Categories
Imported From Epistula love MotW

Dylan. Not the rabbit

For various reasons, none of which I’m going to explain here.

The MP3 of the whatever.

Eddie from Ohio, covering Bob Dylan’s Don’t think twice

Categories
Imported From Epistula MLP

That which is seen

Gates redlines Israeli researchers’ "sarcasm meter"
(For some obscure reason I can’t post to Aquarionics, but del.icio.us and flickr can. Expect less text for a little while…)

Categories
Imported From Epistula MLP

That which is seen

All Your Base Rhapsody
For great justice.

Categories
Imported From Epistula MLP

That which is seen

Christopher Brookmyre: The Rules Of Playground Football
I’ve played this

Categories
Imported From Epistula Personal

Heat

I spent yesterday (Saturday) wandering around London trying to find the Apple Shop so I could get them to replace the exploding power adaptor. For some reason, I was absolutly convinced it was on Tottenham Court Road, instead of Regent Street, so that was about four hours wandering around London in extreme heat.

I’d forgotten how much fun wandering around Covent Garden peoplewatching is, though. And no, Covent Garden is not on the way to either Regent Street or TCR, so some of the wandering time is my fault.

The Apple Store is a massive temple to all things iCool, carefully designed to show you why you want a shiny, shiny mac. There was someone doing a demo of Garageband in the theatre. What I wanted, though, was the Genius bar, except that by the time I got to the store – at about 1pm – the next place in the queue wasn’t until 17:05 at least. I took it, drained the very last of my battery in a Cafee Nero whining about the heat on IRC and decided that if I was going to watch Dr Who I was going to have to miss the appointment, so I bought a spare power supply (because a spare power unit will be Handy once the old one works. This is a mantra I will repeat to myself often in the next few minutes/hours/days, until the shock of the price wears off) then buggered off home.

Dr Who was neat, wasn’t it?

Today was Very Hot Indeed. Fortunately the only time I had to go out was to get some milk, which involved walking around half of Letchworth, which apparently has a milk shortage. Fortunately – again – I have a Silly Hat and Sunglasses, so I made it back without melting. Home has (since yesterday) a shiny, shiny fan, airflow and ice-cream. Parents arrived, we went for a drink, and since they left I have spent a moderately long time doing very little.

An ideal weekend, really.

Categories
Imported From Epistula tv

Who hell he

Wow. That was neat

Categories
Apple computing Imported From Epistula Personal

The Vanishing Mirage

This is a tragady. It may also be funny.

One of the reasons it took me quite so long to buy a laptop was because I don’t trust them. I trust, to some extent, every machine on this network, because I built it by myself out of the very-expensive-lego that is the PC hobbiests stock in trade. Zephyr was built by me, Boilingpoint is made out of old bits of Reef is made out of old bits of Atoll is made out of old bits of Maelstrom, the circle of life.

I have owned, in my lifetime, three laptops. The middle one is Nemo. It’s a 486, it has no battery, no network, no memory. It’s single use is if all my other machines are dead and I need to vent in text format.

The first one is called “Despair”, and this is its story.

The Prince is the only person to have kept his psudonym from the days when I was writing in Opendiary as Ithen and was scared silly of real people reading my diary. He is one of the vanishingly small number of people that I’ve kept in touch with since pretty much playschool. He’s a very good actor, a very good friend, and we both gloss over the fact that we’re both too disorganised to meet up more than once every nine to twelve months or so. I have sung duets on stage with him, screwed up dance routines with him, and watched him wade deep into “Dude, that’s a bad idea” territory by asking one of our close-knit group of dramatists if the reason she’s so on edge (At the last rehersal before exam performance) is because she’s on her period. Okay, on that last occasion I remained as far away from him as was physically possible in the suddenly-awfully-small drama room, but – despite my desires – I was still there.

I was on holiday from university, and was wandering up to London to window-shop on Tottenham Court Road when I ran into The Prince at The Fictional Railway Station. Somehow I found myself a couple of hours later sitting on a couch in another actor’s apartment, fixing his computer. Actually, trying to get a P133 running windows 95 at 640*480 in 256 colours to access the Information Superhighway via the man’s Virgin.net subscription.

Geeks quite often find themselves in this situation.

There is a canonical Head and Shoulders advert that ran for many, many, many years on UK Tv, where they wash half a mans head in normal shampoo and half in Head and Shoulders. The man whose flat I was in was at pains to point out that he didn’t have black hair anymore, and never had dandruff anyway.

In return for getting his damned machine onto the New World, he gave me a laptop. I played Solitare on it for an hour or so until the battery started to go, so I plugged it in.

There was a series of entertaining crackling noises, then nothing. The power supply never spoke again, and neither did Despair. It was named later on.

I tell this story because my Powerbook power supply did exactly the same thing this morning. Blew the fuse on the lead that goes into it. So I tried my co-worker’s one (Recharging from his power supply worked fine) and it blew the fuse on that too.

I now have less than one hour’s charge left on my powerbook, and no way to recharge it.

Looks like I’m going to the Apple Store tomorrow.

Categories
Imported From Epistula Personal

Retox

It’s been an interesting week.

For starters, LoneCat went on a diet. Now, for those of you who haven’t met my housemate, she is thin in a way that I could starve myself for a decade and never be. She is, in fact, the very last person on earth who needs to go on a diet. This is not some insane fashion-following properganda thing, though, this was a detox diet. She’s allergic to something in this house (probably me) and is gradually removing elements it could possibly be.

This means that after 24 and a half years of ignorance on the subject, I am now wise and educated in the ways of Quorn, and am firmly of the opinion that it is anti-food. It doesn’t exist, shouldn’t exist, and is wrong. It tastes of nothing at all, it is effectivly invisible food.

Anyway, having been sworn off meat, potatoes, pasta, bread and other interesting things in life (Well, for evening meals. Not being on the diet means I cheated and ate bacon sandwiches) she’s dropped off the diet a couple of days early, on the quite sensible grounds that she felt like she was about to be eaten by a giant kiwi fruit.

Last night we went to see Mr & Mrs Smith, which wasn’t bad and contained many guns.

Project Get My Life Back continues apace. The idea was to write entries on the bus and get this place ticking over again, but instead I’ve been watching CSI episodes and writing articles about DOM Scripting instead. You’ll probably get to see one at some point. Oh, and a chapter of ACDS, which is neat.

Categories
Imported From Epistula MLP

That which is seen

the very model of a modern labour minister : a tribute to charles clarke and his id cards
Warnink: Contains polticos in spandex

beatallica.com
Saved from being sued by Sony by… Metallica.

Categories
Imported From Epistula MLP

That which is seen

Corporate Gibberish Generator
The metrics for development are more well-understood if they are not long-term.

thoughts for less-experienced Fringe performers: a rant
we are not slime moulds