Monthly Archives: February 2020

If you are going to think about your catchphrase then ground it in the truth. Max Rip Trip Headcase claims that the future is now; it isn’t unless you are in possession of a DeLorean and a flux capacitor. More than that, if you do have a DeLorean and a flux capacitor then there are at least six other things you should be considering doing rather than video reviews. The future isn’t now Mr. Headcase, time’s arrow doesn’t work that way.

Imagine that you are down the pub; do you stand there with attractive women dripping from each shoulder? Does the place fall silent as you do or say something and then break out into rapturous applause? If not then acting probably isn’t your thing. If you want to entertain then, as Clint Eastwood said, “Go ahead, make my day”. The notion of performing coitus on cue, on camera, in front of an entire film unit does not appeal to me. I fear it would not be a pulsating experience for the assembled throng and so I have studiously avoided appearing in a mucky movie. I am aware of my limitations.

Let’s go back to the pub; pubs are great. If you are standing at the bar with a pint in hand telling a tale what is taking place in front of you? Is there a gaggle of doe-eyed onlookers, hanging on your every syllable waiting to start applauding at the end? Do others point out that the word you just said rhymed with anus frequently interrupt and laugh at you? Is there just a bored bar worker?

I say this because I used to know this guy, we’ll call him Neil; firstly, because Neil is a pretty generic name and also because his name was Neil. In fact, seeing as he’s still alive, his name still is Neil unless he has changed it through a court application, adopted a Superhero alter ego or suffers from permanent memory loss. But that’s not the point, stop being pedantic and let me get on with the story. Neil loved to tell a tale, it was his raison d’être, the only problem being that we called him Neil Monobore due to the droning nature of his voice. Cruel, I know, but true. People would take it in turns to interrupt him in order to make a joke of something he’d just said.

In my opinion, and this is just my opinion, there are three watchable British reviewers – Scott, Toddy and Damian (he recently of Safervapers). You have to include Damian in a list because he swears, has editing skills and is called Damian – and I make it a rule in life never to piss off someone who could potentially be the son of Satan. Scott is thorough, Todd is warmly engaging and Damian is anything he wants me to say he is because I don’t want to be trapped under the ice during a game of hockey. I’m serious. I may be an atheist but there are bears that should remain un-poked – that’s all I’m saying.

There rest is all rather straight forward:

• Focus – if the video looks like I’ve just consumed seventeen Tequilas and am using two of the shot glasses to look through then, frankly, I’m going back to the bar to order a second round.
• Focus – Going off at a tangent can be damn fine watching whereas watching you watching me watching you scramble around for the next thing to say is not engaging me. I’m going back to the bar for a third round
• Focus – I’ve nothing to add to this bit, I’ve had 51 Tequilas.

So, with this handy guide all you need to do is endear yourself to manufacturers and vendors. The very best way, and this has been proven by scientific research by top docs and boffins, is to send them a wedge of emails pointing out that you’ve been vaping for three weeks and would like all the free stuff they can fit in an envelope. Offering to call round and collect all the gear in a van might appear pushy but it will demonstrate your commitment to getting as much free stuff as quickly as possible.

Would you mind going to the bar for me? I’d go myself but Neil’s there.

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He’d recently completed a course on staff motivation.

I swear, that man made me loathe the fact that Robin Williams had ever been born – let alone be responsible for “Dead Poet’s Society”. I have since forgiven William’s even if I did have to go on to suffer the outrageously bad “Toys”.

Seize the bloody day?

No, actually, I’m too busy thinking of ways to make it look like I’m working (while doing as little as possible) in return for the pittance you pay me. After one day too many I gleefully, on impulse, resigned before I had a seizure or seized a part of his anatomy. I was considered such an asset to the firm that it was accepted, my car keys were demanded and I was walked back to the reception door within minutes.

I could have told the wife that evening “I was just carpe dieming it, sweetie” but chose a more diplomatic approach. I told her I’d quit through the bathroom door while she was having a post-work soak…and immediately left for the pub.

“Carpe diem, Dave! Carpe diem!”

It was roughly six hours ago, as I sit here typing, that I got the news. We’d known it was coming even though the pair of them had played it down. To be frank, I didn’t think it or I would make a blog post but then I reasoned, as vapers, we are all attempting to seize days from the grasp of cancer. Roger passed away peacefully under sedation.

“Carpe diem, Dave! Carpe diem!”

Some of us have taken up vaping in order to escape from cigarettes, the rest of us are using vaping to prevent our return. Sure, it’s more than just that, for loads of us. It has become an absorbing hobby, a chance to collect things, an opportunity to learn and tinker and a pleasurable pastime.

It’s on days like these you take stock. Football results matter less, a cuddle with the youngest means so much more. The cider tastes sweeter, the vape is more fulfilling because it is one more day wrestled from the inevitable. It’s on days like these people decide to start out in business or sell their possessions in order to get a motorbike, hard luggage and a map of the world.

“Carpe diem, Dave! Carpe diem!”

I returned from the pub at a quite respectable hour. Daylight was still to fully ebb from the skyline, there had been just enough moments passing by for me to seek fortitude in alcohol so I could face a woman in a bathrobe. I was considered such an asset to ‘the couple’ that the wrath I’d anticipated was nothing more than an “I’m not surprised”.

This was true; it would have taken something of spectacular stupidity for me to surprise her. This, after all, is the man who has been arrested for attempted theft of a ladder at pub closing time because it seemed like a funny thing to do. This, her partner and future husband, is the man who had once though it was a good idea to buy a Polski Fiat, a Leyland Princess and two houses at the height of the last two property bubbles.

Vaping was one of the few life decisions I’ve ever made with her wholehearted support. That, and leaving teaching to begin writing – although she did put a block on my first choice of becoming Britain’s fattest astronaut. She supported my vaping even though it has the “highly addictive nicotine” drug we are warned about so often. All of which brings me to the Bill Hicks quote that sums today up for me:

“Today, a young man on acid realized that all matter is merely energy condensed to a slow vibration – that we are all one consciousness experiencing itself subjectively. There is no such thing as death, life is only a dream, and we are the imagination of ourselves. Here’s Tom with the weather.”

It’s the end of the week: go seize some days, get your vape on, give out some love and be happy. I’m going to carpe me some diem.

At the end of the course I made up an impressive CV, gave bogus business addresses and wrote every one of my glowing reference letters. Thing was by now I had a history of not suffering employers who were fools – and I was rapidly coming to the conclusion that almost everyone who employed me was stupid by virtue of the fact that I kept getting away with ever more grandiose lies to improve my status. And then there’s the rush when resigning on impulse, what a fabulous feeling it is.

In the film ‘Office Space’ Peter and Joanne embody my distaste of idiotic management. The nihilistic frustration echoed in films like ‘Fight Club’ and ‘American Beauty’. Yep, quitting is good.

Odds are that you were (or still are on the odd occasion) a smoker. Quitting tales? We’ve got ‘em. I have no idea of the number of times I quit – I never considered it trying to quit because I would go from being a smoker to a non-smoker in a snap. Sometimes I’d be a non-smoker for months on end, other times I would last until I woke up the following morning. Well, all the times bar one.

At its peak, when I was under huge stress to meet imbecilic and unobtainable targets I was up to 60 Rothmans a day. I’d taken my cue from my trainer whose washed-out clothes seem to fit with his yellow hand and teeth.

At 28, married and with a mortgage I’d still take a razor blade to scrape the yellow skin off my fingers before meeting my parents. They didn’t know I smoked. Sure, they’d discovered a pack of 10 Embassy No.6 in my room when I was 14 but I’d convinced them it was a money-making scheme – selling singles to the kids at the youth club. It was a convincing tale because it was true in part.

The longest period I spent as a non-smoker (prior to this) was four years, but then we moved to Colombia where life was taken that little bit less seriously. Cancer? Who cares about cancer when fags were almost free and you stood a much greater chance of being shot, blown-up or kidnapped.

My viewpoint changed when we had our second kid and they were toddlers together. I realised I didn’t want them to think smoking was a norm, for as little as I cared for my life I want them to live forever, preferably happy and without a boss who is an utter tool.

This was the only time I considered it quitting because I knew in my heart that going back to fags was not an option. I stayed in the flat for a fortnight. I’d get up in the morning, go to work, come home and that was my life – no drinking either because fags and booze were made for each other. After half a month of cranky I had it nailed.

Ish.

That was 2004; eight years later I was on the tipping point of returning to smoking for a whole number of self-justifiable reasons – working for an idiot that I couldn’t walk out on being one of them. Not only had children stopped my smoking but also their constant need for clothing and feeding meant I had to try to curb my attitude in the workplace. It was like trying to force a 26650 battery into a 14500 mod – failure was all over the place waiting to be picked up, put in a bag and carried home.

So I came at all of this from a totally different direction: vaping for me isn’t an escape ladder, it’s a firebreak. Mods, attys and juice have been the thing that stopped me returning to smoking.

More than that, vaping has become a full-time hobby and my work. After a lifetime of working for morons I now work for myself. Some things in life never change 😉