Is My Name Denbow?

English: iPad 2 with Smart Cover running iMovie.

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

In my peripheral vision as I scour the news on the web I keep seeing references to nudie photographs that have been leaked. These photographs are of celebrities with whom I am completely and utterly unfamiliar. Yes, it is intrusive for someone to publish photographs of new naked on the internet or anywhere else without your permission and approval. However, storing nudie pictures on a cloud based server is stupid and idiotic to the extreme.

If there were any pictures of me naked that I wanted to keep private then there are a few places that I would certainly not store them. There are a few places that I would store them but it seems that the rich and famous are too stupid to secure their personal files. If these hackers can grab a few pictures of breasts and bums from iCloud, I wonder what else they could get.

In this digital age most of us take a plethora of meaningless snapshots and clutter up cyberspace in order to preserve “memories.” Instagram, Snapchat (dunno what that is BTW), Facebook and Twitter get filled to the rafters with examples of complete and utter pointless examples of the art of bad photography. Facebook is far and away the worst for pointless JPegs (geek speak) How many times have you seen something like “Vacuous  Airhead added  3,000 photos 1 hour ago?”

I would mind so much if the said photos were even remotely interesting. You know, something like landscapes, seascapes, cityscapes even.  What do we get? Endless “nom nom” lunch photos, their kids and weddings. Just like celebs not securing their naked selfies, parents across the world post pictures of their children to Facebook for the entire world to find. To make it even worse they say where they are making it easier for :-

  • A thief to empty their home of valuables.
  • Someone to know exactly where they are.

It’s the weddings I hate the most. Now don’t get me wrong I love a good wedding photograph when I actually know the people getting married. Yet when the wedding photos are of someone I have never met, never likely to and frankly don’t want to judging by the pictures I have to draw the line. Moreover what compounds the whole sorry state of affairs is when the individual who has posted them is someone I accepted a friend request from because I met them once in 2011. I mean, call me a miserable git if you like but why on earth do people think that I’m interested?

I’m just as bad. I bung pointless snapshots on Instagram. These are mainly of our dog Daisy (aka The Duke), the new decking and photographic evidence of my ability to pick up a glasses case with my almost prehensile toes. I tend to stick my pictures just on Instagram so that I can see them and if anyone is remotely interested in my photographic diary they’re welcome to have a look as it is entirely up to them. There are a few people that I follow on Instagram and I like looking at their photos as they’re not foisted on me everytime I look at some corner of the world of social networking. That’s the way it should be.

That is the whole problem with social networking and blogging as well if you think about it. It’s just one massive ego trip. I’m writing this thinking that I have something profound to say, I post photos to Instagram and Facebook to illustrate how much better my life is than yours and I post to Twitter to prove I am quick witted. Yet, in real life I’m not that. I don’t have a big ego. I don’t say profound things and my life is no better than yours.

Social networking?

It’s little more than a veil with which to mask your true self and your true identity and to live out paranoid fantasies.

And is my name Denbow?

Am I a Doctor?

What do you think?

Ciao For now,

Denbow xxx


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He Who Dies With The Most Toys Wins

These days we’re all slaves to technology. All of us. I mean, how many of us don’t own a smartphone or some kind of MP3 player? Every home has the ubiquitous microwave oven and flat screen TV. The thing is, are we any happier for it? Why do we constantly need to upgrade “things?” We upgrade or replace “things” before we need to. Up and down the country I’m willing to bet there are smartphones sitting neglected in drawers and cupboards because they are “old” models. Not because they don’t work, but because they are not the latest new one that’s packed with features that we are conned into thinking that we need.

cleanishI’m writing this on a laptop. Yeah, you probably guessed that, but did you stop to think about what kind of laptop Denbow uses? You may think that it’s a sleek new MacBook or a state of the art Sony, if you think that then you’re wrong. The laptop that I use is a six years old Lenovo X200. The speakers don’t work properly anymore and there is a load of insulation tape holding the screen in place after our dog Daisy got bored and decided to have a little chomp on the screen. Does it matter? No, it doesn’t matter. This laptop does exactly what I need it to do. It gets me on the interent and it has Microsoft Word so I can write things. Would a better, newer laptop do those things any better? Well, what do you think?

What I’m getting at is we live in a disposable society. Everything we own eventually gets chucked away, often before it needs to be. We replace our “treasures” thinking that we are spending our money to get something better. Very often we aren’t; all we are doing is indirectly lining the pockets of the admen and directly lining the pockets of major corporations. Does 6 gig of ram make Twitter anymore satisfying or Facebook more tolerable? Why do you want a mobile phone (and that’s what they are – telephones) with a 5 inch screen? Yeah, you get one not because you want one but because your mate Dave has one and you’d be thought of as a twat with your old HTC Desire S. We spend our lives acquiring and grabbing and wasting money and emotion buying stuff. Some people get a quasi sexual thrill over their latest purchases and I think it’s because they have nothing in their lives deep down.

A few years ago I saw a pseudo number plate on the back of some tasteless gross Jeep that said “he who dies with the most toys wins.”

Wins what?

Ciao for now,

Denbow

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Who Are The Conspirators?

I’m scared. In fact I’m more than scared, I’m bloody terrified. I’m terrified that my one little hobby is buggered up my my own inability. The drive and desire has, for the moment I hope, gone. I write about 350 words, read back what I’ve written and either delete half an hours worth of work or leave it to rot in a folder on my laptop. I shouldn’t be scared, I should just wait and not worry and when I have something to say then power up the laptop and get stuck in.

That’s what I should do.

English: World Trade Center, New York, aerial ...

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Naturally I won’t, I’ll just carry on writing and try to work my way through this bad patch and hopefully write something vaguely worthwhile, about people you know? I’ve been thinking about people. People in general I mean – the way people in general or at least some people in general react to some stuff, generally. (You can tell I didn’t do any English exams at school can’t you?) I think it’s a trait that must affect a good number of people especially those with access to the internet, television and radio. It’s my view these people have nothing better to do than sit in front of their laptops staring at endless loops of the planes hitting WTC 1 and WTC 2, the Zapruder film and anything they can get their sweaty little paws on about the Apollo moon landings.

That’s for starters.

We can then think of the UFO-logists, the USO-logists, the Crypozoologists, Ancient Alien theorists and fans or rather disciples of David Icke. Oh yes there’s the armchair criminologists, the amateur detectives who pore old tatty documents to prove or disprove something from the past – usually something that no one really cares too much about.  It’s not as if they’re searching for the *Answer to the Ultimate Question of Life, The Universe, and Everything* (it’s 42 by the way) is it?  So why do they do it?

There are probably lots and lots of theories why there are so many people out there who are Conspiracy Theorists usually emanating from American Professors with so many qualifications and letters after their names that they believe that every word they individually utter is fact and every hypothesis that isn’t in line with theirs is truly utter bollocks. Do I have a theory about why there are Conspiracy Theorists? Aside from the fact that there are many sad deluded wankers out there who believe any old scientific horseshit spouted by an “expert” (usually a former something or other who’s probably been busted from previously gainful employment) that they see on YouTube –  no not really. Nothing that I would call earth shatteringly definitive anyway. In fact my thoughts are just as bonkers mad as some of the conspiracy theorists’ ideas on assorted and sundry stuff.

English: Two members of the Apollo 11 lunar la...

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

My thoughts and beliefs are based on evidence just as spurious as the evidence used by Conspiracy Theorists. I refuse to test the veracity of my evidence and I will not permit it to be analyzed empirically. If I allowed that to happen then my evidence would be twisted and manipulated by the Conspiracy Theorists which would then be a Conspiracy against me. Then a whole new sub genre of Conspiracy Theorists would appear on the scene to investigate the “cover up” and discrediting of me proving that the Conspiracy Theorists are to be considered nothing more than a sad bunch of burger chomping losers with terminally bad skin and/or a drink problem (and certainly no girlfriend) There’s a book “Voodoo Histories: The Role of Conspiracy Theory in Shaping Modern History,” by David Aaronovitch that I really should read if I’m going to keep going on writing this type of debunksional bollocks. However, I saw him on the TV the other day so that’s pretty close and I do have a copy on order from that t’internet. That makes me an expert as to why Conspiracy Theories are bollocks.

They are bollocks –  each and every one of them. The “theories” work and enthrall Conspiracy Theorists for exactly the same reason we *normal* people watched “The Evil Dead,” “The Exorcist” and “Nightmare On Elm St.” It’s the same reason that people ride roller coasters, bungee jump, skydive and even ride the waves surfing. It’s for the buzz, the fear. For the Conspiracy Theorists it’s the buzz of finding and indeed believing that shady powers have been playing sleight of hand tricks on the population and exposing these shady powers for what they are.

But, and it’s a big but, if one of these Conspiracy Theories turned out to be true, and some dork with a baseball cap was about to reveal all that he know my bet is he would end up slightly dead. They know this, it scares them but it’s a dear that would make them feel more alive than they’ve ever felt.

If Conspiracy Theories didn’t exist then we’d have to invent them would we?

Ciao For Now

Denbow

 

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Wish I Could Speak Like An Old Biddy

I normally find writing to be easy. I usually have something that I want to share or go on and on and on about to the point of ennui. I suppose I’m a bit obsessive like that. Some people have me marked down as a depressive, or bi polar, but they’re wrong. What I am is someone who is a leading expert on blowing things up out of all proportion. It’s just I feel that by and large I’ve run out of things to say. Whatever doesn’t help is the fact that I have spent far too many of my evening when I return home from work doing pretty non productive things.

Alan Bennett

Alan Bennett

One productive thing I’ve been doing is reading and listening to audiobooks. The audiobooks are a collection of the works of Alan Bennett, the Talking Heads series and I’ll be moving onto The Lady In The Van once I get past those. I find the Talking Heads plays or monologues if you like to be clever, witty and very very perceptive. It seems that Mr. Bennett can crawl into the psyche of middle aged women with an effortless ease that a tubby little Yam Yam can only envy. So much so I’ve written the biggest part of one myself. It’s probably rubbish and highly derivative rubbish at that, but there you are. The problem for me is, that what I’m writing/have written is a 5 or 10 minute  piece to camera  or microphone (as in a radio play) that needs a woman’s voice. I’ve had a go at doing it myself but I just can’t do it, I sould ridiculous trying to do an old woman’s voice. I could “demo” it for a woman to perform under my direction (Orson Denbow anyone?) but unfortunately I don’t know anyone, anyone at all who’d do it for me.

On that score I’m back to the drawing board so I may have to just right click and select delete and book it down as a bad job all round. However, it occurs to me that I should try to write the same sort of thing, you know using that seed of an idea and try to write something like that. The idea of trying to write or complete this novel I’ve been hankering after writing just seems like too much bloody hard work and let’s face it, I’m a lazy bugger. At least with doing a “Talking Heads” type thing I could just talk to my iPad and then write down the dialogue. I’m really good at talking, spectacularly good in fact.

This brings me rather clumsily to my next (maybe final) The last few weeks have been shit. Really shit in that there’s been some issues, shall we say, that have made my life somewhat difficult. Extended family problems sort of thing. What dropped me in the excrement was telling the family (I believe in honesty) about me wandering about stark bollock naked back in July. Kids laughed at me, wife won’t even broach the subject. It does seem now that the whole thing has disappeared into the background a bit and they think I won’t do anything like that again, I just won’t tell them next time. Oh yes, forgot about the point I was going to make about me being a chap who is good at talking. My daughter is getting married on 20th September and of course it fall to me as Father Of The Bride to make a little speech. This is not to be an unsubstantial wedding and the thought of getting on my back legs to put my oratory skills to the test was scaring me to death. Note the ”was.” I desperately didn’t and don’t want to let her down on her big day and felt nerves on my part were going to be a massive and insurmountable problem.

That’s part of the reason I did what I did back in July. If I can put myself into that type of situation and stay in that situation for a few hours, then getting up to say a few words should be a breeze.

Ciao For Now

Denbow

 

 

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Nail Polish Or Tattoos?

English: Male Fitness & Muscle Model John Quin...

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Am I a believer? Am I atheist, agnostic or religious? I would have to say that I am none of those. When it comes to religion I merely abstain. I refuse to be drawn in the melting pot of religious dogma in any way shape or form. Besides my own views on the matter are intensely private and remain hidden under a cloak of invisibility and evasion. Besides when it comes to matter spiritual it is none of your business what I think and neither is my place to make even the smallest effort to impose my ideas and thoughts upon you. However, society as a whole imposes its ideas, thoughts and conventions upon you even if you are not aware that it does.

We have things in our society that are considered “normal,” conventional is another word that could be used. There are many “normal” things that a chap of my age is supposed to do. By definition there also must be many “normal” things that I really ought not to do. I’m not famous, I have a normal job, I live in a normal house, I have a normal wife and family. I would therefore be considered normal. However, am I normal? Now that’s not a question that’s loaded with self doubt or psychosis it is a simple question. That is where the problem starts. You must see that question is very difficult, if not impossible, to answer. In order to work out whether I’m normal then a definition of normal must be agreed upon.

Okay so think about this for a moment, this normal business. For the sake of argument suppose that I decide to have a tattoo. Remember I’m in my 50s and have never had a tattoo before and I decide to go the whole hog and have one of those full sleeve jobs. What would people think? Would that be considered normal with a soupcon of midlife crisis? What about if I started to paint my finger nails and toenails and get a touch of fake tan and bleach my hair? Would that be seen as another last desperate act of an aging man?

Applying nail polish on toes

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

As I am Mr Normal as stated earlier both of these things would be seen as stepping well outside of the box, but given modern fashions and the acceptability these days of tattoos I don’t think anyone would really take that much notice about a full sleeve tattoo. What about the nail varnish and the hair? In my opinion people would think I’d well and truly lost the plot. If I combined the two I think that I’d end up in a padded cell. Why should that be the case? If I was a rock star would anyone blink an eye? Why is it that rock n rollers can do stuff that Mr Normal can’t do and dress exactly how they may wish and get zillions of tattoos and wear make up and paint their nails? Is it simply because they have to live up to the Mr Rock Star image just as everyone else has to live to the Mr Normal image?

I think that is really the case. We all have to wear uniforms and we have to wear them all of the time. These uniforms mark us out, they illustrate clearly what we are and to an extent what we do. Sadly there is very little that we can do about it unless we can find the courage to buck the trend and break free of the social norm. Of course there are a few people that do just this but can make themselves unemployable or conversely looked upon by the world as complete and utter wankers just because of their station in life.

Ciao For Now

Denbow

 Thanks to @ModalConfusion for planting the idea for this post in my mind.

 

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The Pursuit Of Happiness

In all of my life, I’ve never been anywhere. My travels are done on the television or in books or maybe in my dreams. I know there are places that I’d like to visit; things that I’d like to see that I never will. I know also I’ll never own a Porsche or an Aston Martin and am highly unlikely to have the chance to actually drive one. That realization comes I believe with age and a certain fatalism creeps in to your thought processes.

That’s not to say I’ve got the metaphorical noose around my neck, more a case of “a man has got to know his limitations.” At one time thoughts like that, the concepts of limited opportunities, would have depressed me. I would have been very sad and felt sorry for myself and bemoaned my decline into middle age and the erosion of my body’s capabilities, my ambitions, my drive and will to succeed. When I was younger I wanted success to success’ sake. I wanted to puff my chest out and shout “look at me, look at me!” as an attempt to show how happy I was. Now success to me means something completely different. I no longer feel the need to do things in order to get approval from my peers. I longer have the ambition to be something, or someone.

I am someone……I’m me.

Identity conceptual view

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I have my own sense of identity; I know just where it is that I fit in this world. I know who I am and I know what I want. I know what’s important and I am aware of what it is that’s truly trivial. I can recognize people who deserve my attention and time and I can differentiate between those and the emotional leeches who suck the life out of you by bringing you down to there miserable level or by simply telling you lies to make you empathise with and show sympathy for their plight.

That’s 325 words I’ve written above to what point? Is it a mission statement or is it a summary of my mental processes as they are right now? Well, to be honest I don’t know. I have no idea why I started this and I have no idea where it’ll finish. You see I feel I don’t have “it” anymore; the sense of righteous indignation, the smug superiority or the vicious jealous tongue that I once had. As a result the inherent black humour is not there and I feel that I have lost (or am losing) the ability to write something that doesn’t disappear slowly but surely up its own self satisfied arse.

That’s the problem. I don’t want to write about politics, what’s happening in the world is far too tragic for the pontifications of an ill educated hobby blogger. I have stopped watching as much TV and although I listen to music a lot of music there are plenty of music blogs out there without me adding the occasional piece. I read, but short of mentioning the title of the book that I’m reading I have no desire to go on and on about a book and exhort you to read it. Suit yourself about books, I don’t care. When it comes to sport, I have to say that my interest declines with each passing minute as more and more importance seems to be attached to it.

Things happen to you in life, well at least they did to me, that can cause a seismic shift in your thinking. You can have your own personal “vision on the road to Damascus” and I’m talking in an allegorical sense rather than a religious one. Whilst it’s true that a religious deity may come to you and change your life and your thinking it is also true that personal experiences and events that are purely secular can act in exactly the same way.

I suppose that if that kind of thing happens then it does alter your whole mindset and allows you to grasp life and existence with a whole you outlook and sense of positivity. It enables you to have a more open and honest relationship with people that you encounter. It also helps you to be happy just being. Just being you and you can see where and how you fit in because in one way or another, we all do.

Ciao For Now

Denbow

 

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I Got Blocked On Twitter

I got blocked on Twitter in the week, blocked.

B-L-O-C-K-E-D.

Yup blocked.

Over the years I’ve been trolled, abused and had abuse hurled at me. That is just part of the experience of social networking so you either put up with it or keep well away. Every now and again I feel like jacking the whole lot in, but I find the people I regularly interact with to be funny, you know a laugh? Good bit of banter and all that.

Twitter

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One of the people with whom I had previously enjoyed Twitter chats with has seen fit to block me. Having been trolled in the past by Americans who believe that their command of the English language is better than mine and bombarded me with offensive DM’s and comment all over my blog, I have perhaps grown a tad over sensitive. Moreover, if I wish to express myself or my pretty mundane opinions in 140 characters then I will. I’m not racist, sexist or homophobic. FYI I’m not xenophobic either, so there you go.

This is icon for social networking website. Th...

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Anyway, I Tweeted something and had what I considered to be a facetious reply and replied less than kindly and blocked him, thought about it then unblocked. This chap (or chappess) told of his/her experience to someone I followed who followed me back and consequently I was unfollowed. I asked why and was told “I wouldn’t like it.” Although it was mentioned that I was playing the “Big Man” with my 1000 Twitter followers and he had, 24?

I think that was it anyway.

Anyway after a short while I was blocked! I returned the compliment, then thought bollocks, I’ve done nothing wrong or to be ashamed of. It’s just the hurly burly tough world of Twitter.

Should I care?

Really, should I care? Should it bother that a face on an avatar that I spoke to on occasions at some length has decided that I’m no longer a “bud” but a right bastard? Given the transient nature of Twitter and social networking in general it shouldn’t bother me. It should be something that I dismiss with a shrug of my virtual shoulders in the world of online friends, but I still find it sad and to be honest a little hurtful that I’m perceived as being a bad sort.

There’s nothing I can do about it though.

I know what I am and other people’s perceptions of me are beyond my control in real life and on social networking.

Denbow

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