Weirdest Dream lately :
I dreamed I was on the "other side" when my Dad was passing. I spoke to him and made sure he was okay. Then I woke, and knew he was gone. 30 minutes later, we got the call from the hospital saying that his blood pressure had crashed in the last 30 minutes.
Currently working on :
A BTVS related story called "Long Goodbye" which deals with a member of the Watchers Council being vamped as part of an experiment.
Also completing my nanowrimo effort.
A blog for that outspoken and aggressive member of the Buffy Bulletin Board.
Wednesday, December 17, 2003
The Return of the King
Christopher who? Lee? Never heard of him. Tell him I'm in a meeting.
It will probably come as no surprise to those who know me that I was in to see the final part of the Lord of the Rings today. Thankfully, I enjoyed it a lot more than that terrible "Two Towers" which left a sour taste.
RotK is an amazingly good film, but like Two Towers before it, it has faults. Mis-steps along the way which would jar in an ordinary movie, but in a work of such near perfection, these missteps cause painful wincing in the viewer.
There are 6 or 7 things (some bigger than others) I feel edge this movie away from perfection. What's annoying is that they are simple mistakes. Peter Jackson could have avoided making them. But he didn't. Artistic interpretation and all that shit. Still, this is my blog, not his, so my opinions are what counts here. But I defy anyone to tell me that some of these changes wouldn't have improved the movie.
1)"What does your heart tell you?" That stealing dialog from George Lucas is an astonishingly bad idea. When I heard that exchange between Aragorn and Gandalf early on in the movie, I actually groaned out loud. And somewhere deep inside, I knew there would be more of this later on.
Sure enough, we got a rendition of "I am going to save you[father]" "You already have [Luke]"
Star Wars dialog is generally shit on the best day of its life. There is no excuse for abandoning the words and dialog of Tolkien to include this crap.
2)The End. The End. The End. The End. The End. No seriously, this time.. the End. Let me tell you what it was like in the cinema. "I'm glad you're with me, here at the end of all things." FADE TO BLACK. Audience starts to applaud. FADE IN ON THE EXACT SAME SCENE Audience stops applauding "Oh, it's not over yet."
With the second fake ending, another smattering of applause started and died. With the third fake ending, only one or two started applauding. Then the GROANING started.
Result? When the words "The End" finally appeared, there was a sense of "About fucking time!" when there should have been RAPTUROUS applause.
Scene switching is not a problem. Having a drawn out ending is not a problem. Playing stupid fake-out games with your audience IS a problem.
3)Who's that guy dressed as Gandalf? I know Sir Ian had a double for a lot of the movie, particularly in the horseriding sequences. But there were times in this movie where I actually did a double-take and wondered who the hell that guy was dressed in white. He looked NOTHING like Sir Ian.
One scene in particular had Gandalf on horseback doing NOTHING, not involved in the scene, and yet still it was CLEARLY (facially) his double they used. Lazy and unnecessary.
4)What the hell is going on? Directing the battles. I kind of knew this going in from The Two Towers, but Peter can't really direct battles very well. At least not the close up action stuff. His camera is all over the place, and it's impossible to tell what's going on at times. You can argue that it's a choice of style, but I feel from my own experience in battle re-enactment that if you can't tell what's going on around you, you're fucked. The camera should represent someone's point of view for the audience. Move it, sure, but this quick snap MTV shit makes it look like you're trying to get away with shoddy stunt work and bad choreography.
5) Your kids are not actors. And we know what they look like. I'm sure Peter loves his kids and that's why he felt it necessary to put them into Lord of the Rings more than once. But the fact is they're just so adorably cute that you recognise them as "that cute Hobbit kid from the first movie" when you see them. Totally draws you out of the movie. They should only have been used once, cute and all as they are.
6) Annie Lennox? Totally wrong for the end of the movie.
Not wrong in the way that Hugo Weaving was wrong for the choice of Elrond. (Oh, how cool would it have been if David Bowie had not said no to the role? He doesn't look quite human anyway, he's pretty ageless. And pretty at that.)
Don't get me wrong, I love Annie Lennox as an artist. I have quite a few of her albums, going back as far as the Eurythmics, but she was utterly wrong for the final song of this trilogy. Now maybe Enya doesn't float your boat (god knows she doesn't float mine) but that's the sort of music you should have on an epic like this.
7)Smeagol and Deagol. It's a pet peeve of mine that when you film someone who is supposed to be strangling someone then his hands shouldn't appear relaxed. I know it's acting and all that, and safety standards probably have to be applied, but seriously, if you've been in a fight and started strangling someone, then you KNOW what I mean. Your hands should be taut and quite visibly applying pressure.
8)Open the movie the same as the other two. A minor quibble now, as I'm running out of things to complain about. (Which is a good thing, and shows how much I loved the movie, really.) After the first two movies started the same, with the same music and intro over "Lord of the Rings", the Return of the King had a slightly different opening. I didn't care for the inconsistancy.
Okay, so I love the movie. I absolutely adore it. I'll see it at least a dozen times in the cinema and buy all the DVDs. Why am I complaining? Well, aside from the fact that I'm a contrary bastard by nature, the above items really jarred me out of the movie. It's like, you're getting the best blow job of your life, when WHAM someone bites your nutsack.
Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the hummer, it's great, best of my life, but please don't bite me in the nutsack. It's unpleasant. It's unnecessary. And it kind of detracts from the otherwise perfect blowjob.
One of my long time careers, kind of fell by the wayside last year for a number of reasons. I wanted to spend more time with my parents, in particular because of my Dad's cancer. I had also become very stressed and wound up with the job, and some of the people I was working with. I felt like I had to take a break from it, and do something different, something laudable with my life. Something that was creative, or at least a positive contribution to the world around me. Before it was too late. And for a while at least, I was able to do that. I worked it in with less stressful work, more enjoyable work, more rewarding work. And for a time at least, I was able to feel good about it all again.
Then recently, a long time acquaintance that I had not heard from in a while, got back in touch with me. He needed help. My particular expertise in a field I had thought I had turned my back on. I didn't want to say 'no' out of hand, so I flew to Belgium (while he drove since he's continental) to hear him out.
It's funny how the ties of friendship can pull you in directions against your better sense. Maybe it was inevitable that I would go back.
So I met with a few people. And in the heel of the hunt, they made a very convincing case. Now we have a handshake agreement, and I'm back in the game. The long hours, high stakes, type of game. It takes a certain kind of mentality to deal in situations with millions riding on the outcome.
So now it's time for another life change. Time to change country, change citzenship, change my look. Pity, as I had gotten used to having a goatee. I don't think I have had one as long as Mike, so I don't think it's going to be "sensitive" or anything. But it will be hard getting used to speaking another language again.
Though English is not the language of my native country, I have a certain affection for it. The language of Shakespeare and all that. But for this particular line of work, and the people I will be working with,English is singularly inappropriate. posted by Manchild at 10:56 AM
I was watching Britains Prime Ministers question time, kind of by accident earlier. For those not au-fait with British politics, the opposition party (nearest US eqivalent to the Republicans) recently had a change of leadership. The quiet and inneffectual Iain Duncan Smith was replaced with Michael Howard.
To really appreciate how messed up this is, you have to remember that "New Labour", the Blair party and current patients in charge of the asylum, left-wing in name, while right wing in practice. Howard, on the other hand, is so far to the right that he makes Blair look like Lenin.
So really, what the conservatives are trying to sell to the British public is "Labour isn't working. They say they are the left. Let's all try something different, and go to the right."
Much as I hate Blairs New Labour, the idea of a Howard led Tory party coming to power fills me with dread. While Blair went in for "spin", Howard is just crooked. There was a famous incident years ago, where he was being interviewed on Newsnight by the notorious Jeremy Paxman. He was asked a straightforward question. "Did you threaten to over-rule him?"
Howard began by saying "I did NOT over-rule him..." Paxman cut him off. "Did you THREATEN to over-rule him?"
What followed next simply can't be done justice in print. Howard continued to avoid the question, and Paxman KEPT ASKING IT. All in all, he asked "Did you threaten to over-rule him?" FOURTEEN times.
Sample :
Paxman: Did you threaten to overrule him?
Howard: I was not entitled to instruct Derek Lewis and I did not instruct him. And the truth is...
Paxman: Did you threaten to over-rule him?
Howard: I did not overrule Derek Lewis.
Paxman: Did you threaten to overrule him?
I mention all of this to give you some perspective of what a tremendous right-wing evil crook I think Howard is.
Okay, so now bearing that in mind... he made a speech today in Parliament which hit every single fuck up the Labour Government has made. It said all of the things which are not actually supposed to be said, by anyone. Those uncomfortable truths that BOTH parties know, and try to keep quiet. Well, he got them all. It was fiery, articulate, laden with memorable sound-bites, and devastating to watch. At the end of it, I was thinking "I hate the guy, but based on that speech I'd probably vote for him." It was masterful, and I kind of respected him. Not for his stance, since every word of his good intentions is no doubt a lie. No, I respected the power of his demagoguery. I'd never seen Hitler speak at one of his rallies, but I imagine it went something like that.
Though I haven't written about it, the last week or so my father was back in the hospital. It's been about a month or so since he was scheduled to go in and get a problem in his throat looked at. Naturally, we all had the fear that it was the cancer returning. Well, he had the endoscopic exam last Thursday. I got a chance to see him on my way to the airport. The doctors didn't see anything, but they swabbed for a biopsy anyway.
Yesterday, he was moved to another hospital so that they could do a PET scan. PET scans are one of those technologies I'm kindof in love with. Practically modern day science fiction, you could imagine Bones McCoy using a PET scan in 60's Star Trek.
Anyway, he'll get the results on the PET scan tomorrow. For today, he's home and dozing in the armchair up to his eyeballs in drugs.
I was lucky enough to be in the UK last week, when the biggest week-day protest in their history took to the streets to say that Bush/Blair were acting illegally and without the backing of the British public.
It was quite impressive. Originally, the police and official estimates placed the crowd in the region of 20,000 people. Now, I know from long experience that crowd sizes are one of those things that the media play fast and loose with. If it's an event you support, you inflate the numbers. If it's one you disapprove of, you decrease the numbers. But 20,000 was fucking ridiculous. If anything, all it indicated was the depth of annoyance the establishment felt at the protest. "Official" estimates have since gone up to a more realistic 120,000 though the organisers are still claiming it was over 300,000. Perhaps the truth is somewhere in between.
A couple of things struck me quite forcefully during the day. First, the wide ranging political nature of the groups involved. It would be impossible to pidgeon-hole these people into any one group. There were soldiers mothers, conservatives, Guardian readers, hippies, Pro-Palestinian groups, LibDems, Labour supporters, Americans living in London, war veterans... the list is huge. You could not get a group this diverse to agree on many issues, but under their dismay and disgust at Bush and Blair, they were united.
Another thing that struck me was how the different countries (American and England) react to such protests. Americas response has been to ignore and sideline the issue. Some of the more rabid neo-cons calling "peack-niks" traitors and unpatriotic and so on. There was a brief effort to stage "pro-war" rallies but they were so pathetic they vanished from the public record.
England on the other hand (under the auspices of Blair's regime) looked at hundreds of thousands of people marching outside and said "Well, 50 million people stayed at home. Ergo, they support us. Let's go."
Do you see the difference there? Do you think America could tolerate it if a President looked outside his window and saw the Million Man march heading up Pennsylvania Avenue and said "Well shee-it, 248 million stayed at home! I must be doing good!"
By far the highlight of the protest was the toppling of the Bush statue in Trafalgar Square. It made great television so even the Murdoch mouthpiece had to cover it about 4 times an hour for a few hours. (No offence George, but ratings is ratings.)
The organisers had erected a statue of Dubya and were going to topple it in symbolic parody of the toppling of Saddam's statue in Baghdad. Unlike the Saddam toppling (where judicious use of framing the shot made it look like the square was crowded) this was a well attended piece. You can see the statue fall here complete with protesters dancing on his head.
HazzardX has recently been generating some unusual blog entries by interviewing some of his online friends and posting the results. Yesterday, it was my turn to go under the spotlight. It was interesting, if a little unusual. While I like to think I'm the sort of person who can talk/type easily on the fly, I know that it when it comes to blogging or entries on Bulletin Boards, websites, etc... that I put at least a modicum of time and thought into it. Same is true for emails. So I found it a little disconcerting to answer weighty topics on the fly and unprepared. Hopefully it comes out okay.
I was never "good". I was great.
I've mentioned before that I thought Full Throttle was a whores abortion of a movie, as unsightly and disgusting and offensive as it was possible to be. They took all the charm and cool campy fun from the first movie, and just shat right all over it in great big steaming piles of poo.
Demi Moore, every which way you slice it, was the best thing in the movie. Not only did she kick ass in the acting stakes, she made Cameron Diaz look second best in their beach-bod-face-off. No mean feat. And apparently, she pissed off the Angelic trio by upstaging them at premieres and so on. Hey, if you've got it...
So imagine how stunned I was to hear the news that Demi may be back in the third movie, and that the hapless trio will be absent! Yay! Truly they deserve to be kicked off the franchise for their numerous crimes in that sequel.
Apparently, Demi will be taking the franchise into the 80's, when Madison was good/great. Can she pass for younger version of herself? Hell, it's no more implausible than any of the other stuff we've seen on Charlies Angels. And I'd willingly buy into that disbelief if she's bikini clad again.
But if age and looks were not going to be an issue and Lucy Liu was going to be absent, I'd love to see Bill Murray back as Bosley, instead of that unfunny "yessa-massa" racist stereotype.
I was out drinking with H last night. H, as I mentioned in an earlier entry, had been royally fucked over by the love of his life. At the time, I had mentioned two of the five stages he was going to go through at the time, and as we commisserated over hot whiskeys and pints of Guinness, I explained what the other stages were.
Stage 1: Denial a.k.a. The "last chance" phase
This is where your S.O. has told you they're breaking up with you. Or that they need "space". Or any of the other phrases which to an objective observer would mean "We're through." But not to you. Your brain translates it as "Shit! This is serious! I might get dumped! Well, okay, whatever it is, I can fix it. I can change. It's going to be better. Whatever it is, I'll do it, but don't break up with me!"
Stage 2: Delusion a.k.a. The "they'll be back" phase
You're convincing yourself on some level that they will realise they've made a horrible mistake in dumping you. They will sheepishly, possibly tearfully, call you and either beg forgiveness or ask if they can work things out. At this stage, it is not uncommon to have dreams where this actually happens. Fantasies of the ex throwing themselves on your mercy are commonplace. As is the denouemont where you prove yourself to be the mature person, and "grudgingly" accept them back. Don't kid yourself. It's not going to happen.
Stage 3: Anger a.k.a. The "that bitch/bastard ruined my life" phase
This is the stage where you hate your ex with an unreasoning and irrational hatred. You only get here when you've finally accepted that your ex is not coming back. The more extreme of us possibly fantasise elaborate revenge scenarios, but even the most tame looks forward to the day when you'll be doing so much better, run into them, behold their life is in the shitheap, and then you can gloat mockingly.
Stage 4: Isolation a.k.a. The "I'll never be hurt like that again" phase
Well, there's some overlap between some of the stages, so you may not have put away all you're rage yet. But this is the point where you decide that you'll protect your heart in future. You'll never expose your innermost core, you'll never trust anyone 100%. You may stop dating for a while, convinced that the entire gender of your choice is just fucked up and not worth it.
You also lose all self-confidence about what made you such a catch in the first place. Your ego takes a hammering. It is not inconceivable to you that you will never have sex again.
Or if you still date, you'll just go through the motions of being in a relationship, but secretly you just won't give a shit about the person you're seeing.
Stage 4 can last a very long time. Depending on the severity and circumstances of the initial dump.
Stage 5: External confidence a.k.a. The "Faking it" phase
You're back in the dating scene, still bruised, but not showing it.
Stage 5 is kind of the final "stage" before you completely heal, so I guess you could call stage 6 (the desired status quo) "Internal Confidence" where the attitude you exude to attract a partner is no longer superficial and fake.
It's surprising how closely the above five stages of being dumped from a long term relationship can correlate to being fired from a long-term job. And I should know, I've been fired from a lot of jobs.
Anyway, H is now in stage 4 but looking to enter stage 5 soon.
The sound of a script being delivered.
I just got back from seeing Matrix : Revolutions. (From hereafter known as "Revolting") As a fairly forgiving movie fan, I have sat through quite a lot of substandard shit: Phantom Menace, Arthur 2, Bless the Child, Johnny Mnemonic, Exorcist 2, Time Changer, (actually most crap sci-fi). In fact, of the IMDB's top 100 worst movies ever, I've seen 16 of them. And in some of them I even found little bits that I enjoyed.
So I can honestly say without fear of exaggeration that the new Matrix movie is the WORST movie I have ever seen.
I don't think we have the words in the English language to truly describe just how awful it is. But given the restrictions of the English language, I'll try to explain.
This movie is so shit, that it actually exceeds the local regions space-time boundary limitations for concentrated shit, such that it actually goes BACK IN TIME, and dumps a load of shit on the FIRST Matrix movie. Thereby rendering it almost unwatchable.
That's how bad this movie is.
Among it's many many faults : It's stupid. It spends more time on lesser characters than the alleged stars. They seem to think "virtual" humans won't be spotted and winced at by an audience that sees better on a PS2. Scenes which are clearly supposed to evoke an emotional response (such as when Trinity dies) left me going "Shut up and fucking DIE already!" Questions go unanswered. More questions are raised. Peoples goals change without anyone realising it. There are plot holes SO big you could just about fill the shit of this movie into 4 of them. It's predictable. The directing makes McG's work on Full Throttle look like Citizen Fucking Kane. They lift several shots and moments DIRECTLY from their own progenitor, in a blatant and frankly nauseous effort to evoke some audience loyalty and good feeling. ("Hey, remember THIS bit? Eh? Remember when we weren't crap?") Sorry, but due to the local causality violations mentioned above, no, nothing from the first movie will make me feel good ever again.
From the "You can't make this shit up" file.
It's official. The latest Harry Potter book is so bad, it hurts your brain.
Last months New England Journal of medicine had a letter from Dr. Howard Bennett. In it, he reported that threet little tykes aged 8 to 10, experienced a dull headache for two or three days, caused by reading the latest Harry Potter novel.
"If this escalation continues as Rowling concludes the saga, there may be an epidemic of Hogwarts headaches in the years to come."
I'd love to see Rowlings dull and tedious tomes come with a government sanctioned health warning.
We've seen it before, where members of the public prove more courageous in standing up to political bullshit (famously with Margaret Thatcher on live TV after the Falklands War and the sinking of the Belgrano) but this sort of thing always makes me smile. There's still some hope for us while people are still willing to speak out.
Friday Oct. 3rd, at Von's supermarket in Bakersfield, one lady in the crowd who had become aware of Ahnold's back-door shenanigans with Ken Lay and co. confronted the governator, when not a single member of the limpwristed American media had the cojones to do so.
It's reported that she shouted, "He's in bed with Kenny Lay, you idiots! It's your money!" There was dead silence for a beat, then came the voice through the loudspeakers, "I suhtunly wasn't in bet wit YOU!" Apparently she responded with something like "But I'm still being fucked by you!" or words to that effect.
Or Stupid White Men, Volume 2
The book goes on sale today, and I'm off to pick up a copy in a few minutes. Much as I do like Mike's work, and have enjoyed his other books and movies, I do wonder that he does such a half-arsed job at times. Is it because he's genuinely unaware of the full story behind his "reports" or is he deliberately holding back because he knows the general public just wouldn't accept the unvarnished truth in some cases?
Whatever the reason, I'll be posting some thoughts on his book later today, or tomorrow.
I'm going to go out on a limb here, (granted not much of one) and congratulate Ahnuld on being elected the new Governor of California.
Ahnuld had often expressed a desire to enter politics, which was lampooned in movies such as "Demolition Man". But his path to the governership really only began in earnest back in May of 2001.
It was at the Peninsula Hotel in Los Angeles. There, Ahnold met with two people to talk about the only thing worth talking about: Money. They were Ken, and Mike. That's Enron evil-dude Ken Lay and convicted stock swindler Mike Milken.
They had a problem, which can be summed up in two words : "Davis. Bustamente."
As almost anyone who has access to real investigative journalism knows, Enron and the power company pirates bled approximately 9 billion dollars out of California through rolling blackouts, price hiking, deregulated profit gouging, and so on.
All good and well for the major share holders in Enron and co., but there was a problem. California's unique Civil Code provision 17200. Called the "Unfair Business Practices Act." By bringing the power companies to court under this act, they would potentially have to pay back the 9 billion dollars.
Heavens forfend! What a concept! Thieves having to give money BACK??? Where would it end?!
A private lawsuit was filed last year under California's "Unfair Business Practices Act." And can anyone name the plaintiff who is taking on the bad guys? It's Cruz Bustamante, the Lieutenant Governor and reluctant opponent against Ahnuld.
While this was in court, the Davis Administration simultaneously demanded that George Bush's energy regulators order the 9 billion dollar refund. Of course, we know that will never happen. Bush's Federal Energy Regulatory Commission is headed by a guy proposed by Ken Lay.
Instead, the FERC comes up with an ingenious ploy. They charge the companies with conspiracy but offer to cut them a deal where they have to pay only two cents on each dollar they stole.
That's 2 per cent.
2 single per cent.
Now, I'm not sure about you, but I reckon if I had a share of 9 billion for two years, I could probably earn more than 2 percent, even in THIS economy. So this "pay back" amounts to little more than a one-time-only share in the interest payment.
All in all, sounds like a great plan, and the companies love it. But Governor Davis won't play along with the idea for some reason. So the Governor has to be replaced with someone who WILL play ball.
We can get rid of Davis. We can smear Cruz. But how can you get someone elected who will play ball with this ridiculous settlement?
Hence the meeting between Ahnuld and Lay and the rest. Once he is Governor, he agrees to the settlements with the power companies. When that happens, Bustamante's court cases are finished. No judge will let a case go to trial to protect a state if that state's governor has already allowed the matter to be "settled" by a regulatory agency.
Ahnuld wasn't sure about running initially, but he got the nod by the Kingmakers at the Bohemian Grove earlier this year. Word came down from on-high for other Republican candidates like McClintock to back down, rather than split the rightwing vote for Ahnuld.
California is in debt by $8 billion for the coming year. This deficit is the reason the right wing can destroy Davis. Yet only Davis and Bustamante are taking direct action against the power companies to get back the $9 billion from Enron, Reliant, Dynegy, Williams Company and the other power pirates.
That's why I say, with 9 billion at stake, there's no way Ahnuld will fail to be elected. It's done. It's dusted. See you at the party, victor.
Well my training is still ongoing, and I'm in better shape than I have been for quite some time. My joints are still in danger of giving out on me though, so I'm taking it easy on my knees. It has also caused a problem with an ingrown toe-nail. I guess these sorts of things are common enough for runners. I'll get a doctor to look at it next week, and I may be off my feet for a day or two.
Apparently, I won't find out about my entry to the marathon until the first week in December. If my ballot entry is turned down, then I'll be trying to enter through "Cancer Research UK", as they hold a number of places for charity runners. However, these places can only go for people who are able to raise 2000 pounds sterling in sponsership.
So I'm going to be hitting up people for sponsership money between now and April next year. I figure between work, friends and family, I can get a tenner a head. That'll take me to about 1000. The rest I'll be looking for via blind donation through the net, and making up the shortfall myself.
How do you get what you want, without being a complete bastard
About a week ago, my brother flew in from Amsterdam to surprise my sister on her birthday. It was a great surprise, especially since that weekend, he was coordinating moving into a new apartment in London. His life is really on the up and up right now, and it's only natural I suppose that I'd make comparisons between his and mine. It's also completely natural that he'd come out on top, and I'm slightly envious of the sucess he's making for himself.
One of the things I think that helps him is a certain ruthlessness in dealing with people. For all of my brusqueness in the written word, I tend to be an easy going guy for the most part. And in business dealings, I have always been proud of the fact that the vast majority of people I've worked for and with, have enjoyed the experience. This is important, when you're dealing with a career (like mine) which saw me move frequently from company to company and country to country and back again. You can't burn bridges with someone when you might be back working with them again in six months.
My brother on the other hand, has a way of not just burning bridges when he needs to, but making it look like it's the other guys fault. A useful skill but not one I feel like trying to acquire.
I guess so. So this isn't going to be a blog entry in the usual sense. More like an open letter to no-one in particular. At the moment, I've been awake about 20 hours, and intend to go stream of conciousness through this, with apologies to any misspellings that may happen along the way.
So, first thing first, I guess, is that I have tried to blog a few times but Blogger has been acting like a whore-bitch for me: Going down on me frequently but giving me no pleasure what-so-ever.
Since I last entered the fray, I've started work at a new place. I was hired to do training on an RF system, which is a Radio Frequency ID system used in stock control and all that sort of thing. That would be an easy, if boring, job, since an RF system takes about an hour or two at most to get to grips with. So that didn't really last long as my assigned "job". Instead, I've moved onto driving fork-lifts.
That's a total departure for me, having spent most of my working life in a position where I'm using my mental faculties. Hell, I don't even drive a car. (Never learned, never had any interest in learning.) But I have to say, I'm enjoying the hell out of it. You know how much fun it was as a kid to drive bumper-cars, or dodgems at a fairground? Well, it's like that, only the trucks weigh seven tonnes, and can kill people if you're not careful. Spiffing good fun. Kind of like flying planes.
Since I'm working Night Shifts, which is good and bad. I have a large degree of freedom in the place, but it messess up my social life, sleeping habits, eating habits and so on. The team I work with though have an interesting and vibrant social dynamic, which is good.
The money is shit, of course, but since I'm not in it for the money, I can take it easy and not get stressed.
The people I'm working with are mostly younger than myself, and it's unusual for me not to be in a position of authority. But I'm getting to know them all pretty well in a way that I couldn't do if I was a supervisor or something.
Take P for example. Originally from Bangledesh, he's the only one older than me in the job. He's a fantastic bloke, who has led a fascinating life. When his country was overrun he became part of the resistance, and fought for his countries freedom. He's seen friends go through horrific things, and yet he is such a kind and gentle and funny guy to work with.
J is one of the funniest guys I've ever met, and on lunchbreaks he usually has the group in fits of laughter as he describes in detail some of the women he's found himself with. Typical J comment : "She did this (raises arm) and I thought she had Don King in a headlock."
Then there's Bob. Bob, is from America. And he typifies virtually everything that is loathesome in a human being. Racist, miserly, dishonest, arrogant, intolerant, cruel, constantly angry, borderline violent and as paranoid as the day is long.
Bob goes through life thinking everyone is out to get him. Everyone has an agenda, and everyone has on that agenda "Fuck Bob over, if at all possible." In many ways, he is his own worst enemy. In just a few weeks, he's managed to alienate almost everyone in the job, with his attitude and comments, and thus he has become the hated American he claimed he was in the beginning.
Naturally, to be obtuse, I'm trying my best to get on with the guy, even if he is a rabid Bush supporter. He's sort of my project. If I can get him to take a more tolerant, less hostile view of life, maybe he won't drop dead of a stress related coronary in a year or two. If I could only get him to stop referring to the 3 Nigerian workers as "Those three".
Mmm... just slugging back some more Bacardi and Coke. I've gone about half a bottle of Bacardi so far since I got in this morning, and I'm still feeling the cold. Normally, cold doesn't affect me much (t-shirt wearer sub-zero temperatures, that's me) while any sort of heat makes me pass out and burn like a side of bacon. But it is fucking freezing right now.
Since I got in this morning, and pretty much caught up on the news, I made a few phone calls, and browsed some. One of the sites I checked up on was Drone's Blog.
I had noticed his account being used on the BuffyBB, but was unsure if someone just had the keys to the admin account or if the bald shaky-headded one was actually back in some form. Since I only recently found the HazzardX site it's not one I'd read extensively. Unlike Puck, Holz, Mike and Wil.
Reading Drones' site this morning, I found a few things. One, that it IS him back on the site in an Admin context. And second, that there was some reason he chose to distance himself from the BB in the first place. Some disquieting things about mods and cliques and online stuff was hinted at. Something I'll no doubt mull over, as it's something I can sympathise with to an extent. I know one of the main reasons I took a break from it was because it stopped being "fun", and life is too short to put yourself through needless thankless shit when there's better things to be doing.
Speaking on "fun" things, I had a fun "first" a few weeks ago. Skip this paragraph if you don't fancy some disgusting details. It can be summed up in two words : Colonic Hydrotherapy. Now, not having been around in the pre-Victorian age, I am still part of a generation that treats the arse as something dirty and unpleasant. Nice to look at on the female form (or male, whatever your preference) but not something people generally discuss in polite conversation. Well, a show I saw piqued my interest in this particular new-age health practice. Apparently, it's a "unique" sensation. And having so-far avoided 'pegging' but precious little else, I thought the days of wonderful new experiences were behind me. I had to give this a go, and see if it was all it was cracked up to be. (Pardon the pun.) So I looked around, travelled a couple of hundred miles and spent no small amount of money. Having undergone the procedure, I can say the following :
1) I will definitely go again.
2) It was almost (but not exactly) unlike anything I'd experienced before.
3) The colon can hold a LOT of water.
Since I mention health topics, and firsts, I should probably point out that I was in hospital myself recently. Stupidly, I had failed to renew my health insurance while between jobs, and so I will be fronting this bill myself.
I had only been saying a few days before about how lucky I was, that I had never had an operation, never broke a bone, never even had my tonsils or appendix out. The universe hates a smug bastard. I was sitting down to breakfast, and eating away, when I thought {twinge} that doesn't feel right. {twinge} I don't think I can finish this. {twinge} I might have to take the day/night off of work. {twinge} Call an ambulance.
Really, in the space of a few minutes, I had gone from sleepy breakfast eating to agony. My abdomen was tender on the right side, and I felt like my insides were burning. I struggled up to the PC while waiting for an ambulance and googled for the symptoms of appendicitis. It gave 6. I had two. By the time I got to the hospital (well, a little after) I'd added another two symptoms to the list. (Vomiting and diorrhea. Don't ask.) The pain was worse than anything I'd had to date, including smashing an ingrown toe-nail, knee-capping myself with a piece of sheet-metal, and being knocked down by a motor-bike. But in the A&E, I was getting no-where. No treatment, no drugs, no nothing. (No insurance, you see. :) ) So, I hit on an idea which was underhanded, and sly and deceitful. During one of my frequent trips to the bathroom to get sick, I lay down on the floor, tried to get comfortable, closed my eyes, and lay still.
About 10 minutes went by. Thank God I wasn't having a heart attack or something, or I'd be dead. But eventually, some poor bastard came in, saw me, and ran out shouting for a doctor. Well, in next to no time, I was surrounded by three or four people trying to "bring me round" and when I groggily "regained conciousness", I was put in a wheelchair and whipped straight through, skipping a bunch of people in the queue as it were.
I don't know what painkillers they gave me (injected into my butt-cheek as it happens) but in seconds, I was pain-free and looking at the flowers on the wall, watching them sway in the breeze. High as a friggin kite, and totally out of my gourd.
My sister came to see me later on, and brought me a red-head, instead of grapes. Which was nice and different. Guess she'd heard about the Florence Nightingale effect and wanted to see it in action.
Turned out my self-diagnosis was wrong, and I was missing the two key symptoms for appendicitis. High white cell count in the blood sample, and high temperature.
What I had instead, (added with collapsing veins, moving pain, and red blood cells in a urine sample) and 6 X-Rays later, turned out to be a kidney stone shard, which had decided to move down the the tubes, but had gotten turned around, and ripped the tube on the way down and out.
If you can be bothered to think about that, you might approach some understanding of the levels of pain I'm talking about here.
Here's a handy hint for those who play NeverWinterNights... Save your game frequently.
Not because it's particularly difficult (it's not) or that you die often and easily (you don't). No, the reason you should save often is because the game is so FUCKING BUGGY it should never have been released to the public.
I've worked in software testing, and I've lead teams of QA engineers, and I can honestly say I would have sacked the people responsible for testing this piece of shit without a second thought, if it had been within my power to do so. Hell, I'd fire 'em on Christmas Eve if need be.
And not in the metaphorical sense
The news just came in about an hour ago. Bob Hope, legendary entertainer, has finally passed away, at the ripe old age of 100.
I guess we all knew it was coming. On his birthday, he reportedly said to his family: "I'm so old, they've cancelled my blood type." After George Burns had managed to hang on to see his 100th birthday, I had wondered if Bob would do the same. The recent birthday celebrations they held in his honour were something to watch. Though I cynically wondered if many of those wishing him well were of the opinion that he was just an old fogey, not worth their time.
It's a sad thing, but a lot of people don't seem to appreciate or realise that Bob Hope was timeless in the truest sense of the word. It didn't matter if you were a contemporary, a child of the 30's, 40's, 50's, 60's, 70's, or whatever. Bob Hope could make you laugh. He was incredibly quick witted, and had masterful delivery.
When I was very young, maybe 4 or 5, I remember thinking even then that so-called comedy fare, (in Black and White) like Laurel and Hardy or the 3 Stooges or the little rascals, or Charlie Chaplin, or Harold Lloyd, just left me cold. I didn't think they were funny at all. But Bob Hope and Bing Crosby in the Road movies were accessible to me, even at a very young age.
When I was older, in my teens, I saw a lot of his movies again, and appreciated them on a whole new level. In fact, all through my life it has been a constant for me, that if I see a Hope movie on the telly, I'll sit down and watch it and laugh.
One of my prize possessions is a collection of old Radio shows which were broadcast on the AFN during the war. (That's WWII for those who don't know.) And while shows like "The Whistler" our "You Bet Your Life" still have a certain charm and a few good moments not all of which are nostalgic, it is the Bob Hope shows that I listen to most regularly.
I know Bill Hicks used to joke that his father compared him to Bob Hope. "Bob Hope doesn't have to use the F-Word." "Yeah Dad, well Bob Hope doesn't have to play the shitholes that I do." I'd like to think that young comedians today still had some respect for their legendary elders. Not because they are old, but because in some cases they have earned it in spades. He's earned more awards than any other entertainer in history. Except he never received the one he most wanted - an Oscar for acting. I think the Oscars next year will feature him extensively. Too little too late, IMO.
I remember that when he was hosting it in 1968, he joked: "Welcome to the Academy Awards. Or as it's known in my house - Passover."
I'm a big fan of comedy. I don't think there's enough laughter in the world. And it doesn't matter if it's Richard Pryor, Bill Hicks, Sam Kinison, Groucho Marx, George Burns or Bob Hope. Intelligent witty humour should never go out of style.
I hate Sunday's. Ever since I was a child, when Sunday meant the end of the weekend, a return to school the following day, a compulsary early night, doing all the homework I'd ignored since Friday afternoon, and of course, going to church. In many ways, Sunday was the worst day of the week. In the calandar we traditionally use, Sunday is the last day of the week, but in other calandars, it is the begining of the week. The first day. How much would that suck to have the week start off so badly?
Of course, a lot of people hate Monday for similar reasons... going back to work, Monday morning hangover, the long interminable week ahead. It just seems a pity that the day we have put aside for worship should happen on such an otherwise shitty day as well.
Saturday, for similar reasons to the above, was always my favourite day. It was MY day. When I was young, it was the one day that was totally mine, unencumbered by work, homework or religious observation. It was stay-up-late day. When I was older, it was party night. Stay out until dawn night. Pub day. Sports day. Saturdays were just the best.
So here I am in front of a PC on a boring wet Sunday, while yesterday was a great and glorious sunny Saturday.
I took the family out for a meal yesterday. Went to a nice resteraunt and had what was quite possibly the best meal of my life. I felt like I didn't need to eat for about 24 hours afterwards. I was pleased to be able to get one of my Dad's sisters to come along as well, so although my brother is away at the moment it was a nice familial get together. Ostensibly, we were celebrating my Dad's good news. Included in that, I guess, were the twin results of my getting a new job and coming into some money.
Though I have obviously got debts to get rid of, there were a few things I wanted to do as "treats" with the cash. First, obviously, take everyone out for a nice meal. Second, I want to get myself personal perk. I'm thinking of getting a set of binoculars (for Astronomy, so probably a 7x50 pair) or else the Season 2 and 3 Family Guy DVD's. Will make a decision tomorrow when the shops open.
I just got the word about 15 minutes ago from my Dad, that the results of the biopsy show that the tumor is dead.
FUCKING A!!
Suffice to say, I'm beyond pleased. I fully expect to go out this evening and drink myself into a coma. I rang my brother in Amsterdam and told him, and my sister knows as well. Still have a few other phone calls to make, but it's a nice task to have some good news to share.
There is one more procedure still to be done, which is fairly routine, (although at his advanced age, every procedure carries risks) which is to remove the glands in his neck. It's a necessary thing apparently, but routine and quite common.
I feel like a huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I certainly feel a couple of dozen kilos lighter than before.
yada yada yada
Okay, so as titles go, that's not the most original. Every dude and his uncle is lovin' the old Hulk-smash thing right now. Tonight is going to be my night to see the jolly green giant do his thing. I'm actually kind of nervous about seeing it. I've been waiting for a decent superhero movie for AGES, and I've hated most that have come down the pike. Xmen was okay, X2 was pretty cool, but I thought Daredevil and Spiderman were poor. DD especially. I guess what I hated most was the way people were plugging it as being a "realistic" movie, in that he feels pain, is addicted to painkillers, bleeds etc... Well whoop-de-fucking-do. As soon as I saw him leaping 50 feet without turning his ankles to gello, I was ready to walk out of the fucking cinema.
I can buy suspension of disbelief. I can watch things like Charlies Angels and enjoy it, because they generally stick to their own self-written rules. But DD (like Angel the series) seems to claim to adhere to one set of rules, and then doesn't. Rules are thrown about all over the place. I hate that. Pick a fucking reality and STICK to it, okay?
So tonight, Hulk is going to do his thing. And I hope it's great. I hope it rocks my world. And I hope it's at the least consistant. I'm not a purist, I don't care if it's not a gamma-bomb that does the deed. I don't care if the Hulk isn't grey when we first see him. Just tell a good consistant story.
Ang Lee is a terrific director. I loved the Ice Storm, and Crounching Tiger made me gasp and cry at all the right moments. I've tried to remain spoiler free about the Hulk, but I've heard that the movie had a huge opening, and then dropped off the face of the earth due to bad word of mouth. I'd like to believe that was because the vast majority of the American audience was "thick" or that the studio hadn't a clue how to promote an intelligent character piece, so they advertised a "hulk smasheroo" and that that's not what the movie is about. I'd like to believe these things, but I dunno.
I'll post my thoughts later.
Much later
It's not a great movie, but it's not bad. At least, not in the way that DD and Spidey were bad.
Ang Lee is a good director, but I felt at times that maybe he was overusing the "I've got a new wipe!" thing. The acting was quite good all around, and the directing and soundtrack were also good, though the sound of the Hulk's roar and voice failed to impress. And there was an enourmous over abundance of green in this movie. And I'm not talking about a green filter over some scenes. I'm talking green objects. Everywhere. In a film where the main character is 12' tall and green, you'd think we'd have some other colours involved to give the rods and cones in the eye a break. But no. There was more green in this movie than in the 3 Matrix films combined. Ang did everything except have the movie take place on a Saint Patricks Day weekend. Maybe he'd never heard of that particular holiday.
Where this film failed was in other areas. Lighting for one. The night scenes were WAY too dark, and I was itching for a remote control so that I could up the brightness and contrast. Maybe it was necessary to disguise shoddy CGI work, or maybe it was just the theatre I was in. But it stunk. And it made working out what was going on in the end virtually impossible.
I liked the cameos, though Stan Lee is so obvious he might distract people from noticing the original hulk himself, Lou Ferrigno. And the CGI on the Hulk himself, was passable. Not as good as Gollum, but miles better than anything George Lucas has come up with. It still wasn't "real" but it was totally acceptable for the movie itself. By far, in my opinion, the best CGI effect was in the final transformation to Bruce in San Francisco, as he walks towards Betty.
Watching the CGI hulk rampage in San Francisco, a couple of shots made it obvious how they were "Action Man"ing the jolly green giant. Every muscle on this dude is like 50 times bigger than normal, but you can't tell where is dick is in trousers that must be unfeasibly tight? (I'm sure there's going to be a hentai version where Betty Ross tries to ride the green pony.) Anyway, it made me paraphrase Peter Venkmans line.... "The guy's a geek, and in San Fran. We get him laid, we won't have any problems."
The movie really falls apart in terms of the story. For one thing, the plot was two-dimensional, as is possibly fitting for a comic book translation. For another, it often didn't make sense in what it was doing. I never understood why Bruce turns into the Hulk the first time. Nothing apparently sets him off. No explanation is ever given for how he can tell where Betty is over hundreds of miles away. And as for the whole Absorbing Man finish, well that was just preposterous.
Where the movie suceeded was in most of the early parts, and the first half. It works as a character piece. Considering the word Hulk was used only once that I noticed, and considering how little the Hulk is actually in the movie, it might almost have been better to try and give the movie a different name. Okay, that would have been impossible for so many reasons, but basically, the Hulk is not the focus of this movie. It is misleading, I think, to have "Hulk" as the title.
It's not a movie I would watch a second time. At least, not unless I had a remote in my hand. So I'll wait for the TV version, probably.
No, I'm not talking about P2P software
Does Intellectual Property cover all ideas? If so, I'll need a waiver for blatantly stealing this blog entry from that notorious rascal Puck.
Alignment: Chaotic Good characters are independent types with a strong belief in the value of goodness. They have little use for governments and other forces of order, and will generally do their own things, without heed to such groups.
Race: Elves are the eldest of all races, although they are generally a bit smaller than humans. They are generally well-cultured, artistic, easy-going, and because of their long lives, unconcerned with day-to-day activities that other races frequently concern themselves with. Elves are, effectively, immortal, although they can be killed. After a thousand years or so, they simply pass on to the next plane of existance.
Primary Class: Mages harness the magical energies for their own use. Spells, spell books, and long hours in the library are their loves. While often not physically strong, their mental talents can make up for this.
Secondary Class: Bards are the entertainers. They sing, dance, and play instruments to make other people happy, and, frequently, make money. They also tend to dabble in magic a bit.
Detailed Results:
Law & Chaos:
Good & Evil:
Race:
Class:
Law ----- (5)
Good ---- (17)
Human ---- (5)
Half-Elf - (1)
Neutral - (-1)
Neutral - (-5)
Elf ------ (11)
Fighter - (-1)
Chaos --- (7)
Evil ---- (-1)
Halfling - (-5)
Ranger -- (2)
Dwarf ---- (1)
Paladin - (-1)
Half-Orc - (-2)
Cleric -- (1)
Gnome ---- (3)
Mage ---- (7)
Druid --- (-2)
Thief --- (1)
Bard ---- (7)
Monk ---- (1)
All in all there are some cool similarities there to a character I used to play. Liked that test a lot, especially since it brought back so many memories of RPG's from years and years ago.
They were a fantastic way to trigger the imagination, and made magic and sorcery so much cooler than something like Harry Potter could ever hope to be. It's the sort of feeling you can't explain to the uninitiated... How during a marathon session, you don't see the room any more. You don't see the dice. You don't know about "look up tables" or "grievous hits". You're there! In the marshes of the dead, on your way to the Skeleton King, nursing a companion who's bleeding profusely from his wounds, and hoping like fuck that the ranger in your group will be back soon with some herbs that will help the wounded. Or at least give him pain relief so he will shut the fuck up.
The first full length story I wrote was based on an adventure and characters my friends and I played with. Good days. Good times.
Mithrandir : Dwarf, mage, college of the Sorcery of the Mind.
Esch : Human, Ranger, the only one who knew the location of the Fountain of Youth
Shea : Half-Orc, Assassain, with a seemingly inexhaustable supply of grenados.
Those are names I'll remember for as long as I live.
thought Citizen Wilson, seconds before someone blew his head off.
I'll admit it. I'm a huge fan of Big Brother. Not the all seeing eye dictator, obviously. I'm talking about the TV show. It's been exported all around the world now, and I've spent WAY too much time following the antics of various housemates all over the globe.
Why do I love it so much? Well, it's because I find the cultural dynamics of each house to be absolutely fascinating. Perhaps it's something you can only appreciate when you watch the housemates from more than one house. Be a sort of "uber" Big Brother as it were. It probably goes without saying that most contestants who enter the house, do so with some sort of game plan (of which, denying the existance of a plan is a favoured tactic). But the thing is, when you get people drunk or when they just begin to get angry and frustrated and stir crazy, you can see a lot more of their true selves than they would ordinarliy admit to.
Granted, my country doesn't have a "Big Brother" show, so I don't really know what it's like to have my country represented by a bunch of assholes. (Oh, wait, that's our government's job.) And possibly the Scotish people wouldn't like to think they are represented by prudish hypocrite Cameron or that Irish people are represented by drunken thug Ray or whatever. But that's not what I'm getting at here. It's not about drawing conclusions of representative sampling from a few starstruck wannabes onto the population at large. It's about seeing what traits are praised by the citizens of that country. Which ones cause outrage. Which ones gain popularity. That can be very revealing indeed.
Of all the countries that I've seen however, only one man stands above it all as just the top-dog, coolest of the cool, and all round super nice guy. That is, of course, Jon Tickle of the UK House.
He's one of those people who's minds are always working, always ticking over on something new. He's honest and forthright, and scathing when dealing with hypocrites or the Tabloid Press. And when he was evicted from the house a few weeks back, the first words his brother said to him at the door were "You're the most famous man in Britain!" All things considered, (such as the amount of TV coverage he got upon eviction) it was amazing how he didn't let it swell his head.
Last week, the UK did something unprecedented and voted for an evicted housemate to go back into the house. In under two hours, more than 500,000 people voted Jon to go back in. That's more people than generally vote for Big Brother in an entire week. The man is a legend. And since the edited TV coverage never does him justice, here's a few of my favourite Jon moments.
Big Brother: Would housemates please ensure their microphones are properly positioned.
Jon: Shouldn't that be positioned properly, shouldn't the thingy come after the thingy?
Big Brother: Would Jon please come to the diary room.
Jon: Oh God, I'm being told off for correcting her grammar!
-------
Jon: I don't know if you noticed but all of us woke up with underwear on our heads.
-------
When giving Nominations to Big Brother in the Diary Room.
Jon: Have we spoken before? When I stop speaking it means I'm done. (further pause)
Jon: Now its your turn to speak
-------
Jon: Naughty tomato plant!
(You had to see it to believe it.)
-------
Big Brother: How has your day been, Jon?
Jon: Well, I just finished reading King Lear, and they're all dead. Apparently that happens a lot in Shakespeare.
-------
To Cameron, the religious nutter
Jon: If you want a really good laugh, read Revelations.
-------
Nush: Do you know why you've never met someone? Cos you can't love yourself...
Jon: I do love myself. To the Nth degree. I think I'm fantastic. I think that no-one else will ever match up. (pause) If I could marry myself, I would.
-------
Nush: Have you ever seen a lettuce like that in your life?
Jon: No. I thought I'd been around, but...
-------
Nush: Whats everyone thinking about at the moment?
Scott: I'm thinking whether Steph and Cameron are ever gonna get it on.
Nush: I was thinking that too! *laughs* What are you thinking about Jon?
Jon: I was thinking why 2/3rds of that salt is potassium chloride because surely.... **Nush & Scott erupt with laughter** ... surely potassium is a more reactive metal than sodium and therefore anything bad about sodium chloride must be doubly worse with potassium chloride.
Dad, Brother, Gardening, John Holmes and Writing.
It's been a rough few days. I've been hesitant to make an entry, mostly because it's getting to the stage now where I'm never sure how much I can safely say about my Dad's condition. He was due to go in to hospital again, for a procedure. It looks like they will have to remove some glands from his neck (lymph glands, I believe) and he was taken in on Sunday when they finally had an available bed.
Well, he's back home today. They didn't remove anything, but have taken a swab of the tumor and a CT scan, and we'll have the results on Friday fortnight. As much as it is a great relief to ME to have him home, it is even more of a relief for him. He was really convinced when he left on Sunday that he would never come home again. It was heartbreaking to see him say goodbye to my mother, and thank her for the decades of married life they have shared. It was also strange to see him asking her to pray like she'd never prayed before. He's a self-proclaimed atheist, but it was almost like for a moment he believed there was a God, just that He wasn't going to listen to a fox-hole atheist. My mother is a life-long devout though.
He's always seemed like a strong man, both in character and conviction. But it's something else to face the possibility that you're going to die in the immediate future. I know it's churning him up inside, but he's not one to share that with anyone, even his wife.
I guess it's one of the things I've inherited from him, as I take my personal privacy to an extreme degree.
My brother and his girlfriend flew in last weekend to spend a few days with him before he went in. It was great to see them over. As I believe I've mentioned before, she is from New Zealand, so in an effort to make her feel more at home, we had a barbeque on Saturday and Sunday. Plenty to drink, as you can imagine, and it made me feel particularly pleased that my recent efforts had made the garden presentable.
We had a slug infestation, which I managed to deal with. Harsh chemicals and pesticides are the only way to go. After I had treated the entire garden with some blue pellet stuff (a gardening technical term) every little colony space (about 8 of them dotted around the garden) had white viscous slug trail stains scattered all over. As I was hosing the place clean, I remarked to my brother that it looked like John Holmes had jizzed all over the grass. He thanked me for that particular image. Guess my penchant for the unusual turn of phrase is undiminished.
I've still been unable to write something (storywise) which hasn't been tinged with meloncholy and melodrama, but I'm trying. I still have a few ideas which I haven't been able to commit to paper properly, including an idea based on cross between cyberspace and the Neil Gaiman "Dreaming" concept,, concerning subdermal PDA's, neural links, and an IPv6 address category for lucid dreamers using their PDA to access the internet while asleep. I'm probably not doing it justice in a few lines like that, but I think it's a neat idea, if I can only find a story for it to fit into.
No sooner am I done with my latest entry, I edit it to add the comments field, and all of a sudden I can't publish no more.
I think I screamed for a few minutes. There was a sort of numbing blackness, a loud thumping noise that may have been my blood pressure, then blessed silence and darkness.
When I came to, I realised that the entire Blogger site had gone down on me quicker than a Dutch hooker.
So at least it's not just me. posted by Manchild at 1:26 AM
Obviously, lamenting loudly to the universe sometimes works.
Which kind of brings me around nicely to some good news. After months of unemployment, rising debt levels, questionable personal health checks and some rather shitty personal life changes, things have begun to turn around. And in the curious way the universe has of doing it, it happened when I stopped focusing on things.
I now have a job. Yay me. What's more, this particular job (while not as well paying as I'd like) suits me in location, hours and type. Plus, I'll get to work on some areas and skills which could do with some care and attention. (e.g. People skills.) This will come as no surprise to those who know me in the flesh, and through my .net presence, but I'm not what anyone would call a people person. I mean, I CAN be, I just don't do it.
It'll be fun to use that particular skill and develop it in a new way.
More tomorrow, assuming Blogger doesn't go apeshit during the night.
Fucking blogger. I am seriously considering moving to another system.
Today, even though I question whether it's worth it (or if I can afford it) I tried to upgrade to Blogger Pro in an effort to get some god-damned tech support.
They can't even get "Blogger Pro" ordered now, their system is so shit.
You suck Blogger. And I say that as someone who knows computers and the .net pretty well.
I know Windows Internet Explorer 6 is chock full of things I don't like. Little tentacles of evil running all the way back to Redmond. I stayed with Internet Explorer 5.5 for ages, using Opera for Browsing and Netscape for Blogging.
But ever since Blogger decided to have a fit everytime I logged in, regardless of the Browser, I finally said fuck it, and allowed the useless Windows Update thing to drag me reluctantly up to version 6 sp1.
Did it work?
Did it fuck.
I still can't publish anything, and I've no idea when (if ever) these words will see the light of day.
I was told the other day that Bill Hicks, legend and comedic genius, has recently released some new CD's. I was naturally sceptical. The poor guy has been dead for a few years. But yeah, it turns out that his estate or whatever is doing the releasing. And amazingly, they claim it's mostly new un-released material. Talk about your pleasant surprises. If only my credit card demons weren't after my soul right now, I'd have the damn things bought on Amazon. Oh well. I will not Kazaa these beauties, as I firmly believe talent like his deserves to be recognised by climbing up the best-sellers charts, and who knows, if the estate continues to make money out of releasing his old material, then they may do so again.
Yeah, 10 years from now, I'll be buying the platinum edition of "Bill Hicks, the shopping list" or whatever they can fish out of the old dead horse.
That's weird. Seems to take forever and a day to publish though. Hopefully that's a first time back type thing.
I've been playing around with the design elements on the page, and basically, I like bits of it. I've put some stuff on the right hand side which I'll keep semi up to date. In an effort to try something new and not just steal ideas from other people, I've put in an entry for weirdest recent dream, and projects I'm currently working on. Not sure how that's going to work out over time, but I believe in evolution, so let's see where it goes.
I feel like after such a long absence, there should be a more dramatic opening or something. But there’s not. No fanfares, no trumpets, not even a lone tin whistle. It’s been two months or thereabouts since my last entry, and for the moment, I feel like the long forgotten Catholic of my youth making his confession for the first time in years. “It has been ‘x’ years since my last confession” etc..
In the keeping of such a mood, I have some things to confess about why I’ve been away for so long. And not just from the blog. I’ve neglected friends, emails, many sites, many forums, and quite a few people.
Also in keeping with the mood of a confessional, I’ll be asking peoples forgiveness for being such a reclusive shit. And as the J-man said, those who’s sins you forgive, are forgiven. Too bad not everyone I know is the forgiving sort. Ah well.
As someone who respects both privacy and anonymity, there’s a certain amount I feel comfortable discussing in a blog, and obviously somethings I will not discuss. But I’ll be as free and frank as I can here.
It’s been a rough two months, in a number of different ways. And in case anyone is wondering, my father has not died in the interim. We do not yet know whether or not the cancer is in remission. But that’s obviously been a factor in the trouble of the last few weeks.
I’ve learned something about myself too, which is good I suppose, even if it’s not laudable. I don’t think anyone likes learning about the more unpleasant aspects of themselves. What I’ve learned is that for many years, I’ve had a tendency to blame work or the job for the failure of friendships, relationships, etc… as the job forced me into extended periods of isolation. Working long hours, and all the stress that that entails.
I know now that that is not entirely true. My job was a crutch. Something I leaned on for support, during times when I was stressed by other things in my life. By creating stress in my job, and managing it, it gave me the comforting illusion that I was dealing with my stress, with my problems. In actual fact, I was not. The original problem, the original stress, usually remained.
Except when the source of that stress was something like a relationship. In those cases, my overworked and extended isolation more often than not drove the other person away, and with the source of stress gone, I was free to relax at work.
It sounds much more machialvellian when I write it out like that in a cool and logical manner. It really wasn’t. I had no idea I was doing it at the time. And I’m sure I have hurt a lot of people in my life by doing this.
Since last year, I haven’t had any work. I’ve been looking for work, but to be honest, not as hard as I could have. I’ve spent a lot of my time at home with my father, obviously. And it has been in the last two months in particular that I’ve noticed my tendency to withdraw and isolate myself as a way of trying to cope with stress and difficulty.
I used to throw myself into creative pursuits, too. Like writing. Writing a blog entry, for example. Writing an email. Writing posts, or speeches, or stories. I have an unfinished story on my desktop, still labeled “Dead Inside.doc” which I haven’t touched since I emailed it to LilAngel for comments so long ago.
Everything I’ve tried to write has been dark and depressing, and served only to depress me further.
My father is ignoring his medical advice, has started drinking heavily again, and has decided he doesn’t want any more treatment if the tumor is not in remission.
My mother is … not well.
And it is weighing down on me with all the smothering suffocation of heavy responsibility that I will be … what? Alone? The patriarch of the family? Responsible for my kin? Responsible for me, my life, and all the fucked up things that happen to me? None of those things. Not really.
The death of my parents (and I make no bones about it, they are both dying) lends a certain shape to my own remaining years. A dull prostrate form lying out before me. And I fear I can see its end. It is a disquieting thing to see. I’ve been close to death a few times in my life (three off hand I can think of) but they were sudden and unexpected, with the outcome turning on momentary chance. This has the air of inevitability. And I do not want to face those remaining years alone.
I do not like giving voice to these thoughts, aside from their pomposity and melodrama. They are internal - private - and I am unsure how universally common they are, and so unsure how they may be understood. Truthfully, I do not like even giving them an internal voice, but even I have to sleep and dream.
With no work to distract me, I have had more time to brood, to dwell on self-destructive lines of thought. And I have sought refuge in other passtimes, work substitutes if you like.
I’ve gone back to college, for example. (A mature student, naturally, at the English Open University.) I have begun work on a new degree (Biotechnology and genetics will be the next big thing, circa 2010 – 2012 in the same way the internet was the last big thing circa 1996 – 2002) and I’ve been flying through books on the human genome.
I’ve punished myself on the training for the marathon, and messed up my knees and heels more than once.
I’ve taken to gardening, and the garden at the back of the house has not looked as good in years, though I am unsatisfied with it, and may destroy it utterly and build it up again from scratch.
I have surrounded myself with detritus from my youth, stuff I had either planned to throw away or forgotten I possessed.
I don’t find any “surcease of sorrow” as Poe would say, in any of these things. They occupy the silent times; they prevent the mind from turning on itself like Ourobourus.
I have not been out of the house much. I have not spoken to friends on the phone. I have not seen friends in the flesh. I went out once when my brother flew home for his birthday and it was not a good day for me.
I’m reminded of a phrase (which in English would mean)
There is no colour in my sky* so I must learn to paint.
( * The translation may read as “world”. It’s a contextual thing.)
And I guess that’s what I’m doing now. I haven’t fixed anything of what was wrong. I haven’t found anything that will make things better. I’m still looking at times ahead, and knowing they will be hard. But I’m done with the idelness. I’ve done as much as I can do, while being on my own. I will begin to paint again. My friends are the colours on the canvas of my life.
And if that isn’t the title of a crappy self-help book, it probably should be.
Yesterday, my dad was let out of the hospital, and he's now home. Even though I had been down to see him everyday, it's a huge relief to have him home.
I've noticed a few things about him though, which I didn't see when I was down in the Ward with him. His mind isn't really all there, which I hope is a function of the medication. He's always remained sharp, despite his advanced years. But now, he's forgetful, starts sentences and then loses track of what he was saying, puts glasses down and forgets where they are. The final straw came this afternoon, when he picked up the remote control and tried to speak into it like it was a phone.
Now I know he's on some incredibly powerful pain medication, but that kind of worries me. I'd hate to think he was losing his mind at this stage of the game.
His sister came over to visit today, which was nice, and my brother will be flying home next week to spend the weekend here. Again, that should give him something to look forward too.
I've been mostly able to deal with the problems here at home by focusing on the lifes of other people, family and friends. It's the best way to hammer home the point that life goes on, and allows me to gain some perspective on things. It's really the best (if not the only) way friends can be supportive right now, so my thanks go out to all those who help distract me from my life.
Risible, more like.
Alright, so I had nothing better to do and I watched the season finale of John Doe. So sue me. Actually, I should probably sue myself. I think I'd win.
I know I missed most of the season, but the recap at the top of the show told me pretty much everything I needed to know to appreciate the episode. If appreciate is the right word.
Futureman Crewmember Daniels of Enterprise plays an NSA agent who helps Doe, in what has to be some of the most convoluted and badly plotted scenes to have graced my television in some time.
There is a mystery man who we only see in profile for most of the show, and I have to admit that I was banking on him turning out to look exactly like our man John. Not so. The man turned out to be Digger
Surprised? Yeah, but also not really bothered. Since the show is most likely for the chop, I'd like to expound my idea of what John Doe was, and if anyone wants to share theirs in a comment that's cool.
I thought the show had a religious feel to it, and the scene in the library in the pilot episode reminded me of the classroom scene in Omen II. Damien, the young boy anti-christ, is unaware of his heritage, and in a history class gets into a confrontation with the teacher. It's very similar.
Anyway, it occurred to me that John Doe might be the literal anti-christ type figure. Some trivial notes : The Phoenix rises in flames, and is immortal. Doe was found naked on burned ground. Although helping people now, it would be an interesting slant to make his "destiny" evil. The non-deaf non-mute tells Doe that it would have been better if he'd been told the truth early on, but now he is not receptive to it. The connections with Istanbul.
All these things kind of made me think in that direction, although his scar reminds me of a symbol for an eclipse. The half circle is a planet, the small intersecting circle is another body, and the two lines represent a geometric sign for equivalent distance. Kind of like how the moons size and distance are exactly sufficient to cover the much larger, much further away, sun.
Yeah, it's completely whack job crazy, but it makes about as much sense as anything else on that show. I won't be sad to see it go.
No, it's not misspelled. About two years ago, Joss Whedon began a comic series spin off of his TV show "Buffy". Since I had heard rumours and stories to the effect that it was kind of linked in to the Season 7 finale, I thought it might be worth a read. But I'd never bothered to pick it up.
It's not that I think comics are childish and no self respecting adult would read them. Far from it. I guess it's just because I haven't read a comic in something like ten years, and back then I was a Marvel guy through and through. Superman could kiss my ass. Anything Marvel written by Chris Claremont, Frank Miller and the like, were the only things worth reading.
It became obvious though that Marvel couldn't continue to exist on the path it was heading, and I jumped ship like a lot of people.
Anyway, today I saw the first six issues of Fray going cheap, and rather than read them all in the shop (which always looks bad) I said fuck it, and took them home.
The storyline is very iffy. I can't really tell it's written by Whedon. It's not witty or engaging enough. And you can tell sci-fi is not his forte. The world he writes is more likely to be similar to 20 years from now, rather than 200. But there are some nice moments of slayer mythology in there.
Given how predictable some elements of the story are, I'm kind of amazed he took as long as he did with the later issues. I understand there was something like an 8 month wait on the last issue. I can only assume that it has something meaningful to the tv show in it, and he was reluctant to let it go, or he is really busy with other stuff. The story practically writes itself.
I'm not particularly inspired to go out and buy issues 7 and 8, which isn't a good sign.
So I spoke to a few people about my plan for next year. For the most part, they all think it's a good idea. As always, there were a few dissenting voices.
For one thing, there are plenty of other marathons I could run much closer to home, than actually going all the way to London. It's a little hard to explain why I feel that that is the one I should go for. It's not just that the London Marathon has a certain cachet but more to do with that particular course being the one that inspired me in the first place.
There's plenty of good reasons not to go to London. For one thing, there's no guarantee of getting an entry accepted. Also, my sister pointed out that it's unlilkely any friends or family will be able to go to support me. A fair point. But having stood by the side of the road at the last one, I noticed how people are incredibly supportive of the runners in general. And while I'm sure it's nice to see a friendly face appear every couple of miles (thanks to the Tube and the DLR) I don't think it's too important to the overall running of the race. Besides which, I'm sure my brother will be there.
Today my Dad went back into hospital, which was as scheduled. I went in with him, and stayed a while. He had brought Easter Eggs for the nurses, which they liked. (He's a real old fashioned gent.) We played some pool, and he cleared five balls in a row at one point, proving he hasn't lost his touch.
Now I'm not the fittest guy you'd meet on the street. My gym membership is still paid up, but before today, I hadn't been in at least a few weeks. And most of my lifestyle now is spent either in front of some keyboard typing, or walking from point A to B. I don't have a lot of time for running or cycling anymore.
That wasn't always the case though. In my more youthful days, I used to be a long distance runner. While I never had the physique for sprints, I ran a lot of long distance races, getting to the Nationals one year. My trophies are still gathering dust on a shelf somewhere, and they haven't been added to in over 20 years or thereabouts. But I remember how good it used to feel, pounding away at the track with the sun beating down over head.
When I was in London the other week, my brother and I spent some time near the 17 mile marker on the London Marathon. It occurred to me at the time (though I didn't voice it) that it was a pity I had never run the Marathon in my younger days, when I was properly trained and had the exhuberance of youth to my advantage.
Then today, I saw a byline on the news that Michael Watson (the Former World Middleweight Boxer who suffered severe brain damage in career ending title fight with Chris Eubank) has finished the London Marathon after SIX DAYS.
And it really kind of hit me. It doesn't matter what time it takes you to complete the course. So long as you don't quit. And money raised is still money raised in a good cause, no matter how badly the race is run.
So I've decided (and I'm stating it here and now to re-enforce it) that I'm going to run the London Marathon next year. I'll be talking to friends and family about raising money for Cancer research (obvious really, given my Dad and all) in the next few weeks. But for now, today's session at the gym was a good start. Sure I'm not fit yet, but I'm not chronically unfit either. I'd like to get around the course in a reasonable time (something like 3 hours) but it doesn't matter if I don't.
Random drive by musings on German theme
My brother arrived in Germany the other day. He got through to me by cell phone, probably doing over 100k.p.h on the autobahn. I know he was planning to rent a big stonking 3 litre car for the weekend, and while he doesn't have his full license yet his girlfriend drives like a woman possessed.
She used to live in Germany, so they're going to stop by friends she knew. They all think my brother is German, because he has a Germanic name. Naturally, they are in for a surprise.
I like the Germans as a people. I've spent quite a lot of time there, and I was in Haar for the solar eclipse in 1999. Yet as friendly as some of their citizens can be, and as amazing as some of the architecture can be, (and as tasty as the beer can be) I can never forget about the war. Its imprint can still be seen in some of the unlikeliest of places.
They've not glamourised their history. You can visit the concentration camps, like Dachau (as I did) or the Buergerbräukeller beer house in Munich (site of the 1923 failed coup d'etat). Some of their shops and beer houses are run by old people who were alive during the war. If you don't speek German, and can find a few friendly people who speak English, they have some interesting stories to tell. Not so much about the war, but about how people viewed the Nazi party in the thirties and how they became popular and powerful.
Some very good text books have been written on the subject, but they are quite dry a lot of the time. I read a few when I was in school, but a lot has changed since then (including the fall of the Berlin Wall) and really there is nothing like talking to those who were there.
Similarly, when I worked in Switzerland with Autodesk, I was working with a translator from the former FDR (East Germany) who had been a soldier when the wall came down. It was interesting to hear how things had been perceived by the average Joe behind the wall. The day the wall came down, the troops were told to arm up and get ready. The average soldier thought this was it. They were being attacked and it was going to mean all-out war. A few paniced. And it turned out it wasn't war, but freedom (after a fashion.)
Germany's a nice place. Friendly people and fascinating history, even if it is scarred by recent events. I hope my brother enjoys his time there.
My sister, religious by nature, was observing the Lentan Fast. Not out of any regard for the poor in Africa or some other charitable cause. She gave up chocolate because she wanted to lose a few inches. Completely silly of course, since she's rake thin. (All that dancing.)
So she's been collecting all the chocs and bars and sweets that people normally give her, or she buys herself, and has been storing them in the back of the fridge. Yes, you guessed it. She's going to gorge herself silly on Sunday.
I know she has a bit of sweet tooth. We all do in my family. But I've refrained from buying her an Easter Egg because the one thing she doesn't need right now is more chocolate.
Then last night, completely out of the blue (just as I was about to start cooking something fishy for dinner, it being Good Friday and all) she bought me dinner. (She's the only one who knows about the recent financial calamity.) What a gal.
So of course, I'll have to buy her the egg she wants.
All things considered, today was a good day. The weather held off, and continued to be unseasonably warm. This morning, I took a long walk to clear my head and think some things through. Then in the evening, I went down to the hospital to spend some time with my Dad.
It's a 90 minute trip to get to there, and another 90 minutes back. And all told, I was with him for around 5 hours or so. He's still very weak, and his voice is barely a cracked whisper. He's in the final stages of his radiation treatment; the one where they up the strength and narrow the focus of the beam.
We were able to hold a makeshift conversation. Me being patient, and him occasionally using a pen and paper when necessary. He's trying to eat some solid foods, not just to keep his weight up, but to convince the doctors that he doesn't need an operation to put tubes in his throat. He really doesn't want to go under the knife.
He can't go out in to the sunshine or sit by the lake which is just outside his ward. The skin around his neck and chest area is burned away and hence too sensitive. He has this yellow liquid gunk that he has to apply to his skin a few times a day, for protection.
So we sat and talked as best we could until the evening rolled around, as it always does, and we went into the television room to watch the sports. (Big game on tonight.) There is a selection of cable/satellite/digital channels in the room you see. No expense spaired.
I wasn't watching the game so much as I was watching him. My chair was a little behind his, and to the left. With my hand resting on his arm, I noticed how the tubes and needles (now removed) had bruised a lot of his skin. The mix and match colours of the yellow dye and purple bruises. His beard (more white than anything else) is to all intents and purposes, a goatee like my own. He's never had a beard in his entire life, and he hates it now. But they won't let a blade near his skin.
When the game was over, and we were preparing to go back into the ward, he mentioned that there was an excellent chance that he'd be coming home tomorrow. The doctors had told him he could come home for the Easter weekend. I was very happy to hear that.
I didn't tell him that this morning, I found out I had lost 6000 dollars. It didn't seem important.
Wednesday, December 17, 2003
