The Daily Dott - and the fog disappears

I believe the security guard that works in my local Morrison’s looks exactly like Matthew Broderick, so much so, that one of these days I am going to walk up to him and say, “how come you are working?” And the bewildered guard will reply, “What do you mean?” And I shall answer, “Nothing, I just thought it was Ferris Bueller’s day off!"

It's The Daily...I am determined to catch that security guard off guard.


-Yoldie!
-Walking On Water
-I Emerge From The Fog With My Fucked Up Dialogue


-Yoldie!

A wise man once told me, “The best thing about being Dott’s pal is that, if you have done something stupid, the chances are he has done it too.”

So, with that in mind...I got a phone call from my drunken friend at five in the morning telling me that he had just broken a pensioner’s ankle;

“Dott, Dott, I just ahahahaha, I just nearly killed an old guy!”

And the worst thing is - I just laughed along with my friend thinking to myself - nothing surprises me anymore.

I wonder, after he broke the poor man’s ankle did he think “oh no, shit, let me phone Dott! If he has broken an old man’s ankles then maybe I will feel better.”

Well I have to admit, I have never broken an old man’s ankle, but, and maybe this will make my friend feel merrier…I did masturbate in the study room of a public library with an old man snoring away on the other side of the table.

It’s true isn't it? Us young ones just don’t respect the elderly!


-Walking On Water

So I was at the swimming or the swimming baths as the old people call it, when a man comes up to me and shouts “hey Jesus, I thought you walked on water!”

I looked at him angrily and snarled, “how aboot I just walk over yer face insteed ya cheeky bastard!”

That never happened by the way.


-I Emerge From The Fog With My Fucked Up Dialogue

In mother nature’s pack of cards the fog is the Joker – Michael Dott

The fog is the most murderous, mysterious, magical and mythical of all Mother Nature’s perfumes, can you imagine the advert, with a sweet and lush sounding French lady doing the voice over, ‘Get lost in it…Fog, the new fragrance from Mother Nature.’

I didn’t get lost in it the other day but I did become completely enamored by its mythical qualities, the fog seems to swallow everything in its path, it’s like the old kitchen towel adverts where they place two towels on top of spilled liquid and one quickly absorbs all of the liquid while the other ‘leading brand’ fails misreably.

Unlike the leading brand though, the fog does not fail, it is truly like a giant kitchen towel, quietly sucking up everything in it's path, tip-toeing in the night.

The fog then becomes the great deceiver that way and this is where its mythical attributes come in because even though you know where you are going the fog has you negotiating every step and movement.

Amazing isn't it, how the fog can make even the dullest of surroundings seem magical.

It did to mine.


the ghost house is to be cleaned...the ghost house is to be cleaned...the ghost house is to be cleaned...

A Love Story

I met my first love about eight years ago when I was in my early teens and I’ve being madly in love ever since.

In the beginning we were pure loved up, we couldn't keep our eyes (or our hands) off each other, I was mad about her and she was mad about me.

We were never apart, almost joined at the hip. You could always see us walking down Duke St together and my Gran would always complain because she could hear us from miles away! She was just jealous because we were having fun. She would also moan because I’d come in late and wake her up! I went everywhere with her, the shops, the pictures, you would always see me with my arm around her! My friends loved to hang out with her too.

We went to the same school and sometimes we would jump into the gym for a wee quickie! We had some quickies after school too, if I was lucky!

When we were apart I would write about her and draw these scribbles about love, most of my jotters were full of it even the front pages. I ended up having to pay for the jotters so I had to calm down and just do tiny doodles on the back!

My Granny and most of my family thought it was just a phase but as the years went on our love got stronger. When we had the whole "meet the family" thing I was nervous and I was disappointed because they weren't too keen on her, in fact, looking back they weren't interested at all. When my Granny and Grander split up my Grander would ask how we were doing and show some interest but I think it was just to make conversation.

They would say I shouldn’t be into things like that and there was some tension between us because she was a different colour from me but they eventually seen how happy she made me and accepted it.

I guess a lot has happened since I’ve left school, like I don’t see any of my family but luckily for me my baby has always been there for me, by my side , ready to rock when I need her.

She was there for me when my sister got ill which I’ll always remember because we went out that night and just lied on a wall and watched as the stars flickered away in the black sky. It was beautiful and it took my mind off things.

She was there for me when I moved homes; I’ve moved about ten times in the past 3 years and no matter where we go we'll go together, we'll never be separated.

The only bad thing is now that I’m older I don’t see her as much, but we're still in love, we still enjoy each other’s company , even if it is just once a week but when we part we can’t wait to be with each other again, after all these years.

One thing I’m proud of after all we've being through is that I’ve never being jealous, she's so beautiful, and everywhere we go there’s always about ten guys fighting to get their hands on her but I don’t really mind at all, because I know she loves me.

Another thing is that even though I've being seeing her for eight years, we've never had sex, although I have slept with her lots of times, it’s just our relationship is worth more than that.

I want her to know that I hope we spend many more happy days together and since I don’t have a girlfriend this year I will spend this Valentine’s Day with her, my first love - my basketball.

The Daily Dott - Tuesday - The Burning Ground

Using the morning as my cover, I slipped into the fields, undetected and unwanted, away from the animals but into the animal kingdom, where the young deer run free and their bums look like they have little white pillows attached to them.

And the sweet colour of the green grass and black soil remind me of those irresistible chocolate limes that I was sent to get as a kid, ‘the Millar ones’, it had to be ‘the Millar ones’ because if it wasn't 'the Millar ones' I would be sent back to the shop sporting a red face.

Returning from the fields I saw the resourceful sparrows, who had gathered outside my close, they had turned a puddle in the muddy grass, one that would barely cover the sole of a child’s boots, into a makeshift bathtub, washing away the dirt from their wings.

As I walked past the refrigerator in my hallway, the one that we always talk about moving, but will most likely still be here this time next year, I smiled inside and like a Klingon I said, “Today is a good day to die.”

It’s The Daily...nature is a language can’t you read.


-Whatever Icles your fancy
-Make like a caesarean section and cut it out
-Hittin’ Ducks


-Whatever Icles your fancy

There was two things that kept me awake last night, the first thing was the fact that I kept trying to think of words that end in ‘ICLES,’ I managed to think of only two, icicles and testicles, the latter was, of course, the other thing that kept me awake.

I can hear the producer of this show whisper in my ear, “Michael, your sister is reading this.”


-Make like a caesarean section and cut it out

Some people can spell, okay, they are really good at it, for whatever reasons and they may even be lucky enough to spell fluently and write comfortably without the aid of a spellchecker.

Some people can’t spell, okay, and that afore-mentioned spellchecker, if they ever bother using it, is a lifesaver to them. And as for grammar...isn’t that a member of the family who wears false teeth!?

When I studied Journalism in college one of the things I enjoyed, despite what I am about to say later on, was proofreading.

Proofreading basically involves going through passage after passage looking for mistakes and correcting them accordingly, it’s a skill that isn’t easy on the eyes because you are constantly straining them by taking in so many words.

Ironic then, considering the main aim of proofreading is to make the passage easier on the eyes!

Despite the good things I have said about proofreading one thing that I don’t like about it is people who are on Facebook, Youtube, MSN and Bebo and are constantly correcting someone else’s comments or things that they have written.

The worst thing about this for me is the fact that the people who are doing the correcting already know what the person is trying to say because they obviously have enough of a brain in their heads to fill in the blanks for the person...so there is no need to write it down and be a smart arse.

Now we have a culture of people who are afraid to make mistakes and spell things wrong, now we have this:

-----------
John says:
and i was walknig the other day
John says :
walking
-----------

John, I’m not stupid I know what you were trying to say!!

Everybody cut that shit out it is nonsense and you know it, people who spell wrong...man, we no what they mean.


-Hittin’ Ducks

Instead of receiving a handful of much appreciated Mothers Pride, as was hoped, the group of young, naive and innocent ducks received a fistful of dynamite instead and somewhere in the confusion, one of the ducks could be heard screaming, “Hell, even burn toast would have been better than that!”

And he walked away from it all, swaggering along the grey path that encircles the normally peaceful pond, as if he had achieved some sporting feat, as if he was at a bowling alley and he scored a strike, as if his girlfriend was watching him and he was the man, that man swagger, as if he might actually have a girlfriend to be proud of.

You Bastard!

I seen what you done Mr. Big Shot and I wished a grand piano fell from the heavens and crushed your pathetic existence.

I wasn’t impressed, Mr. Big Shot, let’s just say the ducks were not the only ones left with a bad taste in their mouths after you left, but I fixed that, I went back to the crime scene after my lunch and fed them lots and lots of bite sized pieces of yummy bread.

After all, that’s all they really wanted in the first place.


the wind and the willows and the piper at the gates of dawn...the wind and the willows and the piper at the gates of dawn...the wind and the willows and the piper at the gates of dawn

The Reader

I like to watch films that make me go for a walk and not running out of the cinema.

I like to watch films where the main character dies, instead of boring me to death.

I like to watch films that don’t ask too many questions and at the same time don’t reveal too many answers.

I like to watch films where the sex scene makes me hard but it’s not hard to watch.

I like to watch films with easy storylines but surprising turns in the plot.

I like to watch films that only appear predictable when they are finished, not when they start.

I like to watch films with my ears because the music is a big character for me.

I like to watch films that have me on the edge of my seat more than once and on the edge of tears more than three times.

I like to watch films where I give the characters advice not tell them to shut up.

I like to watch films that remind me of myself, not make me wonder why I am watching them by myself.

I like to watch films that have me reaching for the phone, not the popcorn, because I need to tell someone, anyone, just how good it is.

I like to watch films that have me wondering why I never seen them in the cinema when they first came out.

If you like films the way I like them, I suggest you watch The Reader.


---------------
Thanks Eugenia.

Frozen Moments

So many A to Z of countries we tried to name
Germonie, Finnland and a smiling Spain
It was Robert Louis Stevenson’s picture hanging in the frame
O’ Treasure Island
I wish I could pronounce your name

Holding hands and running in the rain we came...holding hands and running in the rain we came... holding hands and running in the rain we came

So many Royal Miles is what we passed
The five year old child and the Queen of Hearts
Two smiles, holding hot chocolats

Looking at buildings so flat we laughed...looking at buildings so flat we laughed...looking at buildings so flat we laughed

So many dead leaves is what we see
Then there must be life after death we agree

Do you know the way? Or are you following me... Do you know the way? Or are you following me...Do you know the way? Or are you following me...

The Daily Dott - Tuesday

C’mon, give me some ‘slack’, I hardly watch television or read the newspapers so I should be forgiven for thinking that Gary Glitter was really getting executed last night, after all, it was a very well ‘executed’ and convincing mockumentary that Channel 4 showed.

In case you missed it, ‘The Execution of Gary Glitter’ was a drama set in an imaginary Britain where capital punishment is brought back and Glitter is the first to be ‘shown the ropes.’

It’s quite frightening that I actually sat there thinking it was real, "hang on a minute....they're executing Gary Glitter!!!"

Just as well I never rounded up the neighbours and invited them all in to watch it, they would think I don’t have a head on my shoulders or something.

It’s the Daily...I know you play for the Rocks Michael but I’m beginning to think you live under one too.


-Don’t join this club
-Bag packing
-Lessons On The Old River


-Don’t join this club

Note to self: Don’t bring a chocolate biscuit on your next date.

It started with a question before we met up; I asked her if she believed in magic and she replied no, of course if she said yes, then this whole thing wouldn’t have worked.

So I now had her exactly where I wanted her.

All I needed now was something to give her.

So we got chatting about favourites, films, music, you know the routine and she told me her favourite biscuit was a Fox Classic.

Perfect, I thought. Nice biscuit, too.

I asked her again, do you believe in magic and again she replied no.

Yes, yes, yes.

So here I am now getting ready for this date and I decide that the thing I am going to magic to her is none other than her favourite chocolate biscuit, a Fox Classic.

Don’t try this at home, kids.

I have the melting biscuit in my back pocket and her melting enthusiasm on my mind, perfect time for a trick, I thought.

Do you believe in magic? No.

I ask her to cover her eyes and I pull out the magic biscuit from my pocket, “open your eyes” I say, as if my name is David Blaine and this is Street Magic.

She opens them and laughs, taking her favourite biscuit from me.

After the date, I never heard from the girl again.

Oh well, got to risk it for a biscuit as they say.


-Bag packing

I must admit, my initial reaction to the fact that instead of playing basketball on Saturday we would be back packing to raise money was similar to that of Allen Iverson’s views on missing a practice - bemusement and disgust.

“We talkin’ about bag packing, not the game that I love, not the game that I go out and bust my ass for, not the game that I play hard for every night, we talkin’ about bag packing, bag packing, we talkin’ about bag packing man, not the game, not the game....”

I was frustrated that we were now missing our fourth training session in a row because of this bag packing nonsense and I was being very incorrigible about the whole thing.

Instead of driving the lane I will be driving the aisles, instead of getting checked I will be at the check-out, instead of filling the basket I will be filling a shopping basket! Madness!

I moaned and moaned and moaned until I gave in moaning and accepted the fact that I would be bag packing, which I now think isn’t that bad after all.

If I didn’t moan then I wouldn’t love the game but part of loving the game is doing all the wee behind the scenes stuff and if that involves bag packing then I’m all for it.

And you never know, maybe a nice wee check out girl will be scanning my number.

Wonder if she believes in magic?


-Lessons On The Old River

I am taking up some harmonica lessons at Stow College on a Monday night with the Glasgow Fiddle Workshop.

I have been playing the mouthie for over a year now but it’s mostly novelty tunes that I do and whilst I think I am pretty decent on it, past beginner but not quite expert, I do think there are things that I could learn from a tutor that may be more beneficial than watching Youtube videos and reading books.

I just can’t wait for the bit where I get introduced and asked to play.

Twinkle Twinkle anyone?



Where are you new jeans? Where are you new jeans? Where are you new jeans?

Pitbull Terror

This morning marked the third time in three years that someone has threatened to stab me in Easterhouse and I am beginning to wonder...is it an annual event or something? Do these people have a date circled in their calendar that they decide this is the day we are going to threaten that boy with the Alsatian?

I can’t understand their motives, I don’t understand these people and ‘people’ is a generous word to call them - or him.

I don’t even really know who it is to be honest, these Neds all look the same don’t they? And I certainly wasn’t hanging around to get a close description of this person.

I have had this conversation with myself a long time ago, I have blogged about this before and that’s what is so frustrating about it, I thought this sort of shit was in the past, for a minute, I almost fooled myself into thinking that this was a good place to stay.

But one guy with a monster Pit-bull and a bottle of Buckfast has tainted that image, once again, thank you very much.

Where does it get to the stage that a man has to say to another man, “you wait there, I’ll be back in five minutes and I’m gony fucking stab you, in the chest, you’re getting plugged, where do you stay? Where do you stay?”

In all seriousness, am I supposed to wait there in the middle of the fields, covered in mud, with my dog on a leash, for this guy to go home, put down his drink, get a knife and come back to stab me...in the chest, of all places, of all fucking places, it's pretty frightening that he was so articulate in his description of where he was going to pierce me.

Sarcasm aside, I can tell you I pretty much said nothing to this man other than tell him to calm down. What upset this man so much? I don’t really know.

I was out in the fields, my dog was off the leash, I lost sight of my dog then all of a sudden I can hear this guy shouting “get that fucking dog on the leash, get that fucking dog on the leash.”

Now my dog comes back into my sight, the guy is still shouting, I never heard my dog or his dog bark which means I know for a fact that my dog didn’t attack him or his dog so I am thinking what is the problem here?

So he still shouts and hurls abuse, for no reason, telling me that his dog would have killed my dog (I never seen the bottle of Buckfast at this point) and I say, “aye, he’s on a leash now awrite.”

But the guy continues to hurl a lot of shit and I can just say “look, am I supposed to see through the trees or something, I never saw you and that’s it.”

There must be a defence mechanism in Ned’s that whenever someone answers them back, they immediately go into self destruct mode and decide that because someone, who has every right to stand up for themselves, has answered them back then they are going to stab them.

I don’t understand that.

I don’t get it.

It’s like a complete U-turn from rational, civilised, social, normal fucking human being way of thinking, they just skip those logical parts and go straight to the most extreme scenario and that is him coming to stab me.

In retrospect, maybe I shouldn’t have made the tree comment but I’m not even trying to entertain that thought because I don’t think I was either in the wrong or cheeky.

I don’t think these people should be allowed to just bully the neighbourhoods that they live in but they do, these people run the streets, no doubt about it.

Thankfully he never went home to get his knife or blade or axe or whatever weapon of choice he had in mind, instead, he proceeded to walk towards me with his fucking gigantic Pit-bull to offer me a demonstration of his dog killing mine and presumably me and him rolling about the mud fighting.

No thanks.

I had to run away, which is probably the most cowardly thing one could do in that situation but there is no way that I was going to fight this man. I do feel a bit daft though because I bet he’s thinking that he’s so great because he can intimidate me and I guess he did, I ended up coming back from the fields pretty paranoid and scared that this guy was coming to get me.

I saw him a few hours later swinging a pole with his Pit-bull terrier looking for me. Crazy bastard!

Now I’m peeping out my window like that famous Malcolm X photo, only difference is he had a gun.

I wonder who would be running if I had one of those?

He shouldn’t have a dog, I have never saw one of these Ned’s with a wee terrier, nah, they need big Pit-bulls and Rottweiler’s to feel mighty, but the thing is, if they are so great at fighting, why would they need a dog to protect them?

If only I had a pet lion.


Should have done that game report instead...should have done that game report instead...Should have done that game report instead...

The Daily Dott - Thursday - The Greatest Show On Earth

Meeting up to ‘get back’ the old DVD’s and CD’s usually signals the end of a relationship. But as I found out, meeting up isn’t always easy; in fact, it can be a complicated war of cunning and chance. It’s so funny how we act over our precious ‘property’ when it comes to tying up the loose ends.

You start to get super defensive over some shit film that you only watched once, if at all, and some shit CD that you could easily replace for a couple of quid.

But no, you want to be awkward about it, not only that, but you want to meet them, damn right you want to them and you’ll get back your ‘fucking CD’s.’

“Naw, naw, yer no postin them, yer meeting me and I’ll get them!”

It’s War now, baby.

It’s like your entire world suddenly depends on these items and you begin to get so wound up that they are not back in your possession, where they belong.

Because they are yours!

“Their mine, ma fuckin CD’s”

You shout. You scream. You. Want. Them. Now.

And if that fails, which it normally does depending on how awkward the other person is, you start the old, “well if you don’t give me back my CD’s yer no getting your clothes back either”, of course the funny thing is, she’s already told you to fuck off and burn them!

The old ransom game just backfired.

Ahhhhh.

The joys of being a grown up!

I once played those frustratingly mind-boggling games with a casserole dish, yes, a casserole dish, of all things, “I want my casserole dish, no, you won’t post it! I want to meet you and I want it back, I can’t make casseroles without it”

I can’t make casseroles without it. I can’t make casseroles without it. I can’t make casseroles without it.

I started to treat this casserole dish like it was an everyday item that I could not live without, as if it was just as important as my own set of keys or my mobile phone, as if, I had been making casseroles every single day for the last five years.

I was so possessed over this pile of Pyrex that I was adamant I was getting it back, fighting all the way to the courts of human rights if need be, for the freedom to have my casserole dish back that, I, Michael Dott paid for.

The funny thing is, once I got it back, I tossed it in the cupboard and it hasn’t been used since!!

It’s the Daily...got my DVD’s?


-Confessions of a court reporter
-Probably the most annoying
-Mumps the word
-Fantasy
-The Greatest Show On Earth


-Confessions of a court reporter

With my four pens fully loaded strapped to my camouflaged shirt, I had enough ammo to take down a few...notes, I shall infiltrate between the lines of innocent paper and crush a few notepads along the way. My mission was simple, to bring the news, or at the very least, bring a bloody half decent game report for those who missed the action.

And the action was, the Glasgow Rocks Junior side taking on Glasgow Storms Junior side, and in case you missed it, which you probably did, the report can be read here:

http://www.thedailydott.com/juniorrocksshineontheprocourt.pdf

Before the game got underway, I decided to play my own little game and that was, to see how many people I met that day mention the fact that the clocks went forward, sorry, back during the middle of the night...unfortunately for my easily pleased mind nobody mentioned the clocks going back, besides my Brother later on that day, after all, me and my team of analysts were too busy focusing on the game clock.

Yes I was quite lucky to meet a young girl who was the cousin of one of the Rocks players, talking to her broke up what could have been an otherwise boring day.

Instead, I found myself sipping a John Coffey whilst talking about the music of Lord Of The Rings and how appetising lambnis bread is, or is it, bread lamnis?

I can’t remember but it is the bread that Frodo and Sam share in the film, one they ration very cautiously as the only other thing that seems to be worthy of eating in their journey is the hobbits themselves.

No wonder Frodo looked so miserable in the film.

Talking to this bright eyed and ambitious young girl, they always are at that age, I couldn’t help but think that one of the most annoying things about being ‘old’ is you lose your naive side, the side that would, after two minutes, ask someone if they ever plan on travelling the world.

What a wonderful question!

Met with the unadventurous response of; “I don’t have a passport.”

I told her about the hazards of the job, that the written word is binding, that it is in black and white and can easily be torn apart, that the whole point of me being there was to recap the events for those who weren’t and that maybe a real reporter would be in the hall talking to the coaches and players.

But the young girl was far more interesting, and besides, I like to just go in the stands and get the report written, not that I would be a member of the press box anyway it’s not like I was covering the game for a newspaper or anything.

So when we did find ourselves in the stands, accompanied by the great Robert J Mills, all of a sudden I became an expert on all matters basketball!

“When the team in black get the ball they are on offense, they have 24 seconds to get a shot up, now they want to settle down and run a play, it’s like a game of chess really...”

I was sure my words were falling on death ears but maybe I was talking to myself, reminding myself that I actually do a know a bit about basketball and there’s no reason why I can’t do this report.

It had been about seven months since my last one, so I felt like I needed to justify it or something.

Anyway, the game was a bit lacklustre from a reporter’s perspective, nobody died on the day so there was really nothing exciting to write about but I guess that girl might have had a few things to write in her diary that night, mostly of how I talked the ears off her about basketball.

They still keep one at that age, don’t they?

-Probably the most annoying

I do find that the word probably is probably the most annoying of words to spell!

-Mumps the word

The following is a telephone conversation that me and my friend, who we shall just call ‘B’ (for legal reasons) had about the dangers of giving blood... or something like that;

Me: Youuuuu

B: Youuuu ya cunt

Me: Geeeeeeeez

B: Yeeeeeez ahhh

M: Awrite mate!

B: I went into the Doctors and told the cunt I had the old mumps!

M: Mumps the word mate! My mumps, my lovely lady mumps!

B: Aye, the Doctors hate a bit of self diagnosing but I just told him straight away then he took a sample and said, it’s the mumps, but I told him that already

Me: Haha, they must hate that

B: He told me to stay away from people but people know to stay away from me anyway!

M: Haha

B: I’ve got an infectious personality now I have infectious blood.

Me: Did you no give blood the other day man?

B: Shit that’s right

Me: Some poor person out there has the mumps now!

B: Imagine it was a cancer patient

Me: You better phone them man

B: I’m no phoning them that’s my phone bill I’m using. They don’t even check for infections they just ask if you are okay, test for iron levels and then take a pint of the good stuff.

Me: Man you need to get on the phone that’s no right

B: I know, pain in the arse though

Me: Mate your blood is evil, it’s the dark side of the force mate, no one is compatible

B: Haha, youuuuuu, this is a pain right enough.


-Fantasy

One of my friends, not the one with the infected blood and personality disorder, suggested that if I could not get to sleep I try thinking of some fantasy stuff, no, not of an adult nature! I’m trying to get to sleep not stay awake. So I gave it a go...

I was running up the hill then I could see the skyline, it was horizontal, a neon light flashed across the screen and then I was swimming, my ears are popping, I am way, way, way down the bottom of the ocean, I see red sand and Mario appears beside me, I take his star and dodge the dragon that is chasing him...

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

It works!


-The Greatest Show On Earth

It shall not be televised, it shall be visualised, through the eyes of those who witness the glorious montage of basketball cuttings strategically placed to bring a story of a team now in its zenith.

I have a wee smirk on my face because right now anyone reading that has no idea what the hell I am blabbing on about, but let’s just say I had an art attack last night, and if you are a member of the Glasgow Rocks you will see the greatest show on earth tonight.

If you go to training that is :D


You escaped the frosted glass on the windscreen and dodged the supermarket queue’s... You escaped the frosted glass on the windscreen and dodged the supermarket queue’s... You escaped the frosted glass on the windscreen and dodged the supermarket queue’s...

The Daily Dott - Saturday

Hell, even the word emoticon sounds robotic, fabricated and quite frankly emotionless! But these are the life and times we find ourselves living in, comment after comment, smiley after smiley, ‘lmao’ after ‘lmao’ and when you find your ass on the floor and put it back where it belongs you kinda get sick of being a digital representation of yourself. I know I do.

Don’t get me wrong though, I do enjoy having conversations over msn, commenting on someone’s status or noticing I have been tagged in someone’s photo album on Facebook (actually I don’t enjoy the latter especially if it’s a photo I don’t like) however it just gets a wee bit tiring after a while, there is only so far this social networking can take us.

Now I may sound like someone who spends too much time on the internet but fuck it, chances are you are the same as me if you are reading this.

I have been talking to someone quite a lot on msn over the past few weeks and it gets to the stage where, okay, these conversations are the reason we may be meeting up in the future but if I don’t meet this person, I may go crazy!! Lol.

I suppose I will meet this person soon enough and then in our future msn conversations the ‘lol’ will remind me of her sweet laughter, the smiley’s will remind me of her dimples and the ‘lmao’ will remind me of, I don’t know, falling on my arse or something?

Emoticons will do for now but it is your emotions I want to see.

It’s The Daily... ;)


-Who Beamed It Up?
-thatguyfromthebnp


-Who Beamed It Up?

Star Trek is one of the most successful science fiction franchises of our time, grossing millions upon millions and entertaining us for the best part of 40 years and more recently the last Star Trek film, directed by JJ Abrams was, “one of the most successful films of 2009, earning almost $US400 million ($430 million) at the worldwide box office”

Now these facts show, especially the latter about the movie, that there is still interest in Star Trek, of course there is, I mean, they are still showing re-runs of Voyager and Deep Space Nine on Virgin 1 much to the delight of this blogger.

But where did it all go wrong for Star Trek, in particular, the last television series, if you remember it.......Star Trek Enterprise.

Why was it beamed off our television screens? Who decided that the ship would go into warp speed 5 and never return?

I had to find out and I started my own mission ‘to boldly go’ onto the internet and discover the reasons behind this, after all, Star Trek the television show had been running for 18 consecutive years since 1987.

Well it all boiled down to ratings basically, nobody was watching the show and it got pulled after five seasons...pants! I thought there was going to be a more exciting reason but it’s kind of obvious, the show was a bit lame, especially that lackluster theme tune:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZPn-lTytfGo&feature=related


-thatguyfromthebnp

I am compelled to write at least something about thatguyfromthebnp despite the fact that I vowed never to talk about politics on this blog and also the fact that I never watched Question Time or even knew the guys name until yesterday.

However, I think judging by what I have heard about the guys appearance on the show, I think you are all Nick Griffin the point, yes, he was always going to make an arse of himself but I am talking about him, you are talking about him and that generates curiosity and interest in the party.

Some say he dug a hole for himself, but is it a hole that is big enough for more voters?


The whole idea is to save a life...The whole idea is to save a life...The whole idea is to save a life...

The Daily Dott - Thursday

He seen the ugly side of beauty and it crushed him inside, “I have never felt so inadequate in my whole life,” my mate openly admitted over the phone. Okay, he did have a hangover but in all our majestic confessions over the years, I have never heard anything as brutally honest as this, especially not from someone who seems to border on the line of arrogance when it comes to his own looks.

But maybe it was just the drink talking as this was ‘the morning after’, “every single guy in there was tall, was it a basketball convention or some shit! And every single girl was pure stunning and I’m no joking, I just stood at the bar feeling weird.”

When I realised it wasn’t the drink talking, I began to love everything he said because it was raw, it was different, it was real, his honesty was friendship as it was supposed to be, stripped down to the acoustics... friendship unplugged.

It was obvious to me that my mate didn’t have the best of times that night but I could understand and almost sympathise at where he was coming from because I do think there is an ugly side to beauty.

I think there is a side that can make you feel inadequate and uncomfortable, much like my friend did that night, it is weird no doubt, it’s a weird feeling, but I guess it’s just part of human nature and maybe, as gay as this sounds, my friends own beauty has made others feel that way too.

It’s The Daily, have you seen the ugly side?


-The Force
-Postal Strikes
-It’s our wits


-The Force

Think about the phrase ‘police force’ but don’t think about power in numbers, think about this instead.

Just keep walking a wee bit faster and hopefully you’ll avoid them take a right and head up the hill but if they are walking behind you then they might think you deliberately took a right at the hill to avoid them so you’ll need to just keep walking straight keep your hands in your pockets but they might think you are carrying something it’s only keys there is no need to worry oh man they are getting closer you’ve been shopping, no, you’ve been for a walk, at this time of night, you’ve been to the fort and now you are on your way home and you stay at 17 Balfluig St oh man just look down and say something just smile or say hi or whatever.

That happened last night when I was on my way home from a wee wander in the park, I deliberately used little punctuation in that paragraph to show you the power the police have over me, not just the power to lock me up if I do something wrong but an intimidating presence in my mind...a physiological force, a police force, that makes me afraid of them.

I was enjoying my wander until I seen the boys in fluorescent jackets approach me, I anxiously dreaded passing the coppers and when they did get close I thankfully didn’t have to get searched or answer silly questions, instead they just shone a bright light right in my face as if they were from ‘The Men In Black.’

What bothered me was that instead of just walking past me, okay it was night time, they shone that torch right in my eyeballs and proceeded to chuckle as they walked away because I was startled.

But see if I shined a torch in their face.....hmm...that wouldn’t be a bright idea Michael.

Does anyone else feel the Police Force? Feel as though they've done something wrong when the presence of the Five O is near....

-Postal Strikes

If you think the current postal strikes are bad they are nothing compared to the 70’s where they went on strike for 7 weeks. Wow!

-It’s our wits

There is a saying that goes, “It’s our wits that make us men,” well I have thought of one for our female counterparts.....”It’s our tits that make us women.”

I’m still adamant you should get fined for drinking outside at T In The Park... I’m still adamant you should get fined for drinking outside at T In The Park...I’m still adamant you should get fined for drinking outside at T In The Park..

The Daily Dott - Wednesday - 100% Words

Milk would never be advertised as 100% white, sugar would never be advertised as 100%sweet so why would a hamburger be advertised as 100% beef? Why do fast food chains like McDonald’s take pride in declaring that their burgers are 100% beef , as if, besides a bit of egg white and a smidgen of onion it could really be anything else! It’s a bloody burger for god sake OFCOURSE it is 100% beef!! I am amazed that this has become a selling point for not only burgers but supermarkets are also proudly declaring that their cuts of sirloin is 100% beef, now c’mon, besides a bit of fat and maybe bone what else could it be? 100% cow?

These advertisers need to moooove over and do some half decent advertising that doesn’t take the piss out of the consumers, am I wrong? A hamburger should be 100% beef shouldn’t it? Yes, the fact that I am even questioning that shows how messed up the situation really is.

Another thing that gets me about advertising is the use of percentages to convey how authentic or how much better their product is. For example, Duracell batteries last 30% longer than the standard battery, well that’s all good Duracell but how much is 30% to the average Joe? How many more pictures am I getting out of my digital camera, how many more flicks of the channel am I getting out of my remote and how many extra vibes is Wifey getting out of the........radio.

It’s The Daily, good to be back on the blog again, bringing you 100% words.


-Stats
-Old Dear, I see you
-When the Editor of...


- Stats

Readers of this blog will know that I often make up band names for no reason other than to keep myself amused and to have a good old play with words and phrases, my latest band name is “The Statistics” and they are going to have an album called “According To.”


- Old Dear, I see you

I want to tell her that I see her every Saturday, walking up the difficult stairs that take us out of the station, the steps that I know is more difficult for her than it is me, that sometimes I deliberately take my time walking up those stairs just to let her know that it is okay to be slow, that not everyone is in a rush, but I sometimes find it hard to be as slow as her because I am not in my 70’s, if that is how old she is.

But maybe that is the second question I could ask her, after she looks at me and smiles because she replies to my first question that she notices me every Saturday too, that she sees me slow down when I walk up the stairs, that she appreciates not everyone is in a rush, that she is just back from Marks And Spencer’s and now she is headed home, that this routine is the only comfort she has in a life that is eroding faster now than she can ever remember.

Old Dear, I need to speak with you.


- When The Editor Of...

When the Editor of Letters From The City ; An Illustrated Glasgow Philavery asked me to write something interesting about myself I froze like Han Solo in Star Wars.

You see, me and interesting are two words that don’t go together, or is it just that when I am asked such questions I feel as though they are a bit tricky to answer?

Don’t get me wrong I know what my interests are but to be interesting is a projection that must surely lie with the other person, you tell me what makes me interesting because I don’t really know to be honest.

However, the best I could muster up was the fact that I don’t have a passport and some other musings about my dog Jaffa but they decided that the fact I don’t have a passport is more exciting than my pooch so they went with that.

Yes, thanks for that, now the whole World knows that Michael Dott doesn’t have a passport but that’s okay, it’s not like I will be visiting it anytime soon!


And The Healing Has Begun...And The Healing Has Begun... And The Healing Has Begun...And The Healing Has Begun...

The Power Of Words

Sticks and stones may break my bones (but
words will never hurt me).

It’s been a while since I’ve attempted a blog of any kind and that’s because events over the past few months have just clouded my thoughts, as much as I have wanted to express myself in the written form I just haven’t, until now, been able to understand them let alone construct them into readable sentences.

Having said that, if none of what I am about to write makes any sense whatsoever then let’s just say that the above is my disclaimer.

You may be wondering why I have decided to open the blog with that famous idiom, one that you may have uttered as a child in the playground, we should all know it, and it basically means we should be above criticism because at the end of the day words are only....well, words.

Oh dear. Only words!

Well, if I am the writer that I fancy myself as then I obviously disagree with that idiom, Writers, Authors, Journalists, Wordsmiths, Editors, Linguistic and Language lovers unite and repeat the following with me: “how dare it suggest that words should not hurt us.”

Oh words can be very, very, very powerful indeed. I know this. I respect this.

And to be honest, I only fully realised this today, after two failed attempts at Journalism, I fully understand the power of words. I want you to understand too.

I have been at the receiving end of words and I have been the giver of words, harsh words, absurd words, angry words, demeaning words, words that will make you cry, words that will make you want to hit me, words that will make you not want to talk to me again in your lifetime, words that will have you thinking "I never really knew that person" , words that will have you thinking “how the fuck did I get here.”

The events that I mentioned at the start were all about words, when you break it down it was all just words but powerful and potent words nonetheless.

How could words get me into so much trouble if words cannot, like the idiom suggest, hurt us, well, they hurt me so much.

----------------------------------

I sit here and think about a person saying they were ‘terrified.’ I have thought about what terrified means over the days that have passed since that word was said.

Refraining from looking at a dictionary I believe the word terrified is to begin with a powerful word, it means that you are in shock, you are in disarray, that you are very scared and that you are in an almost trauma like state.

Now I know it’s not for me to judge how another was thinking but I believe that person, who is good with words, has chosen the word ‘terrified’ carefully as they know the weight behind the word. When I talk about weight I want you to think about how heavy or how light a word can be - how much impact it can have.

On this particular occasion, I did not think that person was good with the word they chose because to me it was an exaggerated word that never reflected how they felt but reflected how they wanted others to believe they felt.

I believe this because what I went through to get to the stage where I was listening to this person say their words was truly terrifying and I believe that person chose the wrong word.

Upset, sad, scared or annoyed, all those words would have summed up how the person was feeling because in my eyes you cannot be in a state of terror and continue ones daily work, not a chance.

But the reason the words I mentioned were not used were because those words just wouldn’t have done the job under the circumstances.

Let me tell you now not of the meaning of the word terrified but of my experience with feeling that emotion.

Terrified is when you are continuously woken up during the night with banging, screaming, shouting, kicking on steel doors, surrounded by scary individuals, terrified is when you are fasting for three days because you are scared of what happened the last time may happen again, terrified is when you are sure there is something deadly sinister going on with your heart beat, terrified is when you are packed into a van physically shaking because you fear what is going to happen next, terrified is when you hand over a shit stained t-shirt completely lost of self-worth, terrified is when you walk into a room half naked with fourteen scumbags, terrified is when you have to sit with those people and get torn apart by words of abuse and threats of physical violence.

I believe that is terrified.

But there are no right or wrong words, just circumstance, there are no threats or promises, just the individual who interprets them to be so.

Ironic then, that the so-called Journalist, even though I haven’t written anything, none of my work has been published, I haven’t done shit basically – was done by words, of his own and the words of others.

Just don’t tell me that words can’t hurt a person, look at David Beckham, simple taunts from football fans were enough to get him roused and angry, millionaire or not, words on a girls Facebook were enough to get a teenage girl imprisoned and if you want to take the example further back in time then Google ‘Hector McDonald’, read his story, an Army general who was accused of being homosexual in a newspaper, a man who killed others in battle and fought valiantly in many wars – killed himself because of words printed in a newspaper.

Words!


For centuries we have been fighting over words, killing over words, screaming over words, debating over words, going to war over words, harassing over words.


Words, only words!

Man, the truth is this:

The pen is mightier than the sword.

Words may not break our bones, but they will break our hearts, our soul, our mind.

The Daily Dott - Tuesday

On Saturday I watched Casino Royale as James Bond and his “perfectly formed arse” (it is rather pert isn’t it) ran, jumped and humped a few nice women along the way in what was a pretty good yet jittery Bond film.

It was the credit-crunch bond, was Jimbo actually driving a Ford Mondeo?

Yes, he eventually got his Austin Martin and then gloriously crashed it on a long winding road. This was Bond like we’ve never seen him before.

“Yes James, Yes James!!” I shouted at the television.

That’s it. Fuck the Martini and yes, who really “gives a damn” if it’s shaken or stirred.

Did James Bond actually just say he “doesn’t give a damn” if his precious drink is shaken or stirred.

Indeed he did and it’s about bloody time too! What a nonsensical nonsense drink for a man of no nonsense.

‘No nonsense’ isn’t that the tagline for John Smiths? Yes and one has to ask, why doesn’t James Bond drink a pint of bitter? Raymond Chandler said that Bond is, “what every man would like to be” so why doesn’t he order a man’s drink! Well, you could argue that after losing that game of poker the man was already bitter enough.

But of course he got his revenge on the man with the bleeding eye that wouldn’t be any more interesting as a Bond villain if he had seven eyes and talked out of his arse. Has there been a memorable Bond villain since.........hmm.

The film ended with Bond towering over a villain with a ridiculously huge gun that I don’t really know how he managed to hold in the air with one arm whilst saying “Bond, James Bond.”

The fact that the film ended in this way shows the formula is being remixed a little and I also got the feeling they are aware of a certain Jason Bourne creeping up on their arses, I wonder if a tag team of Bourne and Bond would make for a good film? Perhaps the two wouldn’t, ahem, bond.

As for Daniel Craig, I thought he done the job, I can remember some woman saying that he looked like an average builder and not a James Bond but all I can say to that is he definitely doesn’t have a builders bum!

It’s the Daily...has anyone ever read a James Bond book?

-The Intricacies
-Don’t Look Forward
-Podcasts


-The Intricacies

The Intricacies is a good name for a band, don’t you think? Although I could just imagine a record company exec saying the name is too complicated. Well that’s another one added to my list, maybe I should make a website with a band name generator.

Too late!

http://www.bandnamemaker.com/generator/?cw=Intricacies&submit.x=81&submit.y=21

Whispering Intricacies! Now that’s a name! Shhhh, don’t tell anyone :P


-Don’t Look Forward

There is an evil angel up there in the clouds, a disgruntled little bastard who has been banished from whatever lies beyond the pearly gates, but he doesn’t mind, because he just loves to sit on a dark cloud and cast spells on people who are gaily looking forward to things.

As the Joker would say, LIKE ME!

Yes, for two weeks or maybe longer I had been looking forward to going to basketball training with Blantyre, a blizzard of five on five Basketball was waiting for me. Or so I thought.

Instead I get hit with an avalanche, not of players, but of reality as only four people showed and only one of them was a Blantyre man. How can 3 HOURS of Basketball go so unloved, so unnoticed...

That wee bastard is sneering.

I kind of blame myself for looking forward to it, as mad as that may seem. When I look forward to things they never turn out the way I imagined and how can I falter myself for having an imagination.

In the words of Lucifer, I’ll be dammed.


-Podcasts

I have recently just discovered the delightful world of podcasts even though my Ipod is over a year old. God, it took me ages to craft that opening sentence, grammar makes me fickle.

Anyway, yes, Podcasts are pretty cool, I like listening to the radio on occasion but I love the fact you have a wee show that you can listen to ‘on the move’ so to speak. What I don’t like about it is that earphones give me a fucking headache.

Two shows I listen to at the moment are Stephen Fry’s podgram and ESPN’s NBA Daily!


---------------------------------

Dave Brubeck does things with that saxophone... Dave Brubeck does things with that saxophone...Dave Brubeck does things with that saxophone...


My shirt has dots on it does that mean I’m dotting?

Isn’t it fascinating that I have a long list of pet hates when in actual fact one of my pet hates is the culture and fascination with listing things, you know, the whole 'top ten’ of this and ‘greatest movies of all time’ stuff.

MSN is notoriously rife for listing just about everything that can possibly be listed - and the shame about that is nothing can have a true value these days without a number, place or rank within a list and this carries over to us in our discussions about, for example, who the best footballers are of all time. Does that shit really need to be ranked? Anyone can make a list; it’s not a hard thing to do.

Anyway, all this talk about lists is making for listless reading so let’s get on with the show and you guessed it, coming up are my pet-hates, a subject I’ve been meaning to molest for a while now. It’s The Daily...keep the lists for the Sunday shopping, please!

-Michael Jackson
-Willy Nilly
-Pet hates

-Michael Jackson

By now, I’m sure everyone knows that Michael Jackson is dead and there is suspicion mounting as to the circumstances surrounding it i.e. maybe drugs were used. Conspiracy theories will be rife, no doubt, as there always is when someone of such altitude dies, some will think he’s still alive but the question I am asking is this, was Michael Jackson black or white? My brother says he is black and also my mate, but this photo begs to differ; http://www.gossipcheck.com/blog/wp-c...

Clearly he’s white! Not black. He WAS black. But now he’s white.

-Willy Nilly

According to Stephen Fry the word ‘willy nilly’ used to mean that one was indecisive but now it has transcended to mean that one is all over the place. Fry thinks that’s fine because “language is like nature in the way it evolves,” I wonder what words we use today will change in the future!

-Pet hates

I have no idea why the things that get under our nose are called ‘pet-hates’ because to me that’s a dig at our lovely pets to which our homes would be lifeless without their presence. Perhaps it’s because, like a pet, we look after our hates – even though we hate our hates we do tend to them affectionately...I for one have noticed that people love to tell others what rubs them the wrong way, what really annoys them, don’t we love to tell of our pet hates. Is it likeable?Maybe, maybe it is likeable to dislike things, there’s nothing wrong with it I guess, just as long as your pet hate stays on a leash and doesn’t shit where it’s not supposed to then we shall all be fine (perhaps fine isn’t the best word to use there). So without further Bob McAdoo (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bob_McAdoo)

1. Male Vulgarity

I HATE male vulgarity. It’s brutal, it’s disgusting and it’s nothing but utter frothy filth that shouldn’t even brave the top of a Fosters pint served in a plastic cup in Campus of all places. You would think, in this day and age, such vulgarity would have long escaped our tongues. But still, there is a lot of males who love nothing better than to shout, “get your tits out” “show us yer rat” “show us yer minge hen” “get yer flaps out” etc to females , I’m sure you guys know exactly what I am talking about.Where does that come from? What exactly are these people expecting?

Do they actually think that by shouting that shit that a female is actually going to get her tits out for them? Of course she isn’t. That shit is not cool. Calling a vagina a rat?!? Well, if that’s what they want to call it then I guess us males came from a rat, what does that make us... vermin?

I cringe when I hear that shit. I cringe when the white van beeps his horn because he’s seen a female, my God, look, there’s a girl! Oh and she’s got blonde hair, and tits too, and an arse, wow! A female with blonde hair, tits and an ass, well I’ll be dammed. Are these people surprised to see a female with a pair of tits or an arse? As if they aren’t meant to have them!

What makes that even more pitiful is that some males do the above in front of other males just to be cool, to be ‘one of the lads.’ God help us all.

The way these guys are acting you’d think they’d never seen any of it before, but the worst part is, they have...have a wife, have children, have daughters, have mothers and grandmothers.

Why disrespect women like that?

2. Male Vulgarity (again)

Another element of vulgarity from males that gets on my tits, or my man breasts, is males who refer to having sex as, “getting ma hole.” Again, I’m sure your ears have heard the “a hole is a goal” terminology and all the other derogatory references that go with it.Listen. A hole is not a nice thing to call a woman’s vagina, even though it may be a hole of sorts. But the funny thing is, a hole is usually described as a place you would rather NOT be. You know, digging’ yourself a hole, stuck in a hole, trapped in a hole – that sort of thing.

Conversely, a vagina is a place I’m sure a lot of males would love to be in so why it’s called a hole I do not know, I just think it’s disgusting and unimaginative; you will never catch me saying it or even having the audacity to ask a girlfriend for it.By the way, some males actually ask their girlfriend if they can get their hole, I’m not sure what’s worse, the male who asks or the female who puts up that shit.

Why don’t we call it a fissure instead?

3. Male Infidelity

Because nobody likes a cheater, do they? Hmm, in most aspects of life cheating is seen as a bad thing (think steroids in sports) but to some people cheating on your wife or girlfriend is acceptable but I don’t think it is at all, hence the reason it is on my list. I know a lot of people who cheat and I guess cheating and bragging go hand in hand because cheaters love to talk about their handy work -as they’d like it to be known. Honestly, is it really that hard to be disciplined?

Well, women know when their being cheated on and I’m sure it won’t be long before the culprit is caught with his Paddy Ashdowns.

If one female isn’t good enough don’t have two. Simple!

4. Certain words

Yes, certain words annoy me, especially ones that are grossly over-used like make-up on a tart! I am not you’re dude and I don’t think what just happened was awesome, mostly because I am not AMERICAN!!!I am Scottish, I am your lad, laddy, man, chum, pal, mate – not a dude. Call me whatever you want but not dude, please. As for awesome, it’s just one of those words that doesn’t carry any weight with me. Awesome has been so over done now that it’s lost its awesomeness and now when people describe something as awesome I believe it means mediocre.

Awesome is arsesome.

5. Manners, please.

I believe I am quite the gentlemen when it comes to my manners, I just wish more people were as considerate as myself. If you are in front of me and I am lagging behind I expect you to hold the door open for me, not because I am incapable but because I would do the same for you, it’s basic gentonomics.

Maybe that should be a subject in University!

6. Issue with tissue

I hate when I do the toilet only to discover there is no toilet roll, so much so, that I once famously mentioned it in a job interview and suffice to say I did not get the job. But seriously, a toilet without bog roll is like a bedroom without a bed, shits not right.

7. Checkout Manners

Yes I am developing a pet hate for people with no checkout manners and it’s nothing to do with people paying by card when there’s a great big queue (although that is rather annoying isn’t it?) it’s more to do with people not putting down the “next customer please” stick on the conveyor belt. Because they don’t do this, I have to reach over everyone’s food and grab it myself, and yes, best believe I slam it down on the belt when that happens!!

Okay, so it’s not that bad but this goes back to manners for me, it isn’t a hard thing to be courteous to the next man. And if I only have two items and you have two hundred you better be letting me skip you.

Oh, and people who just stand there and I can’t put my shopping on the conveyor belt, the belt moves for a purpose so there is no need to stand idle like the Queens guard.

8. Lists

I was going to list the reasons why I hate lists but that would be like eating my own faeces. Eh, maybe I should just move on to the next topic as to get that horrible image out of your head and my own. It does, however, serve as a good way of me showing you my dislike for lists.What is the greatest? Are sports, films, television and music dead? Well, until they are, there really can be no greatest and honestly, who actually cares, there are so many intangibles when listing such things that it just can’t be done.

9. Directors who over use their nameAlmost every film poster and trailer now comes with the whole “from the Director of the 40 year old virgin” bullshit. Why do they feel the need to mention that shit? Do they think the audience are stupid? And what’s even more silly is that sometimes when it says from the director of such and such a film - that film wasn’t even good anyway so it would make people NOT want to see it.

A film should be able to stand on its own without reminding people who directed it, it’s fair enough to have the directors name on the poster but not in HUGE type and with the whole introduction as I mentioned earlier.

10. Looking at my feet first

I am going to get a pair of white trainers and on the front I shall draw a pair of eyes, a nose, maybe even a wee moustache, some eyebrows and a wee smile for the mouth because the amount of people that look at my feet first as if it’s my face is atrocious. Then again, maybe my trainers are more pleasant to look at.

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I shall not be fractious in these times...I shall not be fractious in these times... I shall not be fractious in these times...I shall not be fractious in these times...

If you’re going to fuck the world, do it gently.

The Daily Dott - Thursday - Wireless Baby!

The bellybutton may be our most useless body part, having no other apparent function than to collect bum fluff, but, it does serve as a reminder that we were NOT born alone.

Someone cut that umbilical chord with a big pair of rusty scissors and the chord itself obviously came from our Mother, so that's at least two people who witnessed our touchdown on this Earth.

And if you're Dad was a belter, he probably would have been there too.

So that's the whole 'I was born alone so I will die alone' thing kiboshed. Or at least, you may unfortunately die alone but it's impossible to be born alone.

I've been wireless since '84 - baby!

The Daily Dott - Malky And The Broccoli Tree

He noticed me before I noticed him. They always do. Those...is he drunk? Here we go!

He was sitting under my favourite tree, one that I affectionately call the Broccoli tree, because it looks like a huge stalk of broccoli jutting out from the ground. He called me over, before I had the chance to pretend I never saw him and the next thing I knew, I was sitting beside 'Malky,' listening to tales from what I could only describe as not his finest hour.

For the reason he was sitting under the Broccoli Tree was that his girlfriend had kicked him out the night before and he spent the night under the stars with a comforting bottle of white lighting which he kindly offered me a 'swatch' off.

I'd rather be struck by lighting.

Malky's problems seemed to run deep, like the scars on his wrists from attempted suicide. His Father passed away many years ago, an event he admitted to never recovering from.

Throughout our conversation, I noticed he would pause to reflect on superstitious notions, such as how many magpies there was in the park ( he was genuinely pleased to see two) and before I went away he even picked up a penny and gave it to me – believing it would give me luck for the rest of the day.

Walking away from the tree where he sat, I began to think about the significance of his comments regarding superstition.

See, he didn't just acknowledge them in a passive way, instead he seemed to really believe that these exterior elements could bring him happiness.

As opposed to finding his own inner joy, he was hoping the sight of two birds would do it for him, instead of having a good day and enjoying himself he believed that finding a penny guaranteed him happiness, albeit, for 24 hours.

Much in the same way we all put a quid on to 'win the lottery' because we firmly believe that it will change our lives, but would it really, really change you that much?

The man had, of course, been through more shite than Tim Robbins in the Shawshank Redemption, but the difference is, Tim didn't enjoy swimming through the shit. It kinda seemed to me that Malky enjoyed revelling in his suicidal attempts, harsh as that may seem.

There isn't really a 'silver lining' to this story as such, and if there was, best believe those magpies would have nabbed it anyway, but, in short, it's time to create our own happiness.

The Daily Dott - Tuesday

I've decided to invent the world's first apple that cleans your teeth whilst you eat it!! Does that make sense?

Think about it, Dentists, and other medical professionals, have always advised us to eat an apple a day - even though it's supposed to, 'keep them at bay.' Eating an apple is healthy for the teeth and gums, no doubt, and just like a juicy rump steak it gives the mouth a workout. So why not add a bit of toothpaste to it since a lot of people have an apple in the morning anyway. Plus, carrying an apple is more convenient than toothpaste and a toothbrush!

So how does it work? I can hear the Dragons asking! Well, my revolutionary apple would have a toothpaste and mouthwash mixture inside it that would sort of foam in you're mouth when you eat it. Simple.I could call it BrightMac instead of Britemac, Pearly McIntosh instead of Eearly McIntosh....and so on.

It's the Daily, I think a minty apple would taste quite nice, don't you?

- Going To Church
- Silver Spoon
- Mel Gibson

- Going To Church

How do you go about joining the Church? Does one just turn up on a Sunday wearing his Sunday best? Is there a membership fee? Or is that silly?

I have so many unanswered questions with regards to going to the Church...but that should change if I decide to go. I mean, even if I don't 100% believe in God, I can still go because I still think it's an amazing story, I like the prayers and the Church songs.

One of the earliest songs I remember were the likes of 'He's Got The Whole World In His Hands' and 'Lord Of The Dance.'Going to Church would probably give me a sense of belonging and community and like I say, even though I don't 100% believe in God ,every time I am in a Church I always feel a strange aura, like I am in a great temple or something. It's hard to explain but that feeling would be nice to have every Sunday, better than a hangover anyway!

- Silver Spoon

This morning I was in my local NatWest branch, a place in which I had previously waited an hour for someone to speak too, and that was just to open an account with them. Yes, the NatWest is the worlds worst bank in my opinion, especially for it's waiting times, so it's no wonder I found myself casting a critical eye over it's free magazine – what else was there to do?

An article that I felt really took the piss was under the 'life coach' section, it featured a girl called Emma (who was a Journalist) that was having so-called money 'problems,' of course, I say the latter with great sarcasm.

“Why do I end up overdrawn at the end of every month?” was the title of this article and to the left it showed Emma's monthly budget and the things she spends her money on. She makes £1,800 a month and spends £2,000 – so that's the answer to her overdrawm problem straight away!

Now I ain't no life coach but if you're going to spend £110 on newspapers and magazines and £280 on lunch and flowers, like Emma does, then you're asking for problems. She also went on to mention the fact that she shopped in Marks and Spencer's - now everyone knows that place is not exactly ASDA price, has she never heard of Tesco, Morrisons or even Farmfoods?

I just don't understand how this is even an article, let alone a TWO PAGE SPREAD in a magazine. Saving money is relatively easy, living within your means is relatively easy too, her bills came to £900 so she's left with a grand to play with. A GRAND.

In contrast, I'm working with about £50 a fortnight and I still make my money work for me, I believe that girls like Emma need a reality check.....not a cheque!

- Mel Gibson

I think Mel Gibson should get an MBE from the Queen for making and starring in Braveheart! Obviously he didn't put Scotland on the map but I bet he increased tourist numbers by the millions with his legendary film.

When I was at the Wallace Monument recently, it was clear that most of the foreigners had seen the film because they were always asking questions about it. Even though the film is historically inaccurate but I think that may be a good thing because the foreigners are coming to find out more about Wallace's legend and why parts of the film are wrong.

Put it this way, when I played the Braveheart tune on my harmonica at the Wallace Monument there was some American tourists who instantly recognized it and clapped when I finished. And who said the American's aren't smart?!

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Only Mohammed Knows

The Daily Dott - Monday

The funny and ironic thing about being called 'Jesus' is that nobody actually knows if the guy even existed let alone how long his hair was, in fact, the short haired people that call me Jesus may actually look more like the holy man than I do.

Jesus could be black, white, hispanic, yellow or brown – as I said, who really knows?

So while the most common image of the man may be this ; http://carpefactum.typepad.com/photo...

In reality, there's nothing to dispute the fact he could also have looked like this : http://images2.wikia.nocookie.net/un...

And whilst I don't mean to turn this into The Daily Trichologist I do find it fascinating the amount of people who make comments about my long hair, I mean, people say I have long hair as if I don't already know it! And the generalisations and stereotypes are so sweeping I can actually feel them blow over my fine locks. One guy even said to me, “you've got a 'do so you must love your tunes.' Yes, I do love my tunes but I thought that was quite a funny thing to say especially since the guy did not know the first thing about me. But that's assumptions for you and I guess I'm equally as guilty as thinking a guy with a bauldy napper is a hard bastard! It's the Daily, as for Jesus...only God knows?

-Jesus Remains
- Don't sleep on Napster
- Bloggin' Blues
- A Dream Job

- Jesus Remains

I hate to, ahem, 'pick a bone' with Jesus and religion but if Mr.Christ did exist then how come nobody has found his remains? Oh I forgot he resurrected...but still, they find dinosaur fossils all the time so there really is no excuse. It would be quite good if the Time Team discovered his remains though - now that would be must watch TV.

- Don't sleep on Napster

It's hard to believe that Napster is 10 years old! I found that out the other day when I came across an online article which chronicles the beginnings of downloading and pirating on the internet.

Ten years later and we're all using applications like Azerues and Limewire to download our music and films but we shouldn't sleep on Napster because there's no doubt that Shawn Fanning, the guy who wrote the code and founded Napster, single handedly changed the industry forever.

Here's the link to the article, it's long but interesing :http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/...-


-Bloggin' Blues

The reason I love the Blues right now is that just like hip-hop (or just like what hip-hop used to be) the Blues, and it's artists, don't mince about with their words. There always seems to be no middle ground with the genre so whether the artist is happy or sad he's going to let you know through his music.

Blues deals with everyday shit so I can understand why some people may not like it, after all, music is a form of escapism but at the same time it's good to listen to the Blues because with the passion and intensity that is carried by artists like John Lee Hooker, Van Morrison and Muddy Waters they actually make you feel like their dealing with the same issues as your own. I guess what I'm trying to say is you can find solace and comfort in the Blues. And it ain't all doom and gloom because at the end of the day it gave birth to Rock N Roll and that's gotta count for something.

- A Dream Job

I seem to be very close or thisclose to getting my dream job and that is, if you know me, a Journalist. I have applied for a News Reporter role with a company called Wait For The Bell. And to be honest, I found myself waiting for them to give me a bell as it took almost a month for them to get back to me after my original application was submitted. I then got a reply saying I was through to the 2nd stage - then I had to go back onto their website to answer some questions like, "what is your ambition?" and "what qaulities can you bring to the team?" I answered the call and filled it in with as much mystery and honesty as possible. If I don't get the job it's still exciting to be close to attaining it as I now view it as something that is definitely within my reach in terms of skill and maturity.

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On a lighter note, anyone have a cigarette?

The Daily Dott - Monday - What Is and What Isn't

It's sometime in early February and I am sitting with my trusty laptop, it had become like an extension of my knee because I was on it that often and maybe it was the latter that made one person decide to get in touch with me.

I was on MSN and this person knew it, he knew, and I was – no surprises there really! He asked what I was up to that evening, it was one of those questions that I really don't know why people bothered asking at the time because my days were as blank as a yet to be opened calendar.

Further into the conversation the guy was asking me about my driving license, did I have it for a year? Could I drive today? It all led up to the fact that he wanted me, a person he barely knew, to help him move and possibly drive a Transit van in the process – a fact that scared the living hungover out of me.

I agreed.

Before I met him I popped into TK Maxx to get a present for an old friend, okay an ex, but I just hate that term. So there I was in the queue, thinking about reversing a Transit and how uneasy it made me feel. I shivered. Only the teddy I bought for my friend was comforting me.

But this was me, this was Michael Dott, a generous person who would go out their way for someone they barely knew, even if it meant driving a Transit van knowing the last time I was behind a wheel was playing Mario Kart on the Wii! If I couldn't help them, I murmured to myself, what was the point? After all, I had received similar acts of kindness myself, so this was me now paying my dues.

When we left the hire place he was disappointed, I was quietly glad, I was just a week short of having my licence for a year and that meant I couldn't drive the dreaded Transit, thank God for that. But now we had a whole other situation on our hands, how was this guy going to move? Where could he get a van?

Questions we discussed on Edinburgh Road, it was getting nearer to five o'clock and he had to move...today. It was a Friday and hire places aren't open all night. And I thought my problems were bad..

Eventually, to the boys relief, the guy he was staying with decided to hire the van and drive, why he never did this in the first place was beyond me but the main thing was that we were now moving.It took a few hours to load the van and I will never tire of being amazed at how one can cram their whole life into the back of a white Transit!

Sitting uncomfortably between two guys holding a cardboard box with a cat inside it (don't ask) we made our way to his new house in Govan and unloaded the van. I was quite amused at how me and the other guy where doing most of the work but we both wanted to get out of their really quick.

My night ended around 11pm, in my living room watching Coach Carter with the guy I helped move, he needed a place to stay and I was happy to help. I never done any of it for Karma purposes but if I did, the scales on the good side would surely be weighed down by everything I had done that night.

***

It's April and the same friend I helped moved was talking to me again on MSN, I had been used to him asking me for favours but this was different, he claimed he was depressed, it was 9pm and he needed someone to talk too. Man, if he only knew I wasn't feeling too great myself and I hardly viewed myself as one for good advice. I wanted to go though, if things were as bad as he said the least I could do as a friend was to hear him out. Most of the time, in my life experience, people aren't looking for advice, sometimes it's just an ear, another human that will listen, so they can get things off their chest.

I never made the trip to his house that night, if I had bus fare I would have been there for him and I felt quite bad that I wasn't.

This is Michael Dott, a concerned friend who always has his door open, even when the sign says 'closed.'

If you don't believe that...try me.

***

It's late April and I lie exhausted on my bed, nursing a headache and a scratchy throat. It was a long day and I needed a long lie. I had cornered myself that day with bad feelings, anxiety, depression, angst, guilt - to the point that I spread them onto other people and infected them with my bullshit, the disease was spreading but I knew I was the one suffering the most.

Not in the sense of a martyr but in the sense that it started with me and it had to end with me. I was annoying other people no doubt, causing them pain, anxiety and anger but if only I knew when to stop.

Later on that night, it stopped, I stopped it. I had too. I could no longer cripple myself and others with my bullshit.

This wasn't Michael Dott. This wasn't the person who helped others, who was generous, who gave his time to help other people, at least, that's what I kept telling myself.

Of course, and I am ashamed to admit, it was me. It was Michael Dott but it was someone who I had hoped I wouldn't be, someone who I never want to be again because I know deep, deep down that that person is seriously not who I am.

***

The real Michael Dott is the guy who helped that boy and who was also willing to be there to listen to his problems, that's who I can be, the friend, the person I know I am and will continue be, that other guy, that negative person, that person is gone. Forever. Banished, like Romeo to Mantua.

It's the Daily....Just don't ask me to drive a Transit


-Bookmarks
-The Treveller
-My Wi-Fi


-Bookmarks

I don't think I have ever used a proper bookmark when reading a book, I tend to use obscure items such as bus tickets, coasters and sometimes chewing gum. Okay, so I made the last one up but at least you could say you where 'sticking' with the book and not giving up on it if you did use gum. My latest strange object is actually a black comb.

I have found this rather cool because it means that I will always know where the comb is as opposed to constantly finding it lying on my floor and it is sturdy enough to not fall out of the book whenever it is in my bag.

I guess you could say I am 'combing' through the pages :D Tell me your odd bookmark objects, I'd love to hear them.


- The Traveller

It flew all the way from the East, propelled by the aroma of coffee at the Waverly station, dodging deathly swipes of newspapers by those pesky commuters, it followed the train line as it fluttered through the warm air. However it was not free from danger as it was almost annihilated further on by the turning of the Falkirk Wheel, then it gently passed the canal, through the fields, stopping only to drink some water by the Clyde. With not too much time to rest it took to the air again, soaring over Gartnavel hospital, weaving in and out of the tees, just brushing over a fisherman's head as it made it's way into the quiet fields of Easterhouse. And there it landied smoothly on the hairy arms of a certain God's Favourite... it then sank it's teeth into me.

I was bitten by the travel bug.

A sudden shot of adrenalin hit me, coupled with the hypnotic rays of the sun I decided I just had to go to Edinburgh. Not just because the basketball All Star Game was there but I really wanted to do something with this glorious day the sun had given us.

With not too much of a clue of where exactly I was going I found myself walking the cultured City of Edinburgh, a place I view as one big version of Glasgow's West End – both just have that remarkable vibe and awe about them.

Soon I found myself at my destination, Portobello high school, thanks to an Edinburgh student, a hot dog vendor and a chirpy Policewoman. And all the time I maintained I never listen to directions.

My adventure found me not trusting my own instincts but those of the people who knew the City, when in Rome....ask the Romans for directions!

The next day the travel bug bit me and again I was walking the streets of Edinburgh, this time with my Brother and we both had a good wander around the cobbled streets, pubs, parks and other places of interest that the city had to offer.

When we arrived at the castle we where a bit dismayed to see that the entrance fee was £12, my Brother said that since we where Scottish we shouldn't have to pay, that got me thinking...even though we are from Scotland, where we tourists? I would say yes because a tourist is just another name for a visitor, I don't think you need to come from foreign territory and even then, if you have ever been to Edinburgh you would agree that Glasgow practically is foreign territory – it is that different.

So that was me on back to back trips to Edinburgh. One day I will return with a notepad to jot down my observations of the place and hopefully do an article on that and it's differences to Glasgow.

I hope that the constant visiting will not make me so accustomed to the place that I lose my awe of it but maybe that is what has happened with me and Glasgow. Who knows! At least the hot dogs are nicer and you can never tire of hot dogs!

Edinburgh is a place that is not steeped in history...it is deep fat fried in history.


- My Wi Fi

My vision for Wi-Fi for every home in the World is probably one that has been discussed and may very well be in the planning stages amongst the worlds leading telecommunications companies. Still, it was an entrepreneur type thought which was brought upon by the fact the City Link bus has Wi Fi on it.

If a bus and Mcdonalds restaurants can have it, why can't our homes? And I don't mean purchasing a wireless reuter, my vision means that every home is simply equipped with Wi fi as standard.

I need to get to the Dragons Den.


:D

Only Mohammed Knows