Turning pro in less than 362 days!

Hopefully turning pro in less than six thousand three hundred and eighty nine days!

Saturday, 21 April 2012

Bad Religion

Have you noticed how hard it is to maintain a life in which nothing happens?

I've tried very hard lately to make that happen, but every time something comes along to kick me out of my snug little blanket. Usually, it's been my mum "Garth, get out of your flat and do something, before you go blind". Most of the times she says this I'm not actually masturbating (I hear her coming up the stairs), but I appreciate her sentiment.

Nature, the universe, the interaction of simple systems to make a dynamic matrix of unimaginable complexity is something beyond all our control. Unless your middle name is Yahweh, of course. But then, if you were God, and you understood all this,and you were aware of the hydrogen atoms fusing into helium on a star a billion billion light years away from the Milky Way galaxy, and gold shooting out of a supernova at 30,000m/s somewhere near Andromeda, would you really give a shit when some little twerp on an insignificant planet, called Earth by a fraction of its inhabitants, asked you if you could make sure his mum always wore clogs?

I can understand an elite athlete like Lionel Messi or Vinny Testeverde making the sign of the cross and looking up into the heavens, "Thanks oh Lord, for your blessing again this day." If you've just scored your thirteenth consecutive hattrick, or thrown a 56 yard Hail Mary for the superbowl then you're going to feel special, like the lord has reserved a place for you. You're not going to feel like a statistic, a probability, the acme of the process of natural selection, the fittest to survive that challenge, the culmination of the genotypic and phenotypic expression required for that particular discipline.

Lionel, if you're reading this, which you probably won't want to after losing in El Clasico, you need to give yourself and your trainers a pat on the back. You did it! You had a head start. Genetically you are predisposed towards success, but you still had to earn it. Lots of twats fell by the wayside, maybe a couple of which could've been better than you. Maybe I was one of these, I suspect it every time I recall that through ball against St Leonard's under nines. Bernie Cooper, the little prick, was too busy arguing with their left back to get on the end of it, and my destiny was changed forever. 

When Fabrice Muamba collapsed on the pitch a while back I remember the girlfriend at the time saying 'keep your prayers coming, they're keeping him alive', I couldn't help but think, 'actually, it's a state of the art hospital and some unbelievably dedicated people, working from the moment he collapsed, that have been keeping him alive, and that whilst faith is an admirable trait that can keep people going, it detracts from the real heroes and denies them the credit they deserve.'

I really don't know what we're going to do on a planet inhabited by seven billion when people start to realise that the solace they gain from religion is a lie designed to placate them, that they have been fobbed off with the promise of paradise in the afterlife to appease the fact that they are an inconsequential workhorse in this one.

Two options. Internet and ipods in every house as a like for like replacement, or we conquer complexity and make causality predictive. Maybe we will take that aspect of godhood and give it a human face.

That last sentence didn't really mean anything, but it did sound profound so I left it in.

Monday, 16 April 2012

Movie Review - Limitless

I realise this is a bit late, but I was thinking about this movie the other day, so thought I'd write about it.

For those who haven't seen it, the basic premise is that Bradley Cooper is a scruffy haired writer who is such a lazy, meandering prick, a semi-on if you like, that he's fucking up this book deal he's got. Oh, and his girlfriend's had enough of him and his shitness so she's walked. Then he runs into this drug dealer, played by Dr Octopus's son - oh no, it's not him, it's someone else, bloody hell, he looks a lot like him. Anyway, this dealer asks him if he wants to try this new nootropic drug which will allow him to access all 100% of his brain's potential power. 

I know what you're thinking - 100%? wow, but don't we all do that anyway, right? Yes we do, this particular myth was busted before the last castrato lost his knackers, but, hey, go along with it.

Bradley says yes, he'll take it.What a transformation. Suddenly his unkempt ponytail is neat and precise and his eyes become a piercing blue. I'm really not sure about the scientific viability of eye hue changing, and as for the hair -anyone heard of Einstein? That guy was about as close to the fully actualized human as we've yet achieved and did he brush his hair meticulously? Course he fucking didn't - he had much more important shit  to do, like work out how the universe works.

So, to what does our Brad direct his newly found powers? To solve the most fiendish conundrums of the scientific world? To write the most incredible poetry, books and music? To advance human consciousness through the development of a new social system?

No.

He figures out patterns on the stock market and makes a shit load of cash, which makes him some powerful enemies, a cat and mouse chase ensues etc, yawn.

Now, am I the only cunt around who thinks this a little sad? When this plot point came around I took a look around the cinema and thought, why is everyone buying this? That if you suddenly possess the greatest brain in history, then naturally your priority will be to make as much doe as possible. It's a fucking sad indictment on humanity that people watching weren't standing up and shouting at the screen "give us something that doesn't revolve around the worship of cash you movie making wankers!"

Hey ho.