I'd just like to lament for a moment...
News reaches me today of the closure of my favourite old nightclub, the Blue Orchid in Croydon. For years the haven of speed garage, and indeed its very birthing place, and now lost to us all. I had e-mail correspondence with friends about its passing, and thought I'd share with you the little euology I wrote:
"You know what I’ll miss most? It’s not the preposterously high prices, nor the ridiculous size of the hoop earrings on the girls. Nor, indeed, is it the dodgy bird getting fingered in the background of the photo we were taking of Ant, or stepping in the way before Oz gets himself spread over the walls by a guy only marginally less pissed than he was. I won’t even miss the way your shoes would stick to the carpet on the way in, or the smell of that alleyway they always chucked you into when you were too far gone, or the Smarties-tube kaleidoscope of Ben Shermans, or the anticipation of getting in there, or dancing the Gunman on stage to the derision of all my mates, or experimenting to find out that beer really is very bad for my kidneys, or not being able to hear yourself think for three days afterwards because you were standing RIGHT in front of a speaker all night, too pissed to move away. No, what I’ll miss is that feeling that you really were present at the height of something truly great. Looking back, objectively, it wasn’t all that smart. But damn me if it didn’t feel a thousand times better back then.
Rest in Peace my old friend. Never shall we forget…"
That's all for now, I'm off to stare misty-eyed into the middle distance.
Thursday, December 16, 2004
Wednesday, November 17, 2004
Words of the Day: is there really something better than this? Hell yes, there is.
As I sit in my Ikea-styled office, tapping away on the keys of my Intel powered PC, my mind wanders to other places and times. It's because I listen to the music I listen to. Greenday, Blink 182. Makes me want to be somewhere else. These songs are inspired by a place I never go. There's no way to get there from where I am, no roads, no planes, no tracks. It's grey outside, cold and drizzling. Instead of riding my mountain bike along twisting singletrack, lifted in mind and body, I sit here staring at the steel grey sky, being added to by the grey steel slowly blocking my only view. Bastards. I want to surf waves, not internet pages. I want to be uncomfortable, to be cold when it's not warm, hot when I have to be, wet when the Ocean (capital 'o') demands it. I feel like sometimes I'm the only one who feels this way. It's only fun if it's sanitised, controlled fun, it seems. Not if you end up dirty, cold, wet and fucking miserable. It's that particular misery you'll look back and realise was the peak of euphoria. Nothing comes close. You can be at the very end of your exertion, no energy left, nothing left to give, no more offerings for Poseidon, but I guarantee you'll find one more when you see that wave coming. One more time, one more paddle out, one more turn and wait, one more moment of unsurpassed pleasure as the swell lifts you, pitches you forward, carries you down the face of the wave and threatens to crush you from above, all in the same breath. One more swift transition, one more moment of instability as you assert your control over the unruly lump of styrene beneath you, one way forward, and that's down, into the heart of it, water curling over you, threatening. Then that jolt as you hit it just right, that swift transition from slug to bullet, from wave-bait to whitewater taunter. You can't outrun the thing, can't get away from it, because you're stuck to the face of the it. But you know you have it tamed, if not beaten. Can't be complacent, but there's still a moment of celebration, still the feeling that for that briefest of moments you're king, or queen, whatever. Then it dumps you, and you feel fucking stupid, but you go back for more, because no matter how many times you get hit, no matter how many times you come up with water in your lungs, no matter how many times your eyes scream in pain at the intrusion of the gallons of water, no matter how cold you are, no matter how many people have lost bits of themselves doing this this year, no matter that there's a storm coming and it's going to fry anything sticking up above the surface, no matter that your suit is ripped, no matter that you're bleeding, you damn well want to be out there again and again. That's why this office will never be satisfactory. No matter how much Ikea there is.
As I sit in my Ikea-styled office, tapping away on the keys of my Intel powered PC, my mind wanders to other places and times. It's because I listen to the music I listen to. Greenday, Blink 182. Makes me want to be somewhere else. These songs are inspired by a place I never go. There's no way to get there from where I am, no roads, no planes, no tracks. It's grey outside, cold and drizzling. Instead of riding my mountain bike along twisting singletrack, lifted in mind and body, I sit here staring at the steel grey sky, being added to by the grey steel slowly blocking my only view. Bastards. I want to surf waves, not internet pages. I want to be uncomfortable, to be cold when it's not warm, hot when I have to be, wet when the Ocean (capital 'o') demands it. I feel like sometimes I'm the only one who feels this way. It's only fun if it's sanitised, controlled fun, it seems. Not if you end up dirty, cold, wet and fucking miserable. It's that particular misery you'll look back and realise was the peak of euphoria. Nothing comes close. You can be at the very end of your exertion, no energy left, nothing left to give, no more offerings for Poseidon, but I guarantee you'll find one more when you see that wave coming. One more time, one more paddle out, one more turn and wait, one more moment of unsurpassed pleasure as the swell lifts you, pitches you forward, carries you down the face of the wave and threatens to crush you from above, all in the same breath. One more swift transition, one more moment of instability as you assert your control over the unruly lump of styrene beneath you, one way forward, and that's down, into the heart of it, water curling over you, threatening. Then that jolt as you hit it just right, that swift transition from slug to bullet, from wave-bait to whitewater taunter. You can't outrun the thing, can't get away from it, because you're stuck to the face of the it. But you know you have it tamed, if not beaten. Can't be complacent, but there's still a moment of celebration, still the feeling that for that briefest of moments you're king, or queen, whatever. Then it dumps you, and you feel fucking stupid, but you go back for more, because no matter how many times you get hit, no matter how many times you come up with water in your lungs, no matter how many times your eyes scream in pain at the intrusion of the gallons of water, no matter how cold you are, no matter how many people have lost bits of themselves doing this this year, no matter that there's a storm coming and it's going to fry anything sticking up above the surface, no matter that your suit is ripped, no matter that you're bleeding, you damn well want to be out there again and again. That's why this office will never be satisfactory. No matter how much Ikea there is.
Tuesday, November 09, 2004
Monday, November 08, 2004
Words of the Day: what the f***?
I ordered some stuff online. Some CDs. Everyone who's spent more than a few quid online will know that estimated and real delivery dates are rarely in agreement, so I wasn't exactly expecting miracles. But miracles I got - some CDs ordered after last post on Saturday arrived this morning, Monday morning. Now, in countries where business operates 7 days a week, that might not seem too surprising. But, as everyone who's lived in England will tell you, there's no post on Sundays. They shut the whole bloody thing down. Well, not quite, but you don't count Sunday as a day when working out how long it'll take a package to arrive. This is indeed a wondrous thingy. And even more so when you consider that the other CDs I ordered from the same company two days previously have shown no sign of arriving...
Back to more normal things, I really need to sit down and sh*t out another book sometime soon. Main problem is finding time and brilliance, neither of which I am overly endowed with. Damn. I do have a very strong idea about its direction. It's definitely still rooted in traditional fantasy, but I want to make it a story about environmental issues. Scary? Hell yes. But might work. Thing is, I think it's going to be one of those things where the issue is well buried in the plot, and the decision is the reader's. I hate being told what to think, especially when reading books, and I'm guessing that other people feel the same way. So it's there, waiting to be written, waiting to be born into a cruel world, etc. Maybe one day I'll finish the other few hundred...
I ordered some stuff online. Some CDs. Everyone who's spent more than a few quid online will know that estimated and real delivery dates are rarely in agreement, so I wasn't exactly expecting miracles. But miracles I got - some CDs ordered after last post on Saturday arrived this morning, Monday morning. Now, in countries where business operates 7 days a week, that might not seem too surprising. But, as everyone who's lived in England will tell you, there's no post on Sundays. They shut the whole bloody thing down. Well, not quite, but you don't count Sunday as a day when working out how long it'll take a package to arrive. This is indeed a wondrous thingy. And even more so when you consider that the other CDs I ordered from the same company two days previously have shown no sign of arriving...
Back to more normal things, I really need to sit down and sh*t out another book sometime soon. Main problem is finding time and brilliance, neither of which I am overly endowed with. Damn. I do have a very strong idea about its direction. It's definitely still rooted in traditional fantasy, but I want to make it a story about environmental issues. Scary? Hell yes. But might work. Thing is, I think it's going to be one of those things where the issue is well buried in the plot, and the decision is the reader's. I hate being told what to think, especially when reading books, and I'm guessing that other people feel the same way. So it's there, waiting to be written, waiting to be born into a cruel world, etc. Maybe one day I'll finish the other few hundred...
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
Psychologists
Not prone to rambling, especially out of the blue after a long time being away, but I feel I must have a quick go at the world of psychology. Or, perhaps I should say, psychologists themselves.
I'm a scientist. A proper, real life scientist. I'm doing a PhD, and I perform crazy, cutting edge experiments with polymers. Psychologists, it has to be said, do have a certain scientific bent to their occupation, so I'm not angry about them calling themselves scientists. Nor, indeed, am I upset that they seem to come up with random crap about wanting to shag your mum (cliche time, I know, but this is a rant, so I've left my principles at home). What bothers me about psychologists is their smugness. Pure, unadulterated smugness. Take, for instance, their favourite phrase - "you're exactly how I expected you to be". This refers to the amazing ability of psychologists to predict every single trait of your character from the first few moments of meeting you. I'm sure it must be real, because every single psychologist I've ever met tells me the same thing. And yet, and this is the crux of the argument, not ONE, not a single person who has ever told me this, has been able to corroborate this with a prediction in a sealed envelope, or anything of the sort. Now, I don't want it to seem to you, dear reader, that I am in any way doubting the average psychologist's ability to predict my character from the jumper I'm wearing and the way one eyebrow is invariably cocked, but it isn't exactly rigorously scientific to suggest, without corroborating evidence, that the character traits I've just displayed were all too predictable.
Oh, and another thing, they're a bunch of dog electrocuters and mouse confusers...
Not prone to rambling, especially out of the blue after a long time being away, but I feel I must have a quick go at the world of psychology. Or, perhaps I should say, psychologists themselves.
I'm a scientist. A proper, real life scientist. I'm doing a PhD, and I perform crazy, cutting edge experiments with polymers. Psychologists, it has to be said, do have a certain scientific bent to their occupation, so I'm not angry about them calling themselves scientists. Nor, indeed, am I upset that they seem to come up with random crap about wanting to shag your mum (cliche time, I know, but this is a rant, so I've left my principles at home). What bothers me about psychologists is their smugness. Pure, unadulterated smugness. Take, for instance, their favourite phrase - "you're exactly how I expected you to be". This refers to the amazing ability of psychologists to predict every single trait of your character from the first few moments of meeting you. I'm sure it must be real, because every single psychologist I've ever met tells me the same thing. And yet, and this is the crux of the argument, not ONE, not a single person who has ever told me this, has been able to corroborate this with a prediction in a sealed envelope, or anything of the sort. Now, I don't want it to seem to you, dear reader, that I am in any way doubting the average psychologist's ability to predict my character from the jumper I'm wearing and the way one eyebrow is invariably cocked, but it isn't exactly rigorously scientific to suggest, without corroborating evidence, that the character traits I've just displayed were all too predictable.
Oh, and another thing, they're a bunch of dog electrocuters and mouse confusers...
Thursday, September 16, 2004
Oh blog blog blog...
Haven't been here for a while, have I?
No worries, back now, albeit briefly. So, why? Mostly, it seems, because I have far better things to be doing, but don't particularly want to do any of them. There's also the issue of a small warning I must ask you all to heed - when placing an order at Amazon, don't think that just because they've taken your order, they'll actually be able to get what you want. I know the camera was being replaced, but if you can't get the thing, don't take the order, ok Amazon? Caused me more than a little anguish, that particular trick. No worries, though, getting a better and more expensive camera from lovely Dabs, even if they're not going to send it for about 4 years. Ok, more like 4 weeks. Hope they don't turn around and let me down too... Amazon, it has to be said, have managed to regain a very little bit of the respect I had for them by dropping the price of a book I have on pre-order, but it's not enough. It NOT ENOUGH, y'hear? Good. Glad we could sort that out.
Listening to Enema of the State by Blink182 for the first time in a long time. Just remembered I have all sorts of things that need to be done today, and I haven't done any of them. Oh well, there's always tomorrow. It's getting dark outside. Or at least it feels like it's getting dark. Shouldn't be sunset for another three hours or so, but I can feel the night coming, creeping up on me, darkness unfolding to envelop me. Run!
Haven't been here for a while, have I?
No worries, back now, albeit briefly. So, why? Mostly, it seems, because I have far better things to be doing, but don't particularly want to do any of them. There's also the issue of a small warning I must ask you all to heed - when placing an order at Amazon, don't think that just because they've taken your order, they'll actually be able to get what you want. I know the camera was being replaced, but if you can't get the thing, don't take the order, ok Amazon? Caused me more than a little anguish, that particular trick. No worries, though, getting a better and more expensive camera from lovely Dabs, even if they're not going to send it for about 4 years. Ok, more like 4 weeks. Hope they don't turn around and let me down too... Amazon, it has to be said, have managed to regain a very little bit of the respect I had for them by dropping the price of a book I have on pre-order, but it's not enough. It NOT ENOUGH, y'hear? Good. Glad we could sort that out.
Listening to Enema of the State by Blink182 for the first time in a long time. Just remembered I have all sorts of things that need to be done today, and I haven't done any of them. Oh well, there's always tomorrow. It's getting dark outside. Or at least it feels like it's getting dark. Shouldn't be sunset for another three hours or so, but I can feel the night coming, creeping up on me, darkness unfolding to envelop me. Run!
Tuesday, July 27, 2004
Let's all say a big "hello!!" to Julian and his blog
My friend Julian, fellow PhD student, had never heard of blogging. I set him straight, and now he's joined the massed ranks of the blogging public. All hail the new blood, etc.
My friend Julian, fellow PhD student, had never heard of blogging. I set him straight, and now he's joined the massed ranks of the blogging public. All hail the new blood, etc.
Tuesday, June 22, 2004
Friday, May 28, 2004
Words of the Day: "I'm ok, tho', I have a seat in the sun and a tree to talk to about the people going by..."
I was leafing through some old papers (looking for some new paper) when I came across this. I was lost, in Leeds, when I was meant to be in a practical. Ok, perhaps not entirely lost, because I knew exactly where I was. I just didn't happen to know where I was meant to be, so I ended up sitting under a tree in a courtyard waiting to bump into someone I knew. I also drew, and wrote a few other things, and invented a pH cycler to test part of the work I hadn't (and still haven't really) started on my PhD. Then it was stuck at the back of my pad of paper and pretty much forgotten about until now.
I do this a lot. I'm a great one for doodling, and writing random crap down. I have books full of the stuff. Seriously. I'm not a good doodler, though. Some people create great works of art whilst their mind is on a lecture or something equally distracting. I don't. My best work is created when I sit down over a number of days and plug away at something. That's not to suggest it ever reaches a particularly high standard, but I'm much better when I get the chance to go back and look at what I did wrong. That, of course, only applies to drawing and painting. When it comes to writing, I have to rattle off as much as I can before my fingers go numb, and then hope I can remember where I was in the story when i come back ot it three weeks later.
Lots of people walked past me that day. Some took absolutely no notice at all, whilst others stared intently, as if it were strange to be sitting under a tree, turning a six million year old fosilised shark tooth over in my hands (honestly). Some stole furtive glances, others stared brazenly, openly, as if challenging me to stare back. I did, most of the time, when I wasn't writing strange things down. There's a lyric which always comes to me when I'm sitting in the sun on my own. It's from the Chili Peppers track Scar Tissue, and it goes, "with the birds I'll share this lonely view". I don't know why, but it pops into my head uninvited, and there it usually resides until I write it down somewhere. Puts me in mind of a Californian hill-top, bathed in golden afternoon sunshine, with a few gnarled bushes, their shape wrought by the wind. And around me, hopping about and poking their beaks into the dusty ground, little finch-like birds chatter away to each other, unalarmed by my presence. Sometimes I wonder if that place exists, then I kick myself. Of course it exists, I've been there. And it's bloody lovely, I can tell you, especially with the sun setting over the ocean.
Going to get the opportunity for a bit of an adventure this weekend - I'm going out on my bike on my own, which gives me the opportunity to ramble around a bit. I'd usually go out with jen, but I don't think she shares my enthusiasm for particularly steep, rutted paths, so we tend to stick to speedy singletrack. Don't get me wrong, I love singletrack, but after having spent years on stupidly steep hills at home (on top of the North Downs) I miss the hard slog of a first gear, standing-on-the-pedals kind of climb, so I'm very tempted to try to find some out in the Peak District. Weather permitting, of course - after a week of sunshine, we're promised rain. D'oh.
If I seem obsessed with weather, it's because I am. It's that North Downs thing again. I grew up in a community where a light flurry of snow reported in London would mean five feet where we were, and on a few memorable occasions complete isolation from the outside world. But it wasn't all bad - a warm sunny day in London (the nearest big city, in case you were wondering about the comparisons) would mean a sweltering heat-wave on our little chalk outcrop. It was splendid isolation, that place. Although I've come away complaining about never having people my own age to grow up with, not all is negative, by some distance. For a boy fascinated by nature, it was a wonderland, full of thick, dark forests and every kind of creature you'd expect. I entertained fantasies in my young mind that the hills might even harbour big cats, lost or escaped from some zoo, roaming the land and occasinally snatching a sheep or a calf. I don't think there are any big cats out there, but you never know. What there was a lot of was time, to sit and reflect, to come to terms with nature. To be fair, nature doesn't take a ot of coming to terms with, but it is a wonderful thing to be connected to. I hate cities - I'm in one right now, but it happens to be the greenest per square metre in England, or something like that. Up on the chalk, I always felt connected to something a bit wider. Terry Pratchett has written a couple of books for children recently, centring on a character who lives on chalk, and I feel sure he must have had the same experience, because somehow he knows what it's like. If you want that feeling, read the books about Tiffany Aching, 'The Wee Free Men' and 'A Hat Full of Sky'. If you know the feeling, read them anyway. And if you've already read them, well you'll just have to think up something to do instead...
By the way, while I'm here, bit of a recommendation - if you've ever heard any Ben Folds stuff and liked it, make sure to get your hands on a copy of his live album, preferably with the bonus DVD. It's great, especially where he directs the crowd as they valiantly attempt to fill in for the saxophones and trumpets on 'Army'. Amazon do it for about £12, which is a bargain. I made jen listen to, and watch it, last night. I don't think she was quite as enthusiastic about it as I was...
I was leafing through some old papers (looking for some new paper) when I came across this. I was lost, in Leeds, when I was meant to be in a practical. Ok, perhaps not entirely lost, because I knew exactly where I was. I just didn't happen to know where I was meant to be, so I ended up sitting under a tree in a courtyard waiting to bump into someone I knew. I also drew, and wrote a few other things, and invented a pH cycler to test part of the work I hadn't (and still haven't really) started on my PhD. Then it was stuck at the back of my pad of paper and pretty much forgotten about until now.
I do this a lot. I'm a great one for doodling, and writing random crap down. I have books full of the stuff. Seriously. I'm not a good doodler, though. Some people create great works of art whilst their mind is on a lecture or something equally distracting. I don't. My best work is created when I sit down over a number of days and plug away at something. That's not to suggest it ever reaches a particularly high standard, but I'm much better when I get the chance to go back and look at what I did wrong. That, of course, only applies to drawing and painting. When it comes to writing, I have to rattle off as much as I can before my fingers go numb, and then hope I can remember where I was in the story when i come back ot it three weeks later.
Lots of people walked past me that day. Some took absolutely no notice at all, whilst others stared intently, as if it were strange to be sitting under a tree, turning a six million year old fosilised shark tooth over in my hands (honestly). Some stole furtive glances, others stared brazenly, openly, as if challenging me to stare back. I did, most of the time, when I wasn't writing strange things down. There's a lyric which always comes to me when I'm sitting in the sun on my own. It's from the Chili Peppers track Scar Tissue, and it goes, "with the birds I'll share this lonely view". I don't know why, but it pops into my head uninvited, and there it usually resides until I write it down somewhere. Puts me in mind of a Californian hill-top, bathed in golden afternoon sunshine, with a few gnarled bushes, their shape wrought by the wind. And around me, hopping about and poking their beaks into the dusty ground, little finch-like birds chatter away to each other, unalarmed by my presence. Sometimes I wonder if that place exists, then I kick myself. Of course it exists, I've been there. And it's bloody lovely, I can tell you, especially with the sun setting over the ocean.
Going to get the opportunity for a bit of an adventure this weekend - I'm going out on my bike on my own, which gives me the opportunity to ramble around a bit. I'd usually go out with jen, but I don't think she shares my enthusiasm for particularly steep, rutted paths, so we tend to stick to speedy singletrack. Don't get me wrong, I love singletrack, but after having spent years on stupidly steep hills at home (on top of the North Downs) I miss the hard slog of a first gear, standing-on-the-pedals kind of climb, so I'm very tempted to try to find some out in the Peak District. Weather permitting, of course - after a week of sunshine, we're promised rain. D'oh.
If I seem obsessed with weather, it's because I am. It's that North Downs thing again. I grew up in a community where a light flurry of snow reported in London would mean five feet where we were, and on a few memorable occasions complete isolation from the outside world. But it wasn't all bad - a warm sunny day in London (the nearest big city, in case you were wondering about the comparisons) would mean a sweltering heat-wave on our little chalk outcrop. It was splendid isolation, that place. Although I've come away complaining about never having people my own age to grow up with, not all is negative, by some distance. For a boy fascinated by nature, it was a wonderland, full of thick, dark forests and every kind of creature you'd expect. I entertained fantasies in my young mind that the hills might even harbour big cats, lost or escaped from some zoo, roaming the land and occasinally snatching a sheep or a calf. I don't think there are any big cats out there, but you never know. What there was a lot of was time, to sit and reflect, to come to terms with nature. To be fair, nature doesn't take a ot of coming to terms with, but it is a wonderful thing to be connected to. I hate cities - I'm in one right now, but it happens to be the greenest per square metre in England, or something like that. Up on the chalk, I always felt connected to something a bit wider. Terry Pratchett has written a couple of books for children recently, centring on a character who lives on chalk, and I feel sure he must have had the same experience, because somehow he knows what it's like. If you want that feeling, read the books about Tiffany Aching, 'The Wee Free Men' and 'A Hat Full of Sky'. If you know the feeling, read them anyway. And if you've already read them, well you'll just have to think up something to do instead...
By the way, while I'm here, bit of a recommendation - if you've ever heard any Ben Folds stuff and liked it, make sure to get your hands on a copy of his live album, preferably with the bonus DVD. It's great, especially where he directs the crowd as they valiantly attempt to fill in for the saxophones and trumpets on 'Army'. Amazon do it for about £12, which is a bargain. I made jen listen to, and watch it, last night. I don't think she was quite as enthusiastic about it as I was...
Wednesday, May 19, 2004
Words of the Day: why isn't it here yet?
I ordered a comic book from the internet. Sorry, a 'graphic novel'. Not my average purchase, however it is the Thundercats, which makes all the difference. I was expecting it to turn up a couple of days later, perhaps, especially since I was being charged for some ridiculous insured special delivery business. It didn't turn up... This morning, nine days after placing the order, I decided to ring the company in question and see what's up. To my unending surprise and annoyance, it turns out that they're based about 15 minutes (on a good day, no traffic) from my house, in a big shopping centre I regularly visit. This, of course, raises two pertinent issues: (i) why didn't they tell me on the webiste that they have a wonderful shop I could visit, which just so happens to be nearby, and (ii) why has the thing taken so bloody long to get here?!?! I'm not, by nature, prone to exclamation marks (for two reasons...), but I felt that needed a couple dotted around the question marks. This happens more and more on the internet - quite often you can only actually buy things by going to a shop's website, because when you go in, they're out of stock; every item has been sold on the web. It's also brings to mind the experience jen once had when buying me a Prodigy poster from the internet (the photo from the cover of Fat of the Land) - she ended up going to a German company and getting it shipped over. Lo and behold, when I looked closely, I discovered that it had been printed by GB Posters of Sheffield, England. Ten minutes away at the most, and the thing had been shipped out to Germany and back, and we had to drive to a depot half an hour away to pick the thing up! It makes me want to swear, it really does.
And the conclusion of the phonecall? Nothing, nada, zip. Their system is offline at the moment - "essential maintenance" - and they can't tell me what happened to the order. I'll have to ring back after lunch. Bugger!
I ordered a comic book from the internet. Sorry, a 'graphic novel'. Not my average purchase, however it is the Thundercats, which makes all the difference. I was expecting it to turn up a couple of days later, perhaps, especially since I was being charged for some ridiculous insured special delivery business. It didn't turn up... This morning, nine days after placing the order, I decided to ring the company in question and see what's up. To my unending surprise and annoyance, it turns out that they're based about 15 minutes (on a good day, no traffic) from my house, in a big shopping centre I regularly visit. This, of course, raises two pertinent issues: (i) why didn't they tell me on the webiste that they have a wonderful shop I could visit, which just so happens to be nearby, and (ii) why has the thing taken so bloody long to get here?!?! I'm not, by nature, prone to exclamation marks (for two reasons...), but I felt that needed a couple dotted around the question marks. This happens more and more on the internet - quite often you can only actually buy things by going to a shop's website, because when you go in, they're out of stock; every item has been sold on the web. It's also brings to mind the experience jen once had when buying me a Prodigy poster from the internet (the photo from the cover of Fat of the Land) - she ended up going to a German company and getting it shipped over. Lo and behold, when I looked closely, I discovered that it had been printed by GB Posters of Sheffield, England. Ten minutes away at the most, and the thing had been shipped out to Germany and back, and we had to drive to a depot half an hour away to pick the thing up! It makes me want to swear, it really does.
And the conclusion of the phonecall? Nothing, nada, zip. Their system is offline at the moment - "essential maintenance" - and they can't tell me what happened to the order. I'll have to ring back after lunch. Bugger!
Monday, May 17, 2004
Words of the Day: long time missing
After making several quiet promises to myself, and several more vocal ones to the computer, I've been sadly neglectful of the needs of the blog. It's lifeblood, it's source, it's river has dried in the last month and a half, unfed as it has been by my lazy, lazy fingers.
Lots of little things have caught my attention today. Like the fact that there's a lot of grime in the back of my watch, which really is disgusting since it must be composed almost entirely of sweat and skin flakes. Can you say "mmm, delicious"?
The park is a wonderful thing at the moment. I have a habit of wandering through in the morning and forgetting about everything else. If only I'd realised this affinity at an earlier age I would have shown no aptitude at school so I could have worked in a national park or something without feeling guilty about not being in science or technology. The longer I stay here, the more trapped I become by science. I hate the thought I might end up like some of the people here. Really, it's a seriously unpleasant thought.
Had a surprisingly nice weekend, mostly because I thought it might end up a bit weird, but was in fact remarkably pleasant. My girlfriend's nephew was with us for Saturday night, which is an educational experience. But what is undeniable is quite how cute the kid is. And heavy. Wasn't expecting an eight month old baby to be that heavy, though I shouldn't be surprised that my perceptions of such things are slightly skewed, since I'm not by nature a small-person person, if you see what I mean. Anyway, apart from a painfully embarassing salad dressing incident (my bad...) the whole experience went off quite well.
I'd love to tell you that the weather is a pleasant 18 degrees outside (Celsius! I know this is England, but it's not that cold), and sunny, and there's hardly a cloud in the sky, but I can't. Mainly because it's actually about 22, and verrrrry sunny. Ha! I love the sun. How have I survived in this country for so long with such a love of the sun?
I've been gardening lately, too. There's a whole new lawn in the back garden, which is nice. Still needs to do a lot more growing before it's useful, but that shouldn't be too long now considering the way it's shot up the past few days. I do need to remember to water it, though, because I have a feeling the ground is very very dry out there.
Other than all that stuff, not a lot's hapening. The tattoo place I was going to go to shut down, so no chance there. I have the basis of a really cool design in my head, bit it'll need a little more thinking about, and a lot more approval from jen. I don't think she was highly impressed by the idea, which is a bad sign. I keep telling myself she'll come round to the idea, but that may be a little too much to ask. Good thing I value her opinion and willingly subject my ideas to scrutiny, or I might think this was an entirely unfair situation... :)
After making several quiet promises to myself, and several more vocal ones to the computer, I've been sadly neglectful of the needs of the blog. It's lifeblood, it's source, it's river has dried in the last month and a half, unfed as it has been by my lazy, lazy fingers.
Lots of little things have caught my attention today. Like the fact that there's a lot of grime in the back of my watch, which really is disgusting since it must be composed almost entirely of sweat and skin flakes. Can you say "mmm, delicious"?
The park is a wonderful thing at the moment. I have a habit of wandering through in the morning and forgetting about everything else. If only I'd realised this affinity at an earlier age I would have shown no aptitude at school so I could have worked in a national park or something without feeling guilty about not being in science or technology. The longer I stay here, the more trapped I become by science. I hate the thought I might end up like some of the people here. Really, it's a seriously unpleasant thought.
Had a surprisingly nice weekend, mostly because I thought it might end up a bit weird, but was in fact remarkably pleasant. My girlfriend's nephew was with us for Saturday night, which is an educational experience. But what is undeniable is quite how cute the kid is. And heavy. Wasn't expecting an eight month old baby to be that heavy, though I shouldn't be surprised that my perceptions of such things are slightly skewed, since I'm not by nature a small-person person, if you see what I mean. Anyway, apart from a painfully embarassing salad dressing incident (my bad...) the whole experience went off quite well.
I'd love to tell you that the weather is a pleasant 18 degrees outside (Celsius! I know this is England, but it's not that cold), and sunny, and there's hardly a cloud in the sky, but I can't. Mainly because it's actually about 22, and verrrrry sunny. Ha! I love the sun. How have I survived in this country for so long with such a love of the sun?
I've been gardening lately, too. There's a whole new lawn in the back garden, which is nice. Still needs to do a lot more growing before it's useful, but that shouldn't be too long now considering the way it's shot up the past few days. I do need to remember to water it, though, because I have a feeling the ground is very very dry out there.
Other than all that stuff, not a lot's hapening. The tattoo place I was going to go to shut down, so no chance there. I have the basis of a really cool design in my head, bit it'll need a little more thinking about, and a lot more approval from jen. I don't think she was highly impressed by the idea, which is a bad sign. I keep telling myself she'll come round to the idea, but that may be a little too much to ask. Good thing I value her opinion and willingly subject my ideas to scrutiny, or I might think this was an entirely unfair situation... :)
Wednesday, March 31, 2004
Thursday, March 18, 2004
Wednesday, March 17, 2004
Words of the Day: third time lucky?
I've said it before (twice, indeed) but it really does look as though spring is well and truly upon us. Flowers out, squirrels running about, that sort of thing. I've not worn a coat down to my office for the last few days, which have been almost warm at times.
Excitement for me this morning consisted of waiting by the departmental printer for half an hour while someone printed out junk. I mean, literally, junk - have you ever sent a postscript file to a non-postscript printer (do you even know what I'm talking about?)? It just sent a whole load of symbols, which whilst looking rather cool on the page, aren't really all that useful to anyone. Finally got the two pieces of paper I wanted printing. I could have traced the graphs off my screen quicker than that.
The painting I said I was starting started, then stopped rather abruptly. Interesting in concept, not so in execution. I don't think it's worth the effort continuing, and even if it is finished, I'm pretty sure I don't want it being displayed. It's just not very good. I'm disappointed, because it could have been great, I think. Just didn't turn out that way.
Gone back to writing books instead, or to be a little more accurate, re-writing. I've started editing my first book again, which was a project I effectively laid to rest over a year ago. Time and some reading have shown me the errors of my ways, and so it is being mercilessly ripped apart and reinvented. The story is the same, after all that was always it s strongest aspect, but the writing was awful, and had to go. Some of the dialogue is so childish it makes you wonder if I knew what I was writing at the time. I've learned since that fantasy doesn't have to be all about mysterious things, and that people can be imperfect in these books, and there doesn't have to be that much more to people than you see. Of course, some characters have to be special, otherwise you'd struggle to keep an audience, but not everyone has to have a secret past filled with heroic ancestors. It is this I have learned. I'm hoping the new version of the book, which is almost an entire re-write, will pass muster with family and friends, who were clearly only being polite when they said it was good the first time around. Evolution three is on its way, and this time there will be no mercy. Or crap passages. Or blatant falsehoods (sometimes I can't remember what I've written a few paragraphs before). I've even got a strong idea of another book for the series which details some of the politics going on several years prior to the events in this one. Still, that'll never happen if I don't get this one finished first.
And the printer's not working again...
I've said it before (twice, indeed) but it really does look as though spring is well and truly upon us. Flowers out, squirrels running about, that sort of thing. I've not worn a coat down to my office for the last few days, which have been almost warm at times.
Excitement for me this morning consisted of waiting by the departmental printer for half an hour while someone printed out junk. I mean, literally, junk - have you ever sent a postscript file to a non-postscript printer (do you even know what I'm talking about?)? It just sent a whole load of symbols, which whilst looking rather cool on the page, aren't really all that useful to anyone. Finally got the two pieces of paper I wanted printing. I could have traced the graphs off my screen quicker than that.
The painting I said I was starting started, then stopped rather abruptly. Interesting in concept, not so in execution. I don't think it's worth the effort continuing, and even if it is finished, I'm pretty sure I don't want it being displayed. It's just not very good. I'm disappointed, because it could have been great, I think. Just didn't turn out that way.
Gone back to writing books instead, or to be a little more accurate, re-writing. I've started editing my first book again, which was a project I effectively laid to rest over a year ago. Time and some reading have shown me the errors of my ways, and so it is being mercilessly ripped apart and reinvented. The story is the same, after all that was always it s strongest aspect, but the writing was awful, and had to go. Some of the dialogue is so childish it makes you wonder if I knew what I was writing at the time. I've learned since that fantasy doesn't have to be all about mysterious things, and that people can be imperfect in these books, and there doesn't have to be that much more to people than you see. Of course, some characters have to be special, otherwise you'd struggle to keep an audience, but not everyone has to have a secret past filled with heroic ancestors. It is this I have learned. I'm hoping the new version of the book, which is almost an entire re-write, will pass muster with family and friends, who were clearly only being polite when they said it was good the first time around. Evolution three is on its way, and this time there will be no mercy. Or crap passages. Or blatant falsehoods (sometimes I can't remember what I've written a few paragraphs before). I've even got a strong idea of another book for the series which details some of the politics going on several years prior to the events in this one. Still, that'll never happen if I don't get this one finished first.
And the printer's not working again...
Thursday, March 11, 2004
Words of the Day: wrong...again....
Whoever controls the weather around here has been reading my blog, I think. It snowed yesterday, and it's genuinely struggling to get far above freezing today. I don't think I'll commit to Spring for another few months now, just in case the weather turns AGAIN.
One thing I have noticed is that all the Twix bars from the Union shop here at the University have a best before date of my 25th birthday. I think it's a sign. Not entirely sure what it's a sign of, but it's some kind of omen.
Whoever controls the weather around here has been reading my blog, I think. It snowed yesterday, and it's genuinely struggling to get far above freezing today. I don't think I'll commit to Spring for another few months now, just in case the weather turns AGAIN.
One thing I have noticed is that all the Twix bars from the Union shop here at the University have a best before date of my 25th birthday. I think it's a sign. Not entirely sure what it's a sign of, but it's some kind of omen.
Thursday, March 04, 2004
Words of the Day: I can see clearly now the rain has gone...
I may have been a little over-enthusiastic about the whole spring thing. Actually, a lot over-enthusiastic. It snowed a little bit, quite a lot in some areas of the country. But this time I think it may really be happening. The sun's out, the weather's relatively warm, and there are a lot of ducks swimming around in the ponds on the way to work. This might well be 'it'.
Beyond that, I have little to say for myself, other than to inform you (like anyone reads this) that I have decided to take on the biggest piece of artwork I've ever attempted. I'm a small page kind of artist - I do clever little things with sharp pencils on thin paper, and stick them in my portfolio thing. At a stretch, I'll dabble with CGI, watercolours and sometimes some acrylic on canvas. Nothing much beyong about A3 size. I've done two large things in my life. Two. One of those was such a spectacular failure that was binned almost as soon as it was finished. A great concept, a horribly flawed execution. The second was something a little out of left field. I built a table - large and functional, and decided that it needed livening up a little. Thus, I took one of my favourite images, the eyes and patterning thereabouts of a jaguar cub, and translated them to one half of the table. I would estimate the picture at about 3ft by 2ft. Not massive, by anyone's standards, except for that bloke who makes sculptures on the head of a pin. But, until now, I have not even considered something massive. Ok, so that's not 100% true, but I've never actually sat down and started planning the thing. Last night I did sit down, and I started planning something big. Many of you will be familiar with the painting Whaam! by Roy Lichtenstein, possibly the greatest proponent of the pop art movement (and before you start screaming Andy Warhol, have a look at what Lichtenstein did and see if you still disagree). It's pretty much his most famous work, and has been a favourite of mine for some years. There's some horribly simple about the piece - it's both adult and childish at the same time, dealing with the horror of war in a cartoon strip. I've decided this would be the perfect large project work for me to attempt. The original is 269cm wide, 172 high, and I'm seriously tempted to paint it at full scale. Very handily, Lichtenstein painted his original on two canvasses, which means I don't have to try to find a single canvas big enough. I'll let you know how I get on...
I may have been a little over-enthusiastic about the whole spring thing. Actually, a lot over-enthusiastic. It snowed a little bit, quite a lot in some areas of the country. But this time I think it may really be happening. The sun's out, the weather's relatively warm, and there are a lot of ducks swimming around in the ponds on the way to work. This might well be 'it'.
Beyond that, I have little to say for myself, other than to inform you (like anyone reads this) that I have decided to take on the biggest piece of artwork I've ever attempted. I'm a small page kind of artist - I do clever little things with sharp pencils on thin paper, and stick them in my portfolio thing. At a stretch, I'll dabble with CGI, watercolours and sometimes some acrylic on canvas. Nothing much beyong about A3 size. I've done two large things in my life. Two. One of those was such a spectacular failure that was binned almost as soon as it was finished. A great concept, a horribly flawed execution. The second was something a little out of left field. I built a table - large and functional, and decided that it needed livening up a little. Thus, I took one of my favourite images, the eyes and patterning thereabouts of a jaguar cub, and translated them to one half of the table. I would estimate the picture at about 3ft by 2ft. Not massive, by anyone's standards, except for that bloke who makes sculptures on the head of a pin. But, until now, I have not even considered something massive. Ok, so that's not 100% true, but I've never actually sat down and started planning the thing. Last night I did sit down, and I started planning something big. Many of you will be familiar with the painting Whaam! by Roy Lichtenstein, possibly the greatest proponent of the pop art movement (and before you start screaming Andy Warhol, have a look at what Lichtenstein did and see if you still disagree). It's pretty much his most famous work, and has been a favourite of mine for some years. There's some horribly simple about the piece - it's both adult and childish at the same time, dealing with the horror of war in a cartoon strip. I've decided this would be the perfect large project work for me to attempt. The original is 269cm wide, 172 high, and I'm seriously tempted to paint it at full scale. Very handily, Lichtenstein painted his original on two canvasses, which means I don't have to try to find a single canvas big enough. I'll let you know how I get on...
Monday, March 01, 2004
Boro Win the Cup
128 years. One hundred and twenty eight years. Try thinking Grosse Point Blank, the bit where Martin Blank's best friend Paul is driving him around in the beemer and suddenly shouts 'TEN YEARS!', only multiply that by 12.8 times. 128 years Middlesbrough FC have existed - bar the small break in the mid-80s - and they have just won their first ever major trophy. I've only been a supporter for a relatively short period in comparison - about the last 20 years, give or take - and yet already I know the pain of the long wait, and now the sweet relief that follows that barren time, like the first joyous rains on the Serengeti after a long, hot, dry summer. During the mid-90s we had a spate of cup final appearances, in both the league and FA cups, and yet came away utterly empty-handed. Not this time, however. Not this time. I won't bore you with the details - after all, you're a web user, you know how to find these things - and nor will I regale you with tired arguments over this controversy and that controversy. Bolton did fight well, and perhaps might have been luckier, but even the Bolton manager Sam Allardyce admitted that his team were outplayed in the second half. Middlesbrough won the match, and deservedly so. Middlesbrough won the cup. And deservedly so...
128 years. One hundred and twenty eight years. Try thinking Grosse Point Blank, the bit where Martin Blank's best friend Paul is driving him around in the beemer and suddenly shouts 'TEN YEARS!', only multiply that by 12.8 times. 128 years Middlesbrough FC have existed - bar the small break in the mid-80s - and they have just won their first ever major trophy. I've only been a supporter for a relatively short period in comparison - about the last 20 years, give or take - and yet already I know the pain of the long wait, and now the sweet relief that follows that barren time, like the first joyous rains on the Serengeti after a long, hot, dry summer. During the mid-90s we had a spate of cup final appearances, in both the league and FA cups, and yet came away utterly empty-handed. Not this time, however. Not this time. I won't bore you with the details - after all, you're a web user, you know how to find these things - and nor will I regale you with tired arguments over this controversy and that controversy. Bolton did fight well, and perhaps might have been luckier, but even the Bolton manager Sam Allardyce admitted that his team were outplayed in the second half. Middlesbrough won the match, and deservedly so. Middlesbrough won the cup. And deservedly so...
Friday, February 27, 2004
Words of the Day: it must be love, love, love...
Pigeons courting is a somewhat amusing and yet rather heartwarming sight. A pair have been going through the motions on a rooftop in my line of sight for a few days now. From what I know, the feral pigeon (aka the rock dove) pairs up year in, year out, so why they have to go through so much effort to come to an accord is rather beyond me. Surely a sensible creature would say "ah, it's you again, ok, let's do this thing" and just spend all their energy breeding and raising their young. I don't know, really. Perhaps it's something to do with them having to reaffirm that both birds in the relationship are up to the task. Either way you look at it, though, pigeons are clearly doing something right, because there are a LOT of them. More than 200,000 breeding pairs in the UK alone (stats from the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds website). That's more than 400,000 birds. Now consider all the other bird species they are in competition with, and that's some feat. You may not like them very much, but you have to admire the effort.
It's a bit snowy here right now. Not a lot, but a bit. Enough to make the walk into the department this morning quite interesting. And not only in a 'falling over on the ice' sense, but also aesthetically. My morning detour through a local park turned into a sejourn through a winter wonderland of crunchy, untouched snow, past an iced over pond where the ducks did their slapstick routine just for me and a foreign student eagerly snapping away with a digital camera. It always makes me happy to go through the park, as I may well have mentioned before, but today's journey made me that little bit happier than normal. There were even people making a snowman, which is cool, even if it did bear an uncanny resemblance to the MSN Messenger logo.
Pigeons courting is a somewhat amusing and yet rather heartwarming sight. A pair have been going through the motions on a rooftop in my line of sight for a few days now. From what I know, the feral pigeon (aka the rock dove) pairs up year in, year out, so why they have to go through so much effort to come to an accord is rather beyond me. Surely a sensible creature would say "ah, it's you again, ok, let's do this thing" and just spend all their energy breeding and raising their young. I don't know, really. Perhaps it's something to do with them having to reaffirm that both birds in the relationship are up to the task. Either way you look at it, though, pigeons are clearly doing something right, because there are a LOT of them. More than 200,000 breeding pairs in the UK alone (stats from the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds website). That's more than 400,000 birds. Now consider all the other bird species they are in competition with, and that's some feat. You may not like them very much, but you have to admire the effort.
It's a bit snowy here right now. Not a lot, but a bit. Enough to make the walk into the department this morning quite interesting. And not only in a 'falling over on the ice' sense, but also aesthetically. My morning detour through a local park turned into a sejourn through a winter wonderland of crunchy, untouched snow, past an iced over pond where the ducks did their slapstick routine just for me and a foreign student eagerly snapping away with a digital camera. It always makes me happy to go through the park, as I may well have mentioned before, but today's journey made me that little bit happier than normal. There were even people making a snowman, which is cool, even if it did bear an uncanny resemblance to the MSN Messenger logo.
Thursday, February 26, 2004
Words of the Day: Feeling like there's a hedgehog in my throat.
For anyone not familiar with the creatures, hedgehogs are small spiny things much loved in the UK by old people and me. Not happy that my throat feels that way, but there you go - if you're going to live in a place like England, you have to expect to get ill once in a while. It's all par for the course.
I know it's been ages since I blogged, but I've been rather busy, so there. Taking the opportunity today though, since I decided that I was ill enough to take the day off. Not that I have a great deal to be doing right now. I did make some piss-coloured polymer gel the other day. it was meant to be fluorescent, and though I haven't tested it under excitation yet, I have a feeling that the heating process which makes it a gel as denatured the fluorophores. I don't think that'll make a lot of sense unless you know about polymers and fluorescence, but this is my blog, dammt, and I'll make it as scientific as I like!! AAAARRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!
For anyone not familiar with the creatures, hedgehogs are small spiny things much loved in the UK by old people and me. Not happy that my throat feels that way, but there you go - if you're going to live in a place like England, you have to expect to get ill once in a while. It's all par for the course.
I know it's been ages since I blogged, but I've been rather busy, so there. Taking the opportunity today though, since I decided that I was ill enough to take the day off. Not that I have a great deal to be doing right now. I did make some piss-coloured polymer gel the other day. it was meant to be fluorescent, and though I haven't tested it under excitation yet, I have a feeling that the heating process which makes it a gel as denatured the fluorophores. I don't think that'll make a lot of sense unless you know about polymers and fluorescence, but this is my blog, dammt, and I'll make it as scientific as I like!! AAAARRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!
Thursday, February 19, 2004
Wednesday, February 18, 2004
voodooshoes.com - buy shoes online, designer footwear
Shoe Company of the Day: Voodoo Shoes
Sold me the Vans I was after for a great deal less than Schuh, whose website failed to work. Otherwise, I would have been paying a premium. A lesson to look around the net a bit before you buy, I would say. Jen does it all the time, and always saves money, but then she's always been a bit sharper than me... only problem I can see with the Voodoo website is that when you're filling in forms, you can't see what you're typing, unless you highlight it afterwards, because the form field is cream, and the text on the pages is white. Not great, but also not enough to dissuade me from buying my shoes there. Go register, people, it's good and you get something free when you do (I have no idea what, but it's free!).
In other news, EJ (here) has been trying to convince me that using the Firefox browser from Mozilla (here) is a good idea. I'm almost tempted, because it's quite different. Problem is, I'm totally used to Explorer, and I'm also intrinsically lazy, so I probably wouldn't take the time to learn something new, no matter how basically similar it is. We'll see. If you're unhappy with Mr Gates and his software, you might wish to check it out.
Shoe Company of the Day: Voodoo Shoes
Sold me the Vans I was after for a great deal less than Schuh, whose website failed to work. Otherwise, I would have been paying a premium. A lesson to look around the net a bit before you buy, I would say. Jen does it all the time, and always saves money, but then she's always been a bit sharper than me... only problem I can see with the Voodoo website is that when you're filling in forms, you can't see what you're typing, unless you highlight it afterwards, because the form field is cream, and the text on the pages is white. Not great, but also not enough to dissuade me from buying my shoes there. Go register, people, it's good and you get something free when you do (I have no idea what, but it's free!).
In other news, EJ (here) has been trying to convince me that using the Firefox browser from Mozilla (here) is a good idea. I'm almost tempted, because it's quite different. Problem is, I'm totally used to Explorer, and I'm also intrinsically lazy, so I probably wouldn't take the time to learn something new, no matter how basically similar it is. We'll see. If you're unhappy with Mr Gates and his software, you might wish to check it out.
Tuesday, February 17, 2004
I've spoken of it before, but the sheer brilliance of the Air album Talkie Walkie stills blows my mind. It's made me not care that the rain is falling outside. I don't mind that my artwork is not what it used to be. I'm not bored when it's playing, I'm relaxing in a decadent world of samples and beats, and Gallic charm. It's no secret that there are plenty of things about France as a country that I dislike, but it's hard to write the place off when music this beuatiful is being pumped directly into your head. It's the kind of album which makes me want to hide myself in a room with some big speakers and no lights, and listen very, very loudly. It's summer days, it's futuristic anime, it's long days working in the garden, painting the boat we're going to have lifted in (it's a thing thing thing thing). I want to draw towering cities, flying creatures, rolling hills of grass. I almost want to be sitting at my desk, staring at the rain falling and writing lovely things. Oh well, two out of three isn't too bad...
BBC - Nature Wildfacts - House mouse
Words of the Day: Pest control...
...or a lack of it. Our resident woke me up at a little past six this morning by chewing on something under my chair, or just generally rustling about, I couldn't decide which. I saw a flash of it as it disappeared under the drawers, but that was it really. Not much of a mouse experience, but I am a bit of a fan of wildlife, so I enjoyed it. Most people wouldn't, but I have a thing about being close to nature. I touch trees in the park on my way in to work. It makes me feel better. And they inspire me at times. Yes, I am a little strange.
I'm bored. Very bored.
Words of the Day: Pest control...
...or a lack of it. Our resident woke me up at a little past six this morning by chewing on something under my chair, or just generally rustling about, I couldn't decide which. I saw a flash of it as it disappeared under the drawers, but that was it really. Not much of a mouse experience, but I am a bit of a fan of wildlife, so I enjoyed it. Most people wouldn't, but I have a thing about being close to nature. I touch trees in the park on my way in to work. It makes me feel better. And they inspire me at times. Yes, I am a little strange.
I'm bored. Very bored.
Monday, February 16, 2004
Word of the day: regeneration
The sun's out, and strongly. The season has turned at last. It's not far off palpable. You can taste something in the air which connects with a far deeper part of your consciousness. There's some ancient celt in me somewhere, some gene altered under the grey skies of the north, and I can feel it. Yeah, we'll still have a few wet days, and some cold nights, but I think the worst is past. Welcome to spring, ladies and gentlemen.
It's also time for something to be done which I have been meaning to do for some time. It's been hard to divine exactly how to change the tattoo on my upper left arm to suit my more mature vision. It's not a bad tatoo, it's just an angry tatoo, and one which I think might serve my aesthetic sensibilities more productively if it is changed in form. I had it done when my day had gone badly, and it shows - the choice of spikes on the ring around it, the three-pronged Mitsubishi symbol like I'm some hard core drug dealer rather than the surfer-kid pussy who avoids chemicals like the plague, even if they're pharmacuetical. If you don't understand the reference, it because you're lucky enough to not have been exposed to some of the shit that gets pushed at you in drum 'n' bass venues - in this case, a particularly potent variety of ecstacy called a Mitsubishi, named for the symbol which adorned its face. Other include the Apple Mac, the smiley (strange, I always thought that represented acid), and the Mickey. I'll leave you to guess what symbol that last bore. I don't take this shit - after all, I find it hard enough to injest the chemicals peddled by reputable pharmaceutical companies, let alone shit from some wanker in a club wearing more fake jewellry than Jimmy Saville and trying to act like he thinks I'm a 'geezer' when really he knows I'm a Red Bull'd up student. So why the hell did I get the Mitsi symbol in a ring on my shoulder, like some kind of totem to the gods of hard core driugs and all the shit that represents? Either way, it's being changed. I've been working on the design without a great deal of success, but I think there are certainly ideas there to be followed up. I'll have to take a digital photo of the thing and have a play around in Photoshop. Perhaps I'll post a before and after bit on my homepage homepage about it...
The sun's out, and strongly. The season has turned at last. It's not far off palpable. You can taste something in the air which connects with a far deeper part of your consciousness. There's some ancient celt in me somewhere, some gene altered under the grey skies of the north, and I can feel it. Yeah, we'll still have a few wet days, and some cold nights, but I think the worst is past. Welcome to spring, ladies and gentlemen.
It's also time for something to be done which I have been meaning to do for some time. It's been hard to divine exactly how to change the tattoo on my upper left arm to suit my more mature vision. It's not a bad tatoo, it's just an angry tatoo, and one which I think might serve my aesthetic sensibilities more productively if it is changed in form. I had it done when my day had gone badly, and it shows - the choice of spikes on the ring around it, the three-pronged Mitsubishi symbol like I'm some hard core drug dealer rather than the surfer-kid pussy who avoids chemicals like the plague, even if they're pharmacuetical. If you don't understand the reference, it because you're lucky enough to not have been exposed to some of the shit that gets pushed at you in drum 'n' bass venues - in this case, a particularly potent variety of ecstacy called a Mitsubishi, named for the symbol which adorned its face. Other include the Apple Mac, the smiley (strange, I always thought that represented acid), and the Mickey. I'll leave you to guess what symbol that last bore. I don't take this shit - after all, I find it hard enough to injest the chemicals peddled by reputable pharmaceutical companies, let alone shit from some wanker in a club wearing more fake jewellry than Jimmy Saville and trying to act like he thinks I'm a 'geezer' when really he knows I'm a Red Bull'd up student. So why the hell did I get the Mitsi symbol in a ring on my shoulder, like some kind of totem to the gods of hard core driugs and all the shit that represents? Either way, it's being changed. I've been working on the design without a great deal of success, but I think there are certainly ideas there to be followed up. I'll have to take a digital photo of the thing and have a play around in Photoshop. Perhaps I'll post a before and after bit on my homepage homepage about it...
Tuesday, February 10, 2004
Words of the day: Wale Williams
It's finally happened. After years feeling as if I have been left out of some huge party, barred at the doors by the big guys in the sharp suits, I have finally received an e-mail from a Nigerian advance fee fraud scammer, one Mr Wale Williams. I'm sure most of you have heard from Mr Williams, or one of his colleagues, at some point or other, so I'll spare you all the gory details. What's interesting is that the university at which I perform my research has a fairly powerful spam filter, sometimes even too powerful. It amazes me that this e-mail has somehow squirmed its way through. I almost want to congratulate the guy for his tenacity. For those of you interested in these kinds of scams, there is a facinating website out there which delights in stringing the scammers along, and even manages to get money out of them at times. Have a look at http://www.whatsthebloodypoint.com/. It's an education in how to do things right.
It's finally happened. After years feeling as if I have been left out of some huge party, barred at the doors by the big guys in the sharp suits, I have finally received an e-mail from a Nigerian advance fee fraud scammer, one Mr Wale Williams. I'm sure most of you have heard from Mr Williams, or one of his colleagues, at some point or other, so I'll spare you all the gory details. What's interesting is that the university at which I perform my research has a fairly powerful spam filter, sometimes even too powerful. It amazes me that this e-mail has somehow squirmed its way through. I almost want to congratulate the guy for his tenacity. For those of you interested in these kinds of scams, there is a facinating website out there which delights in stringing the scammers along, and even manages to get money out of them at times. Have a look at http://www.whatsthebloodypoint.com/. It's an education in how to do things right.
Monday, February 09, 2004
Word of the Day: loser
Lost the football, played badly. Just couldn't be bothered with it after a while, so I sort of strayed up the pitch and waited for the long ball, which didn't work because when the long ball came, my control was so poor the other team started laughing. Not a good sign... At least it wasn't quite as fun as Saturday, which found me playing hockey in the rain, then harder rain, then a bit of hail, some snow, a bit of wind, thunder, a little more rain and finally a bizarre few moments of sunshine. You wouldn't have believed it if you'd seen it. It probably didn't help that we only had ten men in an eleven man game, though we did pull it back to 6-5 at the end. Hard fought, but we were still losers. One of these years I'll join a winning team.
If you haven't heard the new Air album yet, you're missing a trick. Listen to it if you have the chance, though if you do go out and buy it there might be that stupid copy protection thing on it which means you can't play it on some CD players. All mine worked fine (including the seriously dodgy one in my car), but you should probably check it out with someone else's copy first. I'm not entirely sure it's legal to sell you something you might not be able to actually use, but I'm no expert, and there are some serious issues out there to go into which I'd rather not be quoted on. Either way, check it out, and I hope you like it. It has the ability to make me smile, an attribute almost solely possessed by funky Gallic chill-out music.
Lost the football, played badly. Just couldn't be bothered with it after a while, so I sort of strayed up the pitch and waited for the long ball, which didn't work because when the long ball came, my control was so poor the other team started laughing. Not a good sign... At least it wasn't quite as fun as Saturday, which found me playing hockey in the rain, then harder rain, then a bit of hail, some snow, a bit of wind, thunder, a little more rain and finally a bizarre few moments of sunshine. You wouldn't have believed it if you'd seen it. It probably didn't help that we only had ten men in an eleven man game, though we did pull it back to 6-5 at the end. Hard fought, but we were still losers. One of these years I'll join a winning team.
If you haven't heard the new Air album yet, you're missing a trick. Listen to it if you have the chance, though if you do go out and buy it there might be that stupid copy protection thing on it which means you can't play it on some CD players. All mine worked fine (including the seriously dodgy one in my car), but you should probably check it out with someone else's copy first. I'm not entirely sure it's legal to sell you something you might not be able to actually use, but I'm no expert, and there are some serious issues out there to go into which I'd rather not be quoted on. Either way, check it out, and I hope you like it. It has the ability to make me smile, an attribute almost solely possessed by funky Gallic chill-out music.
Saturday, February 07, 2004
It's weird, but I feel like I want to sit here an write for the whole night. I want to tell you all everything. I'm beginning to understand the strange compulsion of the blogger to pour out everything within themself. Just being here, at the keyboard, engenders some sort of need to relate. To tell someone.
I feel like screaming and shouting and laughing, and like being quiet. Clearly a confused mind. G'night, then, I'm off to watch the snooker and write more bad poetry with a pen that I've had for years now.
I feel like screaming and shouting and laughing, and like being quiet. Clearly a confused mind. G'night, then, I'm off to watch the snooker and write more bad poetry with a pen that I've had for years now.
Friday, February 06, 2004
I freestyled for a while. Not something I am prone to, so fear not, this will not be a regular occurrence. But I decided to share nonetheless...
Summer days, halcyon days, amorphous haze,
Sun warm, not hot,
Willpower forged in a brittle atmosphere,
And dust, in dust we trust,
Was it thrown away or snatched from our grasp by Old Father Time?
We used to run for running's sake,
Now we walk for we have lost our way,
Not a shadow cast by the sun falls from our feet,
And the days lie weary on our souls.
I think it's a winter thing, you know. Something to do with that whole SAD thing. Seasonally affected disorder. In other words, you feel like a miserable git all winter, but it's ok, it'll be summer sooner or later. I do wonder sometimes, but they assure me it will happen. I don't think I could carry on if I didn't have the summer to look forward to. It'll be the first time in a long time that I don't have a summer holiday. I only graduated from my second degree last year, and though parts of my summer we often occupied with jobs in recent years, I still feel I have lost something. There is no 'breaking up for the summer' any more, just one long, continuous haul through to winter again. It's times like these I feel like taking up an extreme sport just to prove I am not old yet. Not that, realistically, I am particularly old. Mid twenties isn't really over the hill quite yet, so I shouldn't feel this way, but there is something rather symbolic about the loss of the summer holiday which makes it seem that much more of a problem.
Anyway, let me know what you think about it all - tom_rowson@hotmail.com
Oh, by the way, just noticed I spelled Australia 'Asutralia' in my last entry. Apologies. Especially to my mum, since she is Australian. And to think I wondered why on Earth you would want to spell-check a blog...
Summer days, halcyon days, amorphous haze,
Sun warm, not hot,
Willpower forged in a brittle atmosphere,
And dust, in dust we trust,
Was it thrown away or snatched from our grasp by Old Father Time?
We used to run for running's sake,
Now we walk for we have lost our way,
Not a shadow cast by the sun falls from our feet,
And the days lie weary on our souls.
I think it's a winter thing, you know. Something to do with that whole SAD thing. Seasonally affected disorder. In other words, you feel like a miserable git all winter, but it's ok, it'll be summer sooner or later. I do wonder sometimes, but they assure me it will happen. I don't think I could carry on if I didn't have the summer to look forward to. It'll be the first time in a long time that I don't have a summer holiday. I only graduated from my second degree last year, and though parts of my summer we often occupied with jobs in recent years, I still feel I have lost something. There is no 'breaking up for the summer' any more, just one long, continuous haul through to winter again. It's times like these I feel like taking up an extreme sport just to prove I am not old yet. Not that, realistically, I am particularly old. Mid twenties isn't really over the hill quite yet, so I shouldn't feel this way, but there is something rather symbolic about the loss of the summer holiday which makes it seem that much more of a problem.
Anyway, let me know what you think about it all - tom_rowson@hotmail.com
Oh, by the way, just noticed I spelled Australia 'Asutralia' in my last entry. Apologies. Especially to my mum, since she is Australian. And to think I wondered why on Earth you would want to spell-check a blog...
It is wholly possible to become totally involved with this whole blogging thing. People put their whole lives out there for you to read. Some of it is truly disturbing. For instance, I learned all about someone's food poisoning, and the effect it had on their bowels. I don't even know this person, and yet I know their bowel movements for the past seven days. Why? I suppose I shouldn't be totally surprised - after all, I have seen both the best and the worst the net has to offer, and come out the other side a stronger person. I both hate and love the internet. I could live without it - after all, I gave up television, computers, mobile phones and decent sleep for a month and a half last year as I drove around the east coast of Asutralia in a camper. I almost didn't miss any of them at all, and I know I wrote a lot of my next book, so there was a positive end to the experience. Not that the literary output of the holiday was the only positive. I thought it was pretty amazing that my girlfriend and I only had each other for company and didn't manage to even storm out on each other once. Not that we're particularly prone to fireworks, but that was a long time to spend in confinement. We did well. Yay us...
Word of the Day: snagging
As in a snagging list. I'd never heard of this use of the word until yesterday, but it seems to have suddenly become very important. There's a snagging list for the house I share with my friends, and there's a snagging list for all the work recently done on the labs here at uni. If you're unfamiliar with the term, it simply relates to the whole big list of things which still need doing even after the builders have walked away with a fat cheque in their grubby mitts and a smug smile on their faces (ok, so not all builders are that bad, but a hole appeared between my back door and the alleyway out to the main road recently, so I'm kinda pissed off with the whole construction thing right now).
It's very suddenly turned into one of those days where I have meetings every five minutes. So does everyone else, so we've reached the point that we have to very carefully plan our day's activities around every other member of the team. It's like some crazy 3D dance of the timetables, and I have a horrible feeling that just like every other extreme sport, this is going to end in pain for one or more people.
There's also very little on the internet of note, which is probably a good thing given my rather restrcited availability. It ought to be noted that the Swedish rally kicks off today - check out www.wrc.com for the latest standings if that kinda thing rocks your world. It does mine.
Talking of things which rock, my mate is insistent that the sample track Song To Sing When I'm Lonely at www.johnfrusciante.com is a work of genius. I'm not sure I entirely agree, but it is quite good, and more than worth a listen if you happen to like the Chili Peppers and have a few minutes to spare.
As in a snagging list. I'd never heard of this use of the word until yesterday, but it seems to have suddenly become very important. There's a snagging list for the house I share with my friends, and there's a snagging list for all the work recently done on the labs here at uni. If you're unfamiliar with the term, it simply relates to the whole big list of things which still need doing even after the builders have walked away with a fat cheque in their grubby mitts and a smug smile on their faces (ok, so not all builders are that bad, but a hole appeared between my back door and the alleyway out to the main road recently, so I'm kinda pissed off with the whole construction thing right now).
It's very suddenly turned into one of those days where I have meetings every five minutes. So does everyone else, so we've reached the point that we have to very carefully plan our day's activities around every other member of the team. It's like some crazy 3D dance of the timetables, and I have a horrible feeling that just like every other extreme sport, this is going to end in pain for one or more people.
There's also very little on the internet of note, which is probably a good thing given my rather restrcited availability. It ought to be noted that the Swedish rally kicks off today - check out www.wrc.com for the latest standings if that kinda thing rocks your world. It does mine.
Talking of things which rock, my mate is insistent that the sample track Song To Sing When I'm Lonely at www.johnfrusciante.com is a work of genius. I'm not sure I entirely agree, but it is quite good, and more than worth a listen if you happen to like the Chili Peppers and have a few minutes to spare.
Thursday, February 05, 2004
This disturbs me:BBC NEWS | UK | Pigeons reveal map-reading secret
Not because I believe that pigeons are intrisically evil, it's just that they've taken things to a whole new level. Obviously, we all know that rats follow the sewers around, but that's just an extension of the whole river thing, isn't it? I mean, they don't pop their heads out of drains to find out what road they're on and which turning they need to take to get home. There are a lot of pigeons, almost as many as rats, I reckon. No such numerous species should have knowledge that advanced. Look what we did with it...
Not because I believe that pigeons are intrisically evil, it's just that they've taken things to a whole new level. Obviously, we all know that rats follow the sewers around, but that's just an extension of the whole river thing, isn't it? I mean, they don't pop their heads out of drains to find out what road they're on and which turning they need to take to get home. There are a lot of pigeons, almost as many as rats, I reckon. No such numerous species should have knowledge that advanced. Look what we did with it...
Words of the Day: Broken glass
Saw a lot of it this morning, sitting there on the pavement. And outside my house, where the light fitting had tumbled to the ground. Makes you wonder how so much of the stuff survives when it breaks so easily.
So anyway, a new blog. New to the whole thing, really, though I'm told it's a bit of a craze. More likely to be a phase with me - no attention span to speak of. Still, if it sits there in the list I might remember. You know, the list, the thing that every bored worker in every office has. The list of websites you feel you must visit every day, then you can get on with some work. If you're in England, as I am, it no doubt contains the BBC website. If you don't already, check it out, it really is rather a good way to waste a few hours (www.bbc.co.uk). I'm a scientist, of sorts, so I always read the Science and Nature bits. I should really be reading high-brow journals, but I find my filtered approach to the subject keeps me informed well enough. So anyway, back to the writing of the lab scripts - oh yes, my evil science is performed in a university.
By the way, add 8 hours on to the time stamp to find my real time. I suffer from insomnia, but not that badly...
Saw a lot of it this morning, sitting there on the pavement. And outside my house, where the light fitting had tumbled to the ground. Makes you wonder how so much of the stuff survives when it breaks so easily.
So anyway, a new blog. New to the whole thing, really, though I'm told it's a bit of a craze. More likely to be a phase with me - no attention span to speak of. Still, if it sits there in the list I might remember. You know, the list, the thing that every bored worker in every office has. The list of websites you feel you must visit every day, then you can get on with some work. If you're in England, as I am, it no doubt contains the BBC website. If you don't already, check it out, it really is rather a good way to waste a few hours (www.bbc.co.uk). I'm a scientist, of sorts, so I always read the Science and Nature bits. I should really be reading high-brow journals, but I find my filtered approach to the subject keeps me informed well enough. So anyway, back to the writing of the lab scripts - oh yes, my evil science is performed in a university.
By the way, add 8 hours on to the time stamp to find my real time. I suffer from insomnia, but not that badly...
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