Champions aren't made in gyms. Champions are made from something they have deep inside them - a desire, a dream, a vision. They have to have last-minute stamina, they have to be a little faster, they have to have the skill and the will. But the will must be stronger than the skill.
Muhammad Ali
Growing up in the late nineties will always be remember for two things; One, the advent of computer games, and two, it is the last time in the human species reign on this planet we would be without the internet. I honestly am amazed at what it was like to be without the internet in schools, and most important, trying to organise a night out.
But the less heralded moments are those with the Neds. Our times at school were always punctuated with run ins with the tough guys, the blokes with big brothers, and the girls who have lost their Virginity before you have lost your VL. In these enlightened times, I think we can all look back on them with disdain and pity, for not did they know the path of the true and good. In the first of these, I shall recount a few tales of my encounters with neds, and hopefully, expunge the feelings that I have carried with me all these years. Basically, what a bunch of twats.
As I am sure you are aware, each year the timetables change, and evidently, your classes and teachers change too. From 1st to 2nd year, I thought I had gotten used to the usual Ned things, like calling you gay, slapping of the fore head, and the all so witty “Did you see “Gayssaywhat” on telly last night?” In my class, there were a few choice members of the school fraternity, and no other boys of my calibre. I say this without ego, and with total modesty – I was the smartest boy in my practical class, and my competition was not of the highest quality, so I had a bit of a hard time getting things right most of the time. But I learned to let the Neds get a good chance to see my answers, and in return, I got protection form the other Ned that they were mates with from other classes. My friends, sometimes were included in this sphere of protection.
But one incident cemented my peer-protection in this respect, and it was one Tuesday in June, 1998. We had just changed from period one into period two, and had arrived at our new SE classroom, in the Home Economics corridor. My practical class arrived before the other half, so I picked a seat next to the most decent of the Neds, and started getting stuff out my bag. I was not paying particular attention to anything, until I heard “Haw, Bawbag!” near my face, I looked up and Mr X was looking at me, plain as day, with a look of “whit!” in his face.
“Yer in ma seat.” He says, rather venomously.
“Er, no I am not” I explain foolishly, “I have just sat down; there is a seat over there.”
As I pointed, a fist came crashing down onto my face, connecting with my nose, and sending bone and tendon into impact with such a force it knocked me off my seat.
When I got up, blood was pouring out of my nose, and the Ned had got into my seat; at least it wasn’t for nothing eh? I turn around and started pouring my life into the sink, and the teacher noticed, and all hell broke loose. I was sent into the next room, the head teacher and the deputy of the year came and spoke to me, I was taken to the nurse and given bits of tissue in large supply, and Mr X was sent home from school with a letter saying don’t come back till Thursday.
On Thursday, the story had spread everywhere, and I thought I was dead. I think some of the stories had me punching him first, or a full fist fight on the tables in the class room – all I had left over was slightly bruised eyes and a blackened nose. The first class we would be back together in was Geography and Mr Grieg, who is known for been a bit of a plonker made us shake hands in front of the class. The respect though gained by the Ned for the incident elevated me almost in to the fraternity, and for a while I think it saved my skin a few times in ways that now you see as petty, but at the time I can remember thinking “Yes, I am included.”
Sometimes, I would not be last to get picked at football. I became known for being a rash tackler, and as such got a little respect from some of the captains that I was an asset rather than a distraction. We also got slight protection. Once I was playing a game a football in the ash pitch next to the school with a multitude of friends from school, whereupon we were happened by a gangly Ned from another school, who proceeded to divide us up into categories in which he could take us. We humoured him, but it came down to me and Ross, and asked Ross his age. Ross was, and still is, two years younger than me, and has never looked it. So when Ross told him, he thought he “wis tryin’ tae be smart” and started going for him. Now, this is where, bravely, valiantly, the Neds from our school jumped in, running down from the school grounds, shouting at this guy, and scaring him away. I think they were more affronted by the attack on someone from Woodfarm, rather than from another school. Good idea to keep it quiet then that Ross went to St Ninians, Woodfarm’s sworn rivals. I also believe it was because we were their squares, and no one, not anyone, threatens their own targets of ridicule.
This encounter was nothing compared to the punch, but another more cary moment as when I was involved in a proper fight outside my local corner shop, against a certain Billy Byres. It was a full blown fight, with kicking, punching and a good amount of homoerotic tussling, and I came off slightly worse. “You shoulda seen the other guy” as he did have a bloodied nose, but I have a large cut on my face where his Sovvy had caught me.
In truth, these run ins taught me a good lesson, and I would probably be totally different if I had not encountered them. To Hazels laughter, she finds these stories incredible, and mostly, she believes I embellish them. The only thing these stories have different from the truth are slight additions of dialogue, and better, more vivid metaphors than in real life. The moment I tell you a untrue story, you will know. Why?
Cause, it won’t be embarrassing for me.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Insanity Crash: Lying Down - The Moment We Realise Our Untruths.
Oh what a tangled web we weave,
When first we practise to deceive!
Sir Walter Scott:
Marmion. Canto vi. Stanza 17.
As today I am having trouble writing something worthwhile to the blog, I will once again delve into my dark and dreary history and unveil another hilarious story of my childhood and what happens when you forgot that sometimes Grown-ups do in fact have an idea what is going on, and exactly where, at the time, you think you can out smart them, and now, being “a grown up” you realise that you were being stupid, and quite impressively so.
The first instance is the lesson children learn about lying. I can’t remember the first time I found out about lying, and I am interested in someone who has experience in childhood psychology who would have a good idea about when and we learn about not telling the truth, and the epiphany it must be, but nonetheless, the feeling the first you lied must have been amazing, but the feeling the first time you realised you had been backed into a corner, and your lie was getting worse every time you said it, is one of the worst feelings I can remember as a child. One these such instances ring out so true I can't believe that I would have the stupidity and audacity to even try it on with the parents of the time.
One year at Christmas my dad introduced his old Scalextrix to me for this first time, and it blew me away. I still have a romantic link to the small electricity powered race cars that spin around the track (mostly off it), and really enjoyed playing with them, though I took a little too much excitement out building and modifying the track. Anyone who has known me for years will know that I love Lego, and have made the decision to go and get my Lego from my parents so I can play with it up here. Does that sound childish to you? The funny thing is, I don't really care; Lego was always quite an inventive toy and the imagination that I bred whilst creating bridges, cars, buildings and other structures are probably why I get excited about those exact same things now - and why can't I still play with them? But we are slowly falling off the tangent. On Christmas day I was given an amazing present - my own set of cars for Scalextrix. A Ford Monday and a Ford Sierra Police Car, which when it drove around the track, had lights on the top of it that actually flashed! It was like Police Camera Action! All over my bedroom.
So, I was happily playing with my sister with the two cars, and she jumped off the bed, and the pillow dropped onto the track, blocking the cars. My police car raced into the Pillow, and it stopped dead making small plasticy squealing noises as it struggled to go past the feather mountain. I thought this was so cool, and continued to burn the tires, eventually burning out the car's little puny motor. And the lights stopped flashing.
The car still ran, but the lights were a dead give away, and under the interrogation my sister and I professed we had done nothing, and nothing, and nothing. They knew.
Another is the famous Kitchen Bowls episode, but it would be better if we just leave that as it is.
Another moment where in my childhood a lie spun unbelievably out of control was the first time I went to Craig McCormick's house after school. I walked up, and as it was autumn, it was dark by the time I had to go home for dinner at 5.20pm, to be back for 5.30pm. When I arrived, Mrs McCormick ushered me in and was very friendly, and then I uttered the most amazing thing. She asked "Will you be getting a lift home?" and I went "No, my Dad's car has been in an accident, and he can't pick me up, I'll just walk home." What? There was no accident, and at what point did I think I would get away with this one was amazing, as I left it and totally forgot about the slip of the tongue into lie mode; next week I was picked up by my Mum, and, sure enough, Mrs McCormick asked "How is you husband?" to which my Mum answered "Fine…why?" Bollocks. The thing is that it must have been so embarrassing to my Mum, to Craig's Mum, and for me it was like "Bastard, it is their fault". It was not. I made these easily verifiable mistakes a few times over the course of my childhood; once in Primary I wrote in my News Diary that my Dad had became a Fireman, which was never going to happen. I made such a good story out of it, and drew such a good picture, I got a star for my table, but when it was found out to be fabrication at parents evening, again, my parents must have been rather embarrassed, but I am sure amongst the grown-ups the laughter must have been flowing.
Basically the lesson is kids, don't lie. But if you do, make sure it impossible for it to be easily found out, and don't be there when it is.
When first we practise to deceive!
Sir Walter Scott:
Marmion. Canto vi. Stanza 17.
As today I am having trouble writing something worthwhile to the blog, I will once again delve into my dark and dreary history and unveil another hilarious story of my childhood and what happens when you forgot that sometimes Grown-ups do in fact have an idea what is going on, and exactly where, at the time, you think you can out smart them, and now, being “a grown up” you realise that you were being stupid, and quite impressively so.
The first instance is the lesson children learn about lying. I can’t remember the first time I found out about lying, and I am interested in someone who has experience in childhood psychology who would have a good idea about when and we learn about not telling the truth, and the epiphany it must be, but nonetheless, the feeling the first you lied must have been amazing, but the feeling the first time you realised you had been backed into a corner, and your lie was getting worse every time you said it, is one of the worst feelings I can remember as a child. One these such instances ring out so true I can't believe that I would have the stupidity and audacity to even try it on with the parents of the time.
One year at Christmas my dad introduced his old Scalextrix to me for this first time, and it blew me away. I still have a romantic link to the small electricity powered race cars that spin around the track (mostly off it), and really enjoyed playing with them, though I took a little too much excitement out building and modifying the track. Anyone who has known me for years will know that I love Lego, and have made the decision to go and get my Lego from my parents so I can play with it up here. Does that sound childish to you? The funny thing is, I don't really care; Lego was always quite an inventive toy and the imagination that I bred whilst creating bridges, cars, buildings and other structures are probably why I get excited about those exact same things now - and why can't I still play with them? But we are slowly falling off the tangent. On Christmas day I was given an amazing present - my own set of cars for Scalextrix. A Ford Monday and a Ford Sierra Police Car, which when it drove around the track, had lights on the top of it that actually flashed! It was like Police Camera Action! All over my bedroom.
So, I was happily playing with my sister with the two cars, and she jumped off the bed, and the pillow dropped onto the track, blocking the cars. My police car raced into the Pillow, and it stopped dead making small plasticy squealing noises as it struggled to go past the feather mountain. I thought this was so cool, and continued to burn the tires, eventually burning out the car's little puny motor. And the lights stopped flashing.
The car still ran, but the lights were a dead give away, and under the interrogation my sister and I professed we had done nothing, and nothing, and nothing. They knew.
Another is the famous Kitchen Bowls episode, but it would be better if we just leave that as it is.
Another moment where in my childhood a lie spun unbelievably out of control was the first time I went to Craig McCormick's house after school. I walked up, and as it was autumn, it was dark by the time I had to go home for dinner at 5.20pm, to be back for 5.30pm. When I arrived, Mrs McCormick ushered me in and was very friendly, and then I uttered the most amazing thing. She asked "Will you be getting a lift home?" and I went "No, my Dad's car has been in an accident, and he can't pick me up, I'll just walk home." What? There was no accident, and at what point did I think I would get away with this one was amazing, as I left it and totally forgot about the slip of the tongue into lie mode; next week I was picked up by my Mum, and, sure enough, Mrs McCormick asked "How is you husband?" to which my Mum answered "Fine…why?" Bollocks. The thing is that it must have been so embarrassing to my Mum, to Craig's Mum, and for me it was like "Bastard, it is their fault". It was not. I made these easily verifiable mistakes a few times over the course of my childhood; once in Primary I wrote in my News Diary that my Dad had became a Fireman, which was never going to happen. I made such a good story out of it, and drew such a good picture, I got a star for my table, but when it was found out to be fabrication at parents evening, again, my parents must have been rather embarrassed, but I am sure amongst the grown-ups the laughter must have been flowing.
Basically the lesson is kids, don't lie. But if you do, make sure it impossible for it to be easily found out, and don't be there when it is.
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Insanity Crash: "...a series of sequential actions to familiarise oneself with new equipment."
Check outs. Imagine having to sit in a check desk for the rest of your life. For some, that is not too hard to imagine, but standing there waiting for my items to beep, and them rush to put them in a bag, has become a more normal part of my life than I had ever wished, or expected, to happen. But within the confines of this rather 20th century way of buying groceries, however, I can revel in the fact that for a short while, four or five people have detailed commonality that intercedes almost all class boundaries.
Almost. We will come to that.
Two events have made me so surprised whilst standing at the check out I have almost started thinking, and should be of interest to those who like the little nuances of people, and the general collective mind of the good olde British Publicos. In more and more supermarkets, there has been an influx of new posts and one that has been the most over staffed is this new idea that us, the public, the consumers, the people who want to leave the shop as quickly as possible, can no longer decide on which one of the queue lines is the shortest, and which one will allow us to travel through and out into freedom. In Asda, these such persons are called Check Out Captains. So, whilst waiting in Sainsbury's yesterevening, I happen upon a rather stoked and clogged check out area, and pull into the closest queue. My idea is then I can gauge which one might go faster, and modify my choice, in a rather un British way of queuing. I know, hang me up to dry, but I don't mind - I think it is what texting is to the English language; simplified, shortened, more efficient, but annoying in every way to anyone who is slightly older, or considers themselves more wizened (when it comes to texts, I hate the text language used by those people). I am about to make my choice when a "captain" decides to intervene, and ushers me into a shorter queue, but not the one which I was going to choose. The shorter queue has a family putting their full weekly shopping through, and will takes almost 10 minutes to complete.
Now, what do I do? Do I stay with his choice, as he is the captain? Will I get a dressing down if I try to move, or should I just sit it out, and let him see the folly of his ways? In the end, I stayed in the shorter-but-longer queue, and was left behind as the queue I was looking to jump into raced ahead and out of the door. Next time, I might be a little more forceful. I wish people would stop changing the rules though.
The second thing I have noticed is those people who I have insulted in the first few lines of the post, who work in the mundane robotic positions, must have games that they play to keep themselves from going insane, as I remember I did try to do sometimes whilst working at The Link. One such game is to try and scan everything within a few seconds, then staring at me while I struggle to get items into the plastic bag, waiting for payment. In this circumstance I deliberately struggle with Milk, meats, and beer cans, double bagging them, or taking them out and starting again, just to annoy the cashier. We both know what is going on; I know she was taking the piss, and she knows I am taking my time. We say very little to each other.
"Got a Nectar card?"
"No."
They also ask "Do you need a hand bagging?" which I think is both condescending, patronising, and plain stupid. Of course you should be doing it!
The self service check outs are a step in the right direction, but online delivery? The internet once again removes all need for human to human contact.
Bonus Rant: In the check out, how do you know who is working class and who is middle class? It's in the bread: Wholemeal is middleclass, and ADSA Pricesmart Longlife White is working class or student.
Almost. We will come to that.
Two events have made me so surprised whilst standing at the check out I have almost started thinking, and should be of interest to those who like the little nuances of people, and the general collective mind of the good olde British Publicos. In more and more supermarkets, there has been an influx of new posts and one that has been the most over staffed is this new idea that us, the public, the consumers, the people who want to leave the shop as quickly as possible, can no longer decide on which one of the queue lines is the shortest, and which one will allow us to travel through and out into freedom. In Asda, these such persons are called Check Out Captains. So, whilst waiting in Sainsbury's yesterevening, I happen upon a rather stoked and clogged check out area, and pull into the closest queue. My idea is then I can gauge which one might go faster, and modify my choice, in a rather un British way of queuing. I know, hang me up to dry, but I don't mind - I think it is what texting is to the English language; simplified, shortened, more efficient, but annoying in every way to anyone who is slightly older, or considers themselves more wizened (when it comes to texts, I hate the text language used by those people). I am about to make my choice when a "captain" decides to intervene, and ushers me into a shorter queue, but not the one which I was going to choose. The shorter queue has a family putting their full weekly shopping through, and will takes almost 10 minutes to complete.
Now, what do I do? Do I stay with his choice, as he is the captain? Will I get a dressing down if I try to move, or should I just sit it out, and let him see the folly of his ways? In the end, I stayed in the shorter-but-longer queue, and was left behind as the queue I was looking to jump into raced ahead and out of the door. Next time, I might be a little more forceful. I wish people would stop changing the rules though.
The second thing I have noticed is those people who I have insulted in the first few lines of the post, who work in the mundane robotic positions, must have games that they play to keep themselves from going insane, as I remember I did try to do sometimes whilst working at The Link. One such game is to try and scan everything within a few seconds, then staring at me while I struggle to get items into the plastic bag, waiting for payment. In this circumstance I deliberately struggle with Milk, meats, and beer cans, double bagging them, or taking them out and starting again, just to annoy the cashier. We both know what is going on; I know she was taking the piss, and she knows I am taking my time. We say very little to each other.
"Got a Nectar card?"
"No."
They also ask "Do you need a hand bagging?" which I think is both condescending, patronising, and plain stupid. Of course you should be doing it!
The self service check outs are a step in the right direction, but online delivery? The internet once again removes all need for human to human contact.
Bonus Rant: In the check out, how do you know who is working class and who is middle class? It's in the bread: Wholemeal is middleclass, and ADSA Pricesmart Longlife White is working class or student.
Monday, October 22, 2007
The Tale of Wood Group: Iteration, for all our sins, we hold thee in the highest regard.
"A wretched soul, bruised with adversity,
We bid be quiet when we hear it cry;
But were we burdened with like weight of pain,
As much or more we should ourselves complain."
William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616)
LENGTH BASED ITERATION
QIN = 30000
Q1 Q2 Q2
30000 0 19713.49717
29000 -1000 19056.3806
28000 -2000 18399.26403
27000 -3000 17742.14746
26000 -4000 17085.03088
25000 -5000 16427.91431
24000 -6000 15770.79774
23000 -7000 15113.68117
22000 -8000 14456.56459
21000 -9000 13799.44802
20000 -10000 13142.33145
19000 -11000 12485.21488
18900 -11100 12419.50322
18800 -11200 12353.79156
18700 -11300 12288.07991
18600 -11400 12222.36825
18500 -11500 12156.65659
18400 -11600 12090.94493
18300 -11700 12025.23328
18200 -11800 11959.52162
18190 -11810 11952.95045
18180 -11820 11946.37929
18170 -11830 11939.80812
18160 -11840 11933.23696
18150 -11850 11926.66579
18140 -11860 11920.09462
18130 -11870 11913.52346
18120 -11880 11906.95229
18110 -11890 11900.38113
18150 -11850 11926.66579
18145 -11855 11923.38021
18140 -11860 11920.09462
18135 -11865 11916.80904
18130 -11870 11913.52346
18125 -11875 11910.23788
18120 -11880 11906.95229
18115 -11885 11903.66671
18110 -11890 11900.38113
18111 -11889 11901.03824
18103 -11897 11895.78131
18104 -11896 11896.43843
18105 -11895 11897.09554
18106 -11894 11897.75266
18100 -11900 11893.80996
18100 -11900 11893.80996
18000 -12000 11828.0983
17000 -13000 11170.98173
16000 -14000 10513.86516
15000 -15000 9856.748587
14000 -16000 9199.632015
13000 -17000 8542.515442
12000 -18000 7885.39887
11000 -19000 7228.282297
10000 -20000 6571.165725
9000 -21000 5914.049152
8000 -22000 5256.93258
7000 -23000 4599.816007
6000 -24000 3942.699435
5000 -25000 3285.582862
4000 -26000 2628.46629
3000 -27000 1971.349717
2000 -28000 1314.233145
1000 -29000 657.1165725
0 -30000 0
When things go right, the right gets paraded around. This is what happens when you are not an administrator on your computer and you need the Solver add-in in Excel, and it is not installed. Who can spot my success?
We bid be quiet when we hear it cry;
But were we burdened with like weight of pain,
As much or more we should ourselves complain."
William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616)
LENGTH BASED ITERATION
QIN = 30000
Q1 Q2 Q2
30000 0 19713.49717
29000 -1000 19056.3806
28000 -2000 18399.26403
27000 -3000 17742.14746
26000 -4000 17085.03088
25000 -5000 16427.91431
24000 -6000 15770.79774
23000 -7000 15113.68117
22000 -8000 14456.56459
21000 -9000 13799.44802
20000 -10000 13142.33145
19000 -11000 12485.21488
18900 -11100 12419.50322
18800 -11200 12353.79156
18700 -11300 12288.07991
18600 -11400 12222.36825
18500 -11500 12156.65659
18400 -11600 12090.94493
18300 -11700 12025.23328
18200 -11800 11959.52162
18190 -11810 11952.95045
18180 -11820 11946.37929
18170 -11830 11939.80812
18160 -11840 11933.23696
18150 -11850 11926.66579
18140 -11860 11920.09462
18130 -11870 11913.52346
18120 -11880 11906.95229
18110 -11890 11900.38113
18150 -11850 11926.66579
18145 -11855 11923.38021
18140 -11860 11920.09462
18135 -11865 11916.80904
18130 -11870 11913.52346
18125 -11875 11910.23788
18120 -11880 11906.95229
18115 -11885 11903.66671
18110 -11890 11900.38113
18111 -11889 11901.03824
18103 -11897 11895.78131
18104 -11896 11896.43843
18105 -11895 11897.09554
18106 -11894 11897.75266
18100 -11900 11893.80996
18100 -11900 11893.80996
18000 -12000 11828.0983
17000 -13000 11170.98173
16000 -14000 10513.86516
15000 -15000 9856.748587
14000 -16000 9199.632015
13000 -17000 8542.515442
12000 -18000 7885.39887
11000 -19000 7228.282297
10000 -20000 6571.165725
9000 -21000 5914.049152
8000 -22000 5256.93258
7000 -23000 4599.816007
6000 -24000 3942.699435
5000 -25000 3285.582862
4000 -26000 2628.46629
3000 -27000 1971.349717
2000 -28000 1314.233145
1000 -29000 657.1165725
0 -30000 0
When things go right, the right gets paraded around. This is what happens when you are not an administrator on your computer and you need the Solver add-in in Excel, and it is not installed. Who can spot my success?
Friday, October 19, 2007
Opposing Opinions - The Argucentre of the Universe
Jonathan and I have teamed up to give a brand new blog. One that we both suggest concepts to, and then argue over. Basically, bringing together two things we are normally pretty adept at - being stubborn, and quite rantable. To this end, we present the first Opinion Battle. Head on over, bookmark it, and enjoy it.
The important thing is that you argue back too. We are looking for more Bloggers to join the cohorts, so if we fancy you, you can leave your argued comments and join in the debate (flame war).
Check it out at Opposing Opinions
On an unrelated, more self promoting, note you can now listen to my own Radio Station, Crashing Insanity Radio, via through the new Last.fm link on the right: ->
The new box plays a selection of music based on my own personal choices, and you can listen to it and let me know what you think of the rather eclectic selection of music that it throws out.
I am listening to Beck at the moment, a fantastic album. Doo doo doo...
The important thing is that you argue back too. We are looking for more Bloggers to join the cohorts, so if we fancy you, you can leave your argued comments and join in the debate (flame war).
Check it out at Opposing Opinions
On an unrelated, more self promoting, note you can now listen to my own Radio Station, Crashing Insanity Radio, via through the new Last.fm link on the right: ->
The new box plays a selection of music based on my own personal choices, and you can listen to it and let me know what you think of the rather eclectic selection of music that it throws out.
I am listening to Beck at the moment, a fantastic album. Doo doo doo...
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Insanity Crash: The Boy Racer What Drives A Truck
The Boy Racer What Drives a Truck
Driving up to Aberdeen is like sitting on a train for the most of the time. The only moments of excitement are the roundabouts in Dundee, because the length of the road is basically motorway grade. Apart from the few, and infrequent, junctions that cause cars to scream across the dangerous road at arse clenching audacity, the road is safe, easy to drive, and relatively free of speed limits.
What I mean is there are sections with speed cameras. Basically, from Glasgow to Perth there a very few cameras, except for two just after Auchterarder. Then, from Perth to Dundee there are none, so speed is not a worry here either, but from Dundee to Aberdeen there are about 11, which is insane! The road is 70mph, and that speed limit is way too low for motorways and other dual carriageways, due to the fact that since the inception of the limit, cars have became much safer, much fast, and drivers are (supposed to be) better.
But this is not about speed limits, as that topic is well done and dusted every time a speed limit is reduced, or a new safety cash machine is planted.
This is about lorry drivers. Specifically lorry drivers who forget they are driving lorries. When coming to the Claverhouse roundabout, which is the only left turn I have to do from Perth to Aberdeen, you get a queue of traffic at the moment as Morrisions are building a new superstore, and the road is a bit mental. Throw into that the double roundabout that should be only one, and the junction is a joke that none gets, and isn’t even funny. But, I was overtaken by a full articulated lorry whilst I was waiting at the junction in the queue, and thought “he must be going straight on”.
No! He surprised everyone by going all the way around the roundabout, and then into the left turn I was waiting for. A 450degree turn, which I had never logically considered in all my time of driving, but in a truck! The audacity!
I quickly caught up with the truck (not pursuing him, but that hill afterwards kills the acceleration) and he pulls out, in front me, and overtakes a bus, another truck, and then squeezes back in, slamming on his brakes, in a manoeuvre I call the “bastard overtake”. It is dangerous even when in a car, but a massive 30ft long truck? Plain insanity.
I tried looking for the “How am I driving?” sticker, but didn’t see one. It probably said:
“How am I driving? Call this number if he is still on the road”
Driving up to Aberdeen is like sitting on a train for the most of the time. The only moments of excitement are the roundabouts in Dundee, because the length of the road is basically motorway grade. Apart from the few, and infrequent, junctions that cause cars to scream across the dangerous road at arse clenching audacity, the road is safe, easy to drive, and relatively free of speed limits.
What I mean is there are sections with speed cameras. Basically, from Glasgow to Perth there a very few cameras, except for two just after Auchterarder. Then, from Perth to Dundee there are none, so speed is not a worry here either, but from Dundee to Aberdeen there are about 11, which is insane! The road is 70mph, and that speed limit is way too low for motorways and other dual carriageways, due to the fact that since the inception of the limit, cars have became much safer, much fast, and drivers are (supposed to be) better.
But this is not about speed limits, as that topic is well done and dusted every time a speed limit is reduced, or a new safety cash machine is planted.
This is about lorry drivers. Specifically lorry drivers who forget they are driving lorries. When coming to the Claverhouse roundabout, which is the only left turn I have to do from Perth to Aberdeen, you get a queue of traffic at the moment as Morrisions are building a new superstore, and the road is a bit mental. Throw into that the double roundabout that should be only one, and the junction is a joke that none gets, and isn’t even funny. But, I was overtaken by a full articulated lorry whilst I was waiting at the junction in the queue, and thought “he must be going straight on”.
No! He surprised everyone by going all the way around the roundabout, and then into the left turn I was waiting for. A 450degree turn, which I had never logically considered in all my time of driving, but in a truck! The audacity!
I quickly caught up with the truck (not pursuing him, but that hill afterwards kills the acceleration) and he pulls out, in front me, and overtakes a bus, another truck, and then squeezes back in, slamming on his brakes, in a manoeuvre I call the “bastard overtake”. It is dangerous even when in a car, but a massive 30ft long truck? Plain insanity.
I tried looking for the “How am I driving?” sticker, but didn’t see one. It probably said:
“How am I driving? Call this number if he is still on the road”
Friday, October 12, 2007
Muchness Dump: In Rainbows - Review
A curse disguised as a blessing, and I think I understand the problems that creating such an incredible piece of music can leave you with. During my time at secondary school, I was not into the most in vogue music, taking a large slice of the Nu-Metal era, listening to music such as Linkin Park, Papa Roach, and others, missing out on some of the wonderful artists who create actual pieces of music, not songs, like God Speed! And Bjork. I am trying to sort that out, with listening to new, uncommercial music, but it annoys me that I missed a chance to see these artists play the albums I am learning right not, and mostly, it annoys me that now, some people are embarrassed to even mention Linkin Park. I see it as the learning curve that we all start on, and I am reaching the plateau where my musical tastes for life will level out on. Blues, through my father, has been ingrained into my head for a while, so think Allman Brothers, Robert Johnson, BB King and others are my next conquest, and I look forward to listening to them, once I get internet back in a place that I can used it properly.
During these halcyon years, there was one band I was reluctant to get involved with, due to the things it would say about me. A friend, whose brother was much older than himself and I, was going through university at a blistering pace, and the fall out from this was his untutored musical imagination, giving him tastes for music that we had not even heard of, never mind heard. This band is called Radiohead, and I tried for years to miss them.
It will come as a surprise to many how I found them, and how I could not ignore them, and I feel that it might be a good place to start a review of their latest album, "In Rainbows". I was watching MTV2 at lunch time, on one of the few lunch breaks I had on my own. On came a song that I had not heard; it had a unique time signature, languishing piano, and a wailing vocal like none I had heard before. The title came up, and it was called "Pyramid Song" by a band called Radiohead. I was caught, and Thom Yorke had me gripped.
In the same way I was disappointed by Idlewild's Warnings Promises because of the order I discovered Idlewild, the more recent Radiohead albums, such as Amnesiac and Kid A were discovered first, before getting a copy off Steven of the more applauded OK Computer, and The Bends. These are much more solid, and rockier albums, and of course I agree with the obvious success and greatness that these come with, but I still have a feeling that Radiohead are more and experimental rock band, other than a traditional 4/4 band.
But, others disagree, and these people will not enjoy In Rainbows as much. It is still different, but more akin to OK Computer than anyone of the records released since then, but some o the music is beautiful. Tracks like All I Need are different, and more consistent than any other track seen from them in a while.
I suggest, seeing as you can get it for nothing, you pick it up, and listen to it a few times. I am on my 5th listen, and some tracks are beginning to reveal themselves to me.
In other news, I made my first proper mistake at work today, but nothing that I can’t explain by the simple “I didn’t know” reason/excuse, because “I did not know”. Ah well, still learning.
During these halcyon years, there was one band I was reluctant to get involved with, due to the things it would say about me. A friend, whose brother was much older than himself and I, was going through university at a blistering pace, and the fall out from this was his untutored musical imagination, giving him tastes for music that we had not even heard of, never mind heard. This band is called Radiohead, and I tried for years to miss them.
It will come as a surprise to many how I found them, and how I could not ignore them, and I feel that it might be a good place to start a review of their latest album, "In Rainbows". I was watching MTV2 at lunch time, on one of the few lunch breaks I had on my own. On came a song that I had not heard; it had a unique time signature, languishing piano, and a wailing vocal like none I had heard before. The title came up, and it was called "Pyramid Song" by a band called Radiohead. I was caught, and Thom Yorke had me gripped.
In the same way I was disappointed by Idlewild's Warnings Promises because of the order I discovered Idlewild, the more recent Radiohead albums, such as Amnesiac and Kid A were discovered first, before getting a copy off Steven of the more applauded OK Computer, and The Bends. These are much more solid, and rockier albums, and of course I agree with the obvious success and greatness that these come with, but I still have a feeling that Radiohead are more and experimental rock band, other than a traditional 4/4 band.
But, others disagree, and these people will not enjoy In Rainbows as much. It is still different, but more akin to OK Computer than anyone of the records released since then, but some o the music is beautiful. Tracks like All I Need are different, and more consistent than any other track seen from them in a while.
I suggest, seeing as you can get it for nothing, you pick it up, and listen to it a few times. I am on my 5th listen, and some tracks are beginning to reveal themselves to me.
In other news, I made my first proper mistake at work today, but nothing that I can’t explain by the simple “I didn’t know” reason/excuse, because “I did not know”. Ah well, still learning.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Muchness Dump: Radiohead's "In Rainbows". My Idea?
If you have been paying attention to the world recently, you will have noticed Radiohead have released thier first album online, after announcing it so 10 days ago, and you, the listener, can choose how much to pay for it. I paid nothing, and now hearing it, I am inclined to pay them some money, as it bloody brilliant. But, hey ho, what's this...?
"Though, this creates a few problems with the industry. Firstly, how will anyone make any money from the albums that they make? Surely, if we all downloaded every track from every artist for free, then they would be broke. Not entirely... for example, if I was in a famous band, I would notice the downloading nature of the fans... and stop making traditional albums, preferring to release my tracks and collections of new material when ever I make them for free from my website. Then, if successful, through Myspace/Youtube/Facebook etc I would arrange online streaming gigs, to build up feelings for live concerts, all still free. Then, I would actually go on tour, charging for people to see me live, and this is where the money should be made back from tickets, merchandise, and the exclusive recordings that you can buy at the gigs, each gig getting a unique one that will not be available at any other gig. The economics removes the need for a record label, and the self promotion, whilst it might be shameless, is well executed."
My dear, I think I might have predicted the future. Interestingly, I do think this is the way forward, and the industry has to change. Youtube is free, Myspace is free, music is (illegally) free, why not make it legally free? What is the difference?
At a rather hypocritical juncture, I just bought my first actual albums today in 3 years.
"Though, this creates a few problems with the industry. Firstly, how will anyone make any money from the albums that they make? Surely, if we all downloaded every track from every artist for free, then they would be broke. Not entirely... for example, if I was in a famous band, I would notice the downloading nature of the fans... and stop making traditional albums, preferring to release my tracks and collections of new material when ever I make them for free from my website. Then, if successful, through Myspace/Youtube/Facebook etc I would arrange online streaming gigs, to build up feelings for live concerts, all still free. Then, I would actually go on tour, charging for people to see me live, and this is where the money should be made back from tickets, merchandise, and the exclusive recordings that you can buy at the gigs, each gig getting a unique one that will not be available at any other gig. The economics removes the need for a record label, and the self promotion, whilst it might be shameless, is well executed."
My dear, I think I might have predicted the future. Interestingly, I do think this is the way forward, and the industry has to change. Youtube is free, Myspace is free, music is (illegally) free, why not make it legally free? What is the difference?
At a rather hypocritical juncture, I just bought my first actual albums today in 3 years.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
27 Raeburn Place: Bon Voyage, Whatever That Means.
Standing on the edge of the world, it can sometimes be hard to jump. But there is always someone there, egging you on, telling you everything will be okay, and that if you jump, the worst that can happen is normally the best thing that could’ve happened. Waiting for something like an opportunity to jump of the edge of the world might come once in your life, might come very single day, or it might never come at all, but the one fact is that the majority of these moments are handcrafted by ourselves, and normally not noticed by anyone other than ourselves. Rarely is a turning point celebrated, and if it goes noticed then you probably are the last person to realise it was worth it.
But why am I pontificating this? I don’t know, but it feels good to talk about it, as I feel that the last few weeks have been a large turning point, and with Hazel now officially on the other side of the world for a good while, I think another jump is due soon, but I have no idea how high it will be till I land.
Okay, enough. I had the Scouters up this weekend for some horrible antics, and my, were they horrible. We start out in the flat drinking seven shades of shite out of cans of beer, before heading onto the first pub. We met up with Charlii, a good friend of ours who showed us the town. First, onto the Priory. When we arrived it was quite quiet, with a few people in the bar. At least, that is how I remember it. Drink time!
The Purple Haze. “I think my nose has just been set on fire.”So, I watch Charlii ask the barman for a few drinks, and wonder what she is ordering us. Then, she proclaims “This how you drink it!”, and this is exactly what happens. The barman pours a glass for a shot, and then lights it. It burns for a bit, and then he covers the glass with a small wine glass. This extinguishes the flame, and then he removes the wine glass, quickly taking it off the glass, and putting it upside down on the bar, capturing the vapours from the flaming drink. You then SHOOT the now warm booze, in one go, and it burns your throat like something else. You are then given a straw, to suck up the vapour from under the wine glass. This totally caught me off guard, and I almost fell over with the strength of the vapours. Once this is done, the bar man empties what you did not shoot from the glass into the top of the upside down wine glass (in the curved bit underneath the glass) and you are then to snort the rest up your nose, which made my head spin. I was drunk from that point on.
The Drunken Duff. “I Think I need to leave. I can’t stand up.”Stuart has the rather awkward problem of getting really drunk before anyone else, and normally catches us all way off guard. For example while inside the last pub, he rambles onto me about having his jacket taken from him. It must be noted here that he does not have a jacket, and never wore one out that night. Most interestingly, Finlay appeared at around 2am, telling me “Duff wants to se you outside”, so I wander up the stairs, out onto Union Street, to find Mr Duff leaning against a wall, swaying listlessly, like a buoy at sea in a storm. He glances at me, and smiles. “I need to go home.” He says, slurring every syllable. We stagger into a chip shop, and Duff gets Finlay to get “me a busghurygar…” which costs Finlay £11 for two. The food was top notch, but the prices… oyez.
The Drunken Hyder. “Eat my snatch.”Hyder when drunk can be the funniest man on the planet, and at the same time being absolutely interminable, becoming a ranting, shouting, touching, hitting, swearing, bantering, bastard of a man, who can revulse you with one phrase, and at the same double you over with glee at a top notch phrase or saying, and Saturday night was another good night for himself. His highlight of the whole night was when we got back to my flat, and pulled out the sofa beds (which, thinking about it, I cannot believe we managed in the state we were in) and Duff collapsed heavily onto Hyder’s. This sent Hyder into a spiral of “GET OFF MY BED” for at least five minutes, Hyder pulling his famous “repeat things for a long time the become funny, and then continue until they become annoying” joke.
The Hung-over Finlay. “I don’t feel well!” and “I’MGONNABESICK”Finlay is normally useless when he gets drunk – he wanders about, bumping into people, and dances to pretty much anything, including silence, and the noise of a computer game car. So when we headed out on the Sunday for some food at lunch time, Finlay was in a bad way, finding it hard to stay steady, and kept shouting he was “gonna be sick!”, even when we were in Frankensteins, having lunch. His banter became gold once we were in the flat playing Forza, but he levelled out when we watched the rugby, after the sugar high from some coke vanished, and we started drinking wine.
Jongleurs, this Friday shall be a good story, I feel.
But why am I pontificating this? I don’t know, but it feels good to talk about it, as I feel that the last few weeks have been a large turning point, and with Hazel now officially on the other side of the world for a good while, I think another jump is due soon, but I have no idea how high it will be till I land.
Okay, enough. I had the Scouters up this weekend for some horrible antics, and my, were they horrible. We start out in the flat drinking seven shades of shite out of cans of beer, before heading onto the first pub. We met up with Charlii, a good friend of ours who showed us the town. First, onto the Priory. When we arrived it was quite quiet, with a few people in the bar. At least, that is how I remember it. Drink time!
The Purple Haze. “I think my nose has just been set on fire.”So, I watch Charlii ask the barman for a few drinks, and wonder what she is ordering us. Then, she proclaims “This how you drink it!”, and this is exactly what happens. The barman pours a glass for a shot, and then lights it. It burns for a bit, and then he covers the glass with a small wine glass. This extinguishes the flame, and then he removes the wine glass, quickly taking it off the glass, and putting it upside down on the bar, capturing the vapours from the flaming drink. You then SHOOT the now warm booze, in one go, and it burns your throat like something else. You are then given a straw, to suck up the vapour from under the wine glass. This totally caught me off guard, and I almost fell over with the strength of the vapours. Once this is done, the bar man empties what you did not shoot from the glass into the top of the upside down wine glass (in the curved bit underneath the glass) and you are then to snort the rest up your nose, which made my head spin. I was drunk from that point on.
The Drunken Duff. “I Think I need to leave. I can’t stand up.”Stuart has the rather awkward problem of getting really drunk before anyone else, and normally catches us all way off guard. For example while inside the last pub, he rambles onto me about having his jacket taken from him. It must be noted here that he does not have a jacket, and never wore one out that night. Most interestingly, Finlay appeared at around 2am, telling me “Duff wants to se you outside”, so I wander up the stairs, out onto Union Street, to find Mr Duff leaning against a wall, swaying listlessly, like a buoy at sea in a storm. He glances at me, and smiles. “I need to go home.” He says, slurring every syllable. We stagger into a chip shop, and Duff gets Finlay to get “me a busghurygar…” which costs Finlay £11 for two. The food was top notch, but the prices… oyez.
The Drunken Hyder. “Eat my snatch.”Hyder when drunk can be the funniest man on the planet, and at the same time being absolutely interminable, becoming a ranting, shouting, touching, hitting, swearing, bantering, bastard of a man, who can revulse you with one phrase, and at the same double you over with glee at a top notch phrase or saying, and Saturday night was another good night for himself. His highlight of the whole night was when we got back to my flat, and pulled out the sofa beds (which, thinking about it, I cannot believe we managed in the state we were in) and Duff collapsed heavily onto Hyder’s. This sent Hyder into a spiral of “GET OFF MY BED” for at least five minutes, Hyder pulling his famous “repeat things for a long time the become funny, and then continue until they become annoying” joke.
The Hung-over Finlay. “I don’t feel well!” and “I’MGONNABESICK”Finlay is normally useless when he gets drunk – he wanders about, bumping into people, and dances to pretty much anything, including silence, and the noise of a computer game car. So when we headed out on the Sunday for some food at lunch time, Finlay was in a bad way, finding it hard to stay steady, and kept shouting he was “gonna be sick!”, even when we were in Frankensteins, having lunch. His banter became gold once we were in the flat playing Forza, but he levelled out when we watched the rugby, after the sugar high from some coke vanished, and we started drinking wine.
Jongleurs, this Friday shall be a good story, I feel.
Friday, October 05, 2007
Insanity Crash: The Lure of Celebrity
Woman With An Opinion sometimes creates some of the most inflammatory posts of any blog where I personally know the writer, which I know is a small list, but still is an accolade that not many people who can give out, never mind receive. So, I think that shows something. For those who have not read her blog, the link is (and has always been) on the right hand side of this page. A recent post (yesterday, I think) caused myself to return to a topic that I touched around whilst looking for something to write a few months back, but chickened out as my rant had became a mess, without structure.
Not this time.
I come into contact with a few women’s magazines that truly set myself apart from some of my other male brothers. This is due to the fact that I try to read these pieces of literature, without prejudice and without assumptions on the content. Favourites of mine are Look, Reveal and Heat, which are all culprits in the massive swindle that is befalling almost every single member of this society today. What is it? It is the Lure of Celebrity.
We are fixated by the doings and wrong doings of the people who, through sometimes no other way than just being on the telly for a few weeks, have became “household” names. What is a household name? When I say to someone in my house, “Have you heard of Ziggy” very few people will know who I mean, and one might assume I am talking about David Bowie (which would make for very interesting Big Brother). The thing is, he is regarded as a household name, and his reason for this status? He was on the telly.
Mostly, I read these with mild disgust, and complete contempt for those who buy (and buy into) this sort of trash, but recently, the problems have filtered through into the mainstream media.
A few months ago, Kate Moss was dating Pete Doherty. I have no idea whether they are still going out, and I have no desire to ever find out, but these magazines were taking it in turns each week to proclaim that the romance “WAS OFF!”, whilst the next week saying that “IT IS BACK ON!”, and so forth. The madness that lies therein is that not all of the magazines can be right, and normally, even when both stories are completely the opposite, they are still wrong.
The reason for the facts appearing in these magazines are from “inside sources” which are normally someone who says they know the couple/person/animal and have a good idea of what is going on. In the real media, where politics and crimes are committed, true sources can be gotten to, and can really give serious details about stories that might otherwise be kept rather well hidden from sight, and probably kept totally secret, and the difference here is the hearing about the latest policies from a governing party before they are announced is sometimes rather good journalism, but hearing about who is shagging who is totally worthless, and adds nothing to anyone’s day.
In the tabloids, these “sources” probably get paid a fortune. Bouncers at clubs doors phone news papers to let them know who is that night, so someone can be there to get a “shock” photo of them leaving at 4am half cut. That’s what everyone does, and you would look much worse than say Orlando Bloom gashed on a Saturday night.
The problem has appeared much more in the news in last few months with the disappearance of Madeline McCann, and the procedures that the Portuguese police have to take in accordance with their legal system means that very little, if any, information is released, meaning that in order to keep a story alive, and to sell the papers needed, “sources close to the family” are used as darts, to try and score hyperbolae and presumption upon. These people, who feast of this type of journalism, are horribly deluded.
Anyone who actively cares and wants to know about the latest celebrities and what they are doing, wearing, and shagging, are probably in need of help, and in this society it can only get worse. The more magazines there are, the more people who will buy them, and the more lives will get swallowed up in the massive mess that is “journalism” these days. I suggest that a lifestyle magazine comes out with proper articles about beneficial theories and actual commentary.
I think I might have found it. It is called the internet, and you are the editor. I suppose it is all about choice, and those who choose to read such trash choose their education.
Don’t get me started on “Nuts” and “Zoo”, as they are much worse at it than the woman’s magazine, but for much worse reasons, and I think Woman With an Opinion might agree with me there.
Not this time.
I come into contact with a few women’s magazines that truly set myself apart from some of my other male brothers. This is due to the fact that I try to read these pieces of literature, without prejudice and without assumptions on the content. Favourites of mine are Look, Reveal and Heat, which are all culprits in the massive swindle that is befalling almost every single member of this society today. What is it? It is the Lure of Celebrity.
We are fixated by the doings and wrong doings of the people who, through sometimes no other way than just being on the telly for a few weeks, have became “household” names. What is a household name? When I say to someone in my house, “Have you heard of Ziggy” very few people will know who I mean, and one might assume I am talking about David Bowie (which would make for very interesting Big Brother). The thing is, he is regarded as a household name, and his reason for this status? He was on the telly.
Mostly, I read these with mild disgust, and complete contempt for those who buy (and buy into) this sort of trash, but recently, the problems have filtered through into the mainstream media.
A few months ago, Kate Moss was dating Pete Doherty. I have no idea whether they are still going out, and I have no desire to ever find out, but these magazines were taking it in turns each week to proclaim that the romance “WAS OFF!”, whilst the next week saying that “IT IS BACK ON!”, and so forth. The madness that lies therein is that not all of the magazines can be right, and normally, even when both stories are completely the opposite, they are still wrong.
The reason for the facts appearing in these magazines are from “inside sources” which are normally someone who says they know the couple/person/animal and have a good idea of what is going on. In the real media, where politics and crimes are committed, true sources can be gotten to, and can really give serious details about stories that might otherwise be kept rather well hidden from sight, and probably kept totally secret, and the difference here is the hearing about the latest policies from a governing party before they are announced is sometimes rather good journalism, but hearing about who is shagging who is totally worthless, and adds nothing to anyone’s day.
In the tabloids, these “sources” probably get paid a fortune. Bouncers at clubs doors phone news papers to let them know who is that night, so someone can be there to get a “shock” photo of them leaving at 4am half cut. That’s what everyone does, and you would look much worse than say Orlando Bloom gashed on a Saturday night.
The problem has appeared much more in the news in last few months with the disappearance of Madeline McCann, and the procedures that the Portuguese police have to take in accordance with their legal system means that very little, if any, information is released, meaning that in order to keep a story alive, and to sell the papers needed, “sources close to the family” are used as darts, to try and score hyperbolae and presumption upon. These people, who feast of this type of journalism, are horribly deluded.
Anyone who actively cares and wants to know about the latest celebrities and what they are doing, wearing, and shagging, are probably in need of help, and in this society it can only get worse. The more magazines there are, the more people who will buy them, and the more lives will get swallowed up in the massive mess that is “journalism” these days. I suggest that a lifestyle magazine comes out with proper articles about beneficial theories and actual commentary.
I think I might have found it. It is called the internet, and you are the editor. I suppose it is all about choice, and those who choose to read such trash choose their education.
Don’t get me started on “Nuts” and “Zoo”, as they are much worse at it than the woman’s magazine, but for much worse reasons, and I think Woman With an Opinion might agree with me there.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Insanity Crash: Dida, a fool amongst fools.
A good blog post is like a fine wine. Very few people can fully appreciate it, but almost all profuse its various plus points, and exclaim their expertise which otherwise would have been kept quietly to themselves.
I have decided to not instantly follow up the previous post with a sequel, but to leave it hanging, as the success of it shall be greater amplified.
Last night I could not watch the Celtic AC Milan game, but was listening to it after I heard that it was 1-1, after Celtic scoring first, much to my amazement. When the second goal went in the pub that rests just below my flat jumped into my living room, with men singing and shouting, vbut suddenly it all went quiet, and I started to hear Five Live again...
"...nd Dida, who is now on the ground, appears to have been struck in the face by a fan who ran onto the pitch. No this is serious, as the medical team are rushing, lets have a look at it again. What do you think?"
"Ah well, you see him running on... and... oh, there is little contact!"
"Yes, it looks like it wasn't much of an attack"
"I wouldn't even call it that, but there will be added time, more added time now"
"Look, there is a stretcher coming on, that is just plain simulation!"
"It seems as though Dida will be coming off, replaced by the substitue keeper, and for what, on the face of it looks like a slap, he is getting taken off..."
Now, I hate this fan. When he is found, the support and the SFA will vilify him so much, he might not get to see another football match in his lifetime. A massive fin for celtic, and the posibility of games behind some closed doors is permissive, but most interestingly the reaction Dida had and the stance UEFA will have to take. It is obvious that the strike from the fan was much less than Dida acted it out to be, but what if he had had a knife? Or a gun? Or a sword?
Perspective is needed, and I await the results of the hearing, but anything more than failure to keep a crowd under control is what Celtic should face, as the fan was neither agressive, nor actual harmful, and the actions of Dida were definetly out of order.
And I had him in my fantasy team too. Poor show.
Imagine waking up this morning as that guy...
"Morning Dave"
"Ah, mornin Tam..."
"Last night wis fucking mental, wint it?"
"Eh, aye, it wis, ... eh"
"You hear about this fucking wee cunt that slapped Dida?"
"... umm..."
"Fuck sake, what a total dick. I mean, who'd dae sumthin like that?"
"...Tam..."
"Fucking bawbag, hope they lock the cunt up and throw away the key."
"Tam..."
"Did we leave early or sumthin? I can't remeber the goal, I think I wis well gashed."
"...You were the guy who slapped Dida. It wis you, ya silly prick."
"...Oh shite."
I have decided to not instantly follow up the previous post with a sequel, but to leave it hanging, as the success of it shall be greater amplified.
Last night I could not watch the Celtic AC Milan game, but was listening to it after I heard that it was 1-1, after Celtic scoring first, much to my amazement. When the second goal went in the pub that rests just below my flat jumped into my living room, with men singing and shouting, vbut suddenly it all went quiet, and I started to hear Five Live again...
"...nd Dida, who is now on the ground, appears to have been struck in the face by a fan who ran onto the pitch. No this is serious, as the medical team are rushing, lets have a look at it again. What do you think?"
"Ah well, you see him running on... and... oh, there is little contact!"
"Yes, it looks like it wasn't much of an attack"
"I wouldn't even call it that, but there will be added time, more added time now"
"Look, there is a stretcher coming on, that is just plain simulation!"
"It seems as though Dida will be coming off, replaced by the substitue keeper, and for what, on the face of it looks like a slap, he is getting taken off..."
Now, I hate this fan. When he is found, the support and the SFA will vilify him so much, he might not get to see another football match in his lifetime. A massive fin for celtic, and the posibility of games behind some closed doors is permissive, but most interestingly the reaction Dida had and the stance UEFA will have to take. It is obvious that the strike from the fan was much less than Dida acted it out to be, but what if he had had a knife? Or a gun? Or a sword?
Perspective is needed, and I await the results of the hearing, but anything more than failure to keep a crowd under control is what Celtic should face, as the fan was neither agressive, nor actual harmful, and the actions of Dida were definetly out of order.
And I had him in my fantasy team too. Poor show.
Imagine waking up this morning as that guy...
"Morning Dave"
"Ah, mornin Tam..."
"Last night wis fucking mental, wint it?"
"Eh, aye, it wis, ... eh"
"You hear about this fucking wee cunt that slapped Dida?"
"... umm..."
"Fuck sake, what a total dick. I mean, who'd dae sumthin like that?"
"...Tam..."
"Fucking bawbag, hope they lock the cunt up and throw away the key."
"Tam..."
"Did we leave early or sumthin? I can't remeber the goal, I think I wis well gashed."
"...You were the guy who slapped Dida. It wis you, ya silly prick."
"...Oh shite."
Wednesday, October 03, 2007
Insanity Crash: The Order of the Marque
“When on Holiday I enjoy watching people. Indeed, when I am in Britain I enjoy watching people; it is not a holiday exclusive activity. With the obvious mixing of nationalities which only happen in these situations a wide range of new types of people to watch are available, making almost 50% of the pleasure of being holiday in this activity alone.” (from http://justanothersheeldz.blogspot.com/2007/06/holiday-3-untitled.htm )
This is a good point. I am glad I made it, as it follows straight onto the topic of this post: watching people. In Glasgow I loved watching people, be it friends who are in interesting situations, or just the general public. I do not mean through a telescope, or even through a window like some of my other friends, but I like to sit, and watch out of sight, the comings and goings of some of my human brethren. The joy this can give me is uncanny.
Which is why working in a shop worked so well. I was being paid to have contact with the great unwashed, and to be honest, it was about as horrific as you can imagine, made better with top quality banter almost all the time with my colleagues. Still, when I left, Rock Steady introduced me to a large amount of total bawbags, and thus, my insatiable need for perusal of the public great was supplied.
But, in such a tale of beauty and prosperity, something much stifle it, and Wood Group has been such a stifling. The first few weeks were great for meeting new people, but now that I am settled in the office and people now know me slightly and what I am doing here, the opportunities have dried up. So, onto pastures new.
Which has roundly brought me to my only exposure to strangers within my current vocation, and it is the already mentioned commute. When I sit in my car listening to my music in the endless queues of traffic that appear from nothing for 2 hours a day, I can gaze upon other members of this society, and imagine what they are doing with their lives, and what they are doing in that particular car. I like to guess the profession of the driver from their car, and sometimes I think I can make a good estimation of their lifestyle too.
Any Ford: You are most probably a family person, who enjoys a good drive, but in comfort. You have probably owned a Ford before and quite like the styling of the cars even when they of the most boring shape on the road at the moment. Note: The new Mondeo is very nice.
BMW (3-5 series): You are in a management role, or are related to someone who is. You bought the new shape, even when it is unusual, and think it looks cool. A large 3 door car is more practical than a smaller 5 door car, and you like the fact your car has no identifying badges on the back.
Porsche: You are making a lot of money, but have no family to spend it on, and are most probably a total bastard in the office environment.
Subaru Impreza/Lancer Evo/Superbike: A mechanical engineer, mostly male, who decides that his car is too look like it came off the world rally tour, and you picked up at a bargain price. You don’t car the style is (and has been for a long time) out of date, and only worry about the extra 5bhp the car can give you at the lights.
Volvo: Need I say more?
Volkswagen: You enjoy a good drive, and normally have to trouble paying extra for a little premium for brand, which you perceive as quality. You enjoy the fact that the car you drive is the basis for a whole bunch of other cars, and that yours is the “original”. Have a fair amount of contempt for Audi and Seat owners.
Audi: You enjoy a good drive, and normally have to trouble paying extra for a little premium for brand, which you perceive as quality. You enjoy the fact that the car you drive is the basis based on a more expensive model, and that yours is the “update”. Have a fair amount of contempt for Volkswagen and Seat owners.
Seat: Wish that you were driving a Volkswagen or an Audi, because even when it is the same car, the badge belies that fact.
Fiat Punto: Normally an all together and really cool guy, with fantastic hair and is great in bed.
This is a good point. I am glad I made it, as it follows straight onto the topic of this post: watching people. In Glasgow I loved watching people, be it friends who are in interesting situations, or just the general public. I do not mean through a telescope, or even through a window like some of my other friends, but I like to sit, and watch out of sight, the comings and goings of some of my human brethren. The joy this can give me is uncanny.
Which is why working in a shop worked so well. I was being paid to have contact with the great unwashed, and to be honest, it was about as horrific as you can imagine, made better with top quality banter almost all the time with my colleagues. Still, when I left, Rock Steady introduced me to a large amount of total bawbags, and thus, my insatiable need for perusal of the public great was supplied.
But, in such a tale of beauty and prosperity, something much stifle it, and Wood Group has been such a stifling. The first few weeks were great for meeting new people, but now that I am settled in the office and people now know me slightly and what I am doing here, the opportunities have dried up. So, onto pastures new.
Which has roundly brought me to my only exposure to strangers within my current vocation, and it is the already mentioned commute. When I sit in my car listening to my music in the endless queues of traffic that appear from nothing for 2 hours a day, I can gaze upon other members of this society, and imagine what they are doing with their lives, and what they are doing in that particular car. I like to guess the profession of the driver from their car, and sometimes I think I can make a good estimation of their lifestyle too.
Any Ford: You are most probably a family person, who enjoys a good drive, but in comfort. You have probably owned a Ford before and quite like the styling of the cars even when they of the most boring shape on the road at the moment. Note: The new Mondeo is very nice.
BMW (3-5 series): You are in a management role, or are related to someone who is. You bought the new shape, even when it is unusual, and think it looks cool. A large 3 door car is more practical than a smaller 5 door car, and you like the fact your car has no identifying badges on the back.
Porsche: You are making a lot of money, but have no family to spend it on, and are most probably a total bastard in the office environment.
Subaru Impreza/Lancer Evo/Superbike: A mechanical engineer, mostly male, who decides that his car is too look like it came off the world rally tour, and you picked up at a bargain price. You don’t car the style is (and has been for a long time) out of date, and only worry about the extra 5bhp the car can give you at the lights.
Volvo: Need I say more?
Volkswagen: You enjoy a good drive, and normally have to trouble paying extra for a little premium for brand, which you perceive as quality. You enjoy the fact that the car you drive is the basis for a whole bunch of other cars, and that yours is the “original”. Have a fair amount of contempt for Audi and Seat owners.
Audi: You enjoy a good drive, and normally have to trouble paying extra for a little premium for brand, which you perceive as quality. You enjoy the fact that the car you drive is the basis based on a more expensive model, and that yours is the “update”. Have a fair amount of contempt for Volkswagen and Seat owners.
Seat: Wish that you were driving a Volkswagen or an Audi, because even when it is the same car, the badge belies that fact.
Fiat Punto: Normally an all together and really cool guy, with fantastic hair and is great in bed.
Muchness Dump: 2007; Thus Far (Films)
An apology first: I would like sincerely apologise to all my readers who expected a scintillating article yesterday about films. I currently have to use the internet access at work, and due to unforeseen circumstances, I actually had to do some work yesterday. As such, I could not fulfil my promise, and I have been ashamed and embarrassed.
Onto less indulgent themes, I started it on Monday, and will finish it today:
Film of the Year: Disappointment
I might get slated for this, but Spider-man 3 was the most disappointing film of the year so far. The story was a mess, the CG was relied upon too heavily, and the characters did not get enough screen time. My main problem with the story is the overall shocking display Venom got. He should have had his own film, instead he was reduced to merely a bit role in a rather exciting action movie, which was introduced far too late, and used far too little. To be honest, the effects were spectacular, but the story failed for it.
And why have Sandman too? He was treated pretty poorly, and kinda took most of the focus from Green Goblin II, a much more interesting relationship between Harry and Peter. But who am I kidding? What did we expect? The Spider-man series is having the same problems the Bond series has always had – the next instalment needs MORE, and MORE is not always enough, because MORE is normally followed by MONEY, to make the phrase MORE MONEY, which means less actual humans, and more bendy Spider-man stunts and massive sandman-esque monsters. I wanted to see Venom and Spider-man have a showdown like the Subway chase from number 2, but the removal of actual stunts from the movie, and replaced by CGI, was a tad unfortunate.
Film of the Year: Best
I am tempted to say Transformers, simply because of the stunning CGI and the amazing feat, but that would contradict almost everything I have just said, so I won’t. (It is Transformers.)
Onto less indulgent themes, I started it on Monday, and will finish it today:
Film of the Year: Disappointment
I might get slated for this, but Spider-man 3 was the most disappointing film of the year so far. The story was a mess, the CG was relied upon too heavily, and the characters did not get enough screen time. My main problem with the story is the overall shocking display Venom got. He should have had his own film, instead he was reduced to merely a bit role in a rather exciting action movie, which was introduced far too late, and used far too little. To be honest, the effects were spectacular, but the story failed for it.
And why have Sandman too? He was treated pretty poorly, and kinda took most of the focus from Green Goblin II, a much more interesting relationship between Harry and Peter. But who am I kidding? What did we expect? The Spider-man series is having the same problems the Bond series has always had – the next instalment needs MORE, and MORE is not always enough, because MORE is normally followed by MONEY, to make the phrase MORE MONEY, which means less actual humans, and more bendy Spider-man stunts and massive sandman-esque monsters. I wanted to see Venom and Spider-man have a showdown like the Subway chase from number 2, but the removal of actual stunts from the movie, and replaced by CGI, was a tad unfortunate.
Film of the Year: Best
I am tempted to say Transformers, simply because of the stunning CGI and the amazing feat, but that would contradict almost everything I have just said, so I won’t. (It is Transformers.)
Monday, October 01, 2007
Muchness Dump: 2007; Thus Far (Music)
Thus far into the year, we can look back together and decide on what we think to be the best albums and films of the year so far, and what the major disappointments so far have been, and this is the theme of my post today. This week there will be a post every day hopefully, as I am spending a few extra hours in work to make up for my Friday off this week to see off Hazel into the blue yonder of world travelling for 10 weeks. It might be less if I make it out there, but that is up in the air at the moment.
Album of the Year: Disappointment
This year has been a massive mix of downloading albums and listening to new bands, which are slowly shaping the way my music is falling. Artists such as Godspeed You! Black Emperor, Kronos Quartet and Peatbog Faeries are so different from anything I used to listen to, and anything I know anyone else listening to, it makes me feel like a pariah. In this new, bolder, more individual musical landscape, which looks post apocalyptic, with dead trees and blood pouring out of the hands of the rich, I find it harder to accept mainstream artists for what they are. This is where I find my self loosing faith in bands I would have otherwise been shouting their success from the roof tops. On this note, my most disappointing album of the year is probably the new Arctic Monkeys album.
So similar to their last album, so hyped up it was intrusive, and so simple, I think I may be missing the point of the whole affair. His lyrics are “smart”, which means they are about things the reviewer does not understand, and “innovative”, which means that the reviewer has not listened to someone talk about real life of the 20something for a long time. According to some the music is “intricate”, but with single string guitar riffs, and partially indulgent drum rhythms, the only thing going for the band is the slightly off normal time signatures that the band does use. It is not the best album of the year, not even the best album of the month of its release, and it angers me when they are hailed as the best band around.
Album of the Year: Best
There are two that strike me as being excellent, and both are equally opposite, so both will be mentioned here. The first is the incredible second LP from LCD Soundsystem, “Sound of Silver”. The punk infused rock dance that was the surprise of the debut is more complex, and the lyrics are far further reaching than the debut, and some of the arrangements are more akin to The Beatles than Daft Punk. The albums opener, Get Innocuous! Is possibly the best track to start a night out with, and would feature on my set list if I was a DJ – I fail anyone to not start tapping their foot at around 1.47 when the second bass line kicks in. Someone Great is an insanely deep track for a “dance” band, and the albums outro is like Lou Reed. I have not even mentioned All My Friends, which is the albums stand out track.
Secondly, Modest Mouse have taken some of the best parts of their previous efforts and polished them, shouted them back into a mirror, chewed some cocaine, and bought loads of Smith records. Johnny Marr taking task with the band is a match that initially I was suspect about, but listening to Fly Trapped in a Jar, and Steam Engenius are two of the best songs of the year, not forgetting the incredible three song piece Spitting Venom, and the beautiful Florida.
Tomorrow, I will chat about the best and worst films of the year, and on Wednesday rant about something in Insanity Crash, and maybe startle you with a tale of anonymity in a office where your voice gets drowned out by the suffocating silence.
Album of the Year: Disappointment
This year has been a massive mix of downloading albums and listening to new bands, which are slowly shaping the way my music is falling. Artists such as Godspeed You! Black Emperor, Kronos Quartet and Peatbog Faeries are so different from anything I used to listen to, and anything I know anyone else listening to, it makes me feel like a pariah. In this new, bolder, more individual musical landscape, which looks post apocalyptic, with dead trees and blood pouring out of the hands of the rich, I find it harder to accept mainstream artists for what they are. This is where I find my self loosing faith in bands I would have otherwise been shouting their success from the roof tops. On this note, my most disappointing album of the year is probably the new Arctic Monkeys album.
So similar to their last album, so hyped up it was intrusive, and so simple, I think I may be missing the point of the whole affair. His lyrics are “smart”, which means they are about things the reviewer does not understand, and “innovative”, which means that the reviewer has not listened to someone talk about real life of the 20something for a long time. According to some the music is “intricate”, but with single string guitar riffs, and partially indulgent drum rhythms, the only thing going for the band is the slightly off normal time signatures that the band does use. It is not the best album of the year, not even the best album of the month of its release, and it angers me when they are hailed as the best band around.
Album of the Year: Best
There are two that strike me as being excellent, and both are equally opposite, so both will be mentioned here. The first is the incredible second LP from LCD Soundsystem, “Sound of Silver”. The punk infused rock dance that was the surprise of the debut is more complex, and the lyrics are far further reaching than the debut, and some of the arrangements are more akin to The Beatles than Daft Punk. The albums opener, Get Innocuous! Is possibly the best track to start a night out with, and would feature on my set list if I was a DJ – I fail anyone to not start tapping their foot at around 1.47 when the second bass line kicks in. Someone Great is an insanely deep track for a “dance” band, and the albums outro is like Lou Reed. I have not even mentioned All My Friends, which is the albums stand out track.
Secondly, Modest Mouse have taken some of the best parts of their previous efforts and polished them, shouted them back into a mirror, chewed some cocaine, and bought loads of Smith records. Johnny Marr taking task with the band is a match that initially I was suspect about, but listening to Fly Trapped in a Jar, and Steam Engenius are two of the best songs of the year, not forgetting the incredible three song piece Spitting Venom, and the beautiful Florida.
Tomorrow, I will chat about the best and worst films of the year, and on Wednesday rant about something in Insanity Crash, and maybe startle you with a tale of anonymity in a office where your voice gets drowned out by the suffocating silence.
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