It is a matter of great indifference to me how your biggest lie came true|
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|Thursday, November 23rd, 2006|
How odd. LJ ate my last post. Does that mean I am a real LJ-er now?
Anyhow, what I said was I haven't got the LJ-crossposting working yet. If you wish to see meh homesite #2
, you can see it at a place that has no clothes yet
, as I await the deft touch of tha 'wulf.
|Friday, November 3rd, 2006|
Remember me when I am gone away,
Gone far away into the silent land;
When you can no more hold me by the hand,
Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.
Remember me when no more day by day
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:
Only remember me; you understand
It will be late to counsel then or pray.
Yet if you should forget me for a while
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:
For if the darkness and corruption leave
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,
Better by far you should forget and smile
Than that you should remember and be sad.
-- Christina Rossetti (1830-1894)
The lights go off soon. I am not sure if I will turn this room's ones back on.
*And new ones begin. Where, you (didn't) ask? Well, the clue is in the question, I suppose, all brotherly and alternatively Syriaca-y.
|Friday, October 27th, 2006|
The cabal box has gone down. Again. You would almost think something important was happening this weekend/early next week, wouldn't you?
I will point out it *isn't* the box, but the whole rack. As other machines plugged in to that rack are down as well.
At least I got my wrgpt mail sent to my gmail. I suppose I can tell those who need to know when they need to know about where they need to know.
You get what you pay for.
|Wednesday, October 25th, 2006|
|Light switch, yellow fever, crawling up your bathroom wall
We all hate the spammers. But it so happened that I predicted a while back (alas, in Real Life(tm), and probably only to myself, as I don't recall who it was, nor can I find such a mention in this here weblog, but that is alright, as I amn't as voluminous in my output as I once was) I predicted a prediciton.
But first, a saying that I can't find any citation for, but I am positive this one isn't just in my mind.
If you sit in the same place for long enough, every one you have ever known will pass by
Not that I ever believed it, no matter how much I wished to sit on the edge of the Yangtze and fish.
In preparing this post, I wanted to use the word predelicition, but it seems not to exist. Though google shows other people use it, so it can't just be me. This time. So I muster on without using that word. Which pains me. The word doesn't pain me, it pains me to move on without using it. Yes, I know I should think before typing. I surely should know that lesson by now. But I don't! Ha! Nor will I ever!
If I were clever, I might had made this into some pistache on 'Waiting for Godot', but that would be beyond my ken.
You still don't know what I am on about, do you? Well, I return to the spammers. I took it upon myself a while back (for this post was in draft, reused, but still not funny nor worthwhile) to look through my spam filter, just to see whatever I could see. There is no new s[c|p]am under the sun, or somesuch. And all those names that the spammers use, good grief.
So a bit back I said to (probably) myself, that it won't be long before I get a spam with a generated name where that generated name belongs to, is owned by, is the secret and special name-of, giving me power over, someone I know.
And it has happened.
Note to random bloke: I am not Scottish. I mean, come on. I am insulted to be considered to be from that most useless of places. Although I still maintain that Scotchland is the best place to built those oft-mooted super casinos. A big fake castle with Las Vegas lights and fountains in the middle of the Highlands. What an ecomonic boost that would be. Hotels, airports, hookers, drive-by shootings, gambling. All the good things.
Everybody needs some direction.
|Monday, October 23rd, 2006|
|I told you 'bout the swans, that they live in the park.
What Jane said goes for me too.
This may not come as a shock to some, but it struck me like some striking revelation from the blue. Before picturing the scene, or describing it, as it would be up to the reader to picture, have some background.
The scene I wish to describe for you to picture, the one of the from the background, starts on Satdeh, midway through our band practice. Our coke'n'hooker break, if you will, rudely disturbed by the braying of some inane student hijnks. *sigh* Students. We were discussing our cover version plans. Which are along the lines of each gig we will do a different cover version, never to repeat it again. Suggestions being mooted were Cyndi Lauper, Madonna and other 80s standards.
I leave the story there, dangling and unconsummated.
Back to today then, in particular, this evening. Back to the striking revelation. In a roundabout way. At the roundabout at the bottom of Lime Kiln Road. The music had died down, so something else needed selected. I was at the junction behind some cyclist dude in lycra, and fumbled quickly for some tunery. And some tunery I got. Ooooooh baby do you know what's thats worth?
The lycra-clad guy looked round, gave a half-smile and darted into the roundabout without looking at the traffic situation. Well, it is Cambridge, after all. And at that point the oft-mentioned striking revelation hit me. In my open top 70s sports car with my scarf around my neck.
That. Is. So. Gay.
So, a little later after writing that, I wonder whether I should disambiguate, to make the punchline clear(er). Then I thought, no, I won't, with a wry smile I can imagine my handful of readers not getting it. But then I thought that anything after the That. Is. So. Gay. line might just detract from the That. Is. So. Gay. last line. And is That. Is. So. Gay. not something that only The Kids say? Or what televisual popular culture would have The Kids say? I have absolutely no idea. I am forcing a post due to the inability to have anything to say. So I just use up your bandwidth, waste your time and add nothing to the sum total of existence.
You don't care, do you?
|Sunday, October 22nd, 2006|
|Saturday, October 21st, 2006|
|I can walk down the street but there's no one there*
Lottie-A and her mother indulged in some rampant consumerism in town today, culminating in shoes and jeans (for the younger of the females.) I requested some more (loose-leaf, of course) tea, as my stocks were dangerously low. Usually at this time of year I start mixing some darker blends, the assams and Ceylons in with the darjeeling, given that the weather is on the turn, the nights are drawing in (dark just after five pm) and the heating is turned on.
But! In the garden!
While eating my brioche with my tea earlier, I got a hankering after some of that sweet bread with coconut on the top, that home bakeries in Norn Iron make. Or used to, when I was a lad, and my mother would bring it home once a week. Strange shape, too, not like a loaf, but I loved it. With proper, honest-to-God salty butter. (We still use real butter. How can you not?) There are bakeries in this here country, but not the same. No fresh soda, wheaten, potato bread or sweet bread. No proper buns, and cakes, and old biddies behind the counter. Is this me being whistful for a bygone age in a bygone place? Nah, I just fancied some of that coconut sweet, sweet bread. If that was what it is called.
One of the many items brought home from town was a packet of JellyBelly jelly beans, which I adore. I am also pleased to note they have removed the boak and TCP flavoured versions. (I am a gorb for most sorts of jelly bean, and I admit to liking jelly babies, but alas, even one will give me an instant headache.) On the back of the packet are all the flavours, but you no longer seem to get recipies. You know, a chocolate one, a cream one and a cherry one to make a Black Forest gateaux. We used to have a few cards with those one them. Back when they first hit these shores.
Open revolt, that is what we are seeing.
*Though the pavement is one huge crowd
|Rampant capitalism vs good works for mankind. Aren't they the same thing?
Oh no you don't there fella. Not getting me that way. Oh no. But, y'know, if I have nothing to fear (extrapolating) why don't I want biometric ID cards? Cause, you know, they will keep us safe. Just like the shadowy security forces, who stopped people from doing things over the past weeks, things we can't tell you about, or verify, but things sure enough to keep us safe in our beds at night.
I just want to link to Wes' thoughts on being a programmer, just so I can say congrats to him and his, as I hear he has another newly-minted childer. Hurrah!
I have noted before, but shouldn't the Gnauriad not have a society section? But come to think of it, surely the Telegraph shouldn't either?
Jimmy Dean Chocolate Chip Pancakes & Sausage on a Stick. No, seriously. Found (and probably eaten, though only until his calming influence arrives there with him) by our expat sound engineer.
While driving to our satdeh morn practise this morn (early, as Belagoth is off to Lestah, m'duck) I caught the start of Fi's voice, with another mention of a certain Ms. Gan Ching of Norf Lahndahn, innit. Speaking of Fi's voice, Stephanie's voice disrupted my current seekrit attempt at self-aggrandisement last night. *sigh* Stephanie.
What's that Skippy? There is nothing of interest here for anyone? Even the embedded messages up there? OK, I admit, they are as subtle as a subtle thing teaching a course in being subtle to a bunch of subtle people. So? Do you want me to pretend to care?
|Wednesday, October 18th, 2006|
|Waves crash, baby dont look back
I would mention a few words, their origins and an extended yet not altogether unconvoluted story of how they fit together in some oblique way pertaining to something on my mind, wedded with a Pynchon (I wish) esque dialogue of parts indicating a certain situation I may (I repeat may, this could still be allegorical) have found myself in. I would, but I won't. You have have the words as a throwaway, though. The first is sleekit (or possibly sleeked, but the stress is on the second syllable, at least wot where I grew up) and fly (but not in the S-s-s-salt n Pepa way, either.) Take them, do with them what you want.
Look, Jim, quit with the reusing all the Pandora's Box tunes. I don't think I ever forgave you once I heard Celine Dion do one a few years ago. Now we have old Meat doing them. Don't make me go upstairs and get the original vinyl out. (Including several 12"s I believe, too.) Don't make me do that.
Cambridge Teslathon 2006. See you there!
Due to a flying visit from some flying visitors, I learnt something about an absent visitor. (And the aforementioned second visitor, as will become apparent, considering their union and all.) It seems, absent visitor and female visitor are absconding. Together. But not in the out-her-bedroom-window-and-off-to-Gretna sort of absconding. Though that would be cool, were they not already Gretna-ed up. And to where would they be off? Probably a bit of a no-brainer, that one. The land of the rising Simon. Not that Simon has arrived there yet, mind. Still, all the best to them in Japanaland. One living the life of luxury, the other not working. You can decide which is which. Or just ignore that entirely, as it won't be, I am sure, accurate.
Karen might have noticed my youngest's accent has changed, and was wondering why mine hadn't. (To which Cassandra pointed out it probably does, depending on whom I am addressing.) I don't think it has changed, but there was laughter at some of my turns of phrase during the eve. What was that all about? Eh? Just because I happened to use the word ostensibly, and a bit later parlance. Two words they found funny. Come on. (I won't mention the burqua comment that Cassandra interjected at the right moment for top comedic effect. I am still pondering if it is true.) Karen also said complimentary things about my photographs, which was nice.
An elongated (in a not properly elongated way) post, but no matter, I stride on regardless!
Cybez mentions How To Dissuade Yourself from Becoming a Blogger. Like I say, what a load of tosh. (See, I can (mildly) swear in the comments of others' weblawgs, but not on my own. Which is a lie.) Though Mr. C (or should that be Mr. S? How does your name split, sir?) does say a rather chuff-inducing thing about lil old me. Hurrah! Hurrah!
Turns out it does rain here after all. You just have to be up at 4am to see it, as when you return to bed, get up to go to work, there is no trace of it, and the usual lovely morn ensues. How very civilised, is it not?
Gone are the days of mutual liquorice, frivolity and spontaneity. What is left behind, eh?
Paragraphs from my life.
|Sunday, October 15th, 2006|
|The worst thing that can happen to a good cause is, not to be skillfully attacked, but to be ineptly defended
Today, in church, was Stand Up Against Poverty. Did I stand up? No, I did not. Was this noticed? Yes, it was.
tum-te-tum...Oh alright, you didn't ask, but I am going to tell you why anyhow.
Point The First. We first heard of this last week. It was announced at the end of the service that this week we would all be standing up for poverty, thereby aiding to this world record attempt and doing A Good Thingtm at the same time. Can you see why my back was up already? There wasn't the choice, this was mooted as being done when there was a captive audience, with the accompanying pressure to conform. I understand that if this was voluntary, there would be less people there. (Hang on, doesn't that indicate something?) But there was no mention of those who disagree with this would be allowed to leave. (Oh woe! How can I disagree with helpping the poor? Or of saving lil babies from death a bazillion miles away? Did I say I disagree with that? It is when their methods and goals for doing such a thing aren't the way that getting ahead of myself here, I guess, just hold yer horses.)
Point The Second. I don't agree with their methods nor goals. Under the banner of 'Make Poverty History' (I can see why Western liberal hand-wringing guilt-types might erm, wring their hands and feel guilty, but Christians? Don't they remember Matthew 26:11? Oh, yes, I know.) No, I am not advocating the supression and continued unecessary deaths of those in the Third World. Quite the opposite. But this does not mean I have to agree with some bizarre misguided left-wing solution to the world's ills.
Anyhow, better living through chemistry, and all that.
Make your own movie poster
(found in Flickr toys.)
>That sounds worse that it is. The person to which I was talking did realise that I would have reasons for doing such a thing, not just out of general thran-ness, just out of general
pedantryattention to detail.
|Saturday, October 14th, 2006|
|Augmentation for shape as well as size*
Consider a text I got earlier today:
Hi its the lad who you came out wi at the end of lava this is my number DELETED x
Now, I haven't replied. Yet. A quick google for lava+nightclub indicates it seems to be a nightclub chain. Like Ritzys. Do they still exist? Proto-chav-ery from the late 80s/early 90s. Not a patch on the likes of the Bear Cage ** or The Pit.
But back to this bloke I evidently left some low-rent discotechque with. And gave him my mobile number. Not usually one to go for, well, blokes, I find this whole tale incredible. But not as incredible as listening to a rather loud (over the top of gee-tars, natch) hssssssssss sound, that the band thought was some hydraulic shenanigans the workmen round Harvey Court might have been getting up to. It wasn't. Twas our bassist's car's clutch giving up the ghost. In a spectacular way. And caught on CCTV.
As for the long allegorical posting, I deleted it. Too obvious. Try looking to the end of the circle.
Disjointed you say? Perhaps I should't delete great swathes then.
*You may expect a story as to why such a phrase was uttered to me in a private hospital, but, alas, it isn't overly interesting, nor is the one as to why I was there. I will say this, though, she didn't really need such surgery. I mean, it wasn't as if she were straight-up-and-down, oh, right, I should stop typing round about now, shouldn't I?
|Wednesday, October 11th, 2006|
|Not rich enough to afford to be disillusioned
If you needed about 50k* really quickly, where would you get it?
If you wanted an about-turn, where would you start?
If you realised people might read too much into this, where eould you find the 'delete post' button?
I tend not to follow job trends, but for some things are looking up.
Despite despising code right now, google's codesearch seems a neato idea.
A human being should be able to change a diaper, plan an invasion, butcher a hog, conn a ship, design a building, write a sonnet, balance accounts, build a wall, set a bone, comfort the dying, take orders, give orders, cooperate, act alone, solve equations, analyze a new problem, pitch manure, program a computer, cook a tasty meal, fight efficiently, die gallantly. Specialization is for insects. -- Robert A Heinlein
I also have no idea what people see in Scarlett Johansson. Yes, I would kick her out for cold feet. (There was another awful picture of her on some tabloid today, and she looks dog in one advert (on the idiot box) I happened to see. Though that was an age ago now, so don't berate me if it isn't on any more.)
*Not loaned. Given. And in GBP, too.
|Tuesday, October 10th, 2006|
|Join in the six-month sweepstakes!
I'll be the one to show you the way
You'll be the one to always complain
Why this pic? Even if I like it? I was going to expound on thoughts of shaving the (out)sides of my hands, as the hairs are creeping from the arm/hand boundry (what's that Skippy? The wrist you say?) but at an angle. Does this count as too much information?
Cancel the thing that I said I'd do
I don't feel comfortable talking to you
Do you lie awake at night pondering why you like 'Alias Grace' and 'Life Before Man' so much better than 'The Blind Assassin' and 'Oryx and Crake'? No? Just me then. Though I haven't read her (the cat's mother, obviously) new one yet.
Everyones gathered to idolize me,
I hate the way you talk your Japanese scream
Do you walk through town, despairing at the antics of drunk hen parties? Too much perfume, too low-cut tops, girls. I seem to be rather susceptible to perfume these latter days. Odd. Odd, indeed. Bored, bored indeed.
Always remember the pact that we made,
Too young to die but old is the grave
|Sunday, October 8th, 2006|
|This is not the post where I discuss why I prefer the depressive writings of Ms. Atwood
Cambridge as seen from the top of Magog down. (Which must be the highest point around.) A bit stitched-together-by-an-idiot, but there you have it. Plus, it was done using the 70-300mm lense as an experiment.
(The first picture embedded in this post is on my flickr stream, but 'tis Friends and Family only, but again, I thought it a lovely picture, so put it in here. Makes a mockery, you say? Mocks a makery, I reply.)
I amn't a snob, I think I prefer austerity and severity.
This picture of the moon was also taken with the big lense, just for demonstration purposes only.
Lense or lens? I would say 'you decide' but I already have.
|Friday, October 6th, 2006|
|Gazed, fascinated but repelled, at women of a curious frigidity, cold but sensual, erotic but invulnerable
Oh dear, I hope this doesn't sound, you know, racialist, or reflect badly on me, but tis a story I gotta tell.
There is a kerfuffle over Moslem women and their life in the seven veils in the news right now. I amn't going to say whether they should or not, this post is about something related, but different.
The first time I ever saw a lady (can't say if she were young or old, though maybe you can tell from the colour. Or their height. Or their under-the-shroud-bumpiness. I dunno.) wearing a full body-armour-veil thing, it was in Lestah. Bound to be worth a natch, that. Natch, so. And what sprung into a fresh young innocent abroad's head? That there must be a party going on down the college somewhere, and a ninja! party at that. How cool is that, thought I. A ninja! party. All I wanted was to be down with the hep-and-hip lot who organise ninja! parties. For all the best parties have ninja!s at them.
Oh, for the shame.
Then, I used to get paranoid, as out of the corner of my eye, I could always see ninja!s, usually following me in big silver Mercs.
Oh, for the shame of it all.
The thing is, aside from the drapes that completely cover the whole body, I like some of the headscarves. But that might be the Audrey Hepburn 60s thing going on there. *And* I love turbans. If I could grow a proper Bollywood 'tasche, I would wear a turban and carry a scimitar. The sword, not the car. God knows how many cultures I have mangled there, but I care not! I continue on regardless! (I had some groovy discussion with various Sikh types over the years, see, and they always impressed me. Much in the way most clever people impress me, I guess. How did I get to talk to them, you might wonder. Well, there used to be lots of theology a-goings-on on some Enfield mailing lists. My spiritual journey to India will begin once our third album goes triple-multi-platinum (on downloads, I guess. Don't steal our music, The Kids! Buy it! Make us multi-bazillion-aires.))
You can't be rascist against Moslems, as they aren't a race. Yeah, I know.
|Thursday, October 5th, 2006|
|Here's a house that held a bevy of devils and an angel as well
You don't want to hear the story of how this shot was taken, the fact that everyone coming in to the kitchen thought we were doing some multi-angled webcast of our daily pool match. Two DSLRs on tripods, mutterings about exposure and shutter speeds, racking and re-racking the balls, more mutterings about angles and ambient light. And me, the non-geek adrift in a sea of uber-geeks.
I shall try again tomorrow.
(from the other side)
I am finding my photography goes in cycles, though the lots-of-bad-ones end of the trough lasts longer than the I-am-happy-ish-with-that-single-shot high.
|Lipstick on the collar or, um, earrings falling out of your hair
Tony sent me a link in which a dude despairs at another Physics department closing. I despair at it, too. The email was entitled Rant material, and unaccustomed as I am to ranting, I shall wend my thoughts about it all through a meme I said to Yuri I would also do. Not that I said to Yuri I would rant on the decline of science education in our society, but what can I do? All sentences are ambiguous. Especially this one. Sort of like generalisations in that sense, in that those are all false. Even that one.
Of course, now I have lost the will to do the meme, and even rant. Both shall appear at some further date. Maybe.
Tha Enemee play here on Monday, which is interesting, if I can manage to go. It is uncertain right now. The last time they played Belfast, Carrie was there too. Though we (notionally) were aware of each other in a Norn Iron proto-blogger sorta way, we didn't know each other enough to say hi. She thought we went together, as she puts it If I were going to that, surely Marc would be going to, therefore we would be going together. But we didn't.
See, my posts always start out with good intentions, then I get in the way. Even that last paragraph sounded better in my head. OK, it didn't sound better in my head, as I have re-read it, it actually sounded better before I wrote it.
This entry was brought to you for no reason whatsoever. That, and the letters P and E, and the number 2002.
|Tuesday, October 3rd, 2006|
|I said: She just works for me, doing things that you can't do
Southern Hemisphere ignores global warming. Damned Southerners. Can't they stop upsetting the Northern liberal types? You know, the ones who pay no attention to evidence, or sense, or science, or anything like that.
I would also like to say something about that girl in that place where I might be at some points during the day, the one I think I know. I don't want to, but I feel it is my duty to do so. And this may come out wrong. But when did that ever stop me? It seems she has been taken over by her straight-haired evil HR-twin. It also looks like she has got religion, which should give you an idea of the sort of clothing she now is found in. Oh dear, that reflects quite badly on me, but I am sure you know what I mean. Say you do. Go on, please. No, wait, come back, I haven't finished yet!
update Having found out her name, I don't know her. But I knew that already.
More conversational snippets, you say?
J I don't understand how people can be right-wing and Christians
me I don't understand how people can be left-wing and human
And first thing this morn I broke someone's cup in the kitchen. Whose? I dunno. I reckon it was a chick's, though, given the overall pinkness of it. Yes, I stuck a post-it note on it, apologising and offering to replace/reimburse the cost. Nothing yet.
While Matthew was at the Dept of Classics at the University doing his ancient Greek, I wandered about taking pictures. Such a lovely evening, even if there are still the residual tourists and students wandering around.
No, not the kitchen. She smokes so is outside. I blame Belagoth.
|Saturday, September 30th, 2006|
A brief look-see just to redo what I am sure all the Kewl Kids have been doing for a while.
Create your own Despair.com posters! Mucho fun to be had. But I had one go. As there are things to do. I only mentioned the brief look-see just there. See? Up there. First line. Near the start.
|Thursday, September 28th, 2006|
|You know what happens when the fun stops
Schmap have asked for use of three of my photos for use in their city guide. For Cambridge, obviously. And our errant Byronicly goodlooking Norn Iron phottygraffer got asked, too. But not about Cambridge, obviously.
Of course, I have been prickled for a while, ever since Cassandra had one of her pics taken up and used by one of the news wires. I bet I took the pic anyhow, but that is just harumph-ing on my part.
It isn't even as if the pics are any of my best. If you wish to know, they are a dahlia and dragonfly, another dahlia and fnally an uninteresting canal-ish shot. All from my Anglesey Abbey set, and all in a row. Hmmm.
Still, I am in a quandry whether to let them use my own IP or not. Is it my own IP? Ack, what do I know? And how do you protect your songs? I mean, if they haven't been recorded (yet), although there is a trail on the wiki of when they were put there, so that might be prior art. Ack, what do I know? Nothing. And less every day.
My first bike, I may have mentioned before, was called 'Free Spirit'. The first bike I bought with my own money, pedant-person. OK, so my own money that the Government granted unto me for continuing my education, picky-pedant-person. Regardless, my first bike was called 'Free Spirit', and it was a psychadelically coloured mountain-style thing. (As mountain bikes in their current format weren't really about in those days.) It was hand built by a guy on one of the main thoroughfares in Lestah. It was a one off. It got stolen. Get the meaning from that and the post title if you can. There is one. Apart from the self-evident one, natch.