like, in my mind. I'm getting my imagination back, Hooray! I've had an offer to collaborate on something with a MyFriend, which I'm thinking about, but not confident enough yet that I wouldn't let him down. But still, maybe soon it's my time in the sun, and Hey! 2 resolutions in one!

Also, my writing seems to be a hit, and an inkling of an ambition is starting to form. I don't know how much of my blog is popular due to my writing, or the fact that so many ridiculous things seem to happen to me on a daily basis, but if there's any newspaper editors out there, I'll write a column for you. £100 a word…

And finally, I'd like to say thanks to everyone who's lent me money. Though this month I'm worse off due to re-paying you all, it was very much appreciated. Excuse me, I have something in my eye…

How cold is it? Jesus, last week I'd got my car windows open (the better to look cool with) and I'd hoped we were getting into an early spring. Last night? Snow. It just goes to show I'm some sort of bad weather god.

Last Saturday I had to wash my car. I was going to a wedding reception on the evening, and was giving 3 of the girls a lift. Given how much crap had accumulated on my car, I dreaded any of them getting mud on the back of their legs when they got in/out, and the resulting hand to face slapping action that would ensue, so car washing it was.

Anyway, I hoover out the interior. Lovely sunny weather. I windowlene the inside of the windows. Lovely sunny weather, but a couple spots of rain. So far not a problem, I thought. The second, the very fucking second my bucket touches the pavement? Rain. My car had to washed, so I carried on. 'As long as the grime's off, I don't care' I thought. Meanwhile God was at his weather controls thinking 'As long as he goes inside, I don't care. Wait a second, is he staying out? Right, down with the temperature, up with the rainfall.'

At this point I must have cut a strange figure, standing in the pouring rain in a t-shirt, soapy sponge raised in anger, screaming 'You've GOT to be fucking KIDDING!' at the heavens. But I carried on, more out of spite than anything else. It started to hail. HAIL. Ridiculous. And the moment I'm finished and the bucket touches the shelf in the garage?

Lovely sunny weather.

No word of a lie, it shat it down for precisely the time it took me to finish. But I couldn't be beaten, no sir, that car washed, and so did I. So fuck you, God.

Fuck You.