NaNoWriMo fragment

Strangely, I'm finding it difficult to write truly obnoxious characters. And I don't think there's really a lot of variety in my characters anyway - I'm too afraid of stereotyping to go overboard with the characterisation. In the meantime, I've only written 5,000 words in 7 days. Shit.


Landed and docked, she was a fat cylinder laid gently on top of an intricate jeweller’s scrapheap, one that sparkled with standby LEDs and semi-intelligent IR chatter. And the icing on the cake was the stumpy, single-piece pitched roof plonked on top. At least, that’s what she looked like from outside when Bernard called up the view. From the inside, she was a warm, fuggy chaos with alternating smells of play-doh, solder, and the acrid tang which always accompanied any sort of liquefied hydrogen system. Access panels of all shapes and sizes had been removed and haphazardly piled. It only took one clumsy knock to send the whole pile skittering and scraping across the gantry, as they discovered.
“Sorry ‘bout the mess,” Annie called over her shoulder. “We’re trying to track down a fault in the Inerts backbone. Faulty bus somewhere, I reckon. Minor problem, anyway, nothing life-threatening,” she added absently.
They ducked down a narrow corridor, with sealable doors on either side. “Boys on the left, girls on the right!” Annie called cheerfully. “That works, doesn’t it, numberswise?” she added. Bernard nodded as he squeezed past her. There wasn’t room for his shoulders and the bag, so he had to judo-throw his bag over his head into the narrow cabin. Miguel and David had already claimed the two top bunks, and had climbed onto them. Bernard tossed his bag onto one of the bottom ones. There was a muted series of clangs from somewhere off to their right, and a distant “Bugger!” It was another female voice.
“Annie,” Bernard poked his head out, to see her grin. “how many crew does the Tabitha Jute hold?”
“Our complement at this time is eight crew, six passengers, and a few tonnes of stuff.” Annie pronounced. “The good ship Tabitha Jute also runs a semi-autonomous AI, nine maintenance drones and fourteen von Neumann TMPs, of various types. Tabs?”
A mellifluous female voice came out of the air. “Annie?”
“These are our guests. You know who they are, don’tcha?”
“I do, Annie. Mr Sawyer, welcome to the SV Tabitha Jute. If you need anything, or have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you.” Bernard replied formally.
“Same goes for me, too, of course,” Annie added. “Any questions, give me a shout. I’d appreciate it, though,” she said, raising her voice slightly so everyone could hear, “if you wouldn’t bother crew members while they’re discharging their duties. They’re sure to be polite, but a distracted man is sleepwalking to the Deep Freeze, as the saying goes. Okay?”
There was a scuffling noise at the end of the corridor, and high-pitched giggling. Annie yelped, dived across Bernard and dodged round the corner in an awkward, bent-over scuttle. “You two rascals!” she cried. “I told you to stay in the mess! What are you doing down here?”
There was more gigging, and she re-emerged with a tousled child under each arm. One shared Annie’s cloud of blonde curls; the other’s blonde hair was straight, with a fringe that bounced up and down stopped only just above his (her?) eyes. They struggled happily, giggling as Annie growled, and plonked them on the floor. “Mr Sawyer, I’d like to introduce our two youngest crew members; Pieter and Nabuko. Pieter, ‘Buko, this is Mr Sawyer. Say hello.”
Suddenly confronted with a big group of strangers, the two children managed to mumble “’lo, Mr Sawyer.” Pieter surreptitiously reached out to grip Annie’s trouser leg. She rolled her eyes, gave them both a gentle slap on the rump.
“Now git! Back to the mess with you. Where are Alan and Orestes? Pieter, where’s your brother? Honestly, those two. And you two! Go on, back to the mess with you. Ask Tabitha to put on Wonderland for you.”
The two kids ran, giggling. Bernard noticed that they both ran with their arms making rapid swimming motions, grabbing and hauling wherever they could. They were nimble and fast. It was a rapid, efficient, and curiously inhuman motion.
“Woo hoo!” Miguel whooped. “Fantastic. What a beautiful machine. I can’t wait. This is going to be a lot of fun. Annie, wasn’t it? Annie, what’s the langest trip you’ve done on the Tabitha Jute?”
Annie regarded him with amused toleration. “Well, we went right out to Kiviuq once, taking a shipment of Helenic champagne out there for a Border Raid party.”
Miguel looked suitably impressed. “Bet they didn’t let you stay for the party, huh. Too bad, I bet you’d have put them all to shame.”
Annie gave him a motherly smile, and patted his shoulder. “You’re a sweet man. I can see we’re going to get along famously. It’s gonna be a very pleasant sixteen days, I reckon.”

“So, you think we’ll be okay on board the Tabitha Jute for three weeks?”
Xin groaned. “Two and a half. And I will probably kill someone.”
Benard swirled his drink idly. “Miguel…”
“Bernie, don’t even mention it. He’s going to be intolerable. My only consolation is going to be watching him trying to score with a lesbian collective. How long do you think it’ll take before he learns to stay out of spanner range?”
“I think Annie’s clocked him already.”
Xin snorted gently. “Yeah, I noticed that too. Well, good. And bad. Hopefully Lizabet will be enough of a distraction for him.”
Bernard wrinkled his nose, and looked away. Eventually he said, “I’m sorry to drag you into this, Xin.”
She leaned over. “Don’t be daft, Bernie. For a start, there’s good work to be had out of this. And hey, it’s further out than most people get to go! I’m looking forward to it, actually. I want to see the gas habitats. You know, the Floating World? I’ve always loved the idea of that. Actual flight, using pressure differentials to provide lift… fascinating.”
Bernie nodded. “It would be pretty special to take a flight in atmosphere. Titan’s coming along, now. I’ve seen some pretty impressive pictures of the outgassing from the South Pole.”
Xin snorted. “As long as we make it that far. Spaceships always seem so… insubstantial to me. It seems to me amazing that something so flimsy can travel such great distances on its own.”
Bernard raised his glass. “Well, then, to impossible journeys.”

The Tabitha Jute wasn’t actually going to Titan on her own. The little group of crew were actually part of a much larger collective, heading out on a seasonal migration to pick up some of the excess hydrocarbons mined during the Titanic winter to ferry back in to the inner planets. So they were to travel out to a rendezvous three days out, and join up with the collective’s heavy lifters, which would use their bigger, more efficient engines to boost the whole community out into an intersecting orbit with Titan.
“Those three days will be the worst.” David predicted. “After that, some of the crew will transfer to other ships, and there’ll be a lot more space to breathe in this shoebox.”
He was only half right. But it didn’t really matter by then, because by day three Miguel had already gotten into a fight with Annie’s long-term partner Bernie and landed himself in the ship’s brig.
“This is going to cost you extra,” Annie told Bernard sorrowfully. Bernie glowered from the far side of the cabin, a big bruise across one eye. “We had to make a brig, and that takes material and time. That means we’re one cabin down, and he’s made a pretty mess of that now, too. We’re not a rich collective, we’ve gotta make ends meet.”
“I’ll talk to him.” Bernard promised. “I’ll calm him down.”

Miguel’s cabin wasn’t exactly remote; it was next door to the one that Bernard was now sharing with just David and Marcus. The newly-spare bunk made the cabin considerably more comfortable. Miguel now had an entire cabin of the same size to himself, but nobody was complaining about that. Except Miguel, who couldn’t leave it. He regarded Bernard balefully. “Come in, please. Welcome to my humble abode.” He bowed sarcastically.
“’Gel, don’t be an arse.”
“Fuck off, Bernie. You’re not stuck in here twenty four seven. That AI has a sexy voice, but not a lot of conversation.”
Bernard sighed. “I talked to Thanet yesterday. He was asking for your input on a couple of things. That might take your mind off it.”
But Mguel’s mind wasn’t about to let go of the topic so easily. He grunted. “That bitch.” He mused. “Do you not think there’s something unnatural about this whole setup, Bernie? Four girls, four kids, no guys? That’s not normal. They need a man about the place.”
“Miguel…”
“Do you not think, Bernie? It’s only natural. They’ve just forgotten what it’s like.”

NaNoWriMo fragment

Strangely, I'm finding it difficult to write truly obnoxious characters. And I don't think there's really a lot of variety in my characters anyway - I'm too afraid of stereotyping to go overboard with the characterisation. In the meantime, I've only written 5,000 words in 7 days. Shit.


Landed and docked, she was a fat cylinder laid gently on top of an intricate jeweller’s scrapheap, one that sparkled with standby LEDs and semi-intelligent IR chatter. And the icing on the cake was the stumpy, single-piece pitched roof plonked on top. At least, that’s what she looked like from outside when Bernard called up the view. From the inside, she was a warm, fuggy chaos with alternating smells of play-doh, solder, and the acrid tang which always accompanied any sort of liquefied hydrogen system. Access panels of all shapes and sizes had been removed and haphazardly piled. It only took one clumsy knock to send the whole pile skittering and scraping across the gantry, as they discovered.
“Sorry ‘bout the mess,” Annie called over her shoulder. “We’re trying to track down a fault in the Inerts backbone. Faulty bus somewhere, I reckon. Minor problem, anyway, nothing life-threatening,” she added absently.
They ducked down a narrow corridor, with sealable doors on either side. “Boys on the left, girls on the right!” Annie called cheerfully. “That works, doesn’t it, numberswise?” she added. Bernard nodded as he squeezed past her. There wasn’t room for his shoulders and the bag, so he had to judo-throw his bag over his head into the narrow cabin. Miguel and David had already claimed the two top bunks, and had climbed onto them. Bernard tossed his bag onto one of the bottom ones. There was a muted series of clangs from somewhere off to their right, and a distant “Bugger!” It was another female voice.
“Annie,” Bernard poked his head out, to see her grin. “how many crew does the Tabitha Jute hold?”
“Our complement at this time is eight crew, six passengers, and a few tonnes of stuff.” Annie pronounced. “The good ship Tabitha Jute also runs a semi-autonomous AI, nine maintenance drones and fourteen von Neumann TMPs, of various types. Tabs?”
A mellifluous female voice came out of the air. “Annie?”
“These are our guests. You know who they are, don’tcha?”
“I do, Annie. Mr Sawyer, welcome to the SV Tabitha Jute. If you need anything, or have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you.” Bernard replied formally.
“Same goes for me, too, of course,” Annie added. “Any questions, give me a shout. I’d appreciate it, though,” she said, raising her voice slightly so everyone could hear, “if you wouldn’t bother crew members while they’re discharging their duties. They’re sure to be polite, but a distracted man is sleepwalking to the Deep Freeze, as the saying goes. Okay?”
There was a scuffling noise at the end of the corridor, and high-pitched giggling. Annie yelped, dived across Bernard and dodged round the corner in an awkward, bent-over scuttle. “You two rascals!” she cried. “I told you to stay in the mess! What are you doing down here?”
There was more gigging, and she re-emerged with a tousled child under each arm. One shared Annie’s cloud of blonde curls; the other’s blonde hair was straight, with a fringe that bounced up and down stopped only just above his (her?) eyes. They struggled happily, giggling as Annie growled, and plonked them on the floor. “Mr Sawyer, I’d like to introduce our two youngest crew members; Pieter and Nabuko. Pieter, ‘Buko, this is Mr Sawyer. Say hello.”
Suddenly confronted with a big group of strangers, the two children managed to mumble “’lo, Mr Sawyer.” Pieter surreptitiously reached out to grip Annie’s trouser leg. She rolled her eyes, gave them both a gentle slap on the rump.
“Now git! Back to the mess with you. Where are Alan and Orestes? Pieter, where’s your brother? Honestly, those two. And you two! Go on, back to the mess with you. Ask Tabitha to put on Wonderland for you.”
The two kids ran, giggling. Bernard noticed that they both ran with their arms making rapid swimming motions, grabbing and hauling wherever they could. They were nimble and fast. It was a rapid, efficient, and curiously inhuman motion.
“Woo hoo!” Miguel whooped. “Fantastic. What a beautiful machine. I can’t wait. This is going to be a lot of fun. Annie, wasn’t it? Annie, what’s the langest trip you’ve done on the Tabitha Jute?”
Annie regarded him with amused toleration. “Well, we went right out to Kiviuq once, taking a shipment of Helenic champagne out there for a Border Raid party.”
Miguel looked suitably impressed. “Bet they didn’t let you stay for the party, huh. Too bad, I bet you’d have put them all to shame.”
Annie gave him a motherly smile, and patted his shoulder. “You’re a sweet man. I can see we’re going to get along famously. It’s gonna be a very pleasant sixteen days, I reckon.”

“So, you think we’ll be okay on board the Tabitha Jute for three weeks?”
Xin groaned. “Two and a half. And I will probably kill someone.”
Benard swirled his drink idly. “Miguel…”
“Bernie, don’t even mention it. He’s going to be intolerable. My only consolation is going to be watching him trying to score with a lesbian collective. How long do you think it’ll take before he learns to stay out of spanner range?”
“I think Annie’s clocked him already.”
Xin snorted gently. “Yeah, I noticed that too. Well, good. And bad. Hopefully Lizabet will be enough of a distraction for him.”
Bernard wrinkled his nose, and looked away. Eventually he said, “I’m sorry to drag you into this, Xin.”
She leaned over. “Don’t be daft, Bernie. For a start, there’s good work to be had out of this. And hey, it’s further out than most people get to go! I’m looking forward to it, actually. I want to see the gas habitats. You know, the Floating World? I’ve always loved the idea of that. Actual flight, using pressure differentials to provide lift… fascinating.”
Bernie nodded. “It would be pretty special to take a flight in atmosphere. Titan’s coming along, now. I’ve seen some pretty impressive pictures of the outgassing from the South Pole.”
Xin snorted. “As long as we make it that far. Spaceships always seem so… insubstantial to me. It seems to me amazing that something so flimsy can travel such great distances on its own.”
Bernard raised his glass. “Well, then, to impossible journeys.”

The Tabitha Jute wasn’t actually going to Titan on her own. The little group of crew were actually part of a much larger collective, heading out on a seasonal migration to pick up some of the excess hydrocarbons mined during the Titanic winter to ferry back in to the inner planets. So they were to travel out to a rendezvous three days out, and join up with the collective’s heavy lifters, which would use their bigger, more efficient engines to boost the whole community out into an intersecting orbit with Titan.
“Those three days will be the worst.” David predicted. “After that, some of the crew will transfer to other ships, and there’ll be a lot more space to breathe in this shoebox.”
He was only half right. But it didn’t really matter by then, because by day three Miguel had already gotten into a fight with Annie’s long-term partner Bernie and landed himself in the ship’s brig.
“This is going to cost you extra,” Annie told Bernard sorrowfully. Bernie glowered from the far side of the cabin, a big bruise across one eye. “We had to make a brig, and that takes material and time. That means we’re one cabin down, and he’s made a pretty mess of that now, too. We’re not a rich collective, we’ve gotta make ends meet.”
“I’ll talk to him.” Bernard promised. “I’ll calm him down.”

Miguel’s cabin wasn’t exactly remote; it was next door to the one that Bernard was now sharing with just David and Marcus. The newly-spare bunk made the cabin considerably more comfortable. Miguel now had an entire cabin of the same size to himself, but nobody was complaining about that. Except Miguel, who couldn’t leave it. He regarded Bernard balefully. “Come in, please. Welcome to my humble abode.” He bowed sarcastically.
“’Gel, don’t be an arse.”
“Fuck off, Bernie. You’re not stuck in here twenty four seven. That AI has a sexy voice, but not a lot of conversation.”
Bernard sighed. “I talked to Thanet yesterday. He was asking for your input on a couple of things. That might take your mind off it.”
But Mguel’s mind wasn’t about to let go of the topic so easily. He grunted. “That bitch.” He mused. “Do you not think there’s something unnatural about this whole setup, Bernie? Four girls, four kids, no guys? That’s not normal. They need a man about the place.”
“Miguel…”
“Do you not think, Bernie? It’s only natural. They’ve just forgotten what it’s like.”

Graphs

http://hyperculture.org/graphs/
Silly silly.



Still not as good as these, either:

NaNoWriMo - first blood

Okay. Well, it's bad, but the whole point is that it should simply be written, fast, without the time for worry over editing, or quality, or any of those pesky details... so here's the first thousand words or so:

Alignment Days tended to focus on the industrial, so it was no surprise to Bernard that the Hall of Mirrors was almost deserted. Stepping out of the lift into the muddy, mustardy light streaming through the windows, there was only one figure in the half-distance, a gaunt shadow contemplating the view and ignoring the cleaners who gave it – her – a respectfully wide berth.

Her reflection faced away from him in each mirror as he passed.

“Factor.”
She turned at his voice, and her face broke into a warm smile. “Bernard. Thank you.”
“What for?”
She smiled mischievously. “For coming. For humouring an old lady.” The humour was meant for him to share, although he found it difficult – when the person who controls how much air there is to breathe issues an invitation, acceptance would seem the only course.
Bernard bowed. “I’m always pleased to hear from you, Geneva.”
She harrumphed. “Quite.” Turning away, she walked slowly down the hall, her black cloak a ripple of mustard-yellow and black. Bernard tagged along, catching a glimpse of their reflection in one enormous mirror as they passed. The Factor was tall, thin - spindly, even. In the low gravity she moved elegantly, her black cloak billowing as she waltzed down the Hall like some gothic whisp from a New Romantic painting. But the muddy light of Saturn made her look old, and the black looked dirty. Bouncing along lumpenly beside her, Igor to her Bride, it simply made him look unwell.
She half-turned. “Bernard, let us sit here for a moment.” She gestured towards a bench. They settled themselves gently into it, and contemplated the view for a while.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” The Factor asked, matter-of-factly.
Bernard nodded. Of course it was; Dione’s Hall of Mirrors was famed for having the best view anywhere inside Ring F. Even now, when Saturn’s attitude meant that the light was dirty yellow rather than (Bernard’s preferred) royal blue, he could see three storms starting up in the upper atmosphere, each twisting streamers of white and green into massive, slowly dancing spirals. And beyond the horizon, he could pick out Helene against the spangled curtain of night, gibbous and jewelled with the distant sparkle of polished domes. And the Rings themselves…

“You built this.” She said.
He shook his head. “My group, built this.”
She frowned elegantly. “Bernard, are you not head of Selene Aversis?”
Bernard sighed. “Technically.”
“Were Selene Aversis not the primary contractors for this Hall?”
“Yes, okay, you’ve made your p-“
“Bernard, your design krewe designed this Hall. And most of Dione’s Eye, when you get right down to it.”
He said nothing. He wanted to say, no, this is Miguel’s work, purely and solely Miguel’s. It’s his best work. He was inspired. God knows we’ve carried him since, but this was all his.

Already behind schedule

Oh crap.

National Novel Writing Month started yesterday, and already I'm behinds chedule, having written precisely nothing.

So go away. I'm busy.

Already behind schedule

Oh crap.

<a href="http://www.nanowrimo.org/"> National Novel Writing Month</a> started yesterday, and already I'm behinds chedule, having written precisely nothing.

So go away. I'm busy.

WorldChanging: WITTs, YOYOs, and Why Americans Don't Go Green

http://www.worldchanging.com/archives/005129.html#more
(Moom lights the blue touchpaper and runs away)

Seriously, though, there are some very interesting conclusions from this marketing report on Americans' attitudes to the environment. Not that I'd make sweeping generalizations about anyone who might read this ;) - but some of the points remind me of comments made about why people buy SUVs, in terms of acknowledging that most of our consumption is mediated by a deeply reptilian and nonrational part of our brain. In partricular, there were some interesting comments made on that subject in the comments after Jessica whatserface's thing on cupholders...

The place of cupholders in society

... holding cups, presumably.

Jessica Helfand rants about cupholders, and other decadent artefacts which are undermining our society's moral fibre (like manicures). It's a funny article, and I started out agreeing with her - my parents recently bought a new Volvo which had, if I recall correctly , SEVEN cupholders between FOUR people - but when she says that "it vexes me to think that design, in this context, is merely a support mechanism for increased comfort and added convenience" - I can't help thinking "well, isn't that what design is? A mechanism for making life easier?"

So anyway. I really just wanted to record the moment that the phrase "security beverage" entered the language.

What is Art Clay Silver?

http://www.artclay.co.jp/htm/what.html


It's cool, is what it is!

Apologies to an arty crafty people who have seen this stuff before, but I am intrigued. Art Clay Silver is a malleable putty made up mostly of pure silver particles, with added water and 'organic binder' (which with a name like that could be anything - the mind boggles, recoils, and boggles again). According to the sales blurb, it can be worked like ordinary modelling clay, but when fired in a kiln the water and binder are burned off, leaving something which is 99.9% pure silver.

Although a kiln (which I don't own) is recommended, there is a method described for firing it on a gas hob (which I do own - yay!). Strangely, though, using a microwave isn't mentioned...

WorldChanging: Tracking Hasan Elahi

http://www.worldchanging.com/archives/005105.html#more
...and today's weirdness comes from (wait for it) a performance artist! Y'know, I can't help feeling that the performance artist tribe is one whose relationship to Darwin is inextricable and yet somehow uncertain - are they hurrying evolution along, or living in defiance of it?

Whatever.

In any case, an encounter between the FBI and a performance artist can have only one outcome. Hasan Elahi has been obsessively documenting his life ever since he was stopped in Detroit airport and questioned (equally obsessively) by the FBI. Since then, he's been constantly providing himself with an alibi by hacking his cellphone to talk to a tracking bracelet he wears on his wrist, and uploading photos of everywhere he goes. Apparently he once spent four days in Singapore without leaving the airport and clearing customs, leaving a four-day 'hole' in his official traceability - while documenting every minute of it online.

(oh, and in case you were wondering about the picture, I was watching "Belleville rendezvous" last night - fantastic movie. One review I read complained of its crude anti-Americanism, but apart from the fact that all the Americans in it are enormously fat, they really don't seem to take much part in the story, so I think whoever that critic was, he/she was talking bollocks. I thought it was superb, anyway. I particularly loved the stretch 2CV limos).

Putting your day to music

There are certain moments in my day which have songs inextricably linked to them. Two examples spring to mind:

1. When closing Unigraphics on the ol' CAD machinen, a dialogue box pops up which says "Do you really want to exit?" For some reason, that always plays in my head to the tune of "Do you really want to hurt me?" by Culture Club.
2. Similarly, we have a sandwich man who comes in during the morning to sell us sandwiches (actually we have two, but now isn't the time to get into the Riccarton Sandwich Wars). His cheery cry of "Sandwiches!" always starts me off singing "Sandwiches, da da da da da da da sandwiches" to the tune of whatever that song is that goes "hooray for Hollywood"...

Are there any parts of your life that seem to have attracted tunes?

Broken Angel

http://www.flickr.com/photos/onebadapple/sets/127493/show/
I guess this is probably a well-known landmark to any New Yorkers reading this, but it's the first time I've come across Broken Angel - the combined home and sculpture-in-progress of Arthur and Cindy Wood. They're now threatened with eviction after a small fire in the upper floors attracted the attention of the New York City Building department, so this collection of photos from their son may soon become a memorial rather than a living record. Let's hope that doesn't happen; while most of their art is not to my taste (which doesn't run to pigeon skeletons nailed to the wall), I think the house itself is fantastic.

SNAIL SHELL SYSTEM (these people are clearly mental)

http://www.n55.dk/MANUALS/SNAIL_SHELL_SYSTEM/SSS.html
Is it a tent that rolls? Or a caravan that floats? I dunno, but the SNAIL SHELL SYSTEM (only available in capitals) tries to cover so many stools that it's inevitable it's going to fall between some of them. Personally, I'll be putting mine in the middle of a pond somewhere expensive, like Hyde Park.


Created by a group called N55, who seem to have shares in a firm making polyethylene stuff. Other interesting/loopy ideas include ROOMS (which are, um, rooms) and an unstable CHAIR. Crazy? Challenging? Inspired? I dunno, but for my money this is design as a political act, rather than a practical one.

...polyethylene's thermoforming, right?

One for all you stargazers: Cassini-Huygens images

(via Bruce Sterling's blog)

Wow. Look, it's Saturn! Seen from the wrong side!



Some pretty awesome composite images from NASA's Cassini probe are catalogued here. Apparently, this view of the planet backlit by the sun shows us rings that we never knew Saturn had, but you can go look at the catalogue for the proper sciencey stuff. For pure aesthetic attraction, this one is my favourite.

Photography: Thomas Weinberger

Via BDLGBLOG:

Just come across these photos from Thomas Weinberger. His subject matter might seem grim, but the results are almost luminescent, as if Heaven were an abandoned industrial site. Pesumably it's done with heavy dodging (is that right?), or some cunning overexposure - whatever, the result is certainly unusual.

Iritis

And I was doing so
well.

It's been what, six
weeks?, since I started taking the 6MP immune suppressant ex-chemo-drug, and
it's been going pretty well. As ever, still taking it pretty easy (um.. well,
except for a weekend of dashing madly around London trying to see everything)...
so no lacrosse or sailing. In fact, one choir rehearsal a week is proving a
sufficient challenge right at the moment. But I've been putting on
weight! I haven't done that since I was...um... I dunno, fifteen?
Maybe? And in the last month I've put on about 7 kilos, which is unheard of.
Admittedly, I've been pretty tired, and felt slightly queasy, which may or may
not be normal - but it's still better than the alternative. So I've been pretty
happy.

Until last Saturday,
that is. Last Saturday my left eye started to feel slightly sore, as if I'd been
wearing a contact lens for too long. Over the weekend it got gradually worse,
until yesterday I could stand it no more, and took myself off to the eye
hospital, where it turns out I have Iritis. Yup, it's not a made-up word ("I
have eye-itis?!"), it's a real illness. Personally, I always thought the iris
was the name for the hole in your eye, and I was wondering how that could be
inflamed - but that's just me showing my ignorance. Apparently iritis is often
linked to ulcerative colitis - your eye gets very red and irritated (just like
leaving a contact lense in for a couple of days too many), and bright lights
hurt.

So anyway, now I
have two sets of eye drops and an ointment to stick in as well (not as bad as
I'd thought), and my pupils are two different sizes. And it sounds like I'll be
that way for a couple of weeks. Really not sure if I should be driving (probably
not).

Having eye problems
does make you wonder about what would happen if you lost an eye, or worse. I did
get quite despondent; engineering and design are pretty visual careers, and right now I'm
having difficulty focusing on anything closer than about a foot away which makes
detail work doubly hard. But then, Gordon Banks managed to still be a
professional goalkeeper with only one eye, and if you can do that then pretty
much anything is possible, right?

Guardian: Tortured Canadian wins battle for truth

http://www.guardian.co.uk/elsewhere/journalist/story/0,,1885684,00.html
Wow.

The Mounties shed their fluffy image, and turn out to be complete bastards.

(For those who aren't going to read the story, the guy wasn't actually tortured by the Mounties - they just lied about him to the Americans, who arrested him and turned him over to the Syrians who beat the crap out of him for 10 months. The RCMP have now apologized.)

via

IWOOT: Joint-the-dots calendar

Christmas is coming - yeah, I know, I know, it's ages away really. In fact, it's maybe a little premature to be even talking about the beginning of December, but since that's the time of Advent calendars, this is maybe a timely product*: a join-the-dots calendar! Scribble little notes on it, and as the month goes on you can join the dots to create a little friend for the month! NB joining the dots in order is necessary - no creatives please.


* how about that for a link?! Yes, my career as a jurnalist is assured.

One small step for a man, actually.

As the BBC reports today, apparently new analysis of Neil
Armstrong's famous words shows that he really did say "That's one small
step for a man", as he's often claimed. (When you
can get him to do an interview at all - the man is famously hard to pin
down).



I'd like to put the same question to you lot as the BBC are asking on
their blog: What would you have said if you'd been the first person on
the moon? At your current age, obviously, rather than the age you were
in '69.



I think mine would have been much less edifying than Neil's: something along the lines of "Holy Crap! I'm On the MOON!"

A conceit: the thoroughly modern chop

I've been fascinated by the Chinese art of the chop

ever since I first saw them. I love the colour, and the format. I think

it's something about its squareness that suggests to me a great density

of communication. My first headshot on Multiply was a chop I

lifted from a museum exhibition years ago. I don't remember much about

it now, except that it translated to something like "In vain do I try

to stir the senses."

But this density of communication is kind of wasted on me, as I can't
read Chinese and probably wouldn't be able to decode it even if I did.
So here's a thoroughly modern, machine-readable version.

It's a QR code. It's a little less friendly than the human one, admittedly, and too
impersonal to be used as a headshot. But I have found other uses for
it, as a graphical device. In its defence, I think it has another sort of interest for our
monkey-brains... the property
that all deeply complicated, abstract shapes have: that of almost, but
not quite,
coalescing into something familiar.

(Almost) the easiest way of making (half a) million dollars

http://www.onethousandpaintings.com/home/
You have to hand it to Sala (he/she?). It's the ultimate expression of the 'limited edition print', I guess - except they're not, they're all handpainted canvases, about a foot square. I like the notion of these having a different 'price' and 'value' at the moment of being sold.

I reach a new low in geekiness

YES! I AM KING OF GEEKS! BOW BEFORE MY INCREDIBLY ARCANE POINTLESSNESS!
Honest, it looks a lot better in real life. Almost attractive, even. But still, probably one of those things I shouldn't really do if I'm ever to have any pretensions of having a life. I'm too ashamed to actually tell you what the barcode says.

Transient but interesting

There's treasure everywhere today:

Clearing through my backlog of articles, I come across the fact that in the UK we throw away more food than packaging (courtesy of the deliciously named Soggy Lettuce Report). Really not sure whether to be cheered or alarmed by that. I guess, if the figures weren't so high, it'd be a good thing - less plastic going into the environment, more of our waste is biodegrabale, etc.

Then, via a roundabout route including Charles Stross' blog (which has some real gems on it, by the way), I find the rather wonderful news that IBM have a secret island hideaway - inside a computer game. In true Bond-villain style, Big Blue have staked a claim to an island inside Second Life, and are using it for business meetings. I'm surprised they didn't phone Pixar and offer to buy the island in The Incredibles.

Transient but interesting

There's treasure everywhere today:

Clearing through my backlog of articles, I come across the fact that in the UK we throw away more food than packaging (courtesy of the deliciously named Soggy Lettuce Report). Really not sure whether to be cheered or alarmed by that. I guess, if the figures weren't so high, it'd be a good thing - less plastic going into the environment, etc.

Then, via a roundabout route including Charles Stross' blog (yes, the science fiction writer), I find the rather wonderful news that IBM have a secret island hideaway - inside a computer game. In true Bond-villain style, Big Blue have staked a claim to an island inside Second Life, and are using it for business meetings. I'm surprised they didn't phone Pixar and offer to buy the island in The Incredibles.

Termites' air conditioning

Just clearing through some old 'off-topic' articles that come across my desk, and I came across this article, analysing termite mounds to see what we can learn about their ventilation systems, and what lessons could be applied to human buildings. The intention appears to be to marry up this knowledge with the latest in Rapid Manufacturing to create organically shaped systems in our buildings. Personally, I'm sceptical. Okay, so termites have developed a system which doesn't use electricity, but what it does involve (if memory serves) is an awful lot of scurrying about and carrying crap from place to place on the part of the termites. I can't see people being paid to stand in corridors, just to block the airflow. I'm sure some valuable knowledge will come out of this, but when it comes to the future of large buildings, I'll pin my hopes on CFD and genetic algorithms, thanks all the same.

Big art for your home

BetterWall is a site which rescues old vinyl museum banners and sells them on as art for your walls. And if it helps you justify your extravagance, then remember a proportion of the price goes back to the museum, and you're also helping to keep quite a lot of vinyl from ending up in a landfill somewhere.

Unfortunately they don't seem to have reached the UK, but if anyone has $500 or so to spend on me then I could pretty much cope with any of the ones on their site.

(Via core77)

Verbing

Yesterday I found myself commoditizing stuff. Unsure as to whether I was spelling it right, I went online and discovered that 2 out of 3 online dictionaries said it didn't exist. I also got pulled up for using the Americanized spellings of several words.

I admit I react badly to people criticizing my work at the best of times. And there have been times in the past when I would have reacted to other peoples' Americanizations in just the same way (didn't we invent the damn language in the first place? Harrumph). But my rather snippy reaction was as follows: a language is a living thing. A dictionary does not provide a definitive version of what the language should be, it's simply a record of how the language is being spoken. New words are added all the time (incidentally, is 'blog' not the ugliest word ever?). Phrases and words gain new meanings: my own particular bete noire at the moment is 'not fit for purpose' - it seems to have been pounced on by politicians, who are using it with gay abandon. And just as nobody uses the UK definition of 'billion' any more, we're going to have to come to terms with the fact that z's scrabble score probably needs to be devalued a bit as more and more words get '-ized'.

IWOOT (x): Street Art Shelving

Following on from Chris' post about graffiti-by-selective-cleaning, I just stumbled across these rather natty shelf units on Inhabitat. They're 'designed' by a guy called Ryan Frank, who takes plain boards down to Hackney and sticks them on walls in prominently graffiti'd areas. After a couple of weeks to 'mature', he takes them down again and makes furniture from them. It's another good example of 'less is more' in design terms - and I think it looks pretty cool.

Pecha Kucha night, Glasgow

Start:	Oct 12, '06 7:00p
End:	Oct 19, '06
Location:	Glasgow Lighthouse

Show-and-tell for grownups, basically.

It's INTERNATIONAL TALK LIKE A PIRATE DAY!

Arrr. That it be. And I be nearly forgettin'. Avast, ye scurvy dogs!

It's INTERNATIONAL TALK LIKE A PIRATE DAY!

Arrr. That it be.

Idea for a fringe show

(Note for non-Scottish people: the Edinburgh Fringe is a big festival of performance arts,

mostly - but not restricted to - comedy)

Having watched two handymen at work take half an hour to change a lightbulb, I'm figuring it would be perfectly possible to stage an hour-long show which would consist entirely of
stagehands fiddling with things. With the right sort of long-drawn-out comic
effect, I think it could work.

So far (i.e. in about two minutes), I've only got the second half of the show worked out:

Bob and Wayne mount an extremely rickety ladder, one on each side, in order to change a gel filter on one of the lights (sorry, no technical terms available). Potential magical-realist moment here, with flocks of spanners swooping across the stage?). As Wayne reaches behind himself to adjust a mounting screw, Bob hugs him round the waist for support. Wayne stops, and gives him a look. Bob looks bashful. Bob then retreats down the ladder to go fetch something. There's an almighty bang (preferably with smoke), the ladder collapses neatly onto the stage, and Wayne is left hanging there, looking very scared. Eventually he manages to hook a leg round the frame, but not without some impressive acrobatics, I'm thinking. In fact, he could heroically change the filter while hanging from his feet - that'd be good. Bob can throw him tools, in a little bit of a juggling act. At some point, however, Wayne's feet lose their grip and he is left hanging by his fingertips from the lighting rig. In the moment of terrified silence, the gel filter he's just heroically replaced flutters to the ground, watched in mute silence by our two stagehands. At this point, Bob walks to the edge of the stage, unties a couple of ropes, and lowers the entire lighting rig to the stage. Wayne can then drop all of eighteen inches and lie on the stage making terrified burbling noises. Bob steps over him and nonchalantly replaces the gel filter.

Hmmm. Maybe not. Never mind; as Thomas Edison said, "If you want to have a good idea, have lots of them."

Places to see before I die: Alang Beach

Ever since I first heard such places existed, the idea of
the Alang ship-breaking yards
has haunted my imagination
(scroll north - it keeps going for a while).
This is where the world's shipping goes to
die: one long beach where vessels are run aground, to be stripped down
and chopped
up by workers of all ages in the most horrendous conditions, using axes
and hammers and their bare hands.
I'm not sure how close I could get, as a westerner - but I'd sure like
to try and see it for myself. The image of this enormous beach,
scattered with these vast steel behemoths shimmering in the heat haze
of a thousand oxy-axetylene torches, while people swarm over them like
ants over a carcass...

Oi, Summer Girl!

1000 words of advice to design students, from core77's Allen Chochinov. And yeah, I said design, but some of it still applies to art students, I think. Particularly the stuff about getting off-campus and photographing your work.

Oi, Summer Girl!

1000 words of advice to design students, from core77's Allen Chochinov. And yeah, I said design, but some of it still applies to art students, I think. Particularly the stuff about getting off-campus and photographing your work.

Oh! Purdy! (vase)

Pretty vases! A little Dali-esque, if memory serves? From Little Wonder in Philadelphia, but distributed by a German company. So I don't know where they'll end up being sold. Nice, though. Thought some of you might like them.

And while I'm trawling the interweb, look at this! Holy crap! It's a sofa that turns into a set of bunk beds! Wow. I bet it's not very comfortable as a sofa, though.

Urgh

Why on Earth am I here? What am I doing with my life? How the hell did I end up here, doing this? More to the point, who picked up my life, 'cause this one sure doesn't feel like it belongs to me. And whoever's got it, can I have it back, please?

...urgh. Not yet 9am, and already I'm riven by self-doubt. It's gonna be a bad day. Oh well - nothing for it but to crank up the Radiohead and knuckle down. Like the man said, some days you're the grasshopper, some days you're the ant.

Right now, though, I feel more like the slime left in the bottom of the washing machine drawer.

Urgh

Why on Earth am I here? What am I doing with my life? How the hell did I end up here, doing this? More to the point, who picked up my life, 'cause this one sure doesn't feel like it belongs to me. And whoever's got it, can I have it back, please?

...urgh. Not yet 9am, and already I'm riven by self-doubt. It's gonna be a bad day.

Prison - punishment or rehabilitation?

Should criminals be punished or rehabilitated?

They need to know they've done wrong, and the victims need to know their pain has been recognized. Therefore, punishment is vital

 

 8

I'd rather not be mugged again, thanks, and I'll trade in my savage glee at seeing them suffer if that's what it takes.

 

 4

This is silly. Obviously there's a happy medium. The current system isn't so bad.

 

 2

A thief should have his/her hand cut off.

 

 1

Given five minutes before work this morning, I can only find UK reoffending rates statistics for 10-17 year-olds. Apparently, in 2004, 41.3% of young offenders reoffended within a year.

Now I've had my car broken into a couple of times, but in my book that barely qualifies as being a victim of crime compared to some crime against your person, like being mugged or (God forbid) actual bodily harm. So my point of view is probably off to one end of the scale (the Bleeding Heart Liberal end, obviously - duh). But speaking personally, even if I was the victim of some sort of serious crime, I'd like to think that I'd prefer a rehabilitation policy to one of punishment. I'd like to think that, if you could absolutely guarantee that I would never be a victim of crime again, I'd be happy to see the criminal go unpunished.

That's a slightly misleading statement, because it links punishment and rehabilitation - and I think most of the evidence shows that there is no link. Some might argue that that is because the punishments we hand down aren't extreme enough - but we only have to look at Dickensian England and the origin of the phrase "might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb", to see that it doesn't stamp out crime. It might reduce the level, but it pushes the remainder to increased levels of desperation and violence. That's not good.To my mind, that condones a level of barbarism into society which is precisely the wrong direction for society to progress in.

Oh, and for the record, I do not believe that the state has the right to take the life of any of its citizens, for any reason. But that's not the debate I wanted to have. I want to concentrate here on the prison system, and what it achieves or fails to achieve. And what that says about us, and what we demand of it.

Okay, well, that's my rather facile opinion on the matter, thrown together in ten minutes this morning. What do you think?

(and Moom, having lit the blue touchpaper, retires...)

Prison - punishment or rehabilitation?

Given five minutes before work this morning, I can only find UK reoffending rates statistics for 10-17 year-olds. Apparently, in 2004, 41.3% of young offenders reoffended within a year.

Now I've had my car broken into a couple of times, but in my book that barely qualifies as being a victim of crime compared to some crime against your person, like being mugged or (God forbid) actual bodily harm. So my point of view is probably off to one end of the scale (the Bleeding Heart Liberal end, obviously - duh). But speaking personally, even if I was the victim of some sort of serious crime, I'd like to think that I'd prefer a rehabilitation policy to one of punishment. I'd like to think that, if you could absolutely guarantee that I would never be a victim of crime again, I'd be happy to see the criminal go unpunished.

That's a slightly misleading statement, because it links punishment and rehabilitation - and I think most of the evidence shows that there is no link. Some might argue that that is because the punishments we hand down aren't extreme enough - but we only have to look at Dickensian England and the origin of the phrase "might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb", to see that it doesn't stamp out crime. It might reduce the level, but it pushes the remainder to increased levels of desperation and violence. That's not good.To my mind, that condones a level of barbarism into society which is precisely the wrong direction for society to progress in.

Oh, and for the record, I do not believe that the state has the right to take the life of any of its citizens, for any reason. But that's not the debate I wanted to have. I want to concentrate here on the prison system, and what it achieves or fails to achieve. And what that says about us, and what we demand of it.

Okay, well, that's my rather facile opinion on the matter, thrown together in ten minutes this morning. What do you think?

(and Moom, having lit the blue touchpaper, retires...)

What is the messiest fruit?

Are oranges the messiest fruit to eat, or what? I always make a complete mess of peeling them. 

Rant: My internationality (we're back to Islam again, sorry)

Let me start by stating that I am very, very English. I drink tea. When I'm not drinking tea, I drink gin and tonic. I am strongly in favour of free trade. I believe that laws are there for the benefit of all and should be respected (except silly ones involving foxes). I think professionalism has ruined sport. In the face of angry confrontation, I may raise an eyebrow (just the one, mind). My response to a crisis is to put the kettle on. I have been known to fix my car using my shoelace.

But one thing I am not is patriotic. In fact, I would say I was a better European than I am a Britisher. The problems of my generation - global warming, the hole in the ozone layer, and now terrorism - are global problems, and it seems to me that nations and their interests get in the way as often as they help and protect (did I mention I'm strongly in favour of free trade?). So I find myself sympathizing with international bodies far more than with my own government.

So how can I be surprised by the attraction of the idea of international brotherhood, which Islam has so successfully promoted? Why should I be surprised if it is more attractive than the uncertain benefits of patriotism towards a poky little nation which even its most eloquent natives have difficulty in describing?

I also think there is something deeply English about living with uncertainty. We are, after all, one of the most agnostic nations in the world (not necessarily secular; just agnostic). We have a long history of scientific and technological advancement, and what is more fundamental to science than uncertainty? Even our parliamentary system enshrines enormous powers to a government which may have only won by the tiniest of margins (in other words, we may not trust them but we'll let them get on with it). And let's not get on to talking about the weather.

So how can I be surprised when young Muslims, seeking to make sense of their lives - seeking to create their own narratives, in the style of the narratives that they know, which are from Hollywood and Bollywood and are simple and black-and-white, turn away from being English?

And finally, if we're talking about narratives - who'd want to pin their colours to the mast of a country which seems to export villainy, in all its forms - movie baddies, imperialist history, or military equipment?

More medical stuff

Just realized how long it's been since I gave y'all a medical bulletin.
No doubt youj're on tenterhooks; Is he still on the Azathioprine? Has
he recovered from his ordeal? Will Bluebell win the 3.30 at Kempton?



Well, here are the answers: No; more or less; and, who cares - this is
the present, and it is up to us to make it as beauteous as possibl.
(one for you, there, Henry)



So I am no longer on the Az. Oh, no. Now I am on 6-mercaptopurine, or 6-MP as I
like to call it. I got a little freaked when I first started on it,
though, I must admit. I made the mistake of reading the little leaflet
which comes with the pills - you know the one, it's the one which lists
all the side-effects and normally reads like a complete A-Z of medical
history and is specifially designed to cause heart
palpitations, cold sweats, blurred vision, hairloss, etc... This one
was no exception, but best of all it started with the following
statements: "This medicine is a cytotoxin. It is used in chemotherapy,
and the treatment of cancer."

Hmmm.... is it used for anything else? Nope, nothing else was
mentioned. I got a little freaked at that point, I must admit.
Luckily, although colitis wasn't mentioned in the 6MP literature, the
Azathioprine leaflet mentions 6MP as an alternative, so I figured that
was okay. (Eventually, I checked with my consultant and it was fine. Of
course).



But anyway. I've now been on the 6-MP for about 3 weeks, and I've been
perfectly fine. Admittedly, I'm still just on the tail-end of the
steroid course which started way back when I was in hospital, so that's
gotta help. In fact, for the moment it's enough that the 6MP isn't
giving me any troublesome side-effects - I'm not actually expecting any
benefit from it for at least another six weeks. They say it takes up to
3 months to kick in, but my sister was on something similar for her
arthritis and it took longer than that for it to work for her, so I'm
expecting it to take a while.



In the meantime, it's not as if I've been taking it easy, what with
Festival stuff (and a little romance ;). So in generally, I'm a happy
bunny. I seem to be keeping up with everyone, which is pretty much the
only way I can find to judge my progress.

Bye bye Summer Girl

So I've had to return Summer Girl to her friends and her life, and it's
left me feeling a little like i've just had to put a fish back in the
water. We agreed this was going to be a Festival fling only, and now
she's off to study... something set-related... at RADA, down in London.
She has no idea how much I envy her that. To be able to go and do
something creative, as a student, in London... Well, I've been there,
and my jealousy is like a physical thing, twisting in my gut. All I can
do is watch, and wonder bitterly how I ended up where I am. And
wonder where the hell I go from here.



For some reason I've always been a little glamour-struck when it comes
to the theatre, in spite of knowing full well how haphazard, strung-out
and sordid it can be. Plus the fact that we got on so well, and she was
so sweet, makes it doubly hard. Creative, talented, funny -
that's the sort of combination that makes me go weak at the knees.



But hey ho. Go, little fishie!

Festival's nearly over...

Summer Girl goes home soon...and all of a sudden life seems more bleak than I care to admit.

Subfo bubble, heeheehee

..."Subfo" being a word I just made up, along the lines of 'subvertising' but not as good.

Taking pleasure in things

What should I blow my hard-earned cash on?

The Bike! That's 500 squid (many, many $)

 

 5

The Camera! That's 600 squid (more $)

 

 3

The Bag! A mere 200 squid (less $)

 

 0

All of 'em, and sod the credit card bill.

 

 3

Sheesh, what is it with you and toys? Try buying nothing for a change. Save your money for something worthwhile

 

 4

Give the lot to charity. (I won't, but feel free to express this opinion)

 

 1

Okay. I'm aware of the heavy heavy irony in following up my last post with this one, but I'm bored at work, and when the going gets dull, the dull go shopping... or something... so I'm shopping. Specifically, I'm shopping for toys, because it's nearly the end of the month and I still haven't spent my bonus.

(Actually that's not strictly true; a fair whack of it has gone on tickets to shows at the Edinburgh Festival, but there's still a chunk left and I just can't end the month with money in the bank, it's not natural).

So I've narrowed it down to three possible toys:

1. Dahon folding bicycle. My flat is very small, and since it's perfectly possible for me to cycle into work, I'd like to be able to do this. At the moment I do have a bicycle, but the only place it'll fit indoors is in the far corner of my bedroom, where it's impossible to get in and out and it gets in the way. Admittedly, the season is starting to come to a close now, but it's still a nice thought. I'd like the Matrix, but I might settle for the Groove or the Jack, which is cheaper.
   
    

A dSLR camera. My brother is lusting after the Sony Alpha one and now he's brought it to my attention I'm kinda liking the look of it too. Since everything else I own is Sony, there's a certain logic to it. And since I sold my old 35mm SLR, I do very occasionally ache to be able to take decent photographs.

A solar powered bag. This is something I've looked at on and off for a long time. I have something of a fetish for mobility (although the actual amount of travelling I've done recently is very, very small).Also, I own an mp3 player, and a PDA, and a mobile phone, all of which have mains chargers which (to my shame) are permanently plugged in. Something like this, which would charge them up as I stride manfully across the heather, would be a very attractive and ecofriendly-ish toy. Whether to get the Voltaic one or something like the Juice Bag is another question, but we're establishing a principle here, so never mind that now.

So, waddya think? Should I just get back to work and stop idly pissing away my time now?

Happiness is people; pleasure is things

This stems from a radio programme I listened to in the car last Monday, called Beyond Belief. (you'll have to use the scroll bar at the bottom to find the programme for 21st August). Surprisingly, it's about religion rather than crazy inventions, and this particular episode was concerned with the pursuit of happiness. I was particularly impressed with some of the views put forward, and it helped me to crystallize something I've long thought. Bear with me: I know all you religious types will want to jam God in there somewhere, but this is my basic happy-old-shit-humanist theory:

Material things can bring you pleasure: Only other people can give you happiness.

Now I guess I have to define how I'm using 'pleasure' and 'happiness', which is probably where I'm going to struggle.I know what I mean, though, so here goes: pleasure, I think, is a momentary state, a brief point where the cares of the world are forgotten. Happiness is where the cares of the world can be remembered and dealt with without bringing you down.

Oh. Gosh. Um. I guess that sums it up, really. I thought that was going to take a couple of paragraphs, at least. Right. Well. Um. In the absence of any more wisdom from me, here's a picture of a kitten:

 

So: things=pleasure; people=happiness. Once you've got that in your head, what else is there?

Just not far enough ahead of the mob

Aw heck. Do you ever get the feeling that you're just not quite far enough ahead of the herd? Seems like every so often, I'll find some gorgeous thing mere months before it turns up on the mass market. First example: a poster of two cherubs which I saw and had to have when on holiday in Santiago da Compostela (that's in Spain). A year later, Past Times (that's a twee little chain store in the UK) had it plastered on everything from mouse-mats to tea trays. Instantly, my poster goes from cool to kitsch. Curses.

Second example - For Christmas, I bought my brother a print which I found in one of Edinburgh's coolest, clique-iest shops, a cunning Japanese woodblock-style print of some cherry blossom, with each blossom cunningly replaced by a little pink bunny!
 

Look at that! Cool or what? Next to it was Hokusai's famous tsunami print with bunnies replacing all the tumbling foam. I didn't buy him that one because I lusted after it myself... and now I find some clown laser-etching it onto PowerBooks!

Blast. Blast and damnation. The thrill is gone. Guess I'm just not that far ahead of the game.

So anyway. This time I've gone to extreme measures. Admittedly, I found it on a pretty mainstream blog so it's not exactly a secret, (and they sell the stuff in the MOMA shop in New York, so it's only a matter of time before it turns up in B&Q) but I've ordered some wall vinyls from a small designer's collective in Paris.

Bit of an impulse purchase, and I must admit if I'd known how awkward the whole thing was going to prove I'd never have embarked on it: I had to pay by bank transfer (I don't know why - because they're completely clueless possibly?), which involved many many delays and jumping through hoops and actually having to go into a bank... so I'm hoping that the sheer cussed awkwardness of getting anything out of these people should ensure that I have something cool that nobody else can get. At least for a bit...

Inhabitat » Blog Archive » LIGHT POLLUTION: The continuing spread

http://inhabitat.com/blog/2006/08/19/light-pollution-the-continuing-spread/
Well, I was going to talk about peace and love today, but then I read this article and got my knickers all in a twist. According to the author, the US wastes $5-10 BILLION on generating ENTIRELY wasted light. That's a staggering sum. And the problem's getting worse, not better. And what gets my goat is that it would all be so EASY to avoid, if only we were able to think our architecture through and implement it right. Upsetting.

Churn, churn, churn... kawaii

Okay, so this article dates from 2002,
but still: a fascinating insight into the Japanese relationship with
kawaii (cuteness, basically). Not only can you buy tasers with cute
little eyes and a mouth on them, you can just buy the eyes and stick
them onto whatever you like! Anthropomorphize your life!

Maybe I should get some for the robot.

In defence of the knife

Years ago, when I was a design student, we were given the task of
finding an object that spoke most strongly to us - our favourite
possession, really - and standing up and talking about it to the
class.Most people chose gewgaws, emotionally important things which
they'd carried with them for years.



I chose my kitchen knife.



As you might guess, brandishing a foot-long knife in front of a bunch
of people you've only known for a few weeks and saying "This is my
favourite possession" got something of an adverse reaction, and as a
result I had to work quite hard over the next few weeks to reassure
everyone that I wasn't some knife-wielding nutter. I wrote the
following little piece to explain - mostly to myself - what it was
about the knife that I admired and appreciated. The other day I came
across it again, and thought I'd share it with you.



The knife caused a lot of amusement
when it appeared. It is scary to have someone you're not entirely sure
of stand up with a knife and say 'this is my favourite posession'. The
answer I gave at the time was partial and incompletely considered, and
every time I see the knife now, I want to correct that.

Hence this document.

The reasons for my attachment to my kitchen knife begin with the Ocean Youth Club, where
I learned so many important lessons - to cook, to sail, and to accept
people. I learned there the benefits of having a sharp knife for
cooking, and that a blunt knife is much more dangerous than a sharp
one. I learned, too, that one sharp knife can be put to many uses - it
can crush garlic, shave cheese, open packets, stir things....
basically, only one tool is utterly, unquestionably vital in a kitchen,
and that is the knife. Everything else is optional. A sharp edge and a
fire - that's all you need to cook food.

I learned, too, that a sharp edge is the last resort in a wide range of
situations (not counting the diplomatic!). If a rope gets caught around
something (or someone), then a knife is the final solution when all
else has failed. A sharp edge can be used to wedge, to lever, to split,
to unscrew, to hold flat. The sharp edge is Man the Toolmaker's first
and final tool, the first mark of civilization and intelligence. It is
the last thing a person in the wild will do without, and the first
thing they will seek to reproduce. The knife, to the human race,
represents survival. It is the bottom line, the ur-tool, the first word
ever spoken in our lexicon of things. For that reason alone, it
deserves a special place in our consideration.

But there is more to the kitchen knife than simple age. Countless hands
have used it over the millenia, and the knife, perhaps more than any
other device in the object lexicon, shows evolution at work. Just as
nature has devised combinations both weird and wonderful, and also
elegant and simple, so the simple sharp edge lives with us now through
a million avatars. But perhaps the greatest miracle of all is this:
that each one, specialised as it might be for its own task,still
retains some of the versatility of that basic sharp edge. That is a
rare and wonderful thing, and is perhaps the best reason why any knife
should retain a special place in the materialist's pantheon.



So the knife is the ancestor, its sharp edge Eve to the Adam of the
blunt object. Its children have evolved and developed so that they fit
into many hands, performing wildly different tasks perfectly, yet still
retaining the flexibility of the original. So why, of all the knives in
Christendom, do I like my kitchen knife the best?

There are many answers, but the most fundamental are these: because it
is designed for cooking, and that is what I most often use knives for;
because it is very simple, and the qualities the knife embodies - age
and evolution - deserve simplicity; because its simplicity is made of
curves, and I like the way it looks. Because it fits my hand, because
it does its task well, and because of all my belongings, it has the
greatest chance of living to be as old as me. My knife embodies a
story, and that story is one of age and evolution, and ancestors in all
walks of life, from the cleaver in a West End restaurant to the swords
of the crusaders. It is the story of all human survival and all human
civilization.

That's why my knife is one of my possesions which speaks most strongly to me.

In defence of the knife

Years ago, when I was a design student, we were given the task of
finding an object that spoke most strongly to us - our favourite
possession, really - and standing up and talking about it to the
class.Most people chose gewgaws, emotionally important things which
they'd carried with them for years.



I chose my kitchen knife.



As you might guess, brandishing a foot-long knife in front of a bunch
of people you've only known for a few weeks and saying "This is my
favourite possession" got something of an adverse reaction, and as a
result I had to work quite hard over the next few weeks to reassure
everyone that I wasn't some knife-wielding nutter. I wrote the
following little piece to explain - mostly to myself - what it was
about the knife that I admired and appreciated. The other day I came
across it again, and thought I'd share it with you.



The knife caused a lot of amusement
when it appeared. It is scary to have someone you're not entirely sure
of stand up with a knife and say 'this is my favourite posession'. The
answer I gave at the time was partial and incompletely considered, and
every time I see the knife now, I want to correct that.

Hence this document.

The reasons for my attachment to my kitchen knife begin with the Ocean Youth Club, where
I learned so many important lessons - to cook, to sail, and to accept
people. I learned there the benefits of having a sharp knife for
cooking, and that a blunt knife is much more dangerous than a sharp
one. I learned, too, that one sharp knife can be put to many uses - it
can crush garlic, shave cheese, open packets, stir things....
basically, only one tool is utterly, unquestionably vital in a kitchen,
and that is the knife. Everything else is optional. A sharp edge and a
fire - that's all you need to cook food.

I learned, too, that a sharp edge is the last resort in a wide range of
situations (not counting the diplomatic!). If a rope gets caught around
something (or someone), then a knife is the final solution when all
else has failed. A sharp edge can be used to wedge, to lever, to split,
to unscrew, to hold flat. The sharp edge is Man the Toolmaker's first
and final tool, the first mark of civilization and intelligence. It is
the last thing a person in the wild will do without, and the first
thing they will seek to reproduce. The knife, to the human race,
represents survival. It is the bottom line, the ur-tool, the first word
ever spoken in our lexicon of things. For that reason alone, it
deserves a special place in our consideration.

But there is more to the kitchen knife than simple age. Countless hands
have used it over the millenia, and the knife, perhaps more than any
other device in the object lexicon, shows evolution at work. Just as
nature has devised combinations both weird and wonderful, and also
elegant and simple, so the simple sharp edge lives with us now through
a million avatars. But perhaps the greatest miracle of all is this:
that each one, specialised as it might be for its own task,still
retains some of the versatility of that basic sharp edge. That is a
rare and wonderful thing, and is perhaps the best reason why any knife
should retain a special place in the materialist's pantheon.



So the knife is the ancestor, its sharp edge Eve to the Adam of the
blunt object. Its children have evolved and developed so that they fit
into many hands, performing wildly different tasks perfectly, yet still
retaining the flexibility of the original. So why, of all the knives in
Christendom, do I like my kitchen knife the best?

There are many answers, but the most fundamental are these: because it
is designed for cooking, and that is what I most often use knives for;
because it is very simple, and the qualities the knife embodies - age
and evolution - deserve simplicity; because its simplicity is made of
curves, and I like the way it looks. Because it fits my hand, because
it does its task well, and because of all my belongings, it has the
greatest chance of living to be as old as me. My knife embodies a
story, and that story is one of age and evolution, and ancestors in all
walks of life, from the cleaver in a West End restaurant to the swords
of the crusaders. It is the story of all human survival and all human
civilization.

That's why my knife is one of my possesions which speaks most strongly to me.

IWOOT: Unto This Last

This is a concept which has me really excited. Via Treehugger, this London-based store produces all its furniture onsite, using Scandinavian plywood and a big computer controlled milling machine. Named after John Ruskin's book 'Unto this Last', which was published at the height of the Industrial Revolution and advocated a return to individual craftsmanship, it seems kind of ironic that the very machines he railed against have finally enabled the business model he espoused to be revived. I love the idea, but my Inner Cynic can't help wondering how much flexibility there really is in the system - I mean, in principle you could get them to make a shorter table for you, but it's not as if you could go in with your own CAD file and get them to make it, is it? Is it?

Got to admit, though, the furniture is lovely. I particularly covet the Greg Lamp - go have a look!

 

P.S. Anyone else tried posting via email yet? I posted this via email and had to log in and clean it up - somewhere along the line it had made a fantastic mess of the picture/link combination. And added about a million line breaks.

Wee-urhd

A fluorescent rabbit?


While footling around in the archives of we-make-money-not-art (a fantastic site I highly recommend) I came across this. It occurred to me that the current renaissance in traditional artistic
techniques might have its roots in a backlash against precisely this
sort of stuff, because, really, is Alba art? Or is she just a rabbit
that glows in the dark? Bizarre and trangressive, or just a relic of
what was state-of-the-art 6 years ago, but is now a pretty workaday
hack? Should we liken it to displaying a computer with purple wallpaper?
Or is it a desperate statement about our genetic heritage - our very
selves - under siege from technology?

At the same time, I've been reading an article about
neuromarketing, by a guy called Clive Thompson. Neuromarketing is
basically putting people in MRI scanners to determine their responses to
various brands. It seems a little post hoc to me; although I can see
that it may have some use in directing adverts, brands take a while to
develop and instant fixes like this don't seem to me to be offering
much. And as Chris points out in his article, we don't really know that
much about the brain; it's a bit of a stretch to infer that men who have
the same area of the brain stimulated by pictures of faces and of sexy
sports cars are therefore thinking that the front of the car looks like
a face. But anyway; this is all about our sense of self, too. The
techniques he describes are all about finding products we identify with,
and which stimulate the same areas of the brain which light up when we
think about ourselves, and what we want - in other words, when we
consult our own internal model of 'me'. Personally, I can't help
thinking that the staggering revelation they'll come up with is: sex
sells. But that aside, it's fascinating that our internal models of
ourselves can be identified so closely with products, isn't it? Just
goes to show how elastic they are; and how materialistic we've been
trained to be.

Bling Tartan

Which Tartan would suit me for my brother's wedding? And help me with the girls, obviously.

Bling! Bling! Go for the red and yellow, be not ashamed!

 

 11

Ancient Hunting - restrained but different?

 

 12

It's a proper occasion, don't mess about - Modern Hunting.

 

 17

My brother is getting married next year, and because I now live in Scotland (which obviously makes me Scotchish) I've threatened to wear a kilt to the wedding. Apparently we have some distant family tie to the clan MacMillan, so I looked up their clan tartans. There are several, most of which seem fairly inoffensive, but the one which would seem to be most correct is the red and yellow number above. A little on the bling side, I fear. Reckon I could get away with that? Or should I go with the more sensible hunting tartan? Of which there are two:

The Macmillan Hunting (ancient)

The Macmillan Hunting (modern)

All of these look slightly different (or completely different, in fact) depending on where on the t'interweb you look. At some point I'll get my arse in gear and go down to the shop and have a look through the Big Book of Tartans. But in the meantime, waddya think?

Odd

Just plain silly.



Incidentally, why does Multiply's spell checker think I'm Spanish?

Terrorism, IMHO

I'd like to contribute to the vast outpouring of text which will
accompany the rather scary events of today... if you've managed to avoid
the news (how?) then the government is claiming to have foiled a major
terrorist threat to blow up aeroplanes between the UK and the USA. All
the airports on this side of the Atlantic are completely log jammed, as
draconian security measures are implemented - shoes are X-rayed, and not
even spectacle cases are allowed as hand luggage.

I've been meaning to write something about terrorism anyway, so let's
see if I can't get some sort of coherent policy together here.

I want to make a couple of almost-unrelated points. The first is to do
with the role of terrorism in terms of war, and the practice of killing
people. the second is to do with terrorism and its relationship with
technology.

To start with, the idea of a 'war on terror' is, I believe, an empty
slogan, and one I disapprove of. Before 9/11, it was not unusual to hear
the phrase "One man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter".
Curiously, though I haven't heard it that much recently. I suspect it's
because we've become targets, and all of a sudden the situation has
polarized; indulging in seeing both sides of the argument doesn't seem
quite so attractive now, as opposed to when these guys were trying to
blow people up in foreign countries (where they do things differently).

Let me also say this: I believe terrorism is valid as the last weapon of
the dispossessed. Or more correctly, those who believe they have no
other option. If some authoritarian state invaded Britain, and I was
left with no other means to resist them, then causing disruption through
fear might be my final tactic, before I was hunted down and killed. If I
can't rule it out for myself, then how can I rule it out for others? The
problems come when we look at that pithy definition I just put forward.
The young men who (for example) attacked London in July were members of
British society, with a vote each. They were no more politically
dispossessed than I; and yet they felt driven to this. I've tried to ask
myself why - I pride myself on empathy, I think it's very important -
but I can't understand. For all our current government's shortcomings
(and I really won't go into that), they're still subject to the workings
of democracy, and eventually - eventually - they must come to heel,
because they can be voted out. I am not disenfranchised. Nor were they.
If other methods are open to you, then terrorism cannot be acceptable.

(let's throw in an interesting fact here - apparently 40% of British
Muslims aged 18-35 (ish) believe Princess Diana was killed by the
British establishment because she was about to marry Dodi al Fayed - a
Muslim. That was on a Jon Snow program on More4 the other night, called
"What Muslims want")

This brings us to the second point I wanted to raise, which is to do
with the relationship between terrorism, democracy, and technology.
First off, it's fairly obvious that it's a lot easier to get hold of
deadly stuff now than it was twenty years ago. This is a trend which can
only go one way - material goods are becoming cheaper, information is
spreading more widely, it's inevitable that bad people are going to get
their hands on nasty stuff and that this will happen more often.
Secondly, and more importantly, the fact that extreme views can now be
spread more widely thanks to technology (I'm think mostly of the
internet, but that trickles through to other media too) has two results:
one, those with a predilection to believe this stuff are more likely to
be exposed to it; and second, they will come to understand how isolated
their views are from the mainstream. In previous eras, politics was much
more the preserve of those who cared enough to take it up, and they were
more often the ones with extreme views - so the silent majority stayed
silent, and the extremists got a disproportionately large amount of
influence, which suited them just fine. But it also made them more
likely to use conventional politics to achieve their ends. Now, however,
when the mood of the population can be much more accurately judged,
politics has become more and more about the centre ground, and the
extremists are being sidelined. It's ironic, but I think the very
mechanisms that are allowing us to get closer to the ideals of democracy
(for better or worse) are encouraging those with extreme views into
extreme actions.

40% of British Muslims aged 18-35(ish) believe Princess Diana was killed
by the British establishment because she was about to marry Dodi al
Fayed - a Muslim.

Forty per cent!

The penny/pound Engineer Competence Index

There's a saying: an engineer can make for a penny what any fool can
make for a pound.

I'd put myself at about 47p.

So, all you engineers: How 'bout you?

Movement in Design

My brother has berated me for having a lack of twaddle on my blog. You'll be soorreeee.... but why should I write my own when there's so much fascinating twaddle being written by other people? Ben Hopson, for example, sets down some interesting thoughts on movement in design, which I have to agree is a long-neglected area. It's not enough that something should be well-designed from a static point of view; interaction is almost always dynamic, and the dynamics of an object are often neglected. How do we describe them? More importantly, how do we research them and develop them into a feature? Well, using video, Ben. Obviously. Duh. But it's still a neglected field, so good on you for thinking about it.


Haven't had time to check out the videos, but if they're as novel as his writing then I'm sure they're fascinating.

Movement in Design

My brother has berated me for having a lack of twaddle on my blog. You'll be soorreeee.... but why should I write my own when there's so much fascinating twaddle being written by other people? Ben Hopson, for example, sets down some interesting thoughts on movement in design, which I have to agree is a long-neglected area. It's not enough that something should be well-designed from a static point of view; interaction is almost always dynamic, and the dynamics of an object are often neglected. How do we describe them? More importantly, how do we research them and develop them into a feature? Well, using video, Ben. Obviously. Duh. But it's still a neglected field, so good on you for thinking about it.

Haven't had time to check out the videos, but if they're as novel as his writing then I'm sure they're fascinating.

My name is Matt and I'm a neophiliac

...and it's not my fault.

No, apparently, it's genetic. Wonderful.

(personally I suspect it's more to do with access, and the ease of, but if someone's willing to give me a medical cop-out, then hey, who am I to look a gift horse in the mouth? Especially when it's all new and shiny).

 

Edinburgh Fringe Shows I have seen

Rating:	★★★
Category:	Other

I know there are one or two locals who occasionally read this, so I guess it might be useful information for somebody.

So far:

Ermm...
(sorry, just collecting my thoughts. It wouldn't surprise me to learn there is a show with that name; I haven't seen it, though)

Working backwards:

NewsRevue 2006: *** Satire in song - okay, I thought. One neat trick with some beards, and some decent stuff (John Prescott as the Churchill insurance dog). Not as good as last year, though, apparently.

Puppetry of the Penis:** interesting trick, dire script - probably works very well with a drunken Friday night audience, but not so good with a sleepy Sunday night one. Recommend buying the book rather than seeing the show. And yes, this is exactly what you think it is. When they told me it was projected on a big screen, I thought they meant in silhouette. They didn't.

Free & Easy Comedy at The Stand: *** A free show with two pretty good comedians busily saving their good stuff for the paying punters later on. Still pretty good, though; I've paid to see worse.

Geraldine Quinn: ***** I really enjoyed this. Fantastic voice, great songs. And the most amazing gurning I've ever seen, by a girl.

Andrew Maxwell: **** Excellent stuff. Drunken, tokin' wisdom.

A British Guide to Religion: ** Bleh. Too much like being lectured to by a couple of (overly rehearsed) students to really engage me.


...not bad for two days. Thanks to Jen for staying with me for the weekend and introducing me to random people, who introduced me to other random people, etc., etc.

Some more:

Tim Minchin: **** another Aussie comic. Similar sort of sense of humour to Geraldine Quinn, I thought, but with TOO FEW SONGS. Came away feeling slightly cheated.

Act Without Words I & II *** A nice little cultural break to hours of unremitting, relentless observational comedy. The set is fantastic. There are no words. Literally.

One set to Love*** My god. A tsunami of a script which the actors surf with aplomb. Humour on so many levels that none of them quite penetrate, and your sense of disbelief comes away feeling like a puppy who's just spent the day being yanked around by a hyperactive three year old. Enjoyed it, but needed a drink afterwards.

Meedja

It occurred to me the other day that the what the media does is to scoop up the edges of society and fold them back into the middle.

Seen while shopping:

A young lady wearing the hajib stocks shelves with women's summer
clothes in John Lewis (big department store). What is she thinking as
she lays out those skimpy outfits that she can never wear? Does she
think about it at all? Or is it just as if she was stocking shelves
with any other product she wouldn't use, like books in Japanese or
men's shaving products?

Woolly crash hat using supercustard stuff

This I found ages ago while trawling for stuff for skiing.  It's a hat! 

I love skiing, but I'm reluctant to wear a crash helmet despite hearing numerous horror stories (and knowing people who've been injured). The ribcap is kind of a halfway house - way cooler than a crash hat, it uses some weird stuff called d3o which takes the whole harden-on-impact thing to new levels. I want one, and it'd be brilliant for persuading kids who are too cool to wear something which might afford them some protection.

All the shops appear to be in Switzerland, which is a long way to go for a hat, but never mind that now.

Auto cross posting test

This posted to blogger, 1.05pm (local time) Wednesday 2nd August.

Don't seem to be able to limit distribution, so I hope this doesn't get posted to all and sundry. Still, that's all part of the testing process I guess.

Spam Architecture

This has been floating round a few blogs recently, but it is very cool so I'm foisting it on you lot too.



Spam Architecture,
from Alex Dragulescu, is a computer program which takes junk email as
input and converts it into some rather wonderful 3D models. How it does
this, I dunno. There's probably a lot of Alex going into the mix, too.
Anyway, they look just fine.