Sunday, April 24, 2005
Saturday, April 23, 2005
Sentimental Me
Ah fuck.
Of course, after spending two hours fiddling with the last post, I'm now sitting in bed with a cup of tea listening to a collection of Ella Fitzgerald's more maudlin numbers, and feeling like a sorry-for-myself brave little soldier.
Pas me the hanky and the fox stole! Quick! I need to do the full 1940s tragic romatic heroine thing...
Of course, after spending two hours fiddling with the last post, I'm now sitting in bed with a cup of tea listening to a collection of Ella Fitzgerald's more maudlin numbers, and feeling like a sorry-for-myself brave little soldier.
Pas me the hanky and the fox stole! Quick! I need to do the full 1940s tragic romatic heroine thing...
No Diamonds
I think I might finally want to talk about the last six months.
The monster hangover on thursday left me tender and raw, and fluttery; poor Mark ended up with me wibbling at him by email for hours (he was a brick, as ever) - and last night I couldn't cope with being around all of the lovely happy drinking people from work. Booze - the uptight english girl's way of dealing with complex problems.
This friday last year - technically, today is the anniversary - was the day that I got engaged.
The hardest thing has been coming to terms with the fact that my future has now changed so radically. I was really caught off guard when Sarah proposed - if I'm honest, it felt rushed, but I went with it as underneath I was sure it was the right choice. So, whilst jumping in with both feet, enthusiastically, it took me a while to realise that this was a lovely permanent thing and that I could let go of my habitual fear of abandonment. Which I did. Yay me. Maybe that made me complacent?
Anyway, I've had to adjust from planning for a family, to planning how I'm going to go about dating without bringing along a small pantechnicon of baggage. Shit, here again. Ah well. Tried. Failed better.
In retrospect, the security and comfort of the relationship subtly twisted it from that of lovers to that of friends.
There's a Rogers and Hart song that always plays through my head at these times - and yes, imagine that in the classic 'old gramophone playing in dusty, abandoned house' trope. I am nothing if not melodramatic.
Sarah and I are now talking - and appear to be remaining close. I'm not sure if that's 'right' and it certainly feels strange; after the six months of barely being able to communicate, and casual emotional cruelty on both sides we haven't quite found the right register for conversations. We're exchanging recipes, and internet tips. There was a brief conversation that kicked off with 'I miss you' - from her, not me. Luckily, it's in the 'as a person who bumbles around the flat and is useful when you have questions' way, and not in the 'I am about to put you through a nauseating emotional wringer just when your life is moving on' way. Phew.
She's seeing a boy now. Apparently, he likes being zipped in to bodybags and pissed on.
I find this inexplicably cheering.
The monster hangover on thursday left me tender and raw, and fluttery; poor Mark ended up with me wibbling at him by email for hours (he was a brick, as ever) - and last night I couldn't cope with being around all of the lovely happy drinking people from work. Booze - the uptight english girl's way of dealing with complex problems.
This friday last year - technically, today is the anniversary - was the day that I got engaged.
The hardest thing has been coming to terms with the fact that my future has now changed so radically. I was really caught off guard when Sarah proposed - if I'm honest, it felt rushed, but I went with it as underneath I was sure it was the right choice. So, whilst jumping in with both feet, enthusiastically, it took me a while to realise that this was a lovely permanent thing and that I could let go of my habitual fear of abandonment. Which I did. Yay me. Maybe that made me complacent?
Anyway, I've had to adjust from planning for a family, to planning how I'm going to go about dating without bringing along a small pantechnicon of baggage. Shit, here again. Ah well. Tried. Failed better.
In retrospect, the security and comfort of the relationship subtly twisted it from that of lovers to that of friends.
There's a Rogers and Hart song that always plays through my head at these times - and yes, imagine that in the classic 'old gramophone playing in dusty, abandoned house' trope. I am nothing if not melodramatic.
Sarah and I are now talking - and appear to be remaining close. I'm not sure if that's 'right' and it certainly feels strange; after the six months of barely being able to communicate, and casual emotional cruelty on both sides we haven't quite found the right register for conversations. We're exchanging recipes, and internet tips. There was a brief conversation that kicked off with 'I miss you' - from her, not me. Luckily, it's in the 'as a person who bumbles around the flat and is useful when you have questions' way, and not in the 'I am about to put you through a nauseating emotional wringer just when your life is moving on' way. Phew.
She's seeing a boy now. Apparently, he likes being zipped in to bodybags and pissed on.
I find this inexplicably cheering.
Friday, April 22, 2005
TOP SECRET: Unit
TOP SECRET: Unit
My old team have done a fantastic website for UNIT in support of the new Dr Who series.
The publications page is particularly funny.
Well done, boys.
My old team have done a fantastic website for UNIT in support of the new Dr Who series.
The publications page is particularly funny.
Well done, boys.
Thursday, April 21, 2005
Hint
Immodesty Blaize & Walter's Burlesque! - London Event and Ticket Guide
...and me with a birthday coming up, too. What a coincidence.
...and me with a birthday coming up, too. What a coincidence.
Some kind of crazy performance art drinking binge blog post
Well. Dearie Me.
It's mid afternoon, and christ, I'm still hungover. But then again, the hangover didn't actually kick in until about noon, so it's hardly surprising.
I've had a night out - or possibly, the night out had me. It had my wallet, too - lost somewhere between Balans at half past one in the morning, and lunchtime in the office. Could it be in the late night rrrock drinking den tucked down a side street in Soho? Did I leave it on someone else's bedroom floor? Did I have it in Starbucks at 9am as I staggerd workwards? I don't know - I was still drunk at the time.
So I'm a physical wreck, penniless, and exhausted. Worth it? God yes.
The priming for this spectacular display of licentiousness came from art. Blame Art, always. Art is big, Art can take it, Art quite enjoys being blamed, Art secretly enjoys the guilt trip, Art turns its filthy reputation to its advantage. Art snuck up on you, Art made you do it, Art caught you unawares. Art abandoned you a while ago, but turned up on your doorstep with tatty flowers and an endearing smile, and you couldn't bring yourself to turn Art away.
The art in question -
Tropicana in the vaults under London Bridge Station - was spectacular. The space and the way it has been used work so beautifully - even the smell of damp, dusty brickwork added to the totality. Figures appeared from the most total darkness I've been in for a long time: I was intensely aware of the audience around me, of being in a space with people. It's not an experience you get in regular theatre, when the regimented seats are designed to keep you focused on the stage, and not on what's going on around you. This isn't theatre in the round, mind - it's theatre in the walking through it, being lead, leading, shepherded and herded and having a beer half way through. Breaking the formality of the relationship between audience members, and also the performers, completley blurs the experience. you become paranoid - am I being part of someone else's performance? Should I be behaving the way I am?
The images of the whole thing were extraordinary too - lifts moving horizontally through the space, a hearse full of dancing girls, shafts of light, stained ceramic tiles. It felt like an extension of the world in La Jettee.
But, god, the dark. So dark that you start listening with your face and chest, just to get some kind of sense of the space you're in. I love that beautiful kind of dark, but find it completely unsettling.
Couple that with a beautiful yet unsettling lady on your arm, and it's little wonder you end up doing crazy all night.
Well, hello trouble; let's dance.
It's mid afternoon, and christ, I'm still hungover. But then again, the hangover didn't actually kick in until about noon, so it's hardly surprising.
I've had a night out - or possibly, the night out had me. It had my wallet, too - lost somewhere between Balans at half past one in the morning, and lunchtime in the office. Could it be in the late night rrrock drinking den tucked down a side street in Soho? Did I leave it on someone else's bedroom floor? Did I have it in Starbucks at 9am as I staggerd workwards? I don't know - I was still drunk at the time.
So I'm a physical wreck, penniless, and exhausted. Worth it? God yes.
The priming for this spectacular display of licentiousness came from art. Blame Art, always. Art is big, Art can take it, Art quite enjoys being blamed, Art secretly enjoys the guilt trip, Art turns its filthy reputation to its advantage. Art snuck up on you, Art made you do it, Art caught you unawares. Art abandoned you a while ago, but turned up on your doorstep with tatty flowers and an endearing smile, and you couldn't bring yourself to turn Art away.
The art in question -
Tropicana in the vaults under London Bridge Station - was spectacular. The space and the way it has been used work so beautifully - even the smell of damp, dusty brickwork added to the totality. Figures appeared from the most total darkness I've been in for a long time: I was intensely aware of the audience around me, of being in a space with people. It's not an experience you get in regular theatre, when the regimented seats are designed to keep you focused on the stage, and not on what's going on around you. This isn't theatre in the round, mind - it's theatre in the walking through it, being lead, leading, shepherded and herded and having a beer half way through. Breaking the formality of the relationship between audience members, and also the performers, completley blurs the experience. you become paranoid - am I being part of someone else's performance? Should I be behaving the way I am?
The images of the whole thing were extraordinary too - lifts moving horizontally through the space, a hearse full of dancing girls, shafts of light, stained ceramic tiles. It felt like an extension of the world in La Jettee.
But, god, the dark. So dark that you start listening with your face and chest, just to get some kind of sense of the space you're in. I love that beautiful kind of dark, but find it completely unsettling.
Couple that with a beautiful yet unsettling lady on your arm, and it's little wonder you end up doing crazy all night.
Well, hello trouble; let's dance.
Wednesday, April 20, 2005
When and where did the slang term "peeps" come from?
When and where did the slang term "peeps" come from?
Via Ask Yahoo.
Now, surely 'chhhEllo, hEverybody Peeps!' was being used by Harry Enfield's Stavros character sometime in the late eighties, hence predating this rapper fellah Nas by a good five years...
The internets are full of lies.
Via Ask Yahoo.
Now, surely 'chhhEllo, hEverybody Peeps!' was being used by Harry Enfield's Stavros character sometime in the late eighties, hence predating this rapper fellah Nas by a good five years...
The internets are full of lies.
Tuesday, April 19, 2005
The Long Tail: The Economics of Variety
The Long Tail: The Economics of Variety
Meh, I must stop posting snippets. There's definately a full post in a lot of the long tail media consumption stuff.
You know, all the doomladen statistics about the decline in publishing sales, cd sales... you name it. Maybe the markets have just reached maturity? After all, every minute of every day is now filled with entertainment. Even when I'm shut in a steel box for an hour fifty feet underground, I sill have a book, and hours and hours of music with me. I am never, ever, not able to be entertained - although I wonder if I am now not able to entertain myself, instead relying on media.
The problem is that all media compete with each other - mp3 with cd with newspaper with website with game with conversations. Hell, I have a job to do, I can't devote enough time to listening to the radio and working and still be good enough at Halo that I don't get my ass whooped by ten year olds on XBOX live.
It was always going to be an S curve. You can't have exponential growth forever.
Meh, I must stop posting snippets. There's definately a full post in a lot of the long tail media consumption stuff.
You know, all the doomladen statistics about the decline in publishing sales, cd sales... you name it. Maybe the markets have just reached maturity? After all, every minute of every day is now filled with entertainment. Even when I'm shut in a steel box for an hour fifty feet underground, I sill have a book, and hours and hours of music with me. I am never, ever, not able to be entertained - although I wonder if I am now not able to entertain myself, instead relying on media.
The problem is that all media compete with each other - mp3 with cd with newspaper with website with game with conversations. Hell, I have a job to do, I can't devote enough time to listening to the radio and working and still be good enough at Halo that I don't get my ass whooped by ten year olds on XBOX live.
It was always going to be an S curve. You can't have exponential growth forever.
The Long Tail: FAQ: Does the rise of the LT = the fall of mass culture?
The Long Tail: FAQ: Does the rise of the LT = the fall of mass culture?: "Likewise for music. By my count only ten of the top 100 best-selling albums were released in the last decade, and only four of those were in the last five years. Occam's razor says this is more likely due to the diminishing power of radio as a hit-making machine than it is to some Darwinian decline in music talent. "
Ummm - or maybe the fact that a lot of them have had an additional twenty years to rack up their sales figures?
Maybe?
Ummm - or maybe the fact that a lot of them have had an additional twenty years to rack up their sales figures?
Maybe?
Habitat Chronicles: Stretching the Lessons
Habitat Chronicles: Stretching the Lessons
An insightful piece about applying the public lessons of the past to the social media of today, by one of the great pioneers of YASNS.
Well worth a read.
An insightful piece about applying the public lessons of the past to the social media of today, by one of the great pioneers of YASNS.
Well worth a read.
Pssst! Alice!!
You've probably seen this, but check out the lipsynch in this Halflife based Machinima music video.
I'm impressed.
I'm impressed.
The Perfect T-Shirt
Johnny Cupcakes Online Store has the most fantastic Tshirt.
Cupcakes-and-Crossbones. Very appropriate for me.
Would go well with my 'Will Work For Gin' design.
Cupcakes-and-Crossbones. Very appropriate for me.
Would go well with my 'Will Work For Gin' design.
Monday, April 18, 2005
B&W&Timeless
Just stumbled across the most wonderful video via antville.org (and DAMN YOU SAFARI, you piece of shit all my shortcut keys are different and none of your javascript interfaces work properly browser. Shakes fist impotently in the direction of Steve Jobs).
Ahem. Anyway, it is a fantastic piece of black and white vintage film dandelion clocks cgi A Silver Mt. Zion rhythmic wonderful. Watch it immediately.
Ahem. Anyway, it is a fantastic piece of black and white vintage film dandelion clocks cgi A Silver Mt. Zion rhythmic wonderful. Watch it immediately.
Will Work For Gin
Following a silly conversation about how easy it is to persuade me to do favours for people...
This should probably be a t-shirt.
This should probably be a t-shirt.
The Person I Always Should Have Been Anyway
So, I've just looked down at the contents of my handbag. Well, handbag is a misnomer, really; it's a largeish black leather satchel that can take at least an eight inch thickness of A4 paper.
If I had my digital camera on me I'd take a shot and post it to flickr, but for now I'll have to do with a brief text description.
Besides the usual vital bits and pieces, like a pencilcase full of nice drawing pens but no actual sketchbook*, wallet, obligatory feminine hygiene products** and chewing gum, I am toting:
Why am I not working at Channel Five?
No matter how many times I go through subtle 'reinventions', I get pulled back to this point every time. I should remember that I'm happy, here.
* because the vain illusion that I might, at any moment, be struck with brilliant creative urges is good enough, without needing tofollow through.
**which are, of course, boobytrapped in such a way as to be catapulted across the widest area possible whenever said bag is dropped, requiring an ungainly half crouched scramble to corral the lil'buggers.
*** actually, it's like Heat magazine written by Lytton Strachey. Yawn.
If I had my digital camera on me I'd take a shot and post it to flickr, but for now I'll have to do with a brief text description.
Besides the usual vital bits and pieces, like a pencilcase full of nice drawing pens but no actual sketchbook*, wallet, obligatory feminine hygiene products** and chewing gum, I am toting:
- Two Books:
- The Intimate Sex Lives of Famous People: picked up from the shelf above the loo in the new house because it looked entertaining. Readable on the tube as is a worthy looking hardback; not at all salacious***, and in fact pretty much the only way I'm ever going to read a biography of Napoleon or Pope Alexander VI. Favourite fact so far: every time Joan Crawford remarried, she changed all the toilet seats in her house.
- Tales from the Clit; the Female Experience of Pornography: fresh from Amazon (sic), edited by interesting new acquaintance Cherie. Less likely to be read on the tube as has 'clit' written across it in big letters, hence leading to furtive embarrassment in public.
- Three DVDs in 'The Directors Label' series: Spike Jonze, Chris Cunningham and Michel Gondry. Short films, music videos, unrestrained barleyism. Yay!
- A Netgear WGE111 Wireless Game Adapter: for plugging in the Xbox in order to be humiliated by seven year old boys in online games of Halo, without having even more trailing cable across the sitting room.
- Obligatory Ipod.
Why am I not working at Channel Five?
No matter how many times I go through subtle 'reinventions', I get pulled back to this point every time. I should remember that I'm happy, here.
* because the vain illusion that I might, at any moment, be struck with brilliant creative urges is good enough, without needing tofollow through.
**which are, of course, boobytrapped in such a way as to be catapulted across the widest area possible whenever said bag is dropped, requiring an ungainly half crouched scramble to corral the lil'buggers.
*** actually, it's like Heat magazine written by Lytton Strachey. Yawn.
Sunday, April 17, 2005
Diversionary Tactics
I have found a way of dissipating all of this Springy energy, and alas have worn off my fingerprints in the process.
No. Not That.
Cleaning.
The big discovery of the weekend is that my new kitchen floor isn't, in fact, white tiles with black grout. The grout is white, and just hasn't been cleaned for a very long time. Even after an hour and a half on all fours scrubbing away, it hasn't shifted.
So, besides a kitchen floor that now approaches hygienic, I have
Projects. Give me Projects.
Will work for Gin.
No. Not That.
Cleaning.
The big discovery of the weekend is that my new kitchen floor isn't, in fact, white tiles with black grout. The grout is white, and just hasn't been cleaned for a very long time. Even after an hour and a half on all fours scrubbing away, it hasn't shifted.
So, besides a kitchen floor that now approaches hygienic, I have
- finished redecorating the old flat (Is it me, or is it impossible to get a decent brushmark-free finish on white Satinwood paintwork? Gloss is *much* better),
- deep cleaned everything to hand it back to the landlady,
- patched a gougue in a wood floor with cunning application of shoe polish,
- patched lifted paint with filler and paint-effect recreation,
- got my favourite bed linen properly white for the first time in ages (Oxyclean powder seems to be the secret the women in my life have been keeping from me!),
- trebled the ammount of cleaning products under our sink...
Projects. Give me Projects.
Will work for Gin.
I have just handwashed a pashmina...
...and part of me suspects that as I type, they are coming to take away my lesbian card.
Also, apropos of nothing, I seem to be the most politically confused person in the world;
Also, apropos of nothing, I seem to be the most politically confused person in the world;
Friday, April 15, 2005
Fucking Cunty Bollocks
Fucking bollocks cunty pissflaps arsewank buggery twat.
I am having a rotten day. That is all.
I am having a rotten day. That is all.
Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Maturity
Preoccupations: 'when adults stop being infants, children can be children'
A rather amazing piece by Rowan Williams, the Archbish. I'm not mad on the man, but he is far superior to the Carey, a tambourine waving fool. (I'm rather attached to Archbishes, having grown up in Canterbury - no other religious reasons, you understand).
Via Ludens, who I was about to unsubscribe, but I may just keep on the list, now.
A rather amazing piece by Rowan Williams, the Archbish. I'm not mad on the man, but he is far superior to the Carey, a tambourine waving fool. (I'm rather attached to Archbishes, having grown up in Canterbury - no other religious reasons, you understand).
Via Ludens, who I was about to unsubscribe, but I may just keep on the list, now.
Monday, April 11, 2005
Cold Showers? Bromide?
Haven't been posting much. Feel strangely guilty, and also resigned to the fact that maybe the blog is another thing that will just fade out of my life as I move on to other things.
Strange, as there's lots going on; it's just most of it is interior and I'm feeling too tender to put it out there at the moment. I'm fine with the general no privacy stuff, but I suspect that writing about a lot of this blah will be tantamount to disgusting emotional exhibitionism, and only cause mortifying embarrassment at a later date.
But, this was meant to be a little post to make a small complaint to spring, and whatever vernal goat-legged satyr has capered across my grove, recently.
Now, look here, Pan, you hairy little bugger, I was quite happy in my gentle, asexual state. I had completely come to terms with a celibate existence, and was looking forward to several years of getting lots of things done with the diverted energy. Art of some kind. I really can't cope with all of this unfocused lustiness you've seen fit to bless me with, you sod. I'd like to be able to concentrate in meetings.
Strange, as there's lots going on; it's just most of it is interior and I'm feeling too tender to put it out there at the moment. I'm fine with the general no privacy stuff, but I suspect that writing about a lot of this blah will be tantamount to disgusting emotional exhibitionism, and only cause mortifying embarrassment at a later date.
But, this was meant to be a little post to make a small complaint to spring, and whatever vernal goat-legged satyr has capered across my grove, recently.
Now, look here, Pan, you hairy little bugger, I was quite happy in my gentle, asexual state. I had completely come to terms with a celibate existence, and was looking forward to several years of getting lots of things done with the diverted energy. Art of some kind. I really can't cope with all of this unfocused lustiness you've seen fit to bless me with, you sod. I'd like to be able to concentrate in meetings.
Saturday, April 09, 2005
Pirate Objects
Want to make a dodgy knockoff of, say, a popular ladies deodorant to sell on on two-bit market stalls?
You'll need a logo. And this site will sort you out.
I'm constantly amazed that sites like this still exist. It feels like the days when I was using pizza-box macs to download infringing material.
I'm old.
You'll need a logo. And this site will sort you out.
I'm constantly amazed that sites like this still exist. It feels like the days when I was using pizza-box macs to download infringing material.
I'm old.
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
Bending the Rules of Time and Space
An interesting little diversion at work - which was sparked by sending an old (1996 vintage!) BBC Drama website to Martin Currybet.
So - the BBC breaks the rules of Time. But the 25 and 26 o'clock reminded me of something I once heard joked about - the BBC foot. Not content with changing the clock, there was an officially sanctioned way of measuring space, too. So, in an effort to amuse Martin, I went and checked with my trusty oldskool BBC source...
-----Original Message-----
From: Martin
Wow - that's fantastic.
My favourite bit - only in the BBC could we have "The programmes in this archive are listed by production year. A production year runs from April through to March the following year".
So as well as inventing 25 and 26 o'clock for the late night schedules, our years are not in synch with the rest of the Western world. Genius
So - the BBC breaks the rules of Time. But the 25 and 26 o'clock reminded me of something I once heard joked about - the BBC foot. Not content with changing the clock, there was an officially sanctioned way of measuring space, too. So, in an effort to amuse Martin, I went and checked with my trusty oldskool BBC source...
Kim Plowright says:The BBC: we bend both time and space to our will. Mwa-ha-ha-ha, etc.
Anyhow - reason for sudden contact - a query - 'The BBC Foot' - as used in studios - is this a myth/joke, or real? - remember you and Geoffrey joking about it once.
Jane says:
no, not a joke, does exist or rather did exist - 300mm pourquoi?
Kim Plowright says:
I wanted to check to tell a friend about it; it will amuse him greatly.
Jane says:
In the old BBC rehearsal rooms @ N Acton the floor tiles were made to those dimensions and are probably still in place, pm on fawlty towers never used a tape to mark up, just the tiles and his size 10's
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
beautiful agony - facettes de la petite mort
beautiful agony - facettes de la petite mort
Not particularly safe for work, this one... although there's no actual rudeness visible on the landing page.
A fascinating take on pornography - video shot in mcu, just showing the face of the subject as they (hello Dad! It looks like a decent site, probably won't mess up the credit card or download too much spyware...) come.
I haven't actually bothered to download anything - just a look at the homepage is enough to get the idea, and understand how the site... delivers. Strange, it's almost conceptual porn. I wonder if this oblique approach on the erotic would be more willingly consumed by women? Certainly there's none of the lurid plasticy long-nailed revoltingness of mainstream sites.
I was toying with an idea along these lines a couple of years ago, but - well, thinking up an idea for an art/porn site and then actually engaging with the moral and practical complexities of setting it up are two completely different things.
I've had a line that was dropped into a pub conversation tickling at the back of my mind for months. Something along the lines of 'You can't possibly hate the human race, they're really quite sweet. All they want to do, deep down, is look at each other naked.'
Or even, it seems, look at each other and fill in the mental idea that the other might be naked.
Not particularly safe for work, this one... although there's no actual rudeness visible on the landing page.
A fascinating take on pornography - video shot in mcu, just showing the face of the subject as they (hello Dad! It looks like a decent site, probably won't mess up the credit card or download too much spyware...) come.
I haven't actually bothered to download anything - just a look at the homepage is enough to get the idea, and understand how the site... delivers. Strange, it's almost conceptual porn. I wonder if this oblique approach on the erotic would be more willingly consumed by women? Certainly there's none of the lurid plasticy long-nailed revoltingness of mainstream sites.
I was toying with an idea along these lines a couple of years ago, but - well, thinking up an idea for an art/porn site and then actually engaging with the moral and practical complexities of setting it up are two completely different things.
I've had a line that was dropped into a pub conversation tickling at the back of my mind for months. Something along the lines of 'You can't possibly hate the human race, they're really quite sweet. All they want to do, deep down, is look at each other naked.'
Or even, it seems, look at each other and fill in the mental idea that the other might be naked.
Friday, March 18, 2005
Thursday, March 17, 2005
Digital Futures
So,
Among the general weirdness of my life (which I still haven't decided if I want up on the web... after all, it's bad enough being able to track down the me-as-a-19-year-old-with-fuck-all-sense, let alone me as a thirtysomething full of gin and bitters...) there are still a few stand-out things.
The main among these is the... well, the switching back on. Not just the memory stuff, but a thousand other little bits of my personality that got shelved and forgotten. Already, I'm thinking that *perhaps I blogged this last week* - but the sensation is so pervasive it surprises me daily.
The extraordinary thing is the beginning to think visually again. I had completely forgotten what a joy it is to engage with the stuff you see on a daily basis...
I've been doing Alexander Technique lessons for a few weeks now - six, possibly? They aren't life changing in the way that all these new age advocates would suggest, and I find myself regularly holding back a wry smile, or recontextualising a burst of hilarity when my teacher says something entertainingly disingenuous. The imaginary lemon was fairly special, but she hit on the magic trick of describing fluffy stuff in terms of 'the Jedi Force in Star Wars' - which enabled me to buy into it immediately.
The positive side, though, is that I've been able to move my neck. Not that remarkable, until you realise that the moment I managed to move my neck, I realised that I've been in constant, moderate-to-severe pain since 1996. Nine years. No wonder I'm vague and grumpy. So, now I find myself willingly entering in to the lessons and even doing my homework, and many tiny miracles are happening - shoulders resetting, jaws losening... It is a strange thing to do whilst in such a complex emotional place as the freeing of long-held tensions brings long-supressed memories back to the surface. It can be something as simple as a situation, or a book, or seomthing equally trivial, but a few have been absolute doozies, and left me feeling nauseous. Still, the dislocated yet present feeling that persists for an hour or so after the lesson is enjoyable, and some work is being done.
Among the thoughts are recollections of the huge ammount of work I did about conceptualising the body and anatomical representation in the media. I am surprising myself by how aware I had made myself of my physical constituents, whilst remaining unaware of the fact I have inscribed a whole cut of philosophy into my physicality. The linking of these nodes of thought to the (very solid) flesh is so complex and pervasive that working on something as simple as moving a shoulder back into allignment is - unbidden - turning into a metaphorical task about picking a position to see the world from. That, or I am more suggestible to fluffy stuff than the rational humanist inside me would have you believe. Questions such as 'Where are your thoughts situated?' or 'Are you a visual thinker?' are so much more loaded when you are engaged in a koan of no-mind over matter.
One thing that keeps springing to mind is the aside in Microserfs about bodies as hard-drives for memory stores, and how a massage becomes a turning poing for changing stuck patterns in a relationship.
Speaking of which - an odd moment today. Whilst sitting at lunch on the south bank, my ex-once-removed walked past. I called out, and we spent a moment talking - which rapidly turned into an awkward 'well, it's nice to see you but actually I have nothing to say, and I feel that you may want me to fuck off and die, possibly via the medium of blunt rusty spoons' sort of moment.
I got home to discover that my new housemate has invited her to our housewarming.
I must establish if he actually got carnal with her prior to her arriving at the party.
And a final note: it really is spring. Weeks of false promises from various blossom trees and snowdrops around the place were followed through with the grand opening pomp of sunny morning and fresh air; swiftly followed by a small but distinct return of the missing-presumed-lost sex drive, and the first tiniest inkling of the traditional but rubbish getting-over-the-ex innappropriate crush.
Here we go again. How tedious.
Among the general weirdness of my life (which I still haven't decided if I want up on the web... after all, it's bad enough being able to track down the me-as-a-19-year-old-with-fuck-all-sense, let alone me as a thirtysomething full of gin and bitters...) there are still a few stand-out things.
The main among these is the... well, the switching back on. Not just the memory stuff, but a thousand other little bits of my personality that got shelved and forgotten. Already, I'm thinking that *perhaps I blogged this last week* - but the sensation is so pervasive it surprises me daily.
The extraordinary thing is the beginning to think visually again. I had completely forgotten what a joy it is to engage with the stuff you see on a daily basis...
I've been doing Alexander Technique lessons for a few weeks now - six, possibly? They aren't life changing in the way that all these new age advocates would suggest, and I find myself regularly holding back a wry smile, or recontextualising a burst of hilarity when my teacher says something entertainingly disingenuous. The imaginary lemon was fairly special, but she hit on the magic trick of describing fluffy stuff in terms of 'the Jedi Force in Star Wars' - which enabled me to buy into it immediately.
The positive side, though, is that I've been able to move my neck. Not that remarkable, until you realise that the moment I managed to move my neck, I realised that I've been in constant, moderate-to-severe pain since 1996. Nine years. No wonder I'm vague and grumpy. So, now I find myself willingly entering in to the lessons and even doing my homework, and many tiny miracles are happening - shoulders resetting, jaws losening... It is a strange thing to do whilst in such a complex emotional place as the freeing of long-held tensions brings long-supressed memories back to the surface. It can be something as simple as a situation, or a book, or seomthing equally trivial, but a few have been absolute doozies, and left me feeling nauseous. Still, the dislocated yet present feeling that persists for an hour or so after the lesson is enjoyable, and some work is being done.
Among the thoughts are recollections of the huge ammount of work I did about conceptualising the body and anatomical representation in the media. I am surprising myself by how aware I had made myself of my physical constituents, whilst remaining unaware of the fact I have inscribed a whole cut of philosophy into my physicality. The linking of these nodes of thought to the (very solid) flesh is so complex and pervasive that working on something as simple as moving a shoulder back into allignment is - unbidden - turning into a metaphorical task about picking a position to see the world from. That, or I am more suggestible to fluffy stuff than the rational humanist inside me would have you believe. Questions such as 'Where are your thoughts situated?' or 'Are you a visual thinker?' are so much more loaded when you are engaged in a koan of no-mind over matter.
One thing that keeps springing to mind is the aside in Microserfs about bodies as hard-drives for memory stores, and how a massage becomes a turning poing for changing stuck patterns in a relationship.
Speaking of which - an odd moment today. Whilst sitting at lunch on the south bank, my ex-once-removed walked past. I called out, and we spent a moment talking - which rapidly turned into an awkward 'well, it's nice to see you but actually I have nothing to say, and I feel that you may want me to fuck off and die, possibly via the medium of blunt rusty spoons' sort of moment.
I got home to discover that my new housemate has invited her to our housewarming.
I must establish if he actually got carnal with her prior to her arriving at the party.
And a final note: it really is spring. Weeks of false promises from various blossom trees and snowdrops around the place were followed through with the grand opening pomp of sunny morning and fresh air; swiftly followed by a small but distinct return of the missing-presumed-lost sex drive, and the first tiniest inkling of the traditional but rubbish getting-over-the-ex innappropriate crush.
Here we go again. How tedious.
Wednesday, March 16, 2005
Amazon.com: Books: On Bullshit
Amazon.com: Books: On Bullshit
Squint at the cover for this book at a distance.
Is it a coincidence that it looks a bit like an iPod?
Squint at the cover for this book at a distance.
Is it a coincidence that it looks a bit like an iPod?
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Persistent Worlds
game girl advance: Traces of Past Crossings
This is food for thought - has anyone designed a persistent world that would understand grief?
It's a similar feeling to the point you're flicking through an address book and find the details of the recently deceased; or suddenly seing the face of an ex on your photo-collection screensaver.
We're just at the beginning of these rich mediated online lives: what happens when someone living one of these lives... stops?
This is food for thought - has anyone designed a persistent world that would understand grief?
It's a similar feeling to the point you're flicking through an address book and find the details of the recently deceased; or suddenly seing the face of an ex on your photo-collection screensaver.
We're just at the beginning of these rich mediated online lives: what happens when someone living one of these lives... stops?
Smackerel: When multimedia was black and white
Smackerel: When multimedia was black and white
Ah, hypercard.
I made a strange stack about an exploding elephant.
I was only eleven.
Ah, hypercard.
I made a strange stack about an exploding elephant.
I was only eleven.
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Paint Photo Pixel
Wonderland: Not long now
Alice is posting about realism in games, and how awesome the net-gen graphics on consoles will be.
Her post started out about the potential for extraordinary realism possible with powerful graphics modelling, but has recieved an update to note that CGI isn't always at it's best when slavishly aping 'real life', and the improvements will be more subtle than that.
A couple of thoughts. Yes, of course CGI isn't at it's best when aping real life; that's because the human eye (brain) is trained to the patterns of real life: anything slightly 'wrong' will be percieved as breaking the spell - we easily spot the tiniest thing that doesn't tally with our extensive real-world observations, and the brain flags it as 'out of place' instantly. This is hard wired - it's an adaptation from primal animal needs to spot the 'wrong thing' in a familiar environment that could be a physical threat to the old selfish genes.
The biggest problem with CGI at the moment is 'heft' - that combination of weight and inertia that make things convincing. You spend a lot of time when drawing thinking about how to make your figures look 'grounded' - like they have weight and solidity that is afected by gravity. Some of the worst broken-suspension-of-disbelief moments in CGI films are when the visual sense of weight and solidity are broken: those moments in the later matrix films where Keanu gets flung around the sky and behaves more like a sock than a hundred odd kilos of meat. (An aside: my alexander teacher gave me a weight of equivalent weight to my own head to hold the other day. It's _so_ much heavier than you expect - around five kilos. That's five bags of sugar. Hefty.)
And then... well. We've been here before in the realism debate. It happened in about 1880 with painting and photography. For .. well, the whole of history to that point, painting had been striving towards what we'd now consider 'photographic' representation: the perfect reproduction of images as percieved by the human eye. Then along comes the camera, and by 1880 is producing good enough representations of reality that the painter's game is up. So... cue modernism. Cue impressionism, abstraction, cubism, et alia. Painters decide that their job is to represent visually 'perception' - the things that the brain percieves about the world that a camera can't represent.
So why use this amazing increace in CGI power to slavishly render mafia dons in every detail, like Chuck Close let loose in maya?
Why not use it to visualise amazing things we can't yet imagine?
What is an abstract computer game?
Alice is posting about realism in games, and how awesome the net-gen graphics on consoles will be.
Her post started out about the potential for extraordinary realism possible with powerful graphics modelling, but has recieved an update to note that CGI isn't always at it's best when slavishly aping 'real life', and the improvements will be more subtle than that.
A couple of thoughts. Yes, of course CGI isn't at it's best when aping real life; that's because the human eye (brain) is trained to the patterns of real life: anything slightly 'wrong' will be percieved as breaking the spell - we easily spot the tiniest thing that doesn't tally with our extensive real-world observations, and the brain flags it as 'out of place' instantly. This is hard wired - it's an adaptation from primal animal needs to spot the 'wrong thing' in a familiar environment that could be a physical threat to the old selfish genes.
The biggest problem with CGI at the moment is 'heft' - that combination of weight and inertia that make things convincing. You spend a lot of time when drawing thinking about how to make your figures look 'grounded' - like they have weight and solidity that is afected by gravity. Some of the worst broken-suspension-of-disbelief moments in CGI films are when the visual sense of weight and solidity are broken: those moments in the later matrix films where Keanu gets flung around the sky and behaves more like a sock than a hundred odd kilos of meat. (An aside: my alexander teacher gave me a weight of equivalent weight to my own head to hold the other day. It's _so_ much heavier than you expect - around five kilos. That's five bags of sugar. Hefty.)
And then... well. We've been here before in the realism debate. It happened in about 1880 with painting and photography. For .. well, the whole of history to that point, painting had been striving towards what we'd now consider 'photographic' representation: the perfect reproduction of images as percieved by the human eye. Then along comes the camera, and by 1880 is producing good enough representations of reality that the painter's game is up. So... cue modernism. Cue impressionism, abstraction, cubism, et alia. Painters decide that their job is to represent visually 'perception' - the things that the brain percieves about the world that a camera can't represent.
So why use this amazing increace in CGI power to slavishly render mafia dons in every detail, like Chuck Close let loose in maya?
Why not use it to visualise amazing things we can't yet imagine?
What is an abstract computer game?
Saturday, February 19, 2005
A Day Out
Well, it looks like the next phase of my life has indeed kicked off. I've had a busy and enjoyable few days.
A jolly trip yesterday to the ICA to see a documentary about Bob Moog, father of the synthesizer. A lovely, well crafted documentary that made me happy. It was fascinating to hear him talk about 'feeling' circuitry on a spiritual/telepathic level. Whilst I felt that was a bit too... hippy for my tastes, I identified with his connection to his craft. Maybe it was his way of internalising and explaining the state of 'flow' you get with concentrated, expert work. I'm sure the language of his retired philosopher wife affected the way he talked about it. (For that matter, retired philosophers - what do they do? Sit in rocking chairs all day and not think?) Anyway, I'm planning on bringing the film to the attention of schedulers, as it was lovely and deserves a wider audience.
Then today, after signing up for a new lease, off to have lunch with old recently engaged friends. The last few days have definitely been about speaking and getting used to diplomatically breaking news of 'personal tragedy' to people. Having allowed two months to pass without letting people know about Sarah and my breakup, I'm finding it difficult to cope with their shock and sympathy; I've got through to the patient acceptance and slow healing phase, so all of the 'oh, you poor thing, however are you coping' gets a jokey response, that I imagine must seem defensive and evasive to the person offering support. I find myself protecting other's sensibilities more than my own, and can't decide if that's even vaguely healthy, or if it means I am in fact barking mad and should be in deep analysis for the rest of my life. Anyway, in their case it's probably just as well, as my engagement ceased at almost exactly the same time as theirs commenced: in years to come we'll look back and laugh about it, but for now there's a certain unspoken 'oops!' about things.
I hasten to add, I'm delighted for them. I'm just not doing a very good job of showing it.
Finally, I treated myself. I took myself off for an outing with my camera; something I've not done properly in several years. As it was on the way home I decided to go and bag some shots of old domestic appliances, as I'm thinking about picking up an old series of drawings and need source material. It didn't quite turn out that way - I got distracted by the history of computing gallery instead. That, however, is a post of its own.
A jolly trip yesterday to the ICA to see a documentary about Bob Moog, father of the synthesizer. A lovely, well crafted documentary that made me happy. It was fascinating to hear him talk about 'feeling' circuitry on a spiritual/telepathic level. Whilst I felt that was a bit too... hippy for my tastes, I identified with his connection to his craft. Maybe it was his way of internalising and explaining the state of 'flow' you get with concentrated, expert work. I'm sure the language of his retired philosopher wife affected the way he talked about it. (For that matter, retired philosophers - what do they do? Sit in rocking chairs all day and not think?) Anyway, I'm planning on bringing the film to the attention of schedulers, as it was lovely and deserves a wider audience.
Then today, after signing up for a new lease, off to have lunch with old recently engaged friends. The last few days have definitely been about speaking and getting used to diplomatically breaking news of 'personal tragedy' to people. Having allowed two months to pass without letting people know about Sarah and my breakup, I'm finding it difficult to cope with their shock and sympathy; I've got through to the patient acceptance and slow healing phase, so all of the 'oh, you poor thing, however are you coping' gets a jokey response, that I imagine must seem defensive and evasive to the person offering support. I find myself protecting other's sensibilities more than my own, and can't decide if that's even vaguely healthy, or if it means I am in fact barking mad and should be in deep analysis for the rest of my life. Anyway, in their case it's probably just as well, as my engagement ceased at almost exactly the same time as theirs commenced: in years to come we'll look back and laugh about it, but for now there's a certain unspoken 'oops!' about things.
I hasten to add, I'm delighted for them. I'm just not doing a very good job of showing it.
Finally, I treated myself. I took myself off for an outing with my camera; something I've not done properly in several years. As it was on the way home I decided to go and bag some shots of old domestic appliances, as I'm thinking about picking up an old series of drawings and need source material. It didn't quite turn out that way - I got distracted by the history of computing gallery instead. That, however, is a post of its own.
Saturday, February 12, 2005
Friday, February 11, 2005
Fo all you beotches who wanna find shiznit
If n whizzay I have a thought, n have ten minutes in tha office, I mizzay write mildly divert'n thoughts here: 'bout new media in rizzle life, 'bout tha W-to-tha-izzeb, 'bout tha future , ya feel me?. But mostly, I think, I'll just wiffle 'bout doggy stylin' . Bounce wit me.
Gizoogle - Fo all you beotches who wanna find shiznit
Gizoogle - Fo all you beotches who wanna find shiznit
Thursday, February 10, 2005
Wednesday, February 09, 2005
New Interest in Life
Sound mirrors - Denge
One of the strange side effects of my breakup (still hideous, by the way - I'm moving out) is that I've reconnected almost instantly with 'random stuff I'm interested in'.
Something about being in a relationship makes me jettison my capacity to get over-excited about things. All of the energy that usually fizzes around and gets poured into little projects, or fleeting obsessions seems to get sucked in to my efforts to 'have a relationship'. I think the lesson is that I should just 'be' in a relationship rather than having one.
But anyway, it's like my sense of self has come back.
And I have been struck by an immense desire to go and visit these sound mirrors on Dungeness.
I *must* learn to drive.
One of the strange side effects of my breakup (still hideous, by the way - I'm moving out) is that I've reconnected almost instantly with 'random stuff I'm interested in'.
Something about being in a relationship makes me jettison my capacity to get over-excited about things. All of the energy that usually fizzes around and gets poured into little projects, or fleeting obsessions seems to get sucked in to my efforts to 'have a relationship'. I think the lesson is that I should just 'be' in a relationship rather than having one.
But anyway, it's like my sense of self has come back.
And I have been struck by an immense desire to go and visit these sound mirrors on Dungeness.
I *must* learn to drive.
Monday, February 07, 2005
Demonisation
There's a proper post about the bloody DaVinci code brewing, but in the meantime, here's a very fine phrase from Mr Venusberg: Venusberg | voting Purves and Purves for 2005: "The da Vinci Code is certainly more ambitious than Angels and Demons, but only in the sense that allowing your dog to crap in somebody's driveway is less ambitious than entering their house in the guise of a meter reader and defecating into their DVD player. "
Thursday, February 03, 2005
Tuesday, February 01, 2005
Boys (do not equal) Girls
I composed a fantastically long and insightfully argued post about the Harvard Mathematics Sexism affair earlier on... but unfortunately managed to close without saving. So here, instead, is a diagram rather sarcastically summarising my thoughts.
In short, social pressures to conform to accepted gender standards tend to force women away from situations where their natural logical mathematical abilities could find full expression.
Likewise, it's fairly rare to find men who embrace championship class quilting, for instance. Or Home Economics.
And yes, this is jokey. But notice that the only section I couldn't find a good disparagement for was the male expression of masculine logical thought...
In short, social pressures to conform to accepted gender standards tend to force women away from situations where their natural logical mathematical abilities could find full expression.
Likewise, it's fairly rare to find men who embrace championship class quilting, for instance. Or Home Economics.
And yes, this is jokey. But notice that the only section I couldn't find a good disparagement for was the male expression of masculine logical thought...
Monday, January 31, 2005
American History E
In the Library of Congress Classification System is being touted on O'Reilly's XML.com as a useful tool for organising your books collection.
The great thing about it is that it uses letters of the alphabet to break down all human knowledge into top level classifications. And TWO of those - E and F - are for History:America. D is for History (general) and history of Europe. Military Science and Naval Science get their own letters, too.
And they say that classification systems are influenced by the culural assumptions of the classificatee. Who knew?
Please, point your browsers and laugh at:
XML.com: The Library of Congress Comes Home
The great thing about it is that it uses letters of the alphabet to break down all human knowledge into top level classifications. And TWO of those - E and F - are for History:America. D is for History (general) and history of Europe. Military Science and Naval Science get their own letters, too.
And they say that classification systems are influenced by the culural assumptions of the classificatee. Who knew?
Please, point your browsers and laugh at:
XML.com: The Library of Congress Comes Home
Bottersnikes and Gumbles
Over Sunday dinner last night, someone suddenly recalled Bottersnikes and Gumbles. Or at least, they said 'What was that book with the horrible ugly creatures and the cute squishy on...' and three people said 'Bottersnikes and Gumbles!' instantly, and were very very surprised to find themselves sat around a table with others who fondly remembered the book, too.
I, foolishly, said ' You know, I remember them so well I bet I can draw you one' - and did a strange rendition that looked a bit like the really cack handed EH Sheperd Roo drawing from Winnie The Pooh. The other guest then went 'That's Crap! They looked like *this*. Of course, we went to the internet to solve the argument.
It turns out that each of us had remembered a different Gumble from the stack of Gumbles on the cover...
So - a challenge - draw your own Gumble-From-Memory before clicking the link...
59_1_b.JPG (JPEG Image, 400x300 pixels)
I, foolishly, said ' You know, I remember them so well I bet I can draw you one' - and did a strange rendition that looked a bit like the really cack handed EH Sheperd Roo drawing from Winnie The Pooh. The other guest then went 'That's Crap! They looked like *this*. Of course, we went to the internet to solve the argument.
It turns out that each of us had remembered a different Gumble from the stack of Gumbles on the cover...
So - a challenge - draw your own Gumble-From-Memory before clicking the link...
59_1_b.JPG (JPEG Image, 400x300 pixels)
Sunday, January 30, 2005
Fo' Siznit in the Riznit.
I'm in awe of Gene Kelly. The man is amazing, and appears to work by a slightly different set of laws of gravity to us earthbound mortals. If you want proof, look at my flickr stream...
But anyway, this is a roundabout way of pointing you to this marvelous advert.
There's an awkward articulation when he's leaning against the lamppost (it's so hard to marry faces to necks - I suspect that few compositors have intimate anatomical knowledge) but otherwise - is pretty seamless.
But anyway, this is a roundabout way of pointing you to this marvelous advert.
There's an awkward articulation when he's leaning against the lamppost (it's so hard to marry faces to necks - I suspect that few compositors have intimate anatomical knowledge) but otherwise - is pretty seamless.
Saturday, January 29, 2005
Risk Factor: Depression
Risk Factor: Depression
NNDB is a tracker for information about notworthy folk.
It is cheering to know I am in such good company.
I feel I ought - for the record - to blog something about the utterly miserable time I'm having right now, but I've decided to take the wonderfully english strategy of *completely ignoring* it.
On the plus side, stopping the drugs is returning my short term memory (I hadn't realised just how bad it had got, which is alarming) and my creative impulses are coming back, slowly.
I get so tired of living with the black dog that the drugs were the only option. I just need to remember that they take away a very fundamental part of my personality, too.
NNDB is a tracker for information about notworthy folk.
It is cheering to know I am in such good company.
I feel I ought - for the record - to blog something about the utterly miserable time I'm having right now, but I've decided to take the wonderfully english strategy of *completely ignoring* it.
On the plus side, stopping the drugs is returning my short term memory (I hadn't realised just how bad it had got, which is alarming) and my creative impulses are coming back, slowly.
I get so tired of living with the black dog that the drugs were the only option. I just need to remember that they take away a very fundamental part of my personality, too.
Meth
OregonLive.com: Photo Galleries
Via Kottke - faces before and after meth addiction.
I guess I don't have to worry about this any more.
Via Kottke - faces before and after meth addiction.
I guess I don't have to worry about this any more.
Another Great Privacy Policy...
OK, a bit of a dull thing to blog about, but I've found another priceless privacy policy on a scam site. I was after some codecs to play... errm, completely legitimate downloads, and of course the top ten sites in google for the codec pack I was after were _all_ scam sites designed to grab creditcard numbers from the unwary.
It amuses me that these scammers put privacy policies on their sites. Particularly when they forget to change the boilerplate placeholders...
How You Can Access Or Correct Your Information:
You can access all your personally identifiable information that we collect online and maintain by [description of the company access procedure]. We use this procedure to better safeguard your information.
Moral of the story - avoid Kazaalite - Klite like the plague.
It amuses me that these scammers put privacy policies on their sites. Particularly when they forget to change the boilerplate placeholders...
How You Can Access Or Correct Your Information:
You can access all your personally identifiable information that we collect online and maintain by [description of the company access procedure]. We use this procedure to better safeguard your information.
Moral of the story - avoid Kazaalite - Klite like the plague.
Friday, January 28, 2005
Parlez Polari?
Brilliant little film about the old 'dialect' of the carnies and the queers. It's lovely to hear people using polari properly - native speakers, as it were. It's coming back into vogue after the revivals of Round the Horne, and Julian and Sandy. Apparently, Madame JoJos is encouraging it's staff to 'Speak Polari' - you know it must be a genuine trend when the Today Programme reports on it.
Note to self - must use more polari in everyday speech.
Note to self - must use more polari in everyday speech.
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
No Sadie She
Emma Kennedy: "not one that does the catwalk and the drug addictions"
Oh, good, that's put my mind at rest.
Oh, good, that's put my mind at rest.
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
We value your custom
This Privacy Policy is really special. It seems to hinge around the concept of
Yes, we have a privacy policy. We take your personal information and do stuff with it. This stuff is a service to you. really. Can we say that again? We're providing a service to you. We take your privacy very seriously. But we're not going to tell you exactly what stuff we'll do with your information, appart from taking it seriously. We're especially not going to tell you what services we'll provide you with.
Let me take a guess - spyware and spam? Oh, goody, just what I wanted.
Yes, we have a privacy policy. We take your personal information and do stuff with it. This stuff is a service to you. really. Can we say that again? We're providing a service to you. We take your privacy very seriously. But we're not going to tell you exactly what stuff we'll do with your information, appart from taking it seriously. We're especially not going to tell you what services we'll provide you with.
Let me take a guess - spyware and spam? Oh, goody, just what I wanted.
Saturday, January 22, 2005
collision detection: Can you think better when you're typing?
collision detection: Can you think better when you're typing?
Boy, I wish Blogger would impliment trackback.
Anyway, this is just to point to a story about my dad I've added to a discussion about handwriting vs typing and cognitive effects on language and thought process.
Boy, I wish Blogger would impliment trackback.
Anyway, this is just to point to a story about my dad I've added to a discussion about handwriting vs typing and cognitive effects on language and thought process.
Friday, January 21, 2005
SIRC - Passport to the Pub Chapter 1
SIRC - Passport to the Pub Chapter 1: "In bars and cafes in other parts of the world, waiter service can isolate people at separate tables, which makes it more difficult to initiate contact with others. Perhaps many cultures are more naturally outgoing and sociable than the British, and do not require any assistance in striking up a conversation with those seated near them.
The British, however, are a somewhat reserved and inhibited people, and we need all the help we can get! It is much easier to drift casually into a spontaneous chat while waiting at the bar than deliberately to break into the conversation at another table. Like every other aspect of pub etiquette, the no-waiter-service system is designed to promote sociability.
This is very good news for tourists who wish to make contact with the natives. The bar counter in a pub is possibly the only site in the British Isles in which friendly conversation with strangers is considered entirely appropriate and normal behaviour."
This is particularly magnificent. It goes on to describe just how the 'invisible queue' forms at the bar, and the means we employ to get the barmaid's attention.
The British, however, are a somewhat reserved and inhibited people, and we need all the help we can get! It is much easier to drift casually into a spontaneous chat while waiting at the bar than deliberately to break into the conversation at another table. Like every other aspect of pub etiquette, the no-waiter-service system is designed to promote sociability.
This is very good news for tourists who wish to make contact with the natives. The bar counter in a pub is possibly the only site in the British Isles in which friendly conversation with strangers is considered entirely appropriate and normal behaviour."
This is particularly magnificent. It goes on to describe just how the 'invisible queue' forms at the bar, and the means we employ to get the barmaid's attention.
Organised chaos: What happens when you replace the word "blogging" with "thinking"?
Organised chaos: What happens when you replace the word "blogging" with "thinking"?: "Anyone who derives their power from hierarchy or gate-keeping knowledge is in for a rude surprise. This particularly applies to managers and politicians who are often the worst offenders. My generation and the way we interact, converse, grow and learn will fundamentally change the world and for the better."
Henry By George, she's got it! By George, she's got it!
Blogging for me is like thinking out loud. Those who socialise with me know that once I get going (about a pint and a half going) I tend to hold forth on just about any subject. My friends are very patient, and indulge me in this. I also tend to 'verbally annotate' a lot - people who sit near me in the office must find it hugely irritating, but they indulge me.
I suspect the reason I do this is that I'm not aware of 'structuring my thought processes' in any way. I'm amazed at people who think things through, and come to decisions. That just doesn't happen for me: talking out loud, or making notes here (I write pretty much the same way I talk) is a way of *remembering* what I think about, and of processing my thoughts.
So, the blog - despite it's discalmatory tone, and it's habit of playing to the crowd - isn't much more than a filing system for my thoughts.
The reason I've been surprised, is that the process of getting things up on the blog, and the related pleasures of RSS reading has created a new semi-professional semi-friendly network based around shared interests. Suddenly, I know what's going on in other areas of my own workplace, because I read about it on other's personal sites.
I'd say that the number of people in bbc.co.uk who maintain blogs is actually going to affect the physical structure of the corporations website. There are suddenly enough of us connected together, in a way that exposes the function of the web and makes you think about the bbc site as a cohesive whole, experienced by the user, that I think there will be a steady change towards the bbc site become an integrated, navigable experience, rather than the loose affiliation of cantons it currently is.
Or something.
Henry By George, she's got it! By George, she's got it!
Blogging for me is like thinking out loud. Those who socialise with me know that once I get going (about a pint and a half going) I tend to hold forth on just about any subject. My friends are very patient, and indulge me in this. I also tend to 'verbally annotate' a lot - people who sit near me in the office must find it hugely irritating, but they indulge me.
I suspect the reason I do this is that I'm not aware of 'structuring my thought processes' in any way. I'm amazed at people who think things through, and come to decisions. That just doesn't happen for me: talking out loud, or making notes here (I write pretty much the same way I talk) is a way of *remembering* what I think about, and of processing my thoughts.
So, the blog - despite it's discalmatory tone, and it's habit of playing to the crowd - isn't much more than a filing system for my thoughts.
The reason I've been surprised, is that the process of getting things up on the blog, and the related pleasures of RSS reading has created a new semi-professional semi-friendly network based around shared interests. Suddenly, I know what's going on in other areas of my own workplace, because I read about it on other's personal sites.
I'd say that the number of people in bbc.co.uk who maintain blogs is actually going to affect the physical structure of the corporations website. There are suddenly enough of us connected together, in a way that exposes the function of the web and makes you think about the bbc site as a cohesive whole, experienced by the user, that I think there will be a steady change towards the bbc site become an integrated, navigable experience, rather than the loose affiliation of cantons it currently is.
Or something.
Thursday, January 20, 2005
The Shouty Track
Broadcast - The Shouty Track
A very, very fine video for ver Jelly's new single.
I had a great time doing metal salutes to this at the somerset house gig. Happy days.
A very, very fine video for ver Jelly's new single.
I had a great time doing metal salutes to this at the somerset house gig. Happy days.
Wednesday, January 19, 2005
"Coast is clear - go for it!"
Magnificent Photo.
There's a lovely story told by my husband's ex-boyfriend. He was out cruising for trade on Clapham Common one night, and caught the eye of an obliging and very beautiful chap with gorgeous shoulder length blonde hair. This adonis among men proceded to... do what the Lemur is doing.
So L, the H's E-B is leaning with his back against a tree, having... attention lavished on him, when he sees a very large gentleman walking down the path towards them. As this gentleman approaches, LtH'sEB sees more and more detail: the Pit Bull. The Shaved head. The bomber jacket. The stare.
LTHsEB is torn. He's obviously at high risk of being queerbashed, but his... lemury chum is *completely unaware* of the slow-approaching peril. Duck season... rabbit season... what to do? Break off a perfectly lovely encounter, and run for it, or hope the very large skinhead passes them by?
LTH'sEB prevaricates. with every passing second the skinhead draws closer, as does LTH'sEB.
... and decides that he's having far too much fun, and blow the consequences. As it were.
So... the very large skinhead draws level with the tree, looks LTH'sEB straight in the eye and says 'Nice one, mate'. As he walks away, he glances back over his shoulder, looks down, smiles, and says:
'Good Girl.'
There's a lovely story told by my husband's ex-boyfriend. He was out cruising for trade on Clapham Common one night, and caught the eye of an obliging and very beautiful chap with gorgeous shoulder length blonde hair. This adonis among men proceded to... do what the Lemur is doing.
So L, the H's E-B is leaning with his back against a tree, having... attention lavished on him, when he sees a very large gentleman walking down the path towards them. As this gentleman approaches, LtH'sEB sees more and more detail: the Pit Bull. The Shaved head. The bomber jacket. The stare.
LTHsEB is torn. He's obviously at high risk of being queerbashed, but his... lemury chum is *completely unaware* of the slow-approaching peril. Duck season... rabbit season... what to do? Break off a perfectly lovely encounter, and run for it, or hope the very large skinhead passes them by?
LTH'sEB prevaricates. with every passing second the skinhead draws closer, as does LTH'sEB.
... and decides that he's having far too much fun, and blow the consequences. As it were.
So... the very large skinhead draws level with the tree, looks LTH'sEB straight in the eye and says 'Nice one, mate'. As he walks away, he glances back over his shoulder, looks down, smiles, and says:
'Good Girl.'
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
foe romeo: Who's responsible for Technorati's tag results?
foe romeo: Who's responsible for Technorati's tag results?
Foe speaks lucidly about editorial responsibility.
... I'm not _massively_ surprised that Technorati came off a bit high and mighty - it's always struck me as being a site based on reinforcing arrogance of the... well, technorati. It's a bit snooty feeling, and nose-down-looking; but in that 'slightly too geeky to acknowledge social niceties' sort of way that a lot of people use as an excuse for rudeness.
Nice to see Dave Sifry responding in the comments though.
Foe speaks lucidly about editorial responsibility.
... I'm not _massively_ surprised that Technorati came off a bit high and mighty - it's always struck me as being a site based on reinforcing arrogance of the... well, technorati. It's a bit snooty feeling, and nose-down-looking; but in that 'slightly too geeky to acknowledge social niceties' sort of way that a lot of people use as an excuse for rudeness.
Nice to see Dave Sifry responding in the comments though.
Transgenic art | Metafilter
Transgenic art | Metafilter
A Cactus with hair.
I remind you, dear MeFi, that Dr Who went the other way, first.
A Cactus with hair.
I remind you, dear MeFi, that Dr Who went the other way, first.
Fluxblog on I ♥ Huckabees
Fluxblog: The 19 Forbidden Notes Of The Boite Diabolique: "Naomi Watts is especially great, which suggests that she has been wasting too much time screaming and crying in shameless Oscar bait when she ought to be doing more comedy"
Absolutely correct. She's really rather fine in this kind of role.
it's a rather lovely film, by the way. I couldn't agree with my cinemate as to whether it's a critique (me) or affirmation (him) of therapy and self-actualisation culture. But whatever, it's got a sex scene involving a muddy puddle, Jude Law suckling a grown man and Shania Twain, not to mention a soundtrack by Jon Brion. We like.
Absolutely correct. She's really rather fine in this kind of role.
it's a rather lovely film, by the way. I couldn't agree with my cinemate as to whether it's a critique (me) or affirmation (him) of therapy and self-actualisation culture. But whatever, it's got a sex scene involving a muddy puddle, Jude Law suckling a grown man and Shania Twain, not to mention a soundtrack by Jon Brion. We like.
Sunday, January 16, 2005
Rss duh.
The Trademark Blog is upset that Bloglines is 'Creating a commercial derivative work' from it's RSS feed.
The privacy concerns are possibly valid - but, um, why not include your contact info in your RSS feed, sweets?
It's the bit where the author suggests 'Subscribing to one of the many RSS programs available'.
What, you mean an RSS programme like, uh, say, Bloglines?
Bonk.
The privacy concerns are possibly valid - but, um, why not include your contact info in your RSS feed, sweets?
It's the bit where the author suggests 'Subscribing to one of the many RSS programs available'.
What, you mean an RSS programme like, uh, say, Bloglines?
Bonk.
Friday, January 14, 2005
The upside...
galactica03_1152.jpg (JPEG Image, 1152x870 pixels)
...is, I suppose, not having to feel guilty about the occasional leery bit of thigh rubbing.
...is, I suppose, not having to feel guilty about the occasional leery bit of thigh rubbing.
Supper With The Stars
Supper With The Stars
Repertoire. Stu will keep you entertained with jokes and hilarious catchphrases.
Special Requirements. A bunch of grapes.
Please mummy, can we?
FAntastic b3ta this week. Rob has outshone himself with rude. The poor chap obviously doesn't give a damn any more.
Oh, and for the record, please note that popular geek email rag 'NTK' isn't nearly as good as Amateur Parapsychologists' Monthly. And I'd have whooped the imaginary Dave Green's ass at Blood Bowl, if he'd let me..
Repertoire. Stu will keep you entertained with jokes and hilarious catchphrases.
Special Requirements. A bunch of grapes.
Please mummy, can we?
FAntastic b3ta this week. Rob has outshone himself with rude. The poor chap obviously doesn't give a damn any more.
Oh, and for the record, please note that popular geek email rag 'NTK' isn't nearly as good as Amateur Parapsychologists' Monthly. And I'd have whooped the imaginary Dave Green's ass at Blood Bowl, if he'd let me..
Zeitlupe/SloMo: Blogger-Fundsachen
Zeitlupe/SloMo: Blogger-Fundsachen
Er, anyone speak German? Is my blog _really_ about Design and Self Criticism?
Er, anyone speak German? Is my blog _really_ about Design and Self Criticism?
BBC NEWS | UK | A design for (long) life
BBC NEWS | UK | A design for (long) life
Hurrah!
The big button phone is indeed revolutionary for oldies. You can't imagine the problems my folks have. Their particular problem is when being asked to type in numbers on the keypad - they can't do it quickly enough and return the phone to their ear to hear the response from the system.
Design decisions like this are so subtle, but _so_ important.
Hurrah!
The big button phone is indeed revolutionary for oldies. You can't imagine the problems my folks have. Their particular problem is when being asked to type in numbers on the keypad - they can't do it quickly enough and return the phone to their ear to hear the response from the system.
Design decisions like this are so subtle, but _so_ important.
Fuck Miss America
I've just read a really very sad account of a chap with AIDS losing his sight.
I'm really fortunate in that I came on to the gay scene a bit too late to lose my friends to HIV. By the time I was out, the worst of that constant cull of beautiful men passed me by. So the AIDS crisis is only real to me through stories.
However, it was truly brought home to me about two years ago, during a late night conversation. The night was spent talking life stories, and I heard the extraordinary tale of the girl who was adopted by Queens, and then had to watch whilst AIDS took all of her friends. Her life had been full of beads, glitter, royal balls, the pomp and circumstance of the American drag scene. And then her best friend moved from being positive, to having full blown AIDS, and she gave up her life to care for him. She wiped his shit up, she coped with his hallucinations, she managed his dementia and his drugs.
I can't tell you the most hearbreaking half of it.
That story was the start - there was falling in love, sometime during the crying. The first moment of a long, lush intimacy which was meant to last for the rest of our lives. And we were planning that time - the house, a family, shoring ourselves against the loss that both of us seem to constantly expect. The unlikeliness of finding the one was surprising, and felt too special to be real.
Well, it turns out it was.
My girlfriend has told me our relationship is over. We limped through christmas, not talking. The day after boxing day, as soon as we wouldn't be ruining christmas, it all happened. I still can't behave as if it is true, I still talk about it as if it were a live thing, and not history. As if I hadn't been read the verdict.
'I still love you... I'm just not in love with you any more'.
That is the only thing that has changed in my life - the formal rescinding of a promise. We still share our living space, our sleeping arrangements are the same, the bills are still in both our names, but all promises are off. I have to be supportive and kind whilst she changes her life to exclude me. I have to answer the phone to the new people she's fucking now. She has to watch me turn silent and grim and angry and withdrawn.
I know it's going to be bad, because I haven't started hurting yet.
I'm really fortunate in that I came on to the gay scene a bit too late to lose my friends to HIV. By the time I was out, the worst of that constant cull of beautiful men passed me by. So the AIDS crisis is only real to me through stories.
However, it was truly brought home to me about two years ago, during a late night conversation. The night was spent talking life stories, and I heard the extraordinary tale of the girl who was adopted by Queens, and then had to watch whilst AIDS took all of her friends. Her life had been full of beads, glitter, royal balls, the pomp and circumstance of the American drag scene. And then her best friend moved from being positive, to having full blown AIDS, and she gave up her life to care for him. She wiped his shit up, she coped with his hallucinations, she managed his dementia and his drugs.
I can't tell you the most hearbreaking half of it.
That story was the start - there was falling in love, sometime during the crying. The first moment of a long, lush intimacy which was meant to last for the rest of our lives. And we were planning that time - the house, a family, shoring ourselves against the loss that both of us seem to constantly expect. The unlikeliness of finding the one was surprising, and felt too special to be real.
Well, it turns out it was.
My girlfriend has told me our relationship is over. We limped through christmas, not talking. The day after boxing day, as soon as we wouldn't be ruining christmas, it all happened. I still can't behave as if it is true, I still talk about it as if it were a live thing, and not history. As if I hadn't been read the verdict.
'I still love you... I'm just not in love with you any more'.
That is the only thing that has changed in my life - the formal rescinding of a promise. We still share our living space, our sleeping arrangements are the same, the bills are still in both our names, but all promises are off. I have to be supportive and kind whilst she changes her life to exclude me. I have to answer the phone to the new people she's fucking now. She has to watch me turn silent and grim and angry and withdrawn.
I know it's going to be bad, because I haven't started hurting yet.
Hamster Carnage
Joe. My. God.: Charlie & Buttercup
Fuck, that's one of the best blogposts I've read in a very long time. J.M.G., you really are a paragon among men.
Fuck, that's one of the best blogposts I've read in a very long time. J.M.G., you really are a paragon among men.
6823 Surface Transport
6823 Surface Transport
The wheels on this one were really, really nice to chew.
It was one of the first with yellow spacemen, too.
The wheels on this one were really, really nice to chew.
It was one of the first with yellow spacemen, too.
Brickshelf Gallery
Brickshelf Gallery
Oh, god.
Soud Proust and his biscuits. I've literally just had the smell of my parent's livingroom carpet tiles waft in to my nostrils. A complete hallucination, of course, but triggered by seeing the lego I grew up with. None of that Bionicles shit... proper lego that just couldn't wait to embed itself in your parent's bare feet.
These are just burnt into my memory. I can look at them and say 'oh, that was the one you could get for free with weetabix... and that one was the first to have the bendy pipes...'
I feel a trip to Kingston coming on...
Oh, god.
Soud Proust and his biscuits. I've literally just had the smell of my parent's livingroom carpet tiles waft in to my nostrils. A complete hallucination, of course, but triggered by seeing the lego I grew up with. None of that Bionicles shit... proper lego that just couldn't wait to embed itself in your parent's bare feet.
These are just burnt into my memory. I can look at them and say 'oh, that was the one you could get for free with weetabix... and that one was the first to have the bendy pipes...'
I feel a trip to Kingston coming on...
Thursday, January 13, 2005
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
Tant Pis
Emma Kennedy is having a bad day, the poor darling.
Her beagle peed in her laptop.
I don't think I've expressed my general admiration for Emma's writing before, but her blog really is most fine. She has a rather pleasant rambling turn of phrase, and a habit of using recurrring jokes, which I greatly appreciate. It all feels... Woodhousean, and makes me laugh out loud in the office, which only serves to reinforce my reputation for being odd.
For a famous person, she seems much too friendly, pleasant and jolly. I worry that she'll be tainted by celebrity and loose her natural, straightforward charm. Or become cynical, or be led astray by one of those Sadie Frost types into a life of designer frippery and casual drug abuse in fashionable soho members clubs.
It would be a waste.
Her beagle peed in her laptop.
I don't think I've expressed my general admiration for Emma's writing before, but her blog really is most fine. She has a rather pleasant rambling turn of phrase, and a habit of using recurrring jokes, which I greatly appreciate. It all feels... Woodhousean, and makes me laugh out loud in the office, which only serves to reinforce my reputation for being odd.
For a famous person, she seems much too friendly, pleasant and jolly. I worry that she'll be tainted by celebrity and loose her natural, straightforward charm. Or become cynical, or be led astray by one of those Sadie Frost types into a life of designer frippery and casual drug abuse in fashionable soho members clubs.
It would be a waste.
Monday, January 10, 2005
Darth Vader vs Tony Benn
stereohype.com >>> graphic art & fashion boutique
Heh. Would buy it instantly, but frankly 2.95 p&p for a 1.50 badge seems a bit shit.
Heh. Would buy it instantly, but frankly 2.95 p&p for a 1.50 badge seems a bit shit.
Friday, January 07, 2005
Jesus and Blasphemers
BBC NEWS | Entertainment | TV and Radio | Actor defends Springer TV opera: "while a reported total of 8,000 obscenities was reached by adding every swear word sung by each member of the 27-strong chorus."
Aah. Well, there goes the credibility of the protesters outside my office window. Jesus blesses those who massage statistics, obviously...
It's the uttering of the filth that counts... even if it is simultaneous with 26 other utterances...
Aah. Well, there goes the credibility of the protesters outside my office window. Jesus blesses those who massage statistics, obviously...
It's the uttering of the filth that counts... even if it is simultaneous with 26 other utterances...
Thursday, January 06, 2005
Now on the Big Screen!
There's a good alertbox this month - Saint Jakob the Useable is back on form after a few off columns.
The bit about physical links, user-created organisation and search is chiming with a lot of thinking that I'm doing right now.
However, here's one bit I take severe umbrage to...
Reviving Advanced Hypertext (Jakob Nielsen's Alertbox): "Once we get screens the size and resolution of a broadsheet newspaper, the user interface will change."
Hmn. Now, why are broadsheet papers the size they are? Do you know, children?
Tax.
Sometime in the ?1800s, the government levied a tax on newspapers: and they levied it on a per page basis. So, the more pages you had in your paper, the more tax you paid.
Now, newspaper magnates, even in the 19th century, are nothing if not canny types. Their response to this was to increace the size of their pages. Same word count, less tax. Smart.
One paper got so smart, they printed the whole thing on a sheet the size of a blackboard, and just origami'ed it for ease of portability.
Previously, papers had been something between A4 and tabloid size - pretty much the maximum size it's comfortable to read without laying a paper flat on a table. All of the common design tropes of newspaper layout were adapted to facilitate the use of something that was just, frankly, too cumbersome to be used comfortably.
And what's happening in the UK? All of those broadsheets are going back to tabloid size. Why? Because a tabloid paper is about the same width as your shoulders.
It's related to the reason that things like plasterboard and MDF come in 8'x4' sheets. Rooms are often taller than 8', but an 8'x4' sheet is around about the maximum size your average builder can carry on his own - it's the size of an armspan, basically.* A tabloid the width of your shoulders is comfortable to hold and read. And you can read it on the tube without swamping your traveling companions in reams of folds.
Every other 'big screen' isn't about more in the display, it's about the same, but bigger and more lifelike. Can you imagine Sky trying to add an extra 4 hours or six channels on to their EPG because tellys are bigger? It would be illegible at the increaced distance needed for comfortable viewing.
The other thing to bear in mind is edges. I know Jakob is a devotee of text, but the web is about rich media too. Reading the equivalent of a broadsheet on a portable screen, clicking a hyperlink and getting a fullscreen video - the screen would extend into your peripheral vision. And the minute any big cameramoves happened, you'd get motionsick. Try watching the blair witch project from the front row of a cinema sometime. I guarantee you'll get seasick.
Now, at home I work at a very generous 1600x1200. But If I'm working with text in, say, word, I always end up 'fitting width to screen' - because it's the most comfortable reading experience. Imagine a high-res, wallsized screen. You're on your sofa, with your remote, reading from a distance of 8 feet or more. You'll want really big text, and it's not going to be comfortable. I bet there's field of view issues there, too - strain on the eye muscles...
The best you'll get is some very big headlines, and a dynamic focusy-zoomy change - a bit like the mac dock. But it'll be at best for distracted catch ups - serious reading will always be more comfortable on the handheld, A4 to tabloid scale.
*I have problems carrying four-bi'eight. Because I'm a girl with large breasts, so some of my span is taken up by holding the sheet away from my body, unbalancing me. If women were the socially dominant sex, you'd have five-bi'three instead. Actually, no you wouldn't - we'd get the blokes to do all the heavy lifting... wink.
The bit about physical links, user-created organisation and search is chiming with a lot of thinking that I'm doing right now.
However, here's one bit I take severe umbrage to...
Reviving Advanced Hypertext (Jakob Nielsen's Alertbox): "Once we get screens the size and resolution of a broadsheet newspaper, the user interface will change."
Hmn. Now, why are broadsheet papers the size they are? Do you know, children?
Tax.
Sometime in the ?1800s, the government levied a tax on newspapers: and they levied it on a per page basis. So, the more pages you had in your paper, the more tax you paid.
Now, newspaper magnates, even in the 19th century, are nothing if not canny types. Their response to this was to increace the size of their pages. Same word count, less tax. Smart.
One paper got so smart, they printed the whole thing on a sheet the size of a blackboard, and just origami'ed it for ease of portability.
Previously, papers had been something between A4 and tabloid size - pretty much the maximum size it's comfortable to read without laying a paper flat on a table. All of the common design tropes of newspaper layout were adapted to facilitate the use of something that was just, frankly, too cumbersome to be used comfortably.
And what's happening in the UK? All of those broadsheets are going back to tabloid size. Why? Because a tabloid paper is about the same width as your shoulders.
It's related to the reason that things like plasterboard and MDF come in 8'x4' sheets. Rooms are often taller than 8', but an 8'x4' sheet is around about the maximum size your average builder can carry on his own - it's the size of an armspan, basically.* A tabloid the width of your shoulders is comfortable to hold and read. And you can read it on the tube without swamping your traveling companions in reams of folds.
Every other 'big screen' isn't about more in the display, it's about the same, but bigger and more lifelike. Can you imagine Sky trying to add an extra 4 hours or six channels on to their EPG because tellys are bigger? It would be illegible at the increaced distance needed for comfortable viewing.
The other thing to bear in mind is edges. I know Jakob is a devotee of text, but the web is about rich media too. Reading the equivalent of a broadsheet on a portable screen, clicking a hyperlink and getting a fullscreen video - the screen would extend into your peripheral vision. And the minute any big cameramoves happened, you'd get motionsick. Try watching the blair witch project from the front row of a cinema sometime. I guarantee you'll get seasick.
Now, at home I work at a very generous 1600x1200. But If I'm working with text in, say, word, I always end up 'fitting width to screen' - because it's the most comfortable reading experience. Imagine a high-res, wallsized screen. You're on your sofa, with your remote, reading from a distance of 8 feet or more. You'll want really big text, and it's not going to be comfortable. I bet there's field of view issues there, too - strain on the eye muscles...
The best you'll get is some very big headlines, and a dynamic focusy-zoomy change - a bit like the mac dock. But it'll be at best for distracted catch ups - serious reading will always be more comfortable on the handheld, A4 to tabloid scale.
*I have problems carrying four-bi'eight. Because I'm a girl with large breasts, so some of my span is taken up by holding the sheet away from my body, unbalancing me. If women were the socially dominant sex, you'd have five-bi'three instead. Actually, no you wouldn't - we'd get the blokes to do all the heavy lifting... wink.
Tuesday, January 04, 2005
We're going to need a bigger lap...
A fantastic Craig's List post.
I feel rather sad that Craig's List has been bought by eBay. The internet just isn't what it used to be...
I feel rather sad that Craig's List has been bought by eBay. The internet just isn't what it used to be...
Friday, December 31, 2004
Deckled edges, true letterpress...
Identity Card Concept Project : Courtesy Blood Card : True Identity
Loving Mr Coates' business card with handwriting, and vaguely wondering how I'd represent myself...
Found this - a bloodsample trust business card.
One hitch... HIV.
Loving Mr Coates' business card with handwriting, and vaguely wondering how I'd represent myself...
Found this - a bloodsample trust business card.
One hitch... HIV.
Wednesday, December 29, 2004
Sunday, December 26, 2004
Ingenuity in adversity
Well, have made it through Christmas. I might write more about it later, but there's a lot I don't feel like writing about at the moment.
So, instead, a few words about the most extraordinary documentary I've just seen - Miracle on the River Kwai - about the makeshift hospital camps set up by the POWs building the infamous jungle railway.
It was remarkble in that one of the old soldiers they interviewed was a talented draughtsman, and had sketched scenes. They bought home the experience much harder, for being an eyewitness record.
But... the thing that amazed me and made it such a fantstic document was the improvised medical procedures the interns (what a telling double meaning that is...) came up with. They realised that blood plasma from prisoners contained antibodies - so seperated plasma from samples using a centrifuge made from discarded bottles and a bicycle to drive the spin.
They made a vitamin replacement drink by fermenting rice, banana and spit.
Remarkable.
So, instead, a few words about the most extraordinary documentary I've just seen - Miracle on the River Kwai - about the makeshift hospital camps set up by the POWs building the infamous jungle railway.
It was remarkble in that one of the old soldiers they interviewed was a talented draughtsman, and had sketched scenes. They bought home the experience much harder, for being an eyewitness record.
But... the thing that amazed me and made it such a fantstic document was the improvised medical procedures the interns (what a telling double meaning that is...) came up with. They realised that blood plasma from prisoners contained antibodies - so seperated plasma from samples using a centrifuge made from discarded bottles and a bicycle to drive the spin.
They made a vitamin replacement drink by fermenting rice, banana and spit.
Remarkable.
Wednesday, December 22, 2004
Easy Does It
Easy Does It
An insightful investigation of work/time and motion, and the need for accessible tech in the home. Gendered technology is always an interesting subject...
An insightful investigation of work/time and motion, and the need for accessible tech in the home. Gendered technology is always an interesting subject...
Tuesday, December 21, 2004
Your most popular photos on Flickr, sorted by the number of favorites
Your most popular photos on Flickr, sorted by the number of favorites
270 people like the photo of my girlfriend in a bikini
But more people have marked my gay cake as a favourite.
Yay.
270 people like the photo of my girlfriend in a bikini
But more people have marked my gay cake as a favourite.
Yay.
Beware the IAs of March
PML (Psychogeographical Markup Language)
A brand of XML designed for describing psychogeography and psychogeographical occurrences.
An objective description language, for subjective events.
Heh.
A brand of XML designed for describing psychogeography and psychogeographical occurrences.
An objective description language, for subjective events.
Heh.
Monday, December 20, 2004
MediaGuardian.co.uk | Media | 'We have the best brand in the world'
MediaGuardian.co.uk | Media | 'We have the best brand in the world'
Sigh.
I'm not sure if this is journalistic or managemental overenthusiasm.
My boss'sboss'sboss does seem to be inappropriately visionary at times. He's going to land us all in hot water one day...
Sigh.
I'm not sure if this is journalistic or managemental overenthusiasm.
My boss'sboss'sboss does seem to be inappropriately visionary at times. He's going to land us all in hot water one day...
Thursday, December 16, 2004
T E X T F I L E S
T E X T F I L E S
Aww, how sweet.
"Not long ago, many data communicators thought that dial-up modem manufacturers had pushed transmission speeds to the limit with the introduction of 2400 bit
per second (bps) modems. Recently, however, several manufacturers have
creatively combined relatively mature techniques of data transmission with newer
technology and have introduced 9600 bps modems."
Aww, how sweet.
See Igor, it moves...
I've had a morning written by Mary Shelley.
As part of my ongoing - and slightly halfhearted - attempts to sort out my wrist problems, I've been to the hospital. Now, the wrist problems are some kind of RSI - but that's such a blanket vague term, it's very hard to know what exactly the problem is, particularly as my symptoms come and go according to their own fell schedule.
The latest thinking - after finally having a GP who took me seriously enough to refer me to a speciallist - is that my posture has become stooped due to the excessive ammounts of time I spend sitting in front of computers. Specifically, I push my chin forward, which means my neck bends at the wrong point. This means that my cervical spine is slowly beginning to fuse - an arthritic condition called Spondylosis. The stiffness this causes means that the big nerves are being pressed where they exit from my spincal cord - and that's what makes my arms, wrists and hands hurt. Phew. So, strictly, I have PRULD - Posture related upper limb disorder.
Anyway, to make damn sure that the pressure in my neck was the problem, and not some pinching or nerve damage further down, the speciallist sent me to another speciallist for an EMG. That's Electromyography to us laymen - or electric-muscle-drawing if you translate the doctorese.
Having finally found the right bit of St georges hospital - which is insanely huge, I add - I finally got ushered in to a tiny little room, and electrodes were taped to my arm.
The doctor then used a taser to give me electric shocks. And when he'd done with that, he stuck needles deep into my muscles, put elecrified lasoos around my fingers, and made me tense my muscles around the needles. And then he ran current through the electrified lasoos. Which made my arms twitch, further moving the needles that were well embedded in my flesh.
It was the most horrible, sick-to-your-stomach thing I've ever had done. Much worse than having my back cut open. And my arm still hurts an hour and a half later.
Ow.
And it turns out that the tests proved the problem is in my neck, as suspected.
Grr.
As part of my ongoing - and slightly halfhearted - attempts to sort out my wrist problems, I've been to the hospital. Now, the wrist problems are some kind of RSI - but that's such a blanket vague term, it's very hard to know what exactly the problem is, particularly as my symptoms come and go according to their own fell schedule.
The latest thinking - after finally having a GP who took me seriously enough to refer me to a speciallist - is that my posture has become stooped due to the excessive ammounts of time I spend sitting in front of computers. Specifically, I push my chin forward, which means my neck bends at the wrong point. This means that my cervical spine is slowly beginning to fuse - an arthritic condition called Spondylosis. The stiffness this causes means that the big nerves are being pressed where they exit from my spincal cord - and that's what makes my arms, wrists and hands hurt. Phew. So, strictly, I have PRULD - Posture related upper limb disorder.
Anyway, to make damn sure that the pressure in my neck was the problem, and not some pinching or nerve damage further down, the speciallist sent me to another speciallist for an EMG. That's Electromyography to us laymen - or electric-muscle-drawing if you translate the doctorese.
Having finally found the right bit of St georges hospital - which is insanely huge, I add - I finally got ushered in to a tiny little room, and electrodes were taped to my arm.
The doctor then used a taser to give me electric shocks. And when he'd done with that, he stuck needles deep into my muscles, put elecrified lasoos around my fingers, and made me tense my muscles around the needles. And then he ran current through the electrified lasoos. Which made my arms twitch, further moving the needles that were well embedded in my flesh.
It was the most horrible, sick-to-your-stomach thing I've ever had done. Much worse than having my back cut open. And my arm still hurts an hour and a half later.
Ow.
And it turns out that the tests proved the problem is in my neck, as suspected.
Grr.
Monday, December 13, 2004
Just not Working
I'm loving Rodcorp's ongoing series about the working habits of highly effective people. Much better than any pat self improvement book. The entry from Paul H the lawyer amused me though, most notably for the gender bias it displays, and the classic joke about there never being enough cubibles in ladies loos, anywhere. I can only assume from the figures that the ladies are almost at three-to-a-stall, with no standing at the urinal option. Or at least, not without practice.
(Oh, dang. www.restrooms.org/standing.html has gone, to be replaced by a page advertising... well, go anywhere pee tubes. Shame)
I love the whole territorial concept of each male lawyer scent-marking his territory. Pissing contests are literally played out in that company, with the Alphamale's delicate position when threatened by the young, strong challengers neatly encapsulated by the luxurious but adapted disable cubicle...
I claim to be neither effective nor creative - but my work habits are definately dispersed and up to the wire. I spend the maximum time possible researching and thinking, then produce work in 'first draft' - almost never going back to edit or reorder. It's a slightly zen way of doing things - maximum preperation, then empty mind and definite execution. Weirdly, I seem to have inherited this approach from my mother, who is also a ruthless deadline queen. Rumour has it she was still hemming her wedding dress in the taxi on the way to the registry office.
(Oh, dang. www.restrooms.org/standing.html has gone, to be replaced by a page advertising... well, go anywhere pee tubes. Shame)
I love the whole territorial concept of each male lawyer scent-marking his territory. Pissing contests are literally played out in that company, with the Alphamale's delicate position when threatened by the young, strong challengers neatly encapsulated by the luxurious but adapted disable cubicle...
I claim to be neither effective nor creative - but my work habits are definately dispersed and up to the wire. I spend the maximum time possible researching and thinking, then produce work in 'first draft' - almost never going back to edit or reorder. It's a slightly zen way of doing things - maximum preperation, then empty mind and definite execution. Weirdly, I seem to have inherited this approach from my mother, who is also a ruthless deadline queen. Rumour has it she was still hemming her wedding dress in the taxi on the way to the registry office.
Thursday, December 09, 2004
Jigsaws are the New Black
There was much discussion last night of the joys of codgeryness at the work christmas party last night. The party, frankly, was rubbish, but we think it may have been more to do with the fact that it was the fifth party for some of us, and the novelty has worn thin.
But codgeryness is lovely. We find it manifesting in our lives in strange ways; getting annoyed because Radio 4 is knocked off the air by the local pirate station is one of the more entertaining signs we've identified.
There's a lovely example of codgeryness being the new cool on Emma Kennedy's blog - the joy of eating crisps and playing trivial pursuit.
But I now have my own version.
Jigsaws.
Lord, they're the most magnificent form of entertainment imaginable.
But codgeryness is lovely. We find it manifesting in our lives in strange ways; getting annoyed because Radio 4 is knocked off the air by the local pirate station is one of the more entertaining signs we've identified.
There's a lovely example of codgeryness being the new cool on Emma Kennedy's blog - the joy of eating crisps and playing trivial pursuit.
But I now have my own version.
Jigsaws.
Lord, they're the most magnificent form of entertainment imaginable.
Manger scene with cotton balls
This Flickr Photo nearly made me cry.
That's a really odd thing to say. It's not a particularly special picture, but there's a reason.
Every christmas, my Great Aunt used to put a manger scene in her front window in Canterbury. The dolls she used were homemade, and obviously old - something about the way their faces were drawn on just screamed 1920s. There were always the three wise men, the shepherds, the whole mullarkey. All were decorated with amazing scraps of material, probably leftovers from my Great Grandmother's fancy dress business.
The tableau would be arranged in front of a large piece of dark blue silk, with fairylights hung over all to make it look like stars. The whole thing had a slightly tatty but old-fashioned charm.
I always took it for granted until one day I was on my way to a pub with an art college tutor, and a bunch of friends. The tutor stopped dead in front of Auntie Muriel's window, looked at the dolls, and said 'I love this house. I always feel like it's properly christmas when they put up their nativity. It's such a wonderful thing.'
I felt so proud when I could say - 'Yes, it's my Great Aunt's house'.
That's why I'm sad. I don't think it'll be there this year, as her son and daughter probably don't have the heart for it.
Laurence, if you read this, and you both decide you don't want to do the nativity any more... it's the one thing that I'd really appreciate inheriting. But only if it's time for it to go.
That's a really odd thing to say. It's not a particularly special picture, but there's a reason.
Every christmas, my Great Aunt used to put a manger scene in her front window in Canterbury. The dolls she used were homemade, and obviously old - something about the way their faces were drawn on just screamed 1920s. There were always the three wise men, the shepherds, the whole mullarkey. All were decorated with amazing scraps of material, probably leftovers from my Great Grandmother's fancy dress business.
The tableau would be arranged in front of a large piece of dark blue silk, with fairylights hung over all to make it look like stars. The whole thing had a slightly tatty but old-fashioned charm.
I always took it for granted until one day I was on my way to a pub with an art college tutor, and a bunch of friends. The tutor stopped dead in front of Auntie Muriel's window, looked at the dolls, and said 'I love this house. I always feel like it's properly christmas when they put up their nativity. It's such a wonderful thing.'
I felt so proud when I could say - 'Yes, it's my Great Aunt's house'.
That's why I'm sad. I don't think it'll be there this year, as her son and daughter probably don't have the heart for it.
Laurence, if you read this, and you both decide you don't want to do the nativity any more... it's the one thing that I'd really appreciate inheriting. But only if it's time for it to go.
Sunday, December 05, 2004
London Underground Map
Heritage: Exploring Underground London
Yet more on the lazy blogmeme of the underground map.
But this one... well, it's got rivers, roman highstreets, sewers and Eisenhowers HQ marked on it.
Nice.
Yet more on the lazy blogmeme of the underground map.
But this one... well, it's got rivers, roman highstreets, sewers and Eisenhowers HQ marked on it.
Nice.
Would you like me to make the connection for you?
By the magic of technorati, I've discovered the owner of an admirable collection of facial hair discussing my old post about London Telephone Exchanges. He was wondering what the link between SMS and the exchange mnemonics was, and rather than post the most enormous comment on his blog, I've moved it here. Oh, Blogger, do kindly impliment trackback....
The link (between exchanges and SMS) is the labelling of buttons on phonedials with letters, and the use of a numberpad for alphabetic input. I've always wondered why, despite the fact that British phones are lettered, we've never adopted the American practice of using 'words' as phonenumbers for advertising. 0800-there's-no-q-or-o-on-the-old-style-dials, maybe?
Actually, I'm hacked off about STOnegrove because I live in PUTney. If I had a number on the Putney exchange, I'd be telling everyone that my number was Putney 30## with utter glee (and a sort of forced, clipped RP accent), because part of me wants to live in the 1940s.
(Actually, I suppose it's possible I live in GIBbon, but I don't give a monkeys for that exchange name, it's just not stylish enough)
I do remember Telegrams, and that strange thing they became... what was it called? Ah, Telemessages: http://www.btaccurate.com/whatwedo_telehistory.html
Did you know that you can now send an MMS, and for something like 5 quid have it delivered as a printed postcard, by post? Technology is finaly bringing itself back to the tangible...
Ooh! It turns out the exchange is Gibbon because the Decline and fall of the blah blah blah chap was born in putney. Well, I never.
The link (between exchanges and SMS) is the labelling of buttons on phonedials with letters, and the use of a numberpad for alphabetic input. I've always wondered why, despite the fact that British phones are lettered, we've never adopted the American practice of using 'words' as phonenumbers for advertising. 0800-there's-no-q-or-o-on-the-old-style-dials, maybe?
Actually, I'm hacked off about STOnegrove because I live in PUTney. If I had a number on the Putney exchange, I'd be telling everyone that my number was Putney 30## with utter glee (and a sort of forced, clipped RP accent), because part of me wants to live in the 1940s.
(Actually, I suppose it's possible I live in GIBbon, but I don't give a monkeys for that exchange name, it's just not stylish enough)
I do remember Telegrams, and that strange thing they became... what was it called? Ah, Telemessages: http://www.btaccurate.com/whatwedo_telehistory.html
Did you know that you can now send an MMS, and for something like 5 quid have it delivered as a printed postcard, by post? Technology is finaly bringing itself back to the tangible...
Ooh! It turns out the exchange is Gibbon because the Decline and fall of the blah blah blah chap was born in putney. Well, I never.
Edward Gibbon and his amazing comedy testicles
Edward Gibbon - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
OMG. Edward Gibbon had testicles the size of watermelons.
Blimey, I do love facts.
OMG. Edward Gibbon had testicles the size of watermelons.
Blimey, I do love facts.
Saturday, December 04, 2004
A national monumnet demolished.
BBC NEWS | Entertainment | TV and Radio | Obituary: Fred Dibnah
Only just found out about this, due to fortuitous turning off of reality-show pap in time to watch some proper telly.
I'm rather sad, as one of my favourite things in recent months has been lying abed'o'saturday watching old Fred Dibnah shows on UK History.
What a star the man was. Buy, you know you're getting to be middle aged when your idea of top telly is a man talking about canals and traction engines.
All the good people are karking it at the moment.
Only just found out about this, due to fortuitous turning off of reality-show pap in time to watch some proper telly.
I'm rather sad, as one of my favourite things in recent months has been lying abed'o'saturday watching old Fred Dibnah shows on UK History.
What a star the man was. Buy, you know you're getting to be middle aged when your idea of top telly is a man talking about canals and traction engines.
All the good people are karking it at the moment.
Friday, December 03, 2004
ofoe romeo: Softer wins
foe romeo: Softer wins
Foe's musings about 'soft wins' and games to be played in the living room (uh, that'll be parlour games, then, will it, kim?) has prodded my brain into remembering my killer red-button etv app.
It's based around the idea of strugggling for control of the remote. You have a number of players - the game is unimportant, maybe a simple quiz, or a timed challenge - but to 'win' a round you have to be the person who makes the fastest lunge for the remote control on the coffee table.
It's a lovely way of enducing good natured mayhem, as family members become increacingly devious about hiding the remote, inching closer, faking moves etc etc.
Foe's musings about 'soft wins' and games to be played in the living room (uh, that'll be parlour games, then, will it, kim?) has prodded my brain into remembering my killer red-button etv app.
It's based around the idea of strugggling for control of the remote. You have a number of players - the game is unimportant, maybe a simple quiz, or a timed challenge - but to 'win' a round you have to be the person who makes the fastest lunge for the remote control on the coffee table.
It's a lovely way of enducing good natured mayhem, as family members become increacingly devious about hiding the remote, inching closer, faking moves etc etc.
Headshift :: smarter, simpler, social
Headshift :: smarter, simpler, social
"Distributed CPU cycles are worthless unless you're SETI or Pixar. Distributed brain cycles... now that's a much more intriguing proposition."
Nice. Soing a lot of thinking about distributed metadata efforts today. And this is a lovely way of looking at the problem... sorry, the solution.
It's far better to have a million reasoning minds working on a problem unknowingly, than a million unknowing minds working reasonably.
"Distributed CPU cycles are worthless unless you're SETI or Pixar. Distributed brain cycles... now that's a much more intriguing proposition."
Nice. Soing a lot of thinking about distributed metadata efforts today. And this is a lovely way of looking at the problem... sorry, the solution.
It's far better to have a million reasoning minds working on a problem unknowingly, than a million unknowing minds working reasonably.
Wednesday, December 01, 2004
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