Empty Cage

This entry has nothing to do with reading, I’m almost done number four, but I don’t want my blog to be all book reviews (especially since I haven’t really gotten the hang of how to write a good review).

Does anyone remember MySpace? (Ha ha, internet snob joke). I have one, I’m serious, I don’t really “use it” (because very few honestly claim they still use their myspace) I do find it interesting that I have 41 friends on myspace and 281 on Facebook, which do YOU think is closer to the truth. But as I recall my myspace always had the default layout because I couldn’t be arsed to write a whole entire style sheet for one. (Oh, the horror, I know).

Anyways, my wonderful friend Sean, who is a brilliant guitarist has asked me to redesign his HisSpace… MySpace ish (http://myspace.com/hucksfin). And I’m just now trying to learn how to work this system. I mean it used to be retina scalding blue with a MS Paint banner, so I can’t do worse than that… but there are slight differences that are holding up the creative process. And I feel terrible because I really want this to look great for Sean. I’ve been thinking something in warm colours like brown and taupe, but I’m kind of just making this up. At any rate, I’d advice you to listen to his tunes, they’re great — not so much my style, but Sean and I have agreed to disagree on our music tastes. Like myself and Andrew, we like all the same bands but all opposite tracks.

In other news, I’m almost ready go face redesigning Empty Cage, and stop hiding behind Amber and the nice people at skindownloadland. Amber’s layout was way nicer than this one, but I’ve suddenly fallen in love with lighter layouts, and wanted EC to be bright for a bit. I’ve been reading a lot about webdesign the past little while because I’ve been wanting to evolve how all my websites look. I mean, comparing In Flames to Valour pretty much says it all for my web transformation.

The plan is that Empty Cage will become almost exclusively blog, hub, and personal details (with maybe some writing and stuff — but I have a fiction press account and a deviant art account that I can use for that…).  Let’s face it, what more was EC ever, really? My guides are entirely too smarmy to be much worth anything. And really, the blog is the only part I ever feel like updating. I hope to have http://27.empty-cage.net up soon for a small portfolio to show the people mum throws at me when they want a website designed. I want the root of the domain to be for me, but showing off the whining in my blog might be bad for business. Plus I’d feel like a twit sticking prices on here, given I am asses at webdesign compared to most of my friends — the only advantage I have is a good manager.

I hope to add more character Fansites to Empty Cage, and I think my next major project is Loyalties (the Regulus Black Fanlisting) while I polish off the Inuyasha manga at One Manga so Cursed can be properly done, and finish the Sailor Moon SNES game so I can finish that page for In Flames. Reducing EC to minimums gives me the time to focus on all my other pages that need some loving. I think one day I’d love to create a ‘full domain manager thing’ where the premise would be like wordpress but it can also create and manage all your subdomains. So, one log in panel and I can tweak a page on any site. Something like this probably already exists, but I’ve never seen it.

I’m getting back into my C++ again (which isn’t helpful for websites, but I enjoy it) because I was a master of things that never got out of the console, but, what I want to learn is programming in windows. I’m told PHP is a lot like C++ so maybe I can translate some of my skills into script writing. I’m not confident writing for the web though I’d fail and my script would get hacked and the interwebz would hate me. Seriously.

I’m also reading Calculus for Dummies, I’ve never taken Calculus before but for my Computer Science minor I have this phobia of everyone else being a calculus genius, and the best I can pull out of my arse being 1+1=5. Calculus I is not a required course, but I’m thinking about taking it anyways. Calculus, C++, 75 books, doesn’t my summer look fun? And I haven’t even found a job yet.

I think for once I’m going to finish a blog entry in its own time, I’m not distracted or just bored of writing, so yay me! Dad got a new monitor while I was at school and its one of those massively huge flat panel ones. Love it as I do it makes everything look small, and when I design on it I feel like I should fill it, which is such a bad idea. But it is very pretty, and I can see everything.

Anyways, I’m going to go read, and then maybe play some guitar!

This entry is going to be short, because I’m tired and don’t have much to say about this book really. It’s number three of the S75, and one I’ve been reading intermittantly for the past few days.

If nothing else I am reminded that Scott Adams (creator of Dilbert) is not only probably insane, but that I agree with him enough that I am also probably insane. I definately laughed out loud and would reccomend this book to anyone looking for a good laugh. At times he tries to get serious, which throw the pacing off a little bit, but I guess it may be a bit soul destroying to be ‘all funny all the time’

Now for the review of my second book for the S75, Geektastic. While I admit that I have been going quite slowly I hope to pick things up from here on out.

The book Geektastic is a compilation of stories about — you guessed it — Geeks. And if nothing else the book captures the pure essence of what a geek really is. Almost all of the stories ring embarassingly true stopping just shy of the insecurity point. I think I might have cringed at the LARP part just a little bit because that was ‘too nerdy’ even for me. If nothing else Geektastic is a great reassurance that you aren’t alone in your fanaticism. And that other people do love the crazy things you do.

I think my biggest problem with the book was most of the stories followed pretty much the same formula the nerd had his/her day, got the guy/girl and all lived happily ever after. It’s like going to what promises to be a great potluck party, and having everyone only bring coleslaw. I mean the party’s still there, you are just forced to wonder why no one called ahead to make sure not everyone was bringing the same thing. I mean, I guess if you’re writing for the Geek niche having a geek fail and then get hit by a bus would probably not help your readership.

Another thing that caught my eye was Libba Bray’s story. (Don’t get me wrong on this I am a huge fangirl of her Gemma Doyle trilogy and am waiting on the edge of my seat for anything else she ever writes). It was spectacular of course, and came as close as any of them came to being really meaty and gritty but… put beside all the other stories well, it stood out as being geared towards a much older audience. It was pretty surreal, the other stories about high school bullying and Libba’s involving underage sex. All of which was fine with me but it doesn’t fit. Either the other stories needed to step it up a notch, or Libba needed to tone it down.

There are also some notable nerdities missing, no gamers except MMORPGs and no anime and manga which I found particularly odd in a book about nerds.

If nothing else you have to read this book if you’re a nerd because they ‘nail it’. The feelings you’ve had, the situations you’ve been in, generally speaking you’ll find at least one story you’ll relate to. Inversely, if nerdy things are not your thing I’d probably say give it a pass.

Up next 69!

Choose us. Choose life. Choose mortgage payments; choose washing machines; choose cars; choose sitting oan a couch watching mind-numbing and spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fuckin junk food intae yir mouth. Choose rotting away, pishing and shiteing yersel in a home, a total fuckin embarrassment tae the selfish, fucked-up brats ye’ve spawned to replace yourself. Choose life.

The first book of the summer seventy five is Irvine Welsh’s Trainspotting. A book about drug culture in Edinburgh.

Trainspotting was an obvious first choice for me, though I have yet to decide if I liked it or not. Maybe when I’m not marathoning I’ll take the time to read it again. I’ve been told time and time again that I will love the movie that is based off this book because it’s ‘weird’ and, well, if nothing else it is that written exclusively in the Scottish vernacular it became very endearing very quickly. It is conversational and confessional in nature and so reading it is more like being privvy to a conversation than reading a book.

It can, however, be a bit rocky to read. It certainly adds to the effect of the novel. You generally feel as disoriented as the junkie who you happen to be following, written in quick vignettes. You’ll occasionally be at a loss for who you happen to be following in the malestrom of Scots. I half wish I could ask an actual Scot who has read the novel if it is more comprehensible. The novel is endlessly impactful, constantly punching a huge windhole where you thought you might have had guts at one point.

Do I recommend it? Well, I think its a patient read, one that you need to want to read. If you’re willing to hack through the slang, drugs, sex, and cursing there is something undeniably unbreakable about the book. You read it and realise that depravity is in the eye of the beholder. The message is there should you care enough to dig it out.

For me there is of course the added appeal of it being set in Edinburgh, where I lived a few months. You recognize place names and just wish you were back there.

Whether you chose to read it or not you cannot deny the attachment of the novel to the indulging of your wicked side.

This summer, I have decided that I am going to read seventy-five new books. I know that’s not much of a big deal, considering I love reading, but in recent years my interest seems to have waned a bit (oh, god, don’t tell my mother). This is mostly due to the fact that I’ve been trying to learn and do new things, and reading brings be back to that really antisocial pocket of life where I had no friends. But the two can be married!

I hope to write a short review for each of the summer seventy-five here, just to keep my writing brain going as well as my reading one. I want to get out a few chapters for a few of the stories I’m writing. Do less random forum writing, and more practical stuff.

Obviously I want to keep up my website design here too.

Anyways, I thought once I wrote that in my blog I’d actually do it. So, Summer Seventy-Five kicking off with Trainspotting by Irvine Welsh. Any reccomendations for books as offered by you, the internet, will be taken into consideration.

I always write my reviews for things long after I’ve read, listened to or watched them. Which is always a shame, because I think something is lost, all those gritty details that let me shell shocked at the time slipping through my fingers. But I want to start writing reviews for the books I’ve read and American Psycho was the last book that scarred me enough to write a review on it.

Abandon all hope ye who enter here.

An opening line fit both for American Psycho, and incidentally the gates of hell. American Psycho is not a book written for the faint of heart, but on the other hand I would be genuinely frightened to meet a person who wasn’t at least slightly repulsed by it. Even myself, an openly desensitized jackass, had to admit it was unnerving to the point where you just have to put it down for a moment and let your brain cool off.

The book is about a serial killer. Though, not your average foaming at the mouth sort of serial killer. Patrick Bateman is always cool, calm, and collected in public, though for probably no other reason than the fact that he is completely mad. A well off yuppie who the world has made so cold that violent executions do not seem to touch him at all.

I think the most effective part of the book is how meticulous it is. Ellis paces the story in a way that you really get into Patrick’s head as he itemizes people based on how expensive their attire is. It demonstrates amazingly well how inhuman he sees them. Perhaps, however, it is not that he sees them as inhuman, but himself as above human. At one point Patrick soliloquizes:

“I had all the characteristics of a human being—flesh, blood, skin, hair—but my depersonalization was so intense, had gone so deep, that my normal ability to feel compassion had been eradicated, the victim of a slow, purposeful erasure. I was simply imitating reality, a rough resemblance of a human being, with only a dim corner of my mind functioning”

This insight of Bateman’s perhaps tells more of the story than his gruesome attacks ever could. He simply cannot feel. This is what adds much more interest to the end of the book. (If you have not read American Psycho, and plan on eventually reading it, skip the next paragraph).

It is when Patrick starts to question his own honesty, and if he has really committed the crimes that he starts to get concerned. It is not that he is worried about whether or not his victims have died, but rather if finally his sanity is giving out. And how breathtakingly honest this is. We don’t care about other people, only ourselves.

All in all, I would be hesitant to lend American Psycho to some people due to the graphic content. But in all honesty if you can get past that this is one hell of a book.

I have not written in ages, mostly because this weekend about a hundred things apeared out of nowhere and tackled me with the fury of a raging… Heelan Coo. (Scottish Joke… go google, but interestingly enough, not wikipedia that.) I have moved rooms twice this weekend.

First of all, for your classic teenage girl (still 19, suckers) rant, I am here to say I quite dislike men. Seriously. I was in the kitchen minding my own sweet business without a care in the world (besides money, but let’s pretend that doesn’t count), and likely whistling off key (Yes, the Kill Bill song!) when some guy comes in. This is not at all uncommon as the kitchen is public, however, I am in the small out of the way kitchen that few people frequent, so, I do what anyone would do in my half-starved situation grunt something that may or may not have resembled ‘Hello’ and carry on my merry little way. He starts conversation and I reply in monosyllables which I am known to do when tired, hungry or both. A few minutes later a couple come in, I’m stuffing my face gracelessly, and so I give my introduction as I’m feeling a bit less half-starved and deranged. Turns out they are from Quebec, and the first guy is from Brazil (and before anyone gets these visions of some tanned football player, no, pasty white geek) the four of us chat, before a fifth, an American joins our little party, thus finishing the ‘other side of the pond’ gang. We talk for ages about whatever strikes our fancy, until about 1 o’clock (in the AM) when the French Canadians go to sleep as they have an early departure. Ryan, our American friend also floats off to get some sleep, and I decide to walk down to the castle that evening, just because it is awe inspiring at night. Brazil asks to come with, I size him up and determine in a fight that I would win, and therefore agree.

Once we get to the castle I show him one of the best views of the city as well as the armed guard, he, as expected gets very… in my face. I give him an elegant shove and just say ‘No thank you.’ and think ‘I will sic Andrew on you SO BAD!’ because even if we aren’t dating Andrew will still crush people for me. I’m sure. So, I storm back to the hostel and he follows me apologizing. No dice thinks I. I know he is leaving the next day, so I lock my doors and sleep easy. The next morning I am due to move downstairs to a six bed all girl’s dorm, which is made of win, because it isn’t so awkward going to sleep and wondering which guy in your room is going to attack you. After my move I talk to dad on the phone for awhile, and decide in due time to go get some groceries because for the past few days I had been eating ‘anything I had in the fridge that was about to expire’ I really am a student eater now. Anyways, who is in my kitchen but Brazil guy, he tries to talk to me, but anyone who knows what it’s like talking to me when I’m feeling obstinate knows that was akin to talking to a brick wall with a frowning face painted upon it. I return to my room, my new room, and at this point have met a few room mates, one answers the door, and guess who it is.

He needs to check out and wants to leave his iPod in here rather than in storage with the rest of his luggage, and then asks beyond the room mate at the door if I can show him where Cowgate is. Knowing Cowgate is a crowded street at the best of times and if he tries anything funny all the hungover Uni kids will jump him I agree. I walk him down to Cowgate and turn to leave and he asks if I’ll stick with him for awhile because he doesn’t know where anything is in the city. Feeling safer during the day and having no real excuse to speak of I miserably agree. By the time we have reached the castle (for the second time and during the day) I have had enough (I have this unnatural thing against guys being gentlemen and asking to hold my coat and paying for me and stuff, which is really stupid…) and make the usual ‘feeling really sick’ excuse and jog back to the hostel and lock myself in my room. Only to remember his iPod is still there. Exuse the language but this was all I could think “Ah, fuck.”

Fortunately, I was saved by my room mate Jill from Ottawa! (Billowing cape not included) Who invited me to go on a ghost walk with her. I quickly agreed and off we went, I unceremoniously dropped the iPod off at reception saying some guy from Brazil had left it in my room. I would never see Brazil Guy again, he seemed so upset when I left him up at the castle part 2 but by that time my Care-O-Metre was down in the negative numbers.

The ghost walk was amazingly awesome though! Well, it was a bit short, but I got to go into the Covenanter’s Prison which was cool. For those who like to have a bit of background, the Covenanters emerged around the time, I think, of Charles II though you probably shouldn’t quote me on that. Essentially what happened was they were not happy about the idea of the King being the head of their religion so they signed a pact with god (I will avoid making atheistic references here about gods and holding pens). The King was none-too-happy as you can imagine, so the covenanters were put into a prison which is credited as the world’s first concentration camp by the Scots. The prison was overseen by the King’s Advocate George Mackenzie — Bloody, or, to be really Scottish about it, Bluidy Mackenzie. Any ways, apparently Mackenzie still haunts the prison, and there have been ‘no fewer than 300 attacks’ says the brochure. I saw no paranormal activity, however I did throughly enjoy seeing the inside of the prison. I’m such a nonbeliever it hurts, I’d love to be able to do more research there and see it during the day. Alas, it is locked to everyone except the tour I was on.

The next day, after being assured the iPod was gone, I was moved back into a mixed dorm where I am right now. (Not something I am happy about) Jill invited me on a free walking tour, it being a bank holiday and having nothing better to do I go with her, the free tour is three hours which is amazing (the one I paid for being 1.5 hours) it gave me a good once over of the main sights of the city. On the tour we met a guy from Toronto who was studying in Paris but in Scotland for the 3 day weekend. After the tour, and wandering the Prince’s Street Gardens, followed by Prince’s Street, then the very same hill where I witnessed my first pagan festival the ‘bad idea’ was borne. We left the hill on the wrong side and came upon Holyrood House (The Queen’s Residence in Scotland) which is very close to Arthur’s Seat. I had to meet someone (Mrs. Ross the great aunt of the Lindsay kids) at 5. At a leisurely pace I imagine walking Arthur’s Seat would have been lovely, but, as I said to my companions who were throwing themselves up the hill ‘This reminds me of Gym Class!’ The view was stunning at the top, but I was too busy staring at my watch in horror.

After gracelessly making our way down the hill and me all but flying back to the hostel to change and get ready to visit Mrs. Ross. That that it mattered. I was pointed in the wrong direction leaving the hostel and pretty much saw all there is to see of South Edinburgh. Dinner with Mrs. Ross was nice, but I felt very uninteresting. ‘Yes, uhm, so, I’m Caitlin, and I’m from Canada. Nice, uhm, country you have here.’ Regardless she lent me a beautiful copy of one of Sartre’s earlier writings which I am salivating over.

So that was my eventful weekend in all of it’s glory. I did not slow down the whole time, I hardly remember my name anymore. Of course, the next question is what I am going to do next. You see, I am now at a crossroads at this trip.

It should be blatantly obvious by now that I have had heaps of trouble finding a job here for whatever reason. Everyone seems to be ignoring me, which makes me pretty much furious, and the money is (as expected) running low. My original return ticket is set for something in the middle of June, I had orginally planned to push that back into July, however, I have a few reasons why it would make sense for me to keep it where it is, and now I’m not quite sure what to do. So far the plan is looking like this, if I get a solid job to fill my next three months until the end of July then I will stay here, if, by the end of the week I don’t have a job I will take every cent that I have fly to somewhere in northern Europe and travel my way down to Italy, have no money left in the bank and start working as soon as I get back. I would also get my G2 and take my grade 12 math credit if I came back.

While about 96% of me wants to stay here and find a way to just never leave this country that I have fallen in love with. (Yes, despite everything I am still not turned off of living here, in fact, if anything it has made me want to live on this batty little island all the more) The mature, adult part of me, which seems to have been birthed quite suddenly and quite recently knows that for practicality’s sake maybe going back to Canada earlier rather than later is a good idea. I have to get ready for school, I have to think about all of the important stuff which is going to be coming up in the next few years, and even if I want to stay here so much it has the potential to drive me completely mad, I have things I have to do at home and I have to keep myself thinking about the future, and if I want to end up here I need to have some sort of way to generate the pounds. The whiny petulant side of me doesn’t like this at all, let me tell you. If I clean out my account, and get back midJune I can probably accumulate maybe 2 thousand dollars, plus getting a loan and a job on campus, I should be able to actually get my act together for school.

Pros and Cons, blah. Grown up, or not. I never want to grow up, but nature is forcing me. We’ll see what happens this week and then I’ll know for sure.

To my commenters:

Amber, done <3 Sorry it took so long Word Press was giving me a rough time. I got Sakaki back, apparently they mixed up my removal or something?

Crystal, it is crazy like that sadly. I feel your heartings from here though.

Mom, it might as well have been a rave. Mrs. Ross was quite nice.

Ange, my Texan friend XD. If you want me to call, say, 8AM my time I wouldn’t have too much of a problem with that, I’m sure you wouldn’t either.

I have not written for a good long while so I figured an update was in order for all of you fans. All three of you, that is. Is it sad that one of my few avid readers is my mother? That’s like saying ‘Yea, I’m a good singer, my mommy tells me so.’ Regardless, time to talk about something that makes me feel less pathetic.

Like Setine’s discovery of my blog, which brought much rejoicing to my shocked and wondering eyes. If that wasn’t a one-hit-wonder type of comment, I say, ‘Hello Setine, of course I remember you, you defined the awesome of my childhood along with the rest of the gang.’ Amber and Crystal may bask in that statement as well.

On to more about Scotland and my new discovery. Cockburn street is where freaky goth/emo/subculture kids hang out, it’s kind of like Queen street, minus the big box stores all crammed into about half the size of hardcoreity. It’s pretty nifty, actually, I spent a lot of money in my mind. No actual money, but with brain money, christ I’ve gone into negative numbers.

But I have come to a number of conclusions about the hardcore sector in most major cities, called (very uncleverly by me) the Black Light districts. First is the Canadian example, that is Queen street, this huge sprawlingly massive street where the weird walk easily amongst the normal. American Eagle is practically across the street from Borderlines, if you see what I mean. Basically, it’s where the brightly coloured people look at the ‘shades’ people and wonder which will go postal. Interestingly enough, the ‘shades’ people are wondering the exact same thing.

Camden Town is London’s ttly (chatspeaked for a reason) hardxcore district. Whenever you go down here you feel like it’s a fasion show, you half expect when the people get to the end of the street, they stop, make a pouty face, and turn around and walk back up the street. Everyone is the complete and perfect stereotype of whatever subculture they partake in. There’s no semi-goths like me, only hardfickingcore ones. In all honesty, like most of London, when you walk down the streets of Camden you generally assume people dislike you for some reason. Possibly because you have an invisible tattoo on the back of your head that says ‘idiot colonial’ that only British people can see. There is no way to remove this tattoo.

Finally, Cockburn street, the street that made me realise what the world would be like if goth was the prodominant dress style, rather than preppy. Let me explain. Walking down this street you have the usual cobbled lanes and shops, the street itself is on a hill, the street is not extrordinary, the people was what got me. A bunch of eyelinered children playing jump rope on the sidewalk, while a few watched. Some oddly aged ones (no I’m not kidding, old goths) sitting on a bench chatting while two black boot clad parents pushed a baby in a carriage up the hill. I thought I was dillusional. Maybe I was.

I went to Waterstones after that little out of body experience and purchased the 2 pound editon of Sherlock Holmes, remembering only after that this was the hometown of the author, I read the first bit in the park before returning to the hostel to blog about how insane Cockburn street was.

To my commenters:

To Setine, of course I remember you (see above) and was delighted to see your comment. We should talk more!

To Amber, of course I am enjoying myself, and I would be beside myself with glee to have the Ravens Fanlisting, I now have the Fanlist for Ravens and The Raven. Thus proving the bird which used to be in the empty cage. Though, now I have to make a layout.

To Kassi, (sorry for the name misspelling! Erk!) You should seriously come back, and don’t worry about the plastered thing, if I wanted to avoid it I would have made an excuse on the phone, seriously. Don’t be embarassed, I’m cool.

To Ange, ANSWER YOUR FUNKING PHONE! *ahem* Of course I am popular with the guys now, I have an accent, and that makes me wicked cool.

To Mah, 153.

To Crystal, always.

For the faint of mind my cute wording of escapes instead of the classic comments was switched back to the cliched comments tag. My mother can rest easy tonight knowing that I have done her will. All is now right in the world, and, do I suddenly hear the sound of beautiful birds singing sweet melodies by my ear? Okay, okay, sarcasm aside…

I’m going to talk about something of no interest to anyone but Amberlove in this next section (Unless you have been stalking the short story I have been writing for her for Birthday-Christmas-Wintereenmas), and that is the story I am writing for her. Basically, I thought of a brilliant plot twist last night a stellar ending almost as good as the one I had originally planned. So, I am at a crossroads as to which ending I would like I am drumming my fingers on the desk pondering it now. A copy of the story in question (bys the by) can be found on my fictionpress site or in the writing section of this site.

Now for some good news — I got into the University of Ottawa! Yes, that’s right, a University actually accepted me despite all my shortcomings and oddities, and you had so little faith too, Miss. Bowley, didn’t you? I’m technically registered for philosophy, (an up-and-coming degree for homelessness I hear!) but I may switch to history (homelessness and alcoholism!) I know I should probably have stuck with technology, but I can only be a young idealist once! Then I have to find a real job.

My cold has died down a bit, but I’m still feeling a bit sick, I spent all of yesterday sleeping, much to the dismay of my roommates. I had a french girl who kept checking in with her boyfriend…(Gee, I wonder why she was so upset with me?) and two Japanese girls who were very sweet and kind et all, but spoke loudly in Japanese from dusk until dawn. It was a bit irritating, because I could understand pieces of it but not enough to know what they were talking about, so I had a bit of a headache trying to tune them out.

I read for most of yesterday — The Sweet Far Thing again, Candide, Beyond Good and Evil, and Dracula again meaning I’m all but completely finished my book reserve. I only have Sartre’s Nausea left, and that was a bit heavy even for me to get through while I was ill. So I played some Nintendo DS to while away to thirty seconds it took for my to fall asleep.

Also, I also finally spoke to the elusive Mr. Powers yesterday, and he promises food! And life outside of the hostel and help in finding a job, which I could not possibly be happier about. I also applied at some CD chains and some stationary chains (Staples had to be good for something)

To my commenters:

Amber, of course I am still writing yours story (see above) I am just at a crossroads >>; (And the camera thief shall suffer muchly… just WAIT!) I’m going to try and get on AIM at a time that you are… curse the 5 hours!

Kathy, hehe! I’ve always been a fan of Britishisms, which makes my dear friends roll their eyes– but now I have an excuse!