hirez: (pillock)
Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

"I'm trying to give it up but it's one of those nights."

[Poll #1880168]

See also:

Apr. 2nd, 2012 02:01 pm
hirez: (Cooper-Clarke)

(Via [livejournal.com profile] jarkman
hirez: (Radiation)
Is it spectacularly geeky to look at an in-flight picture of Amazon-chap's pre-exploded rocket and think "Hm. Looks like a HTP/Kero motor..." ?

I guess real geekery would involve speculation about the name of the org, the nature of the rocket motor and old MoD naming schemes.
hirez: (Armalite rifle)
... FB turns into the 'speak you're brains' section of the Daily Mail.

I need a Junior Thatcherite bingo card. A cursory glance has already revealed opinions such as

'National service'
'Send in the army'
'They should get on their bikes and look for work'

I look forward (nb: sarcasm) to 'The enemy within', 'a short, sharp shock' and other choice soundbites.

hirez: (Default)
Outside bog, but inside shed.

Are there stairs in your house?

Getting to the bike-path's a bit of a bugger, mind.
hirez: (Pie!)
Big Black, Jacques Pepin, Jamie Oliver, Julia Child, Mario Batali, Pizzeria Mozza, Poker, Rapeman, Scoops, Shellac, Steve Albini

I dunno about you lot, but seeing 'Big Black' and 'Jamie Oliver' in the same tag-space is a bit odd. Ok, yer man Floyd used a Stranglers tune for his end credits, but I don't suppose we'll be hearing 'Cables' during teevee primetime.

From this, which talks about Albini's food weblog-thing.

In slightly more local news, I have flavour-bomb strawberries again. Well, I say 'have'. I mean 'have eaten them, go on and get your own'.
hirez: (posing)
Actually not, but I liked the cut of that title, so...

... Just before the dawn of the internets (Gloucestershire version), the nearest I got to Chicago were Big Black sleevenotes and the Mid-West Auto Club show at Cheltenham racecourse.

This thing from the BBC reminds me of why I wanted to go visit the place. It's odd, but many of those views seem more familiar than what I remember of Cheltenham. Although it may well be that my rememberings of Cheltenham have been stripped of meaning since the buildings themselves have been demolished or repurposed, and it is actually hard to remember what used to be there when confronted by a new road or a different frontage. The activity of a city or town exists in a state of permanent now and actively repels any connection with the past.

Caudles the electrician, for example.
hirez: (SantaBot)
Not quite the heroic narrative we have been lead to expect. However it all worked (modulo crashing computers), everyone came home in one piece and, as the bloke says, the entire thing is fully documented.

Anyway. The last time I biked in to work (last Monday fortnight, I fear) it was about three or four degrees and I was right cold and everything.

This morning it was three or four degrees and I was comfortably warm.

'Monsters' is a rather good film.
hirez: (Trouble with my worms (i))
Travelling Pete was the one who discovered it.

He staggered, half-cut, into the swamp-bogs of some Camden dive while the support band were on and lurched sideways into a cubicle so as to avoid a cider-puking crusty. The cubicle that he lurched back out of was in the Duchess of York, Leeds. It was 1983 and The Three Johns were taking the stage.

The way Pete tells it, he was drunk enough not to notice and buttonholed the bloke who wrote 'Attack on Bzag' to complain at length about these modern bands who were ripping off old post-punk outfits. He also says that he told Andy Taylor that he looked much better with his hair back on and that he has no recollection of how he got back to Camden on the right day.

We all just assume that the woman who drives the beer-scooter knows when and where you live.

I handed Pete a pint of lager and slumped carefully into my own corner of the scruffy couch. We were in the top bar of the Electric Ballroom. Outside it was 1994. Inside, the mood was glum. Nick and Rose had filled an ashtray with label-confetti carefully picked off a succession of lager bottles. Bob was hunched over his cider, crumpled stetson pulled low over his forehead.

"We've lost another one," he said quietly.

There was a silence. No-one really wanted to ask the next question. Rose was finally braver than the rest of us.


"The Constitution in Leamington," said Bob.

He looked sick. It must have been one of his own old places. It's like a kick in the stomach when it first happens to you. Years of your life boarded up, gutted and then 'redeveloped' by a mob of bastards. Friends, weird bands, squat-parties, drunken exploits - all summarily deleted from consensus reality.

"Shit. I went to see The Cravats there," I said.

Bob looked up at me.


"Yeah. They were terrible. I was so disappointed that I went back twice more, just to be sure."

Bob drained his glass.

"We should go somewhere. You know. Celebrate or something."

"I'm not sure that's quite the word, but I concur," said Nick. She pulled a flyer from her bag and unfolded it. "Since it's a summer saturday, we could go to the techno night at the Axiom. The courtyard will be open and there'll be drunk people playing with fire."

"Excellent plan," I said. "The element of danger does make an evening go with a bang."
hirez: Humppa! (Humppa!)

Looking at that with 21st century eyes, I can spot about a dozen bands I'd want to go and see. (Arcwelder, Man or Astro-Man? Sleater-Kinney, Supersuckers, Thinking Feller's Union, Gas Huffer, Apocalypse Hoboken...)

... Oh, ok. In the future when time-travel is perfected, there's going to be a pale and wild-eyed tribe of hardcore Peelists who'll take following bands to the appropriate conclusion.

Someone should write a story about that.
hirez: (Default)
Not my idea of a good time. (But then it wouldn't be and that's more an observation of where my head's at rather than a criticism.)

Earworm: Mitch Benn's version of 'Perfect day'.

Who: yes.

Twitter: no. (Inasmuch as IM only looks like a useful 'backchannel', you have to hand-follow the alleged conversations, the metadata is hand-grafted into the primary channel and well done you've just re-invented usenet file-part naming. I am fully aware and hugely amused that this is curmugeonly stick-waving. Mind, you'd never get anything called mediawiki through the door. Litwiki, on the other hand.)

On the other hand, Emily (VPX!) and Emily (!VPX) more than made up for me being basically asleep and/or tiresome.
hirez: (safety chicken)
Several years ago, [livejournal.com profile] jarkman and I recorded the noise made by a sack of hammers, so that there would be a reference should anyone go 'Bloody hell that thing sounds like a sack of hammers...'

It was not as exciting a noise as one had been led to believe, though I still have hope that the reference sack of spanners will prove more interesting.

This weekend, we discover that Pitch isn't all that black.

I suspect that there are many more poor similies out there to be discovered.
hirez: (Challenger)
This is utter genius.

Will we find that (say) Firstbus build something quite as simple and obvious? I suspect not.

This, on the other hand, is a quite remarkable example of irony-fail.
hirez: (Bunny Eye)

[It's the Indie chart from 'The chart show' in the middle of 1987. Foetus, Neffs, the towering and godlike genius of Big Black. And some jingly-jangly malarkey.]
hirez: (Sweep alcohol)
Pottered off to Brighton at the weekend on a wee train that stopped pretty much everywhere on the way. I think we only missed out Adlestrop and Hobb's End. Nice corporate hotel with nice corporate plasterboard walls and nice corporate bar prices, filled with matching sets of stag and hen parties.

Avoided that by toddling off to the Caroline of Brunswick, which was easily as rock and roll as I had been led to expect. Imagine, if you had that kind of youth, your favourite dodgy rock and biker boozer, only with nice beer and clean bogs.

Met the usual suspects, drank beer, talked rubbish at them. All very fine indeed.

Today we contemplate giving some nice men rather a lot of money to rip out our existing nasty bog and put in a nice one that has a real shower large enough to wash engine blocks in. I vote for flooring that either looks like tread-plate or the corridors in Space:1999.
hirez: (Q-309)
I mailed the Lundy-people because for some mad reason I want to get out of the office for a week and knacker myself out doing proper work. (ie something that involves sheep, walls and power tools) They have yet to reply, but I'd best buy a Bergen anyway.

Speaking of, anyone else think the Dorkbot Camp might be a laugh? I'm unsure. I suspect an atmosphere of us-and-them and English Blogging Uselessness.

The filthy communists over at Bristol City Council have given us a pig-bin (and indeed a pig-handbag), which is probably a good thing, but will lead to confusion. However, with any luck there will be less throwing away, and that's probably the point.

Those dreadful rotters at PostEverything emailed about a Kid606 album. While I was poking about for a sample of same, I stubbed my toe on a Caribou album (AKA Manitoba) and it seemed a terrible shame not to purchase both. They're very fine in a completely buggered gurgling psychedelic heap sort of a way. In that the Kid606 album sounds like two competing old-skool analogue events running down the quarter mile in blown doorslammers, while Dan Caribou makes that utterly odd noise that makes you think of mechanical Christmas trees lurching drunkenly round the pits while waving spanners at each other.

The guitar-people will hate both with an eye-bulging passion.

Oh, I've been on holiday. It was very nice.


hirez: (Default)

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