Aaaah... how cute

Skating on thin ice over charter renewal?

Kittens

Kittens.

Oh Yes.

Lots of em.

Blues Brothers 1066

Smite it!

white vibes

white vibes

white vibes

white vibes

Know Your Monsters

Know Your Monsters

Jog Dial Scum

Why netscape is better off dead. Jog dial navigation only works on professional grade editing systems, and i-pds as far as I can tell. It does not work on windows media player, or... sweet christ... a browser.

Barely in London At All

Looks like I live well outside the proper bit of London.

This is an almost good remix of a tube map. They haven't quite taken it as far as they should have done. And, let's face it, they have pissed on the spirit of Mr Harry Beck's design.

I wonder what the obsession with Tube Maps floating round the blogsphere is at the moment? Maybe it's just my particular little 'verse that's polluted with the meme. Too many system-think geeks with borderline Aspergers.

What would I redo the Tube Map as? Hmmm... an internal dialogue. Lines about Sexuality, realtionship to food, mother, father, office, lovelife... a nice idea. But I don't think my pun gland is up to it.

Merry Fucking Christmas.

Hey, it's my dad.

Hope springs eternal

If you hate Spam like I do,
you owe it to your self to try this program, and forward
this email to all of your friends which also hate Spam or
as many people possible. Together lets help clear the
Internet of Spam!


Sigh. Wishing deeply for some kind of digital shotgun today. Although I am fully expecting to be the recipient of our department's annual Piers Beckley Memorial Award for Pointless Emails.

So I'm guilty too.

Rushkoff's Bull

A demonstration of Predictive Psychology. It seems to work. It's science that is undistinguishable from magic.

Filthy Bum Sex

Beyond Tops and Bottoms: Correlations between Sex-Role Preferences and Physical Preferences for Partners among Gay Men

It's like, gay sex, but with graphs. Definately safe for work...

Readme

Ethnographic Mobile Design for Teenagers

One day I will give all of this up and make really nice short films.

Music Videos - they're what I really should be doing. Although I don't smoke enough dope to be creative these days.

Ars(e) longa, vita brevis.

I used to have an absolute passion for the work of Peter Greenaway. I loved the thickness of it - the interconnectedness, willfull obcurity, references, and generally the sheer fuck-you-I-know-more-about-art-than-you-ever-will ness of it all.

It aslo looks pretty.

Now, maybe one gets more stupid as one gets older. Or less... connected with themes. But I've just found his new interactive project. Frankly there isn't time in the world to catch up with whatever bee happens to have got in his bonnet this time. So, check out the Tulse Luper Suitcases by Peter Greenaway.

Bastard still draws like an angel though.

The Idler

The Idler:
Where does Emile Zola go to relax?
A J'acuzzi

What do you say if a poet and late show presenter offers you a waterproof sheet?
Ta paulin


Great half finished Gags.

Also now makes me want to force Lee'n'Jef to go on countdown, so they can be Carol Vorderman's bitter homos.

A (double starred)

The Book of Ratings - a lovely, simple idea coupled with fab writing. I like.

I must post a proper entry at some point soon - there's a lot to think about, and I'm being ill disciplined again.

The list in brief:
Work - fear and terror
Growing up at alarming rates
Divorce, and cohabitation - compare and contrast
Shyness and strangers
Leadership vs headless chickens
Friends in LA - on missing them.
Sticking pins into Fairies.

I hate Christmas

Quite a lot, actually.

And someone in my office has just ceremonially turned on fairylights around their monitor. With the switch thrown by someone who was once in a fairy liquid advert.

Hate, Hate, Hate, Hate.

Clue's in the title

BBFC recent classification decisions - always good reading. So, Roswell is being released on video (which will shut up those whining teenage girls, hurrah...).

But so is 'Gay Guys in Uniforms' and 'Massive Bi Dicks'.

I pitty the poor sap who has to watch and rate all the R18 vids. Because there's a huge ammount of it: eleven titles on 19th november. Which is a lot of porn for one day. Even by my standards.

What about chewing gum?

Walking and talking is bad for you.

Note to Self

Digital Noise reduction Photoshop filters

Like the Beetle ritual

Wired News: Feel Free to Jack Into My IPod

A friend of mine - my old art teacher - is a beetle enthusiast. One of the things she loved about them was the small ritual of waving to another beetle owner if you passed one on the road.

She is garrolous, like that, our Chris.

So I'm really interested by the ipod jacking article. I love technology that starts to impinge on lived reality (If you haven't seen it, check out bluejacking...). I think it could be a really interesting way to exchange EPG information once PVRs go mainstream - you just need a little set of 'personality flags' that tell another user who you are, and you could 'scan' for reccomendations in any crowded place. Combined with P2P technology, you could have a massively geographically distributed media sharing network.

Like Napster crossed with a slime mould.

No, really, that's a good thing.

Quick roundup

For those of you who occasionally drop by, heres a quick summary of things that I've been pointing my browser at over the last couple of weeks.

Fridge Poetry meets Ubergeek

The Sounds of the BBC Model B Microcomputer
(warning - may make you cry with 8 bit nostalgia)

Nigella's Kitchenware

The Sea at Spellingmistakescostlives

Lugnet - Lego for grownups. Found a shop in Kingston where you can buy Pik-n-Mix Brikkies. They do pink legos these days. That's just wrong.

The Ukes of Hazzard

Fungus of the Month - the Split Gill

More BBC sounds - with a Music 500

What Donald Duck did in the War

Tiny Weeny Ikkle Hamster! Just the cutest thing EVER!

Self Service Shopping

Self Service Shopping

I know I'm not posting much. I'm tired and uninspired. Such is life.

At least I actually managed to have sex this weekend. Woo.

One thing I'm a bit pissed off about - the darling beeb have just launched their new 'Media Selector' - aimed to feed broadband video only to UK LFP's. That's licence fee payers to those of you who were confused by that TLA.

This is a great thing - becasue we can't indefinately keep up the cost of streaming video to everyone everywhere, and it seems a bit unfair that the LFP pays for a bunch of freeloading yanks to watch clips. However, it's knackered the blogging community: It's almost impossible to provide a specific link to a piece of video on the BBC site, and if you manage it, it launches in a pop up, meaning no contextual navigation. Which means you can get the best bit of video in the world that everyone wants to send to their mates, but noone does. And if they do, their mates are stuck in limbo and won't scamper off and see other great BBC content.

Sigh.

This happens a lot - much BBC development is done by very cloistered coders in a central department, who forget about things like business need, or making CPS's quicker and easier to use than handcoding. Usability and elegance of code are stressed so much (not a bad thing in and of itself, you understand) that you end up with systems that provide a great (if boring to look at) service to the audience, but punish the poor people who have to type in the raw XML.

End to end joined up thinking is in short supply.

Great Cartoon

Rum and Monkey -Peeg

Belle de Jour

Belle de Jour Blog.

Just for my records, as she's already been b3tad.

Lard!

Now they've got Lard there.

It's a ploy to make me take out a full sub, isn't it?

Gooooooooooky

Mildly Diverting's choice of Googleage gets stranger.

It's now pack shots, McSweeneys, and SAUSAGES.

Now, partial as I am to a nice quality link (except for the lovage and apricot ones from Waitrose, which frankly taste like they've been stuffed with marshmallows and sick) - that's just a wee bit scary. I wonder if they're reading a cookie of related searches I've done? Or using the google toolbar to follow my movements?

Now I'm sounding like a cookie consipiracy theorist.

But I want to know, because it's getting spooky. Next thing there'll be a link to 'how to hide your cat from your landlord'.

Haptics and Biological Interfaces

Scotsman.com News - Scotland - Man who lost bionic arm waits to be rebuilt: "Scientists at Duke University in North Carolina, USA, said this month that brain implants that could allow severely disabled people to control prosthetic limbs with their minds could be ready for use within two years. "

It's a shame the man who 'test piloted' nerve controlled arms has had it taken away.

But i guess that he's better prepared than most to deal with the psychological effects.

And...

What's more, they're suggesting that Frankie Goes to Hollywood is a related search.

Now they're just scaring me.

Anoraks

Google adwordsare calling up a site called kagoul.com on this blog. Its a community site for UK gay men.

Weird. As if any Gay man would go somewhere associated with the least fashionable item of clothing since the terry-towel housecoat.

And... why me?

German Museum of Packaging

PRIL: "One morning in 1951 German housewives were roused by a commercial transmitted over the ether by radio: loud duck quacking sounded from the loudspeakers, followed by a soft female voice which sang, 'Pril softens water, Pril makes water wetter, Pril, Pril, Pril?' "

A German detergent. tested on Ducks.

Yes, having a slow day

Ian Atkins is excersising - a good thing, as his diet (yes, the atkins diet) is the kind of thing you assume those americans that have to be cut out of their own homes must eat to attain that level of terrifying obesity. Really, as someone who can happily stick away a litre of icecream and three portions of chinese at one sitting, it is humbling.

He's complaining that there are no fat women in the gym. Well... he thinks he has it bad as a boy. If you're a fat girl you have the disdain of the blokes, the faintly-tinged-with-pity disdain of the girls with the norwegian smiles, AND the problem of trying to use a running machine without your tits boucing so much you get motion sick.

That's why.

News: Vision of Frankie comforted kidnap victim

"Weeks later Franlie Howerd died.

Great reporting from the lovely Steve.

God, hippies annoy me. Almost as much as estate agents.

Making your readers happy

A link for Lee - they know zbornak, too.

By the way
1. My mum now referrs to you as 'that nice chap with the little beard'.
2. I've got purple alcohol so we can recreate that cocktail.
3. Come for tea on sunday

Yes, this is official recognition of the fact my blog has a readership of one.

Write your own religion

I rather like the World of Wonder Manifesto. They make good telly, and it comes out of their belief in trash. I particularly like the fact they believe that the avant garde and the underground aren't the obvious, but the crap.

I like that thought.

I should write my own manifesto.

Deep ASCII

This'll frighten the horses. (NSFW)

It's Deep Throat, rendered in ASCII.

It's like the matrix's wank fantasy.

You are [INSERT NUMBER] in a queue...

Callcentres are developing some kind of malign, emergent intelligence. They decide on the kind of service you get according to where you're ringing from.

Maybe that's why everything has been noticeably smoother since I moved to putney...

Halo, Dolly...

Video kills the radio star.

The world's first videogame sitcom.

Neo Darwinism and Science.

Humour is in the eye of the beholder.

I'm having irony problems again.

Technorati

A quick discussion in the office about Friendster and the general smallness of the world.

All of these cool new media creatives up here in town... Its a tiny little world - you're never more than a person or so away from a shared acquaintance.

And, it seems, the game du jour should be six degrees of Dave Green.

I think I may find this depressing. Because it means it's a clique. Which means little originality and a lot of self aggrandising bollocks. Oh, and because I'm fucking propagating it.

I can remember the feeling of desperately wanting to be part of a movement, at the centre of something fresh and radical, in the underground, a trendsetter, when I was churning out 'art'. Now I look with extreme suspicion on these little coalescences of talent - I think they're cloistered and exclusive. It's not to say they haven't got talent - they have it in spades. It's more that the talent gets... herded. There aren't any outsiders, people cutting against the prevailing wind. It's like some weird cultural flashmobbing.

New Favourite Thing.

I'm beginning to think I should revisit all that stuff about 'there is no avant garde' again. The turnaround pace is so fast these days, that new 'yoof' movements are actually being picked up by the media before they have a chance to do anything of any interest. Nag Nag Nag is just New York Club Brats all over again. I don't like this. Flash Mobs - so last wednesday. Friendster - over before anyone found it. I wonder if anyone has registered mayfly.com ?

It's a similar feeling of ennui to the one I had clubbing last weekend - lots of people blindly having fun, most of them ten years younger than me, and me in the corner thinking 'don't you see that it's ALWAYS been like this? That you're no different?'. Maybe it was reinforced by all the 19 year old boys who found me surprisingly good fun to talk to, and were a bit shocked to find out I like Autechre and Aphex twin.

Perhaps I just think in the long now. I've got an image in my head of fashions changing superfast in a shop window, the sun not so much rising and setting as flickering...

Maybe I'm getting old, or maybe I'm just too cynical.

Perhaps my old idea of the only valid form of resistance being apparent total conformity is the way. But then you end up like the Chap crew, making tits of yourself on the Today programme becasue your ability to articulate your posturing is... poor.

Maybe it's because the technorati is mainly youngish blokes, too.

I really should learn to piss standing up.

Popjustice!

Popjustice.com v4.0 is my new favourite thing.

Not least for this astoundingly fantastic accordion version of Spitinme Ear's Hit Me Baby yadda yadda yadda.

I miss creativity

This is a lovely idea - attending a lecture full of new media types, and documenting it by drawing peoples hairlines. It's like trendy media glasses crossed with Matt Groenings' theory of recognisability in cartoon characters.

It's a great response to a gathering too - whilst giving your full attention to the speaker, you're occupying the bit of your brain htat gets distracted and starts thinking about, say, garden peas. I know that in my notebooks, I often 'place' information from talks by the doodles surrounding them - years later I can flick through a book going 'it was on the right hand side, and there's a piss poor drawing of the lecturer in the top right corner....' Having said that, that relies on me finding the time to flick through the books say, once every six months to refresh my memory.



It's becoming a theme with me - I miss always carrying a sketchbook. I miss drawing. I miss creating. But I don't have the space in my life to keep it up. You can only create when you have the emotional resources to do it, and mine are stretched thin just coping with my life.

When am I going to get to the place where I feel competent and in control?

Fuck a Duck...

A dead, gay duck.

And what's more

Two of the boys in question have just crowed 'Who have you been giving head to?' in strident, carrying voices across my sodding open plan sodding office.

Thanks, boys.

A Small but Vocal Public

Lists are a wonderfully lazy form of thinking. Their very nature means you can think of a very loose theme, jot down the first n things that come in to your head, and release a perfectly formed bulleted gagpile ino the world.

Which is read by a small, but dedicated, following of three boys.

Now, boys are lovely. I get on better with boys than I do with ladies. Ladies, lets face it, are unpredictable, overemotional, and understand makeup - three accusations that are rarely levelled at me. I enjoy their company, we make the same kind of jokes, we have the same oddly categorised way of thinking (see earlier posts for details of my freakish boy brain.).

But - and here's the rub (as it were) - I don't, as a general rule, have sex with boys. At least, not in any meaningful, let's get brunch, maybe a movie kind of way. It's not that I dislike having sex with boys. It can be quite fun, provided they're presentable, and don't
1. have the annoying habit of pushing on the top of your head rather than asking nicely
or
2. reek like the bottom of an ocelots' sockdrawer.

I just choose not to, because I don't really fancy them, so it's ultimately a hollow, unrewarding, and mostly unenjoyable experience. (And often chafes.)

So... and the point is coming (as it were) - there's an interesting double bind between liking and hanging out with boys, and not wanting to get anywhere near their sexual doings on any terms other than your own.

Because, correct me if I'm wrong, most boys seem to think about fucking you at some point.

(Lee, pass go, collect £200.)

Where am I going with this? Well, I don't think I've ever sufficiently explained to anyone other than another straight-acting lesbian the weird discomfort that happens when you get the first tiniest inkling that a boy might have been thinking about you... like that. Because it just doesn't occur to you that given random boy z might ever think about you as desirable, any vague intimation that a boy might be vicariously latching on to your sexual antics is like being hit in the face with a kipper.

You instantly smell something fishy.

I'm sorry I posted a throwaway comment about blow jobs in an endearlingly lazy list. It was done for comic effect, m'lud. I know I overshare all kinds of details about my sexual life with all of you, and that I'm singlehandedly destroying the mystique of the construct that is woman, etc...

But really, it was just a blowjob. In a dark nightclub. At 4am. With a complete stranger. And my lady wife. For a giggle. I was egged on.

So how come all of my dear readers emailed me almost instantly demanding more details? Hmm?

There was a point here. Oh yes. Lists - they get you in trouble. Actually, filing anything into neat little categories is gonna get you in trouble, lets face it.

Mildly Diverted

Yes, yes, yes, I know, I haven't posted in an age, and I feel guilty.

I have moved house. It has taken all of my energy.

Here are some random thoughts about it.

I miss my houseboys much more than I thought I would.
I think about my houseboys every day on the bus.
I miss my cats.
I didn't think I'd get so upset when I saw one of my cats drive off into the sunset.
I am strangely unaffected by having an unpleasant 'break up' with my best friend.
I am so in love it is terrible.
I really don't like giving boys head.
Morning cuddles are worth an extra 200 pounds a month.
Packed Lunches rock.
Untraceable Smells can ruin your life.
Cocktails are good, but stop you doing anything constructive.
Dogpoo is often concealed by fallen leaves.
Lesbians make really good removal (wy) men.

You know me

Is this me?

Magnum Veritas

Now, that special edition pistacio flavoured magnum was a big hit with me. Green, yummy, and entirely made of lard - which is an ideal snack, let's face it.

I'm weirdly revulsed by the Australian specials, with a swingin sixties theme. The Candy Warhol is Musk flavour with popping candy?

Why not go the whole hog and make it taste of rancid wig and car crash victim?

Visions of Science 2000

Visions of Science 2001:
"Grease may be an important product used every day in our lives but it is typically perceived as being dull to look at and of little interest to photographers. This picture, produced with macro photography, overturns that perception by illustrating grease in a more friendly, organic and artistic way."
I've just had a press release about this year's competition - let's hope they've hired a good PR company?

Take my site away from me

I like these, they are very funny. This is not a fact that bodes well for my continuation in my job.

Never mind.

Have a Van Halen moment

And take a photo in the process.

Timothy McSweeney's Internet Tendency: Lists

Timothy McSweeney's Internet Tendency: Lists

This site rocks.

Tickytacky

I like masking tape, and I secretly have a theory that it's the stuff that holds the universe together - all that dark matter is infact a handy lo-tack stickytape.

So I like this site.

David Blaine: Above the Below, near the Sausages

David Blaine: Above the Below, near the Sausages

Throw sausages at that unmitigated twat, Blaine.

Bear + Tranq Dart + Trampoline...

Equals Comedy.

Buying Time

I want one.

HumanDescent -> Gallery

HumanDescent -> Gallery

Ewww.

The Phantom Menace

It's not often I cry laughing.

What a fantastic piece of writing - Man buys toy airship. Toy Airship escapes in night. Man has adrenaline spike in night.

Ow, my sides.

I've done the internet now

I've just found this.

I've had enough of the web. It just goes in to too much detail.

Holy Shit

Quite literally. How the Nanny has fallen.

And Again

Inside a dalek.

Random Nonsense

This is great, too - and makes as much sense as the show. My name is Jack Bauer - and, frankly, I'm having a bit of a shit day.

Pottymouth Craig

This is fun

eBoy

James has been ordering boys off the interweb. And likens the experience of using gaydar to shopping for men on Amazon.

I'd like to comment his post, but I'll blog it instead. He's missing a few things...
1. Returns Policy
2. Ratings
3. Occasionally, they'd send you an email saying 'Based on your previous shags, we'd like to reccomend a spotty twunt that smells faintly of eggs', and be genuinely surprised when you complained.
4. If you had a quick excursion into the opposite sex, or, say, heavy S&M, you'd never be able to get your reccomendations sorted again.
5. It would tell you how much you could make if you'd turned tricks with your past shags.
6. Everyone would have Bradd Pitt on their wishlist

Speaking of which, buy me a present. Go on.

Never the type to complain

End font name trauma forever!

Glitter For Brains

The great and only semi serious Glitter For Brains blogwar goes up a notch.

I told the _other_ housemate the URL.

*evil grin*

Buy one for Sarah?

My instruction manual

Knobs!

And lots of them. Phwoargh.

Entirely safe for work, too.

Whilst you're at it, check this awesome animation - needs sound...

Collect the Set

Moss has a brillliant take on the collectible. I want.

Comic asides

I don't like comics - they're slow to read, and I subvocalise the text, which really frustrates me. The quality of the page illustration never lives up to that on the cover (Sandman, I'm pointing at you).

But I want to love comics. They're right up my alley - pictures, scifi plots, coolness. It's a shame I don't get on with them.

But web comics... interest me. Reading text on screen is different from a book - it's browsier, and nothing like the absorptive, hypnotic, miss-you-tube-stop experience of a novel.

But Scott Mc Cloud Rocks. I suggest you read the article at the link.

Tiddly pom, plus ca change.

It was all going so well today. I'd done stuff, taken the disillusioned team for lunch, and now...

I'm reading crap on the internet.

Time to start driving biros into my forearms in recompense again, then.

Ding Dong!

You know the rest...

Sand-ringham

I feel a bit sorry for the queen. Her beach hut has burnt down.

Much as I know that dear old Lizzie Dripping and her family are not the most sound idea, politically, I can't help but feel slight affection towards them. How wonderful, that the Queen has a beach hut. I always knew that her natty line in headscarves was for a purpose - you can see her, sitting on a deckchair bravely facing the wind on a Norfolk beach, watching the corgis frolic in the surf. She might even have some kind of thermos of tea. Possibly monogrammed.

I imagine HMtheQ, and HMtheQM or PCthePOW out there at really intemperate times of year. It's the last vestige of the blitz spirit ingrained into the english psyche - the strange masochism of enjoying a bracing walk on the beach even if it's 10 below, and the sand is blowing hard enough to stip your ankles to the bone.

I suppose those lovely green quilted waistcoats the landed gentry are so fond of must have some special central heating. Other than the hip flask of vintage brandy, of course.

It's a charming image. Do you think they eat 99 flakes?

Fearing for humanity pt 3

The Landmark Foundation - I'll never forgive them for disturbing me over dinner with a friend.

They're like a hive mind with bad manners.

Icky medical fun...

Spider bites are a bit more serious than you'd think.

Distressing.

Grr II - people are stupid

And the American Military is REALLY stupid.

Sigh.

Grrr

Why I despise Reality TV.

It really brings out the worst in viewers and contestants alike.

"Ms Mogg told Monday's Daily Express the sisters were teetotal, and had not drunk the liquor but were gargling with it to improve their voices."

Since when has 'liquor' been a UK English phrase too?

Pah.

Mark's Got An Ipod

...and a girlfriend, within a week of each other.

Jammy git.

So I made him this.

I might send it to b3ta...

SlipstreamNews - Ask Lee Binding Your Questions

Oh... My Lord. Quick, quick, go and ask my housemate completely spurious questions on this Andromeda Fansite!

Caption Change Ahoy

Loving this picture. But would suggest that the caption is wrong.

It should read:

'Just Like a Lesbian. But Less of a Challenge!'

Thanks, Lee.

Long Lost Email...

Have been looking for old email in my sent items box - trying to work out how many complaints we've had on the site about undelivered prizes (answer - too many, but I like to be specific about quantities when I'm beating underlings over the head).

And I found this - a quite spectacular outpouring of bile from March this year. I wish I could remember why i was hungover, though...

- - - - - - -


My weekend...

Well, at about 6.30am on Saturday I was awoken gently by Sarah. At which I realised that I had the WORST hangover imaginable. I complained a lot, drank a pint of water, went mrrmrmrpphhrrrrlllmmmrrmmrmrmmr quite a lot and proceded to sleep until 2pm.

I then tidied S's flat in a halfhearted 'Christ, where's the bloody nurofen' kind of a way. then I staggered to Peckham - an unpleasant journey as there's still no bloody public transport on any given route that I decide to take in London. In fact, I think there's some kind of small elite force that has me under surveillance, and deliberately breaks busses, tubes and trains when they see me coming.

Having got back to Peckham, I drank about 3 pints of tea and played Sim City 4 until 2.30 am. I am quite pleased with myself, as I have discovered how to make a quick profit, whilst ensuring that I have mostly upper and middle class people in my cities. This makes me happy, as I can afford to buy them schools and parks and nice non-polluting industries. If I have poor people in slums, I go bankrupt. I find that I am not at all worried by this. This means I have gone through the point at which I can be reasonably expected to vote Tory at the next election. (What's more, the rich peoples houses have nicer gardens.)

Alas, still hungover at 2.30 am, I went to bed, read an Unauthoried Autobiography of Lemony Snickett (which was strange, but I think it would have been strange even without hangover and insomnia...)

I woke up, inexplicably, at 7am on Sunday. Still hungover. I am beginning to violently dislike the fact that I have turned into a morningy person who can wake up. Luckily, I still have the ability to go back to sleep again, although the hymns and religion on Radio 4 made this a bit of an odd experience.

Another tussle with public transport, and I met my old flatmate for lunch in Soho. It was at about 1pm on Sunday that I finally became vaguely aware that the weather was really nice (it had stopped really hurting my eyes, by this stage. I was still feeling quite queasy though.)

I had some kind of Halloumi toasted sandwich. Halloumi is very salty. I would not reccomend it as an ideal ingredient for a toasted sandwich, particularly if you then smother it with dried mint. The ideal toastie cheese, is, of course, cheap cheddar. Not, as some would have you beleive, Kraft squares. They're a little on the saltygreasy side, and don't melt in quite the correct way. Incidentally, the ex-flatmate (French Jo) was a bit confused when she first came to england, as she presumed that 'Cheddar' was Le Anglais pour 'Fromage', and not 'Cheese' as she had erroneously been taught at school.

Then, another public transpot hassle (After a trip to Covent Garden Tescos, which is unique among supermarkets. This is because it has a weird bank style 'Cashier Number FIVE please' thing read by a woman who sounds like she's auditioning for a revival of Bullseye.)

Having returned to Peckham, played another couple of hours of SimCity (I got a university. Woo. Yay.). I also watched incoming reports on the war. I watch them like some strange kind of reality show, and provide a running sarcasm commentary on CNN, News24 and Sky (who are laughable at news. They haven't topped the point on 9/11 when the reader finished a phone in report with the words 'That's my boyfirend, and thank goodness he's OK'. Choice. Professional) . I am thinking that I have finally become unhinged by the media. And I have decided that the Iraquis are the best, because they all wear cute little Notting Hill utility stylee parkas. I also love the fact that they have a town called Umm Qasr. Can you imagine that? 'Where do you live?' 'Ummmmm.... Qasr?'

Other observations: The British forces are kind of hiding in Kuwait, going, 'well, you big Americans, umm... yes, we'll back you up. Go on... we'll be along in just a bit.' This might be because the Americans seem to shoot more brits than iraqis. The patriot missile system - so called cos it shoots 'owt that 'aint American.

I'm also a bit disgusted at the fact that an 8 year old American girl has been coming home crying from her very nice school in Fulham. Because the teachers have made her understand that America is to blame. And wants to take over the world, and will give up on Britain when they've finished with dicking about with the rest of the world. Her family made the decision to return home in a fortnight. They're sick of having people be vitriolic to them.


Then went over to Putney again (yet another hour on public transport) and finished cleaning, and made tea.

It is now Monday. I am still hungover. It's not bloody fair. It was only four pints on friday night. And I missed the best weekend of the year due to alcohol poisoning.

More on Wallflowers

I want this book - Slashdot | The Introvert Advantage.

Particularly as I'm in trouble again for trying to rearrange a social engagement made by my better half. It's not deliberate - I just fail to notice. I'm such an only child...

Moral Dilemma

Have just had the interesting 'Do I tell my workmates I have a blog' thing. It's thorny, especially as it's obvious that I'm posting in office hours. Which is setting a very bad example. I could always change the timezone to Honolulu?

The thing is, it's lovely Tim. And I've read his blog, and it nearly broke me.

It's hard to hear what is going through the heads of those whose lives you're pissing up.

EDIT: I've just realised that with no context, this is an odd post. So - Tim says in his blog that he only makes bold moves when he's desperate. He's talented, and I think he feels frustrated to be using his considerable brain in a very confining medium. So now we've got him shackled in a big old continuing contract.

I hope he doesn't let this place suck him dry.

And now I'm wondering about the implications of publishing a blog to employment law tribunals.

Caring for My Introvert

I worry, slightly, sometimes - just a little - that my girlfriend's paralysing shyness might put a strain on our relationship.

I don't mind it in the slightest - she's just, well, quiet. But I can see exactly why others may take it as being arrogant, or standoffish.

I've just read a lovely article - Caring for Your Introvert. It kind of explains why sometimes people get her wrong.

"'I'm an introvert. You are a wonderful person and I like you. But now please shush.'"

Holy Crap

Bette Davis is turned loose on Broadway.

I think the pavement probably came off worse.

And whilst you're at it, don't miss the yodelling chickens.

Monday is the cruelest month.

So, back to work again. And despite my usual sunday night promises to myself that 'this week I'm really going to get down to it and sort out everything', I'm already faffing about.

I think I may devote my life to collecting really really odd music. I've found another priceless site (thanks Mark). Clickeywoo to April Winchell: Multimedia.

I reccomend Mary Schneider murdering the classics. It's like... a demented cowgirl let loose at Carnegie Hall.

I have a horrible feeling that I'm going to become even more irritating at parties, by insisting on playing a huge ammount of novelty records. Maybe there'a a call for barmy DJs somewhere?

Oh, I know, gay bars.

Chill Out, Man

Tom, over at Blatant Optimism, is a very, very clever man. Besides his imminent daddyness, he's also had the most brilliant idea I've ever seen for coping with these hot, hot nights.

I won't spoil the surprise - check it out for yourselves.

Amazon.com: About Henry Raddick: Reviews

Henry Raddick: THe sarkiest reviewer on Amazon. He'l be all over b3ta later on today.

I'm currently wondering if I should fess up to having read 'A hand in the Bush' on the b3ta boards, just to see what happens...

die puny humans

Oh, I'm SO regretting not going to last night's flash mob now. I coulda been there from the start... Particularly as Warren Ellis, comic god extraoridinaire, was there and wrote about it on his site: die puny humans

Dilletante

Well, predictably, I've already slacked off on my posting.

It's one of those things about me. I enjoy doing stuff and having hobbies and going places, but mostly I just can't be arsed.

Admittedly, I've actually been applying myself in the office this week, and have been updating the edinburgh blog - albeit with someone elses words - so not quite as much time to posty-post as I'd like. And when you spend your entire working day in front of a computer, firing up the laptop when you get home isn't attractive...

But all of this is excuses. I'm fickle and lazy and never follow through with anything. Deal with it, and I promise I'll work on my guilt issues.

(The other thing was that I nearly started writing about Charddonnay, and then realised that I was turning into an antifeminst chicklit caricature, which Just Won't Do.)

Normal Transmission Resumes

Sigh.

Monday morning. Up at 6am just so I can spend 20 extra minutes with the wife at Victoria Station. Damn, the sheer bloody romance of sitting in Costas being deafened by station announcements and jostled by Germans with large bags.

And so the countdown to next weekend begins.

It all feels particularly harsh this morning - had the most perfect Sunday imaginable. It really was one of those rare days when you fall in love all over again; cuddling, dozing and drinking tea in bed is enough to swell your heart fit to burst. Even the sunday night ritual of 24 and a foot rub seemed particularly special.

Sigh. Look, I'm too drippy even to be entertaining today.

Well, back to clearing my desk, then.

...Fly away home

Some ladybirds, to be going along with. They're on b3ta.com.

I'm off to eat sushi. And count matchsticks in an eyeblink for fun.

Boy from the neck up, Girl from the neck down.

Holy Aspergers, I have a male brain.

A friend sent me a link to this terribly unscientific psychology test. It's a simple idea - plot your empathy against your systematising drive, and find out what kind of brain you have - men tend to be more systematising than women.

Well, on the male-female scale, I come out at Freak.

My scores? 27 on the EQ - the average for a woman is 47. I'm in the bottom quartile - the realm of Aspergers and Rain Man. On SQ, I got 47 - the average score for a gel being 24. Noticing something a bit... arse around tip there?

Time to start the argument about genetic markers for lesbianism with my housemate again. And time to stop sorting my CDs with an elaborate system of my own devising. And liking maths.

I feel I ought to appologise to all my long suffering mates who've been humouring an emotional retard for the last 29 years.

Sorry, chaps.

Visible signs of ageing

Oh, my god, they've found 2000 year old Nivea.

A bit like the pot of Ponds Vanishing Cream that sat on my mum's dressing table for the whole of my childhood. You can't buy it now days... unless, it seems, you live in Hong Kong or Bangladesh. It's a shame - it was one of those smells that made me feel five.

Your house is on fire and your children are gone...

The fantastic Jake Ingman has published another beautiful shot on his photolog.

PHOTO : frozen lady

I'm eagerly awaiting a couple of prints from him - everything on the site is for sale, and I fell for his power station photos. And what a nice man he is too - he emailed me at 3.30am stateside time to let me know he hadn't forgotten me.

Ladybirds seem to be cropping up a lot at the moment. First they took over the back garden (lots of yummy aphids in our unkempt jungle!) - then the Today programme ran a feature on how they all have the clap.

There's something delicious about such a beautiful little creature (and a kid's rhyme favourite) being riddled with sexually transmitted fungus.

Filthy little sluts.

Workshy bastards both

The reason I've got this bloggy thing, is that

1. I've been meaning to get one for ages

2. I'm kind of getting one at work, but won't be able to use rude words. Bumhole Pissflaps Funt.

3. My housemate got one and is being blatantly funnier than I am.

Now, I don't mind him being funnier than me that much. Really. It's just sort of... raised the bar a wee bit. And I do love a challenge. There's also the matter of our differing writing styles - I'm slightly drier than him, and tend towards the conversational in tone. He tends towards grandstanding.

At some point, of course, we'll actually get the joint blog we've been talking about. But until then pointless competition over post counts and jokes about sexy parties will have to suffice...

Anyhoo, go check out his blog. And I can only presume that the title comes from the noise when his head (pictured on his banner) exploded. Kind of... how would you describe it?

Kind of a Poof sort of a noise.

I am not alone

I'm very upset to discover I'm no longer the only Kim Plowright in the world. There's one on a school rounders team in Godalming and one who is a parent who helps out at an Australian children's sport centre.

Worse than this, one of them beats me on Google.

Although nice to see that my husband's dedication is still there.

Pubic Survis Anownsmint

My spelling is Wobbly. It's good spelling but it Wobbles, and the letters get in the wrong places.

Oh, just thought of something I should mention.

My spelling is not very good.

It's not that I'm illiterate, it's just... I wobble. And my head goes faster than my fingers.

Please bear with me.

Oh, and the link above will let you own for yourself the closest thing to a holy book I have.

Not in that dress...

Oh look, a second post.

Now, usually I skip straight through Atom Film's newsletter. Something about all that heavy HTML and branding makes me go 'big commercial dull dull dull'. Strange how I believe plain text emails more than something with professional polish.

But I digress. Something caught my eye for once - it's a superhero cartoon. With Drag Queens.

It's a great, great concept - not quite carried off as well as it could have been. It's a bit slow, and clunky, but imagine this with the writing team behind Will and Grace working on it, with script editing by Jonathan Harvey. It would take the world by storm, and have more jokes about wigs.

Having said that, the bitching at the narrator is cute. break those conventions, girlfriend...

Sissy Squad at Atom Films

*Cough*

So here you go. A blog. For me. Finally. Hopefully this will stop me sending so many emails to our departmental junk list.

And here's the first thing. Stove Burners. They're beautiful.

Welcome to Stoveburner.com