The Urinal Code

If there are three vacated urinals in a toilet, and one man decides to use the middle urinal (option two, if you will), how many urinals are left  for the next entrant to occupy? None. Do you know why? Of course you do, it's essentially unwritten law. Most - if not all - guys know when opening a public toilet door that there are specific boundaries in which they must comply. If someone does not adhere to these rules, they will become the victim of several snide looks, the odd "ya wee dirty!" remark and generally becoming a burden on life.

This man has no right to use such innovative urinals.

Rule #1: The one-urinal space between users
The first action that is taken in the male toilets: the decision to either use the urinal or cubicle. There is no cubicle 'law' so I shall ignore that, but when approaching the urinals you have to pick your selection carefully. If you are the only person on the row of urinals, ALWAYS take the end urinal (or beginning, six and half a dozen). It's hard to go wrong here since the only way you become a hinderance to someone else is (as illustrated above) to assume your position in the middle of three urinals. I was hindered by this today, hence the blog. When somebody else is occupying a urinal, don't stand next to them. It is imperative to leave an unused urinal whenever able, though if it is not possible to do so, please don't deliberate and decide on who you'd feel most comfortable next to. That's just a bit creepy.

Rule #2: Don't make anyone else feel uncomfortable
This has two effects that are quite opposite from eachother. Firstly rule #1; don't place yourself directly next to someone else even though there are other options as they may think that you're intruding their privacy (to put it nicely). On the other hand, there is the awkward moment where it becomes obvious you're overthinking things by avoiding the other urinal user(s) by all means necessary. In other words, don't choose option eight when the user is at option one as the user might feel slightly insecure and perhaps even try to smell for their own body ouder. We don't want that. Don't overthink, keep rule #1 in mind as it's a one-urinal space rule, not seven.

Rule #3: If you may, please don't spray (promise I won't be graphic about this)
It speaks for itself really. If the toilet is busier than one would prefer, keep in mind that negligent urination from one user may anger the user occupying the next urinal along (too graphic yet? Ok).

Rule #4: Do not engage in conversation with a random
This one's not important for hygeine, but for dignity and respect more than anything. This situation will more than likely happen in a pub or club and at one point, somebody's going to try and have really awful banter with you. Laugh it off if ignoring fails as disrespect of rule #4 can lead to an infringement of rule #3.

If you do not see someone doing this, punch them. Really hard. In the face.

Rule #5: Wash your hands
Last of all and whatever you do, don't you dare violate this rule.

I think I might put this into legal wording and push for it to be placed in statutory UK law:

The Urinal (Scotland) Act 2011

Reminiscing...

I was going to write this blog several days ago but procrastination is an unhealthy drug, which I had consumed more than the legal dose going into my Domestic Relations exam as it was thanks to the hostile world of competiative gaming. Now that the exam is out of my way, I find myself bored on a Saturday night twiddling my thumbs, and of course the only part-time solution to this problem is to blog. For some unbeknown reason, I've been going about my normal ways reminiscing my youth. When I say 'reminiscing', I do not mean cartoon shows I watched as a child or anything conventional like that, no; I mean the ways I went about life that never affected anyone, yet still treasure.

Kane - best £6.99 ever (at the time).

Everybody had their favourite toys when growing up; Power Rangers, Transformers, WWF (now WWE) figures, Spiderman, Action Man, etc. Although I indulged in adverse Power Rangers storylines from time to time - including the attack of Stone Cold Steve Austin in the bathtub, using the shower cord to restrain him until they could use their powers to summon another toy that just so happened to be lying around the bathroom to defeat him - it was the wrestling figures that stole the show for me. The ring, entrance ramp, commentary table, weapons, I had the lot. So much was my fondness for these man-dolls, my mum drove me every week to a shop called The Dungeon - a small Forbidden Planet on the Hilltown (Dundee). I had the more common wrestler so I was looking for wrestlers that were only available via American import, which takes me to the most excitement bit; waking up one average morning where your front door has a large package containing a barrage of polystyrene and my prize at the bottom of the box. If anyone has never ordered a package which contains an endless supply of polystyrene, do it. Think bubblewrap but there's a prize if you pop them all. Good old Faarooq and Bradshaw: the biggest rush of adrenaline of them all.

My next memory continues the apparent theme of rummaging for a prize but this time, replace the polystyrene with your favourite cereal. School mornings were made that much better when I realised that the Frosties or Coco Pops (I altered between the two) was in a new box - which meant a new toy to claim. I'm still hungry, but no longer for the food. Usually the toy was something that made a Happy Meal toy look like an adequate Christmas present but on the odd occasion, Kellogs would pull the rabbit out of the hat and reveal that they've inserted Crash Bandicoot toys into your breakfast. A fine way to start your day, I'm sure you'll agree.

Moving away from a theme which can only last so long (unlike the microwave, I still can't get my head around how I spent so long writing about a microwave that doesn't work), something most boys were brought up with: local football. Technically my local team was Dundee United whom I've supported for nearly 15 years now but sometimes I would venture up to the whimsical town of Forfar to be looked after. I've seen some of the best football I've ever seen at Station Park, particularly the 6-4 victory over the might of then Third Division Cowdenbeath. Such a good atmosphere too with around 600 spectators, a shed for a toilet, one shop which sold just bovril and crisps, and a bannister for you to lean on when watching the spectacle. I miss going to games that you could just enjoy before frustration kicks in and makes the experience less enjoyable, regardless of the result.

Forfar Athletic's Station Park - the 'Theatre of Dreams', Manchester United stole the gimmick.

I was going to write more, however this could consume my whole Saturday night if I mentioned everything about my childhood so I'll put a lid on it, if you will. This is basically what's waltzed its way into my thinking space in the last week - not to mention during my exam, needless to say the thoughts didn't contribute to anything significant. Life was simplistic back then. You could enjoy taking part in obscure activities without being judged for it, you're only a kid after all and you've got plenty of time to grow out of it. I'm nearly there. Nearly.

What I Can't Live Without #2

#2: Immaturity

As a part of the festive celebrations, I welcome you to 2011 with a second blog update in the space of a single day, madness! If you're an adoring fan of mine, you will recall not so long ago that I ranted - for perhaps longer than I should have - about the importance of a fully functioning microwave in one's life. I stated that I may follow up on the theme of the title and after much deliberation with myself, I have succeeded in finding something else I would not cope without.


The thought of turning 23 next year is very daunting for several reasons:

1. Friends will have full-time jobs (not so fun)
2. That's only 7 years until I turn 30
3. I need to start making long-term plans
4. I need to drastically mature...

Ok, so maybe the fourth point there might not happen for I am not ashamed to say that I have the mental age of about 14.  Those of you who know me, I like to frequently indulge in immaturity, even if the situation does not require such behaviour. For those of you who haven't yet had the honour of knowing me, I wish you good luck. Sometimes I look to immaturity to break the awkward silence, which I despise on every level. Other times i might use this handy persona to induce a more lively conversation.

I'll be honest in saying that if I didn't indulge in immaturity, I wouldn't be the person that you know me as today and if I wouldn't like to know what I'd be like without it. I understand that I haven't yet linked the title of this particular blog to all this gibberish I've typed so far; I can't live without immaturiry because my life would be a bit boring without it. I like some cartoon shows that have a target audience of primary school children and have no shame in admitting that - they're fun!

Annoying Orange - A perfect example of the sort of humour I indulge in

Of course I have a more serious side too but even then, that gets boring if I maintain it for so long. What I love more than anything else about immaturity is that people around me relax and express their immaturity if they know that nobody is judging them with every action they make. Even when it comes to speaking to girls for the first time, I don't come away with chat-up lines and flex my muscles to impress because it's not who I am. I like to be myself and if someone decides that I'm not their "type of guy", they can move on and I won't batter an eyelid.

So there you have it, I'm wrapping up that topic because if you know me already, none of what I've typed will come as any great surprise. All I've done here is write about part of who I am and attempted to waste about 130 seconds of your life by reading this. If you're still reading here, then I have achieved my original intention of this blog (I'm easily amused also, this being an example).

1st January 2011 - just another day.

You know when people say things like "oh man, you were so funny last night" that maybe more alcohol was consumed than you may think. That was my hogmanay anyway, where I greeted the new year with an emphatic drunken slur. Kudos to Stacey and Danielle for a rousing night and one that I will struggle to remember the whole of.

I've noticed a consistent disgust through the world of Facebook that 2010 was largely an unpopular year and people are predicting great things to come in 2011. What people need to understand is that for something to change, they need to get their finger out and do something about it. As some people may well know, the month of November was quite a cruel one for me - so much that I decided it was a good time to suffer from my first mental breakdown - though most of the 11 other months of last year I would be more than happy to emulate. 

A new year resolution is one way for people to change their fortunes, however I for one know that by come March, about 0.3% of the Scottish population will still have theirs intact. All I want is to have fun. Since university work became less demanding, I've relaxed, and coming into the new year, I wouldn't change a thing.

All I ask is for everyone to have a great 2011 and if it fails to live up to expectations for a few of you, don't dip your head down and believe that "it's going to be another crap year", because that's crap in itself. Do something about it. And like the title of the book from the TV show The Highlife, I believe the motto should be followed for 2011:

"Dinnae be feart - grab life by the nuts"

Mixing it up

My first full day back in Dundee's been spent doing nothing but adding a bundle-load of old CDs onto my iTunes, which was looking a bit sorry for itself sporting a measly 700-odd songs. What caught my attention wasn't the odd song that I had forgotten about (Linkin Park - Points of Authority; Foo Fighters - Stacked Actors; and Massive Attack - Karmacoma to name a few) but more the range of genres that were coming up on shuffle. Metal, then acoustic, electro followed and so on and so forth. Most people would view this as disjointed whereas I revel in this.

"What you listening to bro?"... "ROFL, you've never heard of JLS?!"

Like everyone else, I too have a distinctive favourite band, and if you're reading this you should know who my favourite band are (MUSE) and yes, I love to hear them whenever I can; I even forgive iTunes playing several Muse songs back-to-back. After a while though, I'll get bored of the same kind of music and fancy a change. Even when going out in Glasgow, I like a change of DJ every now and again. Saturday afternoon seen me indulging in some ska music and when I - somehow - managed to shrug off the hangover to go to Cathouse, I amalgimated myself with the likes of Rammstein and... Well I can't remember the other bands that were played but I know I was probably head banging and pretending to know most of the songs played. Note that this is 24 hours after I partook in a 90's rave as part of TFI Friday (Strathclyde Union).

I bet at least one person here listens to Duran Duran in their spare time.

 I just can't imagine going through each day listening to the same type of music every day. Everyone's entitled to their own preferences and I won't judge - unless the taste in music is truly unacceptable - however, I fail to empathise with the folk that refuse to introduce even a hint of diversity to their music taste. Since I started typing this, The Specials, Daft Punk, System of a Down, Bruce Springsteen, Green Day and R.E.M have all been played. I'm not trying to say that my list of bands beats yours, but even a little bit of change can't hurt, can it?

What I Can't Live Without #1

#1: The Microwave

The "#1" is included in the title as I had an epiphany not five minutes ago that I can follow this blog up with related pieces. Not to say though that everything I will write about will walk along the same path as the one you read now. Like the rest of my blog entries, there hasn't been much planning or thought before I start creating this not-so-perfect column so whatever I type will more than likely contain numerous parts where if I said this in a normal conversation you'd happily say "oh my God shut the hell up!". I'm sensing that this is one of them times...

Anyway, on with the reason why I'm on this blog at this time (apart from procrastinating), and it all came about whilst making my hot chocolate that's making me just about as exhuberant as the Spongebob that faces me on the mug. For the last six weeks or so, me and my flatmates have been stranded in the kitchen without a working microwave and though this may encourage some people to go all out when preparing dinner, that effect hasn't happened here. It's not that I use it often anyway but it's when you're craving quickfire heated food that requires minimal effort to make that it begins to take its toll on your daily plans.

I'll just have Heinz tomato soup instead thanks.

Just there, I had to heat up the milk for my hot chocolate in a pot before washing the pot out so that the milk doesn't stick to it like Mr Clegg sticking to his original plans. Oh wait... Out goes the quick tinned soup for lunch, out goes the baked beans at the side for your dinner and out goes reheating the food you couldn't quite finish. Notably, in the time it's taken me to type to here, my hot chocolate's gone cold and, you guessed it, I can't reheat it; or at least I can't be bothered to.


When looking to move into a new flat/house, students usually look for the dishwasher or fridge as the most important kitchen applaince, but the microwave is taken for granted every time. Even world-renowned chefs 'cheat' and use the microwave from time to time. Because it's essential to life. I'm fully aware that it appears that this is leading to a full-on argument in support of microwave-recognition but no, I'm just venting my... Not so much anger, lets say frustration.

So here we are, paragraph five on not having a microwave, congratulations if you've read this far! There's not much left for me to say about microwaves if I'm being perfectly honest. I had to think outside the box for this next point, which works out as a valid argument in my head, maybe not to anyone else reading though. Think about this: when (or if) you have children growing up and you want them to fend for themselves, the microwave can be viewed as a 'My First Cooked Meal' for kids. Imagine a house without this. Criminal.

Finally (I promise this is the last microwave-related thing I'll ever type or say), it gets quite depressing that even though I'm not the biggest fan of Rustlers burgers, I am unable to make the food come to life in my kitchen, it's a bit like what a poor football club suffers when the transfer window opens. So yeh, life in the Cumming residence has been made difficult with a lack of a working microwave - and the lack of funds to replace it - but fret not, I will struggle on.

The Illusion of Perfection

For years I have firmly believed that perfection is nothing but a fanatical myth. People may say that my view on this is rather gloomy, discouraging or depressing, but none of these words define who I am. I am a realist. The connotations linked with the term 'realist' have the tendancy to be negative-minded as it suggests that if it is not possible to attain something of value, then mediocracy will suffice. Personally, I strive to get the best out of any situation, regardless of the importance of the matter but there must come a time where you cannot let yourself be misguided on the road to 'perfection'. This error can ensue mass disappointment and despair when the inevitable happens and you realise that what you seek must always be flawed in one way or another.

I was interested to see what happened if I typed 'perfection' into Google Images so that I can get an idea of what the internet declares perfect. Turns out it's a few scenic pictures and a selection of beautiful girls - ha! Someone took a picture of a girl and said she was perfect. Biggest myth of them all, no girl (or guy if you're a female reader) is perfect. I can empathise more with the picturesque backdrop ideas but there would always be a hitch to whatever scenario someone would dream of.

 Just to clarify, I DO realise that I'm being stereotypically 'realist' so far, however I believe in near-perfect situations. I will admit that my idea of something nearly perfect is the sight of the Northern Lights. Stunning, but not perfect. Note - there is a monumental difference between near-perfect and perfection.

Why am I writing about something so unorthadox and irrelevant to most - if not all - readers? Not only do I feel pity for people who delude themselves with false aspirations of something flawless, I was reminded of these views by a quote from George Orwell - who just so happens to agree with me.

" The essence of being human is one that does not seek perfection."

                                                                       George Orwell