The rejection

It's been a while, and I have loads of news re work, boys, work and boys, boys at work. But as blogging at work is a big no-no, I only have time to relate one story.

Today I asked out the office crush on messenger, because I was too nervous when we were together. I got turned down. Not so good.

I do feel a spark when we're together, and his eyes seem to glow, but I don't know how much of it is just imagined and how much is real. Since reading his book, and getting to know him, I have fallen for him more and more. It's a strange and lovely way to get to know someone and to fall for them, through their words. It's never really been like that with anyone else.

It's not quite love or anything as big as that, but it's potential. It's something. It's a crush.

Me: I had a nice time last night. Next time, do you think it would be weird if we considered it a date? I'm not very good at these things.

Him: It would be kinda wierd yeah, let's stick to friends if that's ok

...

Have you gone quiet for a reason?

Me: Quiet because embarrassed. but had to ask.

Him: Don't be embarrassed. No reason to be.

Me: OK. I think we get along really well, I like you and we're both single, so why not? But then again, we're good friends and I'd rather not fuck that up either. I know the timing isn't so good either, but it never is.

Him: As an aside, I can't imagine it going down too well with Rob either! But that's not the reason. Friends is good, more is leading into headfuck territory, never a good place to set up camp.

Me: I understand. I don't want to fuck with anyone's head, or make things awkward etc with your friends. I'm only here for 9 more months anyway.

Him: 9 months is ages. You could have a little Bon by then then

Me: A baby? steady on. I only asked you for a drink.

No way you big spastic, you're a mentalist!

This was going to be a blog about cockend, hence the title, but blogger crashed on me and has been down for 2 days. So instead I'm resorting to shorthand news on everything in the last few days.

Firstly, I have had a short-lived but intense friendship with the trainer guru Rob, but alas the boy wanted more than I could give him. He wanted something in-between a friendship and a relationship, and I nearly let it happen because it would have been so easy, especially when feeling so low, to rely on someone else to lift me up.

Last night I set things right. Now I've possibly lost the best friend I have at the moment. But I can't be with someone because I'm lonely. He deserves more than I could give him.

Secondly, I have found myself head-over-heels with someone else, which isn't the most comfortable position. I've never told any of my crushes over the years how I feel, for fear of rejection and social ostracism. But I'm already fairly alone and ostracised over here so I figure why not? What have I got to lose? Tonight I'm doing it. I may get him drunk first.

Cokend (heh typo, but it's appropriate) called me last Friday, very drunk. He was out on his birthday drinks, and I was a bit hurt to not be invited. I'm not sure why, because I wouldn't have gone. OK, I was hurt that someone I spent the best part of a year with has completely cut me out of his life, and called me an outsider and treated me as such, but then turns around and calls when he's pissed and 'up for it'. The only thing I'm worth to him is a shag. That bites.

Here's a run down of what happened:

Friday night, he called me very pissed to apologise for calling me an outsider and for all the hurtful things he said, but his excuse 'i was drunk' has worn thin. There's only a certain amount of times you can excuse someone for that, and think it won't happen again. Yet it does, and you think you're too blame in some way. It's like an abused wife - but it's emotional so the bruises don't show.

So he invited me to a gig on Saturday night

Saturday night, he sent me a text 'shame you didn't make it. ...feeling quite emotional now, sorry for everything'.

Sunday afternoon i called him. It was a bad time because he was on a come down. I pointed out, quite reasonably, that he called me at times that weren't convenient in states of mind that were incoherent, and now I was calling him to talk.

Then he asked me if I missed the sex. Unbelievable. He's either stupid or thinks I'm that easy to manipulate. I do miss the guy, but it's like missing a tumour.

I am a bit scared that I'm about to lose another group of friends by making an arse of myself.

And yet, after being told there is no point being in a relationship with me because I'm an immigrant that will be chucked out of country in a year, I feel I can take on anything and if it doesn't work out, then that's ok.

Not a very insightful and witty blog today. Have loads of work-related news too but that will have to wait because times a-wastin'.

Death to the social publishing revolution

I had to do some blogging for the work site, and i'm feeling a bit bitter about this whole marketing going into blogging fiasco, so here's me sticking it to the man!

Science Fiction writer William Gibson once said: 'The future is here. It's just not evenly distributed yet." So it is with blogging, and the tools and technology to blog.

Pundits claim that blogging is the next wave of social journalism, giving the power and voice back to the people, grass roots journalism gone tropo. Yet you need only look at the flailing number of blogs by tech journos - a field that should be ahead of the curve - compared to the amount of blogs by corporates and vendors to see that the social publishing revolution died on the vine before it got a chance to flourish. The voice of the people in the blogosphere are already being drowned out by a wave of marketing material designed to confuse, suffuse and disseminate the message.

Clogger blog observes that tech journalism was always crammed with writers begging their employers for better technology to help them do their jobs. This is my experience also. It took me years to convince one publisher that an aged Mac in the corner with dialup did not constitute a connected office to our US counterparts to download the content, which is a mindset so ridiculous that the memory of it still brings me up in a rage rash. Meanwhile he got excited about e-books (remember those?) because he had shares in the company, and didn't respect the fact that it would add 5 more days of production time to our magazine cycle, and generated exactly 0 amount of subscribers and a major operating expense. (Deep breath. Don't be bitter).

So it is with the blogging revolution, with only a limited number of publications encouraging their journalists to create blogs, while they are outnumbered by marketing simpletons marching into this space and flying their companies' flag. You can understand that publishers are essentially cowboys, and when there is no immediate financial gains to be had, pitching the blogging concept falls on deaf ears.

The impact of this is that social journalism - as bloggers like to call this whole revolution - undermines and erodes the traditional voice of educated authority and creates a dialogue that can quickly descend into a cacophony of noise. What's really scary is that the idea this blogging frenzy will result in a new thought leader/dictator model no different to the hegemony enjoyed by the Western media - the Murdoch empire - we had in the first place.  

In traditional world of journalism, before you can discuss a topic, you have to be credentialed. Only a reporter can write a story. The process consists of the principle: first filter, then publish. Now this process is instant, unfiltered, and more widely distributed.

Blogs are becoming increasingly powerful way of harnessing, monitoring and even shaping public opinion. What bloggers (in some cases, glorified marketers) have done by shovelling ideas into their blogs and linking to others is create an ideas network. As a blogger they have created a mechanism for thousands of like-minded people to listen to their opinions.

What's more journalism is becoming more reactive while blogs are proactive. To paraphrase Guy Kawaski puts it: Buzz begets ink, and increasingly, blogs beget buzz.

Of course, marketers are quick to put the boot into the blogosphere. This comment by Steve Rubel seems to sum up the marketeers blind fear of the threat of blogs to brand: "A great brand can take months, if not years, and millions of dollars to build. It should be the thing you hold most precious. It can be destroyed in hours by a blogger upset with your company."

The upshot of all these marketing blogs is that I now more regularly read the thoughts of a stooge or salesman more than I read an article written by a journalist that is trained to be objective. Both groups want to help me formulate my opinions, but one group has an agenda. Yet the influence of blogs on opinion is intangible and immeasurable. That scares me!  

The Guardian is responding by blurring the distinction between blogger and journalist, within the regulated context of its new comment is free section.

As Simon Waldman, director of digital publishing at the Guardian, said in an interview on journalism.co.uk: "We should acknowledge that a new generation of under-25s is emerging with radically different expectations of media. To put a commercial spin on this, we can't just think of them as our future readers and users, but as the brand managers and media buyers of the future as well. We ignore them - and their expectations of us - at our peril."

If you think that was a rant, check out: Jeremy Zawodny

Kooky new cast of characters

I promised some positive news on new friends so here goes:

Rob Lovely designer chap that I've spent almost the full weekend with. I bought him a book of paper animal templates and he came over and made me the monkey (my favourite), the giraffe and the hippo. We went to Primrose Hill on the weekend, where you can see most of London. Then off to the posh pubs, where we didn't get served for 15 minutes and were charged £3 for a coke and a water, to which Rob said 'cock off, London scum. That's fooked' in his lovely, lilting Northern accent.
* Scary when angry.
* Unusually loud voice.
* Owns 80 pairs of trainers.

Paul 'Peapod' as we call him because he has a green coloured jumper and couldn't be bothered correcting some dimwit in a photo lab that changed his name to 'pod'. He's great for strange non-sequitors or saying exactly what he thinks. Once couldn't be bothered having a shower so sprayed himself with Febreeze, then went to the pub and told us all.
* Asked 'What if fish had hair, could it swim?'. Us: Depends on how much hair. Him (earnestly): 'What if it was really hairy?'.
* Can't be trusted to operate a toaster without burning down the house.
* Thought there was an African Ocean.

Kevin The boy with the Green ninja Kawasaki. Damn cool taste in music. Has ridden around Europe and written a book about it, but won't set foot in an airplane.
* Partner in crime to Pod.
* Most common phrase: 'look at me'.
* Thought olives were a type of fish.

Everyday I love you less and less

Cockend strikes again He doesn't deserve the air-time but I'm giving it to him anyway. Maybe it's all one of his PR ploys to get more mention on my blog.

In the interests of transitioning to friendship, the boy called me up for a drink at the pub with him and his flatmate. As long as we're chaperoned, I thought we'd be alright. Once his flatmate left, we went for a walk along Canary Wharf, by the river and the shiny rich buildings. It was on the escalator to the tube that he put his hand under my jacket, grabbed me by the waist and kissed me on the lips. And I let him. Weak! Lame! It's true. So we were both weak, seeking comfort. It happens. it's not the end of the world. Exes make mistakes all the time.

The next night, in the interests of sorting out the mess made by kisses on escalators the night before, the boy called me up for a drink at the pub for a 'talk'. I get to the pub and his 'in the closet' friend Skinner is there. Skinner takes one look at me and his face drops, in that way that says 'oh no, they're back together' before he has a chance to disguise it. Meanwhile, I'm wondering why he wanted to meet to 'talk' and invite his friend along.

So we're all chatting about innane nonsense. Skinner has just given notice - which is why he was there drinking with G so early in the evening. Skinner keeps saying he is going to leave to update his CV, and G convinces him to stay. I plan on finishing my pint and leaving. Dinner is ordered. Finally I make to leave, and the boys are leaving too.

So far all is good. G and I have spent an evening together as mates and not ended up in bed or kissing. Skinner and I have been amicable to each other.

It's G's birthday this weekend, just before slipping off to bed I send him a text 'are you planning anything for your birthday?'

2 hours later - 11.30pm (30 mins pub closing time for those on the uptake) I'm sound asleep when the phone rings. George stonkered. The drunken tirade starts. Some highlights:

* You must realise that Skinner doesn't like you. And you just played along. You're so narrow-sighted you can't see that he's manipulating you to make you look bad in front of me, because he doesn't like us together. He's in the closet and has a problem with me having a girlfriend.

* Fuck off puppy dog.

You know what, the rest isn't worth transcribing or relating. It was just evil and cruel. I told him to fuck off, i'm not his girlfriend anymore and don't have to put up with that shit, or be judged for how I act among his friend. I believe I said that I never wanted to hear another cunting word he said. He sent 2 apology texts, an apology email and then called me last night from a different phone line so I'd answer to give me another apology and explanation. It's too late. We had fun, and there were good times, but he's so unpredictable and he can turn on people so quickly, that I know the best thing to do would be never want to see him again. Of course, whether this happens or not is difficult to say, but I'm certainly not going to go out of my way to see him.

Next post will be on the better positive new friends in my life. Just too busy today to relate it all.