Work Is Hell.

Sometimes it’s worth reminding yourself that life isn’t so bad. That things, however demanding, could be significantly worse. Then there are those soul crushing moments that make those congruent feelings of clarity difficult to visualise. Work, which has always been an obstinate means of provision, has, as of late become increasingly discouraging. At times it provokes the most adverse effects on a person’s mental health. There’s an instilled regime that isn’t conducive to a nurturing working environment. That’s a circumstance applicable to many work places I suppose, but sometimes a job can feel particularly laborious. There’s a kind of desperate servitude to it. Recently a new facilities manager was employed, to replace former management that was unceremoniously deposed for reasons many of us have speculated about (ineptitude, racism) but has never been made public. With a new manager comes new legislations, as well as new restrictions. Your constantly monitored, observed. If you engage in a conversation with anyone for more than a few minutes your scrutinised for it. You’re expected to conform to policies that only exacerbate the cultural devide between those at the top and everyone else. If you’re not punctual, enjoy an extended break you’re hauled in for questioning. Perhaps even verbally reprimanded

Morale is low, as low as I’ve ever seen it. Once cordial people have been reduced to sheltered, meloncholic introverts. This is a company that espouses a philosophy of congenial benevolency. That because their newsletters contain whimsical passages and the occasional profanity that they are a modern, edgy company. When realistically they’re a business that operates on the fringes of legalised practices. Promoting systemic nepotism. Greed. Abstaining from statutory sick pay and BLAMING its employees wages for not having the budget to pay for such extravagances. Not to mention hopelessly oblivious, or more accurately ignorant to the hardships suffered by those dependent on a reasonable salary just to eat. Seriously, there’s one guy who can’t afford to eat and the company is unable or unwilling to help! It’s no wonder then that I rely so heavily on the continued support of my family to help get me through the days.

Unpopular Opinion: Stranger Things Is A Little Annoying.

One of the many troubles with getting older, other than the trivial ravages time inflicts on us all, is that invariably you become out of touch. Trends, cultural vernaculars, social media has all become a colloquial blackhole associated with exuberance of youth. We become detached, resentful, consoled only by our own fickle minded perception of the world and that anything “new” can be arrogantly dismissed as a lazy imitation of ideas we’ve seen before. There’s an element of prejudice that informs any opinion before you’ve even really had the opportunity to fairly judge something. An attitude I’ve tried to avoid, particularly when something popular becomes such a ubiquitous phenomenon. But like so many commercially prominent, critically praised shows before, the hype that straddles “Stranger Things” has provoked a clear and adverse reaction from myself.

If something is generally perceived favourably by the majority, then I naturally presume the fault lies with me. That I just don’t get it. Which is often the case. But I’m honestly staggered by the popularity of this show. I get that it’s a pastiche of 80’s culture, capturing the decades eclectic sensibilities: The oversized blazers, permed hair and conservative suburban neighbourhoods are all indicative of a decade so culturally absurd. Yet the setting, though dutifully replicated is kind of mute. “Stranger Things” could be set in any decade and literally have no baring on the story. The show ultimately reflects the current public perception that the 80’s garish and idiosyncratic tenure is deserving of nostalgic reminiscing. The real issue however isn’t just the unnecessary shift to the last century’s example of a mid life crisis, but the characters that inhabit it.

“Stranger Things” assimilates many of the archetypal tropes that bound most 80’s influenced media: corrupt government officials. Mysterious murders. Inept law enforcement. Apathetic father figures. The rebellious suburban teen. Kids utilising their guile by creating improvised booby traps to ensnare the big bad guy. Most of which isn’t a major issue, albeit one that is an unabashed exploitation of nostalgia. The problem is that amongst the shows “Flock of Seagulls” inspired clichés is an amassed group of some of Netflix most odious, boring and predictable caricatures, with all the charm of a Trump supporter and the endearing qualities of the corona virus! There is not one redeeming character in this sanity abusing world that doesn’t make me hope for the swift yet excruciating deaths of everyone!

Child actors, especially those that are integral to propel the story forward have, with a few “Stand By Me” exceptions, largely annoyed me. But I was surprised by just how much I loathed the core group, particularly Mike and 11. The former simply irritated me, whereas the latter suffered from a total lack of character, a result of burgeoning scientific experiments conducted by her equally vacuous father, in an attempt to, I’ll assume, bestow some kind of identifiable personality. But instead 11 is endowed with abilities of convenience and the inconsistent power of plot contrivance. Yet I think much of my rooted aversion towards this show can be attributed to Winona Ryder, playing a grieving mother with all the sincerity of a robot trying to mimic human emotion by analysing episodes of Eastenders. Perhaps that was intentional, to again reflect movies such as “Nightmare On Elm Street” where the actress portraying the mother delivered a performance that could be kindly described as “questionable”. But I somehow doubt it.

It’s worth noting that I have only had the pleasure of enduring the first season. Maybe the series improves. Perhaps the kids grow into tolerable human beings and Winona Ryder learns to emote like a human being. But frankly I have little desire to see whether things, strange or otherwise gets better.

I Miss Sleep.

Attempting to educate my daughter to be a polite, civilised individual is at times like trying to teach a monkey to play chess without it shoving the Queen up its ass! Its a thankless task that puts a tremendous strain on my partner and myself, not just as parents but as a couple too. Maintaining civility and discipline when confronted by a 3ft hell spawn, conceived in the cavernous depths of Satan’s rectum is probably the toughest psychological challenge we as parents have faced. The issues surrounding any child’s argumentative behaviour differs significantly depending on various contributing conditions. More often than not though a lack of sleep is the offending source of dissent. During the day, particularly in the morning is when my daughter is at her most placid. She’s exuberant yet receptive to instructions, adhering to our requests to cooperate with eating her breakfast, getting changed and not concealing her Peppa Pig toys in my shoes. But as the day progresses, she regresses. She becomes irritable, unreasonable but mostly unbearable.

There’s a subtle yet critical distinction between mischievous and disobedient. To the casual observer she might be considered a scamp. Hoping down a supermarket aisle, boldly ignoring our persistent instructions not to run off. Seemingly inviting punishment on herself as if its some kind of game that we as parents participate in, but inevitably always lose. The trouble being is that this kind of deliberate defiance isn’t limited to an occasional behavioural singularity, but is in fact a customery routine. Bedtime is especially disruptive, becoming synonymous in our household as “purgatory”. Her vitriolic reliance on the word “No” has become an exasperating response to every single thing we ask her to do. Getting her pyjamas on. Brushing her teeth. Even reading her a story, an essential bedtime activity, is rendered laborious by my daughters resolute temper. Yet her natural resistance to sleep is merely the start of our journey to sleep deprivation.

Like most children in their formative years my daughter is afraid of the dark. So to combat this mandatory state of blanketed twilight we have illumated her room with several night lights. Yet despite her bedroom being lite up like a Vegas casino, she still insists that it’s too dark, which usually means she will wake up sometime in the night, bellowing our names, pleading to come into our bed. Due to my partner and my own conflicting teaching methods, I’m usually tasked with consoling her during her midnight mewls because I have bigger hands, which means I can strangle her much more effectively (sometimes I wish I could!). And as much as we try to accommodate and appease her anxieties it does invariably afflict our own sleeping patterns, which is only further propagated by our need to work during the day. We regularly endure sleep patterns so chaotic that it could have been formed by a spirograph. But this is probably nothing new to other parents.

There is a fine line between facilitating her needs and trying to allay her fears, and sometimes its difficult to interpret a genuine fear from my daughter merely exploiting the chance to sleep alongside mummy. Because Daddy has to then sleep on the sofa. But despite the intermittent sleep, the pervasive fatigue and the insufferable irritation of my 6ft frame draped over 5ft sofa, stained in whatever food substance she’s careless smeared on there, I can’t imagine my life without her. No seriously I can’t mentally visualise that. I really wish I could sometimes. I really do.

My Toughest Test.

Overcoming challenges is as much a part of gaming as having fun. Adversity breeds defiance, creating the chance for one individual to prevail where so many have failed. It can be a formidable task, one thwart with many potential impediments specifically designed to prevent you from achieving your noble goal. Given the opportunity I would prefer to play a game that offers a balanced challenge, feeling more organic rather than intrusive. I’m rarely permitted the time to really engage on a competitive level, nor really retaining the desired aspirations to persue it. So it’s always a surprise when a game captivates me to the point that I actually want to test my abilities in a much more rigorous environment. Not only that, it also encouraged me to unlock the Platinum trophy too.

In the formative years of the PS4 I was obsessed with the acquisition of Platinum trophies. For almost 3 years I persisted in the retrieval of as many of these vacuous little trinkets as I could discover. Throughly scrutinising online guides and walkthroughs in the unenviable pursuit of some bronze trophy that was preventing my acquisition of a precious Platinum. But I grew weary of the commitment required to successfully precure such trivial decorations and found that I wasn’t really enjoying the experience as much as I should. Having neglected their incentives gave me a greater independence to go after the ones that I’d actual enjoy collecting, such as the ones avaliable in Titanfall 2. A game that earned my admiration, and by extension my respect.

Most of the trophies come naturally, simply by interacting in a way that suited my own play style. Having finished the game on its pedestrian difficulty I felt inclined to attempt it’s most challenging mode. Despite a number of hindrances and a particularly irritating boss, much of difficulties presented can be handled with adjusted strategies or agile reflexes. With some persistence and a little luck I had accumulated all but 1 trophy. A trophy of such esteemed notoriety that countless dedicated forums are congested with posts concerning its insufferable implementation.

“…becomes the master” is the searing hot rage turd that precipitates the collective ire of everyone who has ever dared attempt to unlock this achievement. Essentially you have to navigate a very elaborate obstacle course, purposely designed to teach players how to negotiate environments in a much more versatile manner. A course populated with static enemies that are scattered throughout, requiring you to combat or incur a hefty time penalty, whilst sprinting, sliding and wall running. Naturally completing the course is a relatively simple task, the burden comes from the time sensitive parameters needed to accomplish the trophies asinine objective.

The time requirement needed is blistering 33.65 seconds. To put that into perspective the quickest time I had managed before attempting this was a notably sedate 56 seconds. My personal best after 2 hours practice was just under 40 seconds! There’s absolutely no latitude in this challenge. Movement, jumps and slides are critical. The precision necessary to ensure a brisk and somewhat unencumbered run relies chiefly on your capabilities. Attributes that you should have refined through the course of the campaign. Jumped too soon? Reset. Missed a target with your grenade? Reset. Every single action you take has to be explicitly considered. You have to memorise a route so fastidiously that it has to become second nature. Study sections of the course to ensure that you can maintain the momentum necessary to reach the desired time.

Implementing the runs, jumps and slides with an emphasis on coordinated shooting for someone that posses the dexterity of an arthritic sloth and mental acuity of a half eaten trifle, its exceptionally difficult for me. For a teenager I suspect this is as easy as tying you shoelaces without grunting as you bend down, but for me not so much. With gritted teeth, sweaty hands and discernably greyer temples than when I had started I persevered. With ample time, patience and an entire year’s worth of luck I finally managed to snare that illusive Bronze, with only a quarter of a second to spare. As well as attaining the coveted Platinum trophy too.

And as satisfied as I was, darting into my kitchen at 1 in the morning with my arms raised as though I just inhereted the accumulated wealth of Qatar, I felt exhausted by the entire process. What this adversity had taught me about was my limitations. In 5 years time I probably won’t possess the necessary hand eye coordination to complete such a multifaceted objective. Nor am I probably going to care. My pursuit of Platinums has been well and truly sated…..for now.

Is Grand Theft Auto V The Game Of The Decade?

Grand Theft Auto V was released almost 7 years ago. In that time it has generated in excess of $6 billion from a $265 million production. At this point it would be easier for the treasury department to convert copies of GTA V into legitimate currency. No wonder then that RockStars prominent teenage driving simulator has now been declared the best selling game of the decade! Hardly surprising considering the popularity of the series, the pervasive monetisation of its online campaign and the fact that people must simply have forgotton that they own it. Its currently the sixth best selling game of this year?! Of course much of its venerable success can be attributed to its burgeoning online presence. What is a little harder to comprehend, though again no less shocking is that GTA V has also been deemed the “best” game of the decade.

In a poll created by LADbible, a most reputable publication that admittedly publishes some pretty amusing articles, the conclusion of over 9000 votes was that GTA V was the best game of the last decade. But is it really? Trying to establish a consolidating representative that adequately encompasses an entire decades worth of quality is a difficult task, particular one so objectively subjective. Evidently a games profitability and popularity are a significant measure of a games standards, as well as other contributing factors such as bias and the venerated ubiquity of the product. The GTA series has always received significant, though needless flack for its “controversial” depictions of females in their games, excessive language, gratuitous violence and flagrant abandon of one’s morals, but there’s also a growing trend that suggests the series, specifically GTA V is overrated.

Some argue that GTA V didn’t take the risks that IV did. Choosing to instead adhere to the traditional juvenile irreverence and vibrant locations that made Vice City and San Andreas such an exuberant place to violate. Embellishing the same scathing satire of American culture that has become the eminent social commentary of the franchise. GTA IV however was a ponderous bore. As bland as a Coldplay song called “Biege”. It was so committed to being gritty, nihilistic and grey (so very grey!) yet failed to populate its imitation Gotham City with any redeeming characters.

I personally don’t agree with the verdict, but I don’t dispute it either. There’s no other franchise that provokes the same dedicated fanfare as GTA. Perhaps The Last Of Us, Uncharted 4 and The Witcher 3 would be my own personal considerations, but I certainly don’t begrudge a game with such notoriety receiving such a prestigious accolade. Even if it is just LADbible readers.

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What do you think? Is GTA V the best game of the decade? Let me know in the comments below. Cheers.

Merry Christmas Everyone!

I can’t recall a Christmas I’ve looked forward to more than this one. As a kid Christmas was euphoric. It was a culmination of an entire year’s worth of good behaviour, with some interim caveats of delinquency to break up the otherwise exemplary attitude of my year. But as you get older the “magic” of Christmas fades. Cynicism thrives, the innocence of youth becomes tethered by the necessities of maturity and Christmas, well Christmas is just an excuse to eat, drink and frankly socialise with family members you avoid for the other 364 days of the year. But this year, this year is different. My daughter is 3 years old. She’s boisterous, incessantly defiant of her loving, nurturing and unashamedly handsome father’s “just” authority, but mostly at this time of year totally beside herself at the prospect of a jolly old fat man with a raggedy white beard and a penchant for breaking and entering. Delivering gifts to children because of some arbitrarily defined set of rules, designed to blackmail them into behaving, that has become a customery tradition, one she doesn’t fully understand.

Her excitement for Christmas is positively infectious. Seeing her bounding out of bed to inspect the leftover mince pie and milk left by Santa brings such satisfaction. Watching how genuinely aghast she is by the sudden appearance of Christmas presents under the tree because some fictitious pilgrim covertly infiltrates households across the globe to leave gifts for the good is delightfully wholesome. With kids the magic of Christmas is restored. A congruent reminder of what it was like for us when we were their age. The boundless possibilities that adolescence presented us. So this Christmas embrace the facade, disgard the cynicism that afflicts our miserable everyday lives and indulge, gorge and celebrate the irreverence of Christmas. With copious amounts of your favourite libation to accompany you. Remembering to of course drink responsibly. At least until the kids have gone to sleep anyway.

Have a very Merry Christmas! Especially my little princess.

I Hate Politics.

Politics is a topic I try to avoid vehemently. It’s such an inflammatory subject that brings out the absolute worst in people. And yet we can’t help but talk about it either. It’s impossible for two people, with distinctly polarising views to discuss any political discourse in a calm, eloquent manner without one/both of the opposing parties descending into puerile insults or invective mocking. A general election, especially one of such significance to British sovereignty only escalates these morally deficient sentiments. The level of petulance on display from supporters is something I’d expect from a couple of Star Wars fans bleating on about how Rhian Johnson did/didn’t ruin their beloved franchise. Professing a political affiliation can negatively influence a person’s opinion of yourself, as people seem fit to judge you purely on a set of principles that conflict with their own morally ambiguous standards. Posturing has become or has perhaps always been the common vernecular in political circles, something I abhor in general, let alone attributes intended to inspire confidence in a politician I’m supposed to trust.

Being a politician seems to contradict every value I’ve ever been taught. There’s a facilitation of division and promotion of lies, all distributed through various literature and advertisements which I find most egregious. Yet what’s more execrable is that someone has taken the time to articulate complete and utter bullshit! They’ve knowling and deliberately constructed full sentences for the purpose of deception. How can supporters be so conditioned to accept and even defend the fallacious propaganda of a political organisation and vote favourably? Since when has lying been considered democratic? That may seem like naive reasoning I suppose, but is it honesty really such liability? Now I’m not singling out any specific party, I certainly don’t have a dog in this fight. Though it’s fair to say that Boris Johnson is certainly not a man I can personally endorse, but then again none of them are. The Borough that I live in has been a conservative held constituency for nearly 2 decades, that has subsequently re-elected the same MP for a third term. Being a small town means that any impactful development is largely negligible: Cleaner streets. Less crime. Reliable bus services. Nothing too challenging. Its evident from the results that a majority of the voters appointed this local representative because of his individual efforts, not because of BJ’s blow hard boasts. But he still represents BJ and the party as a unifying entity. Surely a general election should be less about the cart, but rather the slightly blithering horse pulling it? A more informed vote would be whether or not we want BJ to be prime minister?

This is where division starts to metastasize into other irrational tangents. Brexit for instance, which to me has always been less concerned with preserving the sovereignty of our nation and its values, and totally subservient to discriminating against racial and cultural diversity. Sure it doesn’t explicitly stipulate that, but the emphasis on immigration as well as being proponent of “British jobs for British workers” is inherently discriminatory. There’s a small yet critical distinction between being racist and exercising racially insentive views. Sadly the perpetuation of the former is startling apparent, especially when politicians like Trump and BJ only propagate such attitudes. People feel emboldened by it, secure enough to express deep-rooted beliefs that previously would have been subverted by rational thought or you know, decency! Whether this was intentional or not, perhaps to exhume some allies that secretly share the same ideology is unclear. But what I do know is that politics is an underlying contribution to a bigoted society we find ourselves in.

We argue, taunt and relish in the failures of others differing political views. Social media is an autonomous network of connectivity utilised to deliberately undermine a user they will probably never meet, without fear or accountability. Division isn’t simply an attitude adopted by far right extremists you don’t see, but extends to co-workers, friends and even family. Politics is as influential now as it has ever been, for good or ill. But the people entrenched in the political vacuum seem less concerned with the sanctity of human life than they are about the preservation of some arcane philosophy that conserves segregation as a means of independence. Left. Right. Centrist. It doesn’t matter when no one can be honest with themselves let alone to others.