Hola everyone -- and feliz fiestas y feliz navidad! Today´s entry will be brief as it is being written from an internet cafe in sunny (but cold) Madrid, where the people know how to party.
D. and I are about to embark on the next leg of our journey, to Lisbon on the overnight train. We have to boogie to the station momentarily, stopping at our hotel to collect our bags along the way. We have loads of pictures but no means to upload them at the moment, so there will be more to come once we arrive at our destination. We check in to our hotel in Portugal on Christmas Eve, which comes earlier to us than it does to you.
Although we should have plenty of time to catch up while relatively stationary for a week or so, in case I don´t get a chance to write another entry before then, have a safe, happy and healthy holiday, and here´s to a prosperous New Year.
Saturday, December 23, 2006
Monday, December 18, 2006
Christmas in continent
Just to remind D. that I don't make up any of the stuff that I write here the fire alarm went off at 4:00 AM again this morning, marking the second time that's happened since her arrival. And then apparently it went off twice more today while I was out shopping and jogging, not necessarily in that order.
Spent the day packing for our trip to the Continent. Tomorrow it's Paris; we've got a hotel booked but since we're on a Eurail pass we're going to make it up as we go along from that point forward. Our likely itinerary will be 1-2 days in Paris, 1-2 days in Bordeaux, 1-2 days in Lisbon, then the rest of our vacation will be spent in Albufeira, in Portugal's southern Algarve region. We'll be there for Christmas and New Year's, then back in London on the 3rd. So I'll take this opportunity to wish you all a wonderful holiday, and here's hoping for a healthy, happy and prosperous New Year. May the best of '06 be the worst of '07. Not sure how the internet connectivity will be, so this may be the last post for a while.
As mentioned in yesterday's bleary-eyed post, we've managed to take in some sights of London over the last few days. It's really odd to be a tourist in my own town. The first time I visited London was over 20 years ago (!!), and I'd long since forgotten most of it. The subsequent visits were all purpose traveling, i.e., on business which invariably meant flying straight in, hitting the hotel, doing the business, then getting out again without much time for gawking and gawping. So we made up for it over the last couple of days. First on D.'s list was the London Eye, which as tourist traps go was actually pretty ace. It's kind of weird to be looking down at Big Ben, but that's what happens. Here's a few shots. You can click on the pictures to see larger versions in a new window:
In this next shot you can see the shadow of the Eye on the Thames:
As you can see we had brilliant weather for it. I'll shut up and just show you the photos now:
After we hit the Eye we walked along the Embankment for a while to St. Paul's Cathedral. Just as we arrived the bells began to peal, and it put me in such a Christmassy mood that I had to ring Mom and Dad on my mobile so they could hear them. Hope they sounded OK on the voice mail.
From there we walked on to the Tower of London, from whence we could see the Tower Bridge. Like many newcomers, D. was somewhat disappointed by the famed London Bridge -- at first she refused to believe that it was "just another bridge" until we walked under it -- and understood why so many people mistake the majestic Tower Bridge for the aforementioned span of rhyme and lore.
We really only managed to cover a fairly small area of London -- mostly Westminster and the City -- but we've got a few days on the other side of the New Year's holiday before D. has to go home (insert frowny face emoticon if you dare) so we'll be seeing more before she goes back, and then I hit the books again starting on the 8th.
Of course no set of holiday snaps would be complete without a shot of the Santa Claus Motorbike Squad, which happened to roar by as we crossed Westminster Bridge:
That's all for now. Have to hit the sack to get an early start. Happy holidays!
Spent the day packing for our trip to the Continent. Tomorrow it's Paris; we've got a hotel booked but since we're on a Eurail pass we're going to make it up as we go along from that point forward. Our likely itinerary will be 1-2 days in Paris, 1-2 days in Bordeaux, 1-2 days in Lisbon, then the rest of our vacation will be spent in Albufeira, in Portugal's southern Algarve region. We'll be there for Christmas and New Year's, then back in London on the 3rd. So I'll take this opportunity to wish you all a wonderful holiday, and here's hoping for a healthy, happy and prosperous New Year. May the best of '06 be the worst of '07. Not sure how the internet connectivity will be, so this may be the last post for a while.
As mentioned in yesterday's bleary-eyed post, we've managed to take in some sights of London over the last few days. It's really odd to be a tourist in my own town. The first time I visited London was over 20 years ago (!!), and I'd long since forgotten most of it. The subsequent visits were all purpose traveling, i.e., on business which invariably meant flying straight in, hitting the hotel, doing the business, then getting out again without much time for gawking and gawping. So we made up for it over the last couple of days. First on D.'s list was the London Eye, which as tourist traps go was actually pretty ace. It's kind of weird to be looking down at Big Ben, but that's what happens. Here's a few shots. You can click on the pictures to see larger versions in a new window:
In this next shot you can see the shadow of the Eye on the Thames:
As you can see we had brilliant weather for it. I'll shut up and just show you the photos now:
After we hit the Eye we walked along the Embankment for a while to St. Paul's Cathedral. Just as we arrived the bells began to peal, and it put me in such a Christmassy mood that I had to ring Mom and Dad on my mobile so they could hear them. Hope they sounded OK on the voice mail.
From there we walked on to the Tower of London, from whence we could see the Tower Bridge. Like many newcomers, D. was somewhat disappointed by the famed London Bridge -- at first she refused to believe that it was "just another bridge" until we walked under it -- and understood why so many people mistake the majestic Tower Bridge for the aforementioned span of rhyme and lore.
We really only managed to cover a fairly small area of London -- mostly Westminster and the City -- but we've got a few days on the other side of the New Year's holiday before D. has to go home (insert frowny face emoticon if you dare) so we'll be seeing more before she goes back, and then I hit the books again starting on the 8th.Of course no set of holiday snaps would be complete without a shot of the Santa Claus Motorbike Squad, which happened to roar by as we crossed Westminster Bridge:
That's all for now. Have to hit the sack to get an early start. Happy holidays!
Sunday, December 17, 2006
A tourist in my own town
Mrs. Clean-Air System arrived safely at 7:30 AM on Thursday, although didn't clear customs until nearly an hour later. By that point I'd already been at Heathrow, waiting, for at least 45 minutes. That wouldn't have been so bad except I'd been up late-ish the night before -- the usual trip to the Apollo after the last class of the term -- and of course the day before I'd been up until about 4:00 AM finishing my final paper of the term.
So basically I've been kind of crispy and crunchy around the edges for the last couple of days, as if the usual sleep deprivation wasn't bad enough. At least most of the undergrads have gone back home to mommy and daddy, where they will be fed and washed and mollycoddled and given more money with which to drink their dumbass selves into a stupor and come home raving drunk at 4:00 AM next term, too. But for now the halls are quiet. It's kind of spooky, in a good way.
We hit the ground running and did loads of touristy things. If I weren't so tired I'd post some of the photos and tell you about what we've been up to, but I feel the the Clean-Air System Family Curse coming on. (This is the standard-issue cold/flu which attacks the entire Clean-Air System clan every year at this time, without fail.) So I'll have to exercise some self-care and save those for later. I've been popping garlic and echinacea like it's going out of style. Right now my eyes are drooping and I'm so tired from having walked halfway around London over the last two days showing the missus the place that I'm just going to crawl into bed and sleep until we leave for Paris on Tuesday.
So basically I've been kind of crispy and crunchy around the edges for the last couple of days, as if the usual sleep deprivation wasn't bad enough. At least most of the undergrads have gone back home to mommy and daddy, where they will be fed and washed and mollycoddled and given more money with which to drink their dumbass selves into a stupor and come home raving drunk at 4:00 AM next term, too. But for now the halls are quiet. It's kind of spooky, in a good way.
We hit the ground running and did loads of touristy things. If I weren't so tired I'd post some of the photos and tell you about what we've been up to, but I feel the the Clean-Air System Family Curse coming on. (This is the standard-issue cold/flu which attacks the entire Clean-Air System clan every year at this time, without fail.) So I'll have to exercise some self-care and save those for later. I've been popping garlic and echinacea like it's going out of style. Right now my eyes are drooping and I'm so tired from having walked halfway around London over the last two days showing the missus the place that I'm just going to crawl into bed and sleep until we leave for Paris on Tuesday.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
We're not in Kensal Rise any more, Toto
Some catching up:
Not to worry anyone of course (hi, Mom), but here's a story that I missed posting on account of the final term week frenzy:
Six hurt as tornado hits London
Kensal Rise, as it happens, is not far from here. It was pretty bloody windy that day as I recall. Nothing much happened in Harrow except a few trees lost their branches.
In a not unrelated story, I hear that Stockwell "Doris" Day is at it again, sticking his size 12 foot in his size 13 mouth:
Day mocks Gore, climate change in article
Here's one of the tamer quotes from the story:
Apparently Doris -- who allegedly believes the Earth is only 5,000 years old -- doesn't seem to think that setting 22 all-time records for paralyzing frigid temperatures constitutes evidence of climate change.
This, my fellow Canadians, is your Minister of Public Safety. Makes Shrub look like a fucking Nobel prize winner.
And if that doesn't make you want to agitate for change to our equally dysfunctional and calcified voting system to prevent baboons like this from holding important public offices like that, I don't know what will.
Sleep well.
Not to worry anyone of course (hi, Mom), but here's a story that I missed posting on account of the final term week frenzy:
Six hurt as tornado hits London
Kensal Rise, as it happens, is not far from here. It was pretty bloody windy that day as I recall. Nothing much happened in Harrow except a few trees lost their branches.
In a not unrelated story, I hear that Stockwell "Doris" Day is at it again, sticking his size 12 foot in his size 13 mouth:
Day mocks Gore, climate change in article
Here's one of the tamer quotes from the story:
About 22 towns and cities in British Columbia "had broken all-time records for paralyzing frigid temperatures,'' Day wrote.
Apparently Doris -- who allegedly believes the Earth is only 5,000 years old -- doesn't seem to think that setting 22 all-time records for paralyzing frigid temperatures constitutes evidence of climate change.
This, my fellow Canadians, is your Minister of Public Safety. Makes Shrub look like a fucking Nobel prize winner.
And if that doesn't make you want to agitate for change to our equally dysfunctional and calcified voting system to prevent baboons like this from holding important public offices like that, I don't know what will.
Sleep well.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
'tis the season
Never, ever thought I'd be grateful for a Starbucks, but today I was. I finally started feeling seasonal with my first eggnog latte, which apparently are rarities round these parts. Starbucks is the only place that makes 'em. Go figure.
Meanwhile the Xmas parties have started with a vengeance; the only reason I wasn't at the pub for our usual Wednesday evening-after-class tipple is that I'm saving myself for tomorrow (our class party), and everyone else went to the Pinnacle Distribution wing-ding. And there's a party at Fabric on Friday night but I managed to weasel out of that one when word got 'round that it's already wait list only. Which is good because one of our classmates is having a private party on Saturday. As a prelude to another colleague's party next Saturday. And in between we're having a pub afternoon & evening next Wednesday to wrap up the term.
It's not file sharing, MP3s, or any of that sort of thing that's killing the music industry. It's all this boozing.
Meanwhile the Xmas parties have started with a vengeance; the only reason I wasn't at the pub for our usual Wednesday evening-after-class tipple is that I'm saving myself for tomorrow (our class party), and everyone else went to the Pinnacle Distribution wing-ding. And there's a party at Fabric on Friday night but I managed to weasel out of that one when word got 'round that it's already wait list only. Which is good because one of our classmates is having a private party on Saturday. As a prelude to another colleague's party next Saturday. And in between we're having a pub afternoon & evening next Wednesday to wrap up the term.
It's not file sharing, MP3s, or any of that sort of thing that's killing the music industry. It's all this boozing.
Monday, December 04, 2006
Happy fun joy land!
Cheese of the day: brie -- with cranberry sauce and pine nuts, of course. (And yes, I know brie is French.)
Had a terrible nightmare last night. I think it must be the stress. Odd thing is, I've had this one before. Very nasty. I wrote it down in case it happens again.
Otherwise I'm feeling marginally better today, thank you.
In retrospect I realize that perhaps I have tempted fate by calling this blog "Harrowing!" (Actually it was supposed to be called "A Harrowing Experience" but that was already taken.) Perhaps its pixels would be less negatively charged if I called it something more optimistic. So I'm experimenting with today's post title, to see if it works.
Um... nope. Not yet anyway. But I'll give it time. (I've changed my photo to something more festive too, you'll note.)
Today's guest lecturer was none other than John Kennedy -- no, not that John Kennedy, obviously, but the former head of PolyGram (oh the irony), then Universal, and now head of the IFPI. In the film of his life he will be played by Filliam H. Muffman, for there is indeed more than a passing resemblance.
At first I felt sorry for him because he is, after all, in an unenviable position, being the frontman for quite possibly the second most publicly reviled group in the world*, i.e., the Infamous Four major record labels. But then I thought, fuck it, he earns way more than me, he's a lawyer, he doesn't need my sympathy.
Actually I thought it was very good of him to come and speak to us, a bunch of tough nuts to crack if ever there was one, who think we have all the answers to saving the recording industry and will probably drive the thing into the ground given half the chance. To his credit he gave as good as he got, although some of his arguments weren't terribly sound (pun intended) and he knows how to do a neat side-step around a contentious issue. (The dance lessons probably came with his expensive Savile Row suit, I'm guessing.)
Anyway I don't mean to have a go at him -- goodness knows I did that enough in class -- and I was, in fact, honoured that he would take time out of his schedule to meet with us. His next appointment after us was, after all, with Parliament (not the band, the British legislative body).
That's all for today. I've got to save some energy for my Finance & Economics paper tomorrow.
* (After Nickleback.)
Had a terrible nightmare last night. I think it must be the stress. Odd thing is, I've had this one before. Very nasty. I wrote it down in case it happens again.
Otherwise I'm feeling marginally better today, thank you.
In retrospect I realize that perhaps I have tempted fate by calling this blog "Harrowing!" (Actually it was supposed to be called "A Harrowing Experience" but that was already taken.) Perhaps its pixels would be less negatively charged if I called it something more optimistic. So I'm experimenting with today's post title, to see if it works.
Um... nope. Not yet anyway. But I'll give it time. (I've changed my photo to something more festive too, you'll note.)
Today's guest lecturer was none other than John Kennedy -- no, not that John Kennedy, obviously, but the former head of PolyGram (oh the irony), then Universal, and now head of the IFPI. In the film of his life he will be played by Filliam H. Muffman, for there is indeed more than a passing resemblance.
At first I felt sorry for him because he is, after all, in an unenviable position, being the frontman for quite possibly the second most publicly reviled group in the world*, i.e., the Infamous Four major record labels. But then I thought, fuck it, he earns way more than me, he's a lawyer, he doesn't need my sympathy.
Actually I thought it was very good of him to come and speak to us, a bunch of tough nuts to crack if ever there was one, who think we have all the answers to saving the recording industry and will probably drive the thing into the ground given half the chance. To his credit he gave as good as he got, although some of his arguments weren't terribly sound (pun intended) and he knows how to do a neat side-step around a contentious issue. (The dance lessons probably came with his expensive Savile Row suit, I'm guessing.)
Anyway I don't mean to have a go at him -- goodness knows I did that enough in class -- and I was, in fact, honoured that he would take time out of his schedule to meet with us. His next appointment after us was, after all, with Parliament (not the band, the British legislative body).
That's all for today. I've got to save some energy for my Finance & Economics paper tomorrow.
* (After Nickleback.)
Sunday, December 03, 2006
About the weather
Cheese of the week: Stilton.
I think we can safely rule out the weather as the cause of whatever's got me down. Today is sunny, albeit considerably cooler and windier than it has been in the last few days, and I still feel like shite. I slept in again this morning and didn't really want to get out of bed at all. In fact I just want to crawl back into bed right now. I'm tired and listless. I've read that this is a hallmark of depression. So maybe that's what I've got. I can't even be arsed about doing any of the light and easy tasks that might normally cheer me up, like clearing my desk and filing away papers.
Postmodern Sass offered this is as a possible reason for my current state of mind, and she's at least partially right. (It's kind of comforting, in an eerie sort of way, when someone knows you well enough that they can diagnose you from several thousand kilometres and at least one ocean away.) The full moon is tomorrow, so that's another plausible explanation. I've been known to get loopy under a full moon. Stop snickering. I've actually kept a log of my weirdness over the last few years and there's a definite correlation.
You'd think Mercury was going retrograde again with all the computer problems I've had today, in addition to the usual litany of internet connectivity issues. If I were slightly more optimistic I'd say that Digital Village Idiot was adding an aura of excitement and mystery to our otherwise dull academic lives, because we just never know when we'll actually be able to access e-mail, web sites like the school library, or submit our papers via Blecchhboard*. Kind of like the lottery, only the odds of winning are less likely and it doesn't have its own TV show (which is only proper because no one would be able to receive it anyway).
Speaking of which, I was appalled today to learn that the letter I'd sent to various school authorities to complain about the horrendous internet access has been reprinted in its entirety in the school newspaper -- without my permission. You can imagine my delight.
On the plus side, I haven't caved into the temptation to drink my problems away. (Although the bottle of organic wine I've saved for Mrs. Clean-Air System's arrival in 10 days' time is sitting on the shelf, mocking me.) I did manage to rouse myself long enough for a 10k run yesterday, so I got a decent (if temporary) endorphin high from that.
Alright, I'm going to quit while I'm behind again. Shout-outs -- or more accurately, mumble-outs -- to Andy, PMSass and Mrs. Clean-Air System for sending things that make me laugh. The only problem is that I have to go to the library to download and read them, which can be awfully embarrassing since I can only concentrate in the silent study section on the 3rd floor.
* Remind me to spare a future rant for Blackboard, quite possibly the most poorly designed and executed scam, I mean software, and the most ill-advised waste of time, effort and money ever perpetrated on academia.
I think we can safely rule out the weather as the cause of whatever's got me down. Today is sunny, albeit considerably cooler and windier than it has been in the last few days, and I still feel like shite. I slept in again this morning and didn't really want to get out of bed at all. In fact I just want to crawl back into bed right now. I'm tired and listless. I've read that this is a hallmark of depression. So maybe that's what I've got. I can't even be arsed about doing any of the light and easy tasks that might normally cheer me up, like clearing my desk and filing away papers.
Postmodern Sass offered this is as a possible reason for my current state of mind, and she's at least partially right. (It's kind of comforting, in an eerie sort of way, when someone knows you well enough that they can diagnose you from several thousand kilometres and at least one ocean away.) The full moon is tomorrow, so that's another plausible explanation. I've been known to get loopy under a full moon. Stop snickering. I've actually kept a log of my weirdness over the last few years and there's a definite correlation.
You'd think Mercury was going retrograde again with all the computer problems I've had today, in addition to the usual litany of internet connectivity issues. If I were slightly more optimistic I'd say that Digital Village Idiot was adding an aura of excitement and mystery to our otherwise dull academic lives, because we just never know when we'll actually be able to access e-mail, web sites like the school library, or submit our papers via Blecchhboard*. Kind of like the lottery, only the odds of winning are less likely and it doesn't have its own TV show (which is only proper because no one would be able to receive it anyway).
Speaking of which, I was appalled today to learn that the letter I'd sent to various school authorities to complain about the horrendous internet access has been reprinted in its entirety in the school newspaper -- without my permission. You can imagine my delight.
On the plus side, I haven't caved into the temptation to drink my problems away. (Although the bottle of organic wine I've saved for Mrs. Clean-Air System's arrival in 10 days' time is sitting on the shelf, mocking me.) I did manage to rouse myself long enough for a 10k run yesterday, so I got a decent (if temporary) endorphin high from that.
Alright, I'm going to quit while I'm behind again. Shout-outs -- or more accurately, mumble-outs -- to Andy, PMSass and Mrs. Clean-Air System for sending things that make me laugh. The only problem is that I have to go to the library to download and read them, which can be awfully embarrassing since I can only concentrate in the silent study section on the 3rd floor.
* Remind me to spare a future rant for Blackboard, quite possibly the most poorly designed and executed scam, I mean software, and the most ill-advised waste of time, effort and money ever perpetrated on academia.
Saturday, December 02, 2006
Recession
I now call it a recession because apparently it's not a full-blown depression. Not that I'm well out of it now; I'm still feeling quite low. If I have the strength I might outline the reasons for the depression/recession later. If.
The fact that I'm feeling somewhat better today I attribute to (in no particular order):
Okay, I'd better stop now.
The fact that I'm feeling somewhat better today I attribute to (in no particular order):
- an improvement in the weather;
- spending last night reading Pema Chodron's When Things Fall Apart, which I picked up for a colleague whose best friend in the U.S. just killed himself, and whose London friend is clinging to life in a London hospital casualty ward after an accident;
- sleeping in 'til 10:00 AM this morning (which is not as great a feat as you might imagine, as I will explain momentarily);
- taking myself out to see Casino Royale last night (yes, it's as good as they say; despite my skepticism Daniel Craig makes a convincing Bond); and
- today's retail therapy session that culminated in the belated purchase of Cat Power's The Greatest, which is as good a CD for depression as you could want. Play it as you read this, because I've got it on now and it'll give you the feel for the way things are 'round here.
Okay, I'd better stop now.
Friday, December 01, 2006
Depression II
This entry's title is 'Depression II' because the first draft was too depressing to publish. So here's a shorter excerpt:
There can be no doubt that I am depressed. I mean a seriously feel like buying a 26-ouncer of tequila and drinking the whole fucking thing before lunch kind of depressed.
Fuck it, I can't even finish the short version.
There can be no doubt that I am depressed. I mean a seriously feel like buying a 26-ouncer of tequila and drinking the whole fucking thing before lunch kind of depressed.
Fuck it, I can't even finish the short version.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Food, glorious food
All these years of Coronation Street later and I still don't know the difference between baps, butties, buns, barmcakes, sarnies and sandwiches (although I suspect the latter two are the same). I think there are a few more colloquialisms for these things but I can't think of them off the top of my head right now, probably because all this talk of food has made me hungry and I can't think straight. So. If you know of any more or, more particularly, if you know the difference between these things, please enlighten me.
Every now and then I spot a new local favourite and, in the interest of science and in the spirit of collaborative blogosmog journalism, I try it on for size. So yesterday's lunchtime consisted of a brie and cranberry sauce sandwich with pine nuts. Those of you who are squeamish about the consistency of your food -- c'mon, I know you're out there, hands up all of you with a hate-on for eggplant (or aubergine as they so cod-exotically call it here) -- probably won't dig it, but it was surprisingly delicious.
Tomorrow: mackerel in curry sauce. Yum!
Every now and then I spot a new local favourite and, in the interest of science and in the spirit of collaborative blogosmog journalism, I try it on for size. So yesterday's lunchtime consisted of a brie and cranberry sauce sandwich with pine nuts. Those of you who are squeamish about the consistency of your food -- c'mon, I know you're out there, hands up all of you with a hate-on for eggplant (or aubergine as they so cod-exotically call it here) -- probably won't dig it, but it was surprisingly delicious.
Tomorrow: mackerel in curry sauce. Yum!
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
And... exhale.
Being at university, and more particularly living in residence halls, is a lot like real life.
Okay, you're right. I take that back. It's nothing like real life.
But at least it provides a useful microcosm to help explain the way the world really works. On some days -- like today, when the weather is unspeakably delicious -- all is right with the world, your flatmates and colleagues from around the world are beautiful people and it's like a miniature United Nations, you can't help but marvel at how we're basically all the same, we have similar dreams and aspirations, hopes and fears, and we all want to be loved for who we are, and why can't we all just get along? (This most often occurs after a few pints down the pub.)
Then on some days you wonder why those same flatmates and colleagues wake you up with their drinking and vomiting binges and think they own the world so they leave dishes, the communal flat dishes, not their own bloody dishes, to rot and congeal in the sink so no one else can use them without first sandblasting them clean or using an oxyacetylene torch and all you want to do is punch them in the throat until the lint that passes for brains starts popping out their ears.
I now understand the world's fucked-upness much better. I don't excuse it; I just understand it.
Forgot to mention something important regarding the photos. In case you haven't already discovered this on your own, you can click on the photos and they'll expand, making it much easier to do things like read Byron's words at St. Mary's. One I didn't post, by the way (mainly because the 1-megapixel camera in the phone just wasn't up to the job) was quite funny in a sort of Walt Disneyish sort of way. It was a ladybug -- in mid-November! -- crawling along a relief map at the top of the Harrow hill. She was following one of the roads down to Harrow... literally. Guess you had to be there.
Correction: Reg Dwight/Elton John lived in Pinner, not in the Watford Road. Obviously. But the way to Pinner is via the Watford Road. Er, you know what I mean.
Okay, you're right. I take that back. It's nothing like real life.
But at least it provides a useful microcosm to help explain the way the world really works. On some days -- like today, when the weather is unspeakably delicious -- all is right with the world, your flatmates and colleagues from around the world are beautiful people and it's like a miniature United Nations, you can't help but marvel at how we're basically all the same, we have similar dreams and aspirations, hopes and fears, and we all want to be loved for who we are, and why can't we all just get along? (This most often occurs after a few pints down the pub.)
Then on some days you wonder why those same flatmates and colleagues wake you up with their drinking and vomiting binges and think they own the world so they leave dishes, the communal flat dishes, not their own bloody dishes, to rot and congeal in the sink so no one else can use them without first sandblasting them clean or using an oxyacetylene torch and all you want to do is punch them in the throat until the lint that passes for brains starts popping out their ears.
I now understand the world's fucked-upness much better. I don't excuse it; I just understand it.
* * *
Forgot to mention something important regarding the photos. In case you haven't already discovered this on your own, you can click on the photos and they'll expand, making it much easier to do things like read Byron's words at St. Mary's. One I didn't post, by the way (mainly because the 1-megapixel camera in the phone just wasn't up to the job) was quite funny in a sort of Walt Disneyish sort of way. It was a ladybug -- in mid-November! -- crawling along a relief map at the top of the Harrow hill. She was following one of the roads down to Harrow... literally. Guess you had to be there.
Correction: Reg Dwight/Elton John lived in Pinner, not in the Watford Road. Obviously. But the way to Pinner is via the Watford Road. Er, you know what I mean.
Monday, November 27, 2006
I think I've used up all my best words
Hello again.
That, woefully inadequate as it might be, is about all I can manage despite over two or more weeks' bloglessness. But that's what you get from me at 8:16 AM GMT on a Monday after burning the candle at both ends for a few consecutive days. I proudly point out that at no time did I pull an all-nighter, which is a sure sign of maturity, or better planning and organisation, or something. (If 'organisation' looks odd to you, as it does to my spell-checker, it's because I've taken to spelling everything English-style.) Most nights I managed at least 4.5 hours. It's just that there's been so many of them in a row lately.
Remember that ridiculously ineffective anti-drug campaign from back in the '70s or '80s or whenever that was? The one that went, 'This is your brain. This is your brain on drugs. Any questions?'? Well, if you can remember it that's probably because you were on drugs, and you thought the posters and adverts were so funny (especially when you were high) that you kept stealing them and putting them up in your room or your locker at school. Anyhow, that campaign should now be amended: This is your brain. This is your brain after writing seven three- to four-thousand word essays and reports in a row. Fuck the questions, get some sleep.
Speaking of sleep deprivation, have I told you about my neighbours?
Ahh, it's good to be back.
That, woefully inadequate as it might be, is about all I can manage despite over two or more weeks' bloglessness. But that's what you get from me at 8:16 AM GMT on a Monday after burning the candle at both ends for a few consecutive days. I proudly point out that at no time did I pull an all-nighter, which is a sure sign of maturity, or better planning and organisation, or something. (If 'organisation' looks odd to you, as it does to my spell-checker, it's because I've taken to spelling everything English-style.) Most nights I managed at least 4.5 hours. It's just that there's been so many of them in a row lately.
Remember that ridiculously ineffective anti-drug campaign from back in the '70s or '80s or whenever that was? The one that went, 'This is your brain. This is your brain on drugs. Any questions?'? Well, if you can remember it that's probably because you were on drugs, and you thought the posters and adverts were so funny (especially when you were high) that you kept stealing them and putting them up in your room or your locker at school. Anyhow, that campaign should now be amended: This is your brain. This is your brain after writing seven three- to four-thousand word essays and reports in a row. Fuck the questions, get some sleep.
Speaking of sleep deprivation, have I told you about my neighbours?
Ahh, it's good to be back.
Saturday, November 11, 2006
Now I know why they're called "pounds"
Welcome to today's installment of Postponing Another Paper. Actually I'm not procrastinating, just warming up my writing muscles. (See? I really can justify anything.)
OK, it's been a long week so let's get on with a completely random assortment of issues and observations. I've divided them up into sections for you, so they're more easily digestible and it should give you ample time to get more coffee or make room for more, all without missing a single thrilling detail:
Who knew that the accessory I'd miss most is... sunglasses?!? Yes, you read that right, the freakishly beautiful weather continues. Oh, it rained last night -- at about 11:30 or so -- but it was gone again by the time I woke up today.
Understand this is not a complaint. It's just... I almost said unnatural, which is oxymoronic (or maybe just moronic). No, what I mean is it's so thoroughly... unexpected.
I have ten pounds in my pants and it's making quite the noticeable bulge. That's not a boast, it's a simple statement of fact. I am referring, of course, to the coinage sitting in my right front pocket. (That's my handkerchief in my left front pants pocket. What were you thinking, you cheeky monkey?) That's not a complaint either. I mean, I like money. A lot. (I like money, and I like a lot of it.) But these coins of the realm are awfully heavy, and I'm sure it's part of a conspiracy to keep British tailors in gainful employment by forcing people to keep getting their pockets repaired. I hope to lighten the load by dropping a few at the nearby cinema in Harrow, where -- provided I'm a good boy and actually get some work done today -- I intend to see Borat.
It appears our flat is going for a record number of "You've got a filthy corridor/kitchen" letters from hall management. This is the second we've had in as many weeks.
Now some of you no doubt already know my tolerance level for uncleanliness and disorganisation, which is to say nil. So you already know that I'm about to go off on one, but let me just get it out of the way and we can continue as we began, with more lighthearted fare.
Mark Twain said, "Never confuse learning with education," and nowhere is this more evident than in a university, where people can be highly educated but remain stupid as a bag of hammers. Clearly some people can't even read the many signs posted all around the kitchen, some of which are the aforementioned official variety while some are notes from their long-suffering flatmates. They have not read or understood their leases, which clearly state who is (and who is not) responsible for cleaning up. Or they choose to ignore them, preferring to believe that their mothers, hired hands or the good washing-up fairies are doing their dirty work for them.
Hear this, people: IF YOU DON'T HAVE TIME TO CLEAN UP, YOU PROBABLY DON'T HAVE ENOUGH TIME TO EAT EITHER. Others should not have to pay for your time management incompetence.
People -- and I use that term loosely -- simply refuse to take responsibility for something as simple as washing up. It's always someone else's responsibility, isn't it? No wonder the world is fucked up.
[We now return to our regularly scheduled happy happy joy joy programming.]
A big up to Ian for the book (a copy of Simon Reynolds's Rip It UP And Start Again: Post-punk 1978-84), and props to Colin for the loan of the accompanying CD. Ian is Irish and Colin is a Scot. I don't know what that has to do with anything, other than they sure do have good taste.
OK, one more whinge: the moron across the hall has a cell phone that won't quit. Literally. Several times now he has left the flat for a day or more and left his phone on, despite repeated notes shoved under his door and visits from the hall security staff. Either he has very persistent friends and/or no e-mail, or he sets and alarm and forgets to turn it off, but it has rung insistently every 10 minutes or so all day and all night on each occasion. Needless to say it makes concentration very difficult and sleep next to impossible. I believe he is congenitally stupid, or perhaps willfully annoying. In either case, if someone completely lost it and went medieval on his toffee-nosed, white-boy English ass on account of the Chinese water-torture effect, would that constitute justifiable homicide? Just wondering.
In a previous post I deliberately misquoted Ian on the Mick Jagger/Performance thingy, in the vain hope that I too might get an e-mail from a celebrity correcting me, just like my friend Postmodern Sass did. She got such a note from Neil Gaiman, whom I've heard much about but never actually read until now (except maybe his blog, which is linked from Ms. Sass's). So damn you both, Sass and Gaiman, for adding to my ever-growing pile of must-reads... like I don't have enough reading material piling up on every bare surface of this room. Or like I don't already spend enough collecting books, particularly with Mrs. Clean-Air System as my enabler, who is arguably a greater addict than I.
Oh and by the way Mr. Gaiman, being accessible, friendly,nice and charming and is a very clever marketing ploy.
As my colleague Rocketgirl said, I don't have much luck going out in London. First there was night Alex and I took 2 hours to get to Chris's party in Chiswick via tube, only to have to down two quick beers and run back (literally) to catch the last tube home. I neglected to post that a couple of weeks ago the Kilburn Station closed "due to a police action" (whatever that means) as I was on my way to catch God Is An Astronaut at the Luminaire. I was stranded at Willesden Green without my A-Z Guide (even with which I'm directionally challenged at the best of times anyway), and no one seemed to know the best way to get to where I was going, In fact several Londoners approached to ask if I knew an alternate route to Kilburn, which would have been a classic case of the blind leading the blind. Rocketgirl didn't get my urgent text until the next day due to first-day-with-a-new-phone syndrome, so she couldn't help me out.
I took it as a sign that I should be back in the flat concentrating on my homework, so I turned right around and came back, stopping for some comforting ooey-gooey dessert on the way.
Best metaphor of the month award goes to Maureen O'Dowd of the New York Times who recently described the American neo-con hard-on for Iraq as taking "a baseball bat to a beehive."
And speaking of the NYT I don't mean to say I told you so, but I will anyway:
Here's a shot of London at night, taken from the hillside at Alexandra Palace on the night of the Guy Fawkes celebrations:
And here's some pictures that I took on a walkabout in Harrow-on-the-Hill last weekend, while taking a much-needed break from paper-writing:
Harrow-on-the-Hill is home to the famed Harrow School, where Byron studied. Kids still wear the old straw boaters and suits. In the churchyard at St. Mary's -- which was consecrated in 1092! -- is a plaque bearing some of Byron's words. Apparently he used to love sitting in the church yard and just observing his surroundings, which I can certainly understand:
That's all I have time for today. Must get some work done! Can't believe there's only 4 more weeks and then the first time is over. Wow. (And only 1 more week until Mercury goes direct... whew.) In case I don't post before this time next week, have a good one.
OK, it's been a long week so let's get on with a completely random assortment of issues and observations. I've divided them up into sections for you, so they're more easily digestible and it should give you ample time to get more coffee or make room for more, all without missing a single thrilling detail:
Who knew that the accessory I'd miss most is... sunglasses?!? Yes, you read that right, the freakishly beautiful weather continues. Oh, it rained last night -- at about 11:30 or so -- but it was gone again by the time I woke up today.
Understand this is not a complaint. It's just... I almost said unnatural, which is oxymoronic (or maybe just moronic). No, what I mean is it's so thoroughly... unexpected.
* * *
I have ten pounds in my pants and it's making quite the noticeable bulge. That's not a boast, it's a simple statement of fact. I am referring, of course, to the coinage sitting in my right front pocket. (That's my handkerchief in my left front pants pocket. What were you thinking, you cheeky monkey?) That's not a complaint either. I mean, I like money. A lot. (I like money, and I like a lot of it.) But these coins of the realm are awfully heavy, and I'm sure it's part of a conspiracy to keep British tailors in gainful employment by forcing people to keep getting their pockets repaired. I hope to lighten the load by dropping a few at the nearby cinema in Harrow, where -- provided I'm a good boy and actually get some work done today -- I intend to see Borat.
* * *
It appears our flat is going for a record number of "You've got a filthy corridor/kitchen" letters from hall management. This is the second we've had in as many weeks.
Now some of you no doubt already know my tolerance level for uncleanliness and disorganisation, which is to say nil. So you already know that I'm about to go off on one, but let me just get it out of the way and we can continue as we began, with more lighthearted fare.
Mark Twain said, "Never confuse learning with education," and nowhere is this more evident than in a university, where people can be highly educated but remain stupid as a bag of hammers. Clearly some people can't even read the many signs posted all around the kitchen, some of which are the aforementioned official variety while some are notes from their long-suffering flatmates. They have not read or understood their leases, which clearly state who is (and who is not) responsible for cleaning up. Or they choose to ignore them, preferring to believe that their mothers, hired hands or the good washing-up fairies are doing their dirty work for them.
Hear this, people: IF YOU DON'T HAVE TIME TO CLEAN UP, YOU PROBABLY DON'T HAVE ENOUGH TIME TO EAT EITHER. Others should not have to pay for your time management incompetence.
People -- and I use that term loosely -- simply refuse to take responsibility for something as simple as washing up. It's always someone else's responsibility, isn't it? No wonder the world is fucked up.
[We now return to our regularly scheduled happy happy joy joy programming.]
* * *
A big up to Ian for the book (a copy of Simon Reynolds's Rip It UP And Start Again: Post-punk 1978-84), and props to Colin for the loan of the accompanying CD. Ian is Irish and Colin is a Scot. I don't know what that has to do with anything, other than they sure do have good taste.
* * *
OK, one more whinge: the moron across the hall has a cell phone that won't quit. Literally. Several times now he has left the flat for a day or more and left his phone on, despite repeated notes shoved under his door and visits from the hall security staff. Either he has very persistent friends and/or no e-mail, or he sets and alarm and forgets to turn it off, but it has rung insistently every 10 minutes or so all day and all night on each occasion. Needless to say it makes concentration very difficult and sleep next to impossible. I believe he is congenitally stupid, or perhaps willfully annoying. In either case, if someone completely lost it and went medieval on his toffee-nosed, white-boy English ass on account of the Chinese water-torture effect, would that constitute justifiable homicide? Just wondering.
* * *
In a previous post I deliberately misquoted Ian on the Mick Jagger/Performance thingy, in the vain hope that I too might get an e-mail from a celebrity correcting me, just like my friend Postmodern Sass did. She got such a note from Neil Gaiman, whom I've heard much about but never actually read until now (except maybe his blog, which is linked from Ms. Sass's). So damn you both, Sass and Gaiman, for adding to my ever-growing pile of must-reads... like I don't have enough reading material piling up on every bare surface of this room. Or like I don't already spend enough collecting books, particularly with Mrs. Clean-Air System as my enabler, who is arguably a greater addict than I.
Oh and by the way Mr. Gaiman, being accessible, friendly,nice and charming and is a very clever marketing ploy.
* * *
As my colleague Rocketgirl said, I don't have much luck going out in London. First there was night Alex and I took 2 hours to get to Chris's party in Chiswick via tube, only to have to down two quick beers and run back (literally) to catch the last tube home. I neglected to post that a couple of weeks ago the Kilburn Station closed "due to a police action" (whatever that means) as I was on my way to catch God Is An Astronaut at the Luminaire. I was stranded at Willesden Green without my A-Z Guide (even with which I'm directionally challenged at the best of times anyway), and no one seemed to know the best way to get to where I was going, In fact several Londoners approached to ask if I knew an alternate route to Kilburn, which would have been a classic case of the blind leading the blind. Rocketgirl didn't get my urgent text until the next day due to first-day-with-a-new-phone syndrome, so she couldn't help me out.
I took it as a sign that I should be back in the flat concentrating on my homework, so I turned right around and came back, stopping for some comforting ooey-gooey dessert on the way.
* * *
Best metaphor of the month award goes to Maureen O'Dowd of the New York Times who recently described the American neo-con hard-on for Iraq as taking "a baseball bat to a beehive."
And speaking of the NYT I don't mean to say I told you so, but I will anyway:
Democrats Push to Counter G.O.P. in Turnout Race
By ADAM NAGOURNEY, Published: October 29, 2006
Democrats have invested heavily in catching up with the
Republicans' get-out-the-vote operation.
* * *
Here's a shot of London at night, taken from the hillside at Alexandra Palace on the night of the Guy Fawkes celebrations:
And here's some pictures that I took on a walkabout in Harrow-on-the-Hill last weekend, while taking a much-needed break from paper-writing:
Harrow-on-the-Hill is home to the famed Harrow School, where Byron studied. Kids still wear the old straw boaters and suits. In the churchyard at St. Mary's -- which was consecrated in 1092! -- is a plaque bearing some of Byron's words. Apparently he used to love sitting in the church yard and just observing his surroundings, which I can certainly understand:
That's all I have time for today. Must get some work done! Can't believe there's only 4 more weeks and then the first time is over. Wow. (And only 1 more week until Mercury goes direct... whew.) In case I don't post before this time next week, have a good one.
Friday, November 03, 2006
In which your narrator belatedly discovers the value of having a camera embedded in a mobile phone
Happy Friday! Happy November! It’s another unbelievably gorgeous morning here. It will be hard to focus on writing papers when the sunshine and blue skies beckon, but focus I must... in a moment. First, I need to flex my writing muscles and get my best thinking brain on. So I thought I’d warm up with a long-overdue blog entry.
Once again here’s the address for Digital Village Idiot: info@digi-vill.co.uk
Go ahead, slam their servers. Let the spambots do their worst. It’s not like it’s going to make any difference to us, is it? So please, Harriet B. Cleanliness (z.mensendiker@gmhlczzplzt.com), "Quilter Q. Glycerin" mmvxmttflr@spzzikzimxim.co.uk, and Chaining U. Overachieve (istolyergf@glbrnzksttfkbntt.com) -- send ‘em your Weighty letters, Significant notes, and Grand letters that they simply must to read!!! Clearly they take no notice of us, their users.
* * *
Sorry, where we we? Oh yes. Last Friday, the 27th, Ian and I took a (ce)mental health day out and went CD shopping in the Portobello Road area. Showed me the location of Trevor Horn’s Sarm studios and the famed Westway near where Mick Jones used to live with his Gran, apparently. (By amazing coincidence I only got around to borrowing The Clash: Gateway to the West from the uni library a few days earlier, so it had that much more relevance.) And where Mick Jagger chilled while hiding from adoring fans in Performance. Ian has an amazingly capacious brain. How he remembers all this trivia I do not know, but it’s like having my own personal (and very much alive) Lonely Planet Guide. But with more bad puns.
Luckily for my wallet I didn’t find much I really wanted in the indie shops – they tend to be very niche-specific in their clientele and product. And it would be pointless for me to start collecting more vinyl at this stage, since I don’t have a turntable in residence. (One shop had an entire section devoted to “power-pop bands from Toronto,” if you can believe that.) Actually, scratch my previous comment. There was plenty I wanted. I just exercised the most excruciating self-control I may have ever experienced.
After a long afternoon’s retail therapy we made our way to the the London Bridge area and the Menier Chocolate Factory, which is an old coverted, er, chocolate factory and where we ate a wonderful dinner (choosing from two amusing set table items on the specially concocted “kids menu”). It was a fine prelude to the Jeremy Lion show, which took place in the adjacent theatre, a cozy 200-seater. Jeremy is not, in fact, a children’s entertainer but rather an accomplished Fringe actor (Justin Edwards) portraying one; read the review here. Thanks for the treat, Ian. And thanks for the warning about the props.
Afterwards, in partial repayment for the Theatre Record’s kindness, we stopped by a venerable old – and I do mean hundreds of years old – pub called the George for a nightcap. And it was good.
Fire alarm! Gotta go.
False alarm. Or rather, fire drill. At least they had the decency to save it until the morning of a glorious sunny day to do it. (More on that in a moment.)
Speaking of drinks, it’s hard to overestimate how important drinking is to the British national culture. Wednesday evenings, being the last of our two full days of classes interspersed with group meetings, usually end in a trip to the pub. This would normally not be a problem since Thursdays are usually research and paper-writing days so a little lie-in afterward, if required, is always possible. But the trouble is that Wednesday’s classes start with Finance & Economics. This usually calls for at least one or two grande double shot cappuccinos to get us through, but by the time we get to the pub and these are complemented with one or two pints of Guinness... well, suffice to say it results in a weird sort of simultaneous coming-and-going buzz, not to mention plenty of bathroom miles to the gallon. An effect not unlike what I imagine a Red Bull with a shot of cough syrup might be like, only tastier.
It sure gets dark early, now that daylight savings time is here...
But as I write it is bright and sunny once again. Yesterday I kept thinking, “This would be a perfect day to take photos and show them to everyone back home, if only I had a camera.” And then I realized that I do, in fact, have a camera – on my mobile phone, or at least the Canadian mobile phone that I subsequently stuck in a drawer and turned off as soon as I got my local mobile because the first half-dozen text messages cost me $30 last month. So I used it as an excuse to get out of the house and go for a very long walk, which I may also do after lunch today. I took some snaps along the way.
Remember, the pictures I’m about to share are taken with a cell phone camera – which is probably about 1 megapixel or so, and has no real zoom or other features to enhance the picture quality or focus. But they’ll do for this blog.
When you get here, this is most likely how you’ll arrive: via the Northwick Park tube station.
The first sight you’ll probably see is the entrance to the halls of residence which, as I’ve said before, are practically right on top of the tube line.
If instead you turn a quick left as you come out of the tube, you’ll face south and east towards Northwick Park. In the background you can just barely make out the top of Wembley Stadium. Despite this image, it's actually a lot closer than it appears. It's only about 2 tube stops away on the Metropolitan Line. New Order played there last week.
This is a shot looking across Northwick Park, westward towards the halls of residence, the Harrow campus, the adjacent hospital, and if you squint very hard you can almost make out the spire in the distance (middle of frame), Harrow-on-the-Hill.
Let’s take a short walk along the pathway through the campus, from the halls towards the main school buildings.
My window is hidden just behind the Sports Hall. My view is half brick wall, half open sky.
This is The Street, the main pedestrian thoroughfare connecting the campus buildings. It’s partly open-air, partly covered...
...and there are various nooks and open space such as this courtyard. Pleasant as it is, the sad thing is I don’t actually have any classes at this campus. They’re all at Marylebone, which I’ll have to shoot some other time.
Exiting the other side, this shot looks back (i.e. facing east) toward the main entrance:
The entrance is near the roundabout that connects Kenton Road with the Watford Road (toward where Reg Dwight a/k/a Elton John grew up) and Sheepcote Road that will get you into the Harrow town centre in about ten or fifteen minutes by foot...
...and when you round the corner, you are greeting by this scene. You can’t see it very well in this shot, but the wrought iron archway welcomes you to Harrow’s centre. A little further down on the left is the St. Anne's and St. George's shopping district.
And there you have the quick tour. As indicated I’m probably going to take another break from my interminable round of papers this afternoon and try to get up to Harrow-on-the-Hill, which I’ve never been to yet. So maybe I’ll have more pictures to post tomorrow. See you then.
Friday, October 27, 2006
Momentum
Currently playing: Fairport Convention, "Who Knows Where the Time Goes."
How appropriate. Who, indeed, knows where it all goes? I certainly don't, although I have a good idea of how it's spent -- mostly on term papers and the like. Speaking of which, I had my first mid-term exam Wednesday. Wahoo! One down, three to go, plus seven papers (for this term, anyway)... Hard to believe we're nearly into November already, halfway through the term.
When it comes to writing papers, momentum is everything. I find the hardest thing is just to get started. But once I get the momentum going it's hard to stop; turning off the tap feels like bad mojo, a curse. Actually I've been doing fairly well this week. At the moment, however, I have no momentum and I am not about to start creating any. Today I have decided to take a day off and enjoy the glorous sunshine. Once again (still?) it is unseasonably warm and sunny here, with nary a cloud in the sky. And anyway I need to do a shopping expedition for some blank CD-Rs to back up all of my work (Rx is coming tomorrow -- more on that in a moment), pick power cables with proper British plugs instead of these useless, flimsy adaptors, and of course... buy some music. (Yes, I know CD shopping is old school. But I'm an old school kind of guy.) Call today's hooky a celebration of sorts: an occasion to mark the sunshine and warmth, the completion of a mid-term exam, gratitude for momentum on other assignments, and life in general.
Speaking of celebration, please join me in recognizing the achievements of one Stan Green. Y'know, I was pretty proud of myself for having finally made good on my promise to continue my education at such a late stage in my life. But that sense of accomplishment pales in comparison to the enormous awe and admiration I have for this man, a fellow SFU alumnus:
I take great pleasure in your success, Mr. Green, and wish you continued joy. You are indeed an inspiration. Slainte!
News flash: According to Music Week, Microsoft is launching a video serivce soon to compete with GooTube. And next month they're going to roll out Zune, their inanely-named (and probably ill-fated) digital music device and online store, to compete with the iPod and iTunes. Rumour has it that in order to commemorate these achievements they are next working on the release of a special Microsoft calendar... for the year 2004.
Batten down the hatches. Mercury retrograde time is here again. And given the current state of things, I expect this one to be quite a doozy. In fact just when I was at a convenient break point last night and had a moment to post to my blog, Blogger was "unavailable" due to some "scheduled outage" or other... sigh. (Oh, and while I'm at it have I mentioned how monumentally crap Digital Village is? Quite possibly the worst, or at least the most inconsistent, ISP around. I have a hunch Digital Village Idiot took a certain Alaskan senator's description of the Internet way too literally and decided to reconstruct their network out of empty bog rolls.) That's why I'm going to do a hard-copy backup in addition to my regular outboard USB drive backup. Anyway, between the Mercury retrograde and a whole load of papers to write, I don't expect to be posting much for the next little while.
Here, then, is a little something to keep you amused while I do the hermit routine and retreat in my cave to attend to unfinished academic business:
"The world is a dream that is dreaming you." Discuss.
I mean, do yo suppose we really do create our reality? For example, if I didn't believe that we humans are impacting the planet by destroying untolled species and causing global warming with our wasteful consumption activities, do you think it might not actually be that way? In other words, does my subjective "reality" impose itself on the world? Does the world accommodate my ego/imagination by reflecting my thoughts? Does it just so happen that everyone else in this current plane of existence shares that same viewpoint -- we are all labouring under the same collective delusion (whether or not some appear to deny global warming science)? Are there parallel universes in which "reality" looks completely different, if only by virtue its inhabitants' thoughts and beliefs?
On that note... I'll see you in a few days. Or maybe in December.
How appropriate. Who, indeed, knows where it all goes? I certainly don't, although I have a good idea of how it's spent -- mostly on term papers and the like. Speaking of which, I had my first mid-term exam Wednesday. Wahoo! One down, three to go, plus seven papers (for this term, anyway)... Hard to believe we're nearly into November already, halfway through the term.
When it comes to writing papers, momentum is everything. I find the hardest thing is just to get started. But once I get the momentum going it's hard to stop; turning off the tap feels like bad mojo, a curse. Actually I've been doing fairly well this week. At the moment, however, I have no momentum and I am not about to start creating any. Today I have decided to take a day off and enjoy the glorous sunshine. Once again (still?) it is unseasonably warm and sunny here, with nary a cloud in the sky. And anyway I need to do a shopping expedition for some blank CD-Rs to back up all of my work (Rx is coming tomorrow -- more on that in a moment), pick power cables with proper British plugs instead of these useless, flimsy adaptors, and of course... buy some music. (Yes, I know CD shopping is old school. But I'm an old school kind of guy.) Call today's hooky a celebration of sorts: an occasion to mark the sunshine and warmth, the completion of a mid-term exam, gratitude for momentum on other assignments, and life in general.
Speaking of celebration, please join me in recognizing the achievements of one Stan Green. Y'know, I was pretty proud of myself for having finally made good on my promise to continue my education at such a late stage in my life. But that sense of accomplishment pales in comparison to the enormous awe and admiration I have for this man, a fellow SFU alumnus:
Graduating with an honours degree, first class, is a proud accomplishment for any student. For Stan Green, however, it is all the sweeter because he’s not your average student—he’s 74 years young. Green can still recall his English headmaster’s words: "You are not university material." All these decades later, Green has trumped the headmaster, earning a grade point average of 3.97 out of a possible 4.33.
I take great pleasure in your success, Mr. Green, and wish you continued joy. You are indeed an inspiration. Slainte!
* * *
News flash: According to Music Week, Microsoft is launching a video serivce soon to compete with GooTube. And next month they're going to roll out Zune, their inanely-named (and probably ill-fated) digital music device and online store, to compete with the iPod and iTunes. Rumour has it that in order to commemorate these achievements they are next working on the release of a special Microsoft calendar... for the year 2004.
* * *
Batten down the hatches. Mercury retrograde time is here again. And given the current state of things, I expect this one to be quite a doozy. In fact just when I was at a convenient break point last night and had a moment to post to my blog, Blogger was "unavailable" due to some "scheduled outage" or other... sigh. (Oh, and while I'm at it have I mentioned how monumentally crap Digital Village is? Quite possibly the worst, or at least the most inconsistent, ISP around. I have a hunch Digital Village Idiot took a certain Alaskan senator's description of the Internet way too literally and decided to reconstruct their network out of empty bog rolls.) That's why I'm going to do a hard-copy backup in addition to my regular outboard USB drive backup. Anyway, between the Mercury retrograde and a whole load of papers to write, I don't expect to be posting much for the next little while.
* * *
Here, then, is a little something to keep you amused while I do the hermit routine and retreat in my cave to attend to unfinished academic business:
"The world is a dream that is dreaming you." Discuss.
I mean, do yo suppose we really do create our reality? For example, if I didn't believe that we humans are impacting the planet by destroying untolled species and causing global warming with our wasteful consumption activities, do you think it might not actually be that way? In other words, does my subjective "reality" impose itself on the world? Does the world accommodate my ego/imagination by reflecting my thoughts? Does it just so happen that everyone else in this current plane of existence shares that same viewpoint -- we are all labouring under the same collective delusion (whether or not some appear to deny global warming science)? Are there parallel universes in which "reality" looks completely different, if only by virtue its inhabitants' thoughts and beliefs?
On that note... I'll see you in a few days. Or maybe in December.
Monday, October 23, 2006
In today's e-mail
Mental health: Dandy.
Dental health: Still flossing regularly.
Fiscal health: Lovely day, isn't it?
I don't know about you but every time I open my e-mail it gives me the warm and fuzzies, reminding me that there's an awful lot of friendly people Out There, many of whom I've never even met: kindly folks like Pertinents F. Emulating, who wrote to me today about an exciting Investment Strategy! [his emphasis]. I couldn't believe my luck. But that wasn't all.
I also got a message from Brandie Ramirez (fqhmhknaffjw@ayaxiyaxxuuuhouse.com) -- how on earth does she pronounce let alone spell that, I wonder? Anyway, she sent me a Very important message that I must to read. And it was, honestly, another incredible, too-good-to-be-true offer. Oh, alright, I wasn't going to share it with anyone, but since any reader of Harrowing! is either a friend or family member, here's what she told me:
Oh, sure, take a cheap shot. Dump on the woman for her bad spelling and grammar. But, hey, she's a total stranger, doing me a solid -- passing on some potentially priceless information that I bet no one else has. I could get rich with this info, but the poor girl didn't even ask to be cut in for a share of my imminent wealth. That's what I call selfless! And anyway, English probably isn't the girl's first name; I'm thinking the surname Ramirez is Mexican or something. Brandie's probably just an anglicization of Fqhmhknaffjw, however you pronounce it.
I haven't bought in yet, but that's only because I just got home after a long day at school. I'm going to take care of it as soon as I finish this post -- I want to pay off my student loans real quick, so I'm definitely going to take a shot at some of those stocks ASAP. Oh, and I've also got to e-mail my credit card information to someone else so I can get the penis enlargement cream. It's guaranteed to work -- my new best friend Moxie G. Rhinoplasty (topwtpstyledk@wtpstlfmnizzy.com) said so.
Okay, I hope you all realize that I was being SARCASTIC just now. Save your money and your time, don't call or write to warn me that I should never, ever send my credit card details to someone I don't know, especially not in an e-mail, blah blah blah. I know already. That was a joke. (Although I guess if you have to explain it, it's just not that funny...)
But sometimes I wonder. For some weird reason people actually take the things I write here seriously, which is more than I can say for the way they usually deal with me in person, but that's a story best left for another day. What's even weirder is that the only people who read this are people who really ought to know that I am possessed of a rather, um, unique and possibly warped sense of humour.
I hope I'm not overestimating my friends & family. Just the other day I got an earnest e-mail from someone who shall remain nameless, and who should know better, correcting (in rather elaborate, nay obsessive, detail) my assessment of the Democrats' failings. As if my use of the phrase "pounded it up their collective arse with a wooden mallet" in the original post was some sort of invitation to serious and reasoned political debate.
Go figure.
Anyway, back to the e-mail. As lame, goofy and/or utterly transparent as most spam is, I have to admit that I occasionally derive a perverse joy out of reading it. Some messages -- like the ones that insert random text scraped off web pages, cobbled together to fool spam filters -- are practically poetic. Then again, maybe I wouldn't be so easily amused if I had a TV.
Which brings me to this next piece of insanity, by way of snail-mail:
I received a form letter today from the TV Licensing Bureau. Now, some of you probably already know that in the U.K. you have to pay an annual license fee to own and watch TV; this money goes to a worthy cause, i.e., to help maintain the BBC which produces some great programming but generally receives no advertising revenue. So anyway, the letter is one of those friendly-with-a-vaguely-threatening-undercurrent kind of things, addressed to "The Present Occupier" of Flat L. It starts off by saying that according to their database (?!?) this flat is not licensed. Which is true, because I don't own a TV. (Incidentally I haven't watched TV since September 3. Anywhere, for any length of time. Unless you count the in-flight movie, but that's not really TV.)
So I'm just about to simply toss the letter into the bin when I notice it says I have to call to "stop any further investigation" (??!!???). I skim down towards the bottom where it says, and I quote:
Mobile phone? WTF?!?!?! Computer, I can almost understand. (Except here in the Harrow halls of residence, where Digital Village [the hall ISP]'s notion of "high speed broadband" is loading a single page of plain text, nographics, in a breathtaking 12 minutes. I get more timeouts per minute of surfing than an entire NBA championship game.) My mobile, the cheapest set available -- basically a disposable Nokia model, no kidding, they practically threw it at me as I was leaving the shop, crying, "Here, please, take it, we just want your tariff!" -- couldn't display a picture if you nailed one to the faceplate.
I don't mind supporting the BBC. They've produced some good shit over the years. But, c'mon, I'm a full-time studen, and a broke one at thatt. I don't have time to watch television, even if I had one. The only thing that moves on my computer are the dust bunnies.
I guess if god hadn't wanted mind-numbing bureaucracy, she wouldn't have given us England.
Dental health: Still flossing regularly.
Fiscal health: Lovely day, isn't it?
I don't know about you but every time I open my e-mail it gives me the warm and fuzzies, reminding me that there's an awful lot of friendly people Out There, many of whom I've never even met: kindly folks like Pertinents F. Emulating, who wrote to me today about an exciting Investment Strategy! [his emphasis]. I couldn't believe my luck. But that wasn't all.
I also got a message from Brandie Ramirez (fqhmhknaffjw@ayaxiyaxxuuuhouse.com) -- how on earth does she pronounce let alone spell that, I wonder? Anyway, she sent me a Very important message that I must to read. And it was, honestly, another incredible, too-good-to-be-true offer. Oh, alright, I wasn't going to share it with anyone, but since any reader of Harrowing! is either a friend or family member, here's what she told me:
The great predictions are drawn up. The increase is up to 70% recently. (MXXR) is the lucrative deal and those who knows it is making money. The drilling achivements of this highly capable oil company exceeded all its expectations. One time this fact hits the street there will be no stopping this one. Right now it's around 0.022 but we are expecting it to triple. Once the information is made and the PR gets into full brandish. Don't hesitate and miss out. We recommend you to buy today. The key is getting in early and you have little time. We are told that Monday is the day this one will expode. Take your place before that happens.
Oh, sure, take a cheap shot. Dump on the woman for her bad spelling and grammar. But, hey, she's a total stranger, doing me a solid -- passing on some potentially priceless information that I bet no one else has. I could get rich with this info, but the poor girl didn't even ask to be cut in for a share of my imminent wealth. That's what I call selfless! And anyway, English probably isn't the girl's first name; I'm thinking the surname Ramirez is Mexican or something. Brandie's probably just an anglicization of Fqhmhknaffjw, however you pronounce it.
I haven't bought in yet, but that's only because I just got home after a long day at school. I'm going to take care of it as soon as I finish this post -- I want to pay off my student loans real quick, so I'm definitely going to take a shot at some of those stocks ASAP. Oh, and I've also got to e-mail my credit card information to someone else so I can get the penis enlargement cream. It's guaranteed to work -- my new best friend Moxie G. Rhinoplasty (topwtpstyledk@wtpstlfmnizzy.com) said so.
* * *
Okay, I hope you all realize that I was being SARCASTIC just now. Save your money and your time, don't call or write to warn me that I should never, ever send my credit card details to someone I don't know, especially not in an e-mail, blah blah blah. I know already. That was a joke. (Although I guess if you have to explain it, it's just not that funny...)
But sometimes I wonder. For some weird reason people actually take the things I write here seriously, which is more than I can say for the way they usually deal with me in person, but that's a story best left for another day. What's even weirder is that the only people who read this are people who really ought to know that I am possessed of a rather, um, unique and possibly warped sense of humour.
I hope I'm not overestimating my friends & family. Just the other day I got an earnest e-mail from someone who shall remain nameless, and who should know better, correcting (in rather elaborate, nay obsessive, detail) my assessment of the Democrats' failings. As if my use of the phrase "pounded it up their collective arse with a wooden mallet" in the original post was some sort of invitation to serious and reasoned political debate.
Go figure.
Anyway, back to the e-mail. As lame, goofy and/or utterly transparent as most spam is, I have to admit that I occasionally derive a perverse joy out of reading it. Some messages -- like the ones that insert random text scraped off web pages, cobbled together to fool spam filters -- are practically poetic. Then again, maybe I wouldn't be so easily amused if I had a TV.
Which brings me to this next piece of insanity, by way of snail-mail:
I received a form letter today from the TV Licensing Bureau. Now, some of you probably already know that in the U.K. you have to pay an annual license fee to own and watch TV; this money goes to a worthy cause, i.e., to help maintain the BBC which produces some great programming but generally receives no advertising revenue. So anyway, the letter is one of those friendly-with-a-vaguely-threatening-undercurrent kind of things, addressed to "The Present Occupier" of Flat L. It starts off by saying that according to their database (?!?) this flat is not licensed. Which is true, because I don't own a TV. (Incidentally I haven't watched TV since September 3. Anywhere, for any length of time. Unless you count the in-flight movie, but that's not really TV.)
So I'm just about to simply toss the letter into the bin when I notice it says I have to call to "stop any further investigation" (??!!???). I skim down towards the bottom where it says, and I quote:
Do you need a TV license?
If you watch or record programmes as they're being shown on TV, you are required by law to have a TV licence which costs 131.50GBP for colour or 44GBP for black and white. Equipment which you need to a licence to use includes:
- Television - colour or black and white
- Video or DVD recorder
- Mobile phone
- Set-top box
- Computer
Mobile phone? WTF?!?!?! Computer, I can almost understand. (Except here in the Harrow halls of residence, where Digital Village [the hall ISP]'s notion of "high speed broadband" is loading a single page of plain text, nographics, in a breathtaking 12 minutes. I get more timeouts per minute of surfing than an entire NBA championship game.) My mobile, the cheapest set available -- basically a disposable Nokia model, no kidding, they practically threw it at me as I was leaving the shop, crying, "Here, please, take it, we just want your tariff!" -- couldn't display a picture if you nailed one to the faceplate.
I don't mind supporting the BBC. They've produced some good shit over the years. But, c'mon, I'm a full-time studen, and a broke one at thatt. I don't have time to watch television, even if I had one. The only thing that moves on my computer are the dust bunnies.
I guess if god hadn't wanted mind-numbing bureaucracy, she wouldn't have given us England.
Sunday, October 22, 2006
Today's post brought to you by Generic brand
On my major-name computer jukebox application right now: Lou Reed, "Legendary Hearts." Don't know about emotions bleeding, but my eyes sure are. Or so it feels. I've been reading and writing and writing and reading for the last 14 hours or so without a break. And it's only just beginning... so that's why I'm taking a breather. (For just a few minutes, honest.) I'm relaxing by... um... er... writing.
I'm jonesing for a sugar fix, so here's another one for the "things I miss" list: Calhoun's. (Doh! I blew that one. Oh well, a freebie for the folks back home...) Sadly there are no places for a 24-hour slab of ooey gooey goodness here. So last night I had to satisfy my craving with a packaged tiramisu from you-know-where, that nearby supermarket/superstore that I'll try to not name for fear of turning this blog into an accidental advert. (You want eyeballs? Pay me. This education ain't cheap, y'know.) Anyway, I braved the barrage last night and stopped along the way, watching for a while from the top of the Kenton Road railroad bridge. I could see fireworks galore, nonstop, in every direction. I can only imagine what it must have been like flying overhead. It was quite surreal. I was getting high off the gunpowder smoke just standing there.
Incredibly, the barrage continues tonight, too, even though it's been raining all day. Apparently people have not yet finished detonating all their incendiary devices or blowing off assorted limbs and extremities. Exactly 2 more weeks to Guy Fawkes Day, too! Wahoo!
Those of you who enjoyed Gene Simmons' Rock School as much as I did might be interested to note that "Lil' Chris" Hardman (as he's now known) -- you know, the weedy kid who was the singer in the band -- has a hit single over here (loud noise warning: turn your speakers down if you click). Surprisingly, it's quite good. Maybe it's a classic case of expectation management, but as far as lite pop goes it's a pretty tasty musical confection. (Damn, that may have come off like another unpaid endorsement. Not doing too well tonight on that score, am I?)
While I'm on the random tip tonight, let me share my joy over my new web host. Hooray! Normally such mundane things would not be cause for celebration but after the headaches caused by my last web host I'll make an exception. (You know how nervous I get when I feel disconnected.) I won't bad-mouth the old one, as much as I'm tempted to, because at least their politics are in the right place. But they get absolutely zero for service. And there's the rub: you can't rely on greenwashing alone. You've got to be everything the competition is, and more. I do try to be politically and socially conscious by voting with my wallet at every opportunity (to say nothing of living green with every other waking act) but sometimes they make it soooo difficult... Anyway, the new guys seem to be pretty responsive and have better uptime and all that, so it'll take a little residual worry off my mind. Every little bit helps.
Now: Butch Walker and the Let's-Go-Out-Tonites, "Hot Girls in Good Moods." Does anyone do a better Mick Ronson pastiche? I think not...
Okay, okay, I'm going back to work now. Right after Matt the Electrician's "Hammer on the Ladder." And that's a plug.
I'm jonesing for a sugar fix, so here's another one for the "things I miss" list: Calhoun's. (Doh! I blew that one. Oh well, a freebie for the folks back home...) Sadly there are no places for a 24-hour slab of ooey gooey goodness here. So last night I had to satisfy my craving with a packaged tiramisu from you-know-where, that nearby supermarket/superstore that I'll try to not name for fear of turning this blog into an accidental advert. (You want eyeballs? Pay me. This education ain't cheap, y'know.) Anyway, I braved the barrage last night and stopped along the way, watching for a while from the top of the Kenton Road railroad bridge. I could see fireworks galore, nonstop, in every direction. I can only imagine what it must have been like flying overhead. It was quite surreal. I was getting high off the gunpowder smoke just standing there.
Incredibly, the barrage continues tonight, too, even though it's been raining all day. Apparently people have not yet finished detonating all their incendiary devices or blowing off assorted limbs and extremities. Exactly 2 more weeks to Guy Fawkes Day, too! Wahoo!
Those of you who enjoyed Gene Simmons' Rock School as much as I did might be interested to note that "Lil' Chris" Hardman (as he's now known) -- you know, the weedy kid who was the singer in the band -- has a hit single over here (loud noise warning: turn your speakers down if you click). Surprisingly, it's quite good. Maybe it's a classic case of expectation management, but as far as lite pop goes it's a pretty tasty musical confection. (Damn, that may have come off like another unpaid endorsement. Not doing too well tonight on that score, am I?)
While I'm on the random tip tonight, let me share my joy over my new web host. Hooray! Normally such mundane things would not be cause for celebration but after the headaches caused by my last web host I'll make an exception. (You know how nervous I get when I feel disconnected.) I won't bad-mouth the old one, as much as I'm tempted to, because at least their politics are in the right place. But they get absolutely zero for service. And there's the rub: you can't rely on greenwashing alone. You've got to be everything the competition is, and more. I do try to be politically and socially conscious by voting with my wallet at every opportunity (to say nothing of living green with every other waking act) but sometimes they make it soooo difficult... Anyway, the new guys seem to be pretty responsive and have better uptime and all that, so it'll take a little residual worry off my mind. Every little bit helps.
Now: Butch Walker and the Let's-Go-Out-Tonites, "Hot Girls in Good Moods." Does anyone do a better Mick Ronson pastiche? I think not...
Okay, okay, I'm going back to work now. Right after Matt the Electrician's "Hammer on the Ladder." And that's a plug.
Saturday, October 21, 2006
Blogs: the world's foremost procrastination tool
The weather isn't cooperating. I woke up this morning pleased as punch to see that it was grey, blustery, rainy and generally perfect for staying indoors to get more work done (and there's plenty of it to do, too). But noooooooo, the sky cleared and although it's still a bit windy there's a lot of blue sky and sunshine up there. Damn. Well, it ought to be good for running anyway, if not for the concentration...
Honestly, this place is reminding me more and more of places like Martinique. No, not because of the omnipresent French (who I'm sure are here solely to annoy the British), but because it rains torrentially for a few hours overnight then clears up miraculously by morning, then the cycle repeats. Of course the similarity ends there. I haven't been there yet but somehow I doubt the beaches of Brighton are as attractive and warm.
Before I go too much further I should add, in reference to Wednesday's post about the unnecessarily loud noises: yes, I am aware it's Diwali. C'mon, a person can't live in Vancouver and/or London (or both) for as long as I have and not be the least bit clued up as to what Diwali is or what time of year it happens. And previous posts to the contrary, I'm not against people having fun or even being outrageously loud and obnoxious. I just wish they wouldn't do it at ungodly hours of the night/morning. And maybe not seven days a week either; I'd limit it to, say, Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays.
Perhaps it's just the way the campus is built, i.e. with lots of flat concrete surfaces conducive to amplifying eches, or the way sound carries over the relatively flat terrain surrounding Harrow, or both, but the firecrackers they sell over here sound more like, well, er, bombs. If like me you're living in a strange land unaccustomed to such noises and have been filled with media horror stories of events like 7/7, this can be a recipe for almost certain underpant-soiling. I have very little experience with large-scale random violence (barring perhaps the October Crisis) and prefer to keep it that way, thank you.
(By the way if this is what it's like at Diwali, I can't wait for Guy Fawkes Day.)
News flash: Republican says something intelligent/truthful!
One of these days I'm going to post my running list of things that are cheap in the U.K. and those that I find expensive relative to Canada. But in the meantime let me say that one of the items fitting the former category is cheese. The British love their cheese and it certainly is plentiful here. So the other day I decided that I was in the mood for some comfort food, and things like tuna melts and grilled cheese sandwiches struck me as particularly appropriate. So naturally this implied cheese, a commodity I eat rarely and consider a treat since it's so (artificially) expensive at home. As I wandered the aisles of the nearby Sainsbury's I came across one of the most extensive selections I have ever seen. (This was just what I saw in the aisles, too; there was more -- namely the premium and fresh, non-packaged stuff -- at a separate counter near the meat and fish.) I was stopped in my tracks by the sheer volume and variety, to say nothing of the relatively low price.
At first I was overwhelmed by the cornucopia of cheesy choice. But then I was blessed with an inspiration and its crumbly, creamy goodness beckoned: Wensleydale, of course.
* Our own mid-terms are looming too. Very quickly indeed. And so are my papers' deadlines (Ha! Apostrophize that, Postmodern Sass!) So I'd better stop procrastinating and get on with it. See you later.
Honestly, this place is reminding me more and more of places like Martinique. No, not because of the omnipresent French (who I'm sure are here solely to annoy the British), but because it rains torrentially for a few hours overnight then clears up miraculously by morning, then the cycle repeats. Of course the similarity ends there. I haven't been there yet but somehow I doubt the beaches of Brighton are as attractive and warm.
Before I go too much further I should add, in reference to Wednesday's post about the unnecessarily loud noises: yes, I am aware it's Diwali. C'mon, a person can't live in Vancouver and/or London (or both) for as long as I have and not be the least bit clued up as to what Diwali is or what time of year it happens. And previous posts to the contrary, I'm not against people having fun or even being outrageously loud and obnoxious. I just wish they wouldn't do it at ungodly hours of the night/morning. And maybe not seven days a week either; I'd limit it to, say, Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays.
Perhaps it's just the way the campus is built, i.e. with lots of flat concrete surfaces conducive to amplifying eches, or the way sound carries over the relatively flat terrain surrounding Harrow, or both, but the firecrackers they sell over here sound more like, well, er, bombs. If like me you're living in a strange land unaccustomed to such noises and have been filled with media horror stories of events like 7/7, this can be a recipe for almost certain underpant-soiling. I have very little experience with large-scale random violence (barring perhaps the October Crisis) and prefer to keep it that way, thank you.
(By the way if this is what it's like at Diwali, I can't wait for Guy Fawkes Day.)
* * *
News flash: Republican says something intelligent/truthful!
"Only in an election year this complicated can Republicans be happy that Mark Foley knocked the Iraq war off the front page."Of course his choice of the term "complicated" is a sadly obvious euphemism, but there you go. With the mid-terms just around the corner (U.S. congressionals, not Westminster's I mean*) this kind of chaotic disarray and bad press would ordinarily have me singing and dancing in the aisles, but for one small but crucial detail: the Democrats couldn't snatch election victory from the jaws of defeat if someone pounded it up their collective arse with a wooden mallet. Loathe them or despise them, the one thing Republicans uniformly excel at is sidelining internal differences long enough to organize and get out the vote. History shows that Democrats absolutely suck at this, and I'm sorry to report I see no evidence to suggest this will change anytime soon. And anyway we still have two more years of George W. Monkey-boy; who knows what further damage he and his ideologically retarded puppeteers will be able to inflict on the world in that time span. (Did you see that great item on Craig Ferguson the other night about the President's drinking problem? Priceless.) I suppose I should be grateful Shrub and Darth Cheney are limited by law to two terms of office, although it wouldn't surprise me to learn that they're working to rewrite the rules on that, too.
-- Mark Campbell, a Republican strategist representing several Congressional candidates, quoted in a recent New York Times story.
* * *
One of these days I'm going to post my running list of things that are cheap in the U.K. and those that I find expensive relative to Canada. But in the meantime let me say that one of the items fitting the former category is cheese. The British love their cheese and it certainly is plentiful here. So the other day I decided that I was in the mood for some comfort food, and things like tuna melts and grilled cheese sandwiches struck me as particularly appropriate. So naturally this implied cheese, a commodity I eat rarely and consider a treat since it's so (artificially) expensive at home. As I wandered the aisles of the nearby Sainsbury's I came across one of the most extensive selections I have ever seen. (This was just what I saw in the aisles, too; there was more -- namely the premium and fresh, non-packaged stuff -- at a separate counter near the meat and fish.) I was stopped in my tracks by the sheer volume and variety, to say nothing of the relatively low price.
At first I was overwhelmed by the cornucopia of cheesy choice. But then I was blessed with an inspiration and its crumbly, creamy goodness beckoned: Wensleydale, of course.
* Our own mid-terms are looming too. Very quickly indeed. And so are my papers' deadlines (Ha! Apostrophize that, Postmodern Sass!) So I'd better stop procrastinating and get on with it. See you later.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Brown sauce?
Today's post is brought to you by... brown sauce.
I've been sitting here staring at a packet of the stuff, contemplating it, virtually from the moment I came home tonight.
This unknown substance intrigues me because I've more or less been a lifelong anglophile, and I've never even heard of brown sauce. But apparently it's "a great British tradition," or so it says on the label. (The label also says it contains water, sugar, modified maize and Tapioca starch -- the T is capitalized! -- apple puree [contains E330, whatever that is], molasses, salt, acidity regulator [acetic acid], spirit vinegar, tomato puree, spices, colour [E150c], preservatives [E202]. It is made in a factory handling celery and cereals containing gluten. I'll spare you the nutrition info per 100 mg. Wouldn't want to take all the mystery out of it.)
I'm told that brown sauce most commonly associated with breakfast, good with eggs and such, but it's enjoyed with most every meal.
I'm almost tempted to try it. Not now, of course; it's 12:30 AM GMT as I write and I haven't got anything suitable to put it on. Maybe in the morning.
Right now, some ignorant twisted pigfuckers with what I imagine to be tragically (or comedically) small penises are repeatedly setting off unnecessarily loud firecrackers somewhere on the campus grounds. It is all the more unnecessary since it's 12:32 AM, when more modest explosive devices would still have the desired effect. I mean, if you're gonna be an A-1 asshole, you might as well do it in the broad daylight when more people can recognize your authorship. Why go to all the trouble and expense of being an anonymous asshole?
I'll leave you to ponder that while I go sleep.
I've been sitting here staring at a packet of the stuff, contemplating it, virtually from the moment I came home tonight.
This unknown substance intrigues me because I've more or less been a lifelong anglophile, and I've never even heard of brown sauce. But apparently it's "a great British tradition," or so it says on the label. (The label also says it contains water, sugar, modified maize and Tapioca starch -- the T is capitalized! -- apple puree [contains E330, whatever that is], molasses, salt, acidity regulator [acetic acid], spirit vinegar, tomato puree, spices, colour [E150c], preservatives [E202]. It is made in a factory handling celery and cereals containing gluten. I'll spare you the nutrition info per 100 mg. Wouldn't want to take all the mystery out of it.)
I'm told that brown sauce most commonly associated with breakfast, good with eggs and such, but it's enjoyed with most every meal.
I'm almost tempted to try it. Not now, of course; it's 12:30 AM GMT as I write and I haven't got anything suitable to put it on. Maybe in the morning.
Right now, some ignorant twisted pigfuckers with what I imagine to be tragically (or comedically) small penises are repeatedly setting off unnecessarily loud firecrackers somewhere on the campus grounds. It is all the more unnecessary since it's 12:32 AM, when more modest explosive devices would still have the desired effect. I mean, if you're gonna be an A-1 asshole, you might as well do it in the broad daylight when more people can recognize your authorship. Why go to all the trouble and expense of being an anonymous asshole?
I'll leave you to ponder that while I go sleep.
Saturday, October 14, 2006
Would you believe a truck AND a generator?
As it turns out, it was both. So I was right on both counts. Although it's more than that: it's a travelling fun fair, the kind that have those miniature versions of the tilt-a-whirl and the teacups that make you vomit.
What it's doing here (other than the obvious, I mean) is beyond me. But at least it explains the screams I've been hearing, too.
What it's doing here (other than the obvious, I mean) is beyond me. But at least it explains the screams I've been hearing, too.
EMI has infringed my (private copy) rights
On Wednesday we had yet another special guest lecturer in, this time from EMI. He's Richard O'Brien, head of Media. (For a while I debated naming the poor guy, after all, he did presumably volunteer his free time to come talk to us, but... nahhhh.)
Now it must be said that I feel for Richard and people like him. They are in a rather untenable position, having to defend an industry that, largely due to its own inattentiveness and lack of preparation, has frequently found itself pissing off its most ardent supporters (i.e. music fans) and generally shooting itself in the foot at every turn. But the music industry has also been attacked on several sides, mostly from a fiercely competitive high tech industry, that is essentially using music to sell hardware and software. (And, having held a senior executive position in media at a major label, I just empathize.)
So I wanted to cut him some slack. But during the Q&A session someone in the crowd cornered him on the subject of lame copy protection schemes that render product virtually unusable (pun intended, ha ha). And poor Richard didn't have much of an answer. He kind of shrugged and looked sheepish which, under the circumstances, was about all he could do. (If he'd offered to exchange the offending CDs, it would have set a dangerous precedent I guess.) So I followed up with a question of my own, asking if -- amid all the industry's brightly optimistic calculations for a digital music industry --they had calculated how much MORE opportunity would be generated if defective DRM and lame copy protection schemes were off the table (and off the records), and if consumers had genuine CHOICE and INTEROPERABILITY? I mean, anecdotally I see plenty of evidence around me to suggest that most people are satisfied (for now) with their iPods BUT who also say that it would really loosen up their purse strings if they had some assurance that what they bought today would allow them the flexibility and utility they seek, without the built-in incompatibility and obsolescence issues.
And once again Richard couldn't really answer. Which tells me that the industry literally has NO CLUE how much they -- along with their consumers -- could benefit by getting things right. All of their projections are based on the current, sad state of affairs wherein the hardware makers and software makers are duking it out for digital supremacy. Can you imagine where the TV industry would be today if not for a standard broadcast format (NTSC, PAL or SECAM, depending on where you live -- okay, bad example)? Back in the day, sales of the first prerecorded music really only kicked in with a vengeance once it became clear that Emile Berliner's gramophone was the de facto standard, and Edison's phonograph was relegated to office dictation, to which it was best suited anyway. But I digress, as usual.
Richard's visit reminded me of earlier this summer, when his employer EMI infringed my rights.
On the strength of nothing more than Bob Lefsetz's personal recommendation, I went out to buy a new CD by an artist whose name I won't mention here because that's how pissed off I am. Neither the unfortunate artist (who, as always, is caught in the middle) nor the label will get any free publicity from me, because I've been screwed over. POINT #1: The most effective means of promotion remains word of mouth. Don't squander it, or worse yet, make enemies.
Now, in a classic chicken-and-egg situation I can't tell whether the genuine buzz on this artist came first, or whether the marketing campaign did. I suspect it was a bit of both: the label believed and so decided to pitch some cash at it. I was dimly aware of the hoopla surrounding the release; I mean, I get Billboard and Music Week too. But I'm always suspicious of the hype, because so few acts truly live up to it. Then again, with the Internet you can successfully introduce new acts more credibly than you can ever do by spending big marketing dollars. All it takes is some reliable sources. FWEs (friends with ears). Without the word-of-mouth, made all the more efficient and effective by the Internet, you're not in the game. Read Gladwell's Tipping Point again, you'll see.
I've long since given up on the mainstream media because in Vancouver the papers (except the local street weekly) are all owned by the same corporate giant, all spouting the same right-wing agenda. And they own the TV outlets -- ditto on the right-wing agenda. Thankfully they have yet to own the Vancouver radio stations too, but then they all belong to a different homogenizing conglomerate anyway. Not that it matters, because no one listens to radio anymore . Ho-hum. (End of that rant .)
Like most of us, I could have gone online and downloaded the album. But I support the industry -- to a point. More importantly, I support the acts. Or I want to. But the labels make it so difficult for me, for reasons that will become clear in a moment. So I decided to buy the CD. Yes, CDs are a dying technology but in a certain way they're still the most flexible... unless they're being hobbled by DRM. But I'm getting ahead of myself here. By a quirk of fate, that same week the CD was advertised on the back page of the Georgia Straight at a low introductory price. If I wasn't before, now I'm committed to buying it. POINT#2: If you price it right, the people will come.
So I'm at A&B Sound, once the price-driven market leader but now a down-at-the-heel also-ran. I've never seen the store so empty. And sad-looking. Not an exciting, fun place to discover music. Granted, I rarely shop in person any more. Bricks can't compete with clicks for sheer pizazz, ease, information, or product sampling. This experience reminded me why.
After searching fruitlessly through the front racks (where you'd expected the advertised specials, right?) I wandered around for a few minutes in search of help. Eventually I found a clerk, who hadn't heard of the artist in question. I had to explain who (the unnamed new artist) was and the genre(s) under which the CD might be filed. Told him it was advertised, on special. That still drew a blank. POINT#3: if you're truly intent on selling product -- never mind developing an artist -- you've got to EDUCATE THE DISTRIBUTION CHANNELS, perhaps even more so than the consumers. Make them a part of the story. Get them to evangelize for you. Don't assume they're already drinking your marketing Kool-Aid.
The staffer pointed me to the generic alphabetical bin. "I guess we're sold out," said the clerk unhelpfully. You GUESS? He couldn't tell me when or even IF more would arrive, and I wasn't about to ask him if it meant having to wait even longer while he checked the store's inventory system. POINT #4: If you're going to go to take a hit to your margins by special-pricing and co-op advertising your featured act, SHIP IN SUFFICIENT STOCK. And then FOLLOW UP. But then, CDs are nothing but a loss-leader at A&B. Window dressing, to up-sell hardware. Defeated, I left.
Then some time later Lefsetz sent a follow-up note(s) re: the artist in question. So now I'm back on the hunt. I had more important stuff to do on my lunch break, but it had been a long time since I was this fired up about new music. When my curiosity is piqued, I need to score. I don't like to give up that easily. After another near-fruitless search, just as I was about to call it quits for a second time, I finally found it. IN THE ALPHABETICAL SECTION, SPINE-OUT. As in, no facing. At least it was stickered at $7.99. So I grabbed it and took it to the cash, paid, then left. I was in a hurry and didn't immediately twig that they had charged me $8.99 instead of the stickered price. I did the math when I got home, and boy was I pissed. But for the sake of that extra buck I wasn't going to travel all the way back to the point of origin, because the cost of the Skytrain trip would have been more than twice the difference. But guess where I won't be shopping again in a hurry? POINT #5: Don't rip off the customer. And make damn sure your pricing is consistent WITHIN THE STORE. Don't use false or misleading advertising.
Then, the coup de grace. I get home and take the newly acquired CD upstairs to my home office. I'm excited; I haven't bought much new music lately that's really turned my crank. So I drop it in my laptop, because I need some fresh tunes while I work. I need to be inspired. But the CD DOESN'T PLAY. I take it out, re-seat it, and try again. And again. And again. I look at the package: there it is, in hieroglyphics too small for my aging, naked eye: "May not play on iPod/iTunes." WHAT THE FUCK??? A CD that won't work with the world's #1 top-selling portable music device and software? A device with a conservatively estimated 70% market share??!? POINT #6: Shit, if I have to spell it out for them -- they will NEVER understand.
(Allegedly it will play in Windows Media. But even though XP has begun to redress some long standing issues, I still do not trust Microsoft. I refuse to use WMA, on principle. It's a subpar codec, anyway. Windows Media player is a waste of hard drive space, nowhere near as elegant, intuitive or user-friendly as most apps out there, yet strangely loaded with absolutely useless features. WHO THE FUCK NEEDS "VISUALIZATIONS"? What is this, the 1970's?)
I can't even get the disc to play on the machine's basic audio CD player. So I pop open Windows Explorer and I go surfing through the dozens of files and folders on the CD, where I see nothing but INSTALLER files, Flash & HTML documents, tons of extra crap that I don't want or need. I want MUSIC! TUNES! As in, .WAV files. Not this headache. I try absolutely everything but can't get it to work on my Windows machine. I try a few of my favourite workarounds. Nothing seems to do the trick. So now I need INSTRUCTIONS on how to play a goddamn CD? POINT #7: If I'm going to need instructions, then GIVE THEM TO ME. On paper. You know, in an insert or in the packaging. Because if I can't even get the thing to open in my machine, how the fuck am I supposed to find the README files?
I'm not computer illiterate. After my label years, I worked in high-tech (core digital audio compression technology) for years, so by this point I know my way around a PC. I'm not a programmer, more like a borderline geek. An early adopter, not an innovator. But the thing didn't even auto-run not matter what I did. Which is probably a good thing after all, because I'll be damned if I'm going to install ANYTHING on my machine, especially after the Sony rootkit fiasco. Or at least, I won't install anything that I did not specifically seek out for the sole purpose of making my life easier -- not more difficult. Apparently the industry can't decide once and for all if we -- its hardcore consumers, the 20% of fans who buy 80% of the music -- are computer geniuses, idiots, or criminals, or all three simultaneously.
So by this time, I'm 15-20 minutes after popping the shrink wrap and I still haven't had any satisfaction. I'm no longer inspired. I'm frustrated. Angry. I've had a long day. I've got work to do. In this situation, music is supposed to be my SALVATION, not salt in my wounds. I mean, I want it for home and my iPod, and I want it NOW, but not bad enough that I'm going to pay for it twice -- once at retail, once at ITMS. All my expectations have been built up and systematically torn down. This is the new music experience?!?!?
Now I'm left with two options:
1. Go all the way back downtown, return the CD, give them an earful about the pricing scam, and exchange it for a catalogue item doesn't have the heavy-handed copy protection. Then go online and download the album for free. End of story.
2. Reconfigure my stereo so I can output the analog amplifier signal into my sound card, and rip the CD from there. But it's a pain in the ass, and time-consuming. OK, so technically the analog signal is not true "CD quality" sound, but it's close enough for rock 'n' roll and 99.9% closer than my 128-kbps MP3s or AACs will ever be. So I'm OK with that. But here's the rub: if I'm going to go to all that trouble, I'm going to rip a whole BUNCH of CDs while I'm at it. Not just this artist's, either. I might as well make a whole lot more MP3s. For ALL my devices -- and maybe a few for my friends, too. Because by now, it's become personal. It's about revenge for all the aggravation, the time and effort I've wasted, just because I wanted to satisfy my musical urge -- while doing the right thing, by PURCHASING the product.
So I go with Option #2. I mean, I had to listen to the CD anyway, so I might as well do it while making my MP3s. But of course the CD is cut really hot -- what's with these assholes, anyway, who think that jamming the VU meter into the red during mastering makes a CD sound better?!??! Either that, or they're tinkering with a watermarking technology that is so primitive it's audible to the naked ear. So I have to go back and re-rip my MP3s at a sensible level to avoid clipping, or whatever watermarking is causing that horribly distorted sound.
While all of this is going on, and I'm getting madder and madder, it occurs to me that my right to private home copying is enshrined in law. Hell, in Canada downloading freebies from the Internet is LEGAL!!! And therefore, by preventing me from doing this. EMI -- for it happened to be one of their priority acts, sad to say -- is infringing on my rights to private copying.
If a few more of us pissed-off fans were to get together, we'd have a nice class action suit on our hands.
FINAL POINT: CD sales are in a death spiral. What's 2 + 2? You figure it out.
Now it must be said that I feel for Richard and people like him. They are in a rather untenable position, having to defend an industry that, largely due to its own inattentiveness and lack of preparation, has frequently found itself pissing off its most ardent supporters (i.e. music fans) and generally shooting itself in the foot at every turn. But the music industry has also been attacked on several sides, mostly from a fiercely competitive high tech industry, that is essentially using music to sell hardware and software. (And, having held a senior executive position in media at a major label, I just empathize.)
So I wanted to cut him some slack. But during the Q&A session someone in the crowd cornered him on the subject of lame copy protection schemes that render product virtually unusable (pun intended, ha ha). And poor Richard didn't have much of an answer. He kind of shrugged and looked sheepish which, under the circumstances, was about all he could do. (If he'd offered to exchange the offending CDs, it would have set a dangerous precedent I guess.) So I followed up with a question of my own, asking if -- amid all the industry's brightly optimistic calculations for a digital music industry --they had calculated how much MORE opportunity would be generated if defective DRM and lame copy protection schemes were off the table (and off the records), and if consumers had genuine CHOICE and INTEROPERABILITY? I mean, anecdotally I see plenty of evidence around me to suggest that most people are satisfied (for now) with their iPods BUT who also say that it would really loosen up their purse strings if they had some assurance that what they bought today would allow them the flexibility and utility they seek, without the built-in incompatibility and obsolescence issues.
And once again Richard couldn't really answer. Which tells me that the industry literally has NO CLUE how much they -- along with their consumers -- could benefit by getting things right. All of their projections are based on the current, sad state of affairs wherein the hardware makers and software makers are duking it out for digital supremacy. Can you imagine where the TV industry would be today if not for a standard broadcast format (NTSC, PAL or SECAM, depending on where you live -- okay, bad example)? Back in the day, sales of the first prerecorded music really only kicked in with a vengeance once it became clear that Emile Berliner's gramophone was the de facto standard, and Edison's phonograph was relegated to office dictation, to which it was best suited anyway. But I digress, as usual.
Richard's visit reminded me of earlier this summer, when his employer EMI infringed my rights.
On the strength of nothing more than Bob Lefsetz's personal recommendation, I went out to buy a new CD by an artist whose name I won't mention here because that's how pissed off I am. Neither the unfortunate artist (who, as always, is caught in the middle) nor the label will get any free publicity from me, because I've been screwed over. POINT #1: The most effective means of promotion remains word of mouth. Don't squander it, or worse yet, make enemies.
Now, in a classic chicken-and-egg situation I can't tell whether the genuine buzz on this artist came first, or whether the marketing campaign did. I suspect it was a bit of both: the label believed and so decided to pitch some cash at it. I was dimly aware of the hoopla surrounding the release; I mean, I get Billboard and Music Week too. But I'm always suspicious of the hype, because so few acts truly live up to it. Then again, with the Internet you can successfully introduce new acts more credibly than you can ever do by spending big marketing dollars. All it takes is some reliable sources. FWEs (friends with ears). Without the word-of-mouth, made all the more efficient and effective by the Internet, you're not in the game. Read Gladwell's Tipping Point again, you'll see.
I've long since given up on the mainstream media because in Vancouver the papers (except the local street weekly) are all owned by the same corporate giant, all spouting the same right-wing agenda. And they own the TV outlets -- ditto on the right-wing agenda. Thankfully they have yet to own the Vancouver radio stations too, but then they all belong to a different homogenizing conglomerate anyway. Not that it matters, because no one listens to radio anymore . Ho-hum. (End of that rant .)
Like most of us, I could have gone online and downloaded the album. But I support the industry -- to a point. More importantly, I support the acts. Or I want to. But the labels make it so difficult for me, for reasons that will become clear in a moment. So I decided to buy the CD. Yes, CDs are a dying technology but in a certain way they're still the most flexible... unless they're being hobbled by DRM. But I'm getting ahead of myself here. By a quirk of fate, that same week the CD was advertised on the back page of the Georgia Straight at a low introductory price. If I wasn't before, now I'm committed to buying it. POINT#2: If you price it right, the people will come.
So I'm at A&B Sound, once the price-driven market leader but now a down-at-the-heel also-ran. I've never seen the store so empty. And sad-looking. Not an exciting, fun place to discover music. Granted, I rarely shop in person any more. Bricks can't compete with clicks for sheer pizazz, ease, information, or product sampling. This experience reminded me why.
After searching fruitlessly through the front racks (where you'd expected the advertised specials, right?) I wandered around for a few minutes in search of help. Eventually I found a clerk, who hadn't heard of the artist in question. I had to explain who (the unnamed new artist) was and the genre(s) under which the CD might be filed. Told him it was advertised, on special. That still drew a blank. POINT#3: if you're truly intent on selling product -- never mind developing an artist -- you've got to EDUCATE THE DISTRIBUTION CHANNELS, perhaps even more so than the consumers. Make them a part of the story. Get them to evangelize for you. Don't assume they're already drinking your marketing Kool-Aid.
The staffer pointed me to the generic alphabetical bin. "I guess we're sold out," said the clerk unhelpfully. You GUESS? He couldn't tell me when or even IF more would arrive, and I wasn't about to ask him if it meant having to wait even longer while he checked the store's inventory system. POINT #4: If you're going to go to take a hit to your margins by special-pricing and co-op advertising your featured act, SHIP IN SUFFICIENT STOCK. And then FOLLOW UP. But then, CDs are nothing but a loss-leader at A&B. Window dressing, to up-sell hardware. Defeated, I left.
Then some time later Lefsetz sent a follow-up note(s) re: the artist in question. So now I'm back on the hunt. I had more important stuff to do on my lunch break, but it had been a long time since I was this fired up about new music. When my curiosity is piqued, I need to score. I don't like to give up that easily. After another near-fruitless search, just as I was about to call it quits for a second time, I finally found it. IN THE ALPHABETICAL SECTION, SPINE-OUT. As in, no facing. At least it was stickered at $7.99. So I grabbed it and took it to the cash, paid, then left. I was in a hurry and didn't immediately twig that they had charged me $8.99 instead of the stickered price. I did the math when I got home, and boy was I pissed. But for the sake of that extra buck I wasn't going to travel all the way back to the point of origin, because the cost of the Skytrain trip would have been more than twice the difference. But guess where I won't be shopping again in a hurry? POINT #5: Don't rip off the customer. And make damn sure your pricing is consistent WITHIN THE STORE. Don't use false or misleading advertising.
Then, the coup de grace. I get home and take the newly acquired CD upstairs to my home office. I'm excited; I haven't bought much new music lately that's really turned my crank. So I drop it in my laptop, because I need some fresh tunes while I work. I need to be inspired. But the CD DOESN'T PLAY. I take it out, re-seat it, and try again. And again. And again. I look at the package: there it is, in hieroglyphics too small for my aging, naked eye: "May not play on iPod/iTunes." WHAT THE FUCK??? A CD that won't work with the world's #1 top-selling portable music device and software? A device with a conservatively estimated 70% market share??!? POINT #6: Shit, if I have to spell it out for them -- they will NEVER understand.
(Allegedly it will play in Windows Media. But even though XP has begun to redress some long standing issues, I still do not trust Microsoft. I refuse to use WMA, on principle. It's a subpar codec, anyway. Windows Media player is a waste of hard drive space, nowhere near as elegant, intuitive or user-friendly as most apps out there, yet strangely loaded with absolutely useless features. WHO THE FUCK NEEDS "VISUALIZATIONS"? What is this, the 1970's?)
I can't even get the disc to play on the machine's basic audio CD player. So I pop open Windows Explorer and I go surfing through the dozens of files and folders on the CD, where I see nothing but INSTALLER files, Flash & HTML documents, tons of extra crap that I don't want or need. I want MUSIC! TUNES! As in, .WAV files. Not this headache. I try absolutely everything but can't get it to work on my Windows machine. I try a few of my favourite workarounds. Nothing seems to do the trick. So now I need INSTRUCTIONS on how to play a goddamn CD? POINT #7: If I'm going to need instructions, then GIVE THEM TO ME. On paper. You know, in an insert or in the packaging. Because if I can't even get the thing to open in my machine, how the fuck am I supposed to find the README files?
I'm not computer illiterate. After my label years, I worked in high-tech (core digital audio compression technology) for years, so by this point I know my way around a PC. I'm not a programmer, more like a borderline geek. An early adopter, not an innovator. But the thing didn't even auto-run not matter what I did. Which is probably a good thing after all, because I'll be damned if I'm going to install ANYTHING on my machine, especially after the Sony rootkit fiasco. Or at least, I won't install anything that I did not specifically seek out for the sole purpose of making my life easier -- not more difficult. Apparently the industry can't decide once and for all if we -- its hardcore consumers, the 20% of fans who buy 80% of the music -- are computer geniuses, idiots, or criminals, or all three simultaneously.
So by this time, I'm 15-20 minutes after popping the shrink wrap and I still haven't had any satisfaction. I'm no longer inspired. I'm frustrated. Angry. I've had a long day. I've got work to do. In this situation, music is supposed to be my SALVATION, not salt in my wounds. I mean, I want it for home and my iPod, and I want it NOW, but not bad enough that I'm going to pay for it twice -- once at retail, once at ITMS. All my expectations have been built up and systematically torn down. This is the new music experience?!?!?
Now I'm left with two options:
1. Go all the way back downtown, return the CD, give them an earful about the pricing scam, and exchange it for a catalogue item doesn't have the heavy-handed copy protection. Then go online and download the album for free. End of story.
2. Reconfigure my stereo so I can output the analog amplifier signal into my sound card, and rip the CD from there. But it's a pain in the ass, and time-consuming. OK, so technically the analog signal is not true "CD quality" sound, but it's close enough for rock 'n' roll and 99.9% closer than my 128-kbps MP3s or AACs will ever be. So I'm OK with that. But here's the rub: if I'm going to go to all that trouble, I'm going to rip a whole BUNCH of CDs while I'm at it. Not just this artist's, either. I might as well make a whole lot more MP3s. For ALL my devices -- and maybe a few for my friends, too. Because by now, it's become personal. It's about revenge for all the aggravation, the time and effort I've wasted, just because I wanted to satisfy my musical urge -- while doing the right thing, by PURCHASING the product.
So I go with Option #2. I mean, I had to listen to the CD anyway, so I might as well do it while making my MP3s. But of course the CD is cut really hot -- what's with these assholes, anyway, who think that jamming the VU meter into the red during mastering makes a CD sound better?!??! Either that, or they're tinkering with a watermarking technology that is so primitive it's audible to the naked ear. So I have to go back and re-rip my MP3s at a sensible level to avoid clipping, or whatever watermarking is causing that horribly distorted sound.
While all of this is going on, and I'm getting madder and madder, it occurs to me that my right to private home copying is enshrined in law. Hell, in Canada downloading freebies from the Internet is LEGAL!!! And therefore, by preventing me from doing this. EMI -- for it happened to be one of their priority acts, sad to say -- is infringing on my rights to private copying.
If a few more of us pissed-off fans were to get together, we'd have a nice class action suit on our hands.
FINAL POINT: CD sales are in a death spiral. What's 2 + 2? You figure it out.
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