blog redirect

from time to time I need to hide
from those who want to peer inside
and so to make it worth the ride
i'll leave the link and you decide:

http://mattstubbs.blogspot.com

the tubloon

I've been thinking. About a lot of things. Some of them have been sparked off today by the behaviour of the Tubloon, and my reaction.

The Tubloon is someone I struggle to get on with. If I may say, I struggle to like, even. I'm not alone: a lot of people share the feeling, and express it much more harshly than I do. The Tubloon meanwhile sits unperturbed in the eye of the storm, blissfully unaware of the disdain that howls around him... and calls us all 'retards.'

It's tricky, because there are two factors that stress me out. One is that I actually do want to like him, and the other is that I feel that I should. Love your enemies, said Jesus. I do want to be better at that, but it's really really difficult. It's difficult because love (at the best of times) is difficult... and your enemies are also difficult by definition. My enemy, if that's what the Tubloon is, seems to make a habit of being deliberately difficult. But love doesn't gossip behind people's backs (I am guilty) and it doesn't resort to rumour or sarcasm to bring down a person's reputation (I am also guilty). I think love does its best to find the best in people, to dig out the friend you never knew you could have and to see the person God made in the first place. And I've found myself repenting to God about all of this today.

That's why I thought I'd make a few aims when it comes to this situation, and my difficulties with the Tubloon. And if you're reading this, and you've worked out who you are, I want you to know that this answers your question about 4 o'clock: I remember these 5 things ... and that I'm very sorry for not treating you very well.

1. I won't be saying anything about the Tubloon in public that I wouldn't say to his face

2. I won't be silent in response to when I think he's being inappropriate or rude

3. I won't be joking or joining in the banter which borders on bullying

4. I won't be critical of, or belittle his beliefs or his hobbies

5. I will do my best, as much as he will let me and as much as is appropriate, to be a friend

A lot of people will think I'm crazy for this. To be honest, I'm crazy for a whole load of other things - this is just doing the right thing. And I'm kind of glad I got that off my chest. I guess that means it really is the right thing, even if it feels upside-down.

printer politics

Today I had stern words with a printer. It took the hump and refused to print anything for me, then it told all the other printers in the network that I'm a bad man and shouldn't be trusted with any kind of printing request.

The other printers in the network are easily led. I spent a frustrating amount of time walking between them and my computer. I don't understand why technology has this vendetta against me. Was I mean to a tamagotchi in the 90s? Did I absent-mindedly insult the Office paperclip within earshot of Microsoft Sam? Perhaps the universe just wants me to stop using up bits of paper and valuable toner.

facebook knows I'm single

Having wittered on yesterday about the goodness of NYRs and how nice it is to see people signing up for the gym, today I've found myself muttering critically about Slimming World.

Slimming World isn't something I've ever taken any notice of. I think it's like WeightWatchers without the middle-class pressure. It's not a World I've ever had cause to belong to or take concern over. Yesterday however, I noticed that they'd gone crazy with their marketing. Every lamp-post, every roadside bollard, everything, everywhere, seemed to be sporting a tantalising and life-changing reason to join Slimming World.

Thinking about it, I don't get on well in lots of Worlds. I once threw up in World of Leather, and the day I wore a red t-shirt to PC World will be etched in my memory for some time. Besides all of that, it's really a bit pretentious to call a shop a 'world' I think.

The reason the lovely ladies at Slimming World made me roll my eyes was that they were clearly playing on people's New Year's Resolutions (and profiting out of people's failure to keep last year's identical ones). And I (yes, I am old-fashioned) don't like such targeted and cynical marketing.

Cue the lovely facebook. I am no fan of the social networking daddy that is the facebook. Whenever I go on there, it wants to set me up with 'girls who might be looking for me'. In fact it happens on a lot of sites (especially through sponsored listings and such like). The ads are targeted directly at what it thinks I need most and am likely to 'buy' online. And at the moment, that must-have commodity is apparently a subscription to a dating service*

Now I wouldn't mind, except for the selection of girls the system has decided are looking for me. For reasons beyond the boundaries of explanation and common sense, these girls are all... and I'm not joking... ridiculously gorgeous. And I... and I'm really not joking... am ridiculously incredulous. If facebook's got it right, impossibly beautiful singletons should be crowding around me on a daily basis, falling from the sky like angels in a Lynx advert.

In reality of course, girls who look like this walk past as though they were passing a pillarbox. Which is OK. But that whole topic is best left for another time I think.

So, facebook knows I'm single and it annoys me. Slimming World knows a lot of people want to lose weight at the beginning of January and that annoyed me too. I should probably be less annoyed.

-

In other news, I saw an article on the news about a man who suffers with Aspergers Syndrome. For the first time in my life I considered the possibility that I might have something like that and did a test online. You can find it here if you want to try yourself. I came out as a 29 with 32 being the lower limit of most people diagnosed with the condition. 15 seems to be the average. I then told my parents about it and it's suddenly become a big thing.

I suggested they had a go themselves.

*As well as being treated like a fool, this also carries the implication that the one thing I need in life is a relationship, because it's a fast-track to happiness and fulfilment. You don't need me to tell you that this is not the case. And if you do, keep posting about how lonely you are on facebook.

new year's resolutions

The sky was perfect for January this morning: clear, bright, blue and cold. The low sun shone brilliantly and boldly too, giving the air the look of early summer but without the warmth.

I've grown to love this time of year. There's a lot of hope around at the beginning of things - hope and determination. Resolutions are made, the page is wiped clean and the early morning sun seems to wash the weary world in a fresh coat of optimism.

In Christian circles, I've noticed it's become de-rigeur almost, to poo-poo New Year's resolutions and the people who make them. We don't wait for a new year to change things, we proclaim - we're free to live a reborn life, every sweet and glorious day the Lord has given us, right? And anyway, we all know that we never keep our new year's resolutions - what's the point in setting them?

While I've made something of a point of setting my own standards rather too high for myself, I have to say I really like making resolutions at this time of year. I like looking at my life, particularly over years like 2011 when (for me anyway) not a lot happened, and asking myself how I could do the whole thing a bit better, or in a bit more of a happier way. It strikes me that the beginning of January, however you look at it, is a perfect opportunity for doing exactly that.

For example, I know that I'm not too organised. Perhaps this year could be a year to think about how to be better at that. I'm also not great at reading my Bible. What a perfect moment to plan how to read it throughout the year. And the list continues.

I will probably not succeed. There's every chance I'll miss a day, or slip into my old lazy ways - but what I'm saying is that I think the intention is a great thing, a thing that's greater than not doing anything to change; greater than not wanting to change. Middle-aged women who clutch new gym bags nervously this week have great intentions. They want to change. Men who've decided to put their family's needs first and for the first time are going to budget this year - good for them. I think God loves good intentions, especially those made by people who are prepared to look at their situation and realise that things need to change. It takes a kind of soft-heartedness to see it and to do it - and this time of year is brilliant for that.

Which is why my greatest new year's resolution this year is exactly that: to remain soft-hearted and firmly obedient to him. That's got to be a good thing, right?

the new year's eve options

I was alone for New Year's Eve. It wasn't my choice; my hosts had gone to bed exhausted, and I was left with a dark living room and a flashing Christmas tree. As the neighbours counted down excitedly outside, I was treated to the distant muffles of someone else's fun, as their gardens flashed with cheap fireworks. I prayed for a while, then went to bed.

I am no fan of the New Year's Eve thing. It seems to me that there are only three ways to celebrate it, namely the trio of options - going out, staying in, or sleeping through the whole thing.

Option 1, going out, is horrendous. I don't mean going to a house that isn't your own, that's staying in, in someone else's house. I mean going out to a pub or a club, a place packed from floor to ceiling with revellers in fancy-dress. This option is expensive and pointless. As midnight is cheered and snogged, and silly string and beer flies across the crowded room, you'll find yourself linking arms with strangers while you're being elbowed in the face, then singing about old time's sake for ... old time's sake... Which you'll realise, makes absolutely no sense. And if you're lucky you'll avoid getting thrown up on in a taxi, or being dragged into a drunken fight for ... Old time's sake, I suppose... It's not for me, going out on New Year's Eve.

Option 2 is the one I normally go for. It involves a simple assortment of people who've forgotten to plan anything big because it was all too close to Christmas, and board games. It involves board games because nothing else will fill the time between 8 and 12 quite so effectively, and also because board games generate that natural harmony you need with your friends when Big Ben strikes twelve and London explodes on the telly. I'll be honest, this option has been hit and miss for me in the past. It's quite easy to spend the entire evening looking forward to midnight and then being quite disappointed that it just sort of happens and you all go home. It is after all, just the click of 23:59 to 00:00. And that happens every night.

And that's why I'm starting to wonder whether Option 3, just going to bed, might be the best option of all. If you're not woken up by teenagers shouting at each other down the street, or fireworks popping and crackling like the neighbourhood blitzkrieg, then it's probably the least anticlimactic, least expensive, least vomit-involved option there is for a happy new year. Just crack open that tin of cocoa, fill up the hot water bottle and wait for the sleepy magic to take you somnolently into January like a snowflake on the night wind.

That's why I can't be too upset with my friends for leaving me to my own devices this year... I mean last year... And anyway, the staying in option was still wonderful compared to the thought of jostling with drunken students in the early hours of the freezing morning. Perhaps next year... I mean this year... I'll go the whole way and spend New Year's Eve in a warm bed with only my dreams and the good Lord to keep me company. Man, I'm old.

What I Thought About on Queen Victoria Street

It was late. The sound of drunkenness was echoing through the empty streets and there was a chill in the air. I was walking toward Reading Station, disappointed, melancholy and exhausted.

"I just don't belong here," I said to myself, softly.

I'd been to a birthday party. Or rather, birthday drinks - with a great crowd of people I have never met, and a handful of people I only just half-know. In a darkened upstairs bar at one of Reading's more popular venues, we jostled and drank and tried to chat over the consistent thud of the DJ, while tall women and men in tight tee-shirts swarmed around the bar. I was feeling out of place.

The thing is, I just don't enjoy that kind of thing. It started when the barman downstairs warned me that it was 'a private party up there, mate' as I climbed the staircase. I hate it when people I don't know call me 'mate'. It's patronising and belittling and annoyingly infectious.

"I'm invited mate," I said, politely. He looked at me with a raised eyebrow.

I don't enjoy it because I don't understand it, I think. I don't get drunk, and certainly have never been so drunk that I can't remember a 'good night'. I don't really dance (although there wasn't any dancing anyway) and when it comes to socialising and meeting people, I am hopeless at the best of times. Turn the lights off and the music up and I don't stand a chance.

And so it was that I was walking dolefully along Queen Victoria Street at midnight, thinking about all this and how I just don't seem to belong to the world I'd just tried to be a part of. I like talking to people and listening to them, getting to know them soberly and intelligently. Am I growing steadily more old-fashioned? I must admit, I do sound a bit like my Dad. But then, I was like this when I was younger too. At University, I'd always have chosen the quiet night at the pub rather than the one that ends up with vomit and a headache. Maybe I really don't belong.

But that has to be OK doesn't it? I mean, we are all different after all.