“Enjoy your meal” the waitress says placing a plate of lobster in front of me. Beside it on my plate is a strange knife and a nutcracker. I turn to the waitress. “So…um. How do you actually eat a lobster?” I fear ridicule. I fear pointing. I fear laughing. She looks down at my plate, not with pity, but with embarrassment. “Um. You. Er. You just…I think you…hmmm. Welllll…” She doesn’t know how to eat a lobster either. For a moment I wonder why she doesn’t know. She’s the waitress, surely she should know! But soon it makes sense to me. She’s the waitress, why would she know? To buy a lobster she would have to work for 4 hours straight. Nobody would trade 4 hours of their life for a lobster.
It’s a question I’m sure everybody has asked themselves at some point in time. When we’re unsure of where we are going, or why we have done something. It’s a question that is completely valid to ask, it’s only natural to be introspective. Unfortunately there is no valid answer.
To explain who a person is in a sentence, a word, or even at all, is impossible. No person is so simple. Yet we constantly seek a simple answer. An impossible answer.
From time to time people believe they have found that answer. They believe who they are is finite and fixed. We’re good or evil. Happy or unhappy. Black or white.
But they haven’t found any reasonable answer at all. Who we are is a complex thing, we change constantly. In different situations we are different people. Really, we are a lot like a rainbow (lame!). We consist of a range of different colours and different shades.
A lot of people don’t understand this though. They can’t comprehend that a person is made of many different identities.
There’s an episode of Seinfeld which perfectly illustrates this. George reveals he has two distinct personas. One is “Relationship George”, the type of person he is when he’s with his girlfriend. The second is “Independent George”, the type of person he is with his friends. But George realises that if his girlfriend becomes friends with his friends, then his two personas will be forced together.
We all act differently depending on the person we’re with, or the situation we’re in. We change ourselves to reflect our circumstances.
As technology improves though, our means of communicating have changed. Our circumstances are now almost as complex as our personalities. Which has lead me to ask another question:
Who am I online?
We now have a new persona: a cyber-self – who we are on the internet.
Unlike our real life persona though, our cyber-self is something we are in complete control of. We can be whoever we want to be. We can edit out the bad bits and leave in the best bits.
Reading this blog, I’m sure you’ve already come to a conclusion about what type of person I am. This person is Internet Dan. But the thing is, Internet Dan and Real-life Dan are completely different.
Which leads to a problem. What if you meet Real-Life Dan, when you expect to meet a real-life version of Internet Dan? Can both Dans survive together?
The meeting of Cyber Persona and Real Persona is never usually a problem, we can take into account that people will differ slightly in real-life from how they appear on the internet. But sometimes a real-life relationship might hinge on a relationship made online. Never is this more important than during online dating.
Now it’s time to admit the sad truth. Last year I tried online dating. I say I tried it, but really I never went on an actual date. I signed up to a few sites, and waited. And waited. And waited. But nobody knocked on my door. I started to wonder why. Perhaps it was the unflattering photo on my dating profile that showed how massive my nose is?
So I changed the photo. And waited. And waited. Still no knock.
So I took another look. Maybe it was because I mentioned I was an atheist? If a girl was into her God, that might put her off.
So I changed my religion to Other. And waited. And waited. No knock. Another change. More waiting. No knocks. More changes.
They say the most important thing in online dating is to be honest. Please. We aren’t even honest in real-life, so why should we be on the internet? Honesty doesn’t make a person attractive. Unless you’re the type of person who likes the look of somebody who’s profile says “mostly I just like to sit around in sweat pants and watch TV.”
The problem of how we present ourselves online, has another layer though. Even if we do decide to present ourselves truthfully online, we wont manage to come up with a realistic version of ourselves, because as I’ve said, we can never truly answer the question “who am I?” and whenever we do answer this question it is just our own perspective.
In presenting yourself online, you are making a document of your self-image, the person you see yourself as. But what you see, and what others see can be completely different. We’ve all met people who think they’re hilarious, who think that everybody is laughing at their jokes, when really everybody is laughing at how pathetic they are. If you asked them if they were a funny person they would say “of course, everybody thinks I’m hilarious” and their online-persona would reflect this. But if you asked others they’d say “that guy’s as funny as cancer.”
With all of this in mind, I attempted to make my online-persona more attractive to the opposite sex.
Internet Dan was a millionaire, he owned a small island in the Indian Ocean, his profile photos weren’t even of him, they were photos of a male model, stolen from a website. To top it all off his penis was huge, so huge it was worth mentioning on his dating profile.
Yet still nobody knocked at my door.
Eventually it dawned on me. The reason I was receiving no messages was because girls don’t send messages to guys on dating sites. The guys chase the girls. It’s like being in the playground at school, playing catchy-kissy. You have to catch the girl before you can kiss her.
So I started searching for girls to catch. I started scanning their profiles, looking for my perfect match.
Unfortunately, a lot of these girls weren’t as smart as I was. They were simply too honest in their profiles, or they didn’t understand what persona they were projecting online. Some had pictures of themselves where it was clear they had a double chin. Some couldn’t use apostrophes. Some thought it was a good idea to mention their love of taxidermy.
But eventually I found her. My perfect girl. She was intelligent, funny, she was into baking and Scrabble. To top it all off, she looked smoking hot.
I started to wonder. What’s the catch? There’s got to be a catch, right!? She’s perfect!
We arranged to meet. She’d be wearing a red silk scarf she said. When I arrived I wondered why an obese man had stolen her scarf. Then I realised that the obese man was actually her. I was shocked. She had a full grown beard and everything.
I’m ashamed to say, I snuck away and didn’t speak to her again. I would feel bad, but she’d sold me a lie. Maybe she was intelligent and funny. (She was definitely into baking, you could tell she enjoyed her cakes!) But her physical appearance was so different from her online appearance, that I knew it wouldn’t have been the only liberty she’d have taken in presenting herself.
I realised then, that it was pointless to make Internet Dan the most amazing man alive, because Real-Life Dan could never compete. A girl would only feel disappointed if she met me, because she wanted another guy. Just the other guy would be some freaky version of me. I couldn’t exactly fight myself in a duel, it’d just be suicide.
So maybe the solution is to be honest after all. To let people meet our real-life persona online, so that the transition from online to real-life is easier and harmless. Maybe it’s time Internet Dan became just a part of Real-Life Dan, instead of a separate entity.
Although Internet Dan, really doesn’t want to give up his huge penis.
I was travelling last year with a friend when for some reason we both became obsessed with the phrase “how d’ya like them apples.” When our obsession began we were in Morocco, a country with a large French speaking population. We knew very little French, both being terrible at it in high school, but somehow we remembered the French for apple – pomme. Pretty soon we had transformed the saying into “how d’ya like them pommes.” The saying followed us through 5 countries, whenever we somehow managed to one up each other in an argument the saying would float from our mouths.
Towards the end of my travels I hit a bit of a dip. There was only one week left before I had to go home, I’d said goodbye to almost all of the friends I’d made and loved and it didn’t feel like there was enough time to make more. My money was running low and I didn’t think I could afford another adventure. Then I came across Maia and Miles on CouchSurfing. CouchSurfing is a website that allows you to visit a city and sleep on somebody’s couch. This is great for two reasons, first it gives you a friend in a city, so you can get to know a place from a local’s point of view. Secondly, it’s cheap, sleeping on a couch costs nothing.
Throughout my trip I’d been planning to go to Seattle. I’d found some pictures of ridiculous beef-burgers on the internet and I just had to have one. I’d tell people from time to time I planned to go to Seattle and usually they’d ask why, I’d say “to get a burger.” “You’re going to travel hundreds of miles for a burger!?” “They do good milkshakes as well.” “Oh, now it makes sense.” Nobody seemed to understand, but to me it was as good a reason as any to travel somewhere. Isn’t it the journey that’s fun? Not the goal? So does it matter if the goal is as ridiculous as a beef-burger?
Have you ever had a perfect moment? I have. Many times. But once you have one perfect moment you become addicted. All you ever want is perfect moments, you search for them everywhere and will go to great lengths to get them. With this in mind I set off for Redwoods National Park in California. Where the trees rise so far into the sky that you can’t even see their tips. The types of trees that can be one second majestic and the next pure evil – but always truly beautiful.
In central Kiev it’s cheaper to get a prostitute than it is to get a decent quality meal. With the former it’s almost guaranteed that they’ll “make good times for you”, with the latter you’ll end up crying into a bitter grapefruit juice, while wretching down jellied eels – after your toga wearing waitress takes your order incorrectly.
Why the hell would your waitress be wearing a toga? Because you’re in a Roman themed restaurant. Why the fuck are you in a Roman themed restaurant? Well it was either that or the pirate themed one. In Kiev the cream of the restaurant crop are all themed. If you want good food, be prepared to talk to somebody dressed in a loin-cloth and if you want a bit of variety there’s always the Jewish-themed restaurant.
You arrive in a strange new country with a wad of bank notes and nothing much else. You’re desperate for the toilet and thankfully an airport urinal relieves your pain. After your business is finished you decide to wash your hands – it’s the civilized thing to do after all – and as you look around for a way to dry up you see a kindly Arab man holding out a paper towel. What do you do?
A/ Wipe your hands on your pants – aint nobody handing me a towel.
B/ Thank the kind Arab gentleman before you, take the towel and dry your hands before leaving.
C/ Unroll your pile of new currency – realising you only have large notes – then throw the lowest note in the man’s face, running from the room and losing 10 English pound in the process.
D/ Dry your hands, calmly shake one of your valuable notes into the man’s hand and strut from the room with a wink.
If you answered D then you are well on your way to happiness, the man is satisfied, he got his money and you are content because you managed to leave the bathroom without making a scene.
Our flight is cancelled, rescheduled. We’re stuck in Casablanca for one more day, which is 24 hours more of excruciating pain.
Thirty seconds in Casablanca is long enough to make even the most positive of people depressed – so it’s no surprise that after 3 days I want to strangle my friend. So little is there to see in Casablanca that you search inside yourself for beauty and look to others for stimulus. Unfortunately this analysis forces you to notice that your travel partners once endearing qualities are now actually TOTALLY FUCKING ANNOYING!
Remember the way your friend used to say funny, random things out loud? Remember how you used to laugh? Those funny things no longer amuse you, your friend is now just talking aloud, saying random phrases – babbling like an idiot. Why wont he just shut the fuck up? Tell him to shut the fuck up. Just do it. Go on. Might make the day go by quicker. “Shut the fuck up!” “Fuck you, you twat!” “No. Fuck you!” “Fuck YOU” “FUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCK YOU!” After 10 minutes the words “fuck” and “you” have no more meaning and you both stop speaking and start sulking. The sulking ends when your friend rebuilds his confidence and starts to talk bollocks again. Then the whole cycle restarts.
The only thing preventing Porter and I from strangling each other is the fact that neither of us snore. If I snored I’ve no doubt I’d wake upon being smothered by a pillow. I’d be happy to die though as upon waking up I’d have still been in Casablanca.
Casablanca sucks away your spirit, you dream of home. You think about your warm comfortable bed, a cup of warm tea with milk, hell even a chav telling me to fuck off would be enough. We search for a little slice of home and one night we stumble across a McDonalds. Porter almost cries with happiness, and I admit I have to struggle back the tears myself. The big mac tastes the same, the fries are just as salty. We sit upstairs at the back of the room and pretend we’re back at home. For 10 minutes we feel like we’re miles away from Casablanca and for the first time in days we don’t want to kill each other.
This is what Casablanca does to you. McDonalds is your saviour. That little yellow M is the thing that gets you through the day.
By the time we walk back to the hotel from McDonalds the streets have sucked away the happiness the big mac has provided for us. As a young man whispers “hash?” into my ear for the 10th time in a minute I feel I’m about to break. Porter hearing the young man whisper starts to whisper quickly into my ear himself, his words flow quickly, one long string of sounds. “Hash-hash-hash. Wansome-hash?” I feel it on the tip of my tongue as he continues, singing the words now. “Wansome-hash? Wansome-hash?” I shout with scorn: “SHUT THE FUCK UP, PORTER!” “FUCK YOU, YOU TWAT!” “NO! FUCK YOU!” We retort, back and forth. The cycle is set and that’s how we spend the rest of our night, no doubt the rest of our time in Casablanca, until we find another little yellow M.
I’m going to stand up from my chair, walk right over the cafeteria to her table – shoulders high, back straight – look right in her eyes and say “Julie, you’re going out with me tomorrow night.”
She’ll agree and I’ll wink. We’ll date, get married, have kids, be happy. Perfect.
This is the predicament: you want to get a new album, something you’ve never listened to before, but the vast amount of choice is overbearing and you don’t know what to choose. There’s a thousand albums out there so what do you do? How do you make your important decision, you could end up with the latest Steps CD if you’re really unlucky in your choice.
The answer: DJ Baird’s Music Rating System.
Music rating systems have been around since music was first concieved. As one caveman bashed two rocks together to make a THUD, another caveman was on hand to say “blah rawr bleugh, rawr!” which loosely translates as “two mammoths out of five, Dave.“
Of course no singular rating system has managed to work perfectly as a consumers guide to music due to differing musical tastes, so it’s with this knowledge that I attempt to rate music.
Instead of a mathematical rating I think it’s much easier to rate music as “YES” and “NO.” “YES” meaning “BUY IT! BUY IT NOOWWWWWWWWW!” and “NO” meaning “IF YOU BUY THIS I HOPE YOU DIE A SLOW PAINFUL DEATH!“
We must determine what is and isn’t a “YES” though. Determining a YES is simple. A YES meets at least 7 of the 8 criteria listed below.
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BLASTABILITY
The power to play very loud so everyone can hear, while still allowing the majority of society to believe you’re not a prick.
eg. You’ve got an convertible car and you decide to drive to the local Specsavers while blasting music really loud. You choose Green Day’s, American Idiot. You are a prick, you should have chosen The Chemical Brothers. Although you’d still be a prick.
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DISTINCTNESS (or ORIGINALITISM)
Originality is a subjective thing, one person can say something is original while another can say it’s My Chemical Romance. Claiming something is original is thus totally void. Distinctness is a totally different ball game. If a band sounds like no other, or has a signature sound, then they are distinct.
eg. “Wow, who is that?! They sound like nothing I’ve ever heard!” “Oh it’s just The Mad Capsule Markets. They are a cyber-punk rap band with jazz influences from Japan.” “Oh…..”
Exception to rule: Bands that establish a new style of music or are at the forefront of their musical style. The first band is distinct, the rest are not.
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INTELLIGENCE
Music doesn’t have to be the equivalent of a Karl Marx essay to be intelligent, but it does help if it shows an artists ability to write and create music. Intelligence is more than just knowing “stuff”, intelligence can be shown with wit, opinions, production etc.
The ability to repeat a typically held political view to sell albums is NOT being intelligent.
eg. “I’m not a businessman, I’m a business…..MAN!”- Jay-Z uses a bit of word play to show us he doesn’t work in business but he is a business in himself.
“They say I walk around like I got an “S” on my chest Naw, that’s a semi-auto, and a vest on my chest” – 50 Cent proving for about the millionth time that is he is a complete moron.
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EMOTIONAL CONNECTION
“EEEEEEMOOOOOOO!” is probably what you’re thinking, you’d be wrong. If you are apathetic towards music you listen to then it’s pointless listening to it, it’s doing nothing for you. You may as well watch paint dry.
eg. “Oh my god, I…like…TOTALLY cried to that Dashboard Confessional CD last night.”
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LENGTH
It’s like penis size. Too big and it’ll be painful for the girl. Too small and it’s never going to get her off. A song (and album) must be kept to a certain length. Noone wants to hear a 6 minute intro to a song, no matter how good Pink Floyd think they are.
eg. You decide to put a CD on to fall asleep to. You fall asleep after a few minutes and an hour later you are woken only to hear the same guitar riff. You cry yourself back to sleep.
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IMAGE
A stoned hippy may have once said “it’s all about the music maaaaaaannnnnnnn” but it’s not. A band is about image as well. If a band looks good and acts cool then you can rest assured that noone will laugh at you liking them.
eg. You buy the latest Teletubbies CD without the knowledge that the Teletubbies look like they are made of sponge and talk like retards. Upon hearing of your purchase your friends bully you and don’t stop until you commit suicide. The Daily Mail blames the Teletubbies and probably asylum seekers.
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SELLING OUT
The classic case of selling out is a major factor in music selection. Your favourite band may have thrown out two of the best albums ever on indie labels, but if their new major label record company is now dictating how they make their music they have sold out and you are now listening to music created by “The Man.”
eg. You decide to buy the latest X-Factor winners CD. You’re blonde, dimwitted and probably work as a hairdresser so really we can’t blame you though.
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DAN’S OPINION
My 100% non-bias opinion is always helpful when rating music. I know better than the common as muck guy with a lip ring at your local record store.
eg. “Dan is the latest Eric Clapton CD any good?” “No Rory, it’s shit!”
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After setting out my music rating system I shall now apply it to an album:
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Artist: Lil’ Chris Album: Lil’ Chris
BLASTIBILITY:
I had to set my volume as low as possible to listen to this CD in the fear my flatmates would hear it and berate me for the rest of my life. FAIL
DISTINCTNESS:
Nothing really to set it apart from other lacklustre rock-pop efforts. FAIL.
INTELLIGENCE:
He’s an 11 year old. Automatic FAIL. But also his lyrical content isn’t much to write home about.
“This is my golden opportunity, To take a cherry from her apple tree-tree-tree.”
A 10 year old talking about taking a girls cherry? Woah! But yeah: shit.
“Wanna learn to fly, wanna climb so high. Its kicking off!”
He’s a 5 year old, what can we expect?
FAIL
EMOTIONAL CONNECTION:
Did make me smile and is quite catchy. Also made me laugh, but I don’t think that was intentional on his part. PASS
LENGTH
Perfect length. Most songs are from 2.30 to 3.00 long. PASS
IMAGE
He’s a tiny annoying 11 year old, but he’s also quite polite and well spoken. I’m sure any mother would love to introduce her 11 year old daughter to him…although maybe not after his talk of taking cherry. PASS
SELLING OUT
Manufactured on a reality TV show. FAIL
DAN’S OPINION
A few catchy songs but not enough to bring me back. FAIL
SCORE: 3/8 – NO!
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So there we have it, my ratings system in action. I guess it’ll only really work if I listen to every album ever with the DAN’S OPINION factor. Take that away and it may be valid though.
