hirez: (Eisensniper)
Adulterated food, baiting the poor and/or sick for entertainment, bomb-chucking by counter-revolutionary forces, mass measles outbreaks, startling disparity in earnings...

... Could we just stop this crazy-type modernist neo-victorian themepark malarkey and go back to never having it so good because there isn't a war on?
hirez: (Lomo)
Thumping great image )
hirez: Humppa! (Humppa!)
Boo. For a stupid set of reasons (While I like pottering in the garden-thing, I don't much care for the feeling of being observed doing same. Since we live in a terrace, this feeling is near permanent and yes I know at some level that no-one gives a bugger, but when I'm somewhat tired I don't want to be able to feel another mind within a half-mile radius and would you all please just fuck off) I've left the bag of courgette plants just long enough for the flower/bud things to have been consumed by bloody slugs.

Yay. On the other hand, the rescued strawberry plants that time forgot have been shooting runners hither and yon, so I have been placing strategic pots under where the runners bend and having a bit of a propagate. I estimate that by this time next year, the entirety of the garden will be waist-deep in strawberry bushes from before television.

I think I'm beginning to process EMFcamp. It's mostly a week later and I still want to build Mr. Swearybot, keep some sort of a tech blog (http://ops.failcake.net/) and get the work c0dez out there on the github.

Mr. Swearybot? A tinplate robot that's had its clockwork brain replaced by some motors and an Arduino. It beetles up to you, goes 'Twat!', 'You useless tosser!' or 'Hopeless fucking shower!' and then steams off in search of other people to insult. A simple matter of robotics I'm sure you'll agree.
hirez: (dissent)
This is well mencap.

However, the truly mindbending thing is that every blasted link is now impossible to discern from satire.

In other news, all that 'My little Kony' malarkey that has enthralled the mob-justice-oriented section of The Intarbets reaches its inevitable conclusion.

In short: YHBT. HTH. HAND.
hirez: (Default)
Well, picture singular.

I was probably thinking about post-punk in this one.
hirez: (Information Hazard)
As mentioned here it is the 21st century and I am hacking a brain interface.

(Well, I say 'mentioned'. I think it's close to moderately excitable jabbering.)

Obviously, the docs are careful to point out that you're best off using a laptop to run the visualisation rig so as to avoid connecting your head to the mains. Which I duly did. Entirely forgetting that the blasted thing was still connected to the lumpy plug... Hey ho. Brain still seems to elephant doormat, so that's all dishwasher ne-ne na-na nu-nu.

I think I also need to find a more conductive moisturiser. I asked in Superdrug, but they gave me one of those blank yet mildly alarmed looks to which I have become accustomed.
hirez: (dissent)
It seems that the shiny new c0dez for c0mments has escaped. It appears to be exactly as web2.0 as one might expect, in that it seems to take up more space (but can't because usericon sizes won't have changed overnight) and is missing keyboard shortcuts (because we is all prodding at screens with chubby digits like toddlers wanting things now).

We shall see if it makes things less worse.
hirez: (pillock)
It's been a long time since I read Brighton Rock, but all that seemed to be missing this weekend was Kolley Kibber and people waving opened tins of Vitriol.
hirez: (Challenger)
227mph in a Skoda. Fine stuff.

(There are something like seven parts of a couple of minutes each, which is a bit tiresome.)

It is also refreshing to see random rugby-shirted English chaps (you know the type.) not being entirely useless around cars. Being a bit useless in the Topgear style does not make you non-threatening and Labrador-like to the people who're not your demographic - it makes you a bit useless and a bit more of a tosser.
hirez: (Pie!)
It turns out that if you have managed to make something best referred to as coulis, you can just tip it back into a saucepan and boil the stuff until it sees sense.

(Or as mum said 'Until it goes a bit volcanic')

Mum also said 'That's some of the best jam I've tasted, you bastard', which I shall take as a vote of confidence.

And since we still have hedgerows and freezer filled with suitable fruit, and a 5kg bag of sugar, the experiments continue.

At this point I would say 'Anyone want a jar?', but since those jars are what we had lying around and are unlikely to survive under the care of Royal Mail, it's probably safest that I consume it myself. It's a terrible burden, but I'm sure I'll manage somehow.

(For me, buying jam jars fits in the same box as buying furniture. I'm ashamed that I've fallen so far from family tradition.)
hirez: (dissent)
I generally stay away from blog-type news commentary, because Loud, Confident and Wrong aren't just a mob of incompetent solicitors. However, watching Hugh Grant and Steve Coogan wade in and administer a shoeing has been an unwholesomely gleeful experience, although tempered with the wish that it was actually the Party of Labour who'd gone 'Oh, fuck this for a game of soldiers' and waded in to News International. On the other hand, that which is called the Labour party aren't the sort of alleged socialists for which I could bring myself to vote. Far too busy in latter years toadying to t'City and t'Tabloid Press to be anything other than an embarrassment to the name. Thus it's a bit of a surprise to discover that the Party of Capital are the ones looking for someone to hold their coat.

On the other hand, Murdoch (aka 'The dirty digger' if you're old enough to remember that) and The Establishment really haven't ever got on. (That's a link to a fine Adam Curtis item from the start of the year) It would surprise me not at all to discover that one or other part of the Tory machine is quite partial to the idea of 'putting the blighter in his place'. Although they're probably all dead by now.

The other jolly interesting thing mentioned by that there Coogan is the Information Commissioner's report 'What price privacy now?' from 2006. It's available as a PDF from the relevant govt. website, but the BBC have a handy chart right here. In there we discover that the News of the Screws paid for 182 dodgy lookups, the Observer 103, and the Daily Fail... 952. I shall be only mildly pleased if we're all back here in a few weeks and it's Dacre being doorstepped. Couldn't happen to a nicer chap, etc.
hirez: (Default)
(A real programme on the BBC, shamefully enough.)

Under what circumstances, other than the traditional nineteen pints of Scruttock's Old Dirigible, is it ever a bright idea to take a pic of yr todger and share it around on the internets?

I have to ask, since as a reasonably intelligent bloke who didn't have a particularly left-leaning or feminist upbringing, I have no bloody idea what might motivate someone to do that. They are clearly of a completely different species and I share no common ground or mental wossname with them.
hirez: (Trouble with my worms (i))
(To be found here.)

"Long Live British Democracy Which Flourishes and Is Constantly Perfected Under the Immaculate Guidance of the Great, Honourable, Generous and Correct Margaret Hilda Thatcher. She Is the Blue Sky in the Hearts of All Nations. Our People Pay Homage and Bow in Deep Respect and Gratitude to Her. The Milk of Human Kindness."

A great loss to the diplomatic service. (Via the authentic and hand-tooled C. Stross Esq.)

What is this I don't even.


Mar. 10th, 2011 09:09 pm
hirez: (Cooper-Clarke)

I'm not sure I do games, but I rather like the idea of a hard-boiled detective story shot by Luc Besson in that setting. That would rule.
hirez: (Challenger)
My old travelcard wallet is held together with black gaffer and contains a picture of a startled stranger.

No real surprise there.

However, the price of the monthly zone 2+3 pass that I remember mithering about in 2000?[1] - £45

Compare and contrast with the current cost of same - £80.

Or the FGW 'equivalent' - £182

... It's cheaper for me to drive to work.[2]

[1] That still looks weirdly like the future.
[2] Or at least some combination of drive + bike so as to avoid paying for parking in Bath, which is Not Cheap.
hirez: (irradiated)
[Tangentially inspired by a FOAF on that there FriendFace.]

R'lyeh city, right? What would the footer strip look like?

Or would it be FC R'lyeh, Pole Star R'lyeh or something else.

You can do the terrace chants yourselves.
hirez: (Bunny Eye)
You know the strawberry plants that I have mentioned every few months or so?

Still emitting tiny yet staggeringly flavoured fruit.

In November.

I am becoming mildly disturbed by this.

If I wake up on Christmas morning to find a growbag of strawberry plants squatting at the end of the bed and brandishing fruit at me, I'll only be slightly surprised. (In a 'I'm sure I locked the back door last night' manner. I won't even start to think about how a mob of plants managed to beetle up the stairs.)
hirez: (Box Frenzy)
Sudden Sway
Sudden Sway
Sudden Sway
Sudden Sway
Sudden Sway

I had forgotten just how much Sing-song sounds like a Jesus Jones from the RetroFuture, which is a bloody good trick given it's about four years too early. Thus we discover the perils of running a time-vehicle calibrated to an insufficiently accurate master clock source. A schoolboy error there.
hirez: (Cooper-Clarke)
In much the same way that I was convinced there was a missing Hitchcock film with one of Cary Grant or James Mason, which later turned out to be a Heinlein story called 'The unpleasant profession of Jonathan Hoag', I have been quite sure that there was a Beiderbecke story concerning a secret organisation that helped people disappear. Each time I attempted to re-watch one or other of them on one of the cable channels that live in the trackless wastes between BBC4 and Eurosport, it would somehow end up being the wrong one.

Yes, I know that thirty seconds with Wikkipeejah would have solved the mystery. That site is the textual embodiment of the encyclopaedically tiresome sorts who'll wittingly spoil a good story by going 'I think you'll find...' in an annoying and strangulated manner.

I'd describe that voice as 'adenoidal' but I don't know what that sounds like. It's shorthand for a sort of person, and one just flywheels the description.


One of the extras in the Beiderbecke DVD set is the precursor series Get Lost! This is the missing story.

Alun Armstrong plays [livejournal.com profile] quercus with remarkable precision.

The odd thing about the not-Hitchcock is that I can see Grant (or Mason) standing in the sculpted grounds outside a modernist office building, discussing something or other with a professor-type and what I can only presume is the female lead. He is convinced he has not been there before, yet his companions are informing him of his work within.

Perhaps it is something horrible like The Fountainhead.


hirez: (Default)

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