January 31, 2006
Alone on an esplanade
No one else was there. I wasn't expecting that. In the middle of the city, in the very heart of it. That this place should stand empty in the early evening seemed unlikely, as though a hoard of people were somehow in hiding, prepared to jump out at any moment and laugh merrily at their jape. I'd expected tourists, or random strangers milling around at the least. Perhaps the biting cold had driven them inside. In the end there was just me.
I admired the view for a while, strolling from one side of the esplanade to the other, the city laid out in miniture before me. I walked past statues and plaques and an incongruous ticket booth, it's scrolling electric sign still flashing prices. I stood in front of the gates and the castle loomed majestically above me. I tried to remember the last time I'd stood so close to it and failed.
I paused briefly in the glare of a spotlight and twirled around for the benefit of no-one in particular. And then even I was gone.
January 30, 2006
Edinburgh by gaslight
It seems the meteorologists were somewhat off the mark in their predictions of a dire winter in Britain this winter. Whilst eastern Europe has suffered under an unrelenting freeze, Britain seems to have escaped unscathed, and the season has been rather mild thus far. But not for much longer if we listen to the weatherpeople: temperatures are predicted to dip precipitously they claim.
I was skeptical when I first heard that pronouncement, but if today is any indication of what's to come then I may reconsider. A bright frost covered morning gave way to an overcast afternoon, and finally a thick clinging mist enveloped the city as the sun dipped below the horizon. The thermometer hasn't dipped too far below zero tonight, but the dense fog gave an extra chill to an already brisk evening and lent a dramatic atmosphere to the city as people and cars emerged from the gloom and quickly vanished again. Whilst I didn't catch sight of any tall men bedecked with top hats and canes skulking around in the miasma, I was impressed when I woman strode past me, a cloak with a blood red lining wrapped around her shoulders. An appropriately Victorian sight.
Hmm, come to think of it, I already have a cane. Perhaps it's time to seek out a top hat in preparation for the next pea-souper...?
January 29, 2006
Let it go
No, it's not going to come in handy. Yes, I know it might, but it won't. Trust me on that.
It finally happened. After what seems like an eternity of haranguing (but which may have only been months), my Mum finally hired a skip with the purpose of clearing her garage of years of accumulated detritus. Understand: this is a double garage in which no car has been able to squeeze for many years, it's contents seeming assembled with little in way of rhyme or reason. As these things go, it's not as bizarre a collection as I would have liked, but to give you some if the flavour here's a brief rundown of it's contents (not all of which made it into the skip):
Three mattresses. Two beds. Two washing machines. An oven. A tumble drier. Two life size blow up dolls. The removing top of a Rover MG convertible. A variety of wigs. A piano. A kitchen sink. A cot. Two prams. Numerous children's toys. One dresser filled with clothes. Two broken guitars. An inflatable bouncy castle (punctured). A punching bag. Weights. An ancient computer and associated floppy disks. An entire corner dedicated to a variety of arcane audio equipment including several large speaker and amplifiers. A 20 year old video recorder. Two stereos. A bag of golf clubs. Two and half packs of laminate flooring. More rusted tools and screws and nails than any sane human being could ever need. And more, much more. All of the above survived on the basis that "it might come in handy one day". They never did.
By the time I arrived Nicky, my brother, had already made a good start at clearing out the clutter. My Mum intervened every once in a while, trying to persuade up that something should be saved. I did my best to refuse unless she could provide a better reason than "but it might come in handy one day". She drew the line at a roll of chicken wire however, and realising that she needed to take a new tack, cited that "it might be worth something", a secondary argument for which I should have been prepared but wasn't. I hesitated and was lost. The chicken wire remains, much to my aggrievance.
As was to be expected, the whole day turned out to be a trawl through the past as much as the garage. A conversation with my big sister recalled the strange and wonderful contents of the cupboard under the phone in my Gran's house, in which she kept all manner of curiosities to amuse us when we'd stay over every Friday night. Late in afternoon Nick turned a pile of wood salvaged from the garage into an impressive bonfire, around which we gathered and reminisced. Later on, after the family had dined, we toasted marshmallows over the dying embers and watched the fire fade until it could no longer hold back the winter chill.
It was a memorable day.
January 27, 2006
Here kitten, kitten
I'm having a hard time distinguishing all the cats the frequent the area where I live at the moment. Recently I've been making a concerted attempt to befriend one particular feline who seems to have fondness for my stairwell and who I often find lying in wait for me as I leave or arrive home. Despite our shared curiousity in one another and despite my efforts he (as I've assumed him to be) seems to randomly alternate between brief bouts friendliness and disinterested standoffishness.
However, the reason for his capricious mood swings was revealed to me today when I arrived home and observed him circling around another cat of the same breed and with similar markings. Or he was being circled - it was rather hard to tell. Obviously I was a victim of the classic kitty bait and switch practical joke. I wagged my finger at both cats as admonishment for their mischievous prank and both looked suitably abashed.
I trust they'll be better behaved in future.
January 26, 2006
Mark's door
Kerry, my sister-in-law, picked a new car at an auction this week to replace her rapidly ailing Peugeot. The Peugeot served Kerry well and I've got to admit even I'd grown quite fond of the car over the years, aided no doubt by it's anthropomorphised nickname, "Baby Clio". It'll be a sad day indeed when Baby Clio soon meets her final fate.
Still, having ridden in her replacement, a Ford Fiesta, earlier this evening, I have to say that the improvements on Baby Clio are manifold, with one feature in particular winning major kudos from me. Never having learned to drive myself, I invariably spend a lot of time being ferried back and forth at the mercy of kind soles who fared better in their driving lessons than I, and Nicky and Kerry have been particularly kind to me in that regards over the last year. Thus you can imagine the difference that extra pair of doors at the rear of the car makes to my travels. A grand total of four doors compared to Baby Clio's mere two. No longer do I have to flip forward the front seats to squeeze into the narrow space behind them. Instead I have a door of my own, a door already christened "Mark's door".
It's not much I admit, but the simple act of stepping out of a car, rather than unfolding yourself from the back seat is oddly empowering. Though probably not as much as sitting in the seat up front with the wheel before it...
January 24, 2006
Paper paper everywhere
I believe there's a scene in a class Mickey Mouse cartoon where Mickey find himself surfing atop a massive wave of playing cards (ok, it's the 1936 classic "Thru the Mirror" - I was trying to avoid appearing a Disney geek. Happy now?). Substitute playing cards for a variety of technicolour pamphlets spawned from the hellish bowels of the Inland Revenue and you have a pretty good idea of what my flat looks like right now. Ok, you'd probably have to dial down the whimsy some, and ratchet up the soul destroying mindless repetition factor, but I'm sure you get the gist. Reams of paper, covering every conceivable surface, in seemingly random fashion which upon close examination is revealed to be completely random (where did I put that P60?)
It's my own fault. I've had months to deal with this mess, but I've put it off far longer than I should, largely because I've been lacking some vital pieces of information needed to fill out the forms, and rather than do anything about it I decided to do nothing and let my anxiety seethe and fester. In retrospect this is not a course of action I can wholeheartedly recommend. As I recently told someone else regarding a disconnected matter, uncertainty eats at the soul. And mine has been snacked up quite enough thank you very much. One phone call tomorrow should gather me the last details I need (interesting bit of information about the National Savings office - although their help line is advertised as opening from 7am until 12am, they can only provide useful information from 8:30am until 5pm). After that I'm left waiting on one final form to arrive in the post and then I should be able to get my tax return filed just after the final deadline.
Deadlines, schmedlines.
January 22, 2006
Lost revealed
A remarkably coherent dream last night revealed to me the hidden secrets of the television series Lost
Whilst I don't want to spoil the outcome for anyone, suffice it to say that the resolution involves, in no particular order, wooden vials containing a small amount of a precious serum, a mysterious infection which threatens all of humanity, whales, and a missing suburb of London transported to the island over a century ago without anyone noticing.
I'd explain it all in more detail, but alas, I have to go off and do my taxes now....
Opportunity is not a lengthy visitor
Sometimes I need to be hit over the head in order for the penny to drop.
Returning home yesterday evening I bumped in to Helen and David, my neighbours who were just leaving to go out. It's the first time I've seen them for a while. Previously in the day I'd also been thinking that I really ought to get out of the house more, and that I should probably make an effort to meet and befriend more people.
Helen and David invited me to join them - they were just headed out to a local pub just a few minutes walk away. And I said no. It's largely an instinctive reaction when it comes to pub invitations. I have little regard for the whole "pub experience" - they tend to noisy, crowded and smoky, all the more so in the city center on a Friday evening. More often than not I honestly reply that I'd rather curl up at home with a good book (my social graces need work, I admit) That said it bothers me a little that my first thought in the face of such an invite is to run and hide.
Fortunately David and Helen didn't take my initial refusal at face value and gave me time to reconsider, and eventually change (I still required some persuasion) my stance. And lo, it turned out to be an enjoyable night, in a pub that wasn't too crowded or smoky, and where the music was kept enough to make conversation possible. It was a good night all in all, and we've promised to do it again soon.
There may be something to this whole "socialising" malarky after all...
January 19, 2006
Ok, that's quite enough. You can stop now. I mean it.
Oh for goodness sake. Enough already! Too much of last year was characterised by the not altogether pleasant arrival of unexpected demands for money. I thought I was done with all that until flurry of bills arrived on my door step this week, punctuated by an absurd demand for a spectacularly high council tax bill marked with all sorts of paragraphs in red ink and stamped with final demand in ominously large black lettering. It's one thing to receive a final demand, I was just somewhat confused as to why I hadn't received any demands prior to that. Unfortunately a visit to the council tax office (and my. what fun that was!) revealed that it wasn't as absurd as I'd hoped. Despite my correspondence with this particular office last year, it seems that they'd been sending the bills to the wrong address (quite how this managed to occur, and quite how this final demand managed to arrive at the correct address was never satisfactorily explained to me). Coupled with a rule change in the middle of the last year (of which I was never notified, presumably because of the incorrect address issue), the amount I now have to pay the council (within the next 7 days or else), is roughly triple what I'd been expecting.
This is not good news.
Gah!
January 18, 2006
Razzin' frazzin' technology
I've been playing at technical support this evening, helping my brother install a wireless router/firewall and trying to connect it to a network media player. I recommended the firewall after discovering that he had his pc connected via broadband without one. Don't try that at home kids. I think I proved my point when the firewall logged about 40 intrusion attempts after only a few minutes. The internet can be a scary place sometimes.
The latter half of the mission to get his network media player to discover files from his hard disk proved less successful. I've never had any affinity for Windows networking at the best of times, and even less when it comes to file sharing between two pc's. Truly a case a plug and pray if ever there was, and I've often thrown down my ethernet cables in disgust and resorted to copying files by cd instead. Sadly that isn't an option in this case. I got the media player to register the presence of the pc on the network, which was something, but it staunchly refused to discover any shared directories. Bah. I'm going to give it another shot on Thursday, taking my laptop along with me this time which will lessen the amount of running up and down stairs required (the media player/and television combination being somewhat displaced from the pc).
It wasn't the most productive time I've spent, but it certainly wasn't a wasted evening. I realised I've now spent more time in my brothers home in the last month than I have in the past decade, a fact I find both heartening and slightly embarrassing.
January 16, 2006
Sews however a spider can
Ah, I remember the halcyon days of the early 80's when Marvel UK reprinted the Secret Wars maxi-series. The premise of the series was wholly ludicrous and thoroughly juvenile, essentially being nothing more than an excuse to gather a large number of super heroes and their opposing villains together in a single place to fight it out. It was pretty much comic book nirvana to my young self and I'll admit I look still look back on it fondly, the heavy mists of nostalgia lending my memories a rosy tint.
Of course, I'm not the only one who remembers the series. It garnered a considerable amount of publicity at the time - I even recall seeing the issue featured on television at the time, as rare an event back then as it is now. The primary reason for the hype, and quite possible the series, was that it was used to premiere a new costume for Spider-man, a rather natty black and white affair that I remain quite partial to:
Although, the classic red and blue costume eventually resurfaced, the black and white variant remained in play for several years, and at one point was used to differentiate between the two different Spider-man titles that ran at the time. Of course, the black and white costume later turned out to be an alien symbiote intent on permanently bonding with Spider-man, only to be spurned at which point it joined with another host to become one of Spider-man's greatest villains. Don't you just hate it when that happens?
But despite the hype around that costume, new wardrobes for Spider-man aren't all that unusual, and Marvel have recently celebrated that fact by featuring a dozen different Spider-man costumes on the covers of recent issues of the comics (player along at home kids - how many can you think of?). Admittedly, some of these only made a single appearance, others were only slightly longer lived, and some were worn by alternate Spider-men. Most amusing of all was the last cover which was was chosen by an internet poll. The winner of the poll? Peter Porker: The Spectacular Spider-ham in all his porcine glory. I believe that sums up the validity internet polls in a nutshell.
Of course, nothing happens in a vacuum, and these recent covers weren't without a purpose. They're leading up to the launch of another new costume. It looks something like this:
My reaction. A hearty "meh". It reeks of design by committee to me, or worse - design by marketing and focus testing. Fortunately these things rarely last too long. After all, hands up who remember the electric blue Superman costume? Thought so...
Careful the things you wear
I spent a goodly portion of today being shadowed by a decidedly odd 11 year old who seemed fascinated by my attire. A barrage of questions followed me around: "Are you a punk?", "Are you a goth?", "Why is your coat so long". All these and many, many more. To be honest, I had no idea how to dissuade poor boy. My natural response to an earnest question is to provide an earnest answer. Unfortunately that only provoked more questions, some of which threatened to veer into uncomfortably territory.
Today I learned that 11 year olds are scary. Any advice for dealing with them is gratefully appreciated.
January 14, 2006
Random facts
It was Friday the 13th yesterday. I was born on a Friday the 13th, that much you may know already. For some reason it came to my mind that I also have a step-cousin who was also born on a Friday the 13th. More so he was born on exactly the same day. In the same hospital ward. About an hour later, if memory serves. One of those peculiar coincidences that seem less peculiar the more time passes.
Haven't seen or heard from him for years, along with the rest of that particular step-branch of family tree Wonder what they're up to...?
January 12, 2006
Sunny side other
Sitting at my desk todayI glanced out the windows in front of me, through the half opened blinds, and was rewarded, if only momentarily, with a dazzling burst of sunshine emanating from a crisp blue sky. The light faded quickly, obscured by passing clouds, but it seemed a temptingly fine day out regardless.
I made my way outside a little later, for my early afternoon constitutional (I make a point of going for a wander on my lunch breaks - I calculated just how much time I'm spending in my flat at the moment and it's rather scary), looking forward to basking in some rare winter sunlight. Instead I ventured into a torrential downpour and what felt like gale force winds. I've long believed that Chicago is mere pretender to the title of "Windy City" in the face of competition from Edinburgh. Virtually everyone I passed walking into the wind did so at a near 45 degree angle, and those heading in the opposite direction fought bravely to keep their feet on the ground. Some poor souls attempted to shield themselves behind umbrellas. The umbrellas fared poorly.
Fortunately neither wind nor rain nor sleet nor snow is much of a deterrent to me, and I enjoyed my stroll regardless of the tempestuous climes. Upon returning home I dried myself off and changed, another one of life's great pleasures: Changing out of cold sodden clothing into toasty warm attire. Readying myself for work again, I returned to my desk, and glanced out the windows in front of me, at the bright and inviting blue sky outside.
I fancied I heard the sky laughing: "Gotcha suckers!"
January 11, 2006
For better or worse
In an act of abject cowardice, born of frustration, I spent much time this afternoon writing an email to my manager explaining in detail what I believed was going wrong in terms of our software development process... only to fail to send it. The gist of the email would have been familiar to him - it largely repeated points I made in an argument with him over a year ago. Since that time nothing much has changed - hence my frustration - and I'm less surprised by that lack of change than I should be. Another conversation I had with him late last year revealed that our positions on how things should operate are very nearly diametrically opposed - a fact I'm surprised I managed to overlook this long. It seems obvious with hindsight as is so often the case.
Instead I sent the email to a colleague who agreed both with my point of view, and with the fact that nothing was likely to change, regardless of whether I sent the mail to it's intended recipient or not. In part I feel guilty things have deteriorated so far. Theoretically I'm in a position to do something about it, yet the management position puts emphasis on speed over quality. Fast development is rewarded (or at least praised), poor code isn't penalised. The end results are much as you'd expect.
I wish it were otherwise. I'd be happier leaving the company (date TBD) if I were confident that things would improve in my absence, but that doesn't seem likely at this point.
I really must learn to care less about these things...
January 10, 2006
Love the hardware, hate the name
Well, Steve Jobs has finished preaching to his congregation. Given the large number of rumours that spawned prior to the Mac Expo, it was fairly likely that some of them would hit home but there were a few surprises along the way. The lack of intel based Mac minis and iBooks will have confounded most of the pundits, but Core Duo based iMacs and Powerbooks that turned up instead aren't a million miles of the mark. And yes, I did say Powerbook. Technically these latest revisions are called MacBook Pros, but that's such an atrocious name it'll take me some time before I can bring myself to use it. I don't understand the need for rebranding given the respect the Powerbook brand commands. Considering Apple's brand mastery, it seems likely that time will prove me wrong, but so far it seems an uncharacteristic mis-step for the company.
But what's in a name anyway? I want one already.
January 09, 2006
Distractions
Here are a few things that amused me when I should have been doing any one of the number of more constructive items on my to do list:
They're all flash games, and both the first two games spring from the same creator, as is almost immediately obvious from their idiosyncratic design, as do the latter pair. Although their merit as games is somewhat dubious they all have something to recommend them, at least in my estimation. Worth a tinker or two if you find yourself at a loose end one windy evening.I also found a link to a video which provided no small amount of mirth, and which confirms a truth in which I've long believed: Do not cross the path of old women lightly.
January 08, 2006
Just cause
During a particularly dull work day last week, I succumbed to the temptation of having the television on whilst I was working. It's not a regular occurrence, for the most part I prefer silence whilst I'm working and tend to eschew even music, let alone radio, or the dreaded gogglebox. Nevertheless the tv went on (I confess, an early season of ER is currently being repeated and I had a crush on Noah Wyle back then. Sigh). What struck me more than ER however (and even Noah) was the number of commercials betwixt the programme segments asking for money for any number of good causes.
These adverts worked precisely as they should, appealing to my deeply ingrained (though now residual) sense of catholic guilt. My charitable contributions thus far have been relatively scant, aside from a small amount that gets automatically deducted from my account each month to air the RNID (a charity chosen for no particular reason), and I feel I should be giving more (if only to salve my conscience. Damn that catholic upbringing). That said, I'm not wholly certain where to start and I distrust television commercials intently, regardless of subject.
Any recommendations?
January 07, 2006
Judging me judging them
In the National Gallery of Scotland paintings from the Impressionist period are housed in a smaller exhibition room above the main gallery. It's accessible by a small curved staircase. Arranged on the wall above the staircase a dozen or so marble busts stare blankly as people pass them by. A pantheon of ghosts from a bygone era.
Walking up and down those stairs I felt strangely judged, as though these nameless faces from the past were somehow questioning my right to be there. It seemed a curious inversion that the statues should query the gallery patrons so.
The thought amused me and I moved on.
January 05, 2006
Where Christmas trees go to die
The twelfth piper has piped his dues thus bringing the holiday season to a close. Overnight fallen Christmas trees appeared in the streets in their hundreds. Stripped of their decorations, lights, tinsel, their glory days behind them, their purpose served. They lie stricken by the roads, in the gutters waiting to be towed away.
Strangely all the trees I passed in the streets pointed in the same direction. Was it a clue I wondered. Did they lead somewhere? What would I find if I followed them? The fabled Christmas tree graveyard, perhaps? Home of the carcasses of trees of Christmas's past.
I found the thought immeasurably sad and went home instead.
January 04, 2006
Anti-advertisements
Now I'm not about to rush out and buy a new car anytime soon (or ever for that matter), but the car I'm specifically not going to rush out and buy at this moment is the Audi RS4 Quattro.
Years ago, my little sister, sitting in front of the television, complained that she didn't think much of an advert she'd just watched ("crap" I believe was the word she used). I disagreed that the advert was crap and pointed out the she likely wasn't in the demographic the advertisers were trying to target with that particular advert. What I really want to know now is what sort of freakish demographic the latest Audi advert is targeting so I can make a point of avoiding them. That advert scared the bejeezus out of me!
The advert begins by featuring a vast empty black space across which are spread a number of spider webs, strongly resembling that scene from Krull (yes, I have a long memory where these things are concerned). The sound of water dripping accompanies a fragmented soundtrack all of which is reminiscent of many a scene from horror films. The camera makes several quick cuts. A brief flash of something moving around the web. The camera closes in on something trapped in the web, sheathed in spider silk. It's a car dangling like a snared insect. We get a brief view of the dashboard. The radio is player something cheerful before cutting out. The lights on the dashboard fade. An exterior view of the dangling car. The doors and bonnet are open. Fluid is leaking from it.
It's a nightmarish vision of a dying car.
Something is still moving about the web. The camera cuts again to a long shot, the ground illuminated from above. A gargantuan, monstrous spider drops into view, it's carapace pitch black and reflective. It starts skittering towards the camera at a rapid pace. It exits from the pool of light, vanishing into darkness before emerging into the light again while simultaneously morphing into an car.
The end.
Forgive the language, but bloody hell! What on earth were they thinking? That's suppose to entice someone to buy a car? It's managed to invoke quite the opposite reaction in me - I see that car in the street and I'm going to start running in the opposite direction. That advert should have an 18 certificate. It's one of the creepiest things I've seen in a long time!
Not nice. Not pleasant. Not good. If you'll excuse me I'm going to find something to watch that features animated anthropomorphised animals being nice to one another to take my mind off that...
January 03, 2006
Pretty lights in the sky
I reached the point many years ago where I prefer to spend my New Year's Eves in a comfortable warm environment in the company of friends and family, away from bitter chill of the winter nights and the screaming hoards that mysteriously appear for that one night each year. I think it was after being sprayed with beer one too many times. Nevertheless, it's been a great many years since I've attended Edinburgh's New Year's celebrations, and since I'm now resident in the city, and since everything was taking place just a few minutes away from my flat, I headed out with Nicky and Kerry to Princes Street, focus of the Hogmany festivities to witness the turning of the year. For safety's sake, the gates closed and 11pm, so we arrived there in a good time and then proceeded to spend the next hour being jostled around in an enormous crowd of 100,000 revellers whilst waiting on the new year to descend and the fireworks to start. Shortly before that hour had passed I was fairly certain that I wasn't enjoying myself and that no firework display could be worth all this.
But as the 60 second countdown appeared on the giant screens erected at each end of Princes Street, and crowd tried to hurry the new year along by chanting the countdown faster than numbers ticked down (happens every year - doesn't work, people), I felt a tingle of excitement. And then the fireworks started, and much to my surprise, it was worth the crowds and the cold and spray of cheap champagne which soaked us (a step up from beer I suppose). It was worth it. It was a spectacular display, probably more so than any I've witnessed elsewhere, from Disney World to London, with the equally spectacular backdrop of Edinburgh Castle. Though the castle was quickly obscured in a cloud of smoke from the fireworks, it brought to mind some of the reasons why I wanted to return to this city.
That said, next year I think I'll be wrapped up in my flat as the year ends, but really, it was worth it.
January 01, 2006
Well, that's quite enough karaoke for one night
I remember back to the sepia tinted days of my youth when post-dinner entertainment consisted of my family arguing over trivial pursuit or scrabble. Tonight we argued over Sony's Singstar for the PS2, a birthday present received by my nephew. Despite my initial suspicion over anything remotely related to karaoke, I have to admit that it's a well put together package, and contained something for most everyone (this was the 80's edition, so my gaggle of brothers and sisters were in their element). Even I was persuaded to join in on a song or two - something of a feat for me. My desire to perform in public was brutally truncated in my youth, when my music teacher told my class that everyone has to select a song and to practice singing along with it. The following week everyone would bring their tape or record along, stand up and perform their chosen song into a microphone and at the end the vocal track would be played back to the entire class sans backing music.
I do not come from a musical family, and at that point I owned no records or tapes, and no sort of popular music was accessible to me. Consequently I spent an entire week fretting about what was going to happen and working myself into a state of near panic. In the end I had to pick a song from the roster chosen by classmates, none of which I knew particularly well. Having to stand up and sing a song a barely knew in front of my friends and classmates was an uncomfortable experience. Having the results played back to me was excruciating. That I received the lowest marks for my efforts came as little surprise and I honestly don't think I've ever felt so embarrassed before or since that day. I've been unable to sing in public since withing remember that day in grim detail. Still I put it to one side tonight, which can only bode well for the new year.
Anyway, and there's little good to be found dwelling on things that can't be changed. Here's to the future, may it bring good things for us all.
Happy New Year Everyone!