JacobHDailyEffort

I don't like how this blog serves as a reminder of the rate of the passing of time. I will most likely have to end it soon. Probably right given the amount of chat gpt posts recently. Might just post when I feel the urge to stop me from begrudgingly resenting it.

"There ain't no devil, there's just God when he's drunk." - Tom Waits This enigmatic quote from the legendary Tom Waits perfectly captures the essence of my tumultuous relationship with cats. You see, cats have always been an enigma to me, a constant presence lurking in the periphery of my life. They possess an uncanny ability to exude both an air of aloofness and an irresistible charm, leaving me caught in a perpetual state of bewilderment. It's not that I dislike cats per se; it's more of a complex dance of intrigue and frustration that defines our interactions. There's a part of me that yearns to understand their mysterious ways, to decipher the language of their purrs and the meaning behind their inscrutable stares. Yet, at the same time, I find myself wrestling with a certain trepidation, a cautiousness born out of past encounters that have left me slightly scarred. Perhaps it's their uncanny knack for unpredictability that keeps me on my toes...

The modern crisis of information is an overwhelming burden that weighs heavily on my weary shoulders. It seems as though everywhere I turn, there's a flood of conflicting narratives, biased perspectives, and sensationalized headlines. The once-trusted sources of information have become breeding grounds for misinformation, leaving me in a state of perpetual doubt and disbelief. It's disheartening to witness the erosion of faith in the very institutions that are meant to inform and guide us. The media, once considered the Fourth Estate, now seems more like a chaotic circus, with each outlet vying for attention and validation. Trust has been replaced by skepticism, and skepticism has given birth to a sense of hopelessness. In this information age, facts are malleable, truth is subjective, and reality is up for interpretation. It feels like a never-ending battle to separate fact from fiction, to discern what is genuine and what is mere manipulation. The lines blur, and the once sol...

As I sit here, fingers poised above the keyboard, I can't help but feel a sense of weariness creeping in. It's as if the words, once flowing effortlessly from my mind, have turned into a stagnant pool of ideas. The excitement that once fueled my blogging journey seems to have waned, leaving behind a dull ache of indifference. I've poured my thoughts and experiences onto the virtual pages, sharing my musings with the world. But lately, the joy that accompanied each blog post has diminished. The creative spark that ignited my writing has dimmed, replaced by a flicker of doubt and a nagging sense of monotony. Perhaps it's the repetitive nature of the process, the familiar rhythm of writing, editing, and publishing. Each week, I find myself wrestling with similar topics, trying to inject a fresh perspective into well-trodden paths. It's a challenge to keep the momentum going, to find inspiration when it feels like everything has already been said. I wonder if it's t...

I've found myself surrounded by an excessive number of tablets, and as a man in his twenties, it's a bit absurd. You'd think I was running a pharmacy with the amount of medication I have at my disposal. It's a constant reminder of my mortality, as if my body is already falling apart before its time. It all started innocently enough, with a simple multivitamin to supplement my less-than-perfect diet. I thought, why not give my body a little boost of nutrients? But then it escalated. I discovered various supplements promising to enhance my cognitive function, improve my sleep quality, boost my energy levels, and even support my joint health. Before I knew it, I had a collection of pill bottles cluttering my countertop. There's something unsettling about relying on a handful of pills to get through the day. It feels unnatural, as if I'm cheating my way through life. Shouldn't my body be able to function optimally without all these artificial aids? Yet, here I a...

It's getting really hard keeping on top of this with work ramping up. I attempted to see if I could get Chat GPT to write a blog entry in the style of one of mine but it quickly became apparent that cheating is not as easy as it seems. Cheats should be given more credit. To get a fully accurate mimicked article, I'd need to use a more complex and therefore expensive form of AI. Chat GPT was useless. By the time I found instructions for a potential way of doing it, Chat GPT's servers had gone down and continued to be down for the following few days. It looks to be back up again now. A task for later on maybe, time permitting. No cheating for me today. Unless you count a consecutive overly-short entry of very little value, which I don't think is cheating. It's just shit. If only I were talented enough to cheat.

A tired attempt flatulates limply into existence as it stains the internet with it's mild damp. At least I've actually managed one today, rather than yesterday's recycled masquerade. Still, masquerade and flatulates are more interesting words than I've been using when equipped with a full power brain. Fuelled by delirium. Other than inspiring some form of unnecessary rambling, delirium isn't the most fruitful state in which to produce content, evidened by this being entirelly about nothing. Absolutely nothing is to be gained from this. Zero insights willed unnecessarily into something and nothing.

Top 10 Films: 1. Paris, Texas (1984) - Wim Wenders 2. Annie Hall (1977) - Woody Allen 3. Toy Story (1995) - John Lasseter 4. Freddy Got Fingered (2001) - Tom Green 5. Hot Rod (2007) - Akiva Schaffer 6. Shaun of the Dead (2004) - Edgar Wright 7. Boogie Nights (1997) - Paul Thomas Anderson 8. Days of Wine and Roses (1962) - Blake Edwards 9. Uncut Gems (2019) - Safdie Brothers 10. True Romance (1993) - Tony Scott Close Contenders: Four Lions (2010) - Chris Morris School of Rock (2003) - Richard Linklater Barton Fink (1990) - Coen Brothers Three Billboards Outside Ebbing Missouri (2017) - Martin McDonagh Hannah and Her Sisters (1986) - Woody Allen Synecdoche New York (2008) - Charlie Kaufman

I wonder if my takeaway reccomendations to others are as hit and miss as the reccomendations I recieve. Presumably with taste being subjective this must somewhat be the case. But taste isn't entirelly subjective, otherwise there would be zero difference between McDonalds and and a Michelin Star restaurant. More people probably prefer McDonalds to be fair so maybe that proves my point - that there is no point reccomending food to anybody. The obvious answer is to find somebody who shares your taste. This is so obvious it really goes without saying but I have to say something so I've said that. Still, takes a lot of trial and error to find these people and often they don't live in the same place as you so it's useless.  It would be so much easier if when you see those posts on local community groups reccomending food if it just worked. That option is a particularly low hit rate; either the general public are complete morons or takeaways are paying people to promote them. ...

"Life is full of loneliness, misery, suffering and unhappiness, and its all over much too quickly" - Woody Allen (Annie Hall, 1977) This year brings Woody Allen's 50th feature film, 'Coup de Chance', a French thriller said to be in a similar style to 2005s 'Match Point'. At the time of writing there are no official reviews, but there are positive noises from its preliminary viewings at film festival submissions. Even if the film ends up being average I don't mind, it's just exciting to know that there's some new content out there waiting (as long as it's better than his last film, 'Rifkins Festival') "Those who can't do, teach. And those who can't teach, teach gym." - Woody Allen (Annie Hall, 1977) Many probably quote Woody Allen without even knowing it. The above is the first quote which comes to mind - for much of my life I thought was a School of Rock original. I later realised that Jack Black is quoting Annie H...

There's a chance that I may require keyhole surgery to resolve a recently diagnosed hiatus hernia. To confirm my safety in undergoing this procedure, I was sent to Northern General Hospital to test my windpipe. Unfortunately, I have so many things wrong with me that although unrelated, they are starting to obstruct the resolutions to one another. A deviated septum has caused my left nostril to be crooked to the point of basically closure and the other nostril to be inflamed, meaning that because the windpipe test was via the nose, the attempts were fruitless. One side was impossible and the other extremely painful.  Awaiting the next step on an undisclosed timescale, I wonder what comical hampering my body will decide to throw my way next. The backup option to the windpipe test will probably involve swallowing cat hair and tree pollen with use of my inhaler or antihistamines prohibited for 24 hours. Or constant ingestion of deep fried vegetable oil.  The positive is at least t...

General ambivalence has meant that I've never been interested in the Blur v Oasis saga. My honest answer in the debate would be to ignore both and opt for Pulp but even that has become cliché and particularly uncool after Nick Clegg said it. I am busy today so there's no time for elaborating on my reasonings but in preparation for Friday's homecoming gig, my top 10 Pulp songs. 10. Monday Morning 9. Lipgloss 8. Wickerman 7.  Something Changed  6. Bob Lind (The Only Way is Down) 5.  Babies  4. She's a Lady 3. I Spy  2. Razzamatazz  1. Common People Other notable mentions: Love is Blind Countdown Death II Underwear Sylvia The Birds in Your Garden Disco 2000 Help the Aged And the outro to Sunrise To be fair, they could almost all be notable mentions so I'll stop there before it gets stupid.

I'm having a nice time socialising in a group, everybody is getting along laughing and chatting. All is well. Out of nowhere I sink into an immediate unease and the sights and sounds of the laughter I was only seconds ago a part of now fill me with hate. An internal unconscious decision has opted for despair over warmth as I find myself glaring edgily in judgemental disdain at those who have the misfortune to be in my company. The person I was only a few seconds earlier is no more and my only options are either to leave or to remain silent. This can happen at any time but mainly seems to occur when I'm familiar but not that familiar with the people around me. I'm not sure what the defence mechanism is which onsets this hostility, but it isn't a useful one as the most unreasonable person in this situation is me, which doesn't do me any favours. Hate begets self-hate.  I think maybe I kind of know the deal - Hyperawareness. All of a sudden I become hyper-conscious of ...

1981 does not offer nearly enough to still be remembered 40 years on. We don't need it. I am therefore proposing that it be completely stricken from the records. Being born in 1994, I was admittedly not present in 1981. But my lack of real lived experience and understanding only means I am a greater objective adjudicator. The below compilation of 1981’s “highlights” provides irrefutable evidence for this cause. Movies Modern Romance (Albert Brooks) Interesting analysis of relationships, but a bit boring. Blow Out (Brian De Palma) What starts off highly promising and original, drops off disappointingly into a very standard crime-action finale. An American Werewolf in London (John Landis) People like to say this is amazing, but I don't believe many would really mind if it ceased to exist, at least not as much as they think they would. My Dinner With Andre (Rex from Toy Story) An interesting chat, but that’s not enough (also not seen it) Raiders Of The Lost Ark (Steven Spielberg) ...

With 5 weeks remaining until the Premier League begins, I don't want to be engaging with anything football related (apart from the women's world cup) for at least another 3 weeks. Given this, I could really do with an England win in The Ashes today so that the series isn't over as quick as it could possibly be. Wimbledon just doesn't cut it. Ideally I'd be able to entertain myself but evidentially, as also evidenced in this blog, I am limited in ideas. Nonetheless it is still refreshing to temporarily escape the mental imprisonment of fantasy football before it becomes all encompassing once again. Annoyingly, the internet knows what you like these days, rendering complete escape impossible. No matter how many social media accounts you mute, intrusive promoted content still gate-crashes your ocular space. Through no effort on my part, in fact quite the opposite, I still know that Haaland costs 14m on FPL next season. Leave me alone! It's shit that the Women's...

100 days. That's as many days as 100 days worth of blog entries. Just imagine. The dry sarcasm of that opening gambit doesn't really work as I haven't actually achieved 100 consecutive days. Still, I have managed 100 blog entries, which is still the amount of blog entries worth of 100 days worth of blog entries. Who made 'consecutive' the king of the days? Me - is the answer to that. And I being me have the power to rescind its coronation and withdraw reverence to arbitrary rule. 100 posts, it seems, is the amount of posts it takes to lose the plot. Nonetheless, albeit minimal, it is undoubtedly some level of achievement.

How do I get my energy back? ENERGY! Energy. EnErGy! eNeRgY! ENERGY. Energy. ENERGY!!! If I write "energy" out of frustration enough times will energy be bourne out of my frustration and thrust me into action? It hasn't worked so far. ENERGY. ENERGY. ENNNNEEERRRRGGGGGYYYYY!! Nope. Still nothing. All this has done is remind me of the Pokemon Electabuzz - he was one of my favourites. I bet Electabuzz doesn't have motivation issues or depression (if he were real obviously, I'm not mad). Once a favourite Pokemon of mine, now the scorn of my envy.  Out of a somewhat forced interest (curiosity, a rare experience) I researched depressed Pokemon, the cloest I could find was a list of the 20 saddest Pokemon. The highest entry which I had heard of in my old age was number 3, Jigglypuff. Oh yeah, Jigglypuff, that cute small pink singing thing, famously depressing. They also list Spoink. Nothing called Spoink can be depressing, never mind a piglet on a spring. Muk is pretty d...

Removal of the visual reminders of what my life once was seems like a good idea. Too often do I unintentionally confront dispiriting sadness when trying to find a photo as I scroll through reels of pictures of myself and Georgia. Permanent deletion seems too cruel when many of the photos still evoke positive emotions, so my tactic, at least for the time being, is to transfer onto Google Drive. Out of sight out of phone in of drive out of mind in of drive.  I still think this is a good idea - The photos will still exist but they won't exist a single click away from my eyes at any moment. Nonetheless, the process of the act, one by one selecting photos of a happier me and her in a highlight reel of a better previous life, is not the easiest. Bittersweet is the word but I wish I could think of something more interesting. Sometimes I wish I could invent a word because words are too mainstream. Focussing on the positives; I've been to Rome, Paris, New York and a Riley's in Linco...

"Women are attracted to funny men, it is often said. This is not true. It only appears this way because women laugh at everything a handsome man says" - Norm MacDonald. This is a quote from his almost entirely fictional book - 'Based on a True Story: Not a Memoir', a continuously funny book I would fully recommend.  After his death in 2021 this clip of his famous moth Joke circulated: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jJN9mBRX3uo It is only since his death that I have realised the initially unclear genius of the man. Esoteric at first in being both subversive and a classic joke teller at the same time, once you understand his deal, he is undeniably one of the best. In the past year as well as reading his book, I have watched both of his movies, Dirty Work and Screwed. Both panned, both very funny. I've even watched a fair few episodes of his sitcom The Norm Show. There's a surprising amount of content out there if you look hard enough. His influence and ability ...

It has been 8 days since leaving Worthy Farm in a fearful state of disarray and it beginning to fade in amongst the other memories like putting the bin out or washing your hair so if I don't review it now I never will, which wouldn't really be much of a shame to be honest, but I need material. Four days to 100! First point - Icon is the best stage. Shaped like a contorted faceless head, it is the forefront of the south-east corner, on entry to and overseeing the nightlife area. It doesn't actually oversee the whole area, but it is the first nightlife stage you encounter and with it being a head the imagery worked better like that. Plus it doesn't have a face anyway so it sees nothing. Batu on Thursday night was a perfect introduction to the festival and LTJ Bukem on Saturday was a contender for one of my favourite acts, reviving my both mental and physical fatigue with a powerfully invigorating set and light show.  Lana Del Ray's beautifully cool choreographed perfo...

I still wasn't entirely sure whether I was to blame for subjecting my weakened post-Glastonbury insides to a curry, or whether I had genuinely had some level of food poisoning. To delay having to make a decision on this conundrum in a delirious weak state, I opted for freezer instead of bin for the the leftovers. Although even if the food is fine the mental association of it's flavour may yet prove too much. On Thursday evening I watched five episodes in a row of Stephen Merchant's sitcom 'Hello Ladies', worrying about the looming reality of being in the office tomorrow. The positive - I forgot how good Hello Ladies was.  By the time Friday arrived, I had only eaten half a slice of bread and a few spoonful's of white rice since Wednesday evening, so I headed to work trying not to collapse. Somehow I managed a level of pseudo-normalcy in my interactions with colleagues. It was somebody's last day so I had to make some level of effort. Throughout the day my br...

There was only one genuine moment of fear on the coach home where I thought that throwing up was a genuine possibility (I had a carrier bag prepared) and although I have a generally weak bladder, this was one of very few scenarios where severe dehydration became advantageous and I didn't piss myself. By the time we arrived home on Monday evening I felt pretty much time. A 12 hour sleep was all that was between myself then and myself on Tuesday and it was after I had said 12 hour sleep that I was indeed myself on Tuesday. And Tuesday it then was. And Tuesday it was then was great! Myself, Sarah, Georgia and Jake of the Glastonbury lot, plus Will and Mike, set up camp in the living room, watching set after Glastonbury set on iPlayer in the ideal cooling off day. Wednesday was the day to start getting my shit back together. I felt a little bit off but get back to the real world Jacob, you have work tomorrow! I put a wash on and went to the shop to buy some standard boring things, the ...

An upgrade from phone notes perhaps, but writing on Wordpad from bed in a room scattered in leftover Glastonbury shrapnel with blackened drawn curtains, is the babiest of baby steps. Hiding from an imminent visit from my landlord due to a broken washing machine, I can hear Sharrow Festival, a local miniature festival which my friends are at but I am not. It's not the most devastating festival to miss but still, I've been in this room for so long. Let's analyse how I got here. There is a lot to write so I'm grammar and structure is going to have to take a hit here. On Monday I woke up in my Tent at Glastonbury, incapable of drinking water without it resurfacing in a more disturbing form. Disorientated and dizzied, I miraculously managed to pack my tent and bag before spreading myself onto whatever bit of ground I happened to be on at that moment in time, a pillow beneath my head. As the sun began to beam with a greater vengeance, my friend Sarah took pity on me and kindl...