Tom Charman

This is the new atypicalreview.com. It’s missing almost everything so don’t go complaining. Things will slowly grow. The old site is still available until everything migrates across. It may not shock you to learn that a certain annual resolution thingy involves getting things moving again round here.

I may need an intervention. My efforts at avoiding a cult have only left me open to another dangerous obsession. Of course, I saw it coming, but I was unprepared for its dangerous allure. Gaming has become a very real vice for me.

This is not to say that I’m a hardcore gamer. My paltry gamerscore currently sits at 2,715 which barely rivals certain other, more dedicated folk. But there’s the rub, right there. That’s what sucked me in. Statistics. Sneaky, fiddly little statistics. Because that 2,715 isn’t just one number, but an aggregation of achievements that I’ve accrued in various games. Perhaps even that might not have sucked me in, but for a certain other game’s nefarious influence.

Halo 3 came out a little while back and has gone some way to consuming my spare time. The game obviously comes with its requisite 1000 available points for your gamerscore, but there’s more than that. There’s this. Every single game you ever play, listed, categorised, broken down, analysed, outlined and summarised.

So now, not only is gaming eating into my other hobbies, but gaming is eating into my gaming. Why play Zelda on the Wii if I will receive no points? Ace Attorney 3 on the DS (dutifully imported by Jackson) is at least holding my attention, due to the same delightfully ridiculous sense of humour that has run through the entire series.

And now, a segue.

Ace Attorney is a game about lawyers.

Now I am talking about lawyers.

We had some lawyers come to talk to us at work, and sitting across the table from them made me realise just what a whacked out view of them I really have, courtesy of David E. Kelley. I was constantly disappointed as they failed to sing, dance, engage in witty repartee, have affairs with each other, pour the water in a slow trickle, announce their name and say nothing more, or just admire the skin underneath women’s jaws.

Must try harder, lawyers. You’re being left behind by fiction.

Having been presented with the very real possibility of having to take my shirt off on stage in front of quite a few people, Andy and I decided to look into Fitness First the other day. In we walked, optimistic of picking up some kind of brochure before going swimming at Waves.

“Please fill in these forms.”
“Ah, we’re just really after some info, if you’ve got some…”
“I don’t have the information, I can let you in to talk to one of our advisors, you’ll have to sign these forms.” This receptionist has raised the bar for sullen and uninterested receptionists everywhere.

Alright, we fill out the forms, making sure to tick “No Promotion” but not knowing if it’ll do any good. Then we go to a table, where we are met by the friendly-but-not-particularly-fit-looking advisor person. We’re about to ask her about the gym but she blindsides us by giving us yet another form to fill out, each. This one is much more in-depth, and includes such questions as “What are your personal goals,” “What’s been holding you back from them,” and “Are your family and friends supportive to you?”

Having filled them out, our new friend proceeds to read them to us. Er, we know about us, thank you very much. In fact, not only is it our special subject, but we just wrote it all down for you.

Only after having all of the random crap we’ve written down re-affirmed to us in very positive and motivational terms are we allowed to actually look around the facilities. Well, mostly positive:

“I see one of your goals is weight loss. Looking to lose the spare tire?” I bite down the proper response, something along the lines of “Fuck off, you’re at least 4 times fatter than me, and you work here.” Instead I debate the difference between a spare tire and a lump. It’s a good save, but I lament the day when I become old and impatient and insult everyone I meet.

We wander the gym, and it is truly large. Equipment everywhere — lots of people, too, but more equipment. There are televisions which you can watch while you cycle or run on the treadmills. It’s all very nice. Well, except:

“It’s not a very big pool,” I comment.
“It’s 23 metres. Do you know why? If it were 25 or more, it’d be a public pool, and we’d have to have a lifeguard.” Don’t ask me how, but she sells this to us as a plus.
“I’m not very keen on a 23 metre pool. I like the rhythm of a 50 metre pool.”
“Shall I tell you how many long distance swimmers we have swimming here?” Oh, I see. Now I’m a long distance swimmer with a spare tire. You go to all the trouble of filling out two forms about yourself and they still don’t get you.

And now of course, it comes time to sign us up for membership. She’s waving the third forms of the evening at us enticingly. We weren’t actually looking to sign up today, but talk of the ‘first visit’ bonus and 15 days cooling off periods convince us. We get nice backpacks and membership cards. Her logic is inescapable; why not sign up now if we can pull out later? Of course, the idea behind it is that we won’t be bothered with the pulling out. The possibility concerns me, as I am quite lazy.

Luckily, one week later, I’ve pre-ordered an iPod Nano, and am therefore answering every mysterious call that my phone receives. Disappointingly, it’s Fitness First. Apparently something about my contract is confusing. I come up with a novel way to avoid the problem; I cancel my membership. Random Admin Guy seems quite okay with it, which is almost disappointing, as I was hoping to round the story off with my account of their cultish attempts to keep me in the fold. I almost wanted to hear ___’s nicely prepared script for people who think they want to leave Fitness First. Perhaps I still will.

The amusing epilogue to all of this is our visit to the Waves gym, where they hand us a brochure with pricing info, answer our questions about the availability of the gym without first interrogating us about our lifestyle choices, and quickly nip up and give us a tour, before letting us have a swim without nagging us to join right then and there. Oh it was magnificent. I wanted to hug them and tell them about the nasty, creepy people at Fitness First. But I didn’t.

Or, to put it another way, Waves good, Fitness First bad. That is all.

clears away cobwebs

Ahem. It was a peculiar feeling to wake up after a few days heavy skiing a week or two back, and suddenly realise that new iMacs had been released during the night and that I had completely forgotten about it. New Apple releases, debuts of favourite television shows, and the anticipation of a fancy meal at a quality restaurant are the only things these days that manage to simulate that childish enthusiasm which comes less and less easily these days.

After a few SMSes from Jackson and a few moments at the internet cafe, I realised that the lower of the two 24″ iMacs was the one for me. And now, one ski trip and one house-move later, I has myself one.

It’s only very nearly 3 years since I purchased my last one, so I felt somewhat extravagant after I lightened my credit card. However actually receiving the computer put all my misgivings aside. Big changes have happened since I last bought a Mac — intel processors, webcams, remote controls. The whole thing feels like a much more complete media centre, and certainly looks more like a widescreen television than the old iMacs. I was dubious about the keyboard, but it’s actually crisper and more pleasant to use than the previous model. And, of course, I can play Half-Life 2, Neverwinter Nights 2, and any number of other sequels on the… ick… the Windows partition of the iMac.

What’s that? Oh yes, I mentioned moving house, didn’t I. Yes, now I live with fellow atypicalreviewers Andy Cocker, Jackson Kearney and Matthew Cocker (in order of prolificacy of writing), for the first time since Marten Court. Strictly speaking, I’m in their garage, however the garage has been converted, painted and carpeted to be somewhat more appealing. The room is short on furniture, but big on lack of furniture.

It’s a bit cold though. Must buy heater.