Why so serious?

(I’m supposed to be finishing my (overdue) German Law work right now, but something’s been playing on my mind for a while that I just need to get out before I can return to any form of productivity)

Image

Nerds, Geeks, Trekkies, Whovians, Marvel Zombies, Batmaniacs, Warsies, Browncoats, Unsullied (or Bookwalkers), whatever you may call yourselves, the time has come for the world to realise the truth. 

We are all nerds.

Nerd culture has long been mocked, looked down upon, the subject of derision by many a sports fan, music lover, and people who I personally think are just boring. When a human being has no interests outside of education or working then I think they’re just not worth the time and effort to talk to. Everyone has to have an interest in something, be it books, television, films, football, even bloody Airfix models or conkers, everyone has something that just grabs their attention above all else (and sometimes, as in my case, several things).

So why then are some things considered nerdy and some aren’t? Why does knowing all the members of the Avengers (the comic ones) make you a nerd, whereas knowing all the players in a football team and their strengths and weaknesses just make you a fan, or a ‘lad’? The time has come to reappropriate the term nerd, no longer should it be confined to those who live on the fringes of pop culture or understand what a D12 is, nerds are everywhere and everyone, and by extension they are no one as well.

I’m not talking about shows that reference nerdy tropes and parody them (Big Bang Theory be damned), but direct sources of fantasy that play out across every aspect of modern life. Shows like Game of Thrones and The Walking Dead have seeped into the public consciousness like nothing else, books and films like Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, and I don’t even have to mention the superhero juggernauts that rake in billions at the box office. Where’s all that money coming from? It can’t just be nerds, the people who are apparently weird outcasts, rather the money is coming from supposedly ordinary people who are surely but quietly getting drawn into our world.

There was a time when being nerdy was uncool, a term of derision, but no more. Nerds are cool nerds are resurgent, and nerds are taking the power back. We control what you watch on television and at the cinema, the books you read, even the music you listen to (Eminem is a huge comic book fan, or so my housemate assures me). 

So dear reader, where does this leave you? If you are already one of us then you are saved. But what if you aren’t? What if the sight of a cosplayer makes you cringe? What if the only contact you had with a comic was Tintin? Then there is yet hope for you, watch the Marvel films, read a graphic novel, listen to the Hobbit as an audiobook, the opportunities are endless. There is no longer a need to keep your interests a secret, shamefully watching X-Men cartoons holed up in your room while the rest of the world thinks you’re “normal.” Everyone should be free to express themselves however they wish, and the stigma attached to the nerd world is a thing of the past. But don’t just take my word for it, here’s a quote from a hugely popular actor and open nerd, Mr. Simon Pegg:

“Being a geek is all about being honest about what you enjoy and not being afraid to demonstrate that affection. It means never having to play it cool about how much you enjoy something. It’s basically a licence to emote on a somewhat childish level rather than behave like a supposed adult. Being a geek is extremely liberating.”

There you have it then, no longer is “geek” a bad word, be liberated, be open, be free, never be ashamed of who you are and never hide what you love. Be a gamer, be a geek, be a nerd, obsess over comics, pick apart your favourite films, dress up as Gandalf, wear your Harry Potter pyjamas with pride, enjoy what you want regardless of what the world thinks (but please don’t twerk like no one’s watching).

For those of you who still scoff, who spite and who…suck, I hope you enjoy being boring, being that one guy at a party who can only talk about the news or the weather, your life shall be long, drawn out and dull, but there is always room and love for you in Westeros, or Middle Earth, on board the Millenium Falcon and in the Avengers Tower. Leave normality behind. 

“I’d far rather be happy than right any day.”
― Douglas Adams, The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

Image

XOXO, The Geeky Indian. 

 

Advertisements

The one where he gets in touch with his emotions.

I’m back. 

Did you miss me? Did ya? Thought not. I’ve had a lot to ponder during my time off from the blogosphere (not that I contributed a great deal), though most of it is far too personal and fluffy to share on an outlet as manly as this. I did decide however, that it’s time to reassess the objective of me starting this. I started out to hate, that failed. I had a vain attempt at saving it last time, that also basically failed, so instead I’ve decided to focus on the name. 

The Angry Indian. What does it mean? Well “The” is fairly self explanatory, I’d reconsider my mental status if I couldn’t grasp that, “Indian” too is fairly straightforward. I, as a person, originate from the nation of India/Bharat/Hindustan, whatever you want to call it. The middle word, “Angry,” it too seems fairly straightforward, and it is. I started my first post with a dictionary definition, so here’s another one for you:

an·gry 

adj. an·gri·eran·gri·est

1. Feeling or showing anger; incensed or enraged: angry at a rude neighbor; angry with a salesclerk.
2. Indicative of or resulting from anger: an angry silence.
3. Having a menacing aspect; threatening: angry clouds on the horizon.
 
The first definition is the most obvious, feeling or showing anger, and boy do I do this a lot. The first act is that of feeling anger, and I’ve always found “feel” to be a strange word to use with emotions. ‘Feel’ in my head suggests something physical, you feel a piece of wood (haw haw), you feel wetness on your…head, you feel pain when you cut yourself, but emotions? Emotions are intangible (except for when you cry like a sissy), so how does one feel sad? Feel happy? Happy isn’t a shagpile rug you can roll around on, and neither is sadness a big bowl of, cold porridge, or whatever physical sight makes you sad. A broken guitar perhaps… I need a moment.
 
So now we come to anger, how do we feel anger? The physical form of anger in my mind is like a cricket ball made of barbed wire being bowled at you by Lasith Malinga while you’re naked and your bat’s on fire. That’s not particularly poetic, I know, but it just about sums up how destructive a force anger can be, sending the stumps of your life flying across the cricket pitch of existence. 
There are many famous quotes from famous people denouncing anger, Gandhi said “Anger and intolerance are the enemies of understanding,” Einstein declared that “Anger dwells only in the bosom of fools,” and he should know, he was a clever man.
 
So why then, is anger so important to us? Why can’t we as a society exist without ever present amounts of white hot rage directed at each other? I’ll tell you why, because we need it.
Everyone claims to want to be happy all the time, and yes it’s largely true. I would love to feel that feeling of elation I get every time I see a gif of some kittens playing, when a girl smiles at me and makes me feel for a fleeting second like Ryan Gosling with his shirt off, the sheer joy, of coming home to your mum’s cooking after two months of instant noodles and coffee. These feelings are irreplaceable, irreproducible (it’s a word), infectious and brief. That’s why they’re so special, these feelings never last, they’re there for a few hours at most and then we’re brought crashing back down to normality from the happy clouds by something and go on as we were. That, is why anger is necessary. Not just anger, but sadness, grief, confusion, embarrassment, every negative emotion you can think of, they’re there to keep us in check. 
 
Permanent happiness is an ideal we all aspire to, but it’s a lot like a doughnut (bear with me on this). When I eat a doughnut I’m transported to a state of pure nirvana, (if Krispey Kreme are reading this next bit then I expect some form of payment for the free advertising). The first bite of an original glazed, the crisp exterior revealing a fluffy interior that melts in your mouth, the zing of the lemon meringue hitting your tongue, setting of electric bolts of flavour, the unctuous ganache lurking inside a chocolate dreamcake, ready to transform your mouth into an orgy of cocoa and sugar. Happiness is like these moments, gone in a few bites (but without the fatty guilt afterwards). But, as much as I love doughnuts, after three or four, I have to stop. My mind is willing, but the body says no, not today tubbs, this stomach can’t handle any more, and it’s the same with feelings. 
 
Just as my belly can only handle four doughnuts at a time, so too can my mind and soul only handle happiness in small chunks. We need the sugar comedown, we need anger and sadness and bitterness in between the bites of happiness to remind us just how good we really have it. I can’t complain about my life, while children starve in Africa I have a delicious looking pizza sat in the fridge ready for cooking, I have nice clothes, I have three guitars (I swear I need them all), I have parents that love me and, did I mention the guitars? But if I was permanently happy about these things then I would probably be mistaken for a drug addict, or a mormon. 
 
Just as art imitates life so to does our world mirror our inner feelings, we weren’t happy with the press, so we angrily call for a review. The Syrian people were not happy with their government, so they fought back. The Americans weren’t happy with regular sized meals, so they invented supersize. Our world revolves around and reflects our need to feel sadness and anger, which we need in order for happiness to be anything special. Why did Game of Thrones show Robb Stark being brutally murdered? To make us sad and angry at the Lannisters, yes, but also to make the sight of Danaerys being lofted atop a sea of freed slaves all the sweeter.
 
So, at the end of this not particularly academic and largely voodoo meditation on anger, I put to you dear reader, a simple question. 
 
Do you really want to be happy all the time? 

Blarg.

Okay, it’s been six days since I last contributed to this blog so I feel it’s about time that I did something to resuscitate the last vestiges of something that could be a genuine outlet, and I feel it’s time for a change of direction. This was meant to be a hate blog, but although I started with a head full of ideas about what to rant against next, my mind now seems to be incapable of piecing together any coherent arguments against the things I want to argue against.

So being that it’s time for a change, I feel the best thing to do is to open up the floor (the metaphorical floor) to suggestions as to where I can take this. A film blog? A game blog? Comic book reviews? Or something more current, some observational humour? Music? Suggestions are welcome, but for now I’m just going to go for a mishmash of all of them to fill some space.

I saw Thor: The Dark World the other day, and I’d give it a sold three and a half stars out of five, a good film, but by no means great. Thor’s introductory adventure was a bit stunted in its scope during the Earth bound sections, but this film remedies that by annihilating a small portion of London (a welcome change to New York or Washington where such events usually occur). Hemsworth has evolved fantastically in the role, from the fish out of water schtick/angry young man spiel in the first film, the alien with a bone to pick in the Avengers, to a still angry but somewhat restrained Thor in Dark World. As for the rest of the cast, Anthony Hopkins is gloriously commanding as Odin, Hiddleston steals the show as Loki once again, and the rest are largely forgettable, especially Portman who still seems out of place. Kat Dennings and Stellan Skarsgard bring the comic relief (with a welcome cameo from Chris O’Dowd), but the biggest misstep was taking an actor as great as Christopher Ecclestone, encasing him in prosthetics, and giving him monotonous speech that takes away any semblance of creepiness, something which the Malekith of the comics has in spades. So to sum up, a good film, not a great one, but the post credits scene is definitely worth hanging around for.

The only game I’ve played recently is GTA V, and everyone knows my feelings about it, it’s amazing and easily one of the best games of this generation.

Comics? Hawkeye, Deadpool, Saga and Trillium, read them all and thank me later.

So I hear Angela Merkel’s phone got tapped, erm, hahahaha, silly cow. But in all seriousness, the NSA and GCHQ really need to be taken down a peg or two, as well as their overlords who seem to be ignorant to the fact that they’re universally despised with mobs on the internet baying for blood. Where on earth are Anonymous when you need them?

What was the last one? Ah right, music. Maya Jane Coles has a rather excellent album out which is worth a listen, Black Sabbath’s comeback was definitely worth the wait, and outside of that all I’ve just been listening to is the soundtrack from This Is The End (worth it just for the Backstreet Boys).

Oh Jesus this really went downhill fast, if anyone is still reading then I apologise profusely for the torrent of written shite you just had to wade through, I’m currently ill and trying to process my Equity lecturer’s ridiculous accent so my mind is all over the place. I’m going to attempt to flog this dead horse (not in a naughty way, you pervert) and keep going, but at present The Angry Indian may be heading the way of Blockzilla and my ill fated attempt to write a serious sci fi story about people going insane while searching for a new home for humanity (email me for a preview), straight to the recycle bin.

XOXO, The (slightly less) Angry Indian.

Well f**k.

So, what started promisingly has suddenly come to a screeching halt. I have nothing to hate on this week, nothing major anyway. There have been plenty of minor annoyances, someone trying to convince me that HS2 is good value for money (I’m still in favour of spending that money to actually animate a train a la Thomas), a really annoying guy in a cab back from Risa who kept trying to act like a proper norty geezer despite looking like a heroin addict on an extreme diet of cheap vodka and skittles, and of course the ever present spectre of my crippling self doubt/girl issues/general failure at being attractive in any way. 

But back to the point, though my mind originally assured me that I’d be capable of reeling off week after week of sanctimonious speeches like Martin Luther King on an ego trip, that hope has taken a bit of a tumble leading to this rather insincere and definitely not at all poorly written confession. I have nothing to blog. 

Or maybe this is a sign, maybe I’m softening up, maybe, just maybe, I can’t hate anymore. It seems an extreme proposition, but there is a gnawing worry in the back of my mind that either I’m more accepting or the world is getting less shitty. But of course, we all know that that just isn’t true. 

Immigrants trying to make their way from Niger to Algeria were found dead in the sandy wastes of the Sahara desert this week, nigh on 100 people who were possibly trafficked to their deaths by people preying on their hopes to make a quick buck. That’s dark. No matter how chirpy your outlook on life is, you can’t smile in the face of our stream of unrelenting, depressing news. Every day we’re faced with an ever mounting pile of rapes and murders, devastating facts about child poverty rates, stupid people on both sides of the Atlantic doing stupid things, and as always, Miley Cyrus being all over the place like *unspeakable words that may summon Cthulhu if uttered*.

I intended this to be some kind of “story of the week” deal, pick out a news story or cultural issue and rave on about how awful it is before retreating to my man cave of comic books and fantasising about stage diving at Glastonbury with my Gibson trailing behind me. But that relies on the premise that I keep up with the news, which these days I most definitely do not. Apart from that horrific story there’s been little to grab my attention, and I fear that’s because we’ve become so desensitised to bad news that it has no effect any more. We should be in a society that’s amazed by atrocities committed by our fellow men, but conversely we’re living in a world that accepts its faults as the norm and only makes a deal out of exceptionally good acts, and that’s wrong on any level.

I don’t want to wake up to bad news every morning, I don’t want to open the Guardian app while I’m taking my morning dump to read stories about babies being abandoned to die by their mothers and pizza delivery men being stabbed to death for no reason, but the sad truth is that we’ve all become too used to it. So just like last week was a sweeping hate statement directed at the whole world, well, so is this one really. Sorry. However, if anyone is aware of any horrible horrible things occurring, or wishes to share their hatred of anything at all, please read, comment, share, send me a topless snapchat, anything, and I will gladly join in. 

This post turned out to be a bit of a downer, like the last one, and whether that’s a result of our shitty world or my highly likely undiagnosed depression makes no difference, I’m not here to sugar coat the truth because I’d probably accidentally eat it. Normal service, which has yet to start, will attempt to resume next week, the topic likely being my increasing frustration at my inability to ever be able to try my moves on the girl who plays Skye in Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D (also how disappointed I am with it so far). Thanks for reading, if you have been reading, and once again sorry for the slow pick up of what I assure you will be a future nominee for a Pulitzer, or a Nobel Literature prize, or whatever the hell it is that wordpress blogs win.

XOXO, The Angry Indian.