hirez: (Default)
Migraine half way through the Sherlock programme. I don't think it made it any better.

On the other hand, working DR-110, which is nice.
hirez: (Object)
Upside - had mad idea, coded up mad idea, mad idea works.

Downside - brain fried again.

I mean, the mad idea and chums should be enough, right? I made a thing. It will make part of work less horrible and is a demonstration of remote wossname and making stupid people someone else's problem.

But still...
hirez: (Object)
Upside - messaging rig working as hoped, which means cranking out a new daemon process is a couple of hours work.

Downside - brain, filled with plans for writing interesting things, is fried.
hirez: (Object)
I don't know what day it is any more. I measure the passing of the time by the number of terrible films I've stared at, slack-jawed. While I do care for a woman in armour (Which sounds like it should be a Chaucerian cover of 'I love a man in uniform'. If [livejournal.com profile] zotz still paying attention to LJ, I expect him to be going 'Ancient Beatbox' right about now.) Burton's Alice was otherwise pretty poor. Anne Hathaway was also in the largely impenetrable Batman film, which I think boils down to 'Oh, just fuck off will you.'

I am the sort of bastard uncle that buys small children bicycle horns.

It feels like weeks since I rode a pushbike or committed any Ruby. Or Puppet. Or indeed committed either to Github. Soon I will revert to curmudgeonly 1990s admin stereotype and go find some hateful old SysV box to hand-admin via a selection of Korn shell scripts and clever applications of SSH.

Apparently people still think impenetrable tricks with SSH is well 'l33+. To which I say 'Get with the program, granddad'

'The Vitamin Murders' is jolly good stuff. I am reading the wrong books again.
hirez: (My name is legion)
Perhaps it's just me, but I don't wonder that the sort of people who bang on about all the things they used to do are much better off being ignored.
hirez: (Object)
'Marmite shower' still sounds wrong, but that's down to English humour and the emergent properties of Rule 34.

Meat shower sounds differently wrong, but has previous form.

Pervious Form is obviously a Scroobious Pip tribute act.

Triffids.

Dec. 30th, 2009 12:20 am
hirez: (Armalite rifle)
Fail.

(Fine actors, atmospheric locations... and some surviving bits of Wyndham poking through an utterly mind-buggering 'plot'. With Izzard playing a nutter who'd wandered in from a different film.)
hirez: (irradiated)
(Wasn't that an Electro-Hippies track? Or was it Extreme Noise Terror? The !Peel programme on Dandelion Radio reminded me about Hagar the Womb and it's all gone a bit shouty.)

As a slow art project, I have been re-creating parts of 'The Young Ones' as time and energy permit. In the past, we've had bands in the front room and drunk people running amok with chainsaws, more or less at the same time.

Today represents a new and exciting departure for the project; this morning men pitched up early to throw the toilet out of the window.
hirez: (muddy)
Bad thing: waking up in the certain knowledge that if you even think about moving your calf, it's going to cramp up lovely. And then moving it in an odd way anyway, so as to get maximum enjoyment from lurching up and trying to massage some sense into the thing.

You know, I begin to think that my brain re-ordered that sequence of events. Like the way you can have a subjectively long dream that climaxes with the alarm going off, when what must have happened is that your subconscious shat some alleged-rational explanation into your forebrain in sheer terror at the loud noise that just happened.

Good thing(s): The sun's out, the sky's intense, it wasn't as parky on the ride in this AM as it was yesterday and I have Pere Ubu's 'Waiting for Mary' stuck in my head.

As far as I know, 'Cloudland' wasn't well-received by the purists because there's a veneer of shiny pop over the atonal skronk and unhinged lyrics. I rather care for the LP. Indeed I rather wish I'd got a copy of that particular track on the work computer, instead of it lurking unreachable on the Winders box at home. (That was a probably futile hint)
hirez: (Happy cycling)
The documentation and route-map for the CTC Wiltshire Challenge turned up today.

I'm bricking it. 100k? What was I thinking?
hirez: (irradiated)
There's some advert or other, presumably for an expensive airline, that's cobbled up a bunch of noises into a tune. The sort of thing people thought was way cool when Emulators and Fairlights were shiny new tech (cf. Singing sheep, 'Just buggin' et al).

It features a 'bong' noise which surely must belong to the Boeing Corporation, because whenever I hear it I feel tired, dehydrated, bad tempered due to queueing and start patting pockets in order to find my passport.

Romance of the international jet-set, my arse.



Eurovision: does anyone really, honestly care? I mean, I shall be rather pleased if a lesbian torch-song manages to effect a change in the repulsively nationalistic, reasonably fascist and unsurprisingly corrupt Balkan nation of Serbia. However, I'm not holding my breath. Neither am I going to pretend surprise at the state of the voting. It's always been like that. It's just that the power-base has shifted east. Jayzus.
hirez: (irradiated)
No. Just no, ok?

I'll concede that a throat full of nastiness might not be an ideal accompaniment to cycling into work on a freezing morning, so took the car instead. However, that's the limit. I have stuff to do this weekend, and since I don't wish to mither about spreading germs over strangers you can either piss off or you can piss off.

Boomshanka, JH-R.
hirez: (irradiated)
How many calories are there in mucous? I think I'm getting fat on a non-stop diet of the stuff.

Lordy. A self-fuelling reaction. That's really quite wrong.
hirez: (irradiated)
Hell, make sure no bugger gets funny ideas about this sort of thing.

As the bloke says about the car w/JATO UL "If you've ever wondered where that story originally came from, here you go."

Still lurgified. Bloody patent medicine bent head toward visions of work moving to vast Corbuser-wank tower where the cubes were clustered about the central core, surrounded by unoccupied regency houses and squares. Forced perspectives and efficient light-piping meant the only way you could tell you weren't in a pleasantly deserted and car-free Cheltenham were the carefully hidden structured cabling closets and toilets. It seemed to be planned that you'd find the idea of living in one of these places irresistable and squat one without delay.

Mind, when I woke up, the phrase 'pleasantly chappist generation-ship' was in my head. I really must throw out that Stephen Baxter.
Tedious Who-age )
hirez: (irradiated)
There was a word we used @ Another, usually on the morning after adjourning to the pub opposite for jugs of vodka/redbull, and it was rancid.

Dear me, but I feel rancid today. I can breathe, sweat, shiver, expectorate and think, but only one at a time. I'm told I managed sweating and shivering last night, but I was periodically unconscious and running on non-EU certified patent medicine.

I don't remember the last time I felt this rubbish where beer hadn't been involved.

On the other hand, I've caught up on my asynchronous telly viewing (Several episodes of 'It's not easy being green'. I can't say I'm sure about the wisdom in buying a F-plate diesel 90, but there we are. The rest of it is fine stuff.)

There was something else, but I forget what. Probably mithering about going to Whitby and only buying clothing from the Tog24 shop.
hirez: (Challenger)
Long silences are annoying from some people (I'm so angry with you, but you're going to have to work out what terrible sin you've committed yourself), rather pleasant from others (ditto) and cheerfully companionable when they involve nice people that I care about.

(Inasmuch as that notion of 'caring' is a positive thing for both parties. One-sided caring is rubbish and a waste of time. Don't do that. So anyway. Mutually beneficial positive regard. It's a good thing and I believe we can all get behind that statement, right kids?)

Obviously the 'cheerfully companionable' thing only really works in physical proximity. Perhaps while striding purposefully across hill and dale in search of Interesting Industrial Ruins, or while becoming enlightened by a particularly striking work of modern art. (I find purely representational art somewhat posby, to use a H-R internal word. Perhaps even reflective of a hierarchical state apparatus and thus somewhat politically suspect. A place for everything and everyone knowing their place. Plus ungood.) Whatever. I'm sure you've got your own examples.

So anyway. Long silence. I've tried, on and off, to be one of those people who bang out a post daily. However, it quickly descends into second-division observational standup, or 'Being Jimmy Carr' as we say in the trade. (That's the trade of not liking Jimmy Carr overmuch. A sometimes maligned but curiously popular calling.)

The SGI became near-complete yesterday when the monitor and mousemat turned up. Unfortunately, it looks like the boot-disk is toast, (Well, not actually toast. That would be stupid. Though there was this huge optical jukebox that we just threw out. The cartridges were about the size of medium cut sarnie-loaf slices, so it could have been pressed into service as a 120-slice toast archiving tool) so it's on with plan A: shell it, install a PC motherboard and happily irk the purists.

Oddly, or perhaps not, given the lack of writing here, I accidentally got into a state over the weekend that I'll call streaming. See, when you've got some measure of tape backup, it's all going to work best when you can shovel data at it just faster than it can compress that data and write it to tape, because the tape's going to be moving past the r/w head whatever happens, and if the sending kit can't keep up the drive will write zeroes while it's waiting and your backups will take up far more space than they should. And that was more or less what happened, I just got into the groove of putting words on the paper, which made my brain work in a happy way and emit more words to be put on the paper, just slightly faster than I could write. Result: a happy JH-R with a fizzing brain and an aching hand. Now, if I can do that more often...

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