There is this new game that is doing rounds and all the cool kids are doing it – Wikipedia Albums. Way it works is this: You go to Wikipedia and click on the Random Article button. The first article title (no matter what it is) is your band name. Click on it again and the second result (again, no matter what it is) is you album title. Now click again ten times to get your album tracklisting. I have played this a few too many times over the last few days, but here is one I have done exclusivley for you.
Band Name: Share the Land
Album: Halo Orbit
1. Glamorama
2. Lino Graglia
3. Cotyloscia
4. Long Live the League
5. Overcoming Law
6. List of state leaders in 975
7. Walter Motz
8. Arid
9. Transrealism
10. List of Alaska state forests
I think Long Live the League went to number 1.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Monday, March 24, 2008
Insanity Crash: Mark & Neds: A Serial Piece about Glasgow’s Ne’er-do-wells 3
It has been a while since my last post, a large rant about Shayan's grammar and basically spelling and such, and the gap was caused by a few things. Firstly, I was busy, secondly I took some time off work, and thirdly because nothing really that exciting happened to me recently. So, when in need of a post, delve into History...
This is the third (first, second) in the series about my experiences with Neds from my childhood, of which I have many having attended that glorious institution the State School, wherein you are subjected to racism, homophobia, bullying and general depression by just going to school. In saying that, I rather enjoyed school, and while I was a fish out of water during first and second year being subjected to hours of brainy question answering in front of a class of dullards, with a few exceptions, the last few years were quite enjoyable.
In fact, I yearn for them now, but that is silly I know - I am long since out of that education mess and into the "real" world as it is.
However, rarely, if ever, did I get to act like a Ned at school, though in sixth year we got all the fun of the fair. Choosing subjects in sixth year was fun and by choosing to do three Advance Highers, the stupidest decision of my life, I managed to get away with doing pretty much no work at all - having got an unconditional for my course of choice, I lacked any incentive to do any sort of work and took that to extremes. The following are three stories of 6th shenanigans that will forever be anecdotes to use for the rest of my life.
1 - The Challenge
Physics is one of the classes at school I really enjoyed, and the teachers were as enthusiastic about their subject as any. This probably rubbed off onto me and my 1 and B in 4th and 5th year show that I took it seriously, but as soon as I arrived in that class to find Proflax (ahem), Steven and Alexa plus me, I knew it was all over. The sporadic teaching method most 6th year classes got was perfect for these periods and fun times began.
The Challenge was simple - get around the classroom in record time without touching the ground. Placed stools and tables were the course, and jumping, falling, shouting and "edgy" were aplomb, with more than one close shave. All the while Steven and I, the two perennial slackers, jumped around the room like idiots trying to open a fire exit from the outside, Proflax (ahem) and Alexa sat doing work. We were not caught.
2 - The Window
Same room, same time, same idea - do something mental without getting caught. Mr Ghatory left use normally each period after laughing at Proflax (ahem) and Steve came up with the grandest idea of all. Climb out of the window. So, stool and window in place, Steve made the great escape. Once outside (after realising the drop from the ground floor window was a little higher than we thought) he ran around the building and back in the main door. This went off without a hitch - unless you call almost getting caught by Mr Ghatory outside at the main door a hitch. Laughter and fun were everywhere, but again, Proflax and Alexa worked.
3 - The Banning
I got banned from Maths in 6th year too. Steve was once again involved, but this time I feel (and still to this day) hard done by. The timetable was something like this: Monday, 4th period, we had computing and were working on our projects, and I think we were making good progress. I had managed to make a button click, and Steve had almost managed to stop his battleship program from taking 6 turns each shot. Kind of like a shotgun style approach to the strategy classic. Over lunch we continued our bought of computing, and into 5th period where we should have been at Maths with NAMELESS TEACHER A. We then went to Physics at 6th period, and were informed by the early arrival of Alexa that we had been "banned".
"What do you mean?"
"[Proflax] told NAMELESS TEACHER A that you had stayed in computing and said to tell you not to come back."
Bemusement took hold. Saleem arrived and we had a good old laugh about it, surely she couldn't ban us, could she?
Well, we turned up to NAMELESS TEACHER A's class the next day, 3rd period, and were promptly told to "Leave, and never come back." Even Colin, who had even been in the class yesterday, was told to leave. "I was here Miss!" he exclaimed, to much amusement. I asked her "Why?" in the most condescending way I might have ever talked to a teacher in my life, and she went a bit mental. I started saying that "Elizabeth had missed almost every class this week (and was not there today) but she had not been banned!" to which it wasn't taken lightly. Upon leaving, laughing, slightly worried but also slightly happy, Steve motioned to Proflax (ahem) "You're dead", NAMELESS TEACHER A ran out of the classroom, saying "No violence to [Proflax]! It is not his fault you don't appreciate my teaching!"
So, fuck. The next day, in a different teacher's maths class, he told us to come to him for tuition instead of going no where.
And the moral of the above story? I passed computing and failed Maths. I probably should have had the bitch sacked, eh?
Note: These are stories about the only times I acted like a Ned. Maybe one day I'll tell you of the stories about apples and coke bottles...
This is the third (first, second) in the series about my experiences with Neds from my childhood, of which I have many having attended that glorious institution the State School, wherein you are subjected to racism, homophobia, bullying and general depression by just going to school. In saying that, I rather enjoyed school, and while I was a fish out of water during first and second year being subjected to hours of brainy question answering in front of a class of dullards, with a few exceptions, the last few years were quite enjoyable.
In fact, I yearn for them now, but that is silly I know - I am long since out of that education mess and into the "real" world as it is.
However, rarely, if ever, did I get to act like a Ned at school, though in sixth year we got all the fun of the fair. Choosing subjects in sixth year was fun and by choosing to do three Advance Highers, the stupidest decision of my life, I managed to get away with doing pretty much no work at all - having got an unconditional for my course of choice, I lacked any incentive to do any sort of work and took that to extremes. The following are three stories of 6th shenanigans that will forever be anecdotes to use for the rest of my life.
1 - The Challenge
Physics is one of the classes at school I really enjoyed, and the teachers were as enthusiastic about their subject as any. This probably rubbed off onto me and my 1 and B in 4th and 5th year show that I took it seriously, but as soon as I arrived in that class to find Proflax (ahem), Steven and Alexa plus me, I knew it was all over. The sporadic teaching method most 6th year classes got was perfect for these periods and fun times began.
The Challenge was simple - get around the classroom in record time without touching the ground. Placed stools and tables were the course, and jumping, falling, shouting and "edgy" were aplomb, with more than one close shave. All the while Steven and I, the two perennial slackers, jumped around the room like idiots trying to open a fire exit from the outside, Proflax (ahem) and Alexa sat doing work. We were not caught.
2 - The Window
Same room, same time, same idea - do something mental without getting caught. Mr Ghatory left use normally each period after laughing at Proflax (ahem) and Steve came up with the grandest idea of all. Climb out of the window. So, stool and window in place, Steve made the great escape. Once outside (after realising the drop from the ground floor window was a little higher than we thought) he ran around the building and back in the main door. This went off without a hitch - unless you call almost getting caught by Mr Ghatory outside at the main door a hitch. Laughter and fun were everywhere, but again, Proflax and Alexa worked.
3 - The Banning
I got banned from Maths in 6th year too. Steve was once again involved, but this time I feel (and still to this day) hard done by. The timetable was something like this: Monday, 4th period, we had computing and were working on our projects, and I think we were making good progress. I had managed to make a button click, and Steve had almost managed to stop his battleship program from taking 6 turns each shot. Kind of like a shotgun style approach to the strategy classic. Over lunch we continued our bought of computing, and into 5th period where we should have been at Maths with NAMELESS TEACHER A. We then went to Physics at 6th period, and were informed by the early arrival of Alexa that we had been "banned".
"What do you mean?"
"[Proflax] told NAMELESS TEACHER A that you had stayed in computing and said to tell you not to come back."
Bemusement took hold. Saleem arrived and we had a good old laugh about it, surely she couldn't ban us, could she?
Well, we turned up to NAMELESS TEACHER A's class the next day, 3rd period, and were promptly told to "Leave, and never come back." Even Colin, who had even been in the class yesterday, was told to leave. "I was here Miss!" he exclaimed, to much amusement. I asked her "Why?" in the most condescending way I might have ever talked to a teacher in my life, and she went a bit mental. I started saying that "Elizabeth had missed almost every class this week (and was not there today) but she had not been banned!" to which it wasn't taken lightly. Upon leaving, laughing, slightly worried but also slightly happy, Steve motioned to Proflax (ahem) "You're dead", NAMELESS TEACHER A ran out of the classroom, saying "No violence to [Proflax]! It is not his fault you don't appreciate my teaching!"
So, fuck. The next day, in a different teacher's maths class, he told us to come to him for tuition instead of going no where.
And the moral of the above story? I passed computing and failed Maths. I probably should have had the bitch sacked, eh?
Note: These are stories about the only times I acted like a Ned. Maybe one day I'll tell you of the stories about apples and coke bottles...
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Insanity Crash: "You of won a packet of crisps!"
I am going to say it now to get it out of the way. Two sentences in and you are probably wondering what "it" is, and don't worry. The fourth sentence will explain everything. I was not exactly stellar at spelling at school and university, and you might have also noticed that I have been caught with a few telling errors creeping through the Word spell checker and then the Blogger spell checker. I try really, really hard, but occasionally I am caught out by a word I can't seem to grasp how it is spelled. In other places, it will be a typographical error, in my unorthodox method of typing, my hands flail all over the keyboard, with different fingers changing letter, typing random letters without really need to think about.
This has came into the fore because Shayan, my current flatmate and work colleague, is not British, as in, was not born here. He now owns a British passport, so I suppose he is as Queen's British as I am, but he still struggles with one aspect of our culture, and that is our language. I got that first paragraph out of the way so I would not seem so hypocritical, but in anycase, the third paragraph will still be.
I pick up on his phrasings a lot because they are particularly A) Annoying, and B) simply wrong. Here are a couple of choice errors:
"Would of", as in "I would of done that."
- This is obviously taken from hearing the phrase "would have" in the Scottish accent. The error here lies in a misunderstanding of the use of apostrophes in speech and spelling, as they denote a missing letter shortening the word. Cue many times of "would-of" being pointed out as being erroneous.
"Is it?", as in "What we doing tonight?", "Going to the pub.", "Is it?"
- To be honest I have no idea where this one came from, but I can only imagine it was picked up by either listening to another foreign member of his class as school, or by watching a London based TV show as I only hear it from Shayan and when it is name checked in the outrageously clever Dans le Sac Vs. Scroobius Pip track. The problem with this phrase is not in it's mistaken use (in the above example it should be "Are we?") but in the error that it is actually not even a proper sentence, or even, a proper collection of words. It is wrong, and the amount of times it is used is countless, and also it is impossible to point out every single time it is used.
The above are just from Shayan, so time to pull the cap of enlightenment back on my self and point out some serious flaws in my own language.
Basically, I hardly remember anything about being taught how to construct sentences. A famous line of question came about through general chat with one of my more Studious friends where I exclaimed "I like maths because 2+2 always equals 5" where his retort was "English is the same; you just were not taught that way." I think that even if I was taught the correct way to grammaticise my sentences and spell words in a way that made sense, I probably wouldn't have done an engineering degree, having to spend all the time I spent learning Maths to learning the ridiculously complicated rules of English. All I had to do was read 4 pages of a grammar book to say "To hell with this" and threw it away.
In the end, it comes down to the way we were taught, and Shayan, being Iranian, has to learn English from scratch and missed learning all the ridiculous pronunciations and spellings. Like Corps = Core, Colonel = Kernal and Read /= Read. I think it might be harder to relearn the correct way to say everything, and structure everything, when I have been bollocking it up for the last 20 odd years, than learning it rightish from the start, and then it being bastardised by the West of Scotland dialect.
If I hadn't of started blogging, would of it mattered? Is it?
This has came into the fore because Shayan, my current flatmate and work colleague, is not British, as in, was not born here. He now owns a British passport, so I suppose he is as Queen's British as I am, but he still struggles with one aspect of our culture, and that is our language. I got that first paragraph out of the way so I would not seem so hypocritical, but in anycase, the third paragraph will still be.
I pick up on his phrasings a lot because they are particularly A) Annoying, and B) simply wrong. Here are a couple of choice errors:
"Would of", as in "I would of done that."
- This is obviously taken from hearing the phrase "would have" in the Scottish accent. The error here lies in a misunderstanding of the use of apostrophes in speech and spelling, as they denote a missing letter shortening the word. Cue many times of "would-of" being pointed out as being erroneous.
"Is it?", as in "What we doing tonight?", "Going to the pub.", "Is it?"
- To be honest I have no idea where this one came from, but I can only imagine it was picked up by either listening to another foreign member of his class as school, or by watching a London based TV show as I only hear it from Shayan and when it is name checked in the outrageously clever Dans le Sac Vs. Scroobius Pip track. The problem with this phrase is not in it's mistaken use (in the above example it should be "Are we?") but in the error that it is actually not even a proper sentence, or even, a proper collection of words. It is wrong, and the amount of times it is used is countless, and also it is impossible to point out every single time it is used.
The above are just from Shayan, so time to pull the cap of enlightenment back on my self and point out some serious flaws in my own language.
Basically, I hardly remember anything about being taught how to construct sentences. A famous line of question came about through general chat with one of my more Studious friends where I exclaimed "I like maths because 2+2 always equals 5" where his retort was "English is the same; you just were not taught that way." I think that even if I was taught the correct way to grammaticise my sentences and spell words in a way that made sense, I probably wouldn't have done an engineering degree, having to spend all the time I spent learning Maths to learning the ridiculously complicated rules of English. All I had to do was read 4 pages of a grammar book to say "To hell with this" and threw it away.
In the end, it comes down to the way we were taught, and Shayan, being Iranian, has to learn English from scratch and missed learning all the ridiculous pronunciations and spellings. Like Corps = Core, Colonel = Kernal and Read /= Read. I think it might be harder to relearn the correct way to say everything, and structure everything, when I have been bollocking it up for the last 20 odd years, than learning it rightish from the start, and then it being bastardised by the West of Scotland dialect.
If I hadn't of started blogging, would of it mattered? Is it?
Friday, March 07, 2008
Insanity Crash: I'm Blue Da Ba Dee Da Baa Di.
Before you read this, open this video in a background window. Now listen to this will reading it.
If you have ever seen the episode of the Office that David Brent invites the training team into the office, you might have a good idea of how training goes in an office environment. This week I was sent to a training course of Health and Safety Awareness and Culture, which has something to do with safety in the office and on the platforms. You can understand why they want to promote such a thing after spending a few days getting sunk in a helicopter.
With these courses come the preaching about personality, soft skills, transferable skills and the like, and I think my versing in these bullshit phrases helped me get a good job here at Wood Group knowing what some HR person wants me to say about my personal development and skill tool box and all that rubbish. Not really believing it, my Oscar must be in the post for some performances. The problem I do have is when these trainers have ideas above their station, and when they start preaching faux psychology. Like the Colour Wheel.
Apparently I am blue. There are three other colours and these correspond to you on a good day (I am logical, introverted and specific) and a bad day (irritable, silent and don’t easily agree). Now, I am probably this in some cases, but how the jumping-Christ does this give the woman who is taking the course to pretend as if she can predict our behaviour? Another member of the team was yellow – my exact opposite, and according to the wheel we should find it hard to communicate – where as the opposite is the case. This is proof it is nonsense.
I suppose I shouldn’t be taking it seriously, after all it is only a silly training course. But when someone on the course seems to make assumptions based on this murky and pretty immature thinking, you can only get a little annoyed. I am keeping quiet on this one, it is making irritable. No way am I agreeing with this.
Are you as depressed as I was? Defintely blue now.
If you have ever seen the episode of the Office that David Brent invites the training team into the office, you might have a good idea of how training goes in an office environment. This week I was sent to a training course of Health and Safety Awareness and Culture, which has something to do with safety in the office and on the platforms. You can understand why they want to promote such a thing after spending a few days getting sunk in a helicopter.
With these courses come the preaching about personality, soft skills, transferable skills and the like, and I think my versing in these bullshit phrases helped me get a good job here at Wood Group knowing what some HR person wants me to say about my personal development and skill tool box and all that rubbish. Not really believing it, my Oscar must be in the post for some performances. The problem I do have is when these trainers have ideas above their station, and when they start preaching faux psychology. Like the Colour Wheel.
Apparently I am blue. There are three other colours and these correspond to you on a good day (I am logical, introverted and specific) and a bad day (irritable, silent and don’t easily agree). Now, I am probably this in some cases, but how the jumping-Christ does this give the woman who is taking the course to pretend as if she can predict our behaviour? Another member of the team was yellow – my exact opposite, and according to the wheel we should find it hard to communicate – where as the opposite is the case. This is proof it is nonsense.
I suppose I shouldn’t be taking it seriously, after all it is only a silly training course. But when someone on the course seems to make assumptions based on this murky and pretty immature thinking, you can only get a little annoyed. I am keeping quiet on this one, it is making irritable. No way am I agreeing with this.
Are you as depressed as I was? Defintely blue now.
Tuesday, March 04, 2008
Insanity Crash: Fat Bastards
Thinking about it, this might be the most incendiary and unpolitically correct post I have ever made, and I see it as an important thing to get off my chest, but before we go any further there are some things that I need to point out so I don’t seem hypocritical. The first is that I am medically overweight clocking in at a lovely 26.5 BMI, so maybe I am fat. I am not “thin” anyway, but I also think I am healthyish. Not Proflax thin or Shayan healthy, but at least I am aware that I might need some help and shift some bulk. Secondly, this is not an attack at why people are overweight, but the consequences I have to face because they are overweight. With that out the way, I can start to talk the fat bastards.
I used to use public transport. I still do occasionally. I also used to eat Greggs. I will and do use planes, and also sometimes have to be served at a bar. All of these are important. On the bus, fat people are the most incredible type. They seem to have this feeling that they are disabled, and can use the elderly seat as a seat for them selves. This throws a problem that means that real disabled and elderly people have to walk up the aisle with the bus driver dodging chicanes at Le Mans. It also means that those idiots that don’t fold their prams away can’t put their spoilt child on the bus easily. They also spill over, their fat occupying spaces that are not only not theirs but are inside my sphere of personal comfort – this means they should pay more for the space that they are taking from me.
Greggs is unhealthy, and I know that. The sandwiches have those sauces and dressings that are very fatty, and the processed meat like chicken slices and ham are filled with salt too, and the white bread is pretty bad as well but I eat them. The sausage rolls are also only 28% meat, which is pretty bad. But my main beef with the fats and the Greggs is the look on the face of a fat person eating a sausage roll is the most horrible expression I have seen, and is like their come-face. It is also bad when you see the sweaty fatty walking down the road with the crumbs and flakes of pastry sitting precariously on their fleece or flourescent jacket.
Aeroplanes are the most contentious of places where the fat person is king. When I go on holiday I have to take 23kg of clothes maximum, which for me is fair enough. Hazel struggles to take that amount with her hundreds of shoes and clothes and mortar bricks, but we both weigh a modest amount. Imgaine the following scenario. I take 25kg of crap on holiday, and get rejected. We can't find space in either of our cases for the other 2kg and the airline refuse us on the flight. Imainge I weigh 85kg and Hazel x kg. 85+x+25+23 = (133 +x). The fat people behind us have the same allowance, but they weigh 120kg and 131kg. Therefore 120+133+23+23 = 299kg. Thus, unless Hazel weighs 166kg (which she doesn't, being all thin and beautiful*) then we are down on our total allowance. They get away with carrying extra baggage! Why do I not get to use the allowance they have been able to use in their considerable hulk to fill my bags with dark matter?
The bar is pretty annoying but the scheme of things is annoying, but in relation to the above not that bad, but I hate the extra bar-real estate that they take up. And the smell.
In conclusion, the consequences on obesity are large, and not just the money and the mortalitly. The most annoying thing about a fat person is the airplane baggage allowance. I have to note at this point that I can imagine that someone who is overweight probably does have a problem and that it might be genetic, but to be honest, if we didn't have the food, you wouldn't eat too much of it. Stop eating and you might loose weight! Do exercise! Infact, if you stick to the calorie limits the body should work it all out, brung the calories that you take in without having to fanny about at a gym! It has worked for hundreds of thousands of years/thousands of years (delete if you are funamentalist) and it still can work.
I'll get off my high horse now. I am hungry.
*This blog is now Hazel's homepage on her new laptop.
I used to use public transport. I still do occasionally. I also used to eat Greggs. I will and do use planes, and also sometimes have to be served at a bar. All of these are important. On the bus, fat people are the most incredible type. They seem to have this feeling that they are disabled, and can use the elderly seat as a seat for them selves. This throws a problem that means that real disabled and elderly people have to walk up the aisle with the bus driver dodging chicanes at Le Mans. It also means that those idiots that don’t fold their prams away can’t put their spoilt child on the bus easily. They also spill over, their fat occupying spaces that are not only not theirs but are inside my sphere of personal comfort – this means they should pay more for the space that they are taking from me.
Greggs is unhealthy, and I know that. The sandwiches have those sauces and dressings that are very fatty, and the processed meat like chicken slices and ham are filled with salt too, and the white bread is pretty bad as well but I eat them. The sausage rolls are also only 28% meat, which is pretty bad. But my main beef with the fats and the Greggs is the look on the face of a fat person eating a sausage roll is the most horrible expression I have seen, and is like their come-face. It is also bad when you see the sweaty fatty walking down the road with the crumbs and flakes of pastry sitting precariously on their fleece or flourescent jacket.
Aeroplanes are the most contentious of places where the fat person is king. When I go on holiday I have to take 23kg of clothes maximum, which for me is fair enough. Hazel struggles to take that amount with her hundreds of shoes and clothes and mortar bricks, but we both weigh a modest amount. Imgaine the following scenario. I take 25kg of crap on holiday, and get rejected. We can't find space in either of our cases for the other 2kg and the airline refuse us on the flight. Imainge I weigh 85kg and Hazel x kg. 85+x+25+23 = (133 +x). The fat people behind us have the same allowance, but they weigh 120kg and 131kg. Therefore 120+133+23+23 = 299kg. Thus, unless Hazel weighs 166kg (which she doesn't, being all thin and beautiful*) then we are down on our total allowance. They get away with carrying extra baggage! Why do I not get to use the allowance they have been able to use in their considerable hulk to fill my bags with dark matter?
The bar is pretty annoying but the scheme of things is annoying, but in relation to the above not that bad, but I hate the extra bar-real estate that they take up. And the smell.
In conclusion, the consequences on obesity are large, and not just the money and the mortalitly. The most annoying thing about a fat person is the airplane baggage allowance. I have to note at this point that I can imagine that someone who is overweight probably does have a problem and that it might be genetic, but to be honest, if we didn't have the food, you wouldn't eat too much of it. Stop eating and you might loose weight! Do exercise! Infact, if you stick to the calorie limits the body should work it all out, brung the calories that you take in without having to fanny about at a gym! It has worked for hundreds of thousands of years/thousands of years (delete if you are funamentalist) and it still can work.
I'll get off my high horse now. I am hungry.
*This blog is now Hazel's homepage on her new laptop.
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