The Nerd Stuff - I Love Switches

So as I may have mentioned below, I'm a little beat at turning 30. In particular, my long-held ambition (that I was seriously just about to get around to doing) of becoming a military pilot is now beyond the ability of my feeble elderly reflexes to pursue. So what shall I do instead?

A mature course of action would be to take up a new hobby- perhaps learn French, take up sailing, or beginning knitting a quilt. All of which are highly productive activities, which would add a line to my otherwise barren CV (except the quilt knitting - I don't see employers taking me seriously with that one).

Of course, the key word there is mature. If I was mature, would I seriously be writing this blog during office hours, just so you, the guy who was googling "quilt porn" could read this?

No.

So instead of doing something productive with my time, I'm going to do something time-consuming, mentally taxing, and ultimately completely unproductive instead.

I'm going to learn to fly (or play, really) Falcon 4 and DCS Black Shark - at the same time.

In full realism mode.

That's right, full realism mode. And I realise that for most of you, that makes absolutely no bloody sense whatsoever.

Suffice to say, both of these games (games? Works of art more like) are incredibly nerdy, with the player/ allegedly responsible adult masquerading as a pilot having to flip numerous switches and toggles just to get the damn engines to start (seriously, in Black Shark you have to manually open the cockpit door to talk to the imaginary ground crew).

I loved these games when I was a kid, loved the in-depth knowledge required, loved the excessive obsession with detail (it's shocking I wasn't invited to more parties).

At first glance, two things jump out at me:

1) How the hell did 16 year old me (let alone 12 or 11 year old me) memorise this many buttons?

2) Was younger me as comfortable with the very true-to-life campaigns in these games? In Falcon, you take part in a NATO campaign over Yugoslavia (closely resembling the real thing) or in a campaign against North Korea (reflecting the near future, perhaps). In Black Shark you are, no kidding, taking part in a Russian campaign in the Black Sea region, against Georgia. Was teenage me at all perturbed by the thoughts of my digital missiles mirroring the flight of real-life missiles? Or is this just the thinking of an addled, 30 year old Guardian reader?

The Oddest Age: Turning 30

From wellhappypeaceful.com, ironically.

I know that it's not old, really. These days reaching 30 means that, on average, you still have well over half of your life to run. But in many respects 30 is the age when the doors of childhood dreams do start slamming shut on you, and you are left with the sort of life options that your school guidance councillor would applaud, but that teenage would view as the worst of bourgeois sell-outs ('cos teenage you is, like, totally a communist).

Admittedly, when I say childhood dreams, I do mean childhood - a mature adult would have put these childish hopes away by now. But I am no liar, and I have never claimed to be mature. So, it is a bit sobering that at 30, the odds of Glasgow Celtic calling you up to begin a glittering career in top flight Scottish hooliganism football, are slim. At 30, you are probably cutting it fine if you are hoping to become a war correspondent, and leaving it a bit late to begin a sparkling career as a field archaeologist who later goes on to discover the lost city of Atlatis. Your hopes of becoming a fire-fighter cowboy astronaut millionaire are also slim. Most galling of all, I am now unable to pursue my long cherished ambition of becoming an elite fighter pilot, throught the fatal combination of being too old, fat and short-sighted to possibly fly a fast jet - up till now I had only been too fat and short-sighted. And I could have dealt with those problems, if only I had the time. If only I had the time!

But worst of all about turning 30 is that, while the ridiculous goals of youth, the ones torn sloppily from Boys Own with only the thinnest veneer of reality to convince yourself they are possible, are now gone, the sort of "ambitions" adults have are still far from your grasp. At 30 you can decide that far from bringing mankind's presence to Mars, your hopes now rest on becoming Regional Sales Director for Insurance and Assurance Products, with a special focus on Reinsurance for the Meat Processing Industry, with administrative responsibilityfor staff throughout the greater Des Moines urban area - the only problem is, at 30 you've still got a lot of work to do to reach this dull, grey goal. At 30, the banks won't lend to you to start your bespoke cup-holder company. At 30, you are either still renting, or you own a starter home - i.e. you're starting here, so you sure as hell don't want this to be where you finish. Life has told you what you can't do, but is still teasing you about what (if anything) you can.

30 is the oddest of ages, all the good doors are locked to you - and all the others are not really worth opening.

As you will see above, I intend to address this 1/3rd life crisis through the medium of nerdism, and excessive switchology.