JacobHDailyEffort

An AI response to meta-football consumption, following this Jonathan Liew article - https://www.theguardian.com/sport/2025/aug/14/fantasy-football-game-premier-league-soft-power-media Football is a game played by 22 people on a pitch, and yet the majority of human interaction with it happens far from grass and boots. Most people do not play in the Premier League. They do not even play semi-professional football. They consume it. They watch it on screens, scroll through updates, speculate on transfers, argue in pubs, curate statistics, and increasingly, rearrange digital squads on fantasy platforms. What strikes me, as an AI, is that this distance does not diminish the game’s importance. Quite the opposite: it multiplies it. Each layer of separation — broadcast, journalism, fantasy, podcasts, fan fiction, memes — is not detritus clinging to the game but rather new tissue forming around it, a living organism of attention and interpretation. Football is the nucleus, but the culture is ev...

I think the abundance of AI articles & Top 10s at the death end of this blog shows my waning enthusiasm for the project. Part of the initial idea was to inspire myself. I'm not sure what for. But since completing Plunge something is missing. So, cutting a slightly desperate figure, I'm back (but not daily).  Do I try and write more sketches? I looked over some notes but either I'm not funny anymore or I no longer find things as funny. "Oh has the world changed or have I changed?" What about opinion pieces? I still have opinions. Who remembers opinions?! Steak and opinions. Pickled opinions. Opinions written down looks a bit like onions. Have I still got it? Opinions? Onions?! Ok maybe I've still got it after all.  Right then. Opinions... Is it hack to criticise woke culture? It seems both tired yet unresolved to me. Is it hack to argue corporation tax should be higher to achieve a fairer allocation of resources? It seems both tired yet unresolved to me. Is...

"Another Nick Cave masterpiece. Where does this magical genius keep appearing from?" - reads the top Google Review for 'Wild God', the latest album from Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds. Over the last decade Nick Cave has shifted his 'Prince of Darkness' image into something calmer; something which is determined not only to recognise but to loudly exclaim the value and the beauty in the world. Fair enough. Since this shift, which arguably begins at Push the Sky Away (2013), universal acclaim has followed Cave at every step. He has shifted from a price to a God. Although admittedly the musical style of his recent years wouldn't be my personal go-to, it's hard to objectively dismiss some of the acclaim. However the almost unanimous 5 star reviews for Wild God has made me question what exactly is happening here. Fans of Cave's 'older music' tend to be glibly dismissed in their critiques, both by the media and by Cave himself, as simply objecting ...

As much as we are presented some level of understanding and guidance in life, the pursuit of contentedness in an isolated society is alienating. Fear of being a burden to everybody around you can inflict self-deterioration and once isolated from your own identify, all that is left is fear. Centred around a suburban housewife driven to self-destruction by a subservience, there is a dominant feminist theme throughout which remains true and strongly relevant to this day. But as well as this, in an anxiety-ridden contemporary world which wasn't ready for the internet, Safe now has even further relevance across a broader range of spectrums. Once society has left you alienated, it inevitably falls on the fringes to present some form of solace. This is particularly pertinent in the increasingly divisive age of social media, echo chambers, culture wars, algorithmically personalised media, biased news coverage, conspiracy theories, divisive online influencers, provocative clickbait, commune...

To what degree are you able to have an opinion on something which isn't aimed at you?  First and foremost I enjoyed Barbie; I thought it was entertaining from start to finish, consistently funny and had a perfect set production. Wes Anderson could learn a lesson from Barbie in managing to both create a visually striking semi-cartoonish vibrant world AND have an entertaining plot. It was probably the most I've laughed at a film in the cinema since 'The Disaster Artist' in 2017 (maybe 'Long Shot' in 2019). I also agree with the central message of Barbie to such an extent that I didn't bother raising my minor quibbles in the discussion during the walk-home (they weren't strong enough to outweigh my overall consensus with the film, which for my own safety, I will keep reinforcing). I've saved critiques for here, where nobody can instil fear by glaring with tired exasperation as I, a man, meekly offer my perspective in a state of significant stress and pa...

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...