Learning to Write
Learning to write is a lifelong quest; no matter if you're a poet, an academic or, like me, the casual blogger. Personally I'm criticised, more than often, for employing nearly incomprehensible language. Indecipherable to whom?
Nevertheless, I stumbled upon a journalism related podcast on writing. It's quite brief, consisting of a few minutes long episodes with one idea in each episode - much like a paragraph. Yet it captivates the essence of expressing oneself efficiently and with the clarity of unspoilt water. Thought you might like it, and if you don't - stop reading Aftonbladet / The Sun / similar adult comics, and get those literary neurons firing.
Lost playgrounds and new toys
I have been so lazy updating the blog that I put my twitter feed in the sidebar. In case you discovered it, you're probably aware of my terrible loss of internet.
Making a very long story short: I lost internet access a few days ago, and after about 24 hours without being able to access BBC's health and lifestyle tips on managing weight I was lying in the bed shaking from severe withdrawal symptoms. I skimmed through system logs and googled the contents on my iPhone while waiting for the support to answer my emails. I eventually discovered that the error pertained to server side of the DHCP transaction. [Lots of boring and technical stuff that nobody would read anyway]
I decided to quit using Windows, and get myself a new computer. Who wants a computer that hangs up the DHCP server and hinders me from surfing tasteless sing along songs on murdered politicians (Kudos to Sverigedemokraterna (SD) for this one).
I went to the Apple Store in Manchester Arndale. (And yes, that's a Disney Store next to it.)
I knew what to buy. Since the new iMacs were introduced with insane prices I aimed for a MacBook; and being geek I wanted a MacBook Pro, just like my Newcastle mate. However, I consulted a member of staff before buying anything, as I had some questions about migrating from obsolete Windows to gorgeous Mac OS X. He asked me what I'd be using the computer for. 'I'm a student, so presumably writing, surfing, and reading journal articles'. He thought I'd be a lot better off with a 13" regular MacBook. I've never had such a small screen, so I immediately rejected the idea.
Half an hour later, we'd established that the cheapest MacBook Pro held essentially the same components inside as the priciest regular MacBook, and that it was considerably easier to 'carry around campus', bring on a flight or take to the local Starbucks. I also had a 14 days return policy if I wasn't satisfied with the purchase. I was convinced.
Upon breaking the news of me buying my first Mac, a dear friend simply replied "Enjoy the longest bus ride of your life", and I did - not enjoy it, but rather endure it. I looked suspiciously on people around me with the eyes of a caveman or security professional: 'Who is most likely to try snatching my expensive catch with the pretty Apple logo?'. But I made it home safe.
Unboxing the MacBook was like being a five year old on christmas eve - just a bit more careful. Hopefully five year olds spend their time playing with other kids outside rather than sitting by computers all day (Microsoft thinks otherwise, but they're evil).
Anyway, I'll continue playing with my new toy now. More updates will follow.
Repopulation
The campus experienced an intense repopulation of students during the weekend. A picture of the inner courtyard bears witness to the deeply intellectual presence of and activities carried out by students:
Other than that, I wouldn't expect any new updates on this blog before Friday, as the author of this blog is very busy analysing comorbid obesity and depression to shed some light on what we claim to know about this phenomenon.
Up Up & Away
I'm on easter break. The only difference between easter break and regular university routine, is that I don't attend lectures - something I'm notoriously bad at anyway, essentially due to the rudimentary nature of first year psychology.
Most first year students have left Manchester to spend time with family and friends at home. Campus is derelict, the overly apparent silence eerily proving itself to remaining tenants (cf. 28 days later). On Wednesday the 1st of April (ha!) comrade A of Lancaster and I decided that we can't sit by ourselves and fold paper planes all easter break. That evening, we bought a couple of tickets to Tenerife - as far south we could go in the European Union. (I had some, erm, passport troubles, ruling out the possibility of travelling outside the EU.)
The trip was great! Sun. Great weather. More sun. Great beaches. Cheap restaurants. Cheap beer. Nightlife. Women.
Upon returning, Manchester was cloudy, wet and approaching a nightly darkness, the mere result of thick clouds covering the sky above. But it was still charming. I must have acclimatised properly to this city by now.
Next on the to-do-list: an essay investigating the link between obesity and major depression. More about this later.
The neighbour deserves it
I would like dedicate this post to my wonderful neighbour who actively chose to play loud music and yell imcomprehensible lyrics until 0530 this morning. I actually have two points make in this post:
- My flatmates are all awake, so I can play my music freely. However, you anonymous neighbour have indeed been quiet. Sleeping, perchance?
- My 5.1 surround sound system, designed for geek gamers can produce a lot higher volumes than your £9 stereo speakers that kept people awake yesterday night.
I performed a sound check in my bathroom, with the same thickness of walls as between our rooms. At less than half volume I could hear the lyrics of R.E.M.'s "Man on the Moon" clearly. I'm turning up volume a bit now, hope you're enjoying a good night's sleep! :lol:
I’ll summarise it with a song
A visitor to my flat was utterly captivated by the filth and misery, and wanted to check into a hotel after a night. The Russian 19th century writer and physician Anton Chekhov is famous for his poetic accounts of the city Tomsk:
Tomsk is a very dull town. To judge from the drunkards whose acquaintance I have made, and from the intellectual people who have come to the hotel to pay their respects to me, the inhabitants are very dull too.
Likewise, the anonymous visitor wittingly chose a song to depict the environment he witnessed: Pulp - Mile End (from the film Trainspotting). Here's the song, and the lyrics:
We didn't have nowhere to live,
we didn't have nowhere to go
til someone said
"I know this place off Burdett Road."
It was on the fifteenth floor,
it had a board across the door.
It took an hour
to prise it off and get inside.
It smelt as if someone had died;
the living room was full of flies,
the kitchen sink was blocked,
the bathroom sink not there at all.Ooh, it's a mess alright,
yes it's
Mile End.And now we're living in the sky
I never thought I'd live so high,
just like Heaven,
if it didn't look like Hell.
The lift is always full of piss,
the fifth floor landing smells of fish
not just on Friday,
every single other day.
Below the kids come out at night,
they kick a ball and have a fight
and maybe shoot somebody if they lose at pool.Ooh,
it's a mess alright,
yes it's
Mile End.Nobody wants to be your friend
cos you're not from round here, ooh
As if that was something to be proud about.
The pearly king of the Isle of Dogs
feels up children in the bogs.
Down by the playing fields, someone sets a car on fire
I guess you have to go right down
before you understand just how,
how low,
how low a human being can go.Ooh,
it's a mess alright,
yes it's
Mile End.
Recipe for disaster
Partying + alcohol + little sleep + improper nutrition + filthy flatmates that use the kitchen for cultivation of harmful bacteria + slight cold + insufficient clothing + rain. Reiterate over a week; and the result is: moderate disaster.
I'm trying to self-medicate with water, paracetamol, budenoside, terbutaline sulphate, probiotic drinking yogurt, orange juice, more water, excessive sleep, staying away from the kitchen as much as possible, and healthy food.
But at least I had a good week!
Famous Faces
I don't think I've fully grasped the intellectual environment university has brought me. It's still all about jotting down those notes, listening to those people-that-are-supposed-to-know-their-stuff, yawning, and having a mind wandering off to that upcoming club night.
However, it's not at all like secondary school. The lecturers are not only great teachers, but often brilliant minds and splendid researchers - no matter how well they tend to hide it 
While reading through studies and theories it's not too seldom that I have encountered my university mentioned, and it's not entirely implausible that the researchers mentioned are people I have listened to, or even spoken to.
Recently, I was reading a journal article arguing for a rejection of the Kraepelinian paradigm in favour of a complaint-oriented approach. It basically features the idea that instead of attempting to group together mental illnesses and give them names such as 'schizophrenia' or 'manic depression', there should be a focus on the specific symptoms presented by the patient.
"I show that recent psychological research has revealed much about the mechanisms underlying each of these complaints. For example, auditory hallucinations occur when the individual mistakes inner speech for an external stimulus, and delusions appear to be the product of abnormal inferential processes."1
Then it dawned on me. Bentall. I had heard that name before. He was the one delivering an excellent lecture on the 'history of approaches to mental health', introducing me to the Lobotomobile. Though, I'm not sure it was a good realisation to make, since for the rest of the article I couldn't stop thinking of Dr. Freeman roadtripping with his ice pick and death wagon across the US.
- Bentall, R. (2006). "Madness explained: why we must reject the Kraepelinian paradigm and replace it with a 'complaint-orientated' approach to understanding mental illness." Medical Hypotheses 66(2): 220-33. [↩]
Just random
This week has been somewhat intense. I've had a very social period; in fact, I would call it manic if I didn't have such a laid back personality ;)
It all started with Monday. I went to flatmate C's room and asked if he would be going to any social events (those euphemisms, huh?) in the evening. I was granted ten minutes to prepare for take-off; and indeed, including all those two or three hair products I recently added to my stash.
Next thing I know, I was talking to Swedish girls on the bus - it's really nice to talk Swedish every once in a while. And then I got to Tiger Tiger, where the queue was even longer than a certain lecturer's not-so-eloquent-examples. Luckily though, the VIP wristband I had gotten my hands on earlier was actually real - I originally thought the 'VIP' text was just there to reinforce my status as Alpha male :lol:
It was a quite good night. My bank account suffered; but not as much as with Swedish alcohol monopoly pricing - evil socialism...
The following days were of slightly less quality, and slightly more wine. *censored*
Urban survival
A flatmate asked me if I had "a haircut again!?" Well, the hair is one of the most defining characteristics for an urbal male - it's quite natural not to let it grow like weed. I had a limited conversation with my stylist, including me apologising for my language barrier with hairdressing and asking about the 2009 trends. To begin with, there were two girls taking care of my hair: one preparing it, and one cutting it. I didn't notice. They probably thought I was a moderately crazy Swede, having one conversation with two different people.
I finished the session with buying hair products from label.m: sea salt spray and matte paste. Apparently, I'm supposed to apply the spray while blowdrying my hair, creating a 'texturised volume for loose, natural, tousled waves'. The matte paste is then added as an 'ultra matt texturiser for dishevelled light styles'. However, I don't blowdry my hair. I don't even own, or have access to a blowdryer. Yet.
Other than that, I had a course night out at the indie club 42nd street yesterday. It was good.