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hirezA slight downside to the ride into work is that since I'm filled with endorphins (although I'm sure I read that the 'runner's/cyclist's high' was a complete myth the other month) I'm fit for nothing but staring out of the window and smiling beatifically at things:
"The server's gone on fire!"
"Hullo trees, hullo sky, etc."
Oh well.
I was pottering about Lidl the other week, and they had a pile of those magic lard-percentage scales on sale for just short of a tenner. Well, I say 'magic' I mean 'shoots HT up one leg, across yr crotch and back down the other leg' which through the power of cheap microprocessors means it can work out the amount of lard, water and muscle in your legs. According to its German robot brain, I hover on the cusp (unfortunately in astrology terms rather than singularity ones) of slightly too lardy/nearly right and could probably do with being damper. I shall take readings for a month and then poke the data into Excel to see which way the graph goes because I am a tiresome spod.
Pottering in Bath can be a bit of a trial. It seems that wherever I go I manage to pass an interesting-looking bookshop. Since I am constitutionally incapable of ignoring such things, my to-read pile is getting semi-perilous. I'd be in real trouble if I was cycling to and fro the whole time, but since there's been more public transport in my life than I'm really comfortable with, I have a head full of Chandler, Deighton and GK Chesterton.
Reading the Deighton (Yesterday's Spy. Fine stuff.) and then the Chesterton (The man who was Thursday. Ditto.) made me wonder about the reality of counter-terrorist networks and private intelligence services. Some Google provided this which, um, yes.
On the other hand, this fills me with countercultural glee. Clearly I am a foul old hippie.
Those things, coupled with the recent Kosovo/Kosova business, made me wonder if we're not now living in a Sterling/McLeod short story where previous notions of statehood (he who has the most armed bastards wins) are somewhat redundant and, at least within the EU, the whole thing is virtualised.
Although when one of the old superpowers send in the tanks it'll be back to 20th-century-normal. Still, here's hoping.
I rather like the idea of a People's Republic of Gloucestershire. However you can bet that rather thanethnic cleansing a program of enhanced relocation based on BMW ownership, the Revolutionary Committee's first move will be tax cuts for those with second homes... 'Holiday in Elmstone Hardwick' indeed.
"The server's gone on fire!"
"Hullo trees, hullo sky, etc."
Oh well.
I was pottering about Lidl the other week, and they had a pile of those magic lard-percentage scales on sale for just short of a tenner. Well, I say 'magic' I mean 'shoots HT up one leg, across yr crotch and back down the other leg' which through the power of cheap microprocessors means it can work out the amount of lard, water and muscle in your legs. According to its German robot brain, I hover on the cusp (unfortunately in astrology terms rather than singularity ones) of slightly too lardy/nearly right and could probably do with being damper. I shall take readings for a month and then poke the data into Excel to see which way the graph goes because I am a tiresome spod.
Pottering in Bath can be a bit of a trial. It seems that wherever I go I manage to pass an interesting-looking bookshop. Since I am constitutionally incapable of ignoring such things, my to-read pile is getting semi-perilous. I'd be in real trouble if I was cycling to and fro the whole time, but since there's been more public transport in my life than I'm really comfortable with, I have a head full of Chandler, Deighton and GK Chesterton.
Reading the Deighton (Yesterday's Spy. Fine stuff.) and then the Chesterton (The man who was Thursday. Ditto.) made me wonder about the reality of counter-terrorist networks and private intelligence services. Some Google provided this which, um, yes.
On the other hand, this fills me with countercultural glee. Clearly I am a foul old hippie.
Those things, coupled with the recent Kosovo/Kosova business, made me wonder if we're not now living in a Sterling/McLeod short story where previous notions of statehood (he who has the most armed bastards wins) are somewhat redundant and, at least within the EU, the whole thing is virtualised.
Although when one of the old superpowers send in the tanks it'll be back to 20th-century-normal. Still, here's hoping.
I rather like the idea of a People's Republic of Gloucestershire. However you can bet that rather than
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Date: 2008-02-21 11:27 am (UTC)Have just sent you apposite article.
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Date: 2008-02-21 11:39 am (UTC)There's a TNF shop in Bicester. Blast.
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Date: 2008-02-21 01:47 pm (UTC)Heh, I've been living in a bad science fiction movie for years now, and it hasn't done me any harm what-so-ever!
gets shot full of time-delayed explosives by Lee Van Cleef and runs around shooting people, fiteing and trying to rescure the President before being horribly murdered by scumbags, turned into a robot and sent out on patrol on the streets of Old Detroit, where he's killed by an evil toaster before being ressurected yet again as a scheming virtual serial killer (ably played by Russell Crowe). Then wakes up and find himself making a living selling tapes of other peoples' experiences, despite the fact that it's December the 31st, 1999 and the world is going to come to an end in just twelve hours...
Phew!
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Date: 2008-02-21 02:42 pm (UTC)