tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89177868390633602782024-03-13T12:51:32.598+00:00An Insight into the Inner Workings of My BrainWill Wivellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02210897239039974540noreply@blogger.comBlogger134125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8917786839063360278.post-2165038173168238242010-12-08T23:04:00.001+00:002010-12-08T23:04:28.863+00:00Why do birds suddenly appear, every time I wear my birdseed overcoat?<p class="formspringmeText">Why do birds suddenly appear, every time I wear my birdseed overcoat?</p><p class="formspringmeFooter"> Answer <a href="http://4ms.me/gxXUjP">here</a></p>Will Wivellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02210897239039974540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8917786839063360278.post-74901047372231710492010-10-19T20:51:00.000+01:002010-10-19T20:51:11.352+01:00TumblrLadies and gentlemen, the unthinkable has happened.<br />
<br />
I have become drawn to another blogging website. Tumblr.<br />
Now, don't start packing up all your belongings, burning all identification documents and heading for the border <i>just </i>yet, because things aren't as fatal as I just made it sound.<br />
<br />
I do indeed have a new <a href="http://willwivell.tumblr.com/">blog.</a> And it is indeed awesome. And I do indeed love Tumblr for being awesome. But I am not going to abandon this blog. Well, no more than I do already. Ahem.<br />
I am going to post more personal, introspective blog posts on my Tumblr blog (think <i>'dear diary'</i>). The more entertaining, reader-oriented blog posts will be put onto here.<br />
I will post onto Tumblr for my own benefit, while posting onto Blogger for yours.<br />
<br />
Here's a rundown, just in case you're an idiot (it's possible - you're reading my blog, after all)<br />
<br />
<b>BLOGGER</b><br />
<br />
<ul><li>Humorous stuff</li>
<li>Internet finds</li>
<li>Cartoons (both mine and other people's)</li>
</ul><br />
<br />
<b>TUMBLR</b><br />
<br />
<ul><li>Personal blog posts</li>
<li>Artwork</li>
<li>Project updates</li>
</ul><div>Chin up. It'll be awesome.</div>Will Wivellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02210897239039974540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8917786839063360278.post-86960175779568215492010-10-13T18:48:00.000+01:002010-10-13T18:48:49.818+01:00Sometimes I do worthwhile things<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This is a piece of English Language coursework by Corrie Smith and me, teaching about the arrival of the Anglo Saxons to Britain and their subsequent impact on the English language. All very edu-ma-cational. Lap it up.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ME7Mor5ZPDQ/TLXwAe3555I/AAAAAAAAAjQ/gFLYdUCzlLQ/s1600/anglo+saxons+work+p1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ME7Mor5ZPDQ/TLXwAe3555I/AAAAAAAAAjQ/gFLYdUCzlLQ/s400/anglo+saxons+work+p1.jpg" width="281" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ME7Mor5ZPDQ/TLXwQDDtvPI/AAAAAAAAAjU/3j1TDSeTDLI/s1600/anglo+saxons+work+p2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ME7Mor5ZPDQ/TLXwQDDtvPI/AAAAAAAAAjU/3j1TDSeTDLI/s400/anglo+saxons+work+p2.jpg" width="282" /></a></div>Will Wivellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02210897239039974540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8917786839063360278.post-80946543931883809822010-10-09T14:28:00.003+01:002010-10-09T14:42:25.746+01:00Me and my issues, eh?Rejoice, Planet Earth! Look to the skies, and praise the Heavens! For it was <a href="http://milnesy4000.blogspot.com/">Mr Ross Milnes</a>' 18th birthday on Monday! So happy birthday to Mr Ross Milnes for back then.<br />
It's the subsequent birthday party tonight, which should be fun. Sightings of me at any social gathering are rare, and anyone who has seen me outside of school should appreciate how unusual that is. I am a bit of an introvert, admittedly; I enjoy spending my free time by myself, drawing, animating, watching TV, having one of my many Wikipedia sessions (did you know that Lee Mack's real surname is McKillop?) or just sleeping off the many insanely early mornings I have to endure on a school week. All that considered, I think I've developed surprisingly well as a human being - I don't suffer from low social comfortability, like being unable to hold a conversation with someone I don't know very well, and I enjoy the parties and days out that I do attend - but despite this stroke of luck regarding my relative adaptability, I still seem to place my alone time on a higher pedestal than my time with others, and I don't know why.<br />
Well, I have a theory.<br />
<br />
Human beings are strangely drawn to patterns. As an English Language student currently studying child language acquisition, this aspect of human nature is something I find rather interesting, as patterns help our brains to make complex information more palatable. Take rhymes, for instance. Children's books are full of rhymes, and it's easy to see why. If one word rhymes with another, the brain doesn't have to remember both words separately; it can remember the whole of one word, and just the different part of the other word. This understanding of similarities between certain things means that our young minds, absorbing information at a frightening rate, can compress all this new-found knowledge so that it doesn't get jumbled up and confused in our brains. Naturally, the more routines the child has in its life, the more organised its mind will be in later life.<br />
<br />
Growing up, I lacked consistency. Now, before you picture me as some sort of liquid-y mess in a bowl, with two eyes floating on the surface, I mean 'consistency' in the other sense. I mean 'consistency' in terms of routine; in terms of my life having patterns, repetition, a recognisable sequence of events that I could grasp hold and make use of. I lived in the sleepy village of Scampton for a while, before moving to live with my mum above a noisy pub in Lincoln, after which I returned back to Scampton, to live with my dad again. Then, I moved back into Lincoln, to live with my mum on Burton Road, and then there was a lot of to-ing and fro-ing between Scampton and Lincoln for a couple of years, before I ended up at Scampton.<br />
Now, this must have been playing havoc with my young mind. For a while, I wasn't sure where my definitive home <i>was</i>; it fluctuated so frequently, it baffled me. I had a bedroom at my godfather's house, also on Burton Road, that served as a sort of half-way house in slightly more organisationally-convoluted scenarios, so I was right royally bewildered. And I'm sure it's taken a toll on my mind - I'm terrible at organising data in my head.<br />
But perhaps this is why I am so 'intelligent', as people hasten to call me. Never, in my younger formative years, did I develop this natural knack for sorting out, and prioritising, information. I can tell you how they get turkeys to go indoors when it rains in America, but ask me where I left my house keys and I will have to stop and mull it over for a moment.<br />
<br />
Now, I feel that as a result of all that inconsistency, I fear change. I'm a bit obsessive-compulsive in that I crave routine - I sit in the same seat on the school bus every morning; I eat more or less the same lunch every day; the list goes on. Strangest of all, I have to have the volume on the television at seven, a multiple of seven, or a number three less than seven or a multiple of seven, so it has to be one of the numbers 4, 7, 11, 14, 18, 21, 25, 28, 32, 35, etcetera. Is that normal?<br />
So when everyone else hit adolescence and started rebelling, the thought of change concerned me slightly, and as a result I never really rebelled. I don't shout at my parents, I rarely swear, and I do well at school. These are the good points. A bad point, perhaps, is that when faced with an invitation to a party or some other sort of social gathering, I panic. "<i>It's going to destroy my routine," </i>I think to myself.<i> "I'll be lost and bewildered, and my carefully-laid plans, mostly involving sleeping, will be scuppered!"</i><br />
<br />
<i></i>As a result, with Ross' party in a few hours, I've been incredibly neurotic today. What if something bad happens? What if I dress too casually, or not casually enough? What if? <i>What if?</i><br />
<br />
<i></i>Deep down, I know I'm going to have a great time, and that I'll come back from it smiling broadly and cherishing the memories. But God knows where I'm going to fit in that cancelled Wikipedia session on Sunday...Will Wivellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02210897239039974540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8917786839063360278.post-4721970530288485442010-09-26T22:21:00.002+01:002010-09-26T22:23:13.115+01:00Look, I never lay claim to amazing poetic prowess, okay? If you're reading this on Facebook as a note, please read it on the <a href="http://www.williamwivell.blogspot.com/">blog.</a> I've played around with word sizes and everything, and only on my blog will you be able to see it.<br />
<br />
<br />
He<span style="font-size: large;"> sits </span>beneath his<span style="font-size: large;"> worries</span><br />
And<span style="font-size: large;"> lingers, <span style="font-size: small;">ever</span> lingers</span><br />
And he<span style="font-size: large;"> drums </span>his bony<span style="font-size: large;"> fingers</span><br />
On the<span style="font-size: large;"> crooked coffee table</span><br />
As the<span style="font-size: large;"> hours </span>become the<span style="font-size: large;"> days</span><br />
And the<span style="font-size: large;"> days </span>become the<span style="font-size: large;"> weeks</span><br />
He<span style="font-size: large;"> seeks, </span>within his clouded<span style="font-size: large;"> mind</span><br />
A<span style="font-size: large;"> way </span>to<span style="font-size: large;"> solve </span>his<span style="font-size: large;"> problem </span>mind<br />
And he<span style="font-size: large;"> wishes </span>he could<span style="font-size: large;"> find</span><br />
Some sort of<span style="font-size: large;"> remedy </span>to what he calls<br />
His<span style="font-size: large;"> 'troubles'.</span><br />
<br />
He's<span style="font-size: large;"> read </span>the latest books<br />
And he<span style="font-size: large;"> knows </span>the terms<span style="font-size: large;"> within</span><br />
Like they'd been<span style="font-size: large;"> written down </span>by him<br />
But not a<span style="font-size: large;"> single </span>complex word<br />
Can<span style="font-size: large;"> put out </span>the<span style="font-size: large;"> raging fire</span><br />
And as his<span style="font-size: large;"> eyes </span>turn<span style="font-size: large;"> scarlet red</span><br />
And his<span style="font-size: large;"> face </span>a<span style="font-size: large;"> chalky white</span><br />
To<span style="font-size: large;"> spite </span>the<span style="font-size: large;"> darkness </span>of his eyes<br />
There is a<span style="font-size: large;"> war </span>behind his eyes<br />
A<span style="font-size: large;"> civil </span>war between his mind<br />
For to<span style="font-size: large;"> acquire </span>an<span style="font-size: large;"> end </span>to what<br />
He<span style="font-size: large;"> tends </span>to call<br />
His<span style="font-size: large;"> 'troubles'.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Piss off, </span>you grumpy killjoy!<br />
You're<span style="font-size: large;"> ruining </span>my<span style="font-size: large;"> fun!</span><br />
You're<span style="font-size: large;"> self-deluded moanings</span><br />
Mean<span style="font-size: large;"> nought </span>to<span style="font-size: large;"> anyone!</span><br />
But yet you<span style="font-size: large;"> seek </span>to make<span style="font-size: large;"> DAMN </span>SURE<br />
That your<span style="font-size: large;"> debilitating issues</span><br />
MEAN<span style="font-size: large;"> MORE</span><br />
TO THE<span style="font-size: large;"> REST OF MY SUBCONSCIOUS</span><br />
THAN<b> ALL </b>THE HAPPY THINGS<br />
I HAVE<span style="font-size: large;"> THOUGHT, </span>OR<span style="font-size: large;"> BROUGHT TO THE WORLD</span><br />
OR<span style="font-size: large;"> WITNESS, </span>HAVE<span style="font-size: large;"> PREVIOUSLY </span>WITNESSED<br />
AND<span style="font-size: large;"> EXPECT </span>TO WITNESS<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">PUT <span style="font-size: small;">TO</span></span><span style="font-size: large;">-fucking-</span><span style="font-size: large;">GETHER!</span><br />
<br />
He gets<span style="font-size: large;"> angry </span>at his 'troubles' -<br />
When he<span style="font-size: large;"> is, </span>he's almost<span style="font-size: large;"> able</span><br />
To<span style="font-size: large;"> do away </span>with all the worries<br />
But he<span style="font-size: large;"> lingers, </span>ever<span style="font-size: large;"> lingers</span><br />
As he<span style="font-size: large;"> sits </span>beneath his<span style="font-size: large;"> worries</span><br />
And he<span style="font-size: large;"> drums </span>his bony<span style="font-size: large;"> fingers</span><br />
On the<span style="font-size: large;"> crooked coffee table.</span>Will Wivellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02210897239039974540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8917786839063360278.post-53785449747247343322010-09-07T14:08:00.000+01:002010-09-07T14:08:48.826+01:00Extra! Extra!Here! Have some blog news.<br />
<a href="http://milnesyandwivell.blogspot.com/"><b>The Milnesy & Wivell Blog: The Official Blog Of The Show</b></a>, the official blog of the Milnesy & Wivell show, has been blocked by my school's wireless internet network. This makes me laugh; this is not a general blog-blocking procedure that my school employs, but a specific ban on <i>that </i>blog in particular. I know this because my blog hasn't been blocked (hence this - I'm at school right now).<br />
So what has caused my school to block the M&W blog? I have a theory.<b> Mr Ross Milnes</b>, author of the rant-tastic <a href="http://milnesy4000.blogspot.com/">Mind Of Milnesy</a> blog, also contributes to the Milnesy & Wivell blog (hence its name - duh), and in a moment of passionate fury posted a furious and somewhat sweary rant, directed at Big Brother. By all means check that out - it's so hate-filled, it's funny. My theory is that the school network picked up on the blue language and blocked the blog (Ross' blog is also blocked, so this is highly likely).<br />
<br />
This makes me laugh. You see? Politeness pays.Will Wivellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02210897239039974540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8917786839063360278.post-20663701087480581482010-09-01T01:26:00.007+01:002010-09-01T13:04:05.370+01:00TwitfaceIt's funny how we sometimes do things without thinking. Occasionally, the lack of conscious thought proves to be a disadvantage, like when someone crosses the road without thinking and becomes another road safety statistic. More often, however, we do things without thinking simply because the reasoning behind it goes without saying; the mentality of the decision is so seemingly straightforward that the brain bypasses 'ponder' mode and just gets on with the job.<br />
<br />
Usually, such decisions come and go. Some, though, do not; the decisions where we opted not to do something, where the option to change our minds lingers, does not always disappear into obscurity as quickly as others. On the occasions when such decisions, made without thinking, are suddenly brought forward, once again, to the centre stage of our minds, it is interesting to explore the thought processes that initially occurred when the decision was first made. Sometimes we learn <i>why</i> we didn't dwell on it.<br />
<br />
I say this because such an occasion recently happened to me, and I discovered that the reason I decided what I decided, without thinking about it, was because thinking it over would just get me unnecessarily angry and worked up. And lyrical. Hence this. Sorry about that.<br />
<br />
The other day, someone asked me "Why don't you connect your Twitter account with Facebook so that your tweets will appear on your Facebook profile?" This threw me for a moment, as the concept, as constantly evident to me as it was and has been for ages, hadn't really jostled through, and to the front of, my hypothetical to-do list and announced itself as a practical and logical idea at any point; it sort of hung about, in the areas of my mind that teetered on peripheral, close to plummeting into the abyss of discarded ponderings, and never really drew attention to itself. Basically, what I mean is that without ever dwelling on my reasoning, I never considered connecting Twitter to Facebook as a good idea.<br />
<br />
So I was taken aback slightly when this person - a real-life human being, with opposable thumbs and a digestive tract - suggested the idea to me again. This idea, something that I had always known about but had ignored because common sense told me to, was being dragged through the crowd of thoughts, into the spotlight of my conscious mind, by someone who showed no hint of irony or sarcasm in their facial expression or tone of voice. This person was being serious. And it caused me, for the first time, to take a long hard look at my decision and try to understand the subconscious reasoning behind it.<br />
<br />
Twitter and Facebook are not the same thing. Not by a long shot. Sure, they 'borrow' ideas and gimmicks off one another, and some people (trying, no doubt, to be <i>hilarious</i>) say that it's getting harder to tell the difference between the two websites. Take a look at Twitter and Facebook; compare them for yourself and you can clearly see the differences.<br />
<br />
Facebook, for a start, is MASSIVE. Not just in an <i>'everyone's got it' </i>kind of a way, but also in the sense that there is so much to do on Facebook. You can not only post updates, you can play games, get in touch with long-lost acquaintances and... well, the list goes on. It goes on for a long time. So we'll leave it there.<br />
<br />
Twitter, on the other hand, really only has one function: sharing. Whether it be sharing links, gossip, news, personal information (in a 'how has your day been?' kind of way, <a href="http://williamwivell.blogspot.com/2010/03/talk-to-handbook-because-facebook-aint.html">before you start thinking like <i>that</i></a>) or a funny joke, Twitter handles it exquisitely well, employing the brilliant 'retweet' and 'hashtag' functions. Sharing such things on Facebook, on the other hand, can result in a few 'wacky' friends commenting underneath with some barely-comprehensible attempt to be funny and no consideration for you, the poster. As the notifications go up, the aura of outward integrity of the thing you posted goes down. Tut, tut, tut. Best tweet it, then.<br />
<br />
When you're on Facebook, you feel like you're in a kind of social bubble; no matter how eventful your time on Facebook may be, what happens in the bubble stays in the bubble, and outsiders are likely to never know it ever happened. Of course, with the amount of friends the average Facebooker has, and the amount of other friends <i>those</i> friends have, the closed-endedness of it all isn't as noticeable. But it is there. It's like being in the internet equivalent of a large village in Norfolk. That witty retort you posted, no matter how brilliant, will, if you're very lucky, be read by a friend of someone who 'like'd or commented on it, but ninety-nine percent of the time it will end there, if not much sooner. And your desperate attempt to be noticed grinds, as inevitably as ever, to a halt.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hsTuDxtqI7c/S-G6o-7s6GI/AAAAAAAAMbM/rg02DeykPR8/s1600/simpsons+movie+dome.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="166" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hsTuDxtqI7c/S-G6o-7s6GI/AAAAAAAAMbM/rg02DeykPR8/s400/simpsons+movie+dome.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Thanks to the aforementioned 'retweet' function on Twitter, your brilliance can be seen by loads of people, people that neither you nor your friends have ever heard of, and thus the bubble of closed-endedness is popped. <a href="http://twitter.com/WillWivell/status/13239852851">I once asked David Mitchell a question on Twitter</a>, <a href="http://twitter.com/RealDMitchell/statuses/13239935428">and he answered it!</a> That would never have happened on Facebook, because if you're famous and on Facebook, the amount of notifications you are likely to get will probably cause your computer to explode. Well, probably not. I'm not a computer technician.<br />
<br />
So in conclusion, I will <i>not</i> let Twitter post my updates on Facebook; I like my ability to post something on one website and not the other. Some things I come up with suit Twitter more than Facebook, and vice versa. There is no grey area, as far as I can see; they're unique and different to each other. And taking two bright splashes of creative and distinctly original brilliance and mixing them up into some sort of muddy, bastardised 'Twitface' seems a little unfair.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Will Wivellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02210897239039974540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8917786839063360278.post-1334167744291577112010-08-10T23:03:00.000+01:002010-08-10T23:03:29.168+01:00An Update: Not all these blog posts are witty essaysI am proud to announce that the first episode of <i>The Milnesy & Wivell Show</i> has been completed. Now all I need to do is finish trimming the soundtrack of episode two, talk nonsense for the soundtrack of episode three, animate episode two, edit the soundtrack of episode three, and animate episode three. No problem.<br />
Episode one will be released on September, so look out for that, then. Actually, I'll prompt you, so never mind.<br />
<br />
As you were.Will Wivellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02210897239039974540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8917786839063360278.post-46834380919712465352010-08-05T21:43:00.000+01:002010-08-05T21:43:23.386+01:00Bog Blog ...<br />
'Ere!<br />
<br />
I was on the toilet a moment ago, and noticed that the toilet roll was the really cheap kind. My family are not posh people or anything - far from it - but we usually get slightly softer toilet paper; fairly cheap fare, but still quite soft. This stuff wasn't even trying to be soft. I looked at this abomination, this rough, unholy harbinger of seemingly inevitable arse pain, and sighed audibly. This wasn't going to be fun, I thought.<br />
<br />
Well, it turns out that there's nothing to worry about. The difference between the 'quilted' bog rolls and this stuff is simply too minuscule to bother dwelling on. It did the job. I wasn't walking like a sumo wrestler afterwards.<br />
<br />
In fact, my whole view of the scenario changed. My chief comfort-based concern permanently extinguished, I began to <i>admire </i>the cheap toilet paper. Here was a roll of processed tree whose purpose was to wipe arses. It wasn't embarrassing itself by exhibiting the delusions of grandeur that the more expensive brands clearly have. It knew its place, and didn't try to big itself up with adjectives like 'luxury', 'absorbent' or 'three pounds fifty'. Good on it, I say.<br />
<br />
I appreciate that the past few paragraphs have probably baffled you somewhat; yes, it is an unusual topic for a blog post - it's not just you. It was just something that occurred to me, and if it keeps you blog-gogglers sedated for a few more days (or weeks...), then all is dandy and there be nary a quibble.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">CYA L8R</span></b>Will Wivellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02210897239039974540noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8917786839063360278.post-67754859165404162372010-07-27T07:38:00.000+01:002010-07-27T07:38:58.973+01:00Well. Here I am.So, what's happened to me recently?<br />
I'm afraid not a lot has happened to me recently. The Summer Holidays are underway, and I have done precisely <b>nothing </b>since I left those school gates on Friday 16th June. This is the main reason for the lengthy space of time between the last blog post and this one, for which I can only apologise. Alas, I am the type of person that, artistic pastimes aside, does very little of any interest until something of interest comes my way; in other words, I don't go out looking for interesting things to do - I don't actively seek them.<br />
<br />
Well, it just so happens that something of interest - of <i>considerable </i>interest - came my way last night. Well, the night before last, as it is now seven in the morning (yes, insomnia, you win this time) and so the past few hours now officially take the place of Sunday night as being 'last night', so... I'm sorry, I digress. Sunday night. Something of interest came my way. 'Sherlock' came my way; it's the new BBC series, written by Doctor Who's Stephen Moffat and Mark Gatiss, and it's absolutely marvellous. Sherlock Holmes, set in the 21st Century, done magnificently.<br />
Benedict Cumberbatch: a man whose name is only equalled in terms of awesomeness by his acting.<br />
So yes. I'm no television reviewer. Watch it, if you haven't done so already. If you did watch it, watch it again. I did.<br />
<br />
Right. Elsewhere in my memory banks...<br />
Oh! I'm currently animating the first series of <b>The Milnesy & Wivell Show</b>, which is the secondary reason for the aforementioned lengthy space of time between the last blog post and this on; I have been working constantly for the past week - more than is healthy for a typically productive person, let alone my good-for-nothing self - making the most of the lack of school to get as much animating done as possible.<br />
The thing is with animation, the better you do it, the longer it takes. This goes for most things in life; a rushed cake may taste unsatisfactory, or a car made in a hurry might shed its wheels at an inopportune moment and unexpectedly introduce its driver to a nearby wall. Slow and steady wins the race. Good things come to those who wait. And so on, and so forth. I've been animating the M&W Show to quite a high standard of quality (if I do say so myself), and it has therefore dominated my life this past week. I have done loads, though! Episode one is nearly complete, which, for animation, is pretty speedy. So well done me.<br />
Here is a little preview picture for you. Please note that the actual series is in colour - I made the photos in the picture sepia because that's how I roll (anyone who has seen my Facebook profile picture can vouch for that). So sorry if it's misleading in that sense.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc4/hs204.snc4/38532_413465989149_539939149_4731055_475752_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="325" src="http://sphotos.ak.fbcdn.net/hphotos-ak-snc4/hs204.snc4/38532_413465989149_539939149_4731055_475752_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Okey dokey then. Good day.Will Wivellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02210897239039974540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8917786839063360278.post-67193010096067206802010-07-06T20:36:00.000+01:002010-07-06T20:36:15.841+01:00The funny blog entries are back!<i>Hello. </i>I use italics to make my greeting sound dry and edgy. Nyah.<br />
<br />
Right, on with the blog thing. I was asleep a moment ago. Now, I know what you're thinking. You're thinking 'I bet he didn't do much if he was unconscious', and you'd be right. Unless I not only had an amazing dream but am also able to recollect it, how could I turn the concept of having a nap into a narrative worth reading? The answer, dear readers, is I can't. But it padded out the blog a bit, didn't it?<br />
<br />
No, the interesting thing, the thing worth blogging about, happened before I was enveloped by the numbing duvet of slumber. I was laying on the bed (so you can see how close this event was to my falling asleep), and I could hear the self-loving strains of some young American band radiating from my sister's laptop in the other room. She doesn't, in my humblest of opinions, have a very good taste in music. She'll listen to music she likes the sound of (usually awful), but most of the time she'll spend every waking hour listening to tunes that are popular with her friends (usually suicidally awful).<br />
You know the sort. The singer is invariably a bratty girl (that Lavigne lass falls under this category, fans of shit music) or a boy that sounds like he's been kicked so hard in the testicles, they have re-entered his body, are bouncing around in between his internal organs like a couple of <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Super_Ball">Super Balls</a>, and he's singing to keep himself from going mad. They sing about 'love' and 'emotions' and 'miscellaneous hormonal misdemeanours' (I made up that last one for comedic effect, by the way - I'd take my hat off to a group that managed to successfully place 'miscellaneous hormonal misdemeanours' into a song), and some occasionally burst into a tirade of shouting, accompanied by squealing electric guitars and whatnot. I suppose this is what constitutes 'music' nowadays, eh? Hm.<br />
<br />
Anyhoozle, I was <strike>listening to</strike> involuntarily overhearing the music, too tired to do something about it but too awake to immediately evacuate myself to the Land of Nod. And then it happened.<br />
<i>There was a part in one of the myriad of endless droning songs that actually sounded good.</i><br />
It was only brief, mind. Perhaps a line or two. But somehow, the music, the lyrics, and dare I even say it, the <i>voice,</i> seemed to fall into place and fit together into something quite nice. Almost immediately afterwards, naturally, the inanity commenced. But it rattled me somewhat.<br />
<br />
<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">TWO REASONS WHY THIS RATTLED ME</span></div><ol><li>One of the artists on my sister's play list produced a moment of aural professionalism.</li>
<li>I <i>noticed</i> that one of the artists on my sister's play list produced a moment of aural professionalism.</li>
</ol><br />
The second point, despite its numerical status as the secondary point here, is actually the key point, and the point that will drive my narrative further.<br />
If I was just hating my sister's music because it was my sister and it was <i>her</i> music, as I have long suspected, I would have shrugged off that fleeting moment of musical mastery, and thought nothing more of it. But I <i>didn't. </i>I sat up (well, almost) and took note.<br />
I can only conclude from this that I am secretly wanting my sister's music to be good. I am subconsciously listening out, in optimistic hope, for some good sounds to emanate from her speakers.<br />
<br />
Now, not only does this mean that I'm not the stubborn, curmudgeonly bastard I had secretly suspected I was for so long, but also that her music, overall, is genuinely terrible. It's not just me.<br />
<br />
So there!Will Wivellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02210897239039974540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8917786839063360278.post-17350558518193092312010-07-03T12:25:00.000+01:002010-07-03T12:26:25.617+01:00Cursed to a life of aero-apathyIt's the Waddington Air Show today. I'd go, as I have done most years prior, but... meh. Just meh. <br />
I'm not an aircraft buff. All planes look the same to me, and people who can identify a plane by the shape of its nose cone, or whatever, nearly bore me into unconsciousness.<br />
<br />
The only real appeal the Waddington Air Show had, for me, was the challenge of getting in without paying. Every year, my dad and I would devise a brilliant scheme, each one wackier than the last. I don't know why, but it's just lost its novelty now. And I don't give a crap about aircraft, so that was never going to be a redeeming strength of the show to lure me back.<br />
<br />
I assume the Red Arrows will be their, doin' their thang. They practise over my village and have done for as long as I can remember, so they're of no interest to me. Seeing a group of professional aerobats creating a heart out of smoke, and then piercing it with a smoke arrow, is an everyday occurrence to me, which is a bit of a curse. I can't ever appreciate the Red Arrows in the same slack-jawed way the rest of the country can.<br />
Ho hum. Might just slob out today. Or animate. Whatever.<br />
<br />
So sorry, Waddo. No offense, but I think you're boring. And I suspect I always shall.Will Wivellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02210897239039974540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8917786839063360278.post-14937185560850092042010-06-30T00:59:00.000+01:002010-06-30T00:59:53.133+01:00A few words on hypocrisyI was sat in the common room with a group of three other people today, during the uneventful hour I have on Tuesday afternoons prior to catching the school bus. These three were playing <b>Magic: The Gathering</b>, a card game I have never fully understood. I'm sure that if I invested enough time into learning it, I would come to enjoy it as much as any other game, but there are reasons why I opt not to participate in this particular pastime.<br />
<br />
Firstly, there is, quite frankly, a social stigma associated with this card game. I'm not the type of person that desperately tries to fit in with the cool - or even socially-acceptable - crowds, as I respect those that do less than the social 'outsiders', as it were. But to risk whatever amount of social acceptability I currently have, in exchange for a card game with no distinct long-term merits, seems a tad foolish to me.<br />
<br />
Furthermore, I have heard that it is <i>extremely</i> addictive. Once the rules are clear in your head and the game makes sense to you, it's apparently very hard to escape its allure. My Olympian procrastinating abilities mean that I have very little time as it is without such frivolous distractions, thank you very much!<br />
<br />
So I took on the role of barely-conscious spectator, slumped in one of the corners of the square of sofas, glancing optimistically at the seemingly-random collection of cards on the table between fleeting, unavoidable moments of sleep. My mind, being in a perfect situation to do so, started to race.<br />
<br />
For example, there was a theory floating around in my head that made perfect sense to me, but I found it impossible to verbalise it and explain it to other people. To be honest, I'm still not entirely sure I've completely managed to explain it all yet, but I managed to extract something from it that made sense, so that's satisfying. It may be the entire theory in a nutshell - it could be, however, just the tip of the iceberg. It's so wibbly-wobbly in my own head that even <i>I </i>can't be sure.<br />
<br />
My ponderings concern hypocrites, and our tendency to shrug off criticisms, no matter how correct and valuable, if it transpires that they have been made by a hypocrite. As far as I can see, we are a compassionate species overall - if we see something that's wrong, we get the urge to remedy it for the benefit of other people. Sometimes, our remedial urges can contradict past choices we ourselves have made. If these past choices are known to the person we give the advice to, a response akin to 'what do <i>you</i> know?' is likely to conclude the exchange. But surely such a response is demonstrating a blinkered assumption of our mindset!<br />
<br />
The general consensus regarding hypocrites is that they are wrong for offering advice because they can't criticise that which they have done themselves. The only logical conclusion to that consensus is that we think hypocrites are incapable of learning from their mistakes, which is ludicrous. In many situations, I would value the advice of a hypocrite more than that of someone who is basing their advice on secondary information, as opposed to personal experience. A hypocrite <i>knows. </i>They've been there. In many cases, they <i>are </i>there, which may make them an even greater hypocrite but could also give their advice even greater validity.<br />
<br />
When we make mistakes, we immediately start thinking about how to shift the blame. This isn't necessarily a bad trait; it's a form of survival instinct. So when someone comes over and offers advice, we immediately target the 'self-righteous goody-goody', if only in our minds at first, and try to find some sort of acceptable motive to vent our frustration out on them. Hypocrisy is a popular excuse, and should the mistake-maker have any such ammunition against the adviser, it is more than likely that they will open fire.<br />
It's a perfectly human thing to do in moments of weakness, but by cutting down the person giving the advice, we may miss out on a valuable nugget of information that could prevent such mistakes from occurring again.<br />
<br />
So lay off the hypocrites. But just a little bit, mind. Use a bit of judgement in these matters, because some hypocrisy truly outweighs the value of the advice. In these cases, it is advisable to go with your gut and rip 'em a new one (metaphorically speaking...)!<br />
<br />
Tally-ho.Will Wivellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02210897239039974540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8917786839063360278.post-13093193898159666472010-06-18T17:56:00.000+01:002010-06-18T17:56:33.444+01:00Me and my opinions, eh?Old kids' shows weren't as patronising as kids' shows today. Nowadays, everything is much more money-driven. We cut corners all over the place to make a bit of a profit, and unfortunately it shows in this flimsy, blinkered era. Kids' shows are a perfect example of this.<br />
<br />
Instead of boring you with a long rant about my opinions, I have fashioned them into a rather fetching, but moderately unfunny, sketch. Enjoy.<br />
<br />
<blockquote><b>Darren: </b>There's a slot opening up in the CITV schedule, and it's our job to fill it.<br />
<b>Vic: </b>When's the slot?<br />
<b>Darren: </b>Right in the middle of CITV, Vic. Smack bang in the middle.<br />
<b>Vic: </b>If I can do maths - and I can - that's exactly halfway between the middle and the end!<br />
<b>Sandra: </b>Good! Good! So we need a premise. What do kids like?<br />
<b>Darren: </b>Kids like stupid things, mostly. Do we want to do a show about stupid things? Hyperactive nonsense to render them numb with adrenaline?<br />
<b>Vic: </b>If they like it...<br />
<b>Darren: </b>Yeah, I get that, but maybe our purpose isn't just to give the kids what they want. Maybe our goal is to develop them as people, to ensure that the fundamental mindsets of a functional society are secured in their heads.<br />
<b>Vic: </b>I don't like the sound of that.<br />
<b>Sandra: </b>No. A bit 'brainwashy'.<br />
<b>Darren:</b> What? No, no. How about a show about a milkman?<br />
<b>Vic: </b>What's interesting about a milkman?<br />
<b>Darren:</b> What's not interesting about a milkman?<br />
<b>Vic: </b>He's a <i>milkman.</i><br />
<b>Darren: </b>So what? He can be a milkman and be interesting. What would you suggest, then?<br />
<i> </i><b>Vic: </b>I had this idea of a ninja that has the ability to...<br />
<b>Darren: </b>Can I just stop you there, Vic? I appreciate your input, but when do you ever meet a ninja?<br />
<b>Vic: </b>I don't follow.<br />
<b>Darren: </b>Unless the youth of today are going to grow up and become ninjas, I really can't see the merits of a show about ninjas. 'The moral of the story: don't get blood on your balacalava.' A story about a milkman can teach the basics about business, at least.<br />
<b>Sandra: </b>Business is boring, Darren. Kids don't care about business.<br />
<b>Darren: </b>So we should just cater to their every childish whim, and somehow hope that the notion of being good at business will just pop into their heads at some point in the future? 'Mummy, I'm ditching the cartoons and wish to pursue a career in accountancy.' What about social norms? Do ninjas socialise?<br />
<b>Vic: </b>Well, not really. They keep to themselves, as a rule.<br />
<b>Darren: </b>Do we want kids to keep to themselves? I don't think we should promote reclusiveness.<br />
<b>Sandra: </b>This is Mary Whitehouse all over again.<br />
<b>Darren: </b>This isn't Mary Whitehouse! I'm not saying that ninjas are a bad influence. I'm just saying that at such a crucial and formative time in a child's life, ninjas are a pointless influence. We should be making the most of the suggestibility of children to make sure they're fully functioning upstairs! Come on, at least one good show would make the world of difference.<br />
<b>Vic: </b>How about a ninja milkman?<br />
<b>Darren: </b>... Yeah, that'll do.</blockquote><br />
END! THIS IS THE END! STOP READING THIS BECAUSE IT HAS ENDED!Will Wivellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02210897239039974540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8917786839063360278.post-6213069991514244922010-06-07T19:37:00.000+01:002010-06-07T19:37:03.241+01:00Prepare to go 'hmm' in an interested way.I can't sleep, and by fighting it I usually prolong the insomnia because my brain starts working even faster than usual, almost mockingly so, pursuing the sadistic goal of making sure that I can <b>never shut down.</b> As a result, I'm simply going to wait casually for the drowsiness to kick in. This very blog post is my way of wearing out my hyperactive lump of grey matter. The very eloquence of this blog post is an indicator of the sheer fury with which my brain is churning away, thrashing against the walls of my skull, screaming for stimuli.<br />
<br />
I think a <b>fact chain </b>is in order.<br />
Yes. I'm calling them fact chains now.<br />
<blockquote style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">There have been <span style="font-size: large;">24</span> expeditions to the <b>International Space Station</b> (including the current one).</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">An idea for a form of <span style="font-size: large;">escape craft,</span> or 'lifeboat', for the International Space Station, the <b>Crew Return Vehicle</b>, was scrapped when it was decided that the station should just have some emergency docked <b>Soyuz </b>spacecraft.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">The Soyuz spacecraft was originally designed in the <span style="font-size: large;">60s</span> by the <b>Soviet Union</b>, to help in the race to beat the United States to the <b>moon </b>in a manned expedition.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">The word 'Moon' comes from the Latin <span style="font-size: large;"><i>mensis</i>,</span> meaning <b>'month'</b>.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">The idea of months as units of time was devised by the <b>ancient Egyptians</b>.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">The ancient Egyptians prized the blue stone <b>lapis lazuli</b>, and had it imported from <b>Afghanistan</b>.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Afghanistan culture is heavily influenced by <b>Persian poetry</b>.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">One of the most famous pieces of <span style="font-size: large;">persian literature</span>, the epic poem <b>Shahnameh</b>, was written by a chap called<b> Ferdowsi</b>.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Ferdowsi was born in <b>Iran</b>, in a small village of <span style="font-size: large;">Paj,</span> in the year <b>940</b>.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">The <b>High King of Ireland Brian Boru</b> was born in around 940.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Ireland is the <span style="font-size: large;">third largest</span> island in <b>Europe</b>.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">The word 'Europe' may have originated from two <b>Semitic</b> words: the <span style="font-size: large;">Akkadian </span><i><b>erebu </b></i>meaning 'to set', or the <span style="font-size: large;">Phoenican</span> <i><b>ereb</b></i>, meaning 'evening' or 'west', as the <b>Sun </b>sets in the west.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">An average <span style="font-size: large;">solar day</span> on earth is approximately <b>24 hours</b>.</span></blockquote>After the Brian Boru bit, by the way, I fell asleep (hurrah!) and so the rest was done a day later, as was this bit of text that I'm writing now. It feels weird for me to refer to writing this text in the past tense, as it is in the present as I'm typing, but it will be in the past when you read it, so I'm referring to the <i>present</i> as the <i>past</i> to correspond with the inevitable <i>future. </i>Phew. Right. Get it? Got it? Doubt it.<br />
<br />
Bye bye now!Will Wivellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02210897239039974540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8917786839063360278.post-85291867456893865832010-06-06T22:26:00.001+01:002010-06-06T22:26:45.350+01:00<object height="233" width="400"><param name="allowfullscreen" value="true" /><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always" /><param name="movie" value="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=11414505&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=c9ff23&fullscreen=1" /><embed src="http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=11414505&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=c9ff23&fullscreen=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" width="400" height="233"></embed></object><br />
Peter Samuelson, interviewer. 29 April 2010.Will Wivellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02210897239039974540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8917786839063360278.post-52090857477813956732010-05-22T00:06:00.000+01:002010-06-02T14:54:27.499+01:00The Milnesy & Wivell Show<object height="344" width="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/DUiFZZAKP74&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x006699&color2=0x54abd6"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/DUiFZZAKP74&hl=en_US&fs=1&color1=0x006699&color2=0x54abd6" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"></embed></object>Will Wivellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02210897239039974540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8917786839063360278.post-13121417723792517042010-05-09T01:53:00.000+01:002010-05-09T01:53:57.003+01:00The Milnesy & Wivell Show - Coming Soon<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="288" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ME7Mor5ZPDQ/S-YHclbem5I/AAAAAAAAAfQ/DjII_QTtGrs/s400/Ross+et+Will.jpg" width="400" /></div>Will Wivellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02210897239039974540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8917786839063360278.post-12865621452620232942010-05-04T01:48:00.001+01:002010-05-04T01:48:14.316+01:00In summary: I need to get my act together.I'm blessed with having a four day weekend. Monday is a May Day bank holiday, and Tuesday is some special teacher assessment thing, I think. So I go back on Wednesday, which is pretty cool. However, my brain can't really cope with this mini-school holiday.<br />
<br />
I have two general levels of industriousness - school level, which is the type I have at any time other than school holidays; and school holiday level, which is the type I have during the school holidays. The latter is significantly lesser than the former, but there is little mental plasticity available when I encounter a situation that requires a level of industriousness halfway between school and school holiday.<br />
I encounter an extended weekend, and the lazy side of me overrides the responsible, hard-working side. My brain officially switches to school holiday mode, which means that my mind is preparing for a period of rest much longer than the period allotted.<br />
<br />
It is now the small hours of Tuesday morning, so I have just entered the final quarter of the weekend - but God help me! I'm stranded in the mindset of a school holiday-goer, and as a result I haven't got any work done!<br />
I'm just going to have to find some other time to cross off all the things on my to-do list, because I have literally done <i>nothing</i> since last Friday.<br />
<br />
So that's my confession. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned, etc, etc.<br />
<br />
Bye bye, now.Will Wivellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02210897239039974540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8917786839063360278.post-63269195926653759852010-05-01T01:22:00.000+01:002010-05-01T01:24:11.497+01:00BRIAN BLOODY BLESSED!I'm going to intersperse this blog with more anecdotes, little stories and musings about my day. It seems more like the kind of thing that should be in a blog; my entries tend to read more like a column in <i>The Guardian</i> or something. Not that I'm complaining about that - I'll still do those on occasion - but I feel that I should make this blog a bit more personal, a bit more up-to-date and relevant to recent occurances in my own life.<br />
<br />
For example, today I was at school, and there was a two-hour period where I didn't have any lessons. I was sat in the common room, getting slightly bored. So I got the old laptop out, and mow me down and call me a haystack if I didn't find what I believe the youngsters today call an 'internet gem' on the BBC website.<br />
<br />
Five words, people, five words. Well, four words and a number. Well, four words and a Roman numeral.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/comedy/extra/video/p0057y3n">BRIAN BLESSED AS HENRY VIII.</a><br />
<br />
Yes. Yes yes yes yes yes fucking yes. Yes.<br />
Yes.<br />
Just... yes.<br />
And then I played the video, and my excitement was magnified further. It is just marvellous. It is essentially an excuse to film BRIAN BLESSED hamming it up, shouting and acting like a bearded child, and because it's BRIAN BLESSED, of course it's the epitome of magnificence.<br />
<br />
Oh, just go and watch it. Now. Bye.Will Wivellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02210897239039974540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8917786839063360278.post-3900476144995313012010-04-30T09:11:00.000+01:002010-04-30T09:12:49.149+01:00This Is A Poem<div style="text-align: center;">I’m going to write a poem</div><div style="text-align: center;">I’m going to make it snappy</div><div style="text-align: center;">It’s going to be a jolly jape</div><div style="text-align: center;">That makes its readers happy.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I always start with short lines</div><div style="text-align: center;">They’re better – it’s been tested,</div><div style="text-align: center;">And an ABCB rhyme scheme</div><div style="text-align: center;">To keep them interested.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">And then I make lines longer</div><div style="text-align: center;">And the rhyming becomes stronger</div><div style="text-align: center;">And they hunger for a pause</div><div style="text-align: center;">Of course I’ll punctuate the verse</div><div style="text-align: center;">But first, the verse idea has got to go</div><div style="text-align: center;">For this, dear reader, is harder and deeper</div><div style="text-align: center;">And verses are needed no more.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Furthermore, the lack of a split</div><div style="text-align: center;">Is a handy addition; it helps me to fit</div><div style="text-align: center;">More of it on the page, which is really</div><div style="text-align: center;">Really good.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Especially if you’re going to print it out.</div><div style="text-align: center;">In fact, you could say that I’ve done you a favour</div><div style="text-align: center;">I’ve given you one more spare piece of printer paper</div><div style="text-align: center;">Than I would have done had I continued</div><div style="text-align: center;">With the stanza break</div><div style="text-align: center;">But those are minor logistical technicalities</div><div style="text-align: center;">That don’t really require elaboration</div><div style="text-align: center;">In fact, it doesn’t really have any place</div><div style="text-align: center;">In this poem</div><div style="text-align: center;">But I thought it looked quirky</div><div style="text-align: center;">And professional</div><div style="text-align: center;">To include enjambment</div><div style="text-align: center;">At random</div><div style="text-align: center;">Intervals. And the illusion</div><div style="text-align: center;">Of a train of thought</div><div style="text-align: center;">That this poem resembles</div><div style="text-align: center;">Works better when the text</div><div style="text-align: center;">Isn’t broken up by stanzas</div><div style="text-align: center;">But it could be argued</div><div style="text-align: center;">That I’m just not trying any more</div><div style="text-align: center;">And I’m just typing words</div><div style="text-align: center;">Which poses</div><div style="text-align: center;">The question</div><div style="text-align: center;">At what point does intelligent</div><div style="text-align: center;">Esperimental poetry</div><div style="text-align: center;">Become structureless</div><div style="text-align: center;">Pointless</div><div style="text-align: center;">Drivel?</div>Will Wivellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02210897239039974540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8917786839063360278.post-37485379270829183102010-04-24T22:13:00.000+01:002010-04-24T22:13:55.585+01:00Ramblin'Now, I'm not a raving, chemical-toilet kicking environmentalist or anything, but I do think that those who say that the Earth is 'part of us' have a point. A good one, at that; in this incredibly technology-dependent age, everything boils down to the effective transferral of information. In this sense, we rely quite heavily on the Earth. Right down to the words we use.<br />
<br />
Right, let's imagine the unimaginable. We knacker the planet. I mean, properly bugger up. And not only do we have to evacuate (if we <i>can</i>), but the actual planet itself is destroyed somehow (I'm no scientist, but I'm sure you can find some crazed boffin with a theory so complicated and intelligent-sounding that it's completely watertight against the moronic, uninformed arguments we dribble in cynicism, about how our blatant disregard for our planet could indirectly make it explode). The planet Earth, third planet from the Sun, sixth from Pluto, ninety-seven thousandth from The Almighty Lord Our Capitalised Creator, is gone. Completely and utterly. And the thought of our lost home sends us into spirals of depression.<br />
<br />
Say we manage to restore the internet, wherever we end up - after all, it has become the backbone of modern society. What do we replace 'www' with? The first 'w' doesn't quite seem right. Sure, 'world' doesn't specifically mean 'Earth', but that's what you think of when you hear the word, isn't it? We won't want to hear the word 'world' all the time, because it will remind us of <i>the incident. </i>So <i>that </i>will have to go. I expect they would replace it with another word that has been known to have the suffix '-wide'.<br />
All I can think of is 'nationwide'. The Nation Wide Web. I'll be honest, that sounds crap. Besides the point that it only refers to one group of people at any given time, it needs three identical letters; hence, 'www' worked. It was almost catchy. Well, as catchy as an acronym can be without spelling out BOLLOCKS (how about 'the Battalion Of the Loving and Listening Omnipresent, Creationist Killing Supermen', which certainly lives up to its acronym).<br />
Furthermore, whatever word replaces 'net' in order to make the acronym consist of the same three letters should be roughly synonymous with the meaning of the original word. 'Net' was used to describe the mass of signals, criss-crossing all over, from lots and lots of different computers, like a web (hence 'web' - duh). So it should be some sort of complicated, intricate construction, preferably from the natural world.<br />
So the template is:<br />
<blockquote>1. A word to represent humanity as a whole, possibly in the possessive if we're going to be intergalactically social in the future<br />
2. A word to demonstrate the sheer scale of the internet. The internet wasn't that big when the terminology was coined, so 'wide' initially sufficed. The destruction of the planet Earth would be a good chance to update the term to suit the massiveness of the modern internet (which, by the way, will be <i>even bigger</i> in the future).<br />
3. A word to replace 'web' (see above paragraph).</blockquote>Here's my idea.<br />
'Humanity's Humongous Hive'.<br />
<br />
There you go. Food for thought there.<br />
Bye bye.Will Wivellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02210897239039974540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8917786839063360278.post-54556058359039746912010-04-18T03:07:00.000+01:002010-04-18T03:09:21.785+01:00Late Night Blogging<a href="http://milnesy4000.blogspot.com/">Mister Ross Milnes</a> and I have started work on a new project. It's basically like a podcast, but animated, and it's a blatant rip-off of the Ricky Gervais Show.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><b>On an unrelated note, here is a picture of a thinly-disguised plug.</b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ME7Mor5ZPDQ/S8ponRnCZ0I/AAAAAAAAAe4/rAnJYoV8V3E/s1600/Thinly-disguised+plug.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ME7Mor5ZPDQ/S8ponRnCZ0I/AAAAAAAAAe4/rAnJYoV8V3E/s320/Thinly-disguised+plug.bmp" /></a></div>I honestly think this project will go somewhere. I have so many other projects that I have shelved over the years, because my dedication to an idea rarely exceeds past a weekend.<br />
<br />
There's my homage to Dr Seuss: <i>'Who's the Greatest Pie-Eater?' Asks Poom-Pa-Nom Peter</i>, a story I finished writing, but stopped illustrating six months ago, five percent of the way through; a portrait commissioned by two friends (on the rare chance that at least one of the two people reads this <i>and</i> knows that this deliberately-vague mention is directed at them, I am so sorry for not getting it done - I'll try to get myself to continue it) and countless other animations that I simply don't have the drive to continue. I think there must be this constant, underlying depression, droning on in the very back of my mind about how pointless these projects are but frustratingly capable of controlling my motivations.<br />
<br />
However, I'm really enjoying making this cartoon, so I'm optimistic (I'm currently at my mum's, away from my home computer and my animating software, and I'm getting withdrawal symptoms).<br />
<br />
On a similar vein, I'm terribly sorry about the tent, Sam. One parent is a dithering idiot (it seems to be hereditary) and the other is constantly busy, so I haven't had the chance to rein one in and force them to take me to your place of residence for retrieval.<br />
If you're not Sam, you won't understand that last bit. Well sucks to be you, and not Sam, then, doesn't it?<br />
<br />
Anyway, I must go now because my back hurts. The only place I can currently get an internet connection is on my mother's kitchen window-sill, so I'm currently sat on the draining board, my back twisted ninety degrees to the left. I think my ribcage is squishing one of my kidneys. And I like my kidney. So bye.Will Wivellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02210897239039974540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8917786839063360278.post-77421175343996514972010-04-16T00:34:00.000+01:002010-04-16T00:34:45.011+01:00A JibJab VideoI found this a couple of hours ago. You can customise the videos with your own photos, and it's brilliant.<br />
<br />
<div style="background-color: #e9e9e9; width: 425px;"><object data="http://aka.zero.jibjab.com/client/zero/ClientZero_EmbedViewer.swf?external_make_id=SgxbvbMnL1QLF53a&service=sendables.jibjab.com&partnerID=JibJab" height="319" id="A64060" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" quality="high" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" wmode="transparent"><param name='wmode' value='transparent'></param><param name='movie' value='http://aka.zero.jibjab.com/client/zero/ClientZero_EmbedViewer.swf?external_make_id=SgxbvbMnL1QLF53a&service=sendables.jibjab.com&partnerID=JibJab'></param><param name='scaleMode' value='showAll'></param><param name='quality' value='high'></param><param name='allowNetworking' value='all'></param><param name='allowFullScreen' value='true' /><param name='FlashVars' value='external_make_id=SgxbvbMnL1QLF53a&service=sendables.jibjab.com&partnerID=JibJab'></param><param name='allowScriptAccess' value='always'></param></object><br />
<div style="margin-top: 6px; text-align: center; width: 435px;">Personalize funny videos and birthday <a href="http://sendables.jibjab.com/ecards">eCards</a> at JibJab!</div></div>Will Wivellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02210897239039974540noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8917786839063360278.post-88988279835158441252010-04-09T22:03:00.000+01:002010-04-09T22:03:48.658+01:00A downright pedantic little whingeRight.<br />
I was perusing Google Maps, gettin' my Street View on, when I noticed something about the KFC sign on Nettleham Road, in Lincoln.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ME7Mor5ZPDQ/S7-Ty-9zn_I/AAAAAAAAAeo/kPVuVVNiZT0/s1600/KFC+blurred+by+Street+View.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ME7Mor5ZPDQ/S7-Ty-9zn_I/AAAAAAAAAeo/kPVuVVNiZT0/s200/KFC+blurred+by+Street+View.bmp" width="112" /></a></div>As you can see from this picture, the face of Colonel Sanders is obscured. Now, this seems reasonable - there is clearly a piece of software used by Google to identify faces (and car number plates) and obscure them to retain the anonymity of whoever happened to get snapped by the Street View camera. This software recognised the KFC sign as a face and blurred it. Fine. I totally get that.<br />
<br />
But then I took a look from the <i>other</i> side, the north-facing side of the sign. For some reason, the software decided not to blur the good colonel this time.<br />
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ME7Mor5ZPDQ/S7-UKzU7KnI/AAAAAAAAAew/oBCzRf0Ez6k/s1600/KFC+not+blurred+by+Street+View.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ME7Mor5ZPDQ/S7-UKzU7KnI/AAAAAAAAAew/oBCzRf0Ez6k/s200/KFC+not+blurred+by+Street+View.bmp" width="165" /></a>Taking this, and the similar signs in the background, into account, one can only assume that the software opts not to blur your face if you're a posterised southern colonel who is facing north.<br />
<br />
So cover your face in talcum powder, put on a pair of glasses and a fake moustache, face Scotland and say 'cheese'!Will Wivellhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02210897239039974540noreply@blogger.com0