Life on the Fourth Floor

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On Getting Married

May15
by David Bishop on 15th May 2013 at 06:08
Posted In: Blog

Hello, everyone! I haven’t used this space for any blogging recently. Okay, maybe I’m not entirely sure what blogging is. I used to use the blog posts to detail in excruciating detail things that had happened to me. Every time I moved house, started a new job, fell ill, tinkered with a project — it all went here. Every time I had a weird dream, here it was. Every time a crazy person harassed me in the street, I wrote about it. That’s happened a surprisingly large number of times.

Instead I’ve posted essays, movie and game reviews but I haven’t written a great deal about what’s going on in my life, what I’ve been up to. Let’s remedy that.

Okay, so I’ve been working on making some changes to the website. A tweak here, an adjustment there. It starts off as an idle fancy: “You know, I really should fix that.” At first you ignore it, then it boomerangs back and hits you in the jugular. Then you tinker, then you rebuild, then you overhaul. Before you know it your website is strewn over the living room carpet in tiny pieces and you need put it back together but with a Twitter feed in it, somehow. And each one of these widgets and divs and doodads has to have its own little picture, which individually don’t take long to draw but multiplied by twenty take longer than you’d think.

Part of this website overhaul process has involved going back and re-reading past blog posts. Not an entirely comfortable experience, I’ll admit. I don’t remember them being quite that bad, which sort of makes me relieved that nobody read them. In places pretentious, in others absurd, occasionally petty, often apologetic for shortcomings. I was struck by how achingly insincere they all are. I can’t read them without seeing a young man desperate to project an image of someone different to who he really is. Sometimes I would puff myself up and pretend to be bigger than I am, sometimes I would make sarcastic (and quite impolite) comments about my pitifully small readership. Sometimes I would pretend to be meaner than I really was, proudly wearing the mantle of ‘belligerent asshole single-handedly setting the world to rights’ even when it didn’t quite fit. I’m not a warrior. I have been, and will always remain, a lover and not a fighter.

Just as I pulled apart and overhauled my website, I have also pulled apart and overhauled myself. As embarrassing as those old blog posts were to re-read I derived a great deal of comfort from knowing that the young man who wrote them is not me. I know him well, we have a lot in common but he and I are not the same person. I’m the man he would have wanted to be if he’d even had the good sense to know what kind of man he wanted to be.

Nevertheless, no matter how crappy his blog posts were, that young man made some damn fine comic strips and I’m still immeasurably proud of the body of work we’ve collaborated on.

Out with the old and in with the new, as they say! What’s new? May is the last full month I will spend as an unmarried man. That’s new! Early next month I’m tying the knot. I’m not scared, but I do find the idea daunting. This whole getting married deal is a big one, as deals go, and nobody seems to acknowledge that. Have you ever played a game, read a book or watched something where magic was commonplace? People can open portals to other places, drink magic potions, turn each other into animals, fly, become invisible and summon creatures but nobody cares. Nobody loses their shit when they see somebody teleport — a thousand miracles happen every day and nobody cares, they take it for granted just as we take for granted portable GPS devices and wireless internet connections. That’s kind of how I see marriage. The words ‘husband’, ‘wife’, ‘family’: these are ancient, powerful words. They have a poetry to them, a magic even. It’s one thing to move in with someone and never move out, it’s another thing altogether to be someone’s husband.

Sure is going to be fun, though.

└ Tags: announcement, blog, looking back, marriage, update, warm fuzzy feelings, wedding
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Okay, Now I’m Not There

Sep14
by David Bishop on 14th September 2007 at 23:20
Posted In: Blog

At the time of writing, it’s twenty past eleven at night and I’ve had an interesting day. I always put a ‘posted on’ time and date at the top of each news post but those who keep careful track of the updates will know that whatever’s written is never — never — posted at that time. I always just put the time of writing. Unless I’m writing at some ridiculous time — like 4:30 in the morning, a time that shouldn’t exist — then I just make it up. But right now it’s 23:20 and I have no internet connection. But I’ve had an interesting day.

I’m inside my flat. I’m actually in. The guy at the office arrived at the flat before I did and as it happens my new flatmate was there to let him in. After he’d gone she told me that he’d sounded to her like he thought I was an imbecile who couldn’t work a key in a lock. Just like all the others. Yeah, imbecilic like a fox! He couldn’t make it work either! He just stood there trying to make the key turn, his face a mask of bafflement. He should try doing that for ten minutes a day outside the building and see how baffled he is then.

The flat is really nice, in that it has walls and a ceiling and nice furnishings in all the right places. It’s less nice in that the previous tennants left it in a bit of a state. It was dusty, and not dusty like a room that’s been empty all summer is dusty, but dusty like only a year of criminal neglect can achieve. Every corny was cobwebbed, every appliance in some disgusting state. There was mold in the freezer, the remnants of some sort of soup explosion lined the inside of the microwave. I won’t even tell you what they did to the oven. They left a load of meat in their bin. When Sophie found it it was rotten. I am happy to report I was not present for those dog days. When I arrived it was after Sophie and her family had put their backs into turning the place around. I can only imagine what it was like before I saw it. I salute you, Sophie’s family!

I do know that with every hour I spent cleaning that wretched flat I hated the previous tennants more and more. Here’s the best part — although they were comfortable leaving behind a horrible mess they did not see fit to leave behind the keys to the flat, which meant the locks had to be changed. Only it turns out some of the keys didn’t work… yes, that little saga was all their fault. Bastards.

I cleaned my first toilet today — and I cleaned my new en suite bathroom from top to bottom. You could eat out of my sink, if you so choose. There was a really big spider in there, too. And three medium-sized ones. And the corpses of twelve tiny ones. I destroyed a whole ecosystem today — it felt good.

Anyway, the various trials of independent living aside here’s some behind-the-scenes insight into the latest comic. I am officially debuting a new drawing style for the female characters. I haven’t been able to get their hair right in the past and I’m putting it down to a lack of detail. To anyone who was a die-hard fan of how Charlotte and Shivani looked before I apologise but I seriously doubt there exist any die-hard fans of the strip. So I’m safe.

 

└ Tags: cleaning, move, moving, technical difficulties, update
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I’m Still Here

Sep13
by David Bishop on 13th September 2007 at 14:46
Posted In: Blog

Have I got a story to tell you? I spent a stressful 24 hours packing all of my worldly possessions into a large suitcase and a couple of boxes. So, I don’t really have a lot of stuff. It was still a pain in the ass trying to decide where everything needed to be and what I’d forgotten and what I needed. Moving is always a headache, this time it was a migraine. Not only did I have to think about what I was going to wash my face with but I also had to worry about washing my face in cold water. This is the first time I’ve had to worry about cleaning toilets and paying utility bills — another step towards turning into my parents.

Day One

So my family helped me pile my stuff into the boot of the car. We had to fold down one of the seats to fit it all in but we managed it in the end. On the way there we came to a realisation. When I got there I would be spending a week by myself with no internet and no TV. I really needed to buy a TV — and it had to be that day because I don’t have a car to take a TV home in. My mother casually asked what I would be doing for food and I said I’d walk to the shops after I moved in, forgetting it was a Sunday and the shops would be closed by the time we arrived in Leeds. And then my mother asked if my new bed was a double bed. It is. We were bringing all my single bed sheets.

Turn the stress level from 5 to 7. We stopped off at a shopping centre, with an hour until closing time and split up to buy new bedsheets, a new TV and two weeks of grocery shopping. Ooh, and cleaning supplies. We got back to the car, carefully piled all the things onto our laps and drove off. My Dad had my shiny new 19″ screen on his knee and he kept turning the radio on and off with the side of the box and ejecting my brother’s CD while he was trying to drive. Me? I had cereal, eggs and frozen chicken piled up past my eyes. I couldn’t see a thing. The stress level was up to 10 now, as far as it could go. I was past panic and floating around in this serene dreamscape in which I continually imagined myself as having already moved in — unpacking, doing a little cooking, making some awesome sandwiches and calling my future internet service provider.

We finally arrived at my new place. The paint was peeling on the wall outside and some prick had littered my front patio with egg shells and a broken, rotting chair but peering through the glass of the front door it looked nice inside — my future flatmate had already been in to clean the place up and work her magic. I pulled out my front door keys — the first one slotted nicely into the lock and turned easily. So far so good. The second key slotted nicely into the lock… and wouldn’t budge.

Now we turn the stress level up to 11.

I tried turning the key both ways — it wouldn’t move. I twisted that thing with all my might and it wouldn’t move. My father stepped up to give it a try, no joy. My mother gave it a shot. Nothing. This was starting to turn into the opening act of an Arthurian legend, like maybe if someone could get this door to unlock they would be crowned King of England. My brother asked everyone to stand back and he solemnly approached the door and its stubborn key. He rolled up his sleeves and spat on his hands a little. A hush decended upon the street. In the distance, a dog stopped barking. High above, the grey clouds rolled. I knew my brother had a knack for magically fixing things. I held my breath.

He tried to turn the key left, right, he pulled the door towards him, away from him, upwards, downwards. Beads of sweat stood up on his brow. Nothing. Nothing worked. I called my flatmate. After all, she’d managed to successfully get in. She said that both of her keys were a little stiff in the lock but that she always got in eventually and that we should try pulling the door towards us or pushing it away. She couldn’t remember which. We tried both. Neither worked.

I tried calling the company I’m renting my flat from. No reply. Of course there was no reply — it was a Sunday! Why would they be open on a Sunday? A better question would be why was I trying to move in on a Sunday. I kicked the door, I beat my fists against it impotently. I called my friend back — she was surprised we weren’t in yet. It never took her this long. We gave up. We climbed back into the car, piled frozen chicken and cereal back into our laps and drove back to my parents’ house — my father turning the radio on and off all the way home. That was the first day.

Day Two

I called up the company the next morning. Their telephone system gives you a choice of three extensions to press for, each of which is a dead end and none of which matched my problem. Eventually I managed to wring human contact out of their dark telephonic labyrinth. The woman I spoke to didn’t seem to appreciate the kind of disaster that the day before had been. She said somebody (presumably someone more qualified to deal with my problem than her) would call me back if I left a number. A few hours later, no call. I called them back. This time I ended up talking to a very polite Scottish woman. She told me if I just popped down there (you know, just 26 miles in rush hour traffic) they would give me a new key, a key that opened the door. I looked at the clock — 4:00 p.m. I asked her when they closed. 5:30. Shit.

I got a lift from my brother. We made it there for five o’ clock, which was pretty ass conisdering all the traffic we had to sit through. I ran into their bullshit offices. It was chaos in there. Painters and handymen wandered around aimlessly amongst fellow students looking lost. A stray cat with one ear hissed at me as I passed it. I wandered into the wrong office, they said I needed maintenance. Maintenance led me to this customer reception area/open plan office/Victorian dining room. It contained no less than six tables, a dozen phones, some fake leather chairs and, for reasons that escaped me, two king-sized matresses. Just as it had been over the phone, no-one appreciated the gravity of the situation, they didn’t care they had turned my stress level up to 11. They probably couldn’t count that high. I explained I had been helpfully given a key that didn’t open my door. I thanked them for testing it out before handing it over, it really saved me a lot of hassle. A guy took my address, scrutinised my key and then wandered off to find the corresponding key in their bullshit key system. Five minutes later he wandered back in and told me he couldn’t find it. Later he came back dragging behind him the one guy there who knew what he was doing to confirm that it was file number four he was looking for. The guy said yes. He brought back the key and compared it to mine and decided they were identical. The guy who knew what he was doing brought up a picture of the key on his computer and asked him if that was the right key. My guy spent a further five minutes holding his key up to the screen and squinting. I just sat next to these big matresses and repeated the word ‘incompetent’ in my head over and over. My guy wandered off again and came back to say he couldn’t find any blank keys to make a copy of the master key. Eventually he just tinkered with my key and handed me the master key as well and told me to give them back later.

We drove through more heavy traffic to try out the new keys. I walked back up to my new front door — complete with broken chair and egg shell. I tried the new key in the lock. Nothing. I sighed — never mind. Must still be a bad copy. Master key time. The master key didn’t work. Same problems as before. This started to make me wonder. Do I have the right house? Is it really just a question of technique? If the master key doesn’t work maybe there’s something wrong with me. I called my flatmate again. We compared tiny details such as the peeling paint and black door — I defintely had the right place. She didn’t know about the broken chair and the shells, that annoyed her. It turns out she had already cleaned the place and garbage had been subsequently dumped there by the neighbourhood assholes, perhaps the same assholes who filled our recycling bin with crap so the bin men wouldn’t empty it. Sophie had to empty it by hand. Now I knew two things: my new neighbourhood is full of assholes and I have the right flat. I got Sophie to describe her magical technique for opening the door. As I repeated the steps aloud Matthew acted each one out to no avail. I checked my watch — it was 5:40. The offices were shut. We gave up and drove home through rush hour traffic. The second day.

Day Three

I called the stupid bullshit company’s stupid bullshit number again. I ended up talking to this guy — maybe it was the guy who knew what he was doing from day two. I told him the whole story — I told him I was sitting in my parents’ living room surrounded by my stuff instead of my flat. He said I need to come down there. Again? Well, they needed to check that the key didn’t work.

I told him he didn’t need to check, he just needed to change the God-damn locks. After all, if my key didn’t work and the master key didn’t work there must be a problem with the locks, right? The guy had another theory, that maybe the keys were fine but I was too much of a dumbass to unlock and open a door. I can’t say this hadn’t crossed my mind but I’d rejected it out of hand because my family are not dumbasses. They have their shit together, they have a lot of experience of unlocking doors. The guy didn’t call me a dumbass over the phone, he was too professional for that. But he said things like he couldn’t take my word for it, that the keys should work just fine, that the key fucking turned anti-clockwise. I resented the implication. So the guy told me he would find the other master key, drive down to the flat and see if the lock was indeed broken.

He called me back a while later and told me his key had worked fine. I asked him to repeat himself. He had turned both keys in both locks, they had unlocked with ease, he had opened the door and set foot inside my flat — something I had never achieved. This was unbelievable. He had used a master key, I had used a master key. Mine didn’t work, his did. Was my aura dirty? Was I really unlucky? What did you need to do to get in this place? I hesitated. Did he have the right place? Black door, peeling paint, broken chair, egg shell. He had the right place. The mystery deepens. How or why this guy’s keys worked and my friend’s keys worked and no key I touched worked has thus far gone unexplained. I have three theories:

  1. Wrath of an unjust God
  2. Gypsie curse
  3. The Midas touch but backwards

So here’s how we left it. This joker has told me that if I pack all my shit up again, pile TVs and frozen chicken up to my eyes and drive back into Leeds he can guarrantee me entry to my flat. So I’m moving in tomorrow. At least I think I’m moving in tomorrow. I hope. I mean, what else can go wrong?

└ Tags: a funny thing happened to me today, anecdote, brother, curse, Disaster, fail, failure, family, key, Matthew, midas touch in reverse, move, moving, moving day, moving house, nightmare
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Boom, Baby!

Sep09
by David Bishop on 9th September 2007 at 11:49
Posted In: Blog

 

Notice anything different in today’s comic? That’s right — backgrounds. Real backgrounds. Like, for the flat. Hooray for how much I rock! I can only apologise for having taken so long implementing this feature but in fact I’ve spent the past four years drawing them. Actually, it just feels that way. Sweet Jesus’ beard my drawing hand is numb. Scraping through the archives like a transient sifting through rotting trash, you will be able to see I have in the past flirted with levels of background-itude but never quite took the plunge into floors, ceilings, perspectives and detailed decorations drawn out in advance. Now that has changed. It was always my intention for there to be backgrounds, just as it was always my intention for the comic to be well-drawn and funny. In my opinion, none of those elements were present from day one. That’s the face of the medium. You get to watch something grow and evolve, not just sit there whole and the same. That has its draw-backs. (Like, what if I just quit? You’re only half-way through the story. I won’t.) In other ways, it’s better than any other form of story-telling.

I didn’t make this sudden effort to improve the quality of the comic as a conscious response to last week’s delightful surge in page-views, rather I am a fairly self-aware person and I know that unencouraged I lose interest in projects quickly — whilst it only takes the slightest provocation to induce feverish productivity. What I’m trying to say is to a certain extent this is our comic not just mine and you made today’s comic — ripe with backgrounds — happen as much as I did. I say to a certain extent. It’s not like I’m going to start letting you guys draw it or anything. Sorry.

I’ve been listening the hell out of ‘Kiss the Girl’ from The Little Mermaid soundtrack all this week. I don’t care if you’re a Disney fan or not, that song is just plain awesome. It’s number 152 on my list of 200 Easy Ways to Get White People to Dance. Alcohol is number one, by the way. In fact alcohol can make white people do anything — sing, dance, start a fight or impregnate each other. It’s the magic drink.

 

P.S. Have a nice autumn. It’s my favourite season. Let’s see what it holds in store for the strip.

 Comment 

Dark Times Ahead

Sep09
by David Bishop on 9th September 2007 at 09:16
Posted In: Blog

All right I have some good news and some bad news. We’ll start with the bad news, get it out of the way and save the good news for the silver lining. So, bad news is I’m moving house. Specifically, I’m moving into a house without heating, phone line, food or (and here’s the stinger) an internet connection. Now the heating problem I can get around by wearing an extra-thick coat and not showering. Instead of a phone line I can just fall back on ol’ mobiley… the mobile phone. No food? I’ll just drink water and think satisfied thoughts. Without an internet connection I might just die. I’m trying not to panic. I’m going to take the opportunity to catch up on my reading and do more drawing whilst I get everything hooked up as soon as possible in my new place. But in the meantime it will be harder (not impossbile but harder) to update the site. So expect fewer news posts for a start and maybe some late strips. Everything will be back to normal and caught up in no time.

That said, if the year is now 2011 and this is the last thing I ever wrote on the site before dying and getting eaten by pigs… well, that’s kind of ironic, isn’t it? And kind of cool that I managed to predict it so accurately. Less cool for me.

That’s a big ‘if’ though.

Well anyway, onto the good news. I don’t have cholera. Silver lining, people!

P.S.

If video games really did make people into murderers Jack Thompson would be dead by now.

└ Tags: announcement, dark times, dead, eaten by pigs, games, going dark, jack Thompson, move, moving, moving house, no internet, update, video games, Weirdly accurate prediction
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