April 29, 2004
Here is a purse of monies
I have a small pot of money.
I mean that quite literally. It's a small plant pot, the result of one of my many attempts to keep plants. Actually, it's all that remains of my attempt to keep plants. I attempt to forge a new relationship with foliage every few years, once the memory of my last failure has faded. I can't help but cling to the belief that this time will be different, this time the flowers and ivy that I favour will respond to my overtures and flourish and bloom. They never do. In the end all I have to show for my efforts are the brown withered remnants of something that might once have been a plant and an empty pot. I had a small collection of plant pots at one point. I should probably just have reused the pots I already had (from prior attempts), but that seemed disrespectful somehow, so I kept buying more.
Hmm, I think I'm beginning to understand how I accumulate so much clutter...
Anyway, the money is simply the change I have left over at the end of each day. I hold myself to a single rule: every coin I have, value less than a pound goes into the pot. It takes around six weeks to two months to fill up, and by the end of that time it will contain approximately £30. It's almost full now, and I'm wondering what I should do with the money. In the past I've used it to purchase small treats for myself: books, cd's, games, dvd's and other items of that ilk. Nothing remarkable, but pleasant enough diversions. However, I'd like to put it to better use this time, by donating it to a good cause. I'm just not certain which. However, I am open to suggestions, so if anyone out there can suggest a worthy recipient, I'll gladly make a donation on your behalf.
Any thoughts?
April 28, 2004
Don't bank on it
Another holiday is soon upon us ("us" being everyone in the uk - those of you in other principalities will have to fend for your own holidays I'm afraid). I really need to pay more attention to the calendar - I almost missed the last couple of bank holidays, despite the fact that they were closely tied to Easter which should have been something of a giveaway. Disappointingly, I failed to do anything noteworthy of either of those occasions, which I consider a squandered opportunity still. Consequently I'm avowed not to repeat the same mistake.
My long planned day trip to Paris looks to be someways off just yet, as again I've left it a little too late to book a seat at a reasonable fare. However, just because I've ruled out the continent doesn't mean to say there isn't plenty in England's green and pleasant lands to occupy me yet. With that in mind, I've put together a modest list of the things I shall achieve in my forthcoming three day weekend:
- I will venture on a day trip to a location somewhere out of London. I should be ashamed to admit that most of my excursions out of the city have also been out of the country and as a result I've seen entirely too little of the English countryside.
- I will attend a theatrical event of some description. It's been a while now since I've just upped and went to the theatre, without planning the trip in advance. I like the idea of just turning up and seeing what takes my fancy.
- I will buy a copy of Timeout and choose from it at least one event that appeals to me. And I'll go to it - the picking alone wouldn't be much fun, after all.
It's a precious commodity, after all.
Out, out darned bug
Whilst thinking about something else entirely this afternoon I suddenly realised why several people have reported seeing different themes in the comments popups than on my main pages. I'd forgotten to take into account that some people will be accessing the site from "http://deletetheweb.com" whereas the comment boxes will always open to "http:www.deletetheweb.com" - different cookies were being set for the two different domains. Obviously. I've made a quick change to my cookie code to correct this and all is now well again. You might notice that the theme isn't as you last left it as a result of this, but choose it again and it will right itself.
This has been a public service announcement.
April 27, 2004
A vindication of sorts. And goats.
There's a classic maths problem which I'm going to recount here, briefly, on the the basis that it may not be known to you all, despite the fact it will be utterly familiar to many of you - allow me a little latitude, please.
The situation is thus: You have been presented with three boxes. Inside one of the boxes is a fabulous prize (I'm not going to tell you what it is, but the knowledge that it is indeed fabulous should suffice) whereas the contents of the other two boxes can be safely assumed to be less fabulous. Naturally, you're terribly excited at the prospect of winning this (fabulous) prize, but you're somewhat vexed to find out that there are rules involved. Fortunately, the rules are rather simple: All you have to do is to choose a box. So you gaze down upon the three boxes before you and the knowledge that you have only have a one in three chance of winning starts gnawing at the very core of your being. You examine the boxes, but there are no clues to be had - all appear identical. Wracked by indecision, a single bead of sweat begins to trickle slowly down your forehead. You wipe it away listlessly. Which to choose you wonder. More moments pass. Soon you can stand the suspense no longer and fatefully point at the box nearest you. "This one," you announce to all, "I'll take this one." The wave of relief you feel at finally having made a decision doesn't last very long. "So you want that one," your mysterious opposite number (whom I haven't decided to imbue with any characteristics beyond a disembodied voiced - I'm in a lazy sort of a mood). "Are you certain? Are you sure? With so much riding on it, can you be certain you've made the right choice? Perhaps you might feel differently, were I to reveal... this!" And with that unseen gesture, the contents of one of the other boxes is laid bare before you, and you see, with perhaps a glimmer of relief, that it's contents are not fabulous. But your elusive companion is not yet done with his taunting. Having shown you the empty box, he now offers you your last choice. Keep what you have, or else change your mind and instead take the final box.
And this gist of the problem is this: Are you better off keeping what you have, or should you make that fateful final switch? Don't worry, I'm not about to launch into an explanation of the solution (although I can explain it well enough to convince myself), but I will tell you that the correct answer, as far as probability is concerned, is to make the switch.
Now what I really wanted to write about was the fact that this problem is generally known as the Monty Hall problem, after the eponymous host of an American game show from many years ago. However, I've always thought of it as the problem of Marilyn And Her Amazing Probability Defying Goats. Now see, the way you're now looking at me is the way people generally look at me, everytime I bring this up. You see, I had no idea why I thought of it like this. It's been the better part of a decade since I first came across this problem, and the details of that encounter have long been muddied in the mists of time. I could have been making it all up, admittedly, but somewhere out there I was convinced I would find an explanation that would account for Marilyn. And her goats.
And then today I discovered this. It seems that the problem was discussed in a newspaper column, written by Marilyn Vos Savant, and the framing of the question included... goats! It even stems from 1991, which is approximately the right time-frame.
And that's that really. All I have left to say on the subject is: Haha! See, I'm not mad!! I told you all, but you wouldn't believe me, would you! But I was right all along, wasn't I? Haha! Mad, they said! Haha. Mad, mad as a hatter. But who's laughing now? Hahaha! Hey, put that straightjacket down. Didn't you hear me? I'm sane, I said, sane! Oi, gerofff....
April 26, 2004
There had better be a goodly sum of money under my pillow to make this worthwhile
I need to go to the dentist. I could blame Simon, since he recently broached the subject first, but I doubt the chunk of filling that just popped out of a tooth of mine can be directly attributed to him, so that would hardly be fair. On the other hand I may not let that stop me.
I have no great love of dentists. It's my own fault naturally, since I didn't appreciate the necessity of good dental care as a child, and despite the best efforts of those around me, I'm not certain I ever really made the connection between dental hygiene and my increasing number of fillings until it was too late. Were I to mount any sort of a defense, I'd likely claim that my tribulations were far from atypical when compared to those of the average Scottish child. We like our sweeties in Scotland. Still, I consider it a lesson learned, and I'm far more careful when it comes to taking care of my teeth nowadays... although I rarely attend the dentist unless it's completely unavoidable, usually when something starts hurting. Fortunately that's not the case this time, though at my last appointment several years back the dentist advised me I had several fillings in need of replacement in the near future. I'm assuming that future is now.
I am slightly nervous about the whole affair, although the fact that Simon's experiences were largely positive is rather reassuring. My only problem is that I've no idea how to find a good dentist. I've discovered one practice that's located only a short walk from where I presently live, and it has the added bonus that it's taking on new patients - I was surprised to discover that most of the others in any sort of reasonable proximity are refusing new adult patients. Of course, this has left me wondering if that's only because the quality of this practice is suspect. Still, I found it through the NHS, so I'm hoping (possibly against hope) that offers some sort of guarantee of... well, if not excellence, then at least adequacy. I'll find out tomorrow, I suppose.
Of course, there's only one question I really want to know the answer to anyway: Is it safe?
You can run with us, we've got everything you need
I don't run often. But tonight I ran for a bus and I enjoyed it.
I first joined a gym about five years ago. It came as something as a shock to me, as a lifetime of being picked last for any sort of team sport (yes, I was one of those kids at school) had left me with the impression that exercise was an activity best avoided at all costs. Naturally a gym was the last place I expected to find myself. However, fortune saw fit to provide me with a free week long pass at the gym next door to the office where I worked at the time and, for reasons that entirely escape me now and which I'm sure went against my better judgement then, I decided to see what this exercise lark was all about. Actually, that may not be entirely true - unusually for me, my motives may have been a little stronger than mere whim this time. I'd fallen into a routine, back then, which left me scant time for any sort of strenuous activity and I knew that unless something changed, I was a likely candidate for terminal couch potato status. For various reasons, the downsides had started to weigh upon me and consequently I'd been toying with ideas for escaping that particular groove. I'd been lacking the motivation to do much about it, though, until the free pass came up. I confess that I didn't expect to be able to outpace my carefully constructed set of prejudices on the subject of exercise, but I was probably more open minded about the matter than I had been at any time in my life prior.
My intent, when I started at the gym, was to do lots of cardiovascular exercises - to put to good use the treadmills and exercise bikes and other assorted instruments of torture that litter most gyms. I tried to get on with them, truly I did, but, no matter what I attempted, I found myself counting the seconds as I used each of the machines. You see, repetition bores me. I can stand it for a little while, but to do the same thing over and over for more than a few minutes at a time is anathema to me. My mind refuses to allow itself to concentrate on anything save for the fact that I'm doing something I don't want to be doing and time slows to a crawl. It's not fun. Largely for this reason, I found myself edging slowly away from the treadmills and started looking at weights instead.
Which brings me back to running, curiously enough. I can't run for long. It's not that I can't, but rather that I won't. As I've intimated, long distance running is nothing less than my idea of pure torture. But running in short bursts is an entirely different matter. Not only can I do it, but I actually enjoy sprinting. I think it's why I've enjoyed weight training so much. The emphasis is on short bursts of activity, rather than the long, drawn out nature of cardiovascular exercise. Unfortunately, there's little scope for it in my day to day life. Gyms don't seem to be geared for it - rather sadistically, them seem to prefer drawing out that pain. But there are small spaces where I just can't resist. There's a travelator, for example, that runs down a corridor connecting the new Jubilee line extension to the tube at Waterloo. The corridor is probably about a hundred meters or so in length and, since it's a modern extension, it's surprisingly spacious - there's even a wide aisle dividing the two travelators, which are normally filled to capacity, especially during rush hour. Naturally, the fastest way to travel from one end to the other is to give up on the travelators, abandon any form of decorum and simply bolt down the center aisle. That people stare as I do so is only an added bonus. But even that's not a route I take often. Tonight, however, I found myself waiting for a bus. This is something I do considerably more often. Lacking anything to read, I instead amused myself by racing between bus stops whilst waiting for the bus to appear. Unfortunately, the bus won out in the first instance, but it still made the wait vastly more fun, and it's rarely long until the next one comes along - buses are uncharacteristically efficient in London right now.
I think I'll continue to race buses. Perhaps I'll win next time.
P.S Bonus points for anyone who can identify the origin of this entry's title.
April 24, 2004
All around me are familiar badgers
I suspect I'm not alone in often finding myself passing the day with a familiar song running as an undercurrent to my thoughts, near inaudible until you reach a lull in your mental processes and discover that it's been there all along. It happened to me again, today, although in a slight variation on the theme, my mental radio station seemed intent on randomly flipping between two contrasting tracks.
The first was the Gary Jules cover of Mad World, a hauntingly melodic interpretation of Tears For Fears original. The song was featured prominently in Donnie Darko (a film I'm still trying to decide whether I liked or not, but given that it was a thought provoking alternative to the usual mindless summer blockbusters I'm inclined to weigh in on it's side) and turned out to be surprise Christmas hit over this side of the Atlantic just a few short months ago. It's a beautiful, melancholic song that I like far more than I feel I should.
The other was... well, it's not even a proper song as such. Rather it's a meme of sorts, and I should warn you in advance that it's a particularly aggressive and addictive strain. It will crawl and claw it's way into the darkest recesses of your mind, there to lodge forever more. You'll almost certainly regret clicking on the link, so take my advice and don't do it. The foolhardy amongst you should go here.
From bard to verse
I didn't take the whole day off to visit the Globe. But I wish I had. Alas, I only turned up for the final hour of the days events.
Red ribbons adorned the theatre itself, and the forecourt was filled with ambling tourists, and entertainers to amuse them. Curiously the entrance way was also guarded by a small regiment of transvestite traffic ladies (replete with lollipops), who also appeared to serve several other functions during the festivities. Quite what their significance was, or how they related to Shakespeare I couldn't say - there didn't appear to be any mention made of them in the programme. Tempted though I was to ask, I eventually decided against it. No answer could possibly be as delectable as the mystery, after all.
I brushed past the good natured crowd and made my way into the theatre proper. On my prior visits I'd always been on the ground floor, either on a bench or else pressed in amongst the crowd who congregate at the front of the stage during each performance. There's many a fine view to be had from that level, but I couldn't resist the chance to wander freely amongst the rafters so I made my way upstairs, where I chanced upon a fine vantage point from which to view proceedings.
I was just in time to begin watching the final groups performance. The stage was filled with people, looking curiously anachronous, their modern attire slightly ill at ease in such a setting. Unfortunately, as I'd discovered when I turned up, there were only a limited number of people allowed on the stage and I'd already missed my chance. I confess, I would have liked to venture up on stage. It was a rare opportunity - one not likely to repeat itself any time soon - and I am saddened to have missed it. But I'm content enough to sit back and play observer for the most part, and it certainly proved a rewarding experience here.
As was to be expected, the abilities of those on stage varied wildly, but it would be have been churlish to criticise them, not to mention quite at odds with the atmosphere of the event. This much was clear to all, and the audience was generous in their applause. Again, it should come as little surprise to discover that the classics were largely adhered too. A Romeo, here, a Juliet there and a small squadron of Hamlets waiting in the wings to be ushered on by another of the ubiquitous traffic ladies. I had some sympathy for the poor young lad who was the fourth to perform Hamlet's infamous soliloquy and was clearly intimidated by those other Hamlets before him. Still, his attempt was heartfelt and the relief on his face at the audiences approbation was heartening. I was surprised to see the ages of all involved vary so wildly too. The youngest was a lass of not more than four years, coaxed on by her mother, but there were plenty of other children up there. Alas, one thing quickly evident was that the acoustics of the Globe lend themselves poorly to subtlety or the quiet speech of the very young. That said, one lad, of six or seven, was extremely voluble in his request for the crowd to lend him their ears. They responded in kind.
I'd hazard that the public on stage included several drama students, and would-be or are-be actors, since there were a number of turns of, to my mind, a professional standard. Possibly the most interesting of these was a Richard III who emphasised his winter of discontent by playing balefully on a mouth organ. And I have to applaud the bravura of one woman who launched forcefully into an excellent recitation of speech that I failed to recognise, only to halt after the first line, peering at her script, when she realised she wasn't wearing her reading glasses - she recovered admirably and continued without further hesitation. My favourite of them all? That came near the end. It wasn't the best reading, by any means, but it seemed an apt way to end the affair. Thus spake a Prospero:
We are such stuff / As dreams are made on
and our little life / Is rounded with a sleep
'Nuff said. I could have spent the whole day there, listening to and watching these fragmented interpretations of Shakespeare. I didn't. My loss.
April 22, 2004
And the reviews are in
Whilst flipping through the numerous pages of the internet a couple of weeks ago, I happened upon The Weblog Review - a site which, as it's title may offer an inking, is geared towards reviewing Weblogs. I shouldn't really care what other people think of my blog, but I will confess to an idle sort of curiosity - one which eventually won me over, hence I submitted my blog for review.
It was certainly an enlightening experience to discover how I've been presenting myself, especially to those who don't know me personally. That one reviewer took a radically differing viewpoint from the others (and probably from myself) I view as a sign that I must be doing something right. I'm not going to pass judgement on the reviews, since they simply reflect other peoples opinions and are hence neither right nor wrong, but feel free to consider them yourselves.
April 21, 2004
You're not supposed to be here
Leaving the underground station earlier today, I stepped through the barriers and looked up to see someone passing in the opposite direction. Ordinarily, I wouldn't have given him a second thought, and would have carried on my merry way, save for the fact that I knew this man somehow. He also looked up and our eyes met, and I read in his eyes the same mixture of recognition and puzzlement that were no doubt being expressed in mine. During the unspoken conversation that took place during that moment, we quickly established that we knew each other, but neither of us was entirely sure from where.
My mind immediately started whirring, trying to characterise the nature of our relationship. It had been a good while since we'd last seen each other, that much I knew - over a year, I'd guess, perhaps longer. We'd also never conversed. There many people I pass by each day, whose presence I acknowledge only as a form of background noise - that whilst they add colour and texture to my day, and everything would be eerily quiet were they to disappear, they don't contribute any real meaning. The sea of faces on the train I take each morning, for example, as we politely jostle for the too few seats available, or the people I pass by on the streets, as we each follow our well-trodden, and occasionally criss-crossing paths. Was he one of these? A face from the train or the street? The only other piece of information that I had to go on was that the context was all wrong. Wherever it was our paths had crossed before, it wasn't at this tube station. However, since this was along a path I regularly tread, I can only assume that I was where I was meant to be and he was the one out of place. I wonder where he was supposed to be?
It was too late to stop and find out for certain - the fates had decreed our encounter should be brief and the momentum of the passengers behind each of us swept us along. We were parted without ever really meeting.
I wonder who he was.
April 20, 2004
Let there be music...
Wired threw up an interesting feature recently, about the music listening habits of the iPod generation (amongst which I myself number - don't I, my precioussss). As the article describes, I too primarily keep mine on random shuffle. It's a seductive experience, never knowing which track may come next, and it's always a delight when a favourite track, long unheard, begins to play.
But I have begun to hanker for a little continuity in my music. There are many albums, which I very much enjoy listening to in full, but which I haven't heard in the longest of whiles now. I used to enjoy just putting on a CD whilst reading, but I tend not to anymore. Largely I attribute this to the kindness I show my flatment in the room next door - the flat we share is cursed with annoyingly audio-transparent walls and as such I try to make as little noise as possible. I'm definitely pondering the purchase of a set of wireless headphones. I'm in two minds about it, since a decent pair is probably slightly expensive and, after all, I expect to be in a dwelling of my very own before the year is out. But that day is not here yet and, looking over my CD collection, I do think the headphones might be worth it. Any audiophiles out there have any suggestions?
April 19, 2004
The quality of my voice may be strained
The high school I attended appeared to be one of the few which didn't demand it's pupils attend the near mandatory performance of at least one Shakespeare play. I didn't mind at the time, since my view, in common with that of British school children throughout the ages, was that it was little more than a tedious recitation of gibberish - and dull gibberish at that. Of course, we still had to read through the text of the Merchant of Venice, but we generally thought of that as the lesser punishment.
I regard it as a bit of shame nowadays, since it's only with the benefit of hindsight that I've come to realise how fine a storyteller Shakespeare was. The first Shakespeare play I properly witnessed on stage was The Twelfth Night. Performed at The Globe by an all male cast, it was something of an eye opening experience. In the hands of a more than capable troupe of actors, the text came alive, and I at last I understood what all the fuss was about. The linguistic flourishes, mangled so dreadfully by my classmates, were now lyrical and poetic, rather than antiquated. Even the somewhat contrived plot mechanics begin to make sense as crowd pleasing devices. I've seen a few more of his plays since then, but my fondest memories are still of the Twelfth Night in The Globe.
Largely because of this, I was gladdened to spot a notice in the paper this morning about the celebrations due to take place this Friday in honour of Shakespeare's birthday. Not only do the festivities allow for free entrance into the Globe, but they also include the chance to venture onto the stage and recite a Shakespearian line. I may not have much in the way of ambitions when it comes to acting, but I do have deep love of stages, and I have always wanted to stand in the center of a stage and gaze out across the auditorium. Preferably an empty auditorium, but beggars can't be choosers. Thankfully it's open until 8pm which gives me plenty of time to get there after work.
Well, that's my Friday evening sorted out...
April 18, 2004
Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Rain is a wonderful thing. I should probably qualify that in an endless number of ways - it may not be quite so great in the depth of the bleak midwinter for example - but I don't care. Rain rocks, especially now. I remember watching a BBC documentary years back, which began with a panning shot around a vast, barren desert, seemingly devoid of any living creature or any form of plantlife. Until the rains came. A glorious wave of water crashed down upon the rocky terrain, bringing every facet of the wilderness to life. Seedlings sprouted, eggs hatched, creatures consigned to a netherworld of sleep awakened. Everything sprang to life in a frenzy of activity, trying to squeeze in as much living as possible before the rains evaporated and the desert returned.
That's my sort of rain. Admittedly, it doesn't have quite the same effect on a city like London, which, as advertised, never sleeps, regardless of what the weather may be like, but it does enough to keep me pleased. London in the summer is dry and hot and humid, and the sunshine brings everyone out of hiding - much like a desert after the rain (and filled with a equally large variety of strange creatures). The streets throng with people bustling about doing things people do in London (I'm not certain exactly what, but they seem very intent on doing it), and the roads fill near instantly with cars. There's merriment to be made at such a time, but I've always preferred things a little quieter, such as during a downpour, when the streets are emptier and city holds its breath waiting for the sunlight to return. When, if only for a few brief hours, the pavements sparkle, and the dust and smog of the day washes away leaving the city smelling lemony fresh. [1]
I went out for a walk today, dressed as usual in a t-shirt and jeans (black) and passed by endless people huddling under umbrellas or cowering under hooded jackets as the rain pattered down on their heads. If it was cold I could understand why, but it was still a pleasant sort of day despite (or perhaps because) of the rain. I'm sure the belief that the rainfall is a bad thing is instilled into people from an early age, which I regard as something of a shame. It doesn't have to be like this. Cast out your hoods, throw away your umbrellas, and go, wander out in the rain.
Jump in a puddle. Get wet. Experience the elements properly. You might find you enjoy it. [2]
Given the title of this entry, I should probably add something about cats too. My flatmate, Kim, has taken semi-possession of extremely friendly animal which fails to answer to the name of Hannibal, though I'm assured that is his name regardless. Of course, given what I know of the nature of cats, it would probably be more technically correct to say that Hannibal has taken semi-possession of my flatmate Kim. He divides his time between this place and his other abode and is free to roam as he pleases.
Despite having the run of the flat, he displays a preference for sleeping in the hallway, just outside my bedroom. I personally suspect this is a trap of sorts, since when you stumble over him in the middle of the night, he looks rather upset until you bend down to placate him with a few minutes of industrious petting. But he still chooses the same place to rest each night - I remain convinced that this is all a cunning ploy on his part. Still I couldn't possibly stay upset with him for too long - he's an adorable creature, who will purr loudly and pleasingly at the slightest attention you show him. I suspect he's trying to claim ownership of me too, and quite frankly I'm tempted to let him. I do like cats after all.
Or is it that they like me...?
[1] This is an exercise in poetic licence. London to my knowledge has never smelled lemony fresh and likely never will. But it does smell better after the rain has fallen - take my word on that.
[2] But please don't catch pneumonia. That would be bad.
April 17, 2004
That sink-ing feeling
I made the mistake of wandering into a a tile and bathroom store called Fired Earth a couple of weeks ago. You see, out of all the alterations I've been considering making to my flat in Edinburgh, I'd given scant thought to the bathroom. Fired Earth contained many displays of elegant and beautiful simplicity, and since viewing them my mind has been whirring away trying to decide what to do with my flat. The first thing I did was to look back over the photos I took to see what my bathroom actually looks like - it's been a goodly while since I saw it last. I should probably point out that it's not even a bathroom, but a shower-room - it was small, I knew that much, but I'd forgotten just how small. It turns out to be just the wrong side of compact and bijou - the average closet is probably a larger space. I decided I could live with it when I bought the flat, but even now it came as a slight shock to realise just how little space I have to work with.
Of course, that turned out to have an upside. Impressed with what I'd witnessed in the store, I purchased a catalogue (for the princely fee of £3.50), and returned home to ponder my options. Looking through it, I quickly discovered the catalogue itself was near all I could afford. The range of tiles I'd become somewhat smitten with turned out to cost over £450 per square meter. I had no conception that tiles were so expensive. Even for my tiny little room it would cost a small fortune to tile it with such. Fortunately, though, I found my tastes weren't wholly irreconcilable with my budget and there were other tiles that I still found attractive and with which I could probably re-tile my compact shower-room without bankrupting myself.
But having done some more research since, it does seem that near everything to do with bathrooms is vastly dearer than I anticipated. Like taps. Who on earth would ever have expected a humble tap to be so costly? The taps I liked, from a range called Xena (the sales assistant gave me a blank look when I asked if they were warrior taps) were a mere £130. Similarly sinks and basins are lavishly priced as well. One of the strange consequences of discovering all this, is that for the first time I find myself considering the cost of becoming an adult in purely monetary terms.
Growing up is an expensive business...
April 16, 2004
When plush attacks
I ventured out to lunch today with a couple of friends from work, including Edina, who's currently on maternity leave. She brought along her shiny new son, Keiran, and whilst all the grown ups were talking about the things grown ups talk about I entertained Keiran with some of his toys... ok, I admit it, amusing the child was nothing more than a pretence so I could play with his toys. I was instantly beguiled by one in particular, a bright orange beanie dog, with floppy blue ears, green spots and, in my hands, a lolloping gait. I took great delight in making it run around the table, pouncing on some of the other toys, sniffing peoples food and generally making a nuisance of myself. I think I lost Keirans attention along the way, but as you might suspect, that was entirely besides the point.
I have a great affinity for soft toys. It stretches back to my early childhood, when I was given a large kangaroo by my Gran (not a real kangaroo, you understand, though it was real enough to me at the time). Being a clever and imaginative child, I immediately named it Kanga, and was terribly pleased with my ingenuity. However, it didn't seem right that Kanga should have no other friends, and I realised I would have to rectify this. I did so by hoarding all the soft toys that came my way. Golliwogs, panda, rabbits and more I claimed. I even went so far as to trade with my brothers and sisters. With suitable company for Kanga now found, I had to deal with the sleeping arrangements. I kept all of them in my bed, you see, each in a particular position, depending on how fond I was of it. It was a very precise arrangement and it was not unlike putting a jigsaw together each night. As my domain expanded and it's inhabitants grew in number, I eventually accrued so many of them that there was little room left for me in my own bed, except at the very edge. It didn't trouble me at all, and I was quite content to resign myself to the periphery of my mattress. Even now, that's still where I tend to sleep, right at the very edge of the bed. I can't remember how long this state of affairs continued, until my Mum, out of worriment and concern, I suspect, decided that enough was enough and one day I returned home from school to find my bed emptied.
That was a bleak day.
That would probably have been it for me, had I not started work in the Disney store years later. Back in those days, each store had a large display of soft toys, piled in an arrangement known as Plush Mountain. Every day this assortment of toys would be torn apart by the screaming hoards and every night it would be carefully rebuilt, ready for the cycle to begin again the following day. It was generally regarded to be a very tedious job which nobody particularly enjoyed, since all the toys had to be placed in a precise arrangement and it was not unlike putting a jigsaw puzzle together each night. Believe it or not, I displayed a particular aptitude for the task.
On the whole there weren't too many perks associated with it. Save for one or two. The first was easy enough to explain. On any given day, I could almost guarantee that at least one customer (or guest in Disneyspeak) would gaze longingly upon my handiwork and express a desire to take a running leap in the pile of plush. Well... been there done that. And yes, it's every bit as much fun as it sounds. The second was a little more mischievious. As my plush building talents grew (and grow they did. My skills were reknown far and wide - district managers, who daily traversed stores up and down the country expressed their admiration for my plush compositions. It's not much of a boast, really, when you think about it, but I take what I can get), so to did my ability to manipulate it. Say for instance, stacking the toys so that to the untrained eye the resulting mound may look perfectly stable, but were you to remove just one particular keystone toy, the whole pile would collapse in a particularly splendid and colourful avalanche of synthetic fibres. I'm not a particularly malevolent character, so it's not a practice I engaged in often, but there were a few occasions when temptation got the better of me, and on the following day some mother would be startled to discover the apple of her eye, standing neck deep in a plush landslide, with a startled expression on their face, one hand clutching that single fateful toy. In my defense, before ye think me too nefarious, I'll swear hand on heart that the child in question always loved it.
Those were happy times.
P.S. lest anyone get any funny ideas I have to point out that I'm no plushie (if you don't know, don't ask - innocence, once lost, is hard regained).
April 15, 2004
Peachy Keen
Some more of my handiwork was loosed upon our unsuspecting user base at work today. I mentioned it before, when I described the problems I was having trying to garner positive (or at least useful) feedback from one of our users. At the same time I wrote that, I also predicted that I wouldn't be feted for the changes I was making. Truthfully, the best I was hoping was for responses ranging between neutral and lukewarm. Despite this, I was pleased with what I accomplished in the end. Perhaps even proud. I worry that it may be boastful to even think this, but I genuinely believe that the end result was as good as it could possibly be.
You can see the contradiction already - I made something that I believed to be good, yet I didn't expect others to react positively. As is my way, I underestimated myself - It didn't gather a negative reaction from anyone. In fact, the mails we've got have practically been glowing.
The department head sent round an email of congratulations containing a few of the responses he'd gotten. My favourite by far simply said "It's a peach." However, I didn't fully appreciate the significance of these comments. One of the other quotes was "It's quite good." Apparently this came from the most belligerent of all our users, a man who is noted for never having said a positive word to say about anything we've ever produced. Judging from the reactions of people around me, it was the equivalent of Farmer Hoggets "That'll do, pig".
I have a curious relationship with positive feedback. I like it. I appreciate it. On occasion, I've even been known to solicit for it. But I'm always, always embarassed by it. Pleased as well, but still embarassed. One day I hope to be the sort of person who can just accept the worth of their accomplishments. I'm not quite there yet, but for the moment... that'll do. That'll do.
Oh, who am I kidding - no, no it won't.
I've still got a lot left to get through. Perhaps the best thing to come out of this is that it gives me some more leverage when it comes to doing things my way. I've got a lot planned and, even if I do say so myself, the best is yet to be.
They ain't seen nothing yet!
April 14, 2004
Praise be
My Mum worries about my soul.
She's probably the most religious person I know, and I don't know what to say to her. My faith, or perceived lack thereof, is of great concern to her. She genuinely believes, as a devout catholic, that you must attend church every Sunday, else you risk your soul. She's by no means a foolish woman, quite the contrary, but she is stubbornly dogmatic when it comes to matters of faith. Despite that, or perhaps because of it, it's not something we discuss often. Obstinacy runs in the family and neither of us will yield easily. The best we could manage was to reach a cordial impasse several years back. We've politely skirted the issue since.
It's on my mind, because she brought it up, albeit briefly, in a phone call on Sunday. I brushed it off, but yesterday I received a card from her, wishing me well at Easter. The card had an overtly religious theme. I don't object to the card - it's a good thing to be remembered, at any time of year - but I do wonder at the message behind it and the phone call. She worries about me. Is worried about me. It's a poor thing to cause others grief, but in this instance there's little I can do about it - I can't change my beliefs and she can't change hers. And there is no middle ground. But that's the problem with religion, isn't it? No middle grounds.
Sigh.
April 13, 2004
Just not tonight
I'm a bit blogged out after doing more work behind the scenes on Blog earlier. It makes Blog happy, but has left me feeling somewhat drained this evening. I should really be mailing people right now, but I'm not thinking happy thoughts at the moment and I don't want to bring anyone else down. I'll catch up with you soon, I promise.
In the meantime, since I feel it would be rude not to write more, here's a brief plug: I've mentioned Paul O'Brien before - he's a fellow Scot (though no aquaintance of mine), who's also a well respected comic reviewer. Primarily he reviews all things X-related (X-Men, New X-Men, Uncanny X-Men ad-infinitum), but he can usually be relied on to explore the further shores of the medium as well, lest you find the X approach too restrictive. He's a fine reviewer - incisive, witty and unafraid to let loose with what he really feels, often with a finely crafted put down. Take this example:
Utterly dreadful. If you like this comic, you are objectively wrong. I can prove it with graphs.The full review can be found here, and is just as amusing.
Also, I know it's not polite to make fun of the less technologically inclined, but, tsk, tsk, you'd think Reuters of all people would know better:
Apple said that both the $799 and $999 computers have 1.25 gigabyte, or 1.25 billion byte, G4 microprocessors -- an increase from the 1 gigabyte processors they had before.That's it. I'm off to bed now. Feel free to talk amongst yourselves. Or to yourselves. I don't mind.
April 12, 2004
I heart swans
I didn't leave the house yesterday - a rare occurrence for me. Normally I go stir crazy after a few hours and feel compelled to go anywhere that's not here. But I had enough to do to keep myself occupied that the thought of leaving it didn't cross my mind. As I whiled the Easter hours away, I remembered to give myself a chocolate egg. 'Twere only a small thing - just a Galaxy Truffle egg - but any tradition involving the gifting of chocolate - however commercialised it may have become - is not to be taken lightly, . The egg I was given at work was already gone by that point - I'd shared it with colleagues along with another extremely large egg I got for everyone in case the first wasn't large enough. I think I ended up eating most of both of them, but people seemed to appreciate the gesture regardless.
Today, though, I just had to get outside. The weather had appeared overcast, and though I thought it was going to be another chill morning, it turned out to be by far the warmest day of the year so far (I didn't check the temperature, but I trust my judgement). A surprisingly high humidity marred the afternoon a little, but it was still a pleasant reminder that winter is past and warmer days lie ahead. I decided to go far a walk, along the banks of Thames for a little way. As I perambulated along I noticed a couple of swans, engaged in what I took to be a mating dance. It was a charming little ritual, where both swans faced each other, bobbed their heads up and down briefly, and then touched the beaks together, their necks forming a perfect heart shape. Then they rested their heads on each others necks. It was a simple gesture, but as warm and as human as any I've witnessed.
Afterwards, the swans parted company and gently drifted away from each other, occasionally casting glances backwards.
April 11, 2004
Good blogkeeping guide
I attacked Blog with the digital equivalent of a feather duster today, mercilessly clearing away several months worth of accumulated cobwebs. In an attempt to be friendlier to new readers (not that I have any, but a blog can dream, can't it?), I've added an "About" section, which at the moment contains little more than a hundred facts about myself (most of which will come as a surprise to precisely no-one) which I spent much time yesterday wracking my brains for. I'll add more content there as and when I think of it. I'm also planning on whipping up some frequently asked questions as soon as some questions are frequently asked - feel free to chip in. Other additions/changes include a links section, remodelled archives which work with the themes a little better, and a revised Tabula Rasa theme to add a shade more colour. Oh, and everything is XHTML 1.0 Transitional compliant again (it started off that way originally, but a few gremlins crept into the code along the way).
Blog is shiny and new again.
Yay me.
100 Things
- I was born on Friday the 13th.
- I'm also a Cancerian and an Ox. You should be able to use that information to work out my birthday, if you are so inclined.
- I love receiving presents and my affections are easily bought with chocolate. This does not constitute a hint of any description.
- I want to be a better person than I am.
- I'm not shy, but I am an introvert. In the past I've been happy to spend time by myself but I've recently started to realise the limitations of my own company.
- My middle names are Philip James. My confirmation name is Stephen.
- I was raised Catholic, but officially lapsed when I was nineteen. Unofficially it happened much earlier.
- I love surprises and the unexpected.
- I have a highly individual streak which probably verges on eccentricity. And I'm happy with that. I don't want to be like everyone else and I don't understand peoples obsessions with brand labels and other marketing devices designed to make everyone look the same and every place feel the same. Different is good.
- I value intelligence, both in other people and myself.
- My favourite colour is all of them.
- I have little concern for my own safety, and will quite happily throw myself out of an aeroplane (albeit with a parachute) or off a bridge (with bungee cord attached). Conversely spiders terrify the bejeezus out of me. As do people. People are scary.
- I have five brothers and sisters, two elder, three younger.
- I have no piercings or tattoos, nor do I have any inclinations to ever have one. However, were I ever to get a tattoo it would be in the shape of a question mark.
- I own a flat in Edinburgh and hope one day to live in it.
- I live in London, for reasons that currently escape me. It's not a bad place to live, but it's not somewhere I belong.
- I don't believe you should judge people by the books that they've read or the films that they've watched. However, my favourite film is Amelie, and my favourite book is The Magicians Assistant by Ann Patchett.
- My most valued possession is my laptop, followed by a box containing all the letters I've received over the years. The contents of both are irreplacable. Beyond that, I own a lot of miscellany, most of which which would cause me to experience a slight tinge of regret were I to lose - but I'd get over it soon enough.
- My laptop comes from Dell and runs Windows XP. However my attraction to beautiful design, and the continued efforts of a number of Mac using friends mean that I'm seriously considering a Powerbook as my next toy. I justify it on the grounds that it's running Unix.
- At the time of writing this I'm thirty years old and I feel it. I don't consider that a bad thing.
- However, just because I'm thirty doesn't mean I have to act it. I frequently don't and consider that a good thing.
- My favourite drink is skimmed milk, to the exclusion of nearly everything else, including tea, coffee and anything carbonated or alcoholic. If milk isn't available I'm quite happy to settle for tap water. If people refuse to believe I'm happy to drink tap water (which I don't understand, but which still happens with remarkable regularity), I'll drink orange juice if pressed. If it's a special occassion, I may even drink hot chocolate. But in general I prefer the milk.
- I wear black t-shirts and black jeans, day in, day out, regardless of the time of year or weather conditions. I have other clothing but I save it for special occassions. I once criticised someone for always wearing the same thing without appreciating the irony of my comment.
- I read and collect comics. My favourite writers are Neil Gaiman, Alan Moore, Warrent Ellis, Grant Morrison and Mark Millar. I have a soft spot for Mark Waid and Kurt Busiek, two writers who rarely approach the bleeding edge of the medium but whose love for the superhero genre shines through. Prior to the Dark Knight Strikes Back, I would probably have included Frank Millar.
- I have a good sense of direction, but when I get lost, I really get lost.
- My father died when I was very young. I wish I'd had the chance to know him, and I sometimes wonder what he would think of me now.
- Too many of my friends live in other countries. I'd like to work abroad, near them, but with every passing year I realise that the chances of my doing so decrease. I hold out hope nevertheless.
- I have great fondness for video games which probably stems from owning a Commodore 64 and an Atari 2600 in my youth. My favourite computer game of all time remains Manic Miner. I currently own a Gamecube (which I gave it to myself as a get well soon present) and believe that Metroid Prime is a work of rare genius.
- I have a single scar, about 4 inches in length, which trails down from the top of my right ear. I didn't like receiving it and hope to get through life without accruing any more.
- I once worked for Disney, in various capacities. I stayed there too long and finally left on the 6th anniversary of the day I started - it was a wholly deliberate gesture. I still know more obscure facts about The Walt Disney Company than any sane person should.
- I make no claims to sanity.
- My favourite Disney film is Beauty and The Beast. The Lion King and The Little Mermaid trail close behind. Alice In Wonderland is my least favourite - it's a terrible interpretation of the book.
- The richest person I've ever shaken hands with had a net worth of $800 million at the time.
- I like to think of myself as an artistic person, but my artistic output is severely lacking.
- Bad design offends me. As do wasted opportunities.
- I try not to get ill - it's a throroughly disagreeable experience. On the whole I've succeeded, although events last year blemished my record significantly.
- My natural weight is 63kg. My current weight is 76kg. My weight doesn't fluctuate easily, and the increase is due to joining a gym and discovering that cardiovascular exercises bore me to tears whereas weights, on the other hand, I quite enjoy.
- I've never tested the limits of what I can benchpress. However, I can benchpress my own weight easily enough. Yours too I'd hazard.
- My favourite food is muesli. Alpen to be specific. I've eaten it for breakfast nearly everyday for the past twenty years. I've never tired of it and I never shall.
- In general I don't keep chocolate or sweets or bisuits around the house. I can easily go shopping without buying any such treats for myself, but if I do buy them, I will eat them. The same applies to those bought by other people. If you buy it, I will eat it.
- Usually I prefer to be where other people are not (save for my friends and family). I can tolerate the anonymity of crowds so long as have the freedom to move through them, but I hate being in a crowd and being unable to move.
- I don't give to beggars, but I still feel bad everytime I turn down a request for money.
- I'm polite at almost all times. I don't lose my temper easily, but it can happen.
- I'm easily persuaded by rational arguments. Unless I happen to be enjoying the debate.
- I appreciate the worth of money, but hope I never become too attached to it.
- I'm a geek. I love science fiction and technology in all forms.
- It's been too long since I sat down to hand write a proper letter to anyone. I must rectify that.
- I didn't learn to swim until I was 29.
- I have more grey hairs than I can easily count. I've never dyed my hair, nor shall I ever.
- My eyes are blue, although I'm more inclined to describe them as grey.
- I only speak English. I tried to learn French at school, but failed at it miserably. I'm slightly embarassed by this fact.
- I can program a variety of different languages. I have far greater aptitude for it than for spoken for languages. I view this as support for my theory that computers are easy and people are hard.
- I think I have a good sense of humour despite the fact I cannot tell a joke if pressed.
- The first album I owned was Watermark by Enya and was gifted to me by my sister. It remains my favourite.
- The first albums I ever bought were Tubular Bells II by Mike Oldfield and Hormonally Yours by Shakespears Sister. They remain my next most favourite.
- I don't/can't drive. It seemed like a good idea, once, until I had lessons. Then I discovered that the roads were safer with me as a pedestrian.
- My favourite theatre is the Donmar Warehouse in London.
- I've attended four operas, and five Shakespeare plays. Some I've enjoyed more than others.
- I can't sing, although I like the idea of having singing lessons. I'd like to be able to sing at a karoake bar without fear of embarassing myself too badly.
- My favourite activity is dreaming.
- I love waking up in the morning when I don't have to get up. I can lie in bed doing nothing but thinking for hours on end.
- I don't smoke. It's horrid habit and it smells vile.
- I've never voted in an election although with every passing year I can feel myself becoming more and more the sort of person who does.
- I believe that little knowledge is a dangerous thing.
- People who are inconsiderate astonish me. I don't understand how it's possible to care so little for those around you.
- I never knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. When everyone in my class at school was asked the question, I responded with the first thing that came to mind: an airline pilot. Everybody laughed and even now I don't know why.
- I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up.
- I worked in Burger King once, whilst at university. It's not an experience I'd recommend.
- I'm left handed.
- I once became a vegetarian on whim, after someone told me they thought I was a vegetarian.
- Three and a half years later, I returned to my omnivorous eating habits of old, again on a whim.
- I'm a big believer in acting on whims. Spontaneity is good.
- I am good person. Somedays I even believe that.
- My friends mean the world to me. I wish I had more of them and that those I do have were nearer.
- The furthest I've ever travelled was to Hawaii. It was a place of great beauty, which I visited in the company of great friends. I hope to return one day.
- My height is 5' 6". I consider that just tall enough.
- I'm Scottish and consider Edinburgh to be my home, although I've spent less than a year living in the city.
- I presently wish no ill on any living human being, though I could do without George W. Bush being re-elected president.
- I've never broken a bone in my body. Again, I have no intention of ever doing so.
- I don't believe in the supernatural, horoscopes or reincarnation. I'm not sold on life after death in general - it's a comforting notion, but I believe it prevents people from appreciating the life they're presently living.
- I'm reluctant to offer advice to anyone about their lives. I prefer to suggest they trust their own instincts - after all, they know the facts better than anyone. Similarly, when I've trusted myself enough taken my own advice, things have worked out well enough. I should heed myself more often.
- I detest having to get out of bed when it's cold and wet and raining.
- I have a streak of perfectionism, but I've spent enough time in the company of true perfectionists to realise that I don't even come close.
- I have a particular fondness for museums and galleries, but I must confess that in several cases I find the buildings more interesting than their contents.
- I don't want to be in charge.
- I'm a terrible liar. Interpret that as you will. Ambiguity is my friend.
- I'm right more often that I'd care to admit. The same also applies when I'm wrong.
- I'm extremely stubborn and competitive. I can also be more judgemental than I'd prefer. However, these are not defining characteristics.
- I'm a good listener, possibly because I'm poor speaker. In any event, I'm happy to listen to what you have to say - just don't ask me to pass judgement on it.
- I used to have the nervous disposition of a startled lemming. I've calmed down a little since, but confrontations still leave me on edge and I go out of my way to avoid them.
- I outnumber the world, 1 to six billion.
- I've never had to fight for what I believe in, but I flatter myself by believing I would. I admire those who have and those who continue to do so.
- I want to be an interesting person. Sometimes I wonder if I try too hard.
- I try to avoid hypocrisy, but I fail more often that I'd like.
- I can juggle and once spent a brief time as a court jester.
- I can't believe that anyone would still be reading this far.
- I feel terribly self indulgent writing all this and I'm fed up with the word "I"
- There are things that should be on this list but aren't. I'm an awful coward.
- Everything written here is absolutely true (except for the lies) and has been carefully constructed to paint a wildly inaccurate portrait of who I am.
- There are only ninety nine items in this list.
April 10, 2004
Psst, wanna buy a laptop?
As I was leaving the supermarket earlier today, a stranger approached me. My hackles immediately rose up, since unless you're either a tourist or a beggar approaching people in the street just isn't the done thing in London. And the gentleman (to put a euphemistic spin on it) appeared to be neither. So I was prepared for the worst when he stopped in front of me, looked me in the eye and asked, "Hey, wanna buy a Sony Vaio laptop?"
I just shook my head, looked both relieved and a little bemused and continued my way homeward. Of course had I any presence of mind, I would have recalled my previous experience with Sony Vaios (or more to the point, Sony's atrocious support - Belgium! They sent me the wrong laptop and sent mine to someone in Belgium!) and enquired about the support policy he offered. On the other hand, I dread to think what sort of answer I would have received.
Nevertheless, I feel that after nearly six and half years in London, I've finally completed some form of ritual initialisation by being offered dodgy goods by a stranger off the street.
Trading graces
It's been a little over a year since I had the lumpy thing under my right ear removed. I have to reiterate that the lump was benign, and that I was in no real danger from it, save for the possibility that it would one day begin pressing on a nerve. The operation came only a few days after I found and bought my flat in Edinburgh, so that time was one of mixed emotions and extreme ones at that. I still harbour a considerable amount of hostility towards my surgeon. Oh, I can appreciate what he did for me, but the manner in which he prepared me for the surgery was lacking. For instance, telling me that there was a small risk of permanent facial paralysis, without considering to inform me that there was a considerably higher risk of temporary paralysis. You can imagine how I felt after waking up that afternoon to discover that I couldn't feel or move half my face. And as the surgeon didn't back to visit me until the following morning, there was no-one who could tell me what would happen next. That afternoon, and the sleepless night that followed was easily one of the lowest points of my life. And it didn't have to be. A few brief words are all it would have taken. Or that's what I thought. But even after I finally saw the surgeon, it didn't really help much.
I was told I might recover feeling in my face in hours. Hours passed, and things didn't improve. I was told I might recover feeling in my face in days. Days passed. Weeks, perhaps, he said. Weeks passed. Months then. Months passed. And more months after that. To be fair, I've at least regained most of the movement to the degree that I suspect the only person who notices that things aren't quite as they were before is myself, but even now, there's still a large chunk of my face which feels like pins and needles when touched. But it's good enough.
I have other frustrations with the surgeon still. I remember him telling me afterwards that the operation had been more difficult than he'd anticipated, since the lump had turned out to be larger than he thought (he memorably described it afterwards as being the size of an orange - I didn't see it, didn't want to see the damnable thing, so I can only take his word for it). It was only meant to be a couple of centimetres across. He even showed me the note that said it was only 2cm in diameter. I sat back and nodded, and didn't say much. But the thing of it was, even I knew it was larger than that. All you had to do was reach around and touch it and you'd realise it was larger than that. But I said nothing, and instead let resentment well up inside of me.
But it's far enough in the past now. It's over. No real lasting harm was done and I can be thankful for that.
Shortly after my op, whilst I was moping around feeling extremely sorry for myself, Jonathan sent me a link to Jules' site. For all the regrets I may harbour about the past year, my experiences are nothing compared to what Jules and Alan have gone through.
April 09, 2004
Variations on a theme
If you haven't noticed already, this site contains an option that allows you to choose one of a number of different themes for this blog. There a few reasons why these themes exist:
- I value uniqueness and I strive for it. I don't want to be like anyone else and I don't want my blog to be like anyone elses.
- I like making things and I like to think of myself as a creative person.
- I'm a terrible show-off at heart.
- I can never make up my mind.
- Change is good.
About the themes themselves (you can click on the name to see the theme in action):
- Cardboard
- This was my first attempt at a theme and predates Blog by several years. It was originally created when a friend mentioned that he might be interested in starting a blog. I offered to help out with the design and coding of it, and immediately dragged him off to a book shop where we passed a goodly amount of time looking at various design books. After we found some ideas we both liked (or that I liked) I went off and whipped up something that looked a lot like this theme. Nothing ever came of the blog, but I kept the graphics around just in case, and finally put them to use here. It's a very practical, perhaps even utilitarian, theme and so is completely unrepresentative of who I am.
- Autumn
- Believe it or not, this theme came into existence during Autumn. It served a dual purpose - to celebrate the season on the one hand, and to try out ideas for the colour scheme of my living room on the other (at the time, I was convinced I wanted the living room rendered in rich hues of red and brown, but I since scuppered that notion by purchasing a blue sofa suite). The source graphic I used came from this page
- Fluid
- Despite their differences, the cardboard and autumn themes are very similar, with each entry being framed in it's own box. I wanted to break away from that mould and do something different. Like Autumn, I came across the source image on Google - a tap from which a stream of water was flowing - although in this case I no longer have a link to it so I can't offer proper attribution. Modifying the image to add the curve, and to make the stream repeat was a torturous experience. This is my favourite theme.
- Simple
- Simple, as it's name implies, was quick exercise to test out an idea for modifying each entry depending on the day it was created. This is used to add the day "tabs" to the left of each entry. I like the tabs, but overall this is the theme I'm least pleased with. It looked a lot better in my head. I'll probably come back and revisit this one day (when I can be bothered).
- Tabula Rasa
- The main idea from Simple is put to better use here. This theme is based on my old web site, which is still lurking around (be warned, it only works in Internet Explorer or Netscape 4 - I was young and didn't know any better at the time). It's the only theme I've done so far which has a fixed width (just for the sake of variety). I'm very partial to the progression of colours and shapes seen in this theme. Originally it was a little bland, but I've since tarted it up by adding a colour bar to each entry. It's much prettier now.
- Wend
- Like Simple, Wend is a test for an idea I hope to put to better use in the future, in this case snaking a graphic around each entry. The colour scheme is a fairly radical departure from anything I've used previously - most people have commented that it's too blue (I realised afterwards that the scheme is very similar to that used by Metafilter, with the background blue being almost identical - this is a coincidence) - but I rather like it. Change is good, remember?
Own goals
Mija's been busy setting herself goals. Her frenzied flurry of activity has left me feeling rather lazy. Or at least somewhat directionless. It's not that I don't have any goals or ambitions, it's just that the ones I do have (or those that cycle through my mind most frequently) all seem to be based in the longer term (in time-frames best described as nebulous). There's precious little I have planned in the near term, which I'll classify as a bad thing. I have an unfortunate habit of tending towards... inaction, unless provoked, and I haven't really been provoking myself of late. For example, I passed by a bookshop last weekend and found myself buying more books, despite the fact I've made few inroads into the small mound I already have haphazardly stacked around me. It's a trivial example, but pretty much indicative of my approach to life at the moment. Mija's idea seems to be to publicly state her goals, in the hope that people will offer encouragement (or admonishment?) to her to see them through. It's a laudable idea, which I may yet regret giving too much thought to. I should probably start making a list.
On an unrelated note I arrived back earlier to discover that Mum had posted me the jobs section from The Scotsman. No explanatory note was attached. Coming from the head of a family not noted for its directness, this is tantamount to an order to return home immediately. I'll need to find out what she has to say for herself.
April 08, 2004
iMP
A dream I had recently: I'd been elected to Parliament (I know, I know - your mirth is second only to my own), and upon arriving at Westminster I discovered that I didn't have a robe (all the other MP's wore robes of brilliant green - why green? No idea. And thinking about it, they were more like trench-coats than robes...). Unable to take my place in the Commons without such a garment, I immediately set off, scouring London until I could find suitable attire. Through the labyrinthine corridors and twisting staircases of the Underground, and the wending and winding fog shrouded streets of Old London Town I searched, but to no avail. Robe-less, I returned to the Houses Of Parliament twice more. On my first return, the building now resembled Canterbury Cathedral. On my second, it was pile of ancient ruins, almost hidden under a mass of moss and creeping ivy. Both times I attempted to sneak inside, but for all my effort I could not conceal my lack of proper raiment and I was sent away in disgrace.
All the other MP's looked to be having such a good time inside that I left feeling decidedly disappointed...
April 06, 2004
The penguin of death
Last weekend I happened across a small card shop on one of those intricate little roads in the midst of Soho that, like one of those curious emporiums fondly described by Terry Pratchett, are so very difficult to find for a second time. I peered through the window and was immediately gladdened to discover displayed inside the shop was what I've decided to be my favourite range of cards in the whole world ever. If you've ever wanted to know what the colour of the sky looks like in my world,