Bad Parenting...

One of the things that really riles me is annoying kids. The ones who stand screeching in the middle of a supermarket aisle, or sneaking sly punches onto their friend's arm, generally being loud, obnoxious and spiteful. And then you see the person in the role of parent (because these days there is no guarantee that the person playing the fatherly part is remotely related to the child, and furthermore there is no guarantee that they are aware they might not be the real father) shouting and pulling at the child, or swearing and cursing in their face. No wonder such a brat has been created.
And 'bad parenting' does not necessarily mean that sort of behaviour either. In our current world, there are brand new methods of cruelty available - and I don't use the term lightly. A story has recently been related to me, telling of a woman with two young children who left them in the care of a husband she is supposedly in the throes of divorcing, and crossed the United States to have a weekend in bed with a man she'd met on the internet. The immaturity and selfishness of the mother are highlighted by her argument that she needed a 'weekend of fun' and that somehow equated to the above, and above all her lack of care for the kids. If she loathes the man to the extent she has implied, then leaving him in charge of her two babies is surely the most irresponsible thing she could have done.
The role of parent seems to be adapting across the years. Whereas once parents were essential for bringing up a child, it now seems they shirk responsibility at every opportunity - a recent study suggested something crazy like seventy per cent of parents in the UK wanted the child's school to set a bed time. Children have increasingly, in the western world, become prizes, showcases, extensions of a separated life. Unless they play five musical instruments, can tango by the age of six, speak multiple languages - and ideally can operate the DVD player before they can walk - then they are under-achievers. (And thus are automatically assumed to be suffering from ADHD and drugged to the eyeballs).
Whatever came of the old-fashioned ideas of allowing a child to develop into who they really are? Is it just me who thinks that the parent's job is to ensure this development, while providing the safety net in the background for when the child falls in the process. My solution to the problem? Sterilise everyone at the age of 12 (I would usually say 20, but these days it seems there are too many people becoming parents at impossibly young ages) and at a sensible point in their life, possibly at 24 years of age, they take a series of tests. If they prove themselves worthy of parenthood, the sterilisation will be reversed and they are allowed to procreate. The test can be re-taken up to three times, and if still failed on the third time, then neuter them. The world will be a much happier place.

On freedom and football

A few days after starting this blog of doom and gloom, I was offered a place at Oxford University. I can't believe how fast time flies - whether enjoying oneself or not - but I've finished. Dissertation handed in, books returned to libraries, champagne drunk, and a strangely deflated feeling acquired. I'm now yet another out-of-work graduate, clawing around for a reason for my existence and having considerable difficulty locating one. What with it being a whole week into the World Cup, I'm already becoming slightly fed up with that form of entertainment, and somehow sunbathing doesn't have quite the same appeal when you don't have that underlying feeling of guilt nagging at you simultaneously.
Speaking of which, I have Argentina v Serbia and Montenegro on in the background. Random aside that this must be the one occasion when Boca and River fans don't want to kill each other - united by the glorious game. Perhaps it does serve some purposes.
I went to the Careers Service this morning. Why? God alone knows. I have no desire for a career and had that confirmed for me; besides, it is ludicrous to expect somebody whose job consists of advising other people on How To Get A Life to be able to have any kind of understanding for my job-related dilemmas. (Summed up as: I don't really want one). Am mulling over the idea of asking for advice on how to become an escort, just to see their reaction.
In my slightly drunk, slightly sun-stroked state, I am therefore making a worldwide appeal, to all those single men with an extremely large inheritance to seriously consider approaching me. Please also send all openings for the post of Garden Gnome to me, I think that is definitely an option I should contemplate.

My latest distractions

My username on MSN informs the world that I am officially 'busy until June 16th'; I have stayed in recently on many evenings I could have gone out; I've missed out on rowing in order to hurry back to my computer. In theory, I'm eagerly working away on my dissertation - in fact, by now I am supposed to have a complete rough draft ready to email to tutor. Half of it still remains to be written, however, and this is entirely due to the latest distractions I have discovered.
First of all, I stumbled across a website called YouTube - never mind the home videos people have uploaded, I'm more interested in searching for episodes of Seinfeld and Scrubs to get me through the day. When I feel that I should at least pretend to use my brain at some point, I switch across to online Sudoku (dammit, I'm determined to complete one of the 'evil' level ones). After frustrating myself completely with this, I move over to the latest rapidly developing addiction, and probably the most 'dangerous' of them all.
Online poker.
My heartfelt curses go out to a certain Swede for introducing me to this concept, and for telling me about the site which gives you - no questions asked - $10 to start you off. As someone who just about understands the rudiments of poker, I make a few completely stupid moves on occasion and then follow them up with the perfect hand and up goes my overall balance once more. The problem is that I can feel myself learning the rules as I go along and 'getting the idea', and indeed improving my playing. Which, if I'm not careful, is going to lead to me just adding A Few Pounds to my poker account from what is a very real bank balance and becoming firmly lost in that world.
Having a seriously addictive personality does have its advantages. It means that once I get started on this damn essay, I'll sit there until it is done, and done properly. Which means it'll just take me a good chunk of a day to finish - BUT, I know perfectly well that once I start I really will get firmly stuck into it. And I can't face the idea of staring at an MS Word document, checking that word count every two minutes.
Right, I'm going to read through my notes one more time, try and gather some focus - and it if hasn't happened after ten minutes then I'll give in and watch a few more Seinfeld episodes. Curses to this technological age and the uber-fast internet provided by the university. One feels obliged to make use of the awesome 100Mbps speed.