tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-44517567315178975902024-03-04T21:40:43.611-08:00I Was StupidEverything is Funny in HindsightDave Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863036706112025142noreply@blogger.comBlogger79125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451756731517897590.post-66696655303210020212014-08-15T05:30:00.000-07:002014-11-28T12:39:27.401-08:0027th Birthday<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In <a href="http://stupidhindsight.blogspot.co.uk/2013/08/26th-birthday.html" target="_blank">last year's birthday post</a> I embarked upon a prodigiously depressive diatribe about how my life had become the equivalent of Apollo Creed's ill-fated comeback fight in Rocky IV, a harrowing and dishearteningly pathetic beatdown by glistening, puissant forces, and how I hoped that my 27th year might more closely resemble Rocky's eventual avenging triumph.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Well, shit, like Rocky IV I guess I would rate the last year a 6/10 (though sadly it was 63% less homoerotic). </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">MY BOOK IS GETTING PUBLISHED. It is called 'Panther', it is out in May 2015, and if you don't each buy 10 copies upon release you will be doomed to interminable lugubrious blog posts about my dazzling failure as an author. </span><a href="http://www.davidowenbooks.com/" style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;" target="_blank">Here is my author website</a><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">, where you can find more information about the book of which you are soon to own 10 copies.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I went to <a href="http://stupidhindsight.blogspot.co.uk/2013/10/5-observations-about-south-korea.html" target="_blank">South Korea to visit friends</a>, where I discovered that quite literally everything in the ocean is edible if you want it to be, I wasn't shot by and/or exploded by North Koreans, and I drank the best damn milkshake of my life. I was also ignored by many cats.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAnvLXaKh9ndXmg-2VgtualRckRDJs2MGbotnArhTtn8wZf6CE-dIHDIsdbI04ZAQtddmNGRZl_xo6Q4J8Up-qwre0oxbz9vQR6Q5EUUB0YwXB_pZZZkpWgOUdajAGqLcYEa-IMWlmjDU/s1600/Cats.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAnvLXaKh9ndXmg-2VgtualRckRDJs2MGbotnArhTtn8wZf6CE-dIHDIsdbI04ZAQtddmNGRZl_xo6Q4J8Up-qwre0oxbz9vQR6Q5EUUB0YwXB_pZZZkpWgOUdajAGqLcYEa-IMWlmjDU/s1600/Cats.jpg" height="239" width="320" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I am seeing a girl who inexplicably finds me charming and attractive. At time of writing she hasn't realised her mistake.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I was shortlisted 3 times for the Games Journalism Prize. I didn't win. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My face became host to what critics have hailed as 'a spectacular return to repugnant squalor.' In my infinite unemployed wisdom I set aside a couple of months to nurture a depression beard of the very highest calibre and, you'll be pleased to hear, documented its progress in selfies. Ladies and gentlemen, please be sure you have ready access to a change of underwear before you view the following photograph.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Of course, this being me, the year has also had its fair share of troughs. In May I reached the lowest point of my life and found myself, in a roundabout rather than resolute way, <a href="http://stupidhindsight.blogspot.co.uk/2014/05/rubicon.html" target="_blank">contemplating suicide</a>. The reasons behind that persist - self-hatred, joblessness, the ever-presence of my gargantuan head - but, for now at least, I'm doing okay. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So, here's to my 28th year, which will see the publication of my book, the flat indifference of critics and the UK's reading public, the bank's foreclosure on my brand new helicopter, my descent into Haagen Dazs and coprophagia addiction, and the eventual discovery of my bloated corpse beached in the bathtub with cats feasting on pickled rinds of my flesh.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">BUY MY BOOK.</span><br />
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Dave Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863036706112025142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451756731517897590.post-88278650037655071352014-07-17T06:18:00.000-07:002014-11-28T12:39:27.410-08:00The Guilt of Happiness<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Perhaps the strangest thing about depression is how it makes
you feel guilty for being happy. Escape the clutches of depression for any
length of time and its spectre will stand in the corner of your eye, tapping
its foot and tutting disapprovingly. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv2W72ZXwrLVHL8O2XFSJyklvaPWfU9aFwyvTwEHT8gnvbmozNPh6qtqd9nhwJ_Gg8GV3pSo9fwhS2EfCScA8kyBlBWZxoRIn6xFowYZ0XQ29hAaJizGRbd0CPCJqrgsNa5D3bq4-pboI/s1600/grown_ups_2_poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv2W72ZXwrLVHL8O2XFSJyklvaPWfU9aFwyvTwEHT8gnvbmozNPh6qtqd9nhwJ_Gg8GV3pSo9fwhS2EfCScA8kyBlBWZxoRIn6xFowYZ0XQ29hAaJizGRbd0CPCJqrgsNa5D3bq4-pboI/s1600/grown_ups_2_poster.jpg" height="151" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Depression is the wife/girlfriend character from any Adam Sandler film.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I’m currently having a good spell following a lengthy funk.
A bunch of good stuff has happened and it promises to continue into the summer.
And I realised that I was embarrassed to talk or write about it. It feels as if
so much of my character is predicated on being miserable that I’m ashamed to be
anything but. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Depression makes me feel like I don’t deserve to be happy.
Arguably its most dangerous weapon is how it convinces me that any morsel of
happiness I achieve will undoubtedly slip through my fingers like so much sand.
As soon as good things happen I anticipate their demise. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My book is getting published! (It will fail).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My friends are back from the other side of the world! (Soon
they won’t need you anymore).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A girl wasn’t repulsed by me! (She’ll come to her senses
soon enough).</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWvn-nwt0BlRYWONCzcMDnLzhctuk64MPK8TV3g3XGAzTqBbl__Lvp9eu446vhZ-mjfm7Xlxejpn3L7OwI3GIptTOUbMPsq71VSbqOm4SvwGqTvricLGyh-O7dV6RPEQyDrPkJhMbatGU/s1600/cat_over_eat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWvn-nwt0BlRYWONCzcMDnLzhctuk64MPK8TV3g3XGAzTqBbl__Lvp9eu446vhZ-mjfm7Xlxejpn3L7OwI3GIptTOUbMPsq71VSbqOm4SvwGqTvricLGyh-O7dV6RPEQyDrPkJhMbatGU/s1600/cat_over_eat.jpg" height="269" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Eating that cake was a great idea! (Don't look in the mirror).</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Looking back, I can see how this attitude has caused me to
sabotage good things. If it’s going to crumble anyway, I might as well make it
happen sooner rather than later, right? All too often on this blog I play the
victim, but for every perceived injustice against me there is a failure for
which I alone am responsible.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I’m scared that if I continue along this road I will
eventually put up a shield from which happiness will bounce like the cheque I
wrote to buy that helicopter. I’m scared that I will never allow myself to be
happy.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3UBICIk3IQpAO_T1ot9jEkju1QJBL9_NMMotXxDzv5NKp2QKesuDFzhmcxOTexnWgB9qpRcDhA2tCovbooFWV-bB1AMTTrGBrX7jJ4eTJQhxzf-TcMfn9qwbWBd-45v-uyuGbX6jqKvo/s1600/Mark+Lawrenson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3UBICIk3IQpAO_T1ot9jEkju1QJBL9_NMMotXxDzv5NKp2QKesuDFzhmcxOTexnWgB9qpRcDhA2tCovbooFWV-bB1AMTTrGBrX7jJ4eTJQhxzf-TcMfn9qwbWBd-45v-uyuGbX6jqKvo/s1600/Mark+Lawrenson.jpg" height="151" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>I can't let </i>this<i> be my fate.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So here I am, on my blog commonly dedicated to romantic
failure, narcissistically miserable diatribes, cringe-worthy social
awkwardness, and pictures of ugly cats, to tell you that, for now at least, I
am quite happy. Maybe it won’t last. But right now it is a good thing.</span></div>
Dave Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863036706112025142noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451756731517897590.post-16126102983264265402014-06-17T06:30:00.000-07:002014-06-17T06:32:14.235-07:00My Book Has A Cover<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">You can file this one under 'shameless plug.' PANTHER, my debut novel, now has a cover. Here it is!</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguxBR2in140-EmY7oyT9uvGxYlf7mfOyemRt-ZhwKEHqIIh3Uaw6KcvUQJM6W7Tai7GmqE4U2a40Hkart9iIELdohUUtIT-GYdbJnrLM6VbcHpT8Eo_CXS7Yf3AuKpLjYWZ7pT7tfpH38/s1600/Panther_%231.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguxBR2in140-EmY7oyT9uvGxYlf7mfOyemRt-ZhwKEHqIIh3Uaw6KcvUQJM6W7Tai7GmqE4U2a40Hkart9iIELdohUUtIT-GYdbJnrLM6VbcHpT8Eo_CXS7Yf3AuKpLjYWZ7pT7tfpH38/s1600/Panther_%231.jpg" height="640" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The cover is designed by Jon Gray, who is a veteran of designing amazing covers for <a href="http://gray318.com/" target="_blank">many venerable books</a>. My book is almost certainly the least venerable of them. But I don't care, because look at the cover! It's lovely! And beautifully evocative of what the book is about.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">While I'm in plugging mode, I might as well say that the book might be of interest to some of you who read this blog - it deals with depression and the stigmas that surround it in a way that I hope is genuine and poignant, as well as funny. It's sad but not sentimental, and I've packed in as many jokes as I reasonably can. Here is a shameless blurb:</span></div>
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<em style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open sans', sans-serif; font-size: 15px; position: relative;">Panther </em><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open sans', sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">tells the story of Derrick, whose family is being torn apart by his sister’s depression and her recent suicide attempt. When rumours start to circulate that a panther is roaming wild in his south London suburb, Derrick decides to try and capture it. Surely if he can just find a way to tame the panther, he’ll be able to put his life back together too?</span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open sans', sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"></span><br style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open sans', sans-serif; font-size: 15px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open sans', sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"></span><em style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open sans', sans-serif; font-size: 15px; position: relative;">Panther</em><span style="background-color: white; font-family: 'Open sans', sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"> is a funny, touching, and occasionally unsettling coming-of-age story, which deals candidly with the stigmas and misunderstandings surrounding depression.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px;"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It's not out for a little while: May 21st, 2015. I may start banging on about it quite a bit before then. I may also start screaming 'BUY IT' at people in the street. I'll let you know as this develops.</span></span></div>
<br />Dave Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863036706112025142noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451756731517897590.post-74920094868144478602014-06-11T15:02:00.000-07:002014-06-11T15:02:26.196-07:00Job Hunting Demotivators<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I have been unemployed now for what science refers to as 'quite some time.' During this extended period of mid-afternoon nudity and naps I have applied for many hundreds of jobs (I stopped keeping track when the official tally became too lengthy to manage). This mostly involves sending email. In the process of sending applications, enquiries, etc. I often require something from my old computer. The easiest way to get them is to email myself with an attachment.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEprqlefQK3WfJcrs9jJzN7de7uokdo5jaethihoKbJX1srHLHsRan4u0Cgoh57j9MRAeMn2jAUY5xNtNO65NoBWwavsYhJoCFATYXDGk_kKtvg5BCR6IRGX7Nz3zO2I63RqZNFVEAXlc/s1600/1.+Waste+of+time.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEprqlefQK3WfJcrs9jJzN7de7uokdo5jaethihoKbJX1srHLHsRan4u0Cgoh57j9MRAeMn2jAUY5xNtNO65NoBWwavsYhJoCFATYXDGk_kKtvg5BCR6IRGX7Nz3zO2I63RqZNFVEAXlc/s1600/1.+Waste+of+time.png" height="114" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It began as a few words to simply occupy the body of the email. But anyone who has ever been engaged in a prolonged job hunt knows it is rarely a happy process.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNbN6k1Ri7cVD6uE_oIFrrQ1N3vlL40LWLcHq_Ezq3EenJ0_pxeERVwM1qE0HWMNzDaHf1jl0SgxJMHKOAimP4WptRChDpqxh73ULI1TWQO1RVWATR6ICMs2vf61_koOhKliqzmaKNZKU/s1600/2.+Burn+it.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNbN6k1Ri7cVD6uE_oIFrrQ1N3vlL40LWLcHq_Ezq3EenJ0_pxeERVwM1qE0HWMNzDaHf1jl0SgxJMHKOAimP4WptRChDpqxh73ULI1TWQO1RVWATR6ICMs2vf61_koOhKliqzmaKNZKU/s1600/2.+Burn+it.png" height="118" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">One of the worst parts of job hunting is having to spend a great deal of time on an application that you know will come to nothing. You have to try - there are only so many days you can wile away singing the Game of Thrones theme to the cat - but the certainty of failure looms large.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Soon I was writing emails to myself that didn't even contain attachments. They served only to break up the inexorable tedium of bullshitting cover letters, and made the dearth of replies seem slightly less absolute. For a while, they were even vaguely positive.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3PQmM6Mrg6bRdd65gYuHJOpA1dRuhdkC2AdA1Q3BnujxVX9iBf3BYDyxS2Z6oArH_iVEGU-A3lGLbsUwS0AsVrUqAM6eewVu18MJqaKkD9K8rJiVeCf8hjglBmajeI24balg3KOnQ9ts/s1600/4.+Cape.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3PQmM6Mrg6bRdd65gYuHJOpA1dRuhdkC2AdA1Q3BnujxVX9iBf3BYDyxS2Z6oArH_iVEGU-A3lGLbsUwS0AsVrUqAM6eewVu18MJqaKkD9K8rJiVeCf8hjglBmajeI24balg3KOnQ9ts/s1600/4.+Cape.png" height="180" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzjUQMJgn2E6ITBdrUB57NkKNbx5a2mrJjIYHYvZD_p6T1qFpnR3a7eMMglqXCoxHUM2GDc8s2oQwvBZuWctc6Mc7tz84z_37T7lPV7hDLW8kzi5OwNyxwi_Nr39vxnfIGIM40qJDTNJw/s1600/6.+Bats.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzjUQMJgn2E6ITBdrUB57NkKNbx5a2mrJjIYHYvZD_p6T1qFpnR3a7eMMglqXCoxHUM2GDc8s2oQwvBZuWctc6Mc7tz84z_37T7lPV7hDLW8kzi5OwNyxwi_Nr39vxnfIGIM40qJDTNJw/s1600/6.+Bats.png" height="112" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It wasn't long before this soupcon of optimism became a trickle of bile, a leaky catheter staining the trousers of hope and decency.</span><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFX8-uN6R-LfLQlzttcXLWBVcZzP6zc3Wye3wRLBLK_2GLIRZAHmINcvGpRMlO7P1fHZVDBhL2T_gholU0d5NDJXIRqG8hyikhL_2g3UgQ9hmctI1pm-EOZcLto6XXCdl0xD5eiPGIjAo/s1600/8.+pICK+THE+bones.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFX8-uN6R-LfLQlzttcXLWBVcZzP6zc3Wye3wRLBLK_2GLIRZAHmINcvGpRMlO7P1fHZVDBhL2T_gholU0d5NDJXIRqG8hyikhL_2g3UgQ9hmctI1pm-EOZcLto6XXCdl0xD5eiPGIjAo/s1600/8.+pICK+THE+bones.png" height="166" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Job hunting cuts the Achilles tendon of your self-esteem, writes your every regret large across your mind, and forces you to panic about every penny you spend, despite your propensity to hypocritically spunk everything you own on ice cream because you're miserable and at least diabetes will give you something to do. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP1ApAXxn8-klUrR9HpPI-WyowLyIPJxeKLThrQd0uU1O05fi4-QdEVLASrhvYjMXd9PooT54CCrYrS7ki7Mipe8iwQv1J4xghRI29XLoTdVAoGcPwy3HRFSpoQxeY2EvrjQpCM6sB7xw/s1600/7.+13+year+old.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP1ApAXxn8-klUrR9HpPI-WyowLyIPJxeKLThrQd0uU1O05fi4-QdEVLASrhvYjMXd9PooT54CCrYrS7ki7Mipe8iwQv1J4xghRI29XLoTdVAoGcPwy3HRFSpoQxeY2EvrjQpCM6sB7xw/s1600/7.+13+year+old.png" height="176" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">People will tell you to keep trying. I don't disagree with that advice. But in the festering abyss of the job market, nothing is more exasperating than the false cheer and vacuous enthusiasm of the gainfully employed. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So I give you unemployment demotivators instead. Give up! Eat ice cream! Watch pornography in the morning! After all, it's a lot more fun than applying for jobs.</span></div>
Dave Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863036706112025142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451756731517897590.post-3981412268394456692014-05-12T13:13:00.001-07:002014-11-28T12:39:27.397-08:00Rubicon<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This morning I thought very seriously about jumping in front of a train.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I was on my way into London for the incredibly crappy temp job I'm currently working. While I was waiting for the train I found myself working out the best place to jump to ensure I would be smeared emphatically into hairy pate. The ideal spot on the platform where I wouldn't arouse suspicion in the interim.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Then I went and stood there.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I didn't intend to actually do it. I have often idly contemplated suicide, but generally lack the constitution for it. This time, as the rails hissed and the train rounded the corner, I felt in my body the momentum that would pitch me over and take everything else out of my control. It was alarmingly vivid. I could practically feel myself going.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Needless to say I stood my ground, boarded the train, and went about my day as usual. But I've been unable to forget the sensation that gripped me on the platform. I have not been able to stop my hands from shaking.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Where did it all go wrong?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As the beleaguered regular readers of this blog will know, I'm <a href="http://stupidhindsight.blogspot.co.uk/2014/03/saudade.html" target="_blank">hardly</a> one to <a href="http://stupidhindsight.blogspot.co.uk/2014/01/rut.html" target="_blank">bang</a> on <a href="http://stupidhindsight.blogspot.co.uk/2013/10/a-non-depressive-blog-post-about.html" target="_blank">about</a> my <a href="http://stupidhindsight.blogspot.co.uk/2013/01/one-year-on-antidepressants.html" target="_blank">current mire</a> of <a href="http://stupidhindsight.blogspot.co.uk/2013/08/26th-birthday.html" target="_blank">depression</a> and my <a href="http://stupidhindsight.blogspot.co.uk/2014/03/nose-problems.html" target="_blank">blighted</a> lot in life. So here is a swift summary: 26 years old, jobless (basically), sexless (my current dry spell is coming up on 2 years), riddled with depression, living with my mum, and the owner of a preposterously over-sized head. As a youngster I never had terribly high hopes for the future, but I never thought I would find myself watching the oncoming front of a train quite so greedily.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I often wonder if I could pinpoint a single moment of my past where it all went pear-shaped. Was it during the late '90s when I ate the equivalent of Guatemala's GDP in junk food? Could it have been one of the many squandered romantic opportunities of university? Maybe it happened when I decided to grow my hair and wear tie-dye. Should I not have built this blog on an ancient Indian burial ground?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I can't help but wonder if I am still paying off the ransom of past mistakes. I have tried what feels incredibly hard in the last year or so to improve my situation. Nothing has worked, and a profound sense of hopelessness has set in. Maybe my current failures are easier to take if I believe myself to be doomed by history. Or maybe it is simply my self-hatred going ever deeper.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Tomorrow it will all begin again. I will wake up and force myself to get dressed for this crappy temp job. I will walk to the station and I will wait for the train. As it approaches I will try to believe that there must be a better way for me to escape this mire.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<br />Dave Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863036706112025142noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451756731517897590.post-68842436986671382012014-05-01T11:47:00.000-07:002014-05-01T11:47:33.836-07:00Big Bush<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">For as long as I can remember (and therefore forever) there
has been a big bush at the front of my house. Whenever I have had to give
people directions to my house, I have instructed them to look out for the big
bush and its ever-changing collection of dog faeces.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It started life as a rosemary bush. A single touch would
make you smell indelibly of a potpourri pot. Unfortunately time allowed ivy,
ever the Amazon.com of nature, to stage an aggressive takeover that sapped it
of all that made it great. In recent years it has been little more than an
untameable afro of ivy and fox urine.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This week we are having our drive done. The big bush is dead.
Long live the big bush.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBSX3DatG0iHlXNlorxVfaTZB9wbICkCVRn9ZnJXpHzccXW6vCYe5NNvnq5Y2EhSzChHkULa4DPV0qC_dEUvFf0d3Z32j2hNGEi50HU-H8r78vH4EW-qWk3NaCkxOudCz-uQzkVWEBe1U/s1600/20140429_080615.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBSX3DatG0iHlXNlorxVfaTZB9wbICkCVRn9ZnJXpHzccXW6vCYe5NNvnq5Y2EhSzChHkULa4DPV0qC_dEUvFf0d3Z32j2hNGEi50HU-H8r78vH4EW-qWk3NaCkxOudCz-uQzkVWEBe1U/s1600/20140429_080615.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Here are some largely uninteresting memories of the big
bush:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">As a child I took great pride in being the weirdest kid in
school. It was an affectation I worked hard to maintain. I went so far as to
give my neighbourhood friends ‘mental lessons.’ These invariably culminated in
an offensive approximation of disability and a headlong dive into the big bush.
Mental.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">If I couldn’t be bothered to go inside I would stand on the
street and urinate into the bush. I thought of it as marking my territory. The
big bush would return the favour: the merest contact made my penis smell of
rosemary for numerous hours afterward.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A common theme of my childhood was being hopeless at
everything. I trailed even the most basic of my peers’ accomplishments by
several years. This included learning to ride a bike. While my friends were
zipping about on BMXs I was still safely coddled by stabilisers. One evening I
came home to find that my mother had removed and disposed of them. It was an
ultimatum. I went straight outside to prove everybody wrong. Many hours and six
painful falls into the big bush later, my skin torn to ribbons and covered in
dog piss, I had learned to ride a bike.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Over the course of my life the big bush has been the hiding
place of vodka, wine, orange squash, eggs, brownies, Doritos, assorted sweets,
broken plates, newspapers, pornography, money, myself, and my fragile sense of
self-esteem.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Godspeed, big bush.</span></div>
Dave Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863036706112025142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451756731517897590.post-25597215449846230162014-03-30T10:26:00.000-07:002014-03-30T10:26:37.159-07:00Nose Problems<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My nose is rubbish.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It bleeds like a plague of Egypt, chokes off my breathing if
I ever dare lie on my back, and once brought a premature end to guaranteed sex.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My nose is rubbish.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_v19HJM3Dhc5THlIEPx-3eOAJ-jeNdltxcNxkI_c4HHN34qXP3ZSnbRjNgJrKp4TvhoPKhp-J0is1LsT5eyZ8NjcGs2a8kHv6jfJVTrz9kVQ6fbvyUp8GwU-N4PCL3ZWwYsrpRGCsecs/s1600/voldermort.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_v19HJM3Dhc5THlIEPx-3eOAJ-jeNdltxcNxkI_c4HHN34qXP3ZSnbRjNgJrKp4TvhoPKhp-J0is1LsT5eyZ8NjcGs2a8kHv6jfJVTrz9kVQ6fbvyUp8GwU-N4PCL3ZWwYsrpRGCsecs/s1600/voldermort.jpg" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>This is why Voldemort got rid of his.</i></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It used to bleed so profusely that it would fill a cereal
bowl to the brim (with the cereal still in it), an unsavoury alternative to
milk. The blood clots that would squeeze themselves out were like engorged ticks.
In hot weather my face was like a game of Buckaroo; the slightest touch or
sudden movement would set it off. My sister quickly picked up on this and took
gleeful advantage: on a coach to France, in church, in the two-hour line for a
rollercoaster, prompting tourists to wrench my head in whatever direction they
believed would stem the tide.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When it became too much I was taken to a doctor. He donned
inch-thick safety goggles and murmured ruminatively as he gingerly inserted an
apothecary’s-worth of creams and ointments into my nostrils.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlyhJE83z3c1YWyUJGBOkvuZl0SPflI5RekOHj1QijCOvnVLQg8tgq9uqEuve-pJaT64XdxGPQ5FDSCoAHi7EfZ9BykZ0pCc6zDzcNF2LYlR8jhw_D8oqjIONLMi1wFzhwK2nFKjgdlHY/s1600/medicus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlyhJE83z3c1YWyUJGBOkvuZl0SPflI5RekOHj1QijCOvnVLQg8tgq9uqEuve-pJaT64XdxGPQ5FDSCoAHi7EfZ9BykZ0pCc6zDzcNF2LYlR8jhw_D8oqjIONLMi1wFzhwK2nFKjgdlHY/s1600/medicus.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Actual picture.</i></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It worked, a little. These days my nose has a weekly
menstruation cycle, with daily spotting to remind me of its potential for
devastation. More of a problem now is the tides of snot it produces if I dare
step outside, and how it bungs up like a Russian road blockade whenever I lie
down. The nasal spray I use to alleviate the issue insists it not be used for
more than 4 weeks straight. I’ve been squirting it up there for 14 years.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpdfFdIXiQImHUx1l0urL6RigC_K8LBGEcGn9Z_INEB2N0Hz9-5lxwdbFJb6DBT2ldjQUw0N7TPkQTs5VMmT8Wvwmq0O5LH933fHGiDCG4rMh5u5BSjRcd7vehFffCfch18nhMeJylqWI/s1600/westbrook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpdfFdIXiQImHUx1l0urL6RigC_K8LBGEcGn9Z_INEB2N0Hz9-5lxwdbFJb6DBT2ldjQUw0N7TPkQTs5VMmT8Wvwmq0O5LH933fHGiDCG4rMh5u5BSjRcd7vehFffCfch18nhMeJylqWI/s1600/westbrook.jpg" height="320" width="295" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>What's the worst that can happen?</i></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My nose’s most nefarious crime was its jealous destruction
of a promising relationship. I had stayed the night with a girl I was seeing,
too tired after a late cinema trip to attempt anything too vigorous that
evening. There would be plenty of time in the morning.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When I woke up I felt instantly that tendrils of illness had
claimed me overnight. My head was pounding, my chest felt heavy, and my nose
had battened down the hatches. But because I am an irresistible specimen of the
male species she was not to be deterred.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL6rCdqPp2P3N45BH7URLmGrfCuPUglj8Pk-btnq3QeVcfSxI-pbVN6OC0rYmWrZgopFJt71C4UKba7WaGcegg4_YWzrw9Ro9Z5ayvk0Xe0-nC3LhbOtGMA0-o92z99-M1mTKBzOBo7-g/s1600/20140218_081919.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL6rCdqPp2P3N45BH7URLmGrfCuPUglj8Pk-btnq3QeVcfSxI-pbVN6OC0rYmWrZgopFJt71C4UKba7WaGcegg4_YWzrw9Ro9Z5ayvk0Xe0-nC3LhbOtGMA0-o92z99-M1mTKBzOBo7-g/s1600/20140218_081919.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Who could resist someone who looks this good in the morning?</i></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The problem was that, with my nose having closed its
borders, kissing made it terribly hard to breathe. I had to pause every few
seconds to take a lungful of air, giving the impression that I possessed the
stamina of an asthmatic discus thrower.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘Give me a second,’ I said, rolling away and plucking a
tissue from the bedside table.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I blew my nose as hard as I could. It spewed gouts of thick
orange slime like viscous Fanta. It was to be the only ejaculation I achieved
that morning.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I arranged the tissue into a hobo’s bindle of luminous
sputum and flung it at the bin. It missed, and fell open on the carpet.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I ignored the look of disgust on her face and tried to
resume where we had left off. As I leaned in towards her I took a breath, and
my nose made a noise like a micro-pig caught in a lawnmower. She caught me by
the shoulders and pushed me forcibly away.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘I’ve just remembered I need to meet someone,’ she said,
swinging her legs over the edge of the bed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It was almost certainly a lie. But soon afterwards she met
another guy.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My nose is rubbish.</span></div>
Dave Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863036706112025142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451756731517897590.post-45311718241665358442014-03-23T11:45:00.002-07:002014-03-23T11:45:59.983-07:00Saudade<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I was recently introduced to the Portuguese word <i>saudade</i> (I am reliably informed that the
‘de’ at the end is pronounced more like ‘je’). It doesn’t have a direct
translation in English. To butcher the elegant translation given to me (and to
pilfer from Wikipedia), <i>saudade</i>
describes a deep emotional state of nostalgic or melancholic longing for things
or people that have been loved and lost.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Although the word is new to me, it’s a feeling with which I
am intimately familiar. I am a slave to melancholic nostalgia.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I miss going to my Grandma’s house. I would spend an entire
summer kicking an air floater football against the garage, smashing Hot Wheels
cars against each other on Grandma’s footrest (which she unfortunately called
her ‘poof’), accidentally mashing orange silly putty into the carpet, eating Special K
for breakfast every morning. I miss creeping out of bed to sit on the landing
in the dark and listen to the TV downstairs, sneaking into Grandma’s room with
its lurid pink carpet. Those summers were so solitary, but I was so content. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I miss falling hopelessly in love with women who didn’t
reciprocate, the intensity of that pain and longing. I miss gripping my phone
and begging it to ring, reading more in every text message than was ever
present, thinking of her as soon as I woke up every morning. I miss being the
kind of person who would get up at 5am just to walk with her to catch her bus,
pretending that I had been awake anyway. I miss writing poorly conceived love
poetry.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I miss the sense of possibility.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I miss my friends. I long for the time before they moved off
around the country, around the world, got married, had kids. I hate that I am
becoming less important in their lives. I miss playing Guitar Hero before it
was cool, meeting for impromptu evening walks, competing at ping pong in a
cramped garage, writing 15-minute songs about Arnold Schwarzenegger, <a href="http://stupidhindsight.blogspot.co.uk/2011/10/hot-or-not.html" target="_blank">putting our pictures on Hot or Not</a> (my highest ever average was a 5.5/10). It feels
like they have left me behind.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>Saudade</i> is
beautiful, but it is also painful and irrational. I know that I can’t have that
time again. It has slipped through my fingers like grains of sand. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">For all my best attempts to foster new memories in the present, it feels like my life has fatally stalled. Nostalgia rules me because now feels so much worse than
then. In those memories there is joy, and hurt, and curiosity. These days I am
empty; an ambulatory chalice for things past. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I miss hope. I miss excitement. I miss love. <i>Saudade</i> is a lifeline to all of those
feelings of which I used to have in abundance, and have since lost.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><i>Saudade </i>is a
bitch.</span></div>
Dave Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863036706112025142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451756731517897590.post-11836494707681196062014-03-16T12:18:00.003-07:002014-03-16T12:18:59.414-07:00My First Story<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I've just stumbled upon one of the first stories I ever wrote. It had escaped being thrown away by sliding down the side of a bookshelf. I must have been 9-10 years old when I wrote it and, given that I now call myself a professional writer, I think it's interesting to share it. I shall reproduce it in its entirety below - all spelling, grammatical, and formatting oddities are very much [sic].</span><div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<u>WHEN MY BUM WAS BITTEN</u></div>
<div>
<u>By David Owen</u></div>
<div>
<u><br /></u></div>
<div>
Hello, I am a BOFF JOB called Robert and I am a nerd. One day I was walking down the road when a dog with the black plague jumped out of a dustbin and bit me on the bottom. " You binraider " I screamed but the dog had jumped in a pile of horse manure so I couldn't put it in a paper shredder. I walked back home but I went mental and killed my parents with my sock that has not been washed for 2 years. My bum throbbed so I licked it. I ran to the Hospital and jumped on a dead body and threw it out of the bed. It landed in a paper shredder. The next second shredds of skin were flying everywhere. A few went down my throat and I swallowed them. My bum was so swollen that my pants and trousers ripped so everyone could see my private parts. I screamed several swear words then ran into the toilets and wrapped myself in toilet paper. I had a heart attack 6 times but each time it only lasted 2 seconds. I killed a nurse every day and put them in a paper shredder. I played bouncing the Nurses head with the ceiling until I died. When I died everybody screamed " YES ". They screamed so loud that the hospital collasped. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
THE END.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcfioHqhatWVbfxBRLCBnaVGgAMXqjfcrs9fywmMd6v02rhz4T50d4R5oMYYOjsUoUrOw80qw_MMK_ZVKURh_zawb5PkH_JcwAtiKl8Lj-CSo9QahdIGnY10d1rWx3hHBXykfM821CK10/s1600/20140316_190235.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcfioHqhatWVbfxBRLCBnaVGgAMXqjfcrs9fywmMd6v02rhz4T50d4R5oMYYOjsUoUrOw80qw_MMK_ZVKURh_zawb5PkH_JcwAtiKl8Lj-CSo9QahdIGnY10d1rWx3hHBXykfM821CK10/s1600/20140316_190235.jpg" height="300" width="400" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This is not the first story that I ever wrote - I distinctly remember writing about a band of vigilante hamsters that battled a sunglasses-wearing carrot. But this story, if I remember correctly, marked the beginning of my writing with serious intent. From here I continued to write nonsense and continue to do so today.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I must have shown this to my mum, and it's testament to her as a parent that she likely didn't bat an eyelid. It's a clear attempt by a 9 year old to be as risque as his pre-pubescent mind can manage. Perhaps most worrying is that my sense of humour has hardly matured.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I wonder what my 9 year old self would say if I told him that I was soon to be a published author with a book about SERIOUS ISSUES. He would probably call me a boff job and a nerd.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">He would be right.</span></div>
Dave Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863036706112025142noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451756731517897590.post-17960934082112233612014-01-26T10:35:00.000-08:002014-01-26T10:35:16.912-08:00Hot Teachers<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When you spend the duration of puberty at an all boy’s
school, an attractive teacher feels like a lifebuoy descending from a helicopter
to pluck you from a tumultuous sea of dicks. It would also turn every single
pupil within a twenty foot radius into a blundering idiot. A school comprised
entirely of sexually frustrated teenage males was hardly the ideal environment
to hone romantic ability and, these alluring teachers being our only chance to
practice, attempts to work our magic tended to go altogether poorly.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP5HOq730YCpedfU9X9VjLN4kiI2L8UMYfmZTdy-zAOmAo7ScEK1RywwBya_VqNoAyWdEzSq01PB5kKFz2PmggrlkzgOSy6QI2RawUijIuNKhk7OGN2sAB2LIlcVH4ngT5ajAKn1z1f8U/s1600/Sting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP5HOq730YCpedfU9X9VjLN4kiI2L8UMYfmZTdy-zAOmAo7ScEK1RywwBya_VqNoAyWdEzSq01PB5kKFz2PmggrlkzgOSy6QI2RawUijIuNKhk7OGN2sAB2LIlcVH4ngT5ajAKn1z1f8U/s1600/Sting.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Sting knows what I'm talking about.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The teacher that engorged our imaginations the most was
unwisely assigned to orchestrate Biology just as the textbook arrived at sexual
education. She was young and in possession of generous mammalian protuberances
that resulted in the frequent hiding of swollen laps. The entire class would engage
in daring flirtatious games such as pushing our pens off the table when she was
nearby and jockeying for view, or calling her over to assist us in our work and
sliding our hands across the desk as she leaned over it, in the hope of making
tantalising contact. It was a true game of chicken, complete with breasts.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The Biology lessons were sometimes mind-bogglingly graphic,
including a video of a grotesquely hairy TV scientist depositing his man batter
in extreme close up. It was almost enough to put us off the idea entirely.
Almost.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘Miss,’ said a boy who sat behind us, enthusiastically
waving his hand in the air. ‘What does semen taste like?’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">He was removed from the class. It seemed to be a tipping
point. A few weeks later, due to what I can only assume was pent up thwarted
desire, we made her cry by throwing balls of paper at her head and then locking
her out of the classroom when she went in search of help. My few break-ups
since have barely been more mature.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSH0gqOu7Gyz_JkCAGYwqU9Vf3yhl-tom41KllFWAv3J9UfHQ7tX1DKk5ls42ic_degyCFdGbsa_hoaYxXTMOvXZSqhP_kJC2niQtExMiKSe0VGklNzyWlBHOCUyO4nVWdlFpQlydeMVo/s1600/boy-pulling-girls-hair.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSH0gqOu7Gyz_JkCAGYwqU9Vf3yhl-tom41KllFWAv3J9UfHQ7tX1DKk5ls42ic_degyCFdGbsa_hoaYxXTMOvXZSqhP_kJC2niQtExMiKSe0VGklNzyWlBHOCUyO4nVWdlFpQlydeMVo/s1600/boy-pulling-girls-hair.jpeg" height="225" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Then there was the geography teacher who, rumour had it,
once had her skirt blown up in the playground by an errant gust of wind to
reveal she was without underwear. Whenever she was on lunch duty a small
cluster of boys perpetually lingered nearby, just in case.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">An attractive French teacher, no doubt proudly exercising her
English, admonished a boy for chewing gum by loudly insisting that he ‘stop
masticating at the back of the room.’ For a long uproarious moment we all
feared she’d somehow climbed inside our collective mind.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A special shout-out must go to the seemingly plain teacher
who upset our reality by arriving on owns-clothes day in school uniform so mouth-watering
to our teenage selves that we spent the entire day clustered outside her
office, engaged in a game of verbal brinkmanship describing the things we’d do
to her given the chance (the reality of course being shaking with terror and
making a mess of our underpants).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8IRHrE0730-nv__GeG4n_6y23SY407w8nPTn2e70pjpGWfSrBGyZhbNbujmy5usULyF3O4ncLUL0MEJ-3P0UUi6zoPKeAwbEudw0H4zmThbRVLpmRNUGmd40_G-9MiXkZmqtJ9HSvs6w/s1600/man-holding-crotch-shutterstock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8IRHrE0730-nv__GeG4n_6y23SY407w8nPTn2e70pjpGWfSrBGyZhbNbujmy5usULyF3O4ncLUL0MEJ-3P0UUi6zoPKeAwbEudw0H4zmThbRVLpmRNUGmd40_G-9MiXkZmqtJ9HSvs6w/s1600/man-holding-crotch-shutterstock.jpg" height="223" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>I'd like to say it gets easier when you're older, but...</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Attractive teachers were such things as dreams we made on.
Whereas the idea of a male teacher acting on fawning schoolgirls was repugnant,
the reverse seemed the most exquisite fantasy. We imagined how events would
conspire in our favour, where we’d go to commit the deed, how we’d live in
pubescent infamy. It was unflinchingly pathetic and shamefully misogynistic,
and yet, in the dark ages before easily accessed internet pornography, a vital
part of our stymied sexual development.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">People are frequently shocked when I reveal I attended an
all boys school, though with some thought I’m sure it makes sense to those who
have ever seen me try to talk to a woman. It is a worthy scapegoat for my many
years since of romantic indecency. Here’s to you, hot teachers.</span></div>
Dave Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863036706112025142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451756731517897590.post-21685084454119064202014-01-24T13:01:00.000-08:002014-11-28T12:39:27.392-08:00Rut<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Well, 2014 hasn’t got off to a flying start.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The current state of my depression reminds me of that period
in the WWE when the Hardcore Title was in constant contention, anywhere,
anytime. The holder would walk around with a constant lingering awareness of
their impending downfall until the Holly family would jump out of a skip and
beat them half to death with a plank of wood.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCo8TXF1Ip012dv_SXLQ4OVv4DW64nPk_cULjflPZoOmph4GHnb2iZPOoUZoRBHT6H_pEfs9Q0tVP1F_lKZC9WixMeCGP48LUggtZE04BMxBVXaGgmgYBP10BHgorej7fCz3FgAafWRo4/s1600/The_Holly_Cousins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCo8TXF1Ip012dv_SXLQ4OVv4DW64nPk_cULjflPZoOmph4GHnb2iZPOoUZoRBHT6H_pEfs9Q0tVP1F_lKZC9WixMeCGP48LUggtZE04BMxBVXaGgmgYBP10BHgorej7fCz3FgAafWRo4/s1600/The_Holly_Cousins.jpg" height="320" width="277" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>You monsters.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In real terms, this has recently manifested itself as sudden
bouts of crying on train journeys. A trapdoor opens and my mood drops so
rapidly I can hardly breathe. There is no discernible reason for it. There is
no depression championship to take from me. If there were, I would willingly
surrender it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I am entrenched in the deepest rut of my life. I start this
year jobless, single, living at home, and carrying about a stone of Christmas
weight which is inexplicably not being shifted by sitting around and eating
cake. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">You could say the only way is up. If S Club 7 taught me
anything it’s that I should reach for the stars. But it feels impossible to
improve my life without getting a job. In the last year and a bit I’ve applied
for over 300 jobs. That has netted me 3 interviews, all of which have resulted
in failure.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Last week I interviewed for an exciting job. It was
something I would love to do, and for once I was very qualified to do it. I
bought a new set of interview clothes (based entirely on Jim Halpert from The
US Office), spent a couple of days researching and preparing, and put every
drop of energy I had during the interview into pretending that I don’t hate
myself. I didn’t get the job.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDpe0qQxeAP21REjOqbNRElFWiN_y3CfPtaaGnFdk5MfPpqCaoQvMqm92H0nygooUwIQ8nuXlVaRQNMrcQWnW_ZbsUAX1OB2_j6zObt30DkPlpaNQ0Xk3cvsQ6geuMNPVXmGHXTITCjLI/s1600/S-Club-7-s-club-7-988309_1024_768.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDpe0qQxeAP21REjOqbNRElFWiN_y3CfPtaaGnFdk5MfPpqCaoQvMqm92H0nygooUwIQ8nuXlVaRQNMrcQWnW_ZbsUAX1OB2_j6zObt30DkPlpaNQ0Xk3cvsQ6geuMNPVXmGHXTITCjLI/s1600/S-Club-7-s-club-7-988309_1024_768.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Fuck you, S Club 7!</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It feels like if I could get a job I would be able to move
out again, afford to go and do the occasional fun thing, meet new people and
make friends to do this with, maybe meet a girl. Unbelievably, girls aren’t
terribly keen on unemployed 26 year olds who live with their mother. Most
importantly, I wouldn’t feel so utterly worthless. I know that this is mostly
wishful thinking. A job is not going to cure my depression. Nothing will. But
it might be the gateway to improving my life. It has to be better than spending
every day in my bedroom singing Van Der Graaf Generator songs to the cat.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbCjQoUg3NOu7ZCh2InDGeKLFckPzZTfngoopLiUHg_M8hUYyM4N7DrMEoWk83MmzzciQpu1aE5wrhC5X711vGYekKF6hlSRCojmFX3znj7ZQscdgO3ws5NX37gwcwg05B2vpiwhlLcgY/s1600/angry+cat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbCjQoUg3NOu7ZCh2InDGeKLFckPzZTfngoopLiUHg_M8hUYyM4N7DrMEoWk83MmzzciQpu1aE5wrhC5X711vGYekKF6hlSRCojmFX3znj7ZQscdgO3ws5NX37gwcwg05B2vpiwhlLcgY/s1600/angry+cat.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>The cat really hates Van Der Graaf Generator</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It’s difficult to live in the total absence of hope. I feel
like I’m falling apart, and I don’t know how to stop it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I’d like to try and end this depressive ramble on a more
positive note. I often feel very lonely. When I write things like this the
majority of people choose to ignore it. I understand it’s not nice to read, and
many will think I’m a moaner who should simply cheer up. But despite the
silence that greets things like this, I have noticed a few people making
indirect efforts to be supportive. I appreciate it greatly.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And to the handful of people who have been willing to talk
to me directly about these things, particularly to those who just take the time
to check that I’m okay, I thank you from the bottom of my shrivelled heart. It
means the world.</span></div>
Dave Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863036706112025142noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451756731517897590.post-48397258712276831602013-12-19T06:41:00.001-08:002013-12-19T06:41:56.904-08:00A Media Ban on the Word 'Fat' is not the Answer<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In the news today is consideration of <a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/entertainment-arts-25427990" target="_blank">a ban on television and other media using the word ‘fat’</a> to describe celebrities and other figures.
Much of this stems from the actress Jennifer Lawrence, who has spoken out about
some (apparently blind) sections of the media referring to her as fat.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT74EDuS7aJMmgctvKhs7gfP6PFkTo_3YucNEijqzIFBuJkyRELszNK_teuQsZu01d7VFj_TYcIDCWguAr0FmlOmGBUacZ8Vrjd07Ib5N2BmtqdQIPshA_yVSp_60Yta99I9ws0WbcQFk/s1600/jennifer-lawrence.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT74EDuS7aJMmgctvKhs7gfP6PFkTo_3YucNEijqzIFBuJkyRELszNK_teuQsZu01d7VFj_TYcIDCWguAr0FmlOmGBUacZ8Vrjd07Ib5N2BmtqdQIPshA_yVSp_60Yta99I9ws0WbcQFk/s320/jennifer-lawrence.jpg" width="194" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>I mean, seriously?</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It’s not nice to be called fat. I can tell you that from a
decade of experience. And seeing healthy celebrities who, thanks to advantages
of their lifestyle, look better than most mortals being called fat isn’t nice
either. It is, as this campaign rightly contends, damaging to self-esteem and a
contributor to health issues such as anorexia, bulimia, and depression,
particularly in young people. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But a blanket ban on the word ‘fat’ would only serve to
ignore a number of other problems, and potentially make them worse.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I’m not a parent, but I often consider what I would do if my
child began to become overweight. On one hand the last thing I would want to do
is berate my child and give them a complex about their looks. That’s equally as
harmful as exposure to this kind of media. But simply brushing weight issues
under the carpet isn’t the answer either. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I gained several stone in weight between the ages of 10-11
and at no point did anyone sit me down to make me aware that it was happening,
and that it might have severe ramifications in my later life.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz1S-Hr2aMlz-gwVu-LKqbYTH4thHj0XB6wV-0u4_LuXtdyEH851MAxQKG1i3hrw0NqSOkcfbcsTzqxtFXnf7dcyi6HfRVQGRfYAOdnx3bNufUj0NiE7E4GE_lzVXmWzkyDesaQWYMMao/s1600/203_504262828939_1053_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz1S-Hr2aMlz-gwVu-LKqbYTH4thHj0XB6wV-0u4_LuXtdyEH851MAxQKG1i3hrw0NqSOkcfbcsTzqxtFXnf7dcyi6HfRVQGRfYAOdnx3bNufUj0NiE7E4GE_lzVXmWzkyDesaQWYMMao/s320/203_504262828939_1053_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Me in bigger times.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I lost a great deal of that weight aged 17, and a little
more aged 20. I’m now 26, and my self-esteem, body image, and social skills are
still catastrophically poor. I still struggle with my weight on a daily basis.
Being severely overweight during those crucial formative years casts a long
shadow. It would not be different if these kinds of media stigma did not exist.
I would still have been unaware that it was a problem and therefore unable to
address it. But it might have been different if someone had helped me to
understand.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My fear is that simply pretending that being overweight does
not hold the potential for harm, or that simply pretending the word ‘fat’ doesn’t
exist, will only allow weight issues, and the psychological toll, to run
rampant.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It’s admirable to promote positive body image. If someone,
whatever their size, is happy with their body, that’s fantastic. I agree
wholeheartedly that being overweight should not make you a target for derision
or judgement. Undoubtedly what celebrity media considers fat is outright
hurtful and unrealistic. There are very few people who wouldn’t agree that
Jennifer Lawrence is a beautiful woman. But a blanket ban on the word ‘fat’ is
not the answer. What it threatens to do is promote a different kind of
ignorance that will only perpetuate or even exacerbate issues pertaining to
weight and negative body image.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There are also other issues to consider, such as personal
health, financial strain on the NHS, and, as obesity figures spiral in
countries around the world, particularly in children, the possible impact on
infrastructure. It can even have a negative impact on others. To use an
anecdotal example, I have a family member who is a paramedic, and is frequently
expected to carry people weighing 20 stone or more down flights of stairs, to
the detriment of her own physical health.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It seems to me, in my limited knowledge, that the answer
should lie somewhere in better education about nutrition, addressing the
rampant poverty that is forcing families to rely on cheap, unhealthy food to
survive, and providing better support to help overweight people improve their
health if they wish to do so. If there was better education, understanding, and
support, these media stigmas would carry far less influence and potential for
harm.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The intentions behind this idea are good. But it feels a
little like scapegoating, and it is not only simplistic in its approach, but
even has the potential to cause further damage.</span></div>
Dave Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863036706112025142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451756731517897590.post-62561270165329139712013-12-02T10:46:00.000-08:002013-12-02T10:46:21.451-08:00My Book is Getting Published<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">For the last decade I have been working towards getting a
book published. It has pretty much been my only goal in life. And now it’s
happening! My first novel will be published in 2015 by Constable &
Robinson, who are lovely and bought world English rights.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This is probably the first time in my life that hard work
has paid off. Apart from that time I took a 2 hour round walk to purchase
discounted ice cream. That paid off handsomely.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA73u4WAzBJqoXHGG0CoYxGjY3XR0Rwfi37HKh_h6UZOuTYj6ngCid1032i3dL69XhXKkYFyftO2MfsltipLkAhkAiQYAcvXFs4BoTcIWUBj9yIa0J9tm8Zd4Be8_7mCfMAYsuZBmnkJw/s1600/cat_over_eat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="269" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA73u4WAzBJqoXHGG0CoYxGjY3XR0Rwfi37HKh_h6UZOuTYj6ngCid1032i3dL69XhXKkYFyftO2MfsltipLkAhkAiQYAcvXFs4BoTcIWUBj9yIa0J9tm8Zd4Be8_7mCfMAYsuZBmnkJw/s320/cat_over_eat.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Real handsomely</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The book is entitled <i>The
Marxist Fingernails of King Richard III</i>, and tells the story of a lonely
royal fingernail swayed by the coquettish allures of the capitalist model, and
his rebellion against his Marxist nail-mates to achieve the American Dream.
Along the way he must battle a nasty case of fungus, avoid his head being
clipped off, and endure the embarrassment of having faeces embedded underneath
himself.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Okay, so I just made that up as I was typing. It actually
sounds better than the real book. You can read about <i>that</i> in the press release via <a href="http://www.thebookseller.com/news/constable-buys-ya-novel-depression.html" target="_blank">The Bookseller</a>.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXmgDIqBQMyHujEU5i5zr1xk-LdyNBX5g_kYlcfucnLXrHv5wLaseYZM4PteRqv_B1208DaGy_L9fSxD4yn57DL16kQHujVORpkfDFI8ZvzLL4q1yO2JqDewtlbfZtSsEuksg9kpDvUJg/s1600/fingernails.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXmgDIqBQMyHujEU5i5zr1xk-LdyNBX5g_kYlcfucnLXrHv5wLaseYZM4PteRqv_B1208DaGy_L9fSxD4yn57DL16kQHujVORpkfDFI8ZvzLL4q1yO2JqDewtlbfZtSsEuksg9kpDvUJg/s320/fingernails.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Official cover artwork</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When I started university I set myself the target of being
published by the time I was 30. Although in recent years I’ve known that I was
good enough to achieve that, I always thought that another obstacle would
scupper my chances, as it does for so many: a book idea that isn’t easily
marketable; that doesn’t happen to resonate on a personal level with an editor;
my lack of sheer dumb luck; my questionable personal hygiene. So I really
couldn’t be happier that I will achieve that goal.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In 50 years, when I am living in a hover house full of
snakes, I will be able to shout to the hover children outside the hover window
that I will be leaving my mark on the world in the form of some book about
fingernails I had published once. And the children will say: “What the fuck is
a book? Does it hover?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">And I will be so proud.</span></div>
Dave Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863036706112025142noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451756731517897590.post-29911679827004084572013-10-29T12:16:00.000-07:002013-10-29T12:17:06.077-07:00Lost in a Hong Kong Shopping Mall<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I escaped the neon-soaked Kowloon bustle after my companions
dismissed me with a shrug and cloistered themselves in our cubicle of a shared
room. A constellation of roadworks led me to the base of the ICC, a fairly innocuous
glass monolith at night that is nevertheless the fifth tallest building in the
world.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNfZBo8_TiKzmYPXEg1QyJyX9tHW28GlF3jhtvLcXb2PCpUPIyzGAVQOXOHwFJpLbwHBLhykLlgzjrVddX38ohp0mTqqr8M8Kn4U2AtKPpXx-6cxaLEojXEJ3vDdUYk0L6iyKTo_jbWjw/s1600/100_0875.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNfZBo8_TiKzmYPXEg1QyJyX9tHW28GlF3jhtvLcXb2PCpUPIyzGAVQOXOHwFJpLbwHBLhykLlgzjrVddX38ohp0mTqqr8M8Kn4U2AtKPpXx-6cxaLEojXEJ3vDdUYk0L6iyKTo_jbWjw/s320/100_0875.JPG" width="239" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>This building, right here.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In this part of the story I ascend 100 floors in 60 seconds,
fear I have suffered the bends, and nothing terribly interesting happens.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The lift that returned me to earth deposited me into a shopping
mall. As the doors slid open, fear ran its fingers up my spine. Most of the
last two weeks had been spent trapped inside sprawling retail arcades that I’d
entered whilst trying to cross the road/find the zoo/escape a different retail
arcade. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggMUZ5NC1M2FZMUoesSiSGYHuK-ORgZMjUrzGw-dWGqtiDygmKn8QnVRF-qjcKJrxE_YSIsi768Nq2RBOK-THJT0QzBEsbTVOMZMy6KvtigajbUmb5P6rQSh_J5ZNLqd4-cqz7snrqKnk/s1600/1253637441-admiral_ackbar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggMUZ5NC1M2FZMUoesSiSGYHuK-ORgZMjUrzGw-dWGqtiDygmKn8QnVRF-qjcKJrxE_YSIsi768Nq2RBOK-THJT0QzBEsbTVOMZMy6KvtigajbUmb5P6rQSh_J5ZNLqd4-cqz7snrqKnk/s1600/1253637441-admiral_ackbar.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I had to search for an exit, always deliberately hidden so
that you might instead scurry inside a shop. I wouldn’t be fooled. My path
divided into four. The signage had chosen a non-committal approach to language,
opting for pictograms of leaves and what were perhaps intended as animals: an
oak leaf, a lotus, a hobbled raccoon, an elephant with shingles. I picked one
and hustled past the gaudily glamorous shops until I reached glass doors.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A washcloth of humidity pressed against my face. The Outside.
But my relief was curtailed as I realised it was a decoy; a car park that
opened onto an overpass with no pedestrian access.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Back inside. Now shutters were descending like emotionally
clumsy cinematic fade-outs. Closing time. I pursued Oak Leaf until it dead
ended at a desolate food court. Elephant doubled back on itself and left me at
an escalator that fell eerily still as I approached. The situation was dire. I
accepted my awkward fate and went in search of a staff member. I found her by
the lifts that had got me into this mess.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEv72N9Qkbvf-O3rN14TV1X7mEP9b9x-IrU8vbxurtJVi4FUrp-cWp1yay4YWMHtE8zlzS5moIFYOcpsllLVoVbZJOrxjvjFPrnhFyHCs_ZA4DArU1-jSE6wwjsACbRzSZ8CCafAelQh8/s1600/100_0773.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEv72N9Qkbvf-O3rN14TV1X7mEP9b9x-IrU8vbxurtJVi4FUrp-cWp1yay4YWMHtE8zlzS5moIFYOcpsllLVoVbZJOrxjvjFPrnhFyHCs_ZA4DArU1-jSE6wwjsACbRzSZ8CCafAelQh8/s320/100_0773.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>This is her.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“How do I escape?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She stared blankly back at me. Perhaps she only understood
pictograms?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Do I follow raccoon, elephant, oak leaf, or lotus?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Blank.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I threw her a thin-lipped grimace, the English symbol of I’m
too polite to panic but I don’t want to die here.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">She primly walked away as if my existence had elapsed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I hammered the lift button but it was one way only. I cast
around desperately for an exit and saw, tucked away in the corner, a metal fire
door. A pictogram of an exploding sun indicated that it was alarmed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I hurled my weight at the release bar and all but tumbled
down the concrete stairs as the alarm spiralled behind me. I didn’t pause for
breath until I reached the roadworks that would guide me home.</span>Dave Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863036706112025142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451756731517897590.post-11746859498303354752013-10-20T11:30:00.000-07:002013-10-20T11:31:05.044-07:00The Anti-Dating Blog<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘Do you ever worry,’ asked my best friend, ‘that your blog
might stop girls from wanting to date you?’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There is indeed a convincing argument to be made that young
women aren’t interested in a guy so openly entrenched in depression, so
terrified of the sticky exchanges of intercourse, and whose face currently
looks like this:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidxQ4PQLHERfgMEnqYAafu9_cFEv7GhAo3wktYakvoF4I6BKdjVqIWP3hzP8qgf3GOXk70FEc9W31rf2dBDieAUSzAx49NeugJ_pKkYvcUDcFqUZBukiv78gwkJA5IGF4ylWQZOfLQTBY/s1600/20131019_143050.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidxQ4PQLHERfgMEnqYAafu9_cFEv7GhAo3wktYakvoF4I6BKdjVqIWP3hzP8qgf3GOXk70FEc9W31rf2dBDieAUSzAx49NeugJ_pKkYvcUDcFqUZBukiv78gwkJA5IGF4ylWQZOfLQTBY/s400/20131019_143050.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Similarly, I should stress that I’m hardly strapping women
down and subjecting them to an endless Powerpoint slideshow of blog entries
while I moisten their eyeballs with a syringe. But women </span><i style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">have </i><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">found this blog with alarming regularity.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The very first entry was about <a href="http://stupidhindsight.blogspot.co.uk/2011/05/first-kiss.html" target="_blank">my disastrous first kiss</a>. I
was seeing an older girl at the time, which cliché dictates made her a font of
experience and expectation. I stayed at her flat the weekend after I had posted
that entry.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">‘Was that all true?’ she asked. ‘About your first kiss?’</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">When I answered in the affirmative, she blew out her cheeks
and quietly went back to watching our inexplicable evening choice of
Embarrassing Bodies. I never saw her again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRwuKeFzVeBEDG_HW1JavDVlBuLRcwkf6mshtknP0XPQFEBx9rnBWVD8pgudZZqrQSyaCqSlHpkGV-SwIJHHYVEG49yrgLuQI8Xiym-JzLWz2S7CShbQeuFHH6QqzNBBwgaTW2-SojsVE/s1600/verruccas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRwuKeFzVeBEDG_HW1JavDVlBuLRcwkf6mshtknP0XPQFEBx9rnBWVD8pgudZZqrQSyaCqSlHpkGV-SwIJHHYVEG49yrgLuQI8Xiym-JzLWz2S7CShbQeuFHH6QqzNBBwgaTW2-SojsVE/s1600/verruccas.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Because nothing says romance like fungal feet</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The next time a girl found this blog she read every single
entry in a single day, and told me she thought I was lovely. It was only once
she’d met me in person that she lost interest entirely.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So, early evidence is inconclusive.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I’ve brought it on myself since then. The biggest fallacy
propounded by this blog is the impression it gives of me as a nice chap
blighted by misfortune. I can singlehandedly disprove that with the entry that
<a href="http://stupidhindsight.blogspot.co.uk/2012/11/the-end-of-modern-dating.html" target="_blank">unfairly insulted a girl</a> I had just stopped seeing. She saw it, of course, and
no amount of apologies since have convinced her to talk to me again.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Recently, a girl I was chatting with via a dating site asked
me to add her on Skype. I did so with a new account I’d set up for freelance
work and anonymous video sex calls. Without my knowledge it had linked with
Google and listed this blog immediately next to my name. Five minutes into our
first conversation:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">HannahK: Aren’t you embarrassed writing such personal
things?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Dave: What do you mean?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">HannahK: I’m on your blog.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This was particularly bad as the most recent entry was my 26<sup>th</sup>
birthday post, an entry which Thom Yorke of Radiohead famously described as ‘testicle-stonkingly
depressing.’ I immediately went on the defensive to convince her that it was
just an off-day, usually I’m an iridescent bundle of raindrops on kittens tied
up with string.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Then I smelled my own bullshit. There was no point in lying.
She was already looking for a way out of the conversation. So I decided to give
her one.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Dave: Don’t worry, you can run to the hills if you want.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">HannahK: I’m thinking about it, haha.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Dave: I’d understand. I’m actually thinking about drawing a
nice hot bath...</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">HannahK: I don’t mean to be rude.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Dave: ...break open one of my mum’s leg razors.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Dave: I’m sick of it all, tbh.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">HannahK: I hope your [sic] joking.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Dave: I’m riddled with syphilis, too.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">HannahK is now
offline.</span><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Because why not live up to expectation?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiulk7QUH4sTh2FaG7Oi_XioYsDVy5F6uX-10duHqqvMY2lOBOP7FTfIMUTs274Wb1ekaywc_wq_qFvVA7kzHQol2MpSbHVShlS_E-hKOJXh3KHDNIRqxMAtwh7W1GTnG1MwKFjJPusqgU/s1600/20131019_144209.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiulk7QUH4sTh2FaG7Oi_XioYsDVy5F6uX-10duHqqvMY2lOBOP7FTfIMUTs274Wb1ekaywc_wq_qFvVA7kzHQol2MpSbHVShlS_E-hKOJXh3KHDNIRqxMAtwh7W1GTnG1MwKFjJPusqgU/s400/20131019_144209.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Here's a cat licking my eyeball</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I stand by anything I write on this blog, no matter how
shameful, raw, or ridiculous. I have a mental illness, yo. My friend was
absolutely right; any female with her head on straight should run a mile if she
encounters this blog. It is the Anti-Date. Woman repellent. But it’s me. And it’s
best they find that out from the start.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Maybe someday one of them will stick around.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
Dave Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863036706112025142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451756731517897590.post-7372653282507908402013-10-09T12:22:00.000-07:002013-10-09T12:22:46.736-07:005 Observations About South Korea<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I went to South Korea last month. It was great! And, in a
welcome break from the usual, nothing particularly embarrassing or untoward
happened to me. This leaves me little recourse but to write an unabashedly
trite list of observations. Don’t worry, you can skip to the (also quite shit)
photos.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">South Korean food is mostly gross.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I’m not one of those ‘live like a local’ type travellers who
believes that sampling the native diet is imperative to any given journey. This
is very often because local food is a horrific abomination. South Koreans like
fish. Any fish. If a creature has so much as taken a breath of sea air they
will eat it. Banks of restaurants are fronted by tanks writhing with octopi and
sea urchins and things that worryingly resemble human hearts. I visited South
Korea’s largest fish market. At any given moment it officially* represents 97%
of the ocean’s maximum occupancy (*not a made up statistic). Koreans eat the
fish raw and, very often, <i>while it’s
still alive</i>.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<b style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Dave’s travel tip:</b><span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;"> Eat only ice cream. If the milk comes from Korean cows, it’s technically local food.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUJleP4rR83nvW1Rl0QkKk4lDDNGMvQ2aRBEhcMlEnREr-nThK4VMn-xQtXHWzfitdh_-22fQixbfIzgALd1SSDHG3kZ3Qti21iPclJDv8Q87tkCQgGRlRctzesA3I8MSKoYUmHElkLEU/s1600/100_0975.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUJleP4rR83nvW1Rl0QkKk4lDDNGMvQ2aRBEhcMlEnREr-nThK4VMn-xQtXHWzfitdh_-22fQixbfIzgALd1SSDHG3kZ3Qti21iPclJDv8Q87tkCQgGRlRctzesA3I8MSKoYUmHElkLEU/s400/100_0975.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBI7qtzyXdLTLjUVSv7i7m0X6CdH60esAy5DR3lqGTrVKlPT_F9sH5N7D_TtdHPB7Nhffmmvx7zxpn70CizBMVG4abZ7tzgjyg1HjE17Y_HQXslcb5LAFznBFfkByE62oSBuzRlmZ5kKo/s1600/1233447_589199400369_1136876286_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBI7qtzyXdLTLjUVSv7i7m0X6CdH60esAy5DR3lqGTrVKlPT_F9sH5N7D_TtdHPB7Nhffmmvx7zxpn70CizBMVG4abZ7tzgjyg1HjE17Y_HQXslcb5LAFznBFfkByE62oSBuzRlmZ5kKo/s400/1233447_589199400369_1136876286_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">The North/South border is a pantomime put on by children.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The border between North and South Korea is amongst the most
militarised places on Earth, second only to a Millwall FC home game. They like
to highlight this fact as often as possible. The empirical evidence
(checkpoints, minefields, the world’s most respected barbed wire collection)
doesn’t prevent the tour guides hammering it home every few minutes that you
might be randomly exploded by a North Korean shell. The border visit itself is
a series of fleetingly staged procedural line-ups overseen by soldiers who, due
to mandatory service, are barely out of school. Half of them stand for hours in
poses of aggression that make it seem as if the biggest hazard at the border is
chronic constipation.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Dave’s travel tip:</b> Seriously though, those kids could kill
you with their left thumb.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIXfZKZLBfQGQNq9M3YVfTgkTA07wC7AdV5C6YgIeyDy60FBfVHRdMhNuftDOnw2sbmwzrWt-9aTgCcqgi1_RBPRnt0VdQXDMrM0OJY6FcwKut6XcF93xB4UTVSMklG5KrLkU8LcSyDJM/s1600/100_1076.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIXfZKZLBfQGQNq9M3YVfTgkTA07wC7AdV5C6YgIeyDy60FBfVHRdMhNuftDOnw2sbmwzrWt-9aTgCcqgi1_RBPRnt0VdQXDMrM0OJY6FcwKut6XcF93xB4UTVSMklG5KrLkU8LcSyDJM/s400/100_1076.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Everyone in South Korea is a model.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I am not an attractive man. My eyes are beady and I walk
like a half-witted oaf. By English standards, I am merely forgettable. By
Korean standards, I am pepper spray to the eyes. Everyone in South Korea is
beautiful. I have never seen such a high concentration of attractive
individuals outside of that recurring dream where I’m naked and everyone
laughs. This is partly because they have an attitude to caring for themselves
that puts much of the world to shame. It also has something to do with cosmetic
surgery being commonplace. They even advertise it on the subway.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Dave’s travel tip</b>: Don’t expect to have any sex in South
Korea.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">You might die of old age at South Korean traffic lights.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">South Korean roads are so wide that most English people
would expect sponsorship just to cross them. A wait at South Korean traffic
lights is like a queue for the world’s worst theme park ride. Chance it, and
you’ll certainly be killed on one of approximately twenty-seven lanes of
traffic. Bus drivers spend so much time at junctions that they actually get out
for a cigarette break before the lights turn green.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Dave’s travel tip:</b> Just stay in your hostel. Sod it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: large;">South Korea is absolutely beautiful.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Capital city Seoul has no globally famous landmarks; there’s
no Big Ben or Eiffel Tower or Penge Market. The majority of buildings are
identikit apartment blocks. But what it lacks in a focal point it more than
makes up for in green spaces, clean and efficient transport, and preserved
heritage. Stray out of the city and it’s nothing but stunning mountain scenery
in all directions. It’s one of the more beautiful countries I’ve ever visited. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><b>Dave’s travel tip:</b> Or just look it up on Google Earth. It’s
basically the same.</span><br />
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Dave Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863036706112025142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451756731517897590.post-78602476257757565992013-10-02T11:25:00.000-07:002013-10-02T11:25:43.695-07:00A Non-Depressive Blog Post about Depression<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The discerning amongst you will have noticed that this blog
has taken a turn for the depressive of late. It’s not something I’ll apologise
for, but I have every half-hearted intention of going back to what this blog
was originally about: pointless bollocks.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">But before I fail at that resolution, I’d like to write a
non-depressive post about depression. It’s been in the news this week that young
people, some under ten years old, who fear they have depression, are being
dismissed by doctors. This is total bullshit.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbErHFl1sm2lnbSfyKqE9ASAPRYfxac_S7fpW6UwFUy_7ebpSGXOcgUYiUTv3Tqh9EiuEo3UrBrNzc0Y80JdbWzCwxehIzCPoSck0ABquTPYSNS0-dTPYdoyxwZ1FYCDNzvTkGPlif3UM/s1600/cowpat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbErHFl1sm2lnbSfyKqE9ASAPRYfxac_S7fpW6UwFUy_7ebpSGXOcgUYiUTv3Tqh9EiuEo3UrBrNzc0Y80JdbWzCwxehIzCPoSck0ABquTPYSNS0-dTPYdoyxwZ1FYCDNzvTkGPlif3UM/s320/cowpat.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">Depression can be an overwhelmingly lonely illness. This is
not only because you often don’t feel up to socialising, and so shut yourself
away and, in my case, litter the internet with bollocks instead. More acute is
the sense of isolation. It is difficult to talk to anybody about what you’re
feeling. Not only is it intensely personal. The fear that they won’t understand
is tremendous. And when you finally, desperately summon the courage to talk
about it, to have them dismiss you is confusing, painful, and hugely damaging.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I’ve only been open about my depression for a year or so.
But several years ago, during a particularly difficult spell, I decided to tell
my two best friends that I might have depression. Using the full scope of my
maturity I did this via Facebook message.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghu2G7vbmo3g_eJtv7zYT6usEf0Fly00zeyJ6DaPTRFszvgBbuQrDrVtlrhsjg-oxVqyoGbeArjfE_mLvHH80lzlopg7PInNFEcF4R8Dg1OjY8vhtyfjGAICKExp-gOh8-e_pzASGDF9o/s1600/Facebook_message2-580-75.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghu2G7vbmo3g_eJtv7zYT6usEf0Fly00zeyJ6DaPTRFszvgBbuQrDrVtlrhsjg-oxVqyoGbeArjfE_mLvHH80lzlopg7PInNFEcF4R8Dg1OjY8vhtyfjGAICKExp-gOh8-e_pzASGDF9o/s320/Facebook_message2-580-75.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>He didn't care either.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Shortly afterward they responded to ask if I wasn’t just
overreacting a little bit. Perhaps I was just feeling sad because my life was
in a rut. It would soon pass, and I would realise I was just being melodramatic.
</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So I tried to forget about it. To show such vulnerability
and be knocked back was completely humiliating. So I continued to ignore the
problem and only found the courage to seek help years later, by which time my
depression was far worse.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My intention in relating this story is not to blame my
friends. I am just as guilty of showing the same ignorance to a member of my
family. While she struggled for many years with severe depression, I sat back
and wondered, often aloud, why she couldn’t just get over it? After all, what
did she have to be depressed about? Instead of trying to understand or offer
any kind of awkward teenage familial support, I made them feel weak for having
a mental illness.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8cCY0BFqeL0dQdreB1jKbo2yQnLIQevha2iJcwq1S6Tm6Ex68xm1_idnZgzYXFmkWnYeb5PXeVyyf3JN3puGUK7enBDhIUFeOGzfclg0GG59I36ToSieoIBbXBCfVDaleuEVRbl6x16Q/s1600/297648_537019499309_1987751_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8cCY0BFqeL0dQdreB1jKbo2yQnLIQevha2iJcwq1S6Tm6Ex68xm1_idnZgzYXFmkWnYeb5PXeVyyf3JN3puGUK7enBDhIUFeOGzfclg0GG59I36ToSieoIBbXBCfVDaleuEVRbl6x16Q/s320/297648_537019499309_1987751_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Something for which I am very, very sorry.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The point I’m labouring over is that we have to hear people
out when they voice a concern about their mental health. If a friend told you
that they think they’ve found a lump on their body, you’d take it seriously and
tell them to see a doctor. It should be no different for depression.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It will always be especially difficult to diagnose
depression and other mental illnesses in young people, especially while they’re
being subjected to the hormonal rigours of puberty. But to dismiss them out of
hand is simply wrong. It’s an obvious point, but one that clearly needs to be
made.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">To end, I’d like to share a link. I’m well aware, from
personal experience, that comprehending depression and how it affects people is
incredibly difficult. This is a selection of comics that capture depression as
accurately as perhaps is possible. I really urge you to take a look.</span></div>
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<a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/hnigatu/comics-that-capture-the-frustrations-of-depression" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">21 Comics That Capture the Frustrations of Depression</span></a></div>
Dave Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863036706112025142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451756731517897590.post-51187140532827924202013-09-04T04:22:00.000-07:002013-09-04T04:22:07.546-07:00Piss Parachute<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I woke up in the middle of urinating.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It was a recurrent problem in my early youth. I was a
prolific bed wetter. So frequent were my illicit leakages that my hindquarters
were dyed a sickly yellow. My mum installed an old shower curtain under the bed
sheet, but it quickly grew mildew and had to be disposed of.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Every few months I would unwittingly abandon my bed and
awaken on my feet, a fine stream of urine splashing onto an area of the house
ill-equipped for the task. Often it was a bin or plastic drinking cup, perhaps
a habitual hangover from my days of potty use, and easily dealt with. At my
Grandma’s house it tended to be one corner of my bedroom, resulting in several
frantic middle-of-the-night panic scrubbings. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>Image posted without comment</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This time I woke up and found myself pissing all over my
school project, due the next morning. The task was to fashion some kind of
parachute. Its mettle would be tested by throwing it over the balcony in the
school hall. I had gathered together all my engineering genius to stab holes
into all four corners of a white handkerchief, run string through each and tied
it all around the waist of a rubber action figure. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Now it was soaked in piss.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Even to my young mind this was clearly a problem. It was now
far too saturated to float. And it stank of piss.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I hurried quietly into the bathroom and ran the hanky under
the tap. Its new yellow tint refused to recede. Even after a thorough rinse it
smelled of piss. I cast around the bathroom until I spotted a bottle of mint
mouthwash. I drenched the material with it, sure that the sharp medicinal mint
would overrule my pre-pubescent urine. Finally I set the project to dry on the
radiator and returned to bed.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8s8c35znsZ4BsV79n5QUr4DsPHiXEV0CU8GdVFS_jds8sOUlcJXRAnOGczHQmcahsHZVoRh8UEZb7GGuCNUc0AJWPJLlHOueuL2iTZgvIZIXtOGryBSXiDMNp70QnGxW5nU9DWY51nWU/s1600/mattress.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8s8c35znsZ4BsV79n5QUr4DsPHiXEV0CU8GdVFS_jds8sOUlcJXRAnOGczHQmcahsHZVoRh8UEZb7GGuCNUc0AJWPJLlHOueuL2iTZgvIZIXtOGryBSXiDMNp70QnGxW5nU9DWY51nWU/s320/mattress.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>This is what happens when you search 'happy mattress.'</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">In the morning my room smelled like a hospital ward: the
clean smell of mint undermined by a distinct bodily musk. Still, at close
quarters the handkerchief smelled reasonably fresh, and it was dry. I had got
away with it, and for once my mattress had not borne the brunt of my lascivious
bladder.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The parachute remained in my bag until mid-morning. The
class trooped through into the school hall, and small groups took it turns to
ascend to the balcony. The winner would be whoever’s parachute remained in the
air the longest.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipuQvuex2rC5ytf6OFg2_enOqnlrepjIO_L3aBM2pUwWKi-rQwkj5kk6oqwTVSYnm_3l1QFf9GdbZpM64Qb6uSCIcE-OCtqXy5PUTKMriTCEwCAmhkynsOfoygwaHMnvLL2zrS7beKPe8/s1600/parachute+fire.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipuQvuex2rC5ytf6OFg2_enOqnlrepjIO_L3aBM2pUwWKi-rQwkj5kk6oqwTVSYnm_3l1QFf9GdbZpM64Qb6uSCIcE-OCtqXy5PUTKMriTCEwCAmhkynsOfoygwaHMnvLL2zrS7beKPe8/s1600/parachute+fire.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>What's the worst that could happen?</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">My group lined up on the balcony. I took the parachute from
my bag.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Ugh, what’s that smell?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The mouthwash had worn off. The heady tang of stale piss
drifted across the balcony. My classmates swatted at the air as if the smell
were a cloud of gnats, pulled the necks of their jumpers up over their noses.
Even the teacher was taken aback, reeling as the smell pinched at her nostrils.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Eyes began to turn in my direction. I had to act quickly.
Before they could single me out I stepped to the rail of the balcony and hurled
my parachute over the edge. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It plummeted to the ground in less than a second. I rushed
to retrieve it before anyone else could, and celebrated last place by flushing
the project down the toilet.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Dave Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863036706112025142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451756731517897590.post-9817321324267010952013-08-15T02:58:00.001-07:002013-10-09T12:02:14.340-07:0026th Birthday<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">It has become wearisome tradition that each year on the
anniversary of slipping from ‘twixt my mother’s thighs I write a narcissistic
and self-pitying summary of the year since my last birthday. Even though this
blog has recently been less populated than a Fukushima hamlet, I feel compelled
to continue the trend.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">An amusing aside: in last year’s birthday entry I predicted
that by my 26<sup>th</sup> birthday I would have transformed into a bitter
hermit. I annotated it with a picture of a heavily bedraggled bearded old man:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr-jvQhxooo3LxBT5YQPzRajAE1THwMzuCsEbXHWkfYNZA05xLqkKRiulSVYgeYStVAdrb3dQ4raRHkYCnQME1uV44bXNuExDiRABGMQBleNVgPnxjfkK0KUGufjoXo_QsovKwn0a9d-g/s1600/Hermit!.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="113" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr-jvQhxooo3LxBT5YQPzRajAE1THwMzuCsEbXHWkfYNZA05xLqkKRiulSVYgeYStVAdrb3dQ4raRHkYCnQME1uV44bXNuExDiRABGMQBleNVgPnxjfkK0KUGufjoXo_QsovKwn0a9d-g/s320/Hermit!.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Well, shit.</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">So, to my 26<sup>th</sup> year. A year in which so little
happened to me that isn’t depressive or devoid of entertainment. This is going
to be a blast.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I took a 3 week trip to China and Thailand, where I
variously horrified locals with my disarming western stench, was molested by
overly-sexed trans-women, and spectated on the ejaculation of a turtle from a
bodily orifice I will never find attractive ever again.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Despite quitting the gym due to lack of funds, I’ve
continued to nurture my substantive dream of being able to make my pecs dance.
I am pleased to announce that my pectoral muscles can now shimmy like a pair of
inebriated scallops.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I had sex once.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I took a selection of gaming consoles to a homeless shelter
in London and <a href="http://www.escapistmagazine.com/articles/view/features/10457-Shelter-Bowl-Gaming-in-a-Homeless-Shelter" target="_blank">wrote an article</a> about it. In my head I was some kind of
charitable wizard, sweeping in with gifts of technological wonder to rescue
these poor unfortunates from the doldrums of their blighted existence. In actuality
I was an ignorant middle-class white guy with dubious morals.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqIogvpSc_YMXZ4mC7dY6hZQqefXlSoH1Nml0qoA1m76jW8LfHX-iAUhf-Y5r0Qd0BNvkiljH8lbiRayta9e9v9FQ-xj68sZnMKbKwIcWVqbXRP9gsl8mirt-WQL4Wh3d3y5LnexXhtr4/s1600/ed-miliband-460x276.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqIogvpSc_YMXZ4mC7dY6hZQqefXlSoH1Nml0qoA1m76jW8LfHX-iAUhf-Y5r0Qd0BNvkiljH8lbiRayta9e9v9FQ-xj68sZnMKbKwIcWVqbXRP9gsl8mirt-WQL4Wh3d3y5LnexXhtr4/s320/ed-miliband-460x276.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I quit online dating. Then I started again. Then I quit.
Then I started again. Somewhere in the middle I scuppered a promising
relationship, and only realised months later that it was entirely my fault
(sorry, Ruth).</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I featured in a mini-documentary on a major gaming website
that looked at the relationships between depression and video games. Here I am,
putting on my best intelligent voice! </span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4kLdNHiSVjU">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4kLdNHiSVjU</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">As you’ll have already noticed, this post isn’t terribly
funny. To be honest, it hasn’t been a terribly funny year. This was the year I
came out of the depression closet (an abstract space decorated with skinned
cats and perpetually out-of-order vending machines). I’ve almost certainly
never been this unhappy thus far in my life. I’m now 26, and I’m single,
jobless, living at home, fatter than I’ve been in years, and suffering with a
mental illness. It isn’t my finest hour.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This is why I’ve all but abandoned this blog. Although it’s
always had a fierce depressive streak, it was always intended to be funny.
Self-deprecation is my finest talent. But when that self-deprecation is rooted
in very real and profound self-hatred, it becomes increasingly difficult for me
to laugh about it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I am deeply depressed. In the past year I have realised its
true extent. I am lonely. I am hopeless. I am broken. There is little more in
the world that I hope for more than for the age of 26 to be the year in which I
turn it all around.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaZlfiyRZ2Ro0bSC9OgXSX4YEleQTo1EW3McProtchkpnSYFrU5osLXqiaW9pNV30zsfE6qzvn9WEszFGbDfI_qpfiAt2n7n6KHnr_nubzu94jq7LDZ8sKN_EYu9sEEDtYI25gtCfsXfw/s1600/grumpy+cat+bday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaZlfiyRZ2Ro0bSC9OgXSX4YEleQTo1EW3McProtchkpnSYFrU5osLXqiaW9pNV30zsfE6qzvn9WEszFGbDfI_qpfiAt2n7n6KHnr_nubzu94jq7LDZ8sKN_EYu9sEEDtYI25gtCfsXfw/s320/grumpy+cat+bday.jpg" width="295" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', sans-serif;">I would also quite like to get my picture taken with Grumpy
Cat.</span></div>
Dave Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863036706112025142noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451756731517897590.post-35666043543657955702013-07-07T14:34:00.001-07:002013-07-07T14:34:26.708-07:00Shelter Bowl: Gaming in a Homeless Shelter<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.escapistmagazine.com/articles/view/features/10457-Shelter-Bowl-Gaming-in-a-Homeless-Shelter?utm_source=latest&utm_medium=index_carousel&utm_campaign=all" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="125" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpuqeoyiM8pZ3hpozod5raksiOwPQ2J9OcTmHszkvYQ9FGVCaYMMbcC6YPA3tacsN6CbsIxlw9HhXgxphMYqFMramyCM7oJl3n5QAwt7p_FGiOSHp9-ygvkJWPz2ROcKeARvVqgBBe1mg/s320/Shelter-Bowl-Gaming-in-a-Homeless-Shelter_i365.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A couple of months ago I took a selection of video games consoles to a homeless shelter in London. The idea was to write a really worthy piece about the power of gaming. What happened instead was that I had one of the most hilarious, terrifying, and heartwarming days of my life.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I usually wouldn't post this here. It's an article I've been paid for on an entertainment site. But the article is very much in the style of these blog posts. And it's probably better than anything I've written here. In fact, it's one of the best things I've ever written.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Please follow the link below if you'd like to read it. And if you're feeling really kind, please share it along.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<a href="http://www.escapistmagazine.com/articles/view/features/10457-Shelter-Bowl-Gaming-in-a-Homeless-Shelter?utm_source=latest&utm_medium=index_carousel&utm_campaign=all" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Shelter Bowl: Gaming in a Homeless Shelter</span></a>Dave Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863036706112025142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451756731517897590.post-60053714403582897752013-06-21T03:49:00.001-07:002013-06-21T03:49:38.289-07:00Man Boobs: The Video Game<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/grHKfXNLLYs?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I've recently bought a swanky camcorder and other kit, in the vain hope that developing my video skills will make me more employable. This is the first thing I've made with it. It's a feminist satire, I guess. It's very silly.</span>Dave Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863036706112025142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451756731517897590.post-32458547068049660412013-05-27T15:08:00.000-07:002013-05-27T15:10:37.242-07:00Social Interactions That I Don't Understand<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I’m not a very good human being. By that, I don’t mean that
I’m a bad person. In fact, I am morally rather middle-ground. I will
contentedly drown a kitten, but I won’t film it on my phone. Rather, I have
never been able to master the quotidian social interactions that collectively
make us well-adjusted human beings. Things like:</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">1 <u>Encountering Someone You Know in the Street</u></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsVejzHvg_SR84Hn0vwHowsrJqblCjWwkFEUI-mFx1ubrg9HEDJwQVLhxjS5TFkNHMMsRbJj58Q2JuoMOfpSmf-nzAtokIPwjTbsLp3C01BUTt-beJkoDvhXZTEWnqznh5tvw3xtJeRi4/s1600/Avoid+Street.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsVejzHvg_SR84Hn0vwHowsrJqblCjWwkFEUI-mFx1ubrg9HEDJwQVLhxjS5TFkNHMMsRbJj58Q2JuoMOfpSmf-nzAtokIPwjTbsLp3C01BUTt-beJkoDvhXZTEWnqznh5tvw3xtJeRi4/s320/Avoid+Street.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><u><br /></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">With the prevalence of social media, this can be a problem
for anyone with a tendency to add on Facebook anyone they’ve ever briefly met
at a party/bought a car from/ejaculated into. Indeed, it’s a problem that can
sometimes be solved simply by crossing the road or vaulting into a front
garden. The difficulty arises when through a quirk of geography a fleeting
encounter becomes inevitable. My face begins a complex launch sequence of
approximated appropriate shapes. First, I must pretend not to see them until
the very last second to avoid staring intensely at their approach as if I plan
to hit them with a thunderous clothesline.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhPUJ8qt5N8CfAIamCRhfhthGcLv_sLQTUJ50VVJyMq5tlJiJvpGQij7hFUi9Rd2X-XIZc15eRASzBZDRBNTC-TL4XsFM-IAxdUgvS2-zQiJIet3VMHxALjRJi6MBg5INpZ1cxEgnUkk0/s1600/Clothesline.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhPUJ8qt5N8CfAIamCRhfhthGcLv_sLQTUJ50VVJyMq5tlJiJvpGQij7hFUi9Rd2X-XIZc15eRASzBZDRBNTC-TL4XsFM-IAxdUgvS2-zQiJIet3VMHxALjRJi6MBg5INpZ1cxEgnUkk0/s320/Clothesline.jpg" width="299" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>"GOOD TO SEE YOU AGAIN."</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">At the moment of contact, my repertoire consists of an
erratic nod as if I’m suffering from dropsy, a taut smile indicative of a
wandering butt-plug, and a torrent of sweat that steams from my armpits like alfresco
urine on a cold winter’s day. Combined, it’s possible that I suffer a small
stroke upon every encounter.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">2<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span><u>Kisses as Greetings</u></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPPBt3FEaf3nRmBuy9ZyvFyh97-sAE054mRiBGO09F7n_RZpFK9FOt9Z1kSTOXhU8ujPNDWPEYoAwirlLqt8aChvanxuJ7r72p1eQJc4XL9hWhv2FWEi_H2J6RACn9j7WayX8RCWsM9tI/s1600/kiss-greeting-istock.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPPBt3FEaf3nRmBuy9ZyvFyh97-sAE054mRiBGO09F7n_RZpFK9FOt9Z1kSTOXhU8ujPNDWPEYoAwirlLqt8aChvanxuJ7r72p1eQJc4XL9hWhv2FWEi_H2J6RACn9j7WayX8RCWsM9tI/s320/kiss-greeting-istock.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><u><br /></u></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">What I formerly believed to be the exclusive jurisdiction of
chick-flicks and wankers, this touchy-feely greeting has sporadically, yet
firmly, muscled its way into my life. It raises so many questions: single or
double kiss? Which side should I start on? Will the recipient smell the Chilli
Heatwave Doritos I ate for lunch?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Are there people out there who think me rude for neglecting
to press my quivering lips against their flesh and call them darling? For all I
know I should be kissing my kitchen fitter, smooching the self-checkout
supervisor, and puckering up for my... Proctologist? (Excessive alliteration is
another social barrier I don’t understand). Of course, if I misjudge kissing
propriety I risk the screaming disdain of women. Which leads me to...</span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">3<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> </span><u>Sex</u></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLEGJto_OWdcXsWDwqqF2ph5mUEHEY-0Qjrlue8XDo-few6X9LPBOyehNOUPH5PE8NZvFDOHEO3oqctA0-WHNKAfthUx0XZeee9fH4p4l75poJRWt_oCCDdh6yN3oFPj0r7OW0CqgoxII/s1600/blow+up+doll.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLEGJto_OWdcXsWDwqqF2ph5mUEHEY-0Qjrlue8XDo-few6X9LPBOyehNOUPH5PE8NZvFDOHEO3oqctA0-WHNKAfthUx0XZeee9fH4p4l75poJRWt_oCCDdh6yN3oFPj0r7OW0CqgoxII/s320/blow+up+doll.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I’ll keep this brief, due to its personal nature and the
fact that I’ve had barely any sex to complain about (I’ll leave that up to my
unfortunate partners). My record speaks for itself. The first girl I ever
kissed <a href="http://stupidhindsight.blogspot.co.uk/2011/05/first-kiss.html" target="_blank">proceeded to throw a pint glass at my head</a>. All of the women who have
ever been unfortunate enough to have me love them promptly hooked up with my
best friend of the time. My last few dates have ended with frosty silence/drug
abuse/<a href="http://stupidhindsight.blogspot.co.uk/2012/06/gay-date.html" target="_blank">accusations of homosexuality</a>. Sex remains an unfathomable enigma to me,
the machinations of which instil a terror great enough for me to exile myself
to a life of loneliness, regret, and masturbation to increasingly bizarre forms
of pornography.</span></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">4<span style="font-size: 7pt;"> <u> </u></span><u>Not Talking About How Much I Hate Myself</u></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIPBL7L3woQdAUY4c_ZF9A2CTeNyHNy6970bTIPl2irQ_hAIK7h1u6vi4Vwo7QWGFOdVcrRWzScUvI1DXbuPJ_5gRSK_IMBJdvnycInQA1Gk2-FUxCYvdkG7otU2zQfy0vYmBarFe3I1U/s1600/20277_518376629769_1816090_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIPBL7L3woQdAUY4c_ZF9A2CTeNyHNy6970bTIPl2irQ_hAIK7h1u6vi4Vwo7QWGFOdVcrRWzScUvI1DXbuPJ_5gRSK_IMBJdvnycInQA1Gk2-FUxCYvdkG7otU2zQfy0vYmBarFe3I1U/s320/20277_518376629769_1816090_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A slew of internet searches and randomly encountered dating
profiles have told me that I need to have confidence. This flies in the face of
my usual technique when I run out of things to say: draw the conversation
toward some negative aspect of my person.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Sorry, when I’m nervous I sweat like a panful of
well-prepared asparagus.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Oh man, I’m really bad at self-deprecating metaphors.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“Have you noticed this weird rash on my face?”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">“I think I have Weil’s disease.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This isn’t limited to everyday conversations. I do it on
dates. I do it in job interviews. If the opportunity arose, I’d probably do it
during sex. My personality is constructed entirely on a foundation of
self-hatred. As to why I can’t help but spew it at others, perhaps I’m just
trying to be funny. Perhaps I want to push people away. Or perhaps I’m hoping
that, one day, I’ll be able to believe the people who tell me I’m not as bad as
all that.</span></div>
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Dave Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863036706112025142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451756731517897590.post-31456446938697830492013-05-04T04:07:00.003-07:002013-05-04T04:07:44.149-07:00Games vs. Depression - Mini Doc What I Am In<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/4kLdNHiSVjU?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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I'm well aware that this isn't something I'd normally post here. But it's my blog, so what are you going to do about it? The above video is a mini-documentary about how video games can help people suffering with depression. I feature in the video as the 'expert,' a term I'm dubious about. I just about qualify as some of the video is based on an article I wrote a few months back. There's not a lot of research in this area, so I probably am as close as you can find to an expert, really.</div>
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Anyway, please check it out. Not just because I'm in it, but because it's a brilliantly made film full of sad and inspiring stories.</div>
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We need to remove the stigma of mental health issues, and talking about films like this are a brilliant way to do so.</div>
Dave Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863036706112025142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451756731517897590.post-69313355389991716632013-04-07T11:51:00.000-07:002013-04-07T11:51:37.467-07:00Vapid Attempt at Generic Enhancement<br />
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Do you remember when Ozzy and Kelly Osbourne released a
cover of ‘Changes’ which was possibly the worst thing ever? Just in case you
don’t, here’s a reminder:</span></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/Wd9TyMnksmI?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Now you’ve towelled the blood from your ears, I should
inform you that this song is the official theme for this blog entry. The
excruciating execution, half-hearted sentiment, and misguided intentions match
the forthcoming content uncannily.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I want to affect some kind of a change in my life. I call
this my Vapid Attempt at Generic Enhancement, or VAGE. A life of sitting in my
room watching my waist expand, my fear of sunlight burgeon, and my bin fill
with coagulated tissues isn’t agreeing with my current state of mind. It’s like
being locked in a cell with the one person I despise the most. I’m trying to
convince myself that I hold the keys to improving my situation – that after 135
job applications I still have the power to find work; that my career as a
writer can still take off; that I can conquer what is, suitably enough, the
catalyst for VAGE – loneliness.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Recently I attempted to solve this by re-establishing
contact with a girl whom I dated for a short time last summer. At the time I
blamed her for the demise of the relationship – it coincided with the onset of
a serious bout of depression, and I believed that she used it against me. It
was ugly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Now I realise that it was far more my fault than hers.
Although I was genuinely struggling with depression, I used it as an excuse
because I get scared in relationships. My longest lasted 3 months. I’ve never
been in love. The medication I’ve been taking wreaks havoc with my sex drive. I
don’t know how to be with someone. I let this fear get the better of me and I
looked for a way out.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">I got it into my head that she was the answer to my
loneliness. My urge to apologise was genuine, but I also believed that I could revive
our relationship. She had been kind, understanding, and, something so rare for
me, we clicked. So I was surprised when she didn’t reply to my message. I
pushed it further, forcing a polite reply or two, but nothing more. I don’t
know what I expected – anger, perhaps, or cold disdain. Perhaps a part of me
expected her to fling her underwear over my face. In fact, she reaffirmed what
I already knew – that she’s kind and understanding. But that doesn’t mean that
she wants to know me anymore.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This is the problem with VAGE – like Ozzy and Kelly Osbourne
crooning at each other, it makes me insufferably misguided and painfully
annoying. It’s a kind of selfishness I can’t escape because, despite knowing
better, I can’t shake the belief that it’ll lead to my happiness, just like I
always believed that losing weight would fix my life. It might be the case that
this girl would make me happy – in so many ways, I believe she was good for me –
but that doesn’t matter. By pursuing these blinkered ideas of how to fix my
life, I’m only going to bring pain to myself and, far worse, to others. And I
want to believe that I’m a better person than that.</span></div>
Dave Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863036706112025142noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4451756731517897590.post-10142752468331540572013-03-28T15:47:00.000-07:002013-05-12T10:56:38.014-07:00How to Grow a Depression Beard<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">There are many ways to deal with the cloying symptoms of depression. You might talk about it with friends or family; take your mind off it by going for a nice walk or punching a goose; moan about it incessantly on Twitter/Facebook/your personal blog. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Here is a (totally serious) guide to an alternative form of therapy: growing a depression beard. There is no better way to inform the world of your depression than by growing an unsightly, pungent bush of hair. Ladies, do not feel left out. Remember - a beard doesn't have to be on your face.</span><br />
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<u><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Stage 1: Escape Puberty</span></u><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-SdWTbZdn7IZ-TRaiGkJVRpcoEUfVJuzR6gs6kk9K99JeEttTGgSGFltwcPSp93L3jaRkPANcshW3nz5RHgRbBbc95ksX_XtWSD5Aaf4YqAb8vwIid5JhSb67QwjyGZDl6xEWZXHCXtY/s1600/Beard1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-SdWTbZdn7IZ-TRaiGkJVRpcoEUfVJuzR6gs6kk9K99JeEttTGgSGFltwcPSp93L3jaRkPANcshW3nz5RHgRbBbc95ksX_XtWSD5Aaf4YqAb8vwIid5JhSb67QwjyGZDl6xEWZXHCXtY/s320/Beard1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">The infancy of a beard is shrouded in uncertainty. Will it grow in ginger? Will you be mistaken for the Yorkshire Ripper? Legitimate concerns, all. The pubescent phase of the beard is commonly reached within weeks of launch, and this is your only chance to turn back. If you look like a serial killer who should be dressed exclusively in animal semen, I encourage you to persist. If it grows in ginger, I insist that you shave.</span></div>
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<u><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Stage 2: No Going Back</span></u></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0PNh3-fEzPTvk83KfJKfm5JZbgw1hAX_xcF__beb8DLUWEQTuahi_9DPIHMi33ULso3vXY-GR7xH4g0plavWBgRKEThGMUfTGGTn3LoEK6shxiIRjwoLmIsMtg3Jsy0juiEWH09MvsAE/s1600/Beard+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0PNh3-fEzPTvk83KfJKfm5JZbgw1hAX_xcF__beb8DLUWEQTuahi_9DPIHMi33ULso3vXY-GR7xH4g0plavWBgRKEThGMUfTGGTn3LoEK6shxiIRjwoLmIsMtg3Jsy0juiEWH09MvsAE/s320/Beard+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">By this stage the headlong descent into being a dishevelled outcast is as undeniable as the whirlpool of treacled despair sucking you into its fathomless maw. Now is the time to dress only in black and practice frowning, weeping, and stamping on kittens. Just like Queen Victoria. That picture right there? That's me <i>smiling</i>.</span><br />
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<u><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Stage 3: Delusions of Masculinity</span></u><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg925mbGJIQ3nK3W07rebE3CK8o7B-3PJIvSveLB5ZY3iI6ljUdixJOOv4YcfGF4Vz-OGRn576n2LS1RT3eAxgkjKUm0gZXU0reuq7VjHhVBAuJ877MM96gd5-E2Y7zkQ34_ENPhKuU3oM/s1600/Beard+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg925mbGJIQ3nK3W07rebE3CK8o7B-3PJIvSveLB5ZY3iI6ljUdixJOOv4YcfGF4Vz-OGRn576n2LS1RT3eAxgkjKUm0gZXU0reuq7VjHhVBAuJ877MM96gd5-E2Y7zkQ34_ENPhKuU3oM/s320/Beard+3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This is a perilous stage in the genesis of a depression beard. When it blossoms into full-bodied, glossy adulthood, you might begin to feel kinship with your facial atrocity. You might even start to like <i>yourself</i>. This simply won't do. Take a few minutes of every hour to remind yourself of your shortcomings - your underdeveloped triceps, your unevenly haired buttocks, your incapacity to love - until the onset of Stage 4. No one feels good about Stage 4.</span><br />
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<u><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Stage 4: Pube Face</span></u><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-EljHOESQLJD3U2zft7wXu-_AzdTVYgxkgIFL1nkOfpdQGVIRhlN6jBZN9DYajHpTlSrPHrs98L5ohlTCauwlXX7jJ8uii0qge6gbkK7Z6e7RrXL8HkNVGm6HZXXLEwEFBKvQt-hRyrw/s1600/Beard+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-EljHOESQLJD3U2zft7wXu-_AzdTVYgxkgIFL1nkOfpdQGVIRhlN6jBZN9DYajHpTlSrPHrs98L5ohlTCauwlXX7jJ8uii0qge6gbkK7Z6e7RrXL8HkNVGm6HZXXLEwEFBKvQt-hRyrw/s320/Beard+4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">Here, weary journeyman, your quest is at an end. You have reached the zenith of the depression beard. In fact, you are now more beard than man. Children flee from you in the street. Baby possums attempt to suckle your face. Your jaw is indistinguishable from your groin. You are now wearing depression upon your face. Never again need you explain your affliction - not just because people will guess with a single glance, but because all humankind will shun you from its dwellings. You deserve it. Freak.</span><br />
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<b><u><span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">A SERIOUS NOTE TO END ON</span></u></b><br />
<span style="font-family: Trebuchet MS, sans-serif;">This was, of course, a tongue-in-cheek take on depression. I should take this opportunity to thank all of my friends and family who, be it with bafflement, kind offers of help, or by simply ripping the piss out of me, have taken news of my depression with aplomb. In the past it has caused me to upset people, let people down, and sometimes kept me from being the good person I strive to be. It also led me to grow a horrific beard. To all those people, I apologise. The beard might now be gone, but to all my friends and family who are still with me, I thank you, from the very bottom of my heart.</span>Dave Owenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14863036706112025142noreply@blogger.com5